Any who open this volume will know me. By deed, by reputation. If not, there exist volumes in ever burgeoning number, those set down by me and those claimed by others. What exists in these pages is a different kind of memoir. I have been advised by those closest to me, who you will meet in these pages, to set these stories down. Years will never best me, but they will take my memory, cover it in the cobwebs of the ages, and then to seal it away among the curios of ages.
This is a chronicle of a different kind of adventure than those other volumes detail. One as deadly, with opponents of exceptional cunning and skill, with narrow escapes and bold gambits. In short, a carnal adventure. I will start at the beginning and set down, to the best of my recollection, what I was thinking and feeling at the time. A guide to those missing spaces in the better-known chronicles. If my story sometimes wanders, I beg for your largesse. When a wizard asks for a favor, it is best to humor him.
The life of a wizard had to be better than whatever was planned for me by accident of birth. That's what I told myself countless times during my apprenticeship, and no one ever told me any differently. Certainly not Old Rhadoviel. He was an ornery old prick, five hundred years old if he was a day. Trained countless apprentices in those years, and whatever fatherly warmth an old wizard was expected to have had become as cold as granite after a winter's storm by the time he set eyes on me.
Only reason he agreed to train me was even Old Rhadoviel wouldn't ignore the one sacred law. When he heard of a baby being watched over in his crib by a night eft, he was bound to teach me to harness the power that burned in my marrow. For if he didn't, I would be a menace to all lands, civilized and savage. I don't remember my parents, outside of a few images here and there, and even those might be fabrications, attempts by my mind to comfort me. My reality was, for the first twenty years of my life, Rhadoviel's tower, Thunderhead, and the surrounding environs.
Thunderhead loomed on a promontory overlooking the sea, the cliff plunging a hundred feet to a rocky, wave-lashed beach. Rhadoviel keeps the apex lit with magical flame, he says to be of service as a lighthouse. I know the truth is more that he wants to minimize the chance of talking to anyone and a shipwreck is bound to provoke conversation. We're about a league up the coast from the fishing town of Burley Shoal, where a young wizard can obtain anything from fish to a slightly different kind of fish. Sometimes I think the reason he adopted me was less to respect the sacred law and more to have someone fetch supplies. Food, water, your occasional orc's eye or troll's toe, if a passing adventurer happened to sell one of those. I wasn't to dally too much, but I was young then and seized on any chance to interact with someone who wasn't a cranky old coot.
On the day in question, the only one where this story could begin, I was taking our mule Hob into Burley Shoals, hoping someone had caught a dogfish or a tuna and I wouldn't have to try to make a yet another semi-palatable dinner of anchovies. Despite it being half my diet, I hadn't developed my taste for fish yet, and truth be told, it wasn't really fish I warmed up to. I'm already getting ahead of myself. Excuse me.
My familiar Oddrin, that night eft who had appeared at my crib, was wrapped around my neck, nestled in the hood of my cloak. Thanks to the eyes like lanterns and his glow spots down his flank, he wasn't exactly hidden. Later, I learned to use that to make me appear more impressive. At the time, I had very little control over how anyone perceived me. That is a trick for an older man.
As I walked onto the muddy roads of Burley Shoal, I got my share of looks. I was, after all, a wizard's apprentice. Not much happened in our little corner of the world. Thanks to the forces that pull them from their towers, wizards are generally considered ill omens. An apprentice wouldn't necessarily herald a war or a dark lord rising, but a provincial fisherman might think we would be behind a poor catch or a hole in a boat.
As always with these trips, I was looking forward to seeing Bridda, the baker's daughter. I had eyes for her, though in that I was hardly unique. She was the prettiest girl in the village. We were both of marriageable age finally, and I was foolish enough to think I was a possible suitor.
After picking up ten pounds of smoked fish and three barrels of beer, I went to the bakery for our bread, my heart light. But she was nowhere to be seen. Galfrid, her father, handed over the loaves in exchange for Rhadoviel's copper. "Where's Bridda?" I asked, trying to be as nonchalant as I could.
He sighed as weary as I'd ever heard him. "She's over at the tavern.
Adventurers
are passing through."
"Adventurers? From where?"
"East or south. Perhaps north or west. Who knows? Only good thing about adventurers is their gold. Once they spend it, best they leave. Misfortune follows them like a curse."
"I've never seen an adventurer."
"You'll be one. Only job there is for a young wizard. Good day to you and your master." This last was a dismissal. Galfrid might tolerate me, but in his eyes I was a proto-adventurer, and thus a proto-annoyance.
I almost went home. That's what I was supposed to do. But I didn't. I wanted to see the adventurers. I also wanted to see Bridda. Six of one.
The tavern in Burley Shoals is one floor. Its two rooms, a kitchen and a common room, carried the scent of beer and stew baked into their very boards. It's the only building in town I'd ever been to that was consistently warm, thanks to the fire always blazing merrily in the hearth. Hells, it's warmer in there than most of Thunderhead. Couldn't speak to the hayloft in the stables, which is where any travelers would sleep.
