Michael made his way through the old town house. It was a huge building, more a mansion than a house, and had been in the Hyweln family for generations. A visiting inquisitor had once told him some of the objects displayed in the main halls and study were from Psyhne and dangerous. As the thought flitted through his mind he brushed his hand along one of the tapestries as he walked. He wasn’t sure what reaction the man had wanted but he had been disappointed. Michael had taken the deliveries and placed them all himself. Sometimes he tried to find some trigger, to activate these supposedly dangerous objects but so far he had been unsuccessful. Despite the position of trust he had with Lord Hyweln, the others could barely hide their contempt, some didn’t try. Well, not until he had reported his worst tormentor as a traitor. His fate had brought all the rest back into line. It was because he wasn’t one of them. He was an Untalented Trickster. Born with a slight amount of Talent because he was born near a well of magic, or Talfry as they were called by Talented.

Michael frowned worriedly as he realised he had taken a wrong turning. He was procrastinating, he didn’t really want to carry this message. He backtracked and took the first left turning and approached the door at the end. Standing in the corridor just ahead was one of the last people he wanted to see. Poltzer was an older wizard of an indeterminate age. He had just turned up one day. He refused to give any oath of loyality, came and went as he pleased, and only ever followed orders if he was asked nicely and was in the mood for it. He made Michael uncomfortable. William had tried to subjugate him once. All Michael knew was that William respected him now and acquiesced to his requests. That’s what made him nervous.

Poltzer spotted him as he approached. He didn’t move, he just watched him with a wary, considering look. Like he was looking at a stranger’s pet dog. Michael edged past putting as much distance as he could between them while trying to not seem to. As he reached the door he looked back and his stomach lurched. Poltzer had disappeared. He wasn’t sure what was worse, being with the man or not knowing where he was. Reluctantly he knocked and cringed back, expecting some sort of lash back but he only heard a barked, “Come in.”

His nerves frayed, he quickly opened the door and stepped inside before he could hesitate, moving to the opposite side of the brightly lit room to his alcove where he stood like a servant waiting to serve his master, which was what he was, really. He eyed the disrupted order of the huge desk and his heart was in his throat. It must have been bad news. And he had more to add.

The great man was pacing the room and Michael couldn’t help but follow him with his gaze, taking care to be unobvious. William Hyweln was not remarkable in appearance, average height, good-looking if you were into large noses, but he had a presence; and deep in his light brown, almost golden eyes, there was a fire. A fire that had become tainted and burned a little too brightly, but still had a passion that Michael admired, for he had none.

“Our spy,” William Hyweln said suddenly, causing Michael to jump to attention, “has reported that the book is on its way back to Kailim. We know who has it, and we know his route. Our spy is already on the road waiting to intercept him.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Michael ducked instinctively as William’s face suddenly twisted with rage and he picked up and flung a small crystal ball at him, which shattered against the wall, showering Michael with shards.

“He’d hidden it at Psyhne, Taylor! At the blasted magic school, right under my nose. I bet that old fool is laughing at me right now. Damn it!” he punctuated his speech by slamming his fists on his desk, making several items jump and one tea cup fell to the hardwood floor where it cracked.

“We’ll have it soon then. So nothing to worry about,” Michael said brushing at his coat, exclaiming when his finger snagged a shard of crystal and started bleeding.

“Taylor, you pathetic simpleton,” William said in a suddenly calm voice, which filled Michael with more dread than his anger ever could. “I want you to go to the trolls and get their report.”

“Yes, Lord,” Michael replied his heart sinking, but he bowed and hurriedly moved to leave the room. Then remembering the purpose of his visit in the first place, he turned back.

“My Lord?”

“What?” William snapped. He was sitting behind his desk, his mind already elsewhere.

“There’s a delegation from Miejawala. A priestess of Yeshita. She er… requests an audience with you. To discuss the ‘piracy plague’ as she called it.”

William answered with a blank stare. When Michael didn’t move he said, “The trolls, Taylor.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Ten years, and it was still the same. It was better than the alternative. Though Michael was not sure how long it would last. As he was Untalented, albeit one of those with rare meagre abilities because he was born in a place where magic tended to be highly concentrated. It had never been explained to him how, and he didn’t really care to know. All he could do were cheap tricks. That’s how William had found him. Michael had been playing at being a travelling magician at the time, as most like him tend to do at some point, and William had noticed him pilfering the contents of an old lady’s bag while she was watching whatever trick he was using as a distraction. William had found it amusing. Usually, Talented don’t mix with Untalented, but William saw some merit in Michael. He was impressed enough to give him a choice. Work for him, or be one of his experiments.

And so here he was, treating with trolls for the most powerful man in the country, and, if he met his ambitions, the world. Michael knew why he was sending him to the trolls. He wanted him to suffer. William had become more and more vindictive as his paranoia grew. As the years passed, with no sign of success, he got more irritable and anxious. Personally, Michael didn’t really understand what it was William feared, perhaps because he had no imagination. But despite this lucky good fortune, he dreaded visiting the trolls. They described in graphic detail just what they’d do to him when they no longer needed William, but the most horrible they had already done. And they constantly reminded him with obvious innuendos about chicken soup.

His mind involuntarily went back to his first meeting with the trolls. They had said, as part of some ritualistic element of the agreement, he had to eat with them.

They gave him soup and he’d remarked on the wonderful flavour, saying it was the best chicken soup he’d had. Then the chieftain had chuckled and growled, “A fat chicken it was to. He didn’t stop screaming to his god all the time we was boilin him.”

Just thinking of it made him nauseous, and the horror of it his mind refused to comprehend.

His eyes glazed over slightly as his mind started to wonder back into that haunted territory. He shook his head and, to get his mind off it, started chanting in his mind the first word to come to him, which was, unfortunately, ‘chickens’.