The Third Apprentice Read online

  From his position in the brush, Zamna could see his companion being led inside the hut. He would not be able to hear anything that occurred, and that unsettled him. Daring to move closer to the village, he crept through the clearing and leaned his ear against the back of the hut. The sound inside was muffled, but he could make out most of the words. Unfortunately, he doubted he could intervene quickly enough should the situation turn violent. He would have to make his way to the front of the hut to gain entry, and there was little chance of doing so unnoticed. If he’d wanted to free his companion, he should have done it while still in the woods. Taren’s calm demeanor had convinced Zamna that he wasn’t in immediate danger. After all, those women could have killed him while he was caught in their trap. Instead, they had freed him and allowed him to walk alongside them to their village.

  The Matriarch reached both hands over the fire and gestured them in a circular motion. Sweeping her hands through the smoke, she lowered her head and drew the smoke over it. After repeating the process three times, she looked up and observed the young man standing before her. “You are a wizard,” she said, sensing his magical abilities. “What are you called?”

  “My name is Taren,” he replied.

  The Matriarch rose to her feet and approached him. “You may call me Ursla,” she said. “We are the Sisters of Gy’dan. Tell me why you have come here.”

  Taren wasn’t sure how much he should reveal, but if he wanted their help, it was probably best to be honest. “I was just passing through,” he began. “I am journeying south on a mission for my master.”

  “You are a servant?” Ursla asked.

  “Of sorts, I suppose. Student would be a better word for it.”

  Ursla pursed her lips tightly, dissatisfied with his explanation. “Where did you find this one?” she asked the women.

  “He was caught in our net trap about four miles west,” one of them said.

  “I have searched his bags,” the second woman said. “He has nothing except food and medicines.”

  “No weapons?” Ursla asked, tilting her head to the side.

  The other women shook their heads, and Taren smiled. “I wouldn’t be much good with it if you placed a weapon in my hands,” he said. “I’m an herbalist.” He saw no need to mention any of his other magical abilities. It was best to keep things simple.

  “You perform magic on herbs?” Ursla asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” he replied.

  Ursla came closer and inspected him with her eyes. “He is skinny, small,” she said. “The magic I sense in him is not a threat. This man may walk among our kind.”

  The two women bowed their heads, acknowledging the Matriarch’s decision. They turned and exited the hut, leaving Taren alone with Ursla.

  “Does that mean I’m welcome here?” he asked.

  “We will do you no harm,” she replied. “You may partake of our food and drink.”

  Taren took that as an invitation to make himself at home. “Since we are trusting each other, I should mention that I have a companion somewhere in the woods. I’m not sure where he’s gone. I haven’t seen him since I trapped myself in your net.”

  On hearing Taren’s words, Zamna decided it would be all right to reveal himself. These women were not quick to condemn a person, and they had easily accepted Taren into their village. He hoped they would do the same for him. Taking in a deep breath, he rose from his crouched position and proceeded to the front of the Matriarch’s hut. A red-haired woman spotted him and shouted to her sisters. A dozen of them quickly surrounded him, blocking his path of entry into the hut.

  Hearing the commotion outside, the Matriarch gestured for Taren to follow. She stepped outside and smiled at the sight of Zamna. “Is this your missing companion?” she asked Taren.

  “It is,” he said, his voice concerned. “Will they harm him?”

  “No,” she replied with a laugh. “They find him beautiful.”

  Zamna stood perfectly still, not bothering to hide his discomfort as the women ran their hands along his scales. One of them twirled a finger around the spikes adorning the sides of his head. They talked among themselves in hushed tones, smiling and nodding their heads.

  The Matriarch stepped forward, and the women backed away respectfully. “It is long since we have had a lizard man in our land,” she explained. “Many generations have passed. You are a creature of legend from our tales.”

  Zamna seemed less than flattered. “I’m no legend,” he stated. “I might be a rarity around here, but there are plenty of my kind to be found if you know where to look.” Being singled out as some mythical creature did not appeal to him. Never before had he been fawned over by women. Usually, those who were not of his race looked at him with either curiosity or repulsion, not affection. These women were openly flirtatious, and it was overwhelming. He much preferred to keep his distance from them.

  “You are a sly lizard man to sneak into our village unseen,” Ursla said.

  With a sigh, Zamna replied, “I am a La’kertan.” He objected to the term “lizard man,” as it lowered him to the same level as a subhuman beast. “My name is Zamna.”

  Ursla nodded approvingly. “Zamna and Taren will stay here and feast with us tonight,” she announced.

  The gathered women cheered. Taren was flattered by their response, taking it as a sign of friendship. He moved next to Zamna and smiled.

  “You should do a better job of watching where you’re going,” Zamna snapped.

  “If I hadn’t stumbled into their net, we’d have missed all this,” Taren said, indicating the village with his hand. “A tribe of women living within the forest who think you are some sort of god.” Grinning, he patted Zamna on his back.

  “They never said I was a god,” he replied. “They only said my kind were mentioned in their tales.”

  “I wonder where the men are,” Taren wondered aloud. “Surely they have males somewhere.”

