8 – An Unexpected Visit

Bagavash shoved a glass flask into my hand. It was filled with a viscous red liquid.

“It’s level 10,” he explained. “Lowest one I’ve got. Might be a little much for you, but you should be fine. Meet us inside when you’re… presentable.”

Bagavash eyed me up and down, then hurried back into the tower.

I uncorked the flask. It smelled suspiciously like red wine that had been mixed with herbs and something else that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Whatever it was, it would be better than this incessant pain I was in.

I tipped the bottle back and took a swig.

The potion flowed over my tongue with a life-giving richness, like someone had bottled the feeling of hanging around a heartwarming fire with friends. I could feel it as it trickled down my throat, sending out waves of vitality that rapidly put my shoulder back together in a painless, if unsettling, rearrangement of bones and ligaments.

I took another swig and the healing potion penetrated further. I watched as the wound on my stomach knit itself together with waves of red energy that sealed it shut just as surely as if I had been given bed rest for two weeks. There was still a scar, but it didn’t hurt, and I had to admit, it looked pretty cool.

There was still the matter of my ripped and bloodied shirt. Bagavash said not to come in until I was presentable. These White Wizard guys sounded like they were the authority in these lands, so it would probably be best to heed his advice. I didn’t want to walk in looking like a fool in front of the guys who probably made the laws of the land.

The problem was that the wizards hadn’t issued me any robes yet. The only clothes I had were the ones I brought with me from the old world. I had one more shirt in my backpack, but it was in my room, which I needed to pass through the main hall to get to.

I scanned the tower courtyard for anything that I might be able to use. My eyes landed on a scarecrow in one of the garden beds.

Bingo.

I yanked the burlap shirt off the scarecrow, basically destroying it in the process, sending hay flying all over the vegetables. I made a mental note to put it back together when this visit was over.

I balled up my bloodied shirt and tucked it into a corner of the garden. The breeze felt good on my newly healed body. Then I pulled on the burlap scarecrow shirt. It itched like hell, and I probably looked like a medieval peasant, but it was better than nothing.

Now that I was more or less appropriately dressed, I marched off to the main entrance of the tower.

Inside, Bagavash, Erl, and Linli were lined up in a row while Senior Archmage Alynur spoke with a tall wizard in long, flowing white robes. Everything about this wizard was long, flowing, and white. His beard. His hair. Even his eyebrows. By his side stood a youth who couldn’t have been more than twenty. Though his hair was shaggy and black, and he had no beard, he donned the same white robes as the wizard next to him.

Erl made a motion for me to join him in line, and I scurried over, trying not to draw attention to myself.

“So this is your new recruit,” the old wizard drawled, his voice dripping with superiority. He walked over and looked me up and down. “I can’t say I’m impressed. Though you have always had a penchant for the common stock,” he said, glancing at Erl.

Erl straightened his back, but I could tell something was simmering beneath the surface. His jaw tightened, ever so slightly, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“He will prove his worth in time, Archwizard Siulius,” Erl said. “We do not all announce ourselves with noise and spectacle.”

Siulius raised a thin white eyebrow. “No? Because from where I stand, it looks rather like you collect strays and hope one of them learns to bite.”

Linli shifted beside me, clearly bristling, but kept his eyes forward.

“Potential rarely presents itself in a polished form,” Alynur added calmly. “It must be cultivated.”

“Ah yes,” Siulius said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Cultivated. Like weeds in an untended garden.”

Alynur’s expression didn’t change. “Even weeds have their uses.”

“Only when burned,” the wizard replied.

A brief silence followed, and the implication hung in the air like a threat.

“Is this your entire court?” Siulius continued. “I seem to remember one other wizard.”

“There is Myrl, Archwizard Siulius,” Alynur said, bowing deeply. “But he has not yet returned from his morning tasks.”

Archwizard Siulius scoffed. “So this is the manner of tower you run? Sloppy, if I dare say so.” He luxuriated on the words, rolling them over in his mouth like a fine wine. “I’m afraid your love of the halfling’s tobacco has dulled your resolve, old friend.”

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Senior Archmage Alynur stood up straight. “I’ve found that not everything is about the pursuit of power and order, Archwizard. Indeed, there’s more to be gained from contemplation and self-reflection.”

The Archwizard chuckled. “Sounds like more of that nonsense from the Book of Urk. I told you he went mad in his later years. Those words will poison your mind, Alynur. Power and order are the only languages this world understands.”

A long silence stretched between them. I got the feeling that Archmage Alynur and Archwizard Siulius shared a complicated history.

Also, all these Arch titles were getting confusing. I got that, as Archmage, Alynur was the leader of this tower. Did Archwizard imply something higher? Or was it just an honorary title given to the head of the White Tower? I thought I remembered the wizards even saying something about an Archsorcerer…

“Remind me who this Myrl is?” Siulius said.

“Our youngest member,” Alynur replied. “Besides our new recruit, of course. You remember him. Tall. Skinny as a rail.”

“Ahh yes, the one who likes to smoke the stoneweed of the Southlands. As if the halfling’s leaf weren’t enough. You certainly know how to pick them, old friend. A curious collection you’ve assembled here. One wonders if it’s a tower or a refuge.”

Erl shifted next to me, but said nothing.

Alynur remained composed. “He is talented.”

“So are many fools,” Siulius replied. “Talent without discipline is just another form of waste.” He paused, glancing around the room. “No matter. I can’t afford to wait for this straggler.”

The white wizard began pacing back and forth. “Normally, I wouldn’t come all this way myself. Managing the White Tower and all the lands within its sphere of influence is a consuming task, as I’m sure you’re aware. But I wanted to show my son, Ridan, how we collect taxes. If he is going to take over my job of managing the earthly realm, I want him to know every aspect of how an empire is run. Tax collection is just one cog in that machine. Ridan, introduce yourself.”