Sorcerer's Shadow

My eyes flashed open to behold chaos.

The horizon jittered and blurred, the candle burst into a spectacle, the knife shivered into fragments, and the hum escalated, in an instant, into a deafening cacophony.

The rune before me on the ground glowed with blinding intensity, and I realized that I was succumbing to an overpowering drowsiness. I understood what that signified. I had expended all my energy, I had nothing left to even keep me awake. I was on the brink of losing consciousness, and I might or might not ever regain it, and I might or not be left deranged if I did.

My vision began to flicker, and the thunderous noise in my ears transitioned into a monotonous drone, curiously identical to silence. In the final blurred glimpse before I slipped into oblivion, I saw at the center of the rune, on the ground, the object of my ambition—that which I had performed this entire ritual to summon—resting serenely, as if it had always been there.

For an instant, I pondered why I wasn't reveling in my accomplishment; then I concluded it was probably because I didn't know if I'd survive to utilize it. Yet, there was a lingering sense of triumph for having achieved something unprecedented, a certain tranquil delight in having succeeded. I decided I'd feel pretty great if it didn't prove fatal.

I've found that mortality tends to dampen my enjoyment of an event.

I would love to see a map of the Paths of the Dead.

Ha.

A hazy memory lingered of a young girl jostling my shoulder, warning, "Don't drift off. If you do, it could be your end. Remain alert."

When I opened my eyes, there was no one there, so it might have been a dream. But then again, dreaming requires sleeping, and if I was sleeping...

I'm uncertain.

Flap flap, peck peck.

I recognized that sound. My eyes fluttered open. I murmured aloud. "It's all right. I'm back."

I don't recall ever struggling so hard to rise to my feet. When I finally managed, I felt as Thaleia must have, and I fervently wished I had more Tivn leaves to chew on. The world kept spinning relentlessly. Isn't that just the most infuriating thing?

I began to walk, then heard a distant sound. As it grew increasingly urgent, I paused to listen. It was Opal's voice, urging, "Boss! Boss! They're back the other way."

I managed to turn around, which was more challenging than you might imagine, and staggered in the direction Opal indicated. After what felt like hours, I found them, exactly where I'd left them. Drevolan spotted me first, and I saw him approaching. His actions, like Thaleia's as she rose and came towards me, seemed to be in slow motion. As I began to tumble, which also appeared to occur slowly, the two of them caught me.

"Viktor, are you okay?"

I muttered something incoherent and clung to them.

"Viktor? Did it work?"

Work? What was supposed to work? Oh, right. There was more to do. Wait, the vial... it was in my hand. Good thinking, Viktor. I raised it. A dark, dark liquid in a transparent vial capped with a rubber stopper.

"What is it?" Thaleia inquired.

Forming a response felt like a Herculean task. I mustered my energy, gazed at Drevolan, and instructed, "Bare your arm."

"Which one?" he asked.

I shook my head, so he shrugged and bared his left arm.

"Knife," I requested.

Drevolan and Thaleia shared a glance and shrugged, after which Drevolan transferred a knife into my left hand. I motioned for him to draw nearer, which he did, albeit hesitantly.

With determination, I kept my hand stable as I made an incision on his upper arm. I handed the vial to Thaleia, managing to mutter, "Open." Regret filled me for not asking her to do this before I cut Drevolan.

How she handled the vial without dropping me, I'll never know, but eventually, she announced, "It's done."

Grasping Drevolan's arm, I held the vial against his wound, instructing him, "You're a sorcerer. Ensure the fluid enters your bloodstream."

His expression held a trace of confusion, then morphed into contemplation. It struck me that he was debating whether to trust me. Had I the energy, I would have chuckled at the irony—him, deciding if he could trust me. Yet, I suppose he determined he could, and furthermore, he decided I knew what I was doing. I silently called him a fool for that. My eyes drooped closed, but Thaleia's jolt brought them open again. When I glanced up, I saw an empty vial in Drevolan's hand. He appeared mildly perplexed. Hopefully, Liora wouldn't have needed it for anything pressing.

"Let's head home," I managed.

"Viktor," Drevolan queried, "what was that exactly?"

"Home," I barely mustered.

A moment of silence ensued, likely spent in mutual scrutiny. Eventually, with each providing an arm for support, we ventured towards the forest.

* * * *

My decision to strike out on my own wasn't a conscious one. It was a natural response to the circumstances I found myself in.

And what were those circumstances?

When the war between Nichols and Moros finally ceased, numerous changes took place. Voltaire, my initial employer, relinquished most of his possessions as he would have needed to fight to retain them—a battle he didn't think he could win. I admire that. Courage has its merits, but being alive earns more, and understanding when to retreat demands a special kind of wisdom.

I worked for various employers after Voltaire, but once things stabilized, I found myself under the employment of a man named Fend, or Fendie—something to that effect. I've always struggled with his exact name.

Regardless, our relationship was one of mutual disdain. Most of my income came sporadically from commission-based collections and similar tasks. I took on a few assassination jobs due to my reputation, which ensured a comfortable lifestyle, but these brought considerable risk; I preferred sources of income that involved less danger.

I could have left and sought employment elsewhere, but being relatively new in the area, my contacts were limited. Thus, the most efficient resolution to my predicament turned out to be eliminating Tagijatin.

* * * *