The Third Apprentice Page 12

  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.

  Chapter 13

  Continuing 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 ba
g, 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.

  “I don’t plan to stick around for days if I can avoid it,” Zamna declared. “It’s best that you used that potion. If we do have to fight them tonight, you’ll have your full strength.”

  To their relief, they encountered no more fairies as they passed through the swamp. It would be two more days before the land began to dry out and they found themselves on firm ground for a change. The grass here was thick and deep green, thanks to the minerals it collected from the nearby bog. The smell, however, did not leave their nostrils. The stench of rotting vegetation and whatever else might be hiding in the swamp still wafted through the air. The pair found themselves still anxious to put distance between themselves and the marsh.

  Another day of travel brought them within sight of a lake. As they drew closer, Taren could see it was not filled with water. Instead, it held a putrid, yellow-green liquid that smelled worse than the bog ever had. Clamping his hand over his nose and mouth, he fought back the urge to retch.

  Zamna was not immune to the stench. “What is this place?” he asked, fearing his companion would not have the answer. “Is this on your map?”

  Taren pulled the map out of his bag. “It’s called The Rotting Lake,” he said. “I guess we know why.” Putting the map away, he once again covered his nose and mouth with his hand to block out the disgusting smell. “The faster we can cross, the faster we can get away from the smell,” Taren said through his fingers. The true question was, how would they get across the lake? There were no boats or docks nearby, which meant no one was crossing this lake on a regular basis. Assuming anyone lived in this area, it wasn’t surprising they would stay far away from the lake.