"Very appropriate, don't you think?" said the elf, pointing at the man on the wall, captured forever in his grief at finding his love dead. "I've always wondered how true that story is. The artist seems to have captured it perfectly. I can almost hear his anguish." Ken placed his pointed ear to the tapestry, closing his eyes as if listening.
Marcius said nothing, feeling awkward. He had the feeling the elf was doing this to see his reaction. A few moments passed before the elf, ostensibly just remembering his guest, straightened up and cleared his throat. "Ah, sorry, we elves sometimes get caught up in the ghosts of the past," he said wistfully, his mind obviously on other things, "Do tell me your master's name?"
"He goes by Antaigne." The elf's face washed over with a look of happiness. The smile he gave Marcius looked light, and he chuckled.
"Ah, the old dwarf is still alive! Good, good, I thought the fools from the Academy might have gotten him! No way can you be an agent of the King. The Academy goes to great lengths to hide the existence of rogue wizards. No doubt Rialan has no idea of half the unguilded magic users in his kingdom. Makes them look bad you see. Please do follow me!" He tapped lightly on the embroidery, and to Marcius's bewilderment, the colors swirled until they formed a hole, through which the elf stepped lightly. Hesitating, Marcius followed. There was a tingling feeling that made the hairs on his neck stand at end as he stepped through.
The room was dark. There was the slight chill of cold stone in the air and the ground felt of a dampness that even penetrated the confines of his leather traveling boots. As soon as he entered, the portal behind him closed, bathing them in darkness. He felt an oppressive weight on his chest, robbing him of breath. Marcius was just starting to feel alarm when he heard the elf clap sharply with his hands. Four massive torches flamed to life, flooding the room with an orange glow. Marcius gasped, the room was filled with magic paraphernalia and it was rather large, much bigger than the outside of the house.
From spell components to enchanted weapons, the air practically hummed from the concentration of magic. The pressure on his chest must be from the sheer amount of energy in this room. He started to feel light headed, swaying, and he had to feel for the wall behind him to steady himself. This did not go unnoticed by the dutiful elf. "I'm sorry, those attuned to magic can feel. . . overwhelmed. . . by this room at first. Don't worry, it'll pass shortly," the elf said, confirming Marcius's theory.
He was surprised to find the elf right, he was already getting his bearings back, but the nature of the room still dumbfounded him. "Ken," said Marcius, rolling the new name uncomfortably around his tongue, "What do you need all of this magic for? You've enough for a small army of wizards here!"
Ken beamed with pride. "Well, I am a supplier of magical items and components, but mostly I am the middle man." The elf must have seen the look of bewilderment that crossed Marcius's features. "I smuggle many things in for various people. Business is booming with the war up north," he elaborated.
"I thought the war was between elves and Morlians. Why would you sell to both sides?"
"I was exiled about a century ago. Not that I care, money is money," the elf remarked offhandedly. Though, Marcius thought he detected a note of hostility in his voice.
"Anyway, what is it that you need? I owe Antaigne a big favor, so I am willing to, within reason of course, give you what you need free of charge."
This bit of information would have shocked Marcius, but given the revelations that he was discovering that since put on this task, he found that he wasn't that surprised. Reaching under his cloak, he pulled out the now well worn and creased scroll, handing it over to the waiting elf. Ken's face scrunched up as he read, making him seem like he smelled a particularly bad odor, an observation that made Marcius smirk.
Ken gave Marcius an appraising look, as if seeing him truly for the first time. "These are familiar items, well, the part that you still need I mean, judging by the other things you crossed off. Well, except the ale and apples of course. Getting the apprentice to do a bit of shopping for himself it would seem." He gave a small flick at the paper with his index finger and a resigned shrug, then turned around and started rummaging through a pile of bottles on a shelf in the corner.
"So. . . no, not medusa coils. . . how long have you been an apprentice to the. . . no, that's not it. . . wizard?" the elf asked distractedly.
"A few years. I've not had much uninterrupted time, had to stagger it out at one week of training per month. Mostly because it wouldn't be a good idea to let on I was studying magic to the nosy nobles and such."
