Apprentice Read online

  He had sent some of his own apprentices under disguise to the city of Bren, where Castle Norvind was located. He wished to find out as much as he could about Gawain. A direct approach would not work, as he had found out from Devrin's apprentices—Gawain would not raise a finger to save Devrin and had his messengers turned away at the door. If Thaugmir wanted Gawain's help then he would have to get his attention in another, more subtle way. Salvation presented itself in the form of some interesting news that his spies had chanced upon.

  Apparently, Gawain was looking for an apprentice.

  For many mages, an apprentice was the extension of one's own self. It was every mage's desire that they teach an apprentice who would one day surpass his master's strength and build upon his legacy. It was this desire that led Thaugmir to choose Lorian and train him in the first place.

  Thaugmir had to do some more digging to verify this information. It was common knowledge that Gawain's successor would be a young woman named Rhaen who had apprenticed at Norvind for many years. She was a reasonably accomplished mage who had been tutored directly by Gawain and had quite a few famous deeds to her own name. There were several other well-known mages at Norvind, some whose strength could even rival Thaugmir's. So why would Gawain need another apprentice? He didn't know or particularly care for the reason, but this fact would be useful in saving his life.

  The solution was simple. Lorian would be the coin with which Thaugmir would purchase his release. It was definitely a gamble, since Lorian was free to leave of his own accord if he found out that Gawain desired him as an apprentice. That Gawain would desire to teach him was not in question at all. The problem was in showing Gawain that Thaugmir was doing him a favor—one that needed to be returned. That would be the hard part, but he was sure it could be done. This way, Thaugmir would be free of the sword hanging over his head and Lorian would be leaving, firmly establishing Thaugmir as master of the Shadow Spire.

  Smiling to himself, Thaugmir noted that once Lorian had learned enough about the Lumen, perhaps several years from now, he would be able to approach him for a barter of information. Thaugmir had been nothing but kind to him. Lorian even looked upon him as a father. He noticed how the child would yearn for Thaugmir's approval and brighten at the smallest compliment from him. Things could work out very nicely indeed.

  He hadn't yet put the proposal to Lorian, but he was sure the boy would accept. Thaugmir knew his share of power-hungry mages. In fact, he had been among such a group when they attacked Norvind, but Lorian's desire was something else entirely. If the boy put his mind to something, he didn't rest until he accomplished it.

  It wasn't that he had a natural talent for magic, but the fact that he still worked harder than those around him who were less gifted that had made him stand out in the Shadow Spire. Thaugmir knew it had something to do with the strange essences in his village. He had confirmed that they weren't demonic, but as much as he tried, Thaugmir couldn't even guess what kind of creature it belonged to.

  "Are the suppressing runes in place?" asked Thaugmir, snapping out of his reverie.

  Lorian nodded. Gawain would be arriving soon.

  "And the—"

  "Yes, Master," laughed Lorian, cutting his question short. "Everything is in place. I checked every single rune myself. Twice."

  Gawain would surely not try and start another battle, but it never hurt to be prepared. Especially considering their last encounter. The real reason for the extensive preparations, however, was a show of power. Gawain had to know that he was not asking him out of weakness, begging as Devrin's apprentices had done. He had to show that his decision to offer the apprentice was that of an equal—not a man pushed to desperation. He was, however, a little shocked that Gawain had accepted his invitation so readily without any questions.

  "Is it true, Master?" asked Lorian. "What they say about the keeper Gawain?"

  "What exactly do they say?" asked Thaugmir, feigning curiosity. He had experienced firsthand what the old mage was capable of.

  "That he is nearly a thousand years old? That he is the closest thing we have to a god in all the known lands?"

  Thaugmir was a little annoyed that his own apprentice held such high opinion of a rival mage. It was true that Gawain was incredibly powerful. Thaugmir himself had wondered if the man wasn't a godchild at the very least after surviving the battle with him. But he was sure the truth was that Gawain was only well learned—very well learned. But since Lorian would be due to join him anyway, it wouldn't hurt to bolster this opinion.

