Marcius outlined the entire encounter, leaving no detail unsaid, including the proposition put forth by the dwarf. He concluded the story from when he left the wizard snoozing in his cottage. "Ah, I knew this was going to happen, Marc." Lian gave a sigh, "Do you want to be a wizard? Though I started the training, I want you to know you could end it anytime you want. And have you considered all the complications that it entails?"
"Well, Father, no doubt there are things I have not considered," Marcius took a deep breath, "but I can't really see myself following your ways. I feel as if I need to aspire to be something more than a merchant, something not mundane as a typical trade skill. I want to see the world at some point, to see with my own eyes that which I have only read about. I really enjoy the time I spend with Antaigne, despite his habit of using his staff as a means of teaching. And magic is as interesting to me as managing a ship is for you." Lian gave a whimsical smile, the one he always gave when Marcius spoke of that. His eyes would always haze and become unfocused, as if he was reliving something.
"Ah speaking of staff, I almost forgot this. . . " Lian shook himself back to the present and bent over to pull out his walking stick. Before Marcius could react, there was a new bump on his head.
Marcius jumped up to his feet in indignation. "Hey! What was that for-. . . lemme guess, Master Antaigne told you to give me a smart rap on the head for leaving so fast?"
"Aye, and what Master Antaigne says, it is best to do!" Lian chuckled and clapped his son on the shoulder, guiding him to the door. "Well, I have faith in you. I give you my blessing in this matter. Just carve a path for yourself, whatever the road that you decide, and I will be proud. Now, excuse me, I've the figures to this season's shipment to work out." He indicated his desk, which was full of reports. The look in his eye indicated, however, the reports were the last thing on his mind.
Giving his father an awkward hug, Marcius excused himself, shutting the door gently as to not disturb the now busy merchant. Rubbing throbbing lump on his head, Marcius gave a slight grimace as he made his way to his room.
The hallway was dimly lit, and the curtains were drawn about the windows. Marcius had to feel his way around his room until he happened upon the half-used candle that made its home on his dresser. Fumbling, he lit it with a simple can-trip and set it down.
First order of business was to change his clothing. He realized halfway through changing that he still had Antaigne's scroll clenched firmly in his hands. After he set it down on the dresser, he decided to hazard a glance behind the curtains. The midday sun practically blinded his sleep deprived eyes. With a sigh, he wrote a note asking Lars to wake him up early in the morning and stuck it on a peg next to the outside of his door. Yawning, he puffed out the candle and flopped down in his bed. It took very little time for sleep to claim him.
❧ ❧ ❧
A dark shape chased Marcius down a narrow corridor, and he could feel the shaking under his feet as it closed in. The searing heat of flames scorched his cloak as he rounded a corner, just scarcely ahead of the labored breathing of the creature as it threatened to overcome him.
The shaking was closer now and he could hear the scrapping of sharp claws on the worn stone floor. Marcius dodged between two pillars, but the ground gave a violent shudder, knocking Marcius off his feet. He found himself staring at a temple statue of the goddess Avalene, and her stone eyes bored into him, as if asking for help. He reached up toward her face, but as if in response, the statue shattered into a thousand pieces, blasting him with dust.
The statue's head landed in front of him, rolling over to stare into Marcius's eyes. In the settling dust, the creature roared. Marcius could make out a deadly mouth full of bristling ivory teeth, and ridges framing cold reptilian eyes. A muscular scaled arm came into view, sporting a hand with razor claws that gripped the side of the statue's base, the fingers flexing as the emerald green eyes scrutinized the now prone Marcius. The rest of the form came into view, scales the color of bronze lined the body like sturdy chain mail.
Unlike the drawings he had seen in books, this creature had no wings. Though it looked far more agile, far more real than the drawings. There was dignity here, and Marcius watched the tail whip back and forth. He was unable to do anything, barely daring to breath.
So this is how I will die, he thought. Strangely, considering the circumstances, he found himself comparing the beast to a cat ready to pounce, which would make him the mouse.
Surprisingly fast for something so big, the dragon was above him, its talons gripping his shoulders tenderly. Its mouth opened up and Marcius could see bursts of flame flickering within the depths of its throat, preparing to roast the flesh from his bones. "Get up Master Marcius!" the dragon hissed. Marcius blinked.
