The Third Apprentice (13 page)

Spotting his pack on a stack of crates, Zamna
said, “Those are my things!” He ran forward to grab his bag, noticing some
silver coins on the table as well. Slipping those into his pocket, he said, “I
think I’ve earned these.”

“Let’s get out of here before more of them show
up,” Taren suggested.

“Just one more thing,” Zamna said. “They’re mining
Boohria in here.”

Taren was aware of the potent, hallucinogenic
effects of the drug. It was also highly addictive. Finding a steady supply of
Boohria would make a criminal very rich, but their customers would die quickly.
The drug was toxic in large amounts, and the users required more and more to
feel the same euphoric effects. The only way to stay in business was to ensure
a steady supply of new customers. “Where is the stash?” Taren asked. The
kindest thing he could do was destroy it.

“Follow me,” Zamna said, heading down one of the
darkened passages. Stacked neatly inside burlap sacks were large chunks of
unrefined Boohria.

“This stuff burns hot,” Taren said. “Get ready to
run.” Reaching into his magical stores, he focused his energy to fire.
Extending his hands toward the sacks, he unleashed a beam of red magic. “Run!”
he shouted.

The pair turned to flee as the room behind them
erupted in red flames. The cave walls rang out with thunder as the pair
continued to run with all speed. Stumbling through the darkness, they finally
found their way to the exit. The sun had set while they were inside, and the
sky was filled with a soft orange glow. Pausing to catch their breath, both men
leaned heavily on their hands, watching smoke belch out of the cave.

“I didn’t expect you to come for me,” Zamna
admitted. He laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder and smiled. “Thank you, my
friend.”

Taren smiled back. That was the first time the
La’kertan had referred to him as a friend. “You’d have done the same for me,”
he said. “Besides, I might need your help on the road ahead.” The two men
laughed and slapped each other on the back.

“Let’s get out of here,” Zamna suggested.

“Gladly,” Taren replied.

Taking once again to their feet, they headed
slightly east before turning south.

“How did you find me anyway?” Zamna finally asked.

“I had to trade some potions to the apothecary,”
Taren replied. “No one else knew where you had gone.” Pausing, he added,
“Either that or they weren’t willing to tell me.”

“I hope they weren’t expensive potions,” Zamna
said. “I might not be worth it if they were.”

Taren said nothing. In fact, they were the most
expensive potions he carried. A rejuvenation potion was a limiting factor in
the magic business. Their exorbitant cost was yet another deterrent from the
poor becoming fully trained mages. The man who could craft such potions was
destined to be rich, though that was not the reason Taren had chosen to pursue
the profession. It had come naturally to him, more natural than any other
school of magic. The potions could be replaced; his friend could not.

C
ontinuing their
southward journey, the travelers decided it was best not to attempt returning
to the city of Yilde. They were sure to be recognized as the men who had
destroyed the drug supply, thanks to Taren’s refusal to kill the brigands. They
would live on and easily be able to recognize him as the mage who had attacked
them. Zamna would no doubt be recognized as well, since he was the only
La’kertan for a thousand miles. Though he regretted not being able to obtain
supplies, Taren knew it was best to press on.

Before them
stretched an open plain of grass with a few trees positioned here and there.
The routes to the east seemed the most traveled, as they would eventually lead
to the ocean where visitors from other lands could enter with their wares. To
the south, the land appeared wild with no roads to follow or people to
encounter.

Two nights passed
before Zamna was ready to talk about what had happened in the caves. The pair
paused to rest beneath a cloudy sky. Taren produced a magical fire built only
with a few sticks and dried leaves. It was small but warm and provided much-needed
light on this dark night.

“I don’t remember
if I thanked you for saving my life back there,” Zamna said, breaking the
silence. He sat with his arms on his knees and stared into the fire.

Taren, who had been
chewing hungrily on a strip of dried beef, said, “You did thank me, and you’re
welcome.” He grinned at his companion. “All in a day’s work, I suppose.”

Zamna smirked. “I
never imagined you as the fighting type,” he said. “You really thought enough
of me to test yourself against an unknown number of opponents?”

“I had to at least
try,” Taren replied. “To tell the truth, I felt better when I found out that
the one calling himself a mage could conjure only rune traps. If he’d been a
master wizard, we could have been in real trouble.”

Zamna nodded and
continued to stare into the fire. Though he hadn’t known the mage long, he had
risked his life to save him. That was no small gesture in Zamna’s eyes. “You
are the truest friend I’ve ever had,” Zamna declared. In his life, he could count
on one hand the number of people he had considered friends. Of those, Taren was
the only one who would have risked it all to save his life. The others would
have walked away without a second thought. Taren was a different kind of
person. He was a true friend, and a man who could be trusted completely.

