Tragedy Cascades

Isaac limped meekly into town under the cover of the dim dusk light. The less people that saw him the better. He crawled into a secluded alleyway and collapsed onto the cobble floor. His feet were bloody and worn from his travels. Isaac fingered the dagger he had tucked beneath his rag tunic and sighed. “What other choice do I have?” he muttered to himself. He held the dagger to his throat, pressing lightly at first, and then harder. He felt nothing but the warm wet stream as blood gently trickled down his neck. There was a noise behind him. Isaac whipped around and held out his dagger.

“Stay back!” Isaac shouted, though his voice was admittedly feeble.

“Easy there, boy. You’re hurting. I just want to help,” The man said. Isaac glared silently. The man approached, and Isaac thrust his dagger in the air towards him. The man sighed.

“Stay away! I won’t let you kill me!”

“Nobody is going to kill you. What do I need to do for you to trust me?”

“Leave.”

“I can do that if you want, and you can stay here in this alley, or you can come with me and you can get fresh clothes and warm food,” the man said, dropping to his knees.

Isaac eyed him suspiciously. No one had even dared to talk to him since he had left the village. Maybe he did want to help. “...okay.”

“Good. you’ll need to give me your dagger though, okay?”

Isaac shook his head. The dagger was too important to him.

“At the very least tuck it into your tunic. People will already find this situation strange without you pointing a dagger at me,” Isaac hesitantly tucked the dagger into his waist, held to him only by the rough rope tied around his hips that kept his tunic in place. “Follow me, okay?” The man said. Isaac nodded.

Isaac felt skeptical, but the idea of food made him giddy to no end, revitalizing him to walk just a little bit more. Though his feet still ached unbearably, and he could feel his sores cry out in pain with every step, the idea of comfort was too tempting to give up on.

They walked for what felt like an eternity. Isaacs legs began to buckle with each step. The man reached out, but Isaac recoiled from him. The man withdrew his hand. “It’s okay, we’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

Isaac was beginning to feel like they would never reach this paradise, but then the man turned and approached a door, opening it. A lady came running to the door.

“Bolton! I thought you were…” She trailed off as she saw Isaac. She leaned in close to the man, and whispered rather loudly “What are you thinking? We can’t bring that thing into our house.”

“He’s a child, Mira. He’s hurt and he’s nearly starving to death.”

“And it is dangerous,” Mira said, forgoing whispering altogether.

“Mira, look at him. I mean really look at him. Look into his eyes then tell me that this isn’t a kid in serious need of help.”

Mira looked down at Isaac, and suddenly her demeanor softened. “I…” Mira couldn’t finish her sentence.

“Well?” Bolton asked.

“Come, now, little one, you’re filthy. Let’s get you washed up,” Mira put her hand down towards Isaac with her palm up. Isaac looked at her suspiciously. “Well come on,” Mira said impatiently. Isaac timidly reached out his hand, and Mira Promptly grabbed it and dragged him along through the house.

Isaac was rushed through the house past a boy about his age. Isaac caught a glimpse of his widened eyes through the boy’s sandy brown hair.

“You’re lucky I had been drawing a bath for my son. You clearly need it more than him,” Mira said. She began to remove Isaacs tunics but he held onto them tightly as his dagger almost slipped from his waist. “Well you can’t bathe in that tunic. Come on now, don’t make this hard.”

Despite Isaac’s resistance, his tunic was removed, and his dagger clattered to the ground.

Mira paused. “Bolton,” she shouted lightly, “why does he have a knife?”

Bolton followed into the room shortly after. “I’m not sure.”

“Well I wish you had told me he was armed.”

“Mira, please.”

“Okay boy, time to get into the tub,” Mira said, ignoring Bolton.