  “Maybe they ate them,” Zamna replied with a wicked smile.

  The women busied themselves preparing the evening meal. A large stag was hoisted over a flame, and rounded cakes of dough were baked inside clay ovens. The smells filled the two men’s nostrils, and their stomachs rumbled in response. In a land with few visitors, they felt as if they were guests of honor at a feast. A woman with red stripes painted on her face brought them each a horn full of mead. She dared to give Zamna a quick kiss on his cheek before returning to her work.

  The sunset created a bright-orange hue that lit the sky ablaze. The scent of roasting meat had grown so strong that Taren wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait to eat. Luckily he wouldn’t have to wait much longer. The first star appeared in the sky, signaling the women that it was time to commence their evening meal. Along with their guests, they formed a circle around the bonfire at the center of the village. The priestess was given first choice of meat, and she invited her guests to join her.

  Taren filled his wooden plate with strips of venison and a second with a pile of fresh greens. Zamna followed suit, also requesting a refill of mead. The women were happy to oblige and filled his empty drinking horn to the brim. They sat upon log benches, enjoying the bountiful meal before them as the stars continued to appear in the sky.

  Ursla took a seat next to Taren, a bone covered with meat in her hand. “How do you find our hospitality?” she asked.

  Taren’s mouth was too full to respond, so he nodded his head instead. Ursla seemed pleased with his response and smiled before taking a few bites from her bone. There were many conversations taking place at once, and the mixing of voices filled the air. The noise died down as five women approached the fire and began to dance. They stomped their feet and waved their arms, telling a story that was unfamiliar to the travelers. The movements were graceful at times and harsh at others, conveying a range of emotions through dance. The low beating of a single drum kept time, and the audience remained quiet and still. When the dance concluded, the women stood in silence with their heads
bowed for a brief moment. After a suitable pause, the crowd applauded and whistled.

  Taren wondered if the women always danced alone. In his homeland, he had never seen such a dance. Men and women danced together at various functions, but he had never seen any dance that told a story. Turning to Ursla, he asked, “What story did they tell?”

  “It’s an ancient tale of wandering,” she replied. “My people traveled far to find this land. Many souls were lost along the way, but we have prospered since coming here.”

  He could contain his curiosity no longer. “Where are the men of your tribe?”

  “They live separately from us,” she said. “It works better that way. No fighting over mates. We hold a special feast once a year to join with them. We trade, mate, and share information at that time.”

  “I don’t see any children among you,” he remarked.

  “A child lives with his mother for two years before he is given to his father,” she explained. “The father teaches the child strength and hunting. After that, our daughters are free to rejoin us here. Boys remain with their fathers.”

  The custom seemed strange to Taren, but it seemed to work well for these people. He had no right to judge. His own upbringing had been atypical by human standards, and he felt he’d turned out well.

  “Now you can answer some questions for me,” Ursla said. “Travelers rarely come into this land. Where is it you are going?”

  Taren glanced at Zamna, who was still gnawing away at the meat. He seemed not to have heard the question. Hoping his companion had no objections, Taren decided to let the Matriarch know his true destination. “We are traveling south to the tomb of Ailwen,” he stated.

  Ursla stared at him in disbelief. At the mention of the ancient sorceress’s name, many of the women ceased their conversations and stared at him. Zamna had heard as well, waiting anxiously for a reply from the Matriarch.

  “Any information you could provide concerning the road ahead would be appreciated,” Taren said, hoping to fill the awkward silence.

  Ursla continued to stare. “That land is cursed,” she finally said.

  Zamna leaned in, whispering in the mage’s ear. “Careful what you say to them. We don’t know if they can be trusted.”

  “They’ve been kind and generous with us so far,” Taren replied quietly. “I see no reason to keep secrets.”

  Zamna sat back and said nothing. He hoped Taren was not making a mistake by divulging this information to the Sisters.

  “If any of you know how to get inside the tomb, I’m all ears,” Taren said nervously. “Perhaps the information is hidden in one of your tales.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. The crowd was still staring at him, and he could feel the redness creeping into his face.

  “That land is cursed,” Ursla repeated. “We have tales of Ailwen the Ancient. She is a being of pure evil.”

  “She was a being of evil,” Taren corrected. “She died centuries ago, so there’s little chance I’ll encounter her along the way.”

  “Her spirit remains,” Ursla said. “You must not go to that place. It is only death you will find there.”

  Zamna grew weary of the heavy conversation. Tossing his wooden plate to the ground, he said, “It’s riches I intend to find there. Death is an afterthought.”

  “Lizard man should not make fun,” Ursla scolded. “There is great evil in that tomb. You must not go.” Her warm brown eyes pleaded with Taren.

  “I must go,” he replied. “My master has given me a mission, and I must see it through.”

  “Then your master is a fool,” she spat. “He should have sent himself if he desires death.”

  “He desires life!” Taren argued. “There is an item there that can grant him eternal life!” Realizing he had said too much, he clamped his mouth shut. He had not even shared that information with Zamna, and in a moment of anger he had let the closely guarded secret slip.