Taren smiled and
said, “I’m honored to be considered your friend. You came for me when the Sisters
caught me in their trap, and the least I could do was return the favor. I knew
this wouldn’t be an easy road when I agreed to journey south for my master, but
it’s been a better road with you along.”

Zamna rolled his
eyes. “Let’s not get too sentimental.” Hissing with laughter, he lay back on
his bedroll and turned his eyes to the sky.

By sunup they were
ready to move along. Their pace was steady and quick on the firm ground of the
grassy plain, but they were forced to walk at a slower pace. The ground
underfoot became damp and then soggy, and the grass concentrated itself in
random clumps between shallow pools of murky water.

“I think we’re in a
marshland,” Taren said. “This wasn’t on my map.”

“The Sisters mentioned
a curse on the land,” Zamna reminded him. “Maybe it’s changed since that map
was drawn.” He had heard about the swamp, and it wasn’t an area he had looked
forward to entering.

“I suppose so,”
Taren replied with disappointment. A desert had been bad enough, but at least
his feet had been dry. With his boots already soaked, and no escape from the
wetland in sight, he knew he was susceptible to developing a fungus. None of
his potions could treat such a problem. All he could hope was that there would
be plants along the way that would help.

Zamna removed his
shoes and put them in his pack. “Your feet will be just as wet whether they’re
in those boots or not,” he said. “You might as well take them off.”

“I might also step
on something sharp,” Taren replied. “I think I’ll wear them for now.”

With a shrug, Zamna
said, “Suit yourself.” He continued through the marsh, slowing his own pace to
match that of the mage.

After stumbling
repeatedly and landing on his backside a few times, Taren finally decided to
try taking his shoes off as well. They were soaked through and heavy, which
made his feet even clumsier in this uneven landscape. When he stood, he found
himself firmly planted on the ground, his toes sinking deep into the mud.
Walking was easier without the weight of his soggy boots, and he moved a bit
easier over the terrain.

Crossing the marsh remained
slow but steady throughout the day. When they stopped for the night, there was
no dry material to bolster a magical fire. Taren settled for tearing scraps
from Zamna’s desert robe and rolling it into a tight ball. He used more magic
than usual to create a hotter fire. All he could think about was getting warm
on this cold, wet night.

Sitting with his
legs extended, Taren put his feet near the fire, hoping the smoke would help
destroy any fungi he might have picked up. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out
a potion that was intended for cleansing wounds. Since it contained thyme
leaves, he hoped it would still have enough potency to work on fungus despite
their altered state. Trying what he had on hand was much better than letting
his toes rot off. Keeping them dry during their march would be impossible until
they made it to the other side of the marsh.

The next day
conditions became worse. There were fewer clumps of grass to stand on, and the
murky puddles were now more than ankle deep. The smell of the swamp was growing
stronger, and Taren felt nauseated from the fumes. Zamna didn’t seem to mind at
all. He went along as always, pausing occasionally to see if his friend had
fallen into a puddle.

The farther they
went, the more mosquitoes they encountered. Luckily, Zamna had a taste for
them, and his long tongue flicked in and out quick enough to catch four or five
of the insects at once. Normally, Taren would have been disgusted, but today he
was grateful for the assistance. The only thing that could have been better was
an army of La’kertans to eat every mosquito in the marsh. Taren found himself
scratching and complaining as they moved along.

As evening fell,
strange lights appeared over the marshland. The pair paused to observe them.
They blazed yellow in color, their pulses flashing intensely before fading out.
The lights moved eerily across the surface of the swamp, enticing the travelers
to follow.

“Bog lights,” Zamna
said.

Taren searched his
mind, realizing he had heard the term before. “We call them will-o’-the-wisps
where I come from,” he replied. “I’ve read about them, but I’ve never seen
them.”

“They can be
troublesome,” Zamna warned. “It’s best to ignore them.”

“I’ve read they can
be helpful at times,” Taren stated. “Some travelers report the lights leading
them away from danger rather than into it.”

Zamna looked at him
in disbelief. “I’ve never heard anything good about them. They must be different
in your land.”

Taren shrugged.
“It’s probably best to avoid them,” he agreed. These were magical beings of
unknown purpose. It would be unwise to follow them expecting to be led out of
the marsh.

The duo continued
southward, doing their best to ignore the lights. As they continued through the
swamp, the lights crept closer, eventually revealing themselves to the
travelers. Tiny winged fairies with sinister grins buzzed around them, diving
in close before zipping away. They had jagged, pointy teeth and thin wisps of
brown hair drawn tightly on top of their heads. Their wings were luminescent,
with yellow veins running through them.

They came so close
to his face that Zamna had to resist the urge to taste one. Certainly they
would be easy to catch, but he had never knowingly eaten a magical creature.
The threatening expression each fairy wore on its face was enough to make him
think twice. Though it would have been easy to swat them from the air, he chose
to continue his attempt to ignore them and focus his eyes on the land ahead.

