Book I - The Magician's Boy (Chapter 2)

That night as he lay in his place on the tent floor, his mind was working in overdrive. All the sensations of the place, the spices in the air, the night sounds of men sleeping, animals moving their feet, vagrants stumbling along the Road. It was an overwhelming truth, knowing how the kingdom breathed at night. Erich’s legs twitched, and he shook them. They were restless. He had an urge to get up, push himself out of the hole and just start running. Where he went, it didn’t matter. When he stopped, it would be the start of his new life. Life away from Krutt. Only it wouldn’t work that way, and he knew it. The gods knew it would be easier for him to escape for good if there wasn’t a brand on his cheek. He would receive no shelter or food from anyone, no one wanted to be caught harboring a man’s slave – and those who had lived long enough would recognize the coin brand’s origin, and return him to Krutt. On the other end, Erich was certain it wouldn’t really matter whether or not he was branded on the face or not. For he believed his master when he was told that Krutt would stop at nothing to retrieve him, and then would kill him for his disloyalty. Once he’d wondered, why would he go to so much trouble to get me back just so he could kill me? He needs me, or else he wouldn’t care. The only other possibility was that his master had been making empty threats, but in his nine years with the man, Erich knew that in reality it was not a possibilty at all. Krutt kept his promises, all of them. It didn’t matter how lofty or small, he kept his word. He has his own reasons, Erich thought, and shivered.

But to get up, step outside and breathe the night air, stand and watch the stalls and feel the rhythm of the kingdom’s respiration? It wouldn’t be much of a risk, but Erich knew that it wasn’t worth it, not after the scolding he’d gotten the night before. Might be more than a scolding this time, whipping most likely. For Krutt was a man who slept lightly and had an uncanny knowledge of what Erich was doing at each moment, and he was a jealous keeper. What are you keeping me for? What purpose am I to fulfil?

He heard footsteps then, distinct and slight. Each step with purpose, and yet purposefully quiet. He listened to it for several moments noting its perfect rhythm before realizing the sound was becoming louder. Whoever it was who walked at this time of night was headed toward his tent. Erich sat up slowly, his heart thumping in his chest. Maybe he was mistaken, the walker would just pass his tent by without stopping, or it would visit one of the neighbor’s stalls. But no, the sound became steadily louder, and something inside him told Erich that there was no mistake.

He was right. As the footsteps slowed, and finally came to a stop three feet from where his head was, Erich could not think straight. Someone’s come to kill me, I have nothing to defend myself. He looked desperately at Krutt, thinking that maybe he should awaken the man.

But it was no blade that cut through the tent wall. It was a woman’s voice, beautiful and whispered, the words she spoke sweetened by the Hathan accent she afforded.

“Magician’s boy.”

It was not a question. This woman, whoever she may be, obviously knew enough about him to know that he’d be awake and laying on this side of the tent. He’d been watched. Erich didn’t answer.

“Meet me tomorrow, when the sun touches the castle’s tip for the second time. I’ll be at the gates. You must come, to see what more you could have. You’ll find a way.”

She was gone, and if he had heard her footsteps as they faded into the night, he didn’t remember. He was thinking, and even with her gone his heart beat with the tempo of a Market Fair drummer’s sticks. Someone knew who he was, and wanted to help him. He looked over at Krutt, and thanked the gods the man had not awoken at the woman’s voice.

Was it possible? That he could be rescued from this man? Erich didn’t know. It was possible the woman had set a trap for him, possible even that Krutt had hired her to prove the boy’s loyalty to him. Still, in the boy’s mind he had no choice. He would find a way to be at the castle gates at dusk the next day. He would find the woman with the sweet voice, and he would hear what she had to say. Whatever he decided would be decided then.

And the magician’s boy lay in the dark, blinking through blackness, and soon through the barest light, as the first red rays struck the tent. He’d never been more excited to see the sun rise.

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