  Ursla shook her head. “He has sent you to your death. There can be no escape once you enter the tomb.”

  Taren sighed. “So far, I don’t even know how to get inside. I may never even make it to the door.” That much was true. Would Zamna be angered that he hadn’t shared everything with him? If he had to travel alone, he would probably end up wandering in circles until he succumbed to the elements. He glanced at his companion, who was listening with interest.

  “A vast desert lies before you if you continue south,” Ursla explained. “It is a place of madness. If you manage to survive it, you will still be killed when you reach the tomb. No one returns from that place.” She hung her head, lamenting the loss of ancient people in tales handed down for generations. Most of the information was embellished, but those tales held a significance for her people. Seeing these men so determined to walk toward death saddened her.

  Taren took a deep breath. Hoping to ease her mind, he said, “I am willing to give my life for my master. He is dear to me, and I would do this for him. There is nothing that would please me more. It is my duty to journey south.” With confidence, he added, “I have already seen my share of death. I will return.”

  Ursla looked up at him, nodding once. “I understand,” she said. “We have no stories that will help you gain entrance to the tomb. All we can do is provide you with water and food for your journey. Tomorrow, I will see that you are blessed by our gods.”

  “Thank you,” Taren replied, grateful for her assistance. Though he had no use for the gods of his own land, he believed the gods of this land might prove more powerful. These women had made a home here in a forest unfit for habitation. Their gods must be doing something right.

  The women dispersed, each moving to their own huts to rest for the night. Ursla invited Zamna and Taren to sleep in her hut, while she preferred to sleep outside under the stars. As they entered the hut and sat upon the soft animal skins, Taren knew he would have to explain his reasons for keeping the symbol’s power a secret.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more about the item we’re seeking,” he began. “I thought if—”

  “No need to explain,” Zamna replied with a shrug. “I have my secrets, you have yours. All I ask is that you not withhold information that might get us killed.” He spread himself out on the furs, placing his arms behind his head.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Taren said. “Well, I didn’t at first, but I do now. You could have walked away when those women had me in their net. You didn’t. You came looking for me, and I believe you would have killed them all to stop them from harming me. I’ve never had a truer friend.”

  Zamna rolled his eyes. He wasn’t the sort to enjoy sentimental moments. “Look, you are my ticket to a vast treasure. Why would I let that go? Think nothing more of my actions than that.” In his life, he had few people he would consider a friend. In fact, he had none since leaving his childhood home. Perhaps Taren was a friend. He seemed likable enough, and he had yet to try selling him to one of his many enemies. It was quite possible this mage would have tried to save him, had he been the one caught in a trap instead. What good is friendship? Zamna had made it this far without a friend, and he didn’t need one now. The two men could be companions for this journey, but nothing more. Zamna enjoyed his solitary existence.

  Taren found it hard to believe that he meant nothing more to Zamna than a ticket to riches. From now on, he would be completely honest and keep nothing to himself. His companion had earned his trust and proved himself an honorable man. Taren lay back on the soft furs, his feet keeping warm near the flames. “I’ll ask Ursla to bless you as well,” he said. “Good night.” He drifted off to sleep feeling more secure than he had since leaving the safety of his master’s cabin. Despite the warnings he had received, he felt confidence in his mission and his own abilities to succeed where none had before.

  Chapter 7

  A rough hand awakened Taren at sunrise. One of the Sisters had come to rouse him and bring him to the morning ceremony. With a yawn and a stretch, Taren sat up in time to see the w
oman exiting the hut. She left the flap open, allowing the soft-pink sunlight of dawn to filter inside. Looking over at Zamna, who was curled up next to the fire, Taren smiled. For a hard-nosed killer, he certainly slept peacefully.

  “Zamna,” he called, remembering his past mistake. Never again would he lay hands on his companion to wake him. When the La’kertan did not stir, Taren called his name louder. “Zamna, it’s time to get up!”

  Zamna opened a single yellow eye and squinted it at the mage. He mumbled something inaudible and wrapped himself tighter in his fur blanket.

  Taren stood over him. “It’s time for the ceremony,” he said. “Get up. They’re expecting us.”

  With a loud groan, Zamna began to move. Finally he rose to his feet, walking groggily toward the door. The Sisters were already assembled, forming a close circle around the Matriarch. She wore an elaborate feathered headdress, and her face was mostly obscured by smoke. A low chant could barely be heard coming from the circle. Taren and Zamna approached slowly, not intending to interrupt the ceremony, which had apparently begun without them.

  Remaining on the sidelines, the men watched as the women began to move in a rhythmic pattern, linking their arms together. Their feet moved in unison, taking them in a clockwise direction. The chanting grew louder, and Ursla spun at the center. Raising her hands toward the rising sun, she cried out in a shrill, piercing voice. Taren and Zamna exchanged glances but remained silent. With a fluid move, Ursla placed herself flat on the ground, her arms still extending in the direction of the sun. The Sisters followed suit, prostrating themselves before the sunrise. They lay motionless for several moments, and Taren wondered if he should approach. As he was about to step forward, Zamna shot him a severe look and shook his head. Taren stayed put.