Sorcerer's Shadow

"... Rise and shine, boss. Six Dragon warriors are here, all itching for a duel with you. Let's go! There's a Pardus hero at the door, inquiring about his daughter, you'd better rouse. Wake up, boss! The Great Sea of Chaos has just relocated to the adjacent bedroom, and it seems quite insistent that you enjoy a better vista. Time to awaken."

Being roused from sleep in the dead of night, tucked away in a musty storage closet, sandwiched in between desiccated galethna ribs and a vat of lard, while a sarcastic Vorgan is booming snide comments in your mind, is an experience I wouldn't recommend.

"Enough with your wisecracks, Opal."

I rose and stretched, unnecessarily fretting about the creaking of my joints. I fastened this, checked that. I moved to the door, and spent a few moments listening carefully to ensure no one was around. The door, still slick from the oil, opened with ease. I ventured down the hallway, took eighteen steps, oiled another door, and pushed it open.

I found myself at the rear of the kitchen. The morning cook was still a couple of hours away, and no guards were present. I navigated across the kitchen to locate the door I wanted. Apply oil, open door, proceed. Had the man been a tad less affluent, his doors would have been hung on leather hinges, which are simpler to handle. Or perhaps they would've been curtain-shrouded openings. Oil, open, move. First checkpoint.

This door led to the lower levels, where two Imperion guards were stationed along with magical alarms. The magic was basic and unpretentious; largely symbolic, and I had what the Left Hand of the Vorgan refers to as a "device," or what a Terran Sorcerer might call a "charm," to tackle it. The guards presented a more significant challenge. They were more or less facing my direction and, to my dismay, were alert.

I earn my livelihood by eliminating others; it's not an act I enjoy when it's not absolutely necessary. But occasionally, there's no other choice. I studied the guards posted there and tried to devise a way to bypass them without resorting to lethal force.

I was unsuccessful.

Some while back, I had been contracted to eliminate a certain loan shark who, it seemed, had been pilfering a bit more than his due from the earnings. His boss had been considerably irked and wanted me to "make a striking example out of the miscreant." The employer set up a rendezvous with the man in a bustling tavern during peak hours. However, the boss never turned up; instead, I showed up. As the target seated himself, I strode directly towards him, thrust a dagger into his left eye, and made my exit from the establishment.

One detail I recall is the ripple of shock that tailed me as I exited, as the tavern's occupants began to register the blood, the corpse, the incident. None of them could provide an accurate description of me, even though many had observed me. My point here is the element of surprise—the attack that comes entirely without any preamble. One instant, everything is tranquil, the next, a Terran is before you, blades shimmering.

I dragged the bodies of the guards into the kitchen to make them less conspicuous, then picked the lock and descended into the dungeon.

* * * *

I believe it was my grandfather who provided significant support when my father passed away. His methods were rather amusing. You see, I've always detested solitude, but my grandfather believed that, at fourteen, it was crucial for me to be self-sufficient, so he turned a blind eye to my subtle suggestions of moving in with him. Instead, he dedicated even more time to teaching me magic and fencing, to occupy my free hours.

And it did work. I transformed into a fairly decent Sorcerer, a formidable swordsman trained in the Terran style, and I learned to manage solitude.

I acquired many lessons during that period, but the wisdom of years was required to fully comprehend them. For instance, I realized that not being alone would require funds. I had none, nor a method to procure any (the inn I had inherited from my father barely sustained me), but the lesson imprinted itself for future reference.

I suppose practicing magic was the activity that offered the most benefits during that phase. I could perform tasks and witness the outcomes. At times, while engrossed in the peculiar trance that Sorcerers fall into when casting, I'd perceive the whole process as a symbol of my life, wondering if I'd ever manage to take charge of my existence and shape it to my desires.

Later, after recuperating from my attempt to extract salt from seawater, or some other equally constructive task, I'd grab my Malel and engage a few Cetans in a skirmish.

The other initiative my grandfather undertook was to ensure—as my father did—that I had a solid foundation in Imperion history. My grandfather found me a Terran tutor (and made me foot the bill too), who was proficient in these areas but also had knowledge of the history of Venorio, the Terran kingdom of my forefathers. I even picked up some of the language.

At times, I'd ponder the practicality of these subjects for my life, but that would lead to contemplating the broader scope of my life, a train of thought I preferred to avoid.

Well, it is what it is.

* * * *