Isaac didn’t know he had any shame left in him, but he was suddenly very embarrassed to be completely naked in front of two strangers. Isaac pushed through his embarrassment and slowly lowered one foot into the wooden tub. The water was hot, and it stung his bloodied feet. Isaac then lowered in his other leg, then slumped into the water, sitting so that the water came up to just under his chest. Isaac could feel the grime and blood lift from his body. Mira grabbed a cloth and began scrubbing Isaac’s body.

“What’s this wound?” Mira asked, rubbing the small cut on his neck. The barely formed clot was washed away as Isaac’s neck began to bleed again. “Oh it’s fresh. How did you get this one?”

Isaac looked away, silent, afraid. Mira shrugged and continued to wash Isaac. Isaac could feel his body ache as he relaxed. The hot water was soothing on his weary muscles.

“You are so skinny. When did you last eat?” Isaac again remained silent. “I already didn’t want to bring you into my house. The least you could do is talk to me,” Mira said, disgruntled. Bolton laid a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. Mira huffed discontentedly.

Mira continued to chat idly as she washed Isaac. Eventually, she decided she had gotten Isaac as clean as she could with this water.

Mira clicked her tongue. “I’m gonna have to draw a whole new bath for Flynn. This water is filthy. You stay here, you look about Flynn’s size, I’m sure his clothes will fit you,” Mira left, grabbing Isaac’s dagger along with her on the way. Isaac felt a jolt of panic as she walked away, letting out an indecipherable noise of protests. Mira turned around, furrowing her brow. “Listen, I can’t let you have this knife. It’s dangerous.”

“Please,” Isaac said, on the verge of tears, his voice wavering.

“The first word you’ve spoken to me and it’s begging for a knife,” Mira stood silent for a second.

“Please,” Isaac begged again.

Mira sighed. “Curse my soft heart. Okay, but keep it in the sheath.”

Mira set the dagger beside the tub, and Isaac picked it up, admiring it. The brilliant green gem in the pommel shimmered in the light of the rising sun coming through the window. This dagger was the only thing left of his mother, his only keepsake of her.

It was the first time in several months that Isaac had been able to relax. Suddenly his thoughts began to catch up with him. The gravity of what had happened to him over the past few months came crashing down. His heart felt like it was being crushed, and his soul felt rotted. Isaac struggled to process his feelings as he stared vacantly at the wall, paralyzed by his emotions.

Isaac was roughly snapped back to reality when he suddenly heard Mira’s voice. He had not noticed her entering the room.

“Up you get, let’s get you dressed.”

Isaac felt hazy as he got up. The world felt blurry, distant. He could feel the clothes against his skin as Mira dressed him, but his own body felt foreign. Isaac looked around with wide eyes, examining the grain of the wood in the walls. He noticed the crack near the knot in the wood. Mira led Isaac somewhere, speaking all the while, although the words did not reach him.

Isaac found himself seated at a table. Mira had left at some point. There was a slice of bread with a smear of butter sitting on a small wooden plate in front of him. Isaac was reminded of just how hungry he was. Isaac didn’t chew as he ate, simply shoving the food down his throat without stopping or breathing.

“Slow down there, boy. You’ll get a stomach ache.”

Isaac acknowledged that Bolton was there in his mind, but decided to ignore him until he had finished eating. Isaac looked up at Bolton, letting out a meek “thank you” as he choked back tears.

“Tell me boy, what’s your name?”

“Isaac”

“What was that?”

“Isaac” he said, slightly louder.

“Isaac. How did you end up in this town?”

“Walked.”

“From where?”

“Alrye.”

“I’ve never heard of Alrye. Where is that?”

“Across the border,” Isaac didn’t exactly know what that meant, but he remembered his mother telling him to cross the Border, into a place called Bridmanhia. He wasn’t sure where that was, or if he had reached it. No one had bothered to talk to him.

“From Breitin? You couldn’t have come from Tresia. How long have you been walking?”

“I don’t know. A long time,” Isaac said.

“You came from Breitin, huh. I thought they…” Bolton paused as he struggled to find the words. “I thought they didn’t take too kindly to… people like you.”