The adventurers took up the corner, and had attracted quite a throng. One of them was holding court, a man with soft features and a narrow mustache, a rapier on his hip and a sparkle in his eye. He was dressed flamboyantly in reds, oranges, and yellows, like he was trying to be a flame. He wore a lute on his back and he was telling the story of how the group had recently had slain a family of trolls who had been killing locals. Bridda gazed up at him lovingly from her place by his side, and I couldn't tell if I should be angry or crestfallen. I settled on both. Oddrin, always much more open about his feelings than me, uttered a hiss.
I forced myself to look at the bard's companions. A blonde woman in enameled plate and a tabard with the sunburst of Umione leaned on a heavy warhammer. She watched the bard with weary tolerance. A man with shaggy hair and chainmail grinned and drank. A broadsword and shield on his back left no doubt as to his role in the group. A dark woman in a robe sat nearby, drinking and watching her bard. A slender woman in a costume of leather was barely paying attention, using a dagger to clean her nails. She was watching everyone in the tavern without looking like she was, and her attention fell on me, noting that I was noting her. I looked away.
"And what is this? You never said this town had a wizard."
I blinked and realized the bard's eyes were on me. He was approaching, an arrogant smirk on his face. "I'm no wizard," I said. "Just an apprentice."
"
Apprentice
," the bard said, as though the word itself was a joke.
"Rhadoviel's tower isn't far," said the dark woman in a bored voice.
"Thank you, Lavinia," the bard said. "Old Rhadoviel. He your master?"
"Yes, sir," I said. Bridda was watching the both of us now.
"Suppose that means you know a few tricks, no? Wizard like you?"
"Leave him alone Mallathar," the blonde woman said.
"But we're without a wizard," Mallathar the bard said. "Aren't we, Ulrika? Can't afford to ignore talent in the wild. So how about it, apprentice? Want to show us something?"
The bulk of my knowledge was mostly parlor tricks, the kinds of useful little things wizards use to make our days a little easier. Cleaning up, drying off, that sort of thing. But I did have one or two stronger spells in my grimoire. Using them would exhaust me, but admitting defeat in front of this man would never happen. Not with Bridda's attention on me.
"Scared?" the bard taunted.
"Come now," said the shaggy-haired man.
"Give him a chance, Brennan." He turned back to me. "Well? Let's see it."
I became acutely aware that the woman in leather was staring at me. Her gaze had weight. I was reminded of a cat sizing up a mouse, deciding what to do with a potential plaything. "You don't have a wizard? What about her? Lavinia."
"Lavinia's a witch," the bard said. "Useful, but not a wizard."
"Thanks," Lavinia said, downing her drink. "Barmaid, another!"
"It's all right," Mallathar said. "If you're frightened, this conversation can end. It's not as if we need a wizard."
"Very well. What do you want to see?" I said, knowing I'd fallen for his veiled challenge, but in that moment, not caring.
"Your best spell. There's an orc facing you down, what do you do?"
I nodded, and with a gesture, I created the effect I wanted. A knock sounded at the door. "Open up! King's guard!" Heads turned to it.
Mallathar burst into laughter. "That? That's it? A little illusion?"
I was still concentrating because what Mallathar didn't know was that I hadn't cast one cantrip but two. Lavinia's full mug of ale levitated off the table. She was about to protest, but the woman in leather put a hand on her arm to silence her.
"I'm sorry, everyone. When I said I wanted a wizard--"
The mug upended, dumping beer over his head. The bar was silent. Mallathar's friends burst into laughter and soon the townsfolk followed suit. Mallathar's eyes blazed for a second, and then softened. He laughed too, clapping me on the shoulder.
"Now that
is
a good trick. Sit down, apprentice. You have a name?"
"Belromanazar."
"Barmaid, a drink for Belromanazar!" Mallathar threw a gold crown on the table. The barmaid swept it up and bit. I stayed with the adventurers for a time, drinking and listening to their tales. At some point in the evening Bridda left and I scarcely noticed. Each introduced themself to me. I found out the leather-clad woman's name was Black Mira, and was their specialist in traps and the like. What I noticed more was how the leather costume hugged her lithe body. With all of the buckles, it was hard not to think about loosening one and peeling her out of it. Granted, I had no idea what to do with a woman once peeled. My furtive imaginings, prompted by some fairly racy tapestries Rhadoviel kept, were enough.
Eventually, they made their offer. It was Ulrika who broached it. "We need a wizard. You need to practice your skills. There's a barrow not two leagues from here. We're going to clear it out, but it would be easier with you than without."
"And we plan to keep what we find," Mira said.
Ulrika rolled her eyes. "A share of treasure, that's what we're offering. A fair share."
"I don't know if I can," I said. I don't know if my master..."
"Don't lay this at his feet. If you don't want to come, don't. But don't make an excuse of him," Mallathar said.
"Live a little," said Black Mira.
I found myself unable to disappoint the rogue. "When are you leaving?"