"Ahhh. . . of course of course." Ken placed a vial of crimson liquid to the side as he spoke; it glowed with an ominous fluorescent radiance. "So how is Lian doing?"
"Ummm. . . he's fine, enjoying the challenge of trading." Inspiration struck Marcius. Here was a chance to learn a bit about his father's past, a subject Lian had always kept a bit quiet about. "So. . . how do you know my father?"
Ken gave him the look that keenly suggested that Marcius had just asked a stupid question. "Shouldn't it be obvious, you of all people should know, right?" He gave a small jolt at Marcius's dumbfounded look "Well, if you don't know, I'll assume Lian has a good reason for not telling you. You'll not pry it from my lips. I am old enough to meddle not in the affairs of others." A look of triumph appeared on the elf's face as he pulled out a small wooden box. Nondescript carvings were etched along its surface.
"Ah, here it is!" he said with a small flourish. "Phoenix feathers, very rare mind you, not easy to get a phoenix in the first place, even rarer to get to one of their nests for the feathers!" He set the box down, and after pulling out another even smaller box, he opened up the first container. A bright red light filled the room. Marcius had to shield his eyes at the speed at which the brightness had struck hurt his eyes. He saw spots dancing in front of him. Then the illumination disappeared, swallowed up by the smaller container.
"Oh sorry about that, always forget how fragile you humans are. Anyway, here is your minotaur blood and phoenix plumes." He pushed the two containers into Marcius's arms, and then went to shift through another cabinet. Marcius stuffed the containers into the pockets of his cloak, both of them uncomfortable lumps in the fabric. "Feel free to look around, it might take me a bit to find the tears and sacred ash. I suggest no touching though, no telling what may happen."
Marcius decided to take him up on the offer, curiosity was eating away at him. Using the light from the torches to guide him, he warily stalked his way around the room. There was a whole corner devoted to armor and weapons that drew his attention first. Jeweled scabbards and polished suits of armor gleamed at him from every direction; swords, spears, and countless other weapons littered the ground more or less haphazardly.
Looking meekly at the elf, who was still preoccupied by his search, Marcius determined to pick up one of the weapons, a silver long sword with a large ruby encrusted in the hilt. It was deposited next to a sinister looking dagger that had an engraved wooden snake for a handle. The eyes were glittering blue sapphires, twinkling ever so gently as the cut edges caught the orange aura of the torches.
The blade was thin, extending out about four feet. Curved imperceptibly at the end. In the torch light he could see that an attractive woman was imprinted into the swords edge, flowing along the breadth like a supple river. He was amazed to find how light it was, his hand fit the handle perfectly, and even though he was no expert, it felt flawlessly balanced, like an extension of his own body. He gave a mock swing at an imaginary foe, the sword let out a low ringing noise as it cut through the air and the exceptionally sharp looking edge gave off a dim white glow.
"Ah, the sword of Aslar, the Storm King. Good choice for your first breaking of my stipulations." The elf's soft voice startled Marcius, causing the sword to slip from his grip. He stared as the sword dropped noiselessly onto the cold stone floor up to its hilt, like a knife through butter, a metal reverberation rang throughout quiet room. "I must insist that you cease any further rule breaking; if you had picked up that dagger over there, for example, you would no longer have a soul for a familiar. The demon trapped within has a rather voracious appetite."
Marcius gave a nervous look at what he could only assume was the aforementioned dagger. The sapphire eyes of the serpent handle now seemed to gleam hungrily at the elf's words, as if daring Marcius to go against the elf's instructions and pick it up as he had the sword. "Please put the sword back, and remember what I told you: don't touch anything. I would not want your death on my hands, especially since you are an apprentice to Antaigne. Would be most troublesome." Marcius gave a nod, feeling silly when he realized Ken could not see him, as the elf had never turned around during the whole exchange. He was still moving the various components that were in the cabinet, mumbling occasionally at something he found before delving through the contents once more.
The sword slipped out of the hard stone as easily as it entered. It was completely unharmed. Marcius shakily laid it down in its previous resting place. Admonished, he walked to the other side of the room, as far away from the dagger and sword as he could.