Isaac stared blankly at Bolton.

“Where are your parents?”

Isaac looked away. He couldn’t stay composed anymore. He broke down into what started as a gentle cry, but turned into violent heaving sobs. Mira came running.

“Bolton! What did you do?” “I- Nothing. I just asked about his parents.”

“Oh. Oh, I understand now,” Mira came and hugged Isaac, pulling him into her chest. “You poor thing,” Mira held Isaac silently as he sobbed. She held him until his crying slowed down to a stop, and he was left hiccuping as snot ran down his face. “You stay here,” Mira said and pulled Bolton aside into another room, out of earshot of Isaac.

“I didn’t think he had been orphaned. I just, I wanted to get him home.”

“Well, now we have an orphaned devilspawn in our dining room. What are we supposed to do?”

“Oh, please, Mira. I don’t know why you do this. You just let that boy sob into your chest for an hour. He’s just a child, barely different from our boy.”

“His horn nubs would say otherwise.”

Bolton rolled his eyes. “He’s from Breitin.”

“He’s from Breitin? How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. He said he came from across the border, and Tresia is much too far.”

“Maybe he’s Phitean.”

“You think he walked across the ocean to get here?”

Mira furrowed her brow. “I was just throwing out ideas. Besides, you still haven’t said what we’re gonna do with him.”

Bolton rubbed his face with both hands as he racked his brain. “If let him wander around the countryside, assuming he doesn’t starve or die from the weather, a mob is surely going to get to him sooner or later. You know how the country folk can be.”

“Well, why don’t we keep him?”

“What are you saying, Mira?”

“Well, we can either keep him, or let him die. I don’t want that blood on my hands. Do you?”

“Mira, I don’t understand you. I thought you were scared of him.”

“Scared is a harsh word. Just warry.”

Bolton shook his head side to side as he sighed deeply. Mira had always been particular. “Well, we can at least take care of him for a few months. You’re right I don’t want a child’s blood on my hands.”

“Great! I’ll introduce him to Flynn, then I’ll get him a sleeping space set up.”

Isaac finally started to breathe again. He was still sad, scared, angry, and so many other things, but the emotions felt controllable, and he felt like he was back in reality. He was still hungry, and he was very thirsty. Isaac took in a deep breath as he waited for Mira and Bolton to return. Soon enough he saw that little boy he had seen earlier peek his head from around the corner. They stared at each other for a moment. The boy walked up to Isaac and jutted out his hand.

“I’m Flynn, what’s your name?”

“Isaac,” He said, staring at his hand.

“Have you never done this before? This is what dad does when he meets new people. Here, I’ll show you,” Flynn grabbed Isaacs hand from his side and placed it in his other hand, and shook his hand up and down. “Like that.”

Isaac continued to stare blankly at Flynn. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. He had never talked to kids his age before, or any kids for that matter. He had only ever known his mom and Arnell. Isaac looked away, not being able to bear staring at his eyes any more. Isaac examined the floor. Isaac heard Flynn walk away.

“Hi Mom.”

Isaac looked up to see Mira and Bolton.

“Hi Flynn. What were you doing?” Mira asked.

“I was meeting the purple man in our dining room.”

“Oh, here, why don’t you come with me,” Mira said, taking Flynn’s hand and pulling him along.

Bolton sat down across from Isaac at the table. “Well,” Bolton sighed deeply. “There are a few things we can do,” He told Isaac, as he stared wide eyed and silent. “You’re free to leave, if you’d like. I wouldn’t recommend that though. I’m sure you’ve already seen how they treat you out there. I’m not sure it will get any better for you. You’re free to stay here, at least for a little while. We’ll feed you, you’ll have a place to sleep, and you’ll have clean clothes, but you’ll have to give me your dagger, at least for the time being. I’ll give it back after some time.”

Isaac got up and began walking towards the door.

“Wait, wait.”

Isaac stopped in his tracks.

