“Not unless he tries to feed himself the easy way,” she chided him. “Tell him before he gets on the road, at least; we want to give him a fighting chance of getting here alive.”
“Sometimes you take all the fun out of things,” Zhimosom said. “I do love training a new wizard, though. They can’t even imagine just how much they don’t know.”
“Not that you weren’t just as bad when you were first training,” she remarked.
“So do you have a map of the temple there in… What was the name of that place?” Rotiaqua got out of her chair and walked over to Zhimosom’s bookcase, looking for the tome that contained the maps of the temples. She found it underneath several other books, coated with dust.
She blew on the book and was immediately engulfed in a cloud of fine, dry dust. It was so thick, it choked her, and she sneezed. “You have to get a maid,” she remarked. “What happened to the last one you used to have? Is she still around?”
“I scared her off a while back. She still comes to clean and cook; she just won’t come in here any longer,” Zhimosom explained.
“What happened? She catch you performing a ritual in your all-together?”
“Don’t even ask,” Zhimosom said with a laugh. “You don’t want to know.”
He grabbed a small stack of books from the middle of the table and stood looking around for a moment before placing the stack on top of an already tottering pile. He steadied it with his hand until it stopped swaying.
Rotiaqua plopped the weighty tome onto the newly cleared spot and started thumbing through it. “Nyhagid, Javier, Mistbury.” She opened it, cracking the spine and pointing to the crude drawing of the temple.
“Here it is,” she said.
Zhimosom bent over the map, peering intently at the drawing. “Here is where they’re holding the boy,” he pointed to one of the inner rooms. “It’s a dorm room with a simple lock; no dungeon there. They’re a small temple, and there is only one priest there. The rest are laymen and servants.”
“A one-priest town. That should make things a lot simpler,” Rotiaqua remarked.
“Where is your new boy?” she asked.
Zhimosom traced the route from the stables to the temple. “Here is his route to get in,” he illustrated. “To get out, they need to exit here,” he pointed to the side entrance of the temple. “They need to continue down this street and get out of town as quickly as they can before the priest has a chance to call in the civil patrol.”
“It looks feasible, but it’s not a simple feat for such a fresh recruit. Can he really do this?”
“I think he can,” Zhimosom replied. “He has a lot to learn tonight. I’m afraid I won’t get much sleep teaching him.”
He waved his arm toward her empty chair, “You best be on your way. I’m sure you have lots of important work to attend to.”
“Certainly I do, but this is going to be fun. I almost wish I could help… or at least watch,” she said.
“No watching. You’d just be a distraction,” Zhimosom replied.
“To whom? To you, or the boy?”
“Both,” he replied, “now go.”
Rotiaqua took a seat in her ornate throne and waved the staff before her.
“Good luck with all of this,” she called before turning to mist and dissipating just as the others had, leaving Zhimosom alone in his study once more.
Zhimosom withdrew several small, strangely shaped objects from the various drawers and shelves scattered around his study. He placed them carefully on the table next to the open book showing a map of Mistbury Tye. He fidgeted with the placement of the objects until he was satisfied.
He reached into a drawer and withdrew a handful of freshly dipped candles. He lighted one and carefully dripped the liquid wax onto the table. He swiftly placed another candle butt end down into the hot liquid and held it in place until the wax hardened.
He repeated the process until all seven of the candles were carefully placed. He blew out the working candle and tossed it absently in the drawer then sat heavily down into his chair, pulling it close to the table.
He paused for several moments to collect his thoughts. He folded his hands and started mumbling. His murmuring took on a singsong quality. He slowly rocked back and forth as he uttered the incantation that would convey his image into the dreams of the young man he wished to contact.
He twitched his hands. The candles sprang to life with a flare only to subside to a normal flame. Slowly, a light gray mist rose from the floor, enveloping the table and the Master Wizard.
It was difficult to contact the boy. His power was weak and had barely awakened, and the priests had their ways of shielding the boy. Fortunately, it was not strong enough to prevent Zhimosom from making the lightest of contacts.
