The Sorcerer's Apprentice

Chapter 1-3

Driz waited for long moments after the fleeting images faded from his scrying bowl. Even if he’d hoped for more, any response was a gift. He nipped the candle’s flame with thumb and forefinger, knowing better than to snuff a magickal candle any other way. Exaltation and terror warred in his heart. Now that the moment was passed, he hardly dared believe. Had he really contacted a distant mage, one who desired a disciple? The image of a towering range of jagged peaks still burned in the back of his eyes. They almost seemed familiar, like a place he had known, although his whole life had been spent right here on the outskirts of Melcorth. Although the actual city had edged closer to his home than what he recalled from his earliest memories, that was the only real change.

He’d heard of mountains in books, seen them in the magickal vid-auras some of the schoolmasters had conjured to show their students. Had he ever been near them, he knew he would never forget, even if he had been barely a babe in arms at the time. It must be a fragment of genetic memory coming down from distant ancestors or merely the images he had seen during his schooling. But wait—that silhouette against the sky. He felt sure he knew that!

Even though the hour grew late, he drew on a cloak and dashed down the street to the nearest library. There was something about those mountains…If they were as important as he sensed, they’d be described, perhaps even pictured in a tome of some sort. If he could find where they were, perhaps he could go there. And if he could go there, perhaps he could locate this illusive mage.

Luck was with him. Within a turn of the glass, he’d found pictures of the mountains in a musty old book on history and geography. Called the Alpenzers, they formed a nearly impenetrable border between Melcovia and the neighboring country of Zoolcresh, with whom relations had long been strained. The three highest peaks were named in turn, Dicruz, Darnzel and Doermust.

In a newer volume, he learned that at one time, when the earlier feudal system had prevailed, many of the nobility had owned estates along the foot of the mountains. A few such still remained. His schoolmasters described them as rustic, cut off from the culture and brilliance of the capital and inhabited by moldering relics of long-gone glory. It sounded like an ideal place for a sorcerer-in-hiding to hang his cloak and live safely unnoticed.

The next day, Driz collected essentials and packed a travel case. Then he set out on his journey. He promised Mum he’d send a carrier pigeon or a letter once he reached his goal and he also promised to come home and help his younger siblings as soon as he’d mastered the skills he needed to rise in the realm of wizardry. She sent him on his way with a few tears and a fervent blessing. Mothers did that, he knew. On the wings of ambition and hope, he set off to seek his future. Surely it would be far brighter than anything he could find in Melcorth.

The journey to the Alpenzers took longer than he had hoped. Desperate to reach his goal within the allotted ten-day, he pressed on by any means he could find—rail, coach and finally on foot since he could not afford to hire a steed. Perhaps he’d been a bit too generous with himself the first few days, paying for food and lodging. Earlier today he had munched a last bit of dry bread and a sliver of cheese, contemplating the prospect of sleeping in a stable or an abandoned hut. His feet hurt, thirst burned in his throat, and hunger gnawed at his slack belly.

Still, the obvious fact he drew close to his goal sustained him. The mountains loomed straight ahead, like three huge fangs gnawing at the sky. Now, where could he find that sorcerer?