  "There is an inkling of truth in that. Gawain is wise beyond comprehension, even for a mage. He is an example to all of us—the living proof of how much more there is to learn."

  Lorian was staring down into the shanties of the town that lined the walls of the Shadow Spire. Thaugmir continued.

  "There are some who I would say are equal to him in power. The Council of Three in the Aegean Isles for one—they've never lost a battle yet. There's also the Imperial Talon—the mage school serving the Eoran emperor. The school boasts a few mages who are said to rival Gawain in strength. Rumors speak of a new school coming into prominence in the northern tundra—mages forged in the war against Namoth—ones capable of holding their own against the arch-demon's hordes. But yes, Gawain does stand above most of them."

  Lorian looked thoughtful. Thaugmir's pride, however, demanded that he speak his mind.

  "That isn't to say he cannot be surpassed. It is only the knowledge of the Lumen that sets him apart from the rest of us," continued Thaugmir.

  "How much do you know about the Lumen?" asked Lorian. Thaugmir saw a chance to sow some seeds here.

  "I wouldn't know where to begin, my child. I would suppose that any knowledge of it can only be found in the libraries of Norvind. And the only person I know of who can use it is Gawain...perhaps some of the more prominent mages from Norvind. Maybe even a few who are still apprenticed there..." he finished, watching Lorian's face for any reaction. The face was too childlike and vibrant to notice one single emotion thought Thaugmir. The one thing evident in his face, however, was excitement.

  "How was it when you fought him, Master?" he asked. Here Thaugmir did not need to lie. His recollections of the battle still sent shivers through his body.

  "Like we were hammering a block of steel with our bare hands," he said. "For all our effort, we might as well have been flies buzzing around a mammoth once he unleashed the Lumen."

  Lorian was still looking intently at him.

  "You could say it was like standing against a god," admitted Thaugmir, the words escaping his mouth involuntarily.

  They stood in silence for some time. More apprentices had come to join them, their work now done. None of them truly knew why Thaugmir had invited Gawain. Some of them speculated that Thaugmir wished to fight him again. Thaugmir had been quick to put those rumors to rest. The embarrassing story of Valymar's folly was widely known. The last thing he wanted was his apprentices panicking and deserting him. Besides, if his plan worked, he would need a new successor.

  He counted a dozen on the terrace. In all there were thirty-six apprentices in the massive tower. It wasn't large enough to be called a school. The Imperial Talon boasted numbers in excess of five hundred. But the apprentices at the spire got by well for such a small group. There were magical constructs for cleaning and the apprentices took turns cooking. Thaugmir had tried employing servants from the town below, but all of them quit barely a few days into the job. Those without magical ability found the tower extremely intimidating.

  The sun had risen and the little town below had slowly begun to bustle. With all the people walking around, there was no way to directly see Gawain approaching. The wards recently put in place made it so that Gawain would not be able to teleport in, so he would have to walk. He was feeling for Gawain in the air, as he knew all his apprentices were. A mage of Gawain's stature would exude magic and would create patterns that trained mages could recognize. Unless Gawain intentionally cloak
ed the discharge.

  "He's here!" said Lorian, suddenly excited.

  The other apprentices were unsure and looked at each other and at Thaugmir in turn. Thaugmir felt nothing, until a few seconds later when he too could feel Gawain's approach. Lorian would indeed grow to be formidable, he thought silently.

  "What are you waiting for?" he said, turning to the apprentices. Some of them were now beginning to feel Gawain's approach as well.

  "Prepare to receive him."

  Chapter 2

  Gawain was a man who looked nothing like he was often made out to be. His garb consisted of a plain brown robe with a ragged hood that he often didn't wear because it was too large and obscured his sight. In contrast, mages who held only a fraction of the power that Gawain possessed wore resplendent robes adorned with their 'sigils.' Each sigil was unique to a school and they were woven into the robes in such a way that only other mages could recognize them, or non-mages who knew what to look for. The mages of Norvind, specifically Gawain, had never chosen a sigil. After all, the Lumen marked them in a way no sigil ever could.