The image of the young boy materialized on the table amongst the candle flames. He was about fourteen summers in age, seated on the bed in a plain room without decorations. The boy looked frightened and alone.
“Don’t be afraid, young man, I am going to send someone to help you,” he assured the image.
The boy in the image peered straight ahead. Zhimosom knew the boy would be able to make out his face in the mist, but he also knew it wouldn’t be clear or sharp.
“Who are you?” the boy asked.
“I am Zhimosom,” the Wizard replied. “I’m going to send someone to help you. He will come to you in the morning. Be ready to leave when he contacts you.”
“Who are you?” the boy repeated. “Who’s coming to save me?” The image of the boy struggled as if sheer effort would clear the fog and present Zhimosom to him.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to send help,” Zhimosom told him. The mist faded and dispersed as he lost contact with the boy.
Zhimosom sat back and heaved a heavy sigh. He had not been sure that he would be able to contact the boy through the shielding the priest had on the temple, but it had been worth the effort.
Before he attempted to contact the second young man, Zhimosom needed to get something to eat. Wizardry was hungry work, and he was in for a long night. He extinguished the candles and pushed back from the table.
After a hearty meal, the wizard was well rested and ready for his night of training. He ambled back into his study and prepared for the long night ahead.
He resumed his seat at the table and pulled out a large book with a crude binding. There was writing only on those pages where he himself had written something. He pulled up his quill and ink and jotted down some notes before he tried to contact the boy. He needed to have all this fresh in his mind and ready to transfer to the young man or else the plan would fail.
He pulled the chair in and resumed his previous position. This time, when the candles flared, they emitted a much larger flame and took longer to settle down. The images of the young man from the night before appeared. The youth was in the same hay mow as the previous night, but this time he was asleep on his blanket.
“Wake up, son,” Zhimosom called to the image. Once again, he cast the spell of paralysis on the youth so he wouldn’t startle or cry out and bring someone to investigate. He waved his hands as the young man came awake, and raised him into a sitting position.
“What do you want?” Lorit asked.
“I need your help,” Zhimosom replied. “I need you to rescue the young boy that the priests captured yesterday.”
“Me? How can I do that? I’m running form that priest, too.”
“I believe you can do this,” Zhimosom assured him. “I can show you a few things that will help you.” He waved his hands in the air in illustration.
“Why do you need me?” Lorit asked. “What can I do?”
“You can sneak into the temple and help the boy escape. Do this, and lead him here to us.”
“Are you sure you want me? I’m no wizard.”
“You were wizard enough last evening,” Zhimosom answered. “You can do this; all you have to do is learn how to shield yourself from the guards. You can confuse the mind of the guards and walk in and out of the temple as you please.”
The wizard shook his finger in the air in warning, “You can NOT confuse the mind of the priest, so stay away from him.” He hoped he'd established enough fear to keep the boy safe, but not enough to scare him away from the task.
“How will I do that?” Lorit asked.
“Remember the shield I showed you last evening to guard your conjuration? It will be much like that, but you will have to carry it with you as you go.”
Zhimosom waved his hands and a semitransparent version of the fencing they’d practiced before appeared. “Make it transparent, like glass, something you can see through.” The image turned to glass and glimmered with the refracted light. “Try it,” he encouraged.
The young man closed his eyes. Zhimosom could see the fence surround him. It stabilized and started to turn clear, then suddenly shattered and fell to the hay in a shower of diamond shards.
“What happened?” Lorit asked.
“I think that was pretty good for a first try. Try to keep the structure in mind when you change it to transparent. You changed the structure along with the image, and it shattered under its own weight.”
Once more the fence appeared. This time it slowly turned translucent until it was almost as clear as glass. Once again, it exploded into a flurry of shards.
“That was better,” Zhimosom encouraged him. “Keep at it, you’re almost there.”
“This is hard work,” Lorit complained. “How does this work, anyway?”
