rectangular table, its wooden top scattered with scrolls and open ledgers. His mother sat to Inigo’s right, her small frown of surprise disappearing almost as soon as it had appeared. She eyed him coolly, purple mage mist wafting around her head.
Another man, soft with middle-age, sat on Arabella’s other side, and across from his mother, beside Inigo, a slightly thinner man of the same age stared at Timo with a bored expression. But the man on Inigo’s left leaned over the table for a better view of the intruder. Younger than the rest, with blond hair and fine, almost pretty features, Timo didn’t recognize him. But he did recognize the colour of his mage mist. The man straightened and with a flick of his wrist, a trail of pale blue mist slowly headed towards Timo. The blond Mage looked over at Inigo and nodded.
“Sorry to intrude, Secundus, Councillors,” Timo said, trying to keep his voice calm and his eyes off of the mist that was now only a few feet from him. “Primus Rorik asked that I deliver these to you.” He motioned with his chin to the scrolls he carried.
“Yes, of course,” Inigo said. “You can set them on the table, we’ll sort them out.”
Timo took a step towards the table, towards the mage mist. They wouldn’t kill him here, right in front of his mother, would they? He glanced at the spell, but it was complex, too complex for him to get a feel for any danger so quickly. His next step would put him in the middle of it.
“Good of Rorik to send his trusted Apprentice,” Inigo said. “He must think highly of you since he has no Journeyman.”
“Yes, sir,” Timo said. Then he stepped into the mage mist, and his feet skidded out from under him. The scrolls flew into the air, and Timo landed on his back, his breath knocked out of him. It took him a few moments to regain it.
“Sorry,” he said, scrambling to his knees, panting, scared to look up at them, especially his mother. He bent to gather the scrolls, reaching over to set each one on the table. Once they were all on the table, Timo slowly stood up, keeping his eyes on the scrolls in front of him. He heard a snicker, then his mother’s voice.
“Faron,” she snapped.
“Arabella is quite right,” Inigo said. “We shouldn’t laugh at another’s misfortune. No doubt the boy will grow out of this clumsy stage.” He paused. “In time.”
“I do apologise,” a smooth male voice said.
Timo lifted his eyes a fraction. The blond Mage didn’t look even a little bit sorry.
“Poor Arabella,” the man, Faron, continued. “I completely forgot that this . . . Apprentice of Rorik’s is your son.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “How very motherly of you to come to his defense.”
Timo heard his mother’s indrawn breath from where he stood. Why was it an insult to want to protect her child? And why wouldn’t she even look his way? He risked a glance at the rest of the council and met Inigo’s piercing gaze. Timo quickly looked at his feet, trying with all his might to supress a shudder.
He knew that Hestor loathed him but the depth of hatred in Inigo’s eyes scared him. He quickly created a spell of protection and relaxed slightly when mauve mage mist enveloped him. He had his answer though. Inigo would dare to kill him here, in front of his mother. He thought Inigo would dare anything.
“He looks very much like his father, doesn’t he?” another of the council members said, the bored one. “But with Arabella’s colouring. Too bad his power isn’t as strong.”
“Yes, and much unexpected,” Faron said. “It’s almost unheard of for two such powerful Mages to produce a child with so little power.”
“It does happen,” Arabella said.
“So you keep telling us,” Inigo replied. “No matter. You’ve carried out your Master’s request, you may leave, Timo Valendi, Apprentice to Mage Guild Primus Rorik.”
Timo nodded and backed away, all the way to the door. He didn’t care if they all laughed
Another man, soft with middle-age, sat on Arabella’s other side, and across from his mother, beside Inigo, a slightly thinner man of the same age stared at Timo with a bored expression. But the man on Inigo’s left leaned over the table for a better view of the intruder. Younger than the rest, with blond hair and fine, almost pretty features, Timo didn’t recognize him. But he did recognize the colour of his mage mist. The man straightened and with a flick of his wrist, a trail of pale blue mist slowly headed towards Timo. The blond Mage looked over at Inigo and nodded.
“Sorry to intrude, Secundus, Councillors,” Timo said, trying to keep his voice calm and his eyes off of the mist that was now only a few feet from him. “Primus Rorik asked that I deliver these to you.” He motioned with his chin to the scrolls he carried.
“Yes, of course,” Inigo said. “You can set them on the table, we’ll sort them out.”
Timo took a step towards the table, towards the mage mist. They wouldn’t kill him here, right in front of his mother, would they? He glanced at the spell, but it was complex, too complex for him to get a feel for any danger so quickly. His next step would put him in the middle of it.
“Good of Rorik to send his trusted Apprentice,” Inigo said. “He must think highly of you since he has no Journeyman.”
“Yes, sir,” Timo said. Then he stepped into the mage mist, and his feet skidded out from under him. The scrolls flew into the air, and Timo landed on his back, his breath knocked out of him. It took him a few moments to regain it.
“Sorry,” he said, scrambling to his knees, panting, scared to look up at them, especially his mother. He bent to gather the scrolls, reaching over to set each one on the table. Once they were all on the table, Timo slowly stood up, keeping his eyes on the scrolls in front of him. He heard a snicker, then his mother’s voice.
“Faron,” she snapped.
“Arabella is quite right,” Inigo said. “We shouldn’t laugh at another’s misfortune. No doubt the boy will grow out of this clumsy stage.” He paused. “In time.”
“I do apologise,” a smooth male voice said.
Timo lifted his eyes a fraction. The blond Mage didn’t look even a little bit sorry.
“Poor Arabella,” the man, Faron, continued. “I completely forgot that this . . . Apprentice of Rorik’s is your son.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “How very motherly of you to come to his defense.”
Timo heard his mother’s indrawn breath from where he stood. Why was it an insult to want to protect her child? And why wouldn’t she even look his way? He risked a glance at the rest of the council and met Inigo’s piercing gaze. Timo quickly looked at his feet, trying with all his might to supress a shudder.
He knew that Hestor loathed him but the depth of hatred in Inigo’s eyes scared him. He quickly created a spell of protection and relaxed slightly when mauve mage mist enveloped him. He had his answer though. Inigo would dare to kill him here, in front of his mother. He thought Inigo would dare anything.
“He looks very much like his father, doesn’t he?” another of the council members said, the bored one. “But with Arabella’s colouring. Too bad his power isn’t as strong.”
“Yes, and much unexpected,” Faron said. “It’s almost unheard of for two such powerful Mages to produce a child with so little power.”
“It does happen,” Arabella said.
“So you keep telling us,” Inigo replied. “No matter. You’ve carried out your Master’s request, you may leave, Timo Valendi, Apprentice to Mage Guild Primus Rorik.”
Timo nodded and backed away, all the way to the door. He didn’t care if they all laughed
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