What?
"Get up, Master Marcius!" the green eyes bored into his, voice barely a whisper. Thin trails of smoke escaped the flaring nostrils with every word. The beast started to shake him. Marcius felt his bones being jarred in his body. It was reaching the point where his physical form wouldn't be able to withstand it much longer.
"Master!"
Marcius opened his eyes. Sunlight streamed in the room and Lars was an outline above him. His mouth was dry and a rather unpleasing taste was present. Overall, it wasn't one of his better mornings, and the presence of Lars shaking him did little to rectify that. "Alright, Lars, I'm up. Now get off me!" The butler bowed and hurriedly exited the room, not wanting to be around someone who had just woken up so irritable.
Yawning, Marcius stood up and picked up the scroll from the dresser, rubbing his eyes to clear the last vestiges of sleep from them as he broke the wax seal and unfurled the paper. He recognized the neat, overly inked handwriting belonging to Antaigne. As Marcius skimmed the list, it became apparent he should make a basic plan of action for the next day or two.
He glanced outside. It looked to be about noon, judging by the position of sun, so he was already behind. He also made a mental note to talk to Lars about the definition of the term 'wake me up early.'
#2 vial of sacred ash
3 phoenix plumes
Gryphon tears
A vial of Minotaur blood
Several cut logs of wood
Half dozen crab apples
2 jugs of dwarfish stout
A host
A clove of Ministera
Root of Fortune's Bane
P.S. If you be having a hard time with finding the materials, look for the elf on Cobble Street. I hear he deals a bit with such things, despite your town's habit for being stupid.
Marcius read the note several times, still not totally believing it. There was someone within the town that had magical ingredients? It boggled the mind. Even more so when one factored in the prejudice that magic generally had, especially around this town. He ran through a mental list and believed he knew where he could get everything else.
He used the hot bath Lars prepared as a reprieve from all the heavy thoughts and self doubts he had concerning this magic business. Marcius stayed in until the water had lost its warmth, and he shivered as he scampered over to the dresser.
Marcius threw on a dark pair of trousers, rummaging around until he located his favorite red silk shirt. He finished it all off with his black traveling cloak. Looking in the mirror he saw a lanky youth with gray eyes, his muddy brown hair was in customary defiant manner. He tried to imagine himself in wizard robes. With a derisive grin he made his way downstairs.
Clarissa was already up, as usual, and this time a piping hot slice of venison with a dash of gravy and herbs awaited him. The enticing smell already playing havoc with his stomach. There were fresh rolls on the table as well, accompanied by a cool pitcher of grape wine. Pouring himself a glass, Marcius sat down to eat.
"A've Master Marc!" Clarissa said in their customary greeting, "Someone came to see you during your slumber."
"Oh?" He couldn't think of anyone that would want to see him so early.
"She was a most pretty young thing. She asked to speak specifically to you. When shall I make the wedding cake?" Clarissa teased, a demure smile played across her face.
Marcius sighed, "Truth be told Clarissa, if it is who I think it is, her personality does not match her looks.
Clarissa frowned, but didn't say anything else. It was one of those meals that one wished lasted longer, but before long he was mopping up the last of the gravy with a bread roll. He thought about how he'd managed to stay alive before Clarissa started cooking at the household. He decided it wasn't a very pleasant thought. Lars was a good butler, but a terrible cook.
"Well, she did leave a note, Master. I received her, since Lars was waking a certain grumpy person up." The tall butler happened to be walking by, and at the mention of his name, he came in and gave a flashy bow. He also quickly sampled the venison that was cooling on the counter, drawing a frown from the cook. With a slight bow that indicated he wasn't sorry at all, he beat a hasty retreat before Clarissa could react. "Well! I swear the older he gets, the fewer manners he has!"
Laughing, Marcius stood up. "Note?" he inquired as he wiped the food from his lips with the back of his hand. Clarissa absently reached in the folds of her dress and pulled out a lavender slip of paper. Handing it to Marcius, she continued to fuss over the supposedly ruined haunch of venison. He unfolded the paper carefully, and he couldn't help but notice a familiar perfume scent, his knees wobbling at the memories it induced.