Randall felt at peace as he crossed the University of West Ursia’s verdant campus. He meandered along the main brick path, between rows of young trees and students bustling between one class to another.
He had spent six of the most fulfilling months of his life on the campus. It had been a time to learn and grow, and not only concerning his education. He had been a stranger to West Ursia when he had arrived and had been fortunate to be singled out by the head of the College of Magic. Maslin Markwood’s discovery of Randall had been no accident, though it had appeared so to the young healer at the time. Markwood had sensed a new magical entity within the city, and upon investigation had discovered Randall sleeping in an alley along Beggars Row. After an examination and interview period, Randall had been offered a student position within the college.
Tendbones smiled as he passed the brown stone building of the College of Military Science and spotted ahead the white columns that bordered the entrance to the College of Magic.
The healer had known his own power when he had first entered his studies, but Markwood had shown him his true potential during those six months. Normally a student would have had to attend the school at least two years before gaining a basic degree in magic, and an additional four years before becoming an adept within one of the multiple majors. For a while Randall had considered earning a degree in ensorclements, but he had known in his heart what he truly wanted. As the healing arts were already natural to him, he had felt his six months of study more than enough to prepare him for the outside world. Unfortunately he had not completed his degree in medicinal magics, but that was because several of the professors felt he had not had enough time to learn his studies proper, and the young healer was anxious to begin using his skills. Markwood had stood by Randall, and had found the young man employment at the healing tower in the Swamps. Since then, the healer had been indebted to the old wizard, and Markwood had proven to be more than a teacher. He had become a trusted friend, the only person who knew why Randall now called Bond home.
The smile on the young man's face did not lessen as he trotted up the marble steps to the college’s entrance. Once inside he twisted to his right in the main hall and proceeded up a staircase to the second floor.
Randall turned right along a narrower hall and proceeded until he came to a wide door on his left with the words “Markwood” engraved in its center. There was no doorknob, but that didn’t stop the healer.
With rolling eyes, Randall spoke the secret words taught to him by his former teacher. “All hail the mighty Markwood.”
The door swung inward on invisible hinges.
“Old man!” Randall called out as he stepped into the outer chamber. Paintings of famous wizards hung everywhere, covering the walls. A desk to the right of the entrance sat empty, as it always did when Randall visited. Markwood didn’t believe in having a secretary, especially when there were so many students willing to do chores for a stipend to help with their tuition.
“In here, Randall.” The voice came from behind the room’s other door. “Come in, as long as you are not carrying an open flame.”
This door did have a knob, and Randall used it before pushing through to the next room. Revealed was Markwood’s inner office, a small chamber of brick with three windows on the far wall. A large, dark desk was shoved into the back of the room beneath the windows while rows of shelves covered the other walls. Upon the shelves were thousands of books, manuscripts and scrolls stuffed together.
Markwood appeared the typical wizard, his gray hair lengthy and running into the beard flowing from his chin. His light purple robes were gathered around him as he sat with legs crossed in the center of the room. A floppy hat that came to a point rested on the ground next to one of the wizard’s knees.
On the floor in front of him had been inscribed in yellow chalk a circle with a five-pointed star drawn within. From the center of the star floated upward a tawny fog in the shape of a human head.
Markwood looked up at his visitor. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the floor on the other side of the chalk circle.
Randall squatted and stared at the fog. For a moment he thought he could see a pair of dull eyes staring out at him.
Markwood waved a hand at the vapor. “I’ll talk to you another time, father. I’ve company.”
The fog shook, appearing to nod, then sank into the center of the star. After a second it dissipated, breaking apart into mist.
The old wizard looked to his guest. “What can I do for you?”
“It concerns Belgad.”
Markwood’s eyes narrowed beneath bushy brows. “What of the man?”
“One of his people was burnt badly in a fire several nights ago.”
“Trelvigor.” Markwood spoke the name with distaste.
“I’m not sure how much I can help him, but he’ll likely live.”
“I wish no harm on any living man,” Markwood said with bitterness in his voice, “but believe me, that one was deserving. He is the worst breed of mage there is, feeding the fuel of the Eastern church’s hate.”
Randall frowned. “As a healer, I’m bound to help him.”
“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.”
“Besides, Trelvigor is in no state to cause me harm The man can barely breath.” Randall eased back so he was sitting on the floor. “And Belgad does not view me in a negative light. I have done a good bit of doctoring for him of late.”
“As long as that is all the use Belgad has for you, you should be safe.”
“My safety is the reason I am here.” The healer leaned back, his arms at an angle behind him, to rest on his hands. “Last night there was an attack upon Belgad’s men. Two were killed, one crippled and another suffered a wound. The injured one, Stilp, said the man who attacked them was dressed all in black and went by the name Kron Darkbow.”
Randall watched Markwood's eyes widen. “Does the name mean anything to you?”
“Not specifically, but ... you said this Darkbow was in black, and attacked Belgad’s men?”
“And he told Stilp he was declaring war against Belgad. It sounds like a personal vendetta.”
Markwood nodded agreement. “Belgad would have many enemies over the years. I take it it has crossed your mind this Darkbow character could be Kobalan.”
“It has,” Randall said with an anxious sigh, “which is why I am here. I don’t know what Kobalos would have against Belgad, unless it were something he did long ago. But even then, an agent of Verkain would likely choose a more direct approach.”
“You haven’t used the ring?” The wizard's look was one of concern.
“No.”
“Wise decision. Do you have it upon you?”
“Locked within my desk.”
“Good.”
“Do you think you can help?”
Markwood rested his chin in a hand. “I can make inquiries that should not draw too much attention, but this Darkbow is no wizard or magical creature. If he were, I would have been aware of his presence within the city.”
Randall shrugged. “I can’t imagine why Verkain would send anyone against Belgad. It would make no sense. Belgad is no threat to Kobalos.”
Markwood’s gaze grew stern. “Belgad can be a threat to anyone under the right circumstances. Remember that.”
“I will, professor,” Randall said mockingly.
“I mean it, Randall.” The wizard was in no mood to joke about the Dartague. “If Belgad finds a way to profit from you, he will use you. The man has little regard for others. He might not be an out-and-out murderer, but the mentality is similar. Do not allow yourself to be used by this man.”
Randall did not know what to say. He did not trust Belgad, but had not considered the man an overt threat. He would take the wizard’s advice, however, and be on his guard.
Upon seeing the look of concern on his friend’s face, Markwood softened. “I apologize. I sound like your father.”
Randall chuckled. “Believe me, Maslin, you sound nothing like my father.”
A smile crossed the old wizard’s lips. “I suppose you are right, and let’s thank Ashal for that.”
“Yes, let’s do,” Randall said, using the edge of a heavy shelf to pull himself to standing. It was time to let the mage get to work.
Markwood also rose from the floor. “I will contact you in a day or two with whatever I discover.”
“Thank you again, Maslin.” Randall thrust out a hand.
The wizard pulled the younger man to him and hugged his shoulders. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, you hear me?”
Randall hugged the man in return. “It’s not like I’m rushing off to war, or returning to Kobalos,” he said with a lopsided grin.
“I suppose it isn’t,” Markwood said, easing the younger man back to look at him, “but you’ve been safe here for three years. I would like to see it stay that way.”
“I will be on my guard.” Randall turned to leave.
As the young healer exited, the wizard’s eyes upon him were full of concern.