“I didn’t think you would actually choose to leave. I can’t let you leave and get yourself killed,” Bolton rubbed his face. “But I can’t let you keep a dagger around our son.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind leaving,” Isaac said. Nothing scared him more than going back out there, but he wouldn’t give up his dagger.

“Okay, how about this. You can keep the dagger, but we’ll take it to the local mage, and he’ll make it so you can’t draw it. Once we’ve known you for a bit we can have him remove the enchantment.”

Isaac nodded his head. He didn’t really care as long as he got to keep it.

“Okay, then, you’ll have to come with me, it’s a far walk, almost a whole day. Do you think you can do that?” Isaac nodded. “Okay, come with me. I was on my way there when I found you so I’m pretty much ready.”

Isaac hadn’t realized that Bolton had meant right now. He wasn’t sure his legs would make it for a whole day. Bolton led Isaac to Mira. “Can you get him a hooded cloak? It’s okay if it’s a little over sized.”

“He’s not leaving, is he?” Mira asked.

“No, I’m taking him to Mibrar to get his dagger enchanted so he won’t be able to use it.”

“You’re taking him all the way out there? I don’t think he can make it. Look at him.”

“It will be fine. He walked all the way from the border.”

Mira shook her head and clicked her tongue.

“Well, it’s either that, or he leaves,” Bolton said. Mira remained silent, shaking her head disapprovingly. Reluctantly, she retreated to a room to retrieve the cloak.

“Here, try this on,” Mira said as she helped pull the cloak around Isaac. The hood draped over his face and obstructed his vision, and the cloak dragged across the ground. “Well, it will work for now,” Mira shrugged.

Bolton had retrieved a satchel that he was now wearing around his hip. “Are you ready?”

Isaac nodded his head.

“Good. If you need to rest, let me know.”

Isaac nodded again.

Bolton reached his hand towards Isaac, and Isaac recoiled. Bolton kneeled down and reached out again, patting Isaac’s back gently. “It’s okay.” The words felt full and warm coming from Bolton’s mouth. Bolton stood up. “Let’s go,” he said, confident and calm.

The two of them set off, and less than 5 minutes later Isaac could feel his body scream in protest. Isaac didn’t want to ask to rest already, so he pushed through. Isaac glanced around the town. People had started about their business as the sun had risen far enough to brightly illuminate the streets.

“Keep your head down, don’t let people see your face. Keep your arms in your cloak,” Bolton spoke with a calm, quiet authority. “Once we get out of town we can relax a little.”

Isaac stared at the floor as he walked. He wanted to look up, he needed to look up. He needed to know what was going on around him. At any moment someone could lash out, scream at him, chase him, hit him. It was only a matter of time. But Isaac did as Bolton said and kept his head down. After around an hour, no one had said or done anything to Isaac. Isaac recognized the change in the road as it went from cobble to dirt. He could see twigs, leaves, grass, and the roots of trees. Isaac looked up.

“Not yet, wait until we’re a little further out of town,” Bolton said. Isaac stuck his head back down.

They walked for about another hour before Bolton said “You can look up now. You can take the hood off even if you want. Keep the cloak on incase you need to hide your face again.”

Isaac raised his head and lowered his hood, looking around the forest around him. He had just been through this forest on the way here, and yet its beauty still amazed him. The emerald green trees glowed in the morning sun, back lit by the vibrant sky. It almost managed to distract him from his aching body. His legs burned, his back was sore, and his stomach still growled in protest. He didn’t want to appear weak, however, so he pushed on. He had been through worse.

By hour three, Isaac was fighting his own thoughts with every second, constantly reminding himself of what he had to lose.

This is temporary. He thought. Think of what you have to gain. You must keep going, you can’t slow down, you can’t let them know you are weak.

Bolton looked down at Isaac. “Why don’t we take a short break.”

Did I look weak? Can he tell that I’m struggling? Did he hear my thoughts? These thoughts rushed into Isaac’s mind. He silently nodded.

