A Dead God's Tear(39)

"So, my friend, care to finish up what we were discussing before we ran into these. . . complications?" he asked conversationally after they spent a few minutes within the mysterious confines of the maze.

"Ah, well, truth be told, I'd rather just formally pen up a request for what I have in mind. I just wanted to present the idea to you myself. You know, get your expert opinion and such. Make sure I wasn't chasing dragon feathers," Dentaige responded brightly, though Denician noticed that the older wizard seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact.

He is lying, came the mental voice of Yhgolanic, the feeling of distaste lacing the familiar's words. He's not even good at it, the drake added with an offended huff.

He agreed with his familiar's observation, but decided not the press the issue. Most likely the only reason the older wizard even sought him out today was to convince him to agree to the project before he officially requested the go ahead, which no doubt meant leaving out certain crucial things that he knew Denician wouldn't like.

Denician was patient though. As the Headmaster, all things eventually had to go through him, so he could afford to sit back and wait in a lot of cases. Still, he made a mental note to keep a close eye on this nubile project, and that was only if he even gave permission at the end of all this word play. He was not above taking back promises when it concerned the safety of the Academy's members and charter rules.

It did irk him though. Dentaige was the last wizard he expected to act like this. He considered the wizard as one of the few members of the Academy who wasn't overly ambitious, instead, content with his station in life. Dentaige lived for his projects and research, the drama and backstabbing typical to the Academy was beneath him. Even if this particular project would have been a bit risky, most likely Denician would have given the go ahead because he trusted the wizard. To have him try and use subterfuge and roundabout ways to get what he wanted. . . well that worried Denician all the more. Was it because it was far more dangerous than he let on, or did ambition finally find a chink in Dentaige's armor?

Whatever it was, lying didn't fit the personality of Dentaige at all.

The rest of the time spent working through the maze passed by relatively painlessly, and small chat dominated the conversation between the pair as they followed the necklace's instructions. Dentaige was in the middle of a particularly amusing story concerning a first year apprentice and a botched growth spell when they found themselves at the exit to the room, staring at a large, well burnished oak door, and thanks to the pendants, they both knew it was the hallway leading to his office.

"Well, Dentaige, it certainly was an invigorating conversation. I do expect for you to finish that story later, but as for now, time is short so I must take leave. Thanks for the company, old friend."

"Not a problem, Headmaster. It was an honor. I will draw up a proposition on my idea today as well. It'll be on your desk come the morning," he responded, taking out his own pendant for the trip back.

Denician nodded. They briskly shook hands and he then left the wizard to find his own way back, feeling guilty at doing so. Navigating that maze alone would be such a chore. He walked hurriedly through the thankfully normal hallway to where he knew lay his office, the heels of his boots clicking loudly on the now brown stained tiles.

He paused before the mirror situated over his office door. Denician didn't consider himself an overly vain man, but that didn't stop him from being critical of the image presented within the reflected depths.

Light blue eyes sat within a rugged face, though lines of stress and dark circles under the eyes could be seen marring the edges, testament to someone who maintained two important, often conflicting, positions of leadership. He wore his black hair short, in the traditional militaristic cut of the Morlian army, though he did allow the brief shadow of a beard to grace his face. Try as he might, he could never get it to come out uniformly, always cutting the ragged excuse for facial hair off, only to stubbornly try again.

Denician didn't look anything like someone in his late thirties, instead coming off as a slightly worn younger man, a fact he attributed to his attire. He always preferred bright robes, awash with expensive blues and reds, ornately cut and of the finest fabric, such as the ones he wore now. It also did wonders to hide the fact that unlike most wizards, Denician was rather muscular from a life on the road, which certainly didn't do well for making him look like a venerable Headmaster, though recent years had indeed added a bit of flab to his frame.

Taking a weathered hand, he smoothed over some imaginary wrinkles on his robes, then thinking about who waited for him within his office, he also realigned a few wayward strands of hair, feeling ridiculous at doing so the entire time. What would someone think if they walked in on the Headmaster fussing over his looks like some adolescent child? He snorted at the thought. Having finished, he gave one last glance over the image in the mirror; it was satisfactory.
     