“The shield creates a wall around you. By making it clear, it guides the light around you as well. The solid fence is good for keeping your conjuration secret, but you would not be able to see where you were going. It would hide you, but it would also blind you.”
They practiced for a long time, with Lorit improving with each successive try. On several occasions, Zhimosom had to remind him that he was just beginning his training but that he was doing well.
Eventually, the candles had burned all the way down to the table, and the young man had all the knowledge that he could absorb in one night. Zhimosom hoped it would be enough.
Zhimosom relaxed and sat back, satisfied with his attempt. As the image of Lorit started to fade, he called out one last warning, “Don’t eat the food you’ve conjured.”
The sun was just about to rise. The study took form as daylight started to chase away the darkness of the night.
“Mudray!” the Wizard called. “I’m famished. Is breakfast ready?”
Zhimosom headed for the kitchen, hoping his housekeeper was ready with breakfast. Performing magic with the young wizard had drained him almost as much as if he were young and just coming into his powers.
He shook his head. He was not getting any younger and taking on a new trainee was going to tax him tremendously.
Lorit stirred from his night’s training. He was even more tired than the night before, and ravenously hungry. He fished in his pack for something to eat and pulled out the apple he’d conjured the previous night. It was still firm and fresh. Why had the Wizard counseled him not to eat it?
He placed it on the blanket before him and found the bread he’d conjured. He added some of the hard white cheese Shyenn packed for him and had himself a hearty breakfast. As he repacked his belongings and prepared to leave, a hunger like he’d never felt before hit him so suddenly it was like a physical blow.
He almost collapsed from weakness. He rummaged in his pack and drew out the partially eaten loaf of bread he’d conjured. The sight of it gnawed at him. The Wizard’s warning about eating food he had conjured came flooding back to his mind. He cast the loaf away and grabbed for the food his mother packed for him. He tore into it as if he’d gone several days without eating.
As he ate, his hunger gradually abated. After he’d consumed almost two days rations, he started to feel normal again. Maybe he should have heeded the Wizard’s admonition. He wondered what else he would run into that the Wizard had neglected to tell him about.
He carefully made his way down the ladder and out of the stable. He shouldered his pack and followed the map he’d memorized during his session with the Wizard.
This time the wizard had been much clearer. Lorit saw him sitting in his study, behind a stout table that was littered with odds and ends that Lorit didn't recognize. Lorit felt as if he sat within the circle of candles on that table while he conversed with Zhimosom and learned his lessons.
He followed the alleyways and streets until he neared the temple of Ran. It was just dawn and would soon be time for Morning Prayers. The priest would come out on the balcony and cry out to the townsfolk, calling them to Morning Prayers. Not all of the townsfolk observed the prayers. Many of them would carry on with their labors, buying, selling, and otherwise living their daily lives untouched by the priest. Fortunately for Lorit, there was only one priest in Mistbury Tye. He would not have to worry about running into the priest while he was in the temple.
The temple was a solid block building with decorative windows dotting the exterior walls. The tri-pane glass of the windows formed the upper arch with split panes beneath. The stained glass depicted a benevolent smiling priest. They were opaque, to prevent the outsiders from observing the interior of the temple. The heart of the temple was reserved for the devout.
The more devout the faith, the deeper into the temple mysteries you were allowed, or so Lorit had been told. He’d never been inside the temple. He hadn’t seen much of Mistbury Tye before, and he certainly was not a believer.
As he approached the door, a guard stepped in his path. He wore polished copper armor atop a black cloak with red trim. He held his shield low as if he’d grown weary of holding it at guard. He raised the shield when Lorit approached and positioned his staff to block the doorway.
“What are you doing here, gutter rat?” he demanded. “This is reserved for the devout, and you don’t look like a believer.”
“I just want to see,” Lorit implored. “Maybe I’ll become a believer if you just let me in.”
The guard shook his spear at Lorit. “Get away! We don’t want your kind here, believer or not.” He shook his shield this time. “Go on, get out!”