Bolton reached into the satchel. “Are you hungry?”

Isaac nodded, and Bolton pulled out some bread and dried meat, cutting Isaac a slice of both. Isaac took the food and began shoving it into his mouth, barely bothering to chew.

“Eat slow, you’ll get cramps otherwise.”

Isaac swallowed his mouthful and took a deep breath. He tried his best to eat slowly, but he was still eating incredibly fast, although he bothered to chew at least. Bolton sat down on a nearby tree which had rotted and fell over.

“Tell me, Isaac, why are you here in Bridmanhia?” Bolton asked.

Isaac’s eyes widened. “I’m in Bridmanhia?”

“You are.”

Isaac felt a great burden lift off his shoulder, he had made it to his destination. Although, now what would he do? Isaac sat in silence.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” Bolton said.

Isaac had been so relieved he had forgotten he was even asked a question. “No, it’s okay,” Isaac steeled himself for the rush of emotions he knew would hit him. “When they found me, they chased us out. My mom, she…” Isaac took a deep breath. “She helped me escape.”

“When who found you?”

“The villagers. Someone saw me through the window.”

“You’re mom, she was hiding you from them?”

Isaac nodded. “She said they wouldn’t understand me.”

“I can see why,” Bolton said. “Well, you won’t have to worry any more. It’s still probably better for you to hide yourself for now, but they won’t chase me out of town.”

Isaac nodded. Isaac sat down on the floor in front of Bolton. After some time, Bolton got up. “It’s time to go.”

Isaac felt like they had been sitting down for no time at all, but he pushed through and got up nonetheless.

They walked and walked and walked for what felt like an eternity until the next break, and after that, they walked even more. The sun was beginning to set, filling the sky with pink and orange, when Isaac saw a structure in the distance. It was a fairly large stone house with ceramic tiles, and a fenced garden was attached to the side, laden with flowers and herbs. Puffs of smoke billowed out of the chimney and into the orange sky.

Isaac put his hood, not wanting the person inside to see him.

“You don’t have to do that. Mibrar is nice,” Bolton said.

Isaac hesitantly let his hood down. Bolton walked up to the door and knocked, opening the door before a response was given.

“Ah, Bolton, that’s quite the artifact you have brought with you,” The man said. His voice was soft and smooth, and yet it was the deepest noise Isaac had ever heard, reverberating in his chest. It seemed to defy reason.

“What artifact?” Bolton asked.

Mibrar looked to Isaac, “Oh, no no no no no. This will not do.”

Isaac looked up at Bolton, panicked.

“This boy is on the verge of death. His blood is much too slow.”

“How do you know that?” Bolton asked.

“His blood I can feel. He has magic in his blood, and the magic is slow, when it should be fast. This boy is running out of life. Here, young one, sit down,” Mibrar brought Isaac a stool, and Isaac obliged. “I will make you tea, you will feel better.”

Mibrar rushed into the garden, and Isaac could see him through the door, frantically picking herbs. His burgundy beard swayed as he bobbed his head. He rushed by with a handful of herbs, and dropped them into a glass. Mibrar stared at the glass, and water began to trickle from seemingly nowhere. Isaac watched in wide eyed amazement. The cup began to steam, and a few moments later Mibrar handed the cup to Isaac.

“Drink slow. Hold this,” Mibrar said, handing Isaac the cup and putting a colorful gem in his other hand. The cup was pleasantly warm, and the tea inside smelled strange, yet appetizing. He couldn’t explain why. It almost smelled sweet, although that didn’t properly describe the scent. When Isaac took a drink, he felt a sensation surge through his body, like his body was being filled with warm sand. It felt very nice.

“I didn’t know mages could… feel blood flowing,” Bolton noted.

“Some, can, I can not,” Mibrar responded.

“But you said his blood was slow.”

“I told you, his blood I can feel, yours I can not. His blood has magic.”

