Sorcerer's Shadow

* * * *

Here's a fun activity to try if the mood ever strikes you. Engage an Imperion who doesn't have a violent disposition in a conversation about magic. Observe the scornful twist of his lip at the mention of magic. Then, bring up the numerology involved in spellcasting. Discuss how some spells require two black candles and a single white one, while others require two white ones and no black. Talk about a simple love spell that mandates three pinches of rosemary; the amount isn't important, but the number three is crucial. In another spell, recite lines consisting of nine syllables, the content is irrelevant.

At this point, the Imperion will struggle to conceal his disdain, dismissing the numerological significance in magic as foolishness.

Now's your chance to flip the script. Tilt your head curiously, fix him with a quizzical stare, and ask, "Why then, are the Imperions divided into seventeen Great Houses? Why does the Imperion year consist of seventeen months? Why is the minimum duration a House can hold the throne and seventeen times seventeen years? Why are there supposed to be seventeen Great Weapons?"

Stumped, he'll stammer, "But seventeen is the mystical number."

Now, with a knowing nod and a playful twinkle in your eyes, you can say, "Ah, I see," and saunter off.

I bring this up because I have this lingering suspicion that the Imperions might be onto something. The number seventeen seems to recur in the oddest of places.

Coincidentally, I was seventeen years old the first time I was paid to assassinate a man.

* * * *

The following morning, we bid our goodbyes to the Tigryns. Haze and Drevolan exchanged pleasantries that seemed overly formal and grandiose to me. Alder and I couldn't resist poking fun at them, and Opal had a few comments of his own.

Subsequently, Haze approached me, her tail in motion, and what seemed to be a smile on her face. She said, "You've been good company."

I responded, "Thanks."

I feared she was about to launch into some profound speech that would test my ability to keep a straight face, but instead, she lowered her spear, its tip mere inches from my chest. Opal prepared to pounce.

Haze said, "You may touch my spear."

Great. I fought the urge to look at Alder, expecting him to be smirking. Despite my reservations, I reached out and touched her spear, then unsheathed my rapier.

I said, "You may touch my sword."

She touched it with a grave expression. Oddly enough, despite my earlier jesting, I felt a certain solemnity about the entire event. With one final nod towards Drevolan and me, Haze guided her band or clan, or whatever they were, back towards the plains. We watched them until they disappeared from view, then gathered our belongings and headed towards the mountains.

A few hours later, Drevolan halted and fixated on the mountain base. "I believe I can discern enough detail to teleport us there safely," he declared.

"I'd prefer if you were certain. Maybe we should walk a bit more," I proposed.

He looked at me, "I am certain."

Suppressing my groan, I simply said, "Alright. I'm ready."

As I stood beside him, he intensely studied the mountains before us. The world was quiet except for our breathing. He slowly raised his hands, took a loud breath, and swiftly lowered his arms. A nauseating shift in my gut forced me to shut my eyes. The terrain under my feet felt different, and when I opened my eyes, my balance faltered.

We found ourselves on a sharp incline, and I was looking downhill. Opal cried out and burrowed into my cloak while I struggled to regain my footing. After a moment of ungraceful flailing, I stabilized myself.

The air here was cool, crisp, and a little harsh. Behind us stretched an immense sea of green, and surrounding us were the rugged mountains. I managed to sit down without toppling over and, using my backpack as a cushion, lay on my back on the slope, waiting for the queasiness to subside. contemporary romance

After some time, Drevolan said, "We've come as close as we possibly could."

I asked, "What does that mean?"

"As you near Ashfog Valley, magic becomes increasingly challenging. By the time you reach the NecroGate, it's rendered entirely ineffective."

I asked, "Why is that?"

"I don't know."

"Are you sure it's not just hearsay?"

"I'm sure. I was with Marya at the top of the falls, fending off local ruffians while she made her descent. If I could've used magic, I would've."

I inquired, "Ruffians?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful."

"I don't see any at the moment."

"That's a relief. If they show up, they might recognize you and let us be."

"None of the ones we encountered will be returning."

"I understand."

"There are fewer ruffians now than during the Regency Break, Viktor. It was a chaotic time, no need to worry now."

I asked, "Do you miss those times?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes."

As I scanned our surroundings, I spotted several Vorgan circling in the distance. I said, "Opal, did you notice the Vorgan?"

He replied, "I did." He was still nestled within my cloak.

"What's the matter, buddy?"

"Boss, did you see their size?"

Only when one of them perched on a distant cliff did I realize the issue. The Vorgan's size fell into perspective.

"Good heavens, Opal! Those creatures are larger than I am."

"I know."

"I can't believe it. Look at them!"

"No."

Carefully, I rose to my feet, strapped on my pack, and signaled to Drevolan. We proceeded up the slope for a couple more hours until the incline became less steep. The sight was breathtaking, but Opal was too terrified to appreciate it. The colossal Vorgan sometimes swooped too close for comfort, making me equally uneasy. After another hour or so, we reached a wide, swift stream flowing from a slope we had bypassed.

done.co