Neither man
suggested stopping to rest for the night. Both were anxious to be out of the
marsh, or at least away from the menacing fairies. They moved along without
speaking, hoping each step would take them farther from the tiny pests, but
still the devils pursued.

They sloshed along
through the darkness with only the light of the fairies to illuminate their
path. A wave of exhaustion crept over Taren, buckling his knees from beneath
him. With a soft splash, he fell over on his side fast asleep. Zamna could only
watch as his friend teetered over. His arms felt too heavy to reach out and
help the mage. He soon followed suit, landing on his back on a patch of wet
grass.

The magic of the
fairies had forced the travelers into this unconscious state. While the two men
lay motionless on the ground, the winged creatures surrounded their forms, preparing
to sink their teeth into their victims’ hides. The La’kertan’s scales proved
too much of an obstacle for the impatient fairies, so they moved over to feast
on the human instead. They found him much more palatable, thanks to the magical
energy stored inside him. Greedily they drank from him until their bellies
could hold no more. Most of them flew away, leaving a faint trail of yellow
light behind them.

At dawn, Zamna came
to with the sound of buzzing in his ears. A single fairy still buzzed over
Taren’s sleeping form. Though still groggy, Zamna extended a hand and swatted
at the creature, forcing it away from his companion. It giggled softly before
flying away and disappearing somewhere over the marsh.

Placing a hand on
Taren’s shoulder, Zamna shook him gently. “Wake up,” he said. “We have to get
out of here before they come back.”

Taren awoke
confused and disoriented. When he attempted to sit up, he found himself too
drained to do so and flopped back onto the soggy ground.

“Easy,” Zamna said,
helping his friend sit up.

Taren sat wearily,
his head drooping loosely over his chest. Through his woozy vision, he observed
tiny bite marks on his hands. Pulling back his sleeves, he discovered that his
arms were covered in hundreds of tiny bites.

Zamna took notice
of the tooth marks as well. “They bit you?” he asked, confused. Looking at his
own arms, he saw no such marks. His scales had apparently been too tough for
the tiny monsters to penetrate.

“They drained my
magic,” Taren said, still in shock. “It’s the only explanation.”

“You’ll have to
take one of your potions, maybe two,” Zamna said. “We need to get moving. I
want out of this swamp before another night falls.” The words were meaningless
considering he had no idea how large the swamp actually was. Still, he was
determined to get moving and find his way out as quickly as possible.

Taren hesitated
when Zamna placed his pack before him. He feared wasting a rejuvenation potion
that he might need later. What if they were put in a more desperate situation?
Of course this situation was fairly desperate. He felt like he’d been run down
by a herd of wild horses, and he doubted he would be moving from this spot
soon. The fairies would undoubtedly return at dusk to sap the small amount of
energy he had recovered.

Zamna opened the
bag and pressed it against Taren’s chest. “Drink,” he said. “One of these has
to fix this.”

Reluctantly, Taren
reached into the bag and retrieved a rejuvenation potion. Being too weak to
down the whole thing at once, he slowly sipped at the contents. This one had a
fruity taste that was not unpleasant at all. He smiled to himself, knowing how
valuable this potion truly was. In minutes, he felt himself completely
recovered. With renewed vigor, he uncorked a vial of green liquid and rubbed
its contents over his skin. The tiny bite marks faded until they were nothing
more than a memory.

“Feel better?”
Zamna asked with concern.

Taren nodded. “I
just hope I don’t regret using that potion. I might need it later.”

“You wouldn’t be
much good the way you were,” Zamna replied. “At least now we can get moving.”

Taren rose to his
feet and situated his pack for the long march ahead. Zamna took a moment to get
his bearings before leading his companion southward.

“If we aren’t out
of here by night, we might have to fight those things,” Zamna stated. “I should
have eaten them last night before they had the chance to feast on you.”

Taren laughed. “I’m
not sure they would have stayed down. Who knows what those things might do to
your insides?”

Zamna wondered why
they had acted the way they did. “Do those things normally drain magic?”

“I don’t know, to
be honest,” Taren replied. “I’ve heard of them leading men to their deaths.
Perhaps they suck out all of their energy and leave them to die. I was lucky to
have potions with me.”

“Would your magic
recover without the potion?” Zamna asked.

“Eventually,” Taren
said. “It would take several days, though. Elves can recover spent magic much
faster.” Again he remembered his silly childhood dream of turning into an elf
to improve his magical abilities. Unfortunately, it would have required at
least a hundred years of intense study to achieve the rank of master had he
been an elf. As a human, he would be lucky to live that long. An elf’s training
was far different from his own. He shook his head, wondering if he would ever
forget such an idle dream.