“I don’t understand,” Bolton said.

“Then don’t,” Mibrar said dismissively. He turned to Isaac and clasped his hands. “Can you feel it, the stone?”

Isaac hadn’t been paying attention before, distracted by the tea, but he noticed that the stone was vibrating, sort of. He could feel the stone pulse with something. Isaac nodded.

“Good,” Mibrar said, backing away and smiling. “You have a dagger, yes?” Mibrar asked. Isaac nodded again.

“That’s what we were here to talk to you about. We were wondering if you could enchant the dagger so that Isaac here couldn’t draw it. We can pay you, of course.”

“Bolton, what would I do with money? Stupid. Isaac, may I see the dagger?” Isaac didn’t want to part with it. “I will give it back quickly, do not worry,” Isaac relented and handed the dagger over to him.

“Well, can you enchant the dagger so that he can’t draw it?”

“No.”

“What?” Bolton said, taken aback.

“I can not enchant the dagger. It’s already enchanted. I can enchant the sheath, it seems.”

“It’s already enchanted?”

“Yes, by someone very strong. Probably only two mages could have done it. Either Rocan, or Sefra Blackflare. It has her sensibilities,” Mibrar said.

“So, can you stop him from drawing it or not?” Bolton asked.

“I do not know. I would need to see how its current enchantments and mine would interact. It may be too complex for me.”

Isaac was starting to feel antsy without his dagger. Mibrar had been holding it for longer than he’d like.

“So you’ll do it?” Bolton asked?

“Yes.”

“There was another matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

Mibrar looked over to Isaac and smiled warmly. “Here, you may have it, little one. Would you like some food?”

Isaac nodded, and Mibrar went over to the wood stove and scooped out some sort of thick liquid into a wooden bowl. He snapped over the bowl twice, before handing it over to Isaac. It seemed to be some sort of potato stew. When Isaac took a Spoonful, he was filled with the same sensation he had when he had drank the tea. The soup was savory and hearty, it reminded him of the cooking Arnell used to do.

“There is another matter I wanted to discuss,” Bolton interjected impatiently.

“Yes?” Mibrar said, seemingly oblivious to his tone.

“I wanted to ask you if you could teach our son Flynn to become a mage. We want him to go to capital college to become a royal sorcerer.”

Mibrar turned to Isaac. “Would you like to learn magic?”

“Yes, please,” Isaac said adamantly. He had been awestrucken when Mibrar had made water appear from thin air.

“No, I said our son.”

“I know. Does your son want to learn magic?”

“I think it would be good for him. He always loves to hear stories of our adventures,” Bolton reminisced fondly.

“Stories. I will teach Flynn if I can also teach Isaac.”

Bolton stood in slackjaw disbelief. “You can not be serious.”

“Bolton you know very well I am serious. He has magic in his blood. To deny him magic would be to deny a bird the sky.”

Bolton rubbed his eyes with his hand as he thought. “Fine.”

“Very good. Teaching, however, does need money. You will need to buy me supplies. I will write you a list, and you can buy them from that hack Klaas. Don’t tell him it’s for me, and don’t let him see my list. He’ll recognize my handwriting.”

“That’s juvenile, and ridiculous.”

“It is not. You are free to get the supplies elsewhere, but I will not be teaching anyone if you tell him it is me.”

“Very well,” Bolton said, tired.

“Good. You will want to spend the night, I am assuming?”

“If that’s okay.”

Mibrar snorted, then turned to Isaac. “How are you feeling, little one?”

“Better,” Isaac meant that in more ways than one. He was glad to be resting, to have food, and to be somewhere he didn’t have to be worried about being harassed.

“Good,” Mibrar smiled.

“Say, I have an idea. Why doesn’t Isaac just live with you? He can be your apprentice or whatever. It’s better than him staying in town.”

“Isaac, do you want that?” Mibrar asked.

Isaac nodded vehemently.

“Very well. Now that we have gotten done with all the business, why don’t we have a little chat.”

