After thanking him for the gift one last ti, Alistar left the modest cabin and began the long walk back to Caedmon’s estate, though he stopped along the path by the Hanging Hill to store the little crystal inside of his mother’s locket so that it sat side-by-side with the translucent, rosy nto of his ti with his family in Crystellum. He made sure to wrap the second stone with a strip of cloth that he tore from his trousers, which were already tattered in many places from all of the day’s training, to make sure that it would be safe to use on sobody else should one of his loved ones fall into a perilous situation in the future. As far as he knew, anybody that touched the original crystal would die almost instantaneously from the overload of magical energies that the strange stone contained and he didn’t want to risk contaminating Mr. Herst’s gift by letting the stones co into direct contact with one another.
Madeline is going to be angry with , he sighed, glancing down at the state of his clothes. He decided that he would nd them himself, and that from now on he would use these pants solely for his training sessions.
With all of what he’d learned from Mr. Herst still ringing throughout his mind, Alistar ran ho as fast as he could, eager to make up for the training that he’d missed with Zech and Jaden down by the Greyline. He hoped that he would be able to cut a log in half by relying on his swordsman’s aura by the end of the week, with a single, clean cut and not the slow, whittling strategy that he’d used to escape from today’s lesson. In this way, his master would surely acknowledge his achievents.
***
Tramon Lawson woke up with his face pressed against the dinner table of his small ho, a pool of drool around his dry mouth and sodden beard. The sun had gone down quite a while ago, leaving his surroundings painted in darkness as he straightened his back amidst a fog of lethargy.
Scowling at the pounding headache that stabbed at his head in a rciless manner, he fumbled around his table for a mont before his hands brushed against the cool glass of a half-empty bottle, which he quickly brought to his lips in a desperate manner. He spat out the mouthful of water with a frown, focusing his senses and then reaching out for a second bottle that sat nearby to where the first had been resting.
"It’s as they say," he mumbled to himself. "Sotis it’s the poison that’s the best cure."
Exhaling slowly as the whiskey lit a fire within him, he stood up on unsteady feet and unshuttered a window to allow a still stream of moonlight to pour into the room. He had a fire going in the hearth a short while later, at which point sothing clicked in his mind and he rushed to the doorway. He’d forgotten about the kid.
As expected, there was nobody in sight outside of his ho, as most of those that lived on the collegia’s grounds had long since retreated to their quarters for the night. Had he really slept through the entire day? He’d forbidden the boy from leaving unless he managed to cut one of the many practice logs that were arranged around the base of the nearby tree, which was basically an impossible task for a novice like Alistar. Talented though the kid may be, even a young Tramon had required an entire month of practice before he’d been able to satisfy the sa requirent for his master, and that had been five years into his training.
"Damn it, why didn’t you just wake up?" Tramon resolved to give the boy a few smacks with his cane tomorrow, a masterly tradition that never grew old no matter which Silverkin he was teaching.
Exiting his ho, his foot caught on an unseen chunk of wood that nearly sent him sprawling to the ground, though he caught himself with a stumble.
"How the hell am I still so tipsy?"
Looking down at the drink in his hand, he decided to ask Caedmon for another bottle of the fine spirits the next ti that he saw the man. Fire whiskey from Loyarre was a hell of a drink, and the count’s chamberlain had brought back a considerable supply of it after a past trip to the larger kingdom.
Once he’d confird that the boy wasn’t around, he turned to go back inside when sothing clicked in his mind and he abruptly stopped in place. Turning around as a tingle swept down his back, the half-empty bottle slipped from his hand and dropped gently to the grass below, so of its contents leaking out onto the ground in the silent, moonlit night. He rembered placing ten logs at the base of the tree, one of which he’d sliced the top from during his demonstration to Alistar early that morning.
How can this be?
Chips and splinters of wood were scattered around the area out front of his ho, where two small logs—halves of a whole—appeared as if they had been carved by an amateur craftsman in an attempt to fashion so sort of hour-glass figure.
Tracing a thumb over the crudely cut wood, Tramon knelt there on the grass for an indeterminate amount of ti. Alistar had already been training under him for over two years, so he was well aware of the boy’s talent. Becoming a third-tier apprentice in such a short ti was rare, at least in the Kingdom of Civus, yet Alistar was already nearing the threshold between the apprentice and the adept stratums. Although he lacked experience, his ability to learn and polish certain techniques was astonishing, especially for a twelve-year-old child.
Retrieving his bottle from the ground, Tramon walked inside and found its cork on the floor, which was cleaner than usual thanks to his busybody apprentice’s constant intrusions into his ho. Returning the stopper to the mouth of the bottle, he placed it on his table and then dragged a chair over to the fireplace, staring into the little fire that he had just fashioned, contemplating.
Caedmon might have been an alright fellow, but Tramon harboured a deep hatred for House Silverkin and all who belonged to it. It was because of this that he hadn’t initially taken Alistar seriously at the onset of their master-apprentice relationship. He’d simply looked at it as a good opportunity to earn so extra money for spirits and ale. Tramon never had high hopes for the boy, especially after having trained most of his cousins and uncles during his ti in the kingdom’s capital.
As far as he was concerned, Silverkins were the trashiest nobles that he had ever known, since almost all of them cared for only a few things; acquiring power at any cost, earning money by any ans, and sleeping with any woman unfortunate enough to catch their eye. Take that bastard Glenden, for instance. Tramon had been the most respected and appreciated of his generals and later a decorated captain of the capital’s city guard. For a long period of ti, he’d been hailed as a hero by the people of Civus and was quite well known in other lands, but everything had changed the mont that the lustful king had laid eyes on his wife. Or should he say, on the man’s fifth concubine.
Bloodlust filled Tramon’s eyes as he stared into the fire, which abruptly went out from the sharpness of his aura.
Thinking of his determined little apprentice, Tramon’s anger dissipated. Alistar was different from any of the other Silverkins. He was a salt-of-the-earth type of lad, who was both accustod to hard work and appreciative of it.
Smirking, Tramon muttered to himself in the darkness. "I guess all it takes to make a decent man of a Silverkin is to make him a slave, eh?" Standing, he retrieved his bottle of fire whiskey, un-stoppered it and made to take a sip out of habit, but an odd sense of guilt paused the bottle partway to his mouth. Lately, he had been making Alistar practice on his own more often than not, since he had been drunk during most days of the week.
Thinking of the sight that had just shaken his soul, Tramon walked outside and poured out the rest of the priceless spirits, fueled by an odd resolve that suddenly solidified within him. Alistar was an apprentice that ca along once in a century, and Tramon would be doing both of them a grave disservice if he continued to half-ass his way through the boy’s lessons.
He went back inside, but didn’t bother to relight the fire. Retreating to his bed and laying there in the heavy silence, he dug out an old, brittle herb from within his night table and chewed it slowly, swallowing it down after several monts. The night-lending grass would help him sleep.
The recent decades hadn’t been kind to Tramon, and he also hadn’t been kind to himself. He had once been a great and respected figure whose na had been spoken in all corners of the empire, but now he was a washed up old drunk with nothing to lose, not even family. Things had changed with the arrival of young Alistar, who he now realized was a gift from the heavens, a chance for the withered husk of a forr hero to redeem himself and revitalize his legacy.
With the bitter taste of the herb still lingering in his mouth, Tramon shut his eyes and began to take asured breaths, intent on falling asleep as quickly as possible. Tomorrow, he would be awake by the ti that Alistar showed up for his lessons and he would remain awake all throughout.
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