  The only thing ornate about his appearance was the staff that he carried. It was made up of the black bark of a rare tree that grew only in the jungles of Holt. People often made the mistake of thinking that the staff was the source of his connection to the Lumen. There had also been attempts to steal it a few times under that misconception. The simple truth, however, was that it was the symbol of his position as keeper of Norvind and its only purpose was to connect him to the castle. It was of little use outside the castle or in a fight. Except to support him while walking, he thought silently, muttering a curse at Thaugmir for being so cautious. Normally he could have teleported into the Shadow Spire. Even with its regular wards up, Gawain could have found a way to break in. But today Thaugmir had taken exceptional care.

  Gawain lacked nothing as a mage. He knew that there was little on this plane of existence that could match the Lumen for sheer power. Yet in all his knowledge, over several hundred years of practicing magic, he knew one thing for certain: there was no end to learning.

  It was mainly out of curiosity that Gawain had accepted Thaugmir's invitation. The Shadow Spire and Castle Norvind were the only two structures in southern Ryga that had come through unscathed from Naxannor's war. The arch-demon finally met its end at Azanar thanks to the mysterious Red Paladin. But the fact that Naxannor had left the spire alone, while destroying everything around it, was one of the reasons Gawain was interested in the tower.

  The other was Thaugmir himself. Gawain had been surprised to know that the Lumen hadn't already killed Thaugmir, whom he had picked over that fool Devrin to bear the brunt of his final spell. By all rights Thaugmir should have been dead within a few years of that battle. Yet he seemed to be unaffected, even a hundred years since that day. Thirty years ago, when Naxannor had been awakened, Gawain had a fleeting suspicion that Thaugmir's life was done. The respect Gawain had for the tower had grown tenfold after hearing the news that it, like his own Castle Norvind, had survived Naxannor's passage. And that Thaugmir, once again, had cheated death. Thus, it was to see this magnificent tower that Gawain had made the painful trip.

  He knew Thaugmir's intentions. The idiot had probably felt the after effects of the Lumen just as Devrin had. Devrin's apprentices had approached Gawain carrying baskets of gold and magical artifacts, promising that much more would follow. Gawain hadn't even let them inside Norvind. His apprentices were directed to turn away anyone representing Devrin. If Thaugmir wished to be cured, he was in for disappointment.

  Gawain stopped walking and stretched his back, leaning on the staff. He felt his old bones creak. Eight hundred and eighty-five years was a long time. Even for the keeper of Castle Norvind. Only the first keeper, Iothen, had lived longer than him. He could choose to live a few hundred years more, but he was already weakening.

  He had been at the prime of his power when Valymar and the other fools disturbed the peace at Norvind. "Serves them right," he muttered, cursing all the aggressors. He had utterly destroyed them, but the victory was not as perfect as had become legend. They were after all thirteen of the strongest mages in the known lands and their attacks had taken a toll on Gawain. If Thaugmir and Devrin had not fled, Gawain would have barely won the battle. If the Council of Three wasn't so busy with its own affairs in Aegis, and even one of them had joined in the assault, Gawain would have been done for. Even the fabled Lumen had its limits.

  In the end, Valymar and his twelve didn't get the Lumen, but they had succeeded in knocking a few hundred years off of Gawain's lifespan. Among the attackers had been a bright young mage named Astrid—he cursed her name twice. Gawain would have chosen her to be his apprentice and would have taught her the Lumen if she had been patient enough. Instead she threw her lot in with Valymar and ended his hopes as well as hers. Raw talent such as hers was a very rare thing. Gawain still regretted not doing more to prevent her from going down a ruinous path.

  Magically lengthening a life was against the course of nature and was not to be overdone. Mortals were meant to be mortals. Gawain needed to find an apprentice soon. The apprentices he had at Norvind were good. A few were as good as Valymar and his twelve. Rhaen, especially, was exceptional, but she, impossibly, didn't wish to be keeper of the castle. None of them, however, were gifted in the sense that he was looking for.