“I would tread lightly,” Bolton gave Mibrar a deadpan stare.

“Yes, yes. I’m just gonna ask Isaac a few questions. Now, little one, where are you from?”

“Alrye,” Isaac said.

“Alrye… that’s, hmm. That’s in Breitin. You walked here?” Isaac nodded. Mibrar sat in silence for a little while. “I think that’s all I need to hear. Bolton, how did you find him?”

“He was cowering in an alleyway, covered in grime and blood.”

Mibrar nodded. “You’ve been through a lot, little one?” Isaac nodded.

Isaac stretched his arms and yawned. Despite the sun having barely set, with dim light illuminating the sky still, Isaac felt incredibly tired.

“Your body wants to heal. It will use the magic to help you heal, but you need to sleep,” Mibrar told Isaac.

“Okay,” Isaac said drowsily. Mibrar showed Isaac to a room with a cotton cot and some blankets, which Isaac snuggled into and immediately passed out in.

Mibrar returned to the main room where Bolton sat, sipping on some wine.

“I see you’ve helped yourself to some of my wine.”

“You mind?”

“Not at all,” Mibrar said, pouring himself a glass.

“I don’t quite feel like sleeping myself. You want to reminisce a little?”

“Feeling nostalgic, are you?” Mibrar asked.

“Perhaps.”

“Tell me of yourself first. It’s been almost a year. How is Mira?”

“She’s well.”

“And your son?”

“Boisterous, curious. He’s a kind hearted boy.”

“I look forward to meeting him. I’m offended it has taken this long,” Mibrar said.

“We’ve been busy,” Bolton was defensive.

“Yes but eight years and you couldn’t stop to bring him by?”

“I’ve been busy with work.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a mercenary again.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because you are better than that, Bolton. You’re not the kid you were in those adventuring days.”

“I don’t know that I am, Mibrar. We don’t live like you, isolated, living off the land, with no worries. We have need of money, and it doesn’t come easy.”

“Then why don’t you live like me?”

“Because that would be throwing away Flynn’s childhood, and his future.”

“Ack! I would have thought you would have learned more by now. What exactly would you be throwing away?”

“He needs to interact with other people. If he’s to be a court mage, he’ll need people skills.”

Mibrar scoffed. “And being a royal mage matters?”

“Unless you want him to be an adventurer or a mercenary. What was all I sacrificed for if not for him to live a better life.”

“He doesn’t have to be either.”

“But he has the opportunity to. An opportunity for a better life than we had, more accomplishments, more stability.”

“You will learn life’s purpose with age, as will he.”

“Whatever you say. So about that dagger, you said it was enchanted by, who was it, Sefra Black-something or other.”

“Sefra Blackflare, and I only said it had her sensibilities.”

“Yes, her. Her name sounds so familiar to me. Do I know her?”

“She’s a famous imperial mage. Perhaps one of the most powerful human mages to ever live. She disappeared years ago. I might have mentioned her before. I’ve worked with her before.”

“You worked for Breitin?” Bolton asked.

“No, this was before the war, when Breitin and Bridmanhia were on better terms. She visited one of our colleges and taught a class or two. She was younger than me, and yet knew so much more.”

“So she was pretty good then. Would she still be better than you today?”

Mibrar laughed. “I could study for one hundred more years and not surpass her.”

“That dagger is probably worth a lot, then?”

“Depending on if it could be proven to be one of her’s. It is reminiscent of her work, so it’s likely.”

“How much?”

“Six, maybe seven thousand gold”

“That much?”

“Too much money for any one person, really,” Mibrar said.

“Well, maybe for you.”

“Any money is too much for me. I detest it, I detest the concept.”

“You’re just as odd as ever, Mibrar.”

“I suppose that’s just how the world sees me, unfortunately.”

Mibrar and Bolton continued to talk into the night, until two bottles of wine had passed them by, and they finally decided to sleep.