 

     

You look fine. Stop preening yourself like a worried hen. His familiar cut in, sarcastic as usual.

I am not 'preening' myself. I merely wish to present the best possible image to our guest.

The large drake coughed audibly in his head, to no doubt show his master what he thought of that idea. Whatever, you could walk in after wallowing in the mud like a fatted pig and she would still like you as you were. She's smitten, and you're blind. A perfect match. You'd both be much better off if you dropped the pretense.

Yhgol. . . he responded warningly, anger starting to flare.

I know, I know. Keep my nose out of it!

He decided to ignore the drake, letting the anger at the words slowly ebb away. Everyone was a little self-conscious, so it wasn't too big of a deal. At least that's what he told himself to relieve the sting of the observant familiar's words. Now that he was done up proper, he could finally turn his attention to getting into his office.

Denician never locked the door to his office. What normal locks could keep out a wizard anyway? The only locks on the rich redwood door were ones of common sense, and if that failed, the exploding wards and other traps placed beyond the portal would be more than enough to deter the ones woefully lacking wisdom.

It did make getting into the room a bit troublesome though.

Delving into the nether, he attentively reached out to the runes and glyphs that adorned the edges of the door, ones that he himself had drawn and empowered. The symbols recognized the touch of their maker, the energy patterns were unique after all, and allowed themselves to be shutoff, making the door once again safe to pass through. He breathed a great sigh, for though it wasn't feasible, he always entertained the notion of what would happen if they didn't recognize him. There were no absolutes in the realm of magic. It was enough to make him cautious; picturing their splayed remains on the floor and wall usually did that to people, if not more.

Still, it didn't compare to the nervousness he felt now that the path was clear. There were butterflies fluttering about in his stomach, something the powerful wizard was not used to feeling. He steeled himself, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. The words of Yhgolanic resurfaced in the back of his head at the posturing. The contradictory part of Denician bristled at the memory, causing him to stride forth suddenly though the door, full to the brim with confidence he didn't have.

The study was a moderate room, crammed full of far more things than it was designed to hold. Books and scrolls stole every inch of the wall and surrounding book cases, spilling over to form large piles of written knowledge upon the floor. Everything else was covered with the various knick-knacks and gifts one would expect from a Headmaster of a wizard institution. Staves, wands, and bottles of ingredients shared what little space was left, among stranger objects, such as the Minotaur horn standing alone among the papers like a lost child. A single desk, simple in design, stood proudly in the middle, the last remaining semblance of order amongst the chaos that had consumed the rest of the room.

He had always meant to clean and arrange it, but life and station had other plans for him and his time. He often pondered shirking the duty off to some unlucky apprentice, but just couldn't bring himself to trust someone in his room, touching his things. Denician took some comfort in the fact that it was at least organized into piles, instead of flopping about randomly. He always managed to find what he was looking for, and that was enough, wasn't it? Though it did make him feel a tad embarrassed during certain visits from guests, such as the present.

A large red brick fireplace took residence in the corner, near the only window. The fireplace was magically enchanted of course, and already the woodless flame was alive, filling the space with just the right amount of heat to make it comfortable. An old coat of arms was hung above it, a shining silver knight rearing up on a majestic mount surrounded by flowery wreaths. It was a relic left behind by the previous Headmaster, something which Denician had never cared enough to remove.

In front of the fireplace floated the owner of the voice that made one of the most powerful wizards in Faelon shiver in both dread and anticipation. The emotions so similar in his addled mind that it was hard to tell the difference.

Most people would have thought it a ghost, and for its part, it did indeed look like one. The form was obviously of a lithe and graceful young woman, standing a mere half-head shorter than the six-foot Denician. The body took on a muffled white hue, with just the slightest hints of silver amongst the translucent image presented. Long strands of wispy, waist length hair, just as pale and white as the rest of the body, flowed behind her as she closed the distance between the two of them, walking right through the desk as she did so.