  Unfortunately, most mages who began studying under him were already very well accomplished in their own schools and too set in their ways to fully commit to the inhuman toll that mastering the Lumen would take. He needed someone younger, whom he could shape to be the next keeper.

  He was still musing on it when he reached the borders of the town. The sun had risen and the small town was coming to life before his eyes. It had not occurred to him to get a gift while visiting Thaugmir.

  May as well, he thought, stopping to buy a jar of wine from a stall outside a tavern. The woman in charge had just finished laying out her wares. She served him almost wordlessly, taking care to avoid his eyes. Gawain picked the most expensive jar. He was sure Thaugmir would have much more exotic wines—ones he would have had brought over from Eora—but it was his custom to bring a gift when he visited another man's house. It would have to do, he thought, paying the woman. She made to busy herself when Gawain thanked her. Her behavior, although respectful, seemed to indicate she wanted the mage gone as soon as possible. The reaction wasn't surprising. Most 'common' folk mistrusted magic. Gawain was used to it and was well past trying to correct that notion.

  He was almost at the massive door that served as the only entrance to the tower. When he had first teleported, he could feel electricity radiating from the spire. This close, he came to understand that the spire was indeed powerful. It was calling to him much like Norvind did. He also noticed a certain familiarity. A pattern. In all his years, how had he or any of his predecessors missed this? With a hint of sadness, he noted that Thaugmir might never be open minded enough to truly appreciate the tower's magnificence. He also felt an imagined groan coming from the tower, as if it agreed with him.

  He would need to examine the tower more closely. Perhaps he would let Thaugmir think he was going to help him and ask to inspect the tower closely and cast a few spells himself. Disingenuous. But a coward like Thaugmir deserved nothing better. Gawain would lose no sleep over deceiving him.

  The door in front of him contained Thaugmir's sigil branded into it—the tower's sigil: an arc of lightning shaped in a spiral. Before his hand could reach the knocker, the door opened. An attractive young woman wearing robes bearing the same sigil greeted him. The 'young' woman would be about seventy years old, thought Gawain. One of the yet unsolved wonders of casting magical spells was the un-natural delay it caused in the aging process.

  "Welcome, Master Gawain. Please make yourself at home," she said, bowing low as was customary in Eora. No one in Ryga or the Aegean Isles was accustomed to bowing. At least not the way the people of Eora were. Far richer than
Ryga and the Aegean Isles combined, its people were well-fed, happy, complacent and proud. They retained their customs even when they were in other nations.

  "Greetings, my dear," replied Gawain, wearing a smile. Two apprentices stood behind her. Gawain could feel that they were weaker in comparison, but his attempts to more precisely gauge their powers were foiled. Thaugmir had prepared the tower against his magic quite well.

  "This way, Master," she said, turning to guide Gawain toward the staircase. Gawain was completely ignoring the physical features of the tower, instead focusing on the magic radiating inside. It was almost like a haze. The tower was just as alive as Norvind and its walls were speaking to him. Absorbing the flurry of images the tower tried to project, Gawain walked behind the girl. They stepped onto a platform that began floating in the air and connected them to a corridor a few meters higher. Following the girl, Gawain stepped inside and saw Thaugmir standing, flanked by two of his apprentices.

  "Welcome to the Shadow Spire, Master Gawain," said Thaugmir. Gawain did not miss the emphasis on the word 'Master'. At least he was pretending to be humble. Gawain calmed his instinctive urge to lash out at the man with his magic. The last image Gawain had of Thaugmir was of the man laughing as he released a column of fire towards his wounded body. It was before Gawain had let the Lumen flood him…

  "Greetings, Thaugmir," Gawain replied, forcing a smile. He handed the jar of wine to Thaugmir.

  "Ah, you didn't need to bring anything, Master," said Thaugmir shaking his head. "Many thanks. I shall have my apprentices serve it to us."

  Take the jar, damn you, thought Gawain, feeling its weight as he held it in his extended hands.

  "It is customary in Bren to bring a present when visiting an old friend," he said. The effect of the word 'friend' had not been missed on Thaugmir, who winced at it.