The next morning Leif awoke to the sound of Vigo’s voice. He felt his body being jostled. “Wake up, Leif we still have ground to cover.”

  Leif’s eyes wouldn’t open. He reached up with his hands and peeled them apart. His lids were heavy and begged to stay shut. Leif groaned. He was exhausted.

  “It will wear off soon…that or you can sleep on your horse. Let’s go.”

  Leif felt like he’d been stretched across the cobblestones of the town square and every wagon had been given the chance to roll over him. He felt like a doctor had been overzealous with a blood-letting. It was difficult to take a full breath. He imagined that Vigo must have stacked a mound of stones on his chest while he slept. Leif was completely drained. His body responded only slowly and begrudgingly. His mind was fuzzy and his thoughts formed as quickly as a pebble falling through mud. And he was starving. He’d gone days without eating before, but he’d never experienced this fury from his stomach. It felt like an open wound that was going to consume the rest of his body. “I’m…so hungry.”

  Vigo chuckled and brought him strips of dried meat. Leif didn’t know what type of meat it was, but he devoured it. It wasn’t nearly enough but it helped settle his insides temporarily.

  With a monumental effort, and mostly not wanting to disappoint Vigo, he rolled himself over and began packing his bedroll. The cool air helped rouse him, if only slightly. He decided he wouldn’t be bathing after all but he did stumble towards the pool and splash cold water on his face. The shock of the water on his skin and eyes gave him a moment of clarity and wakefulness.

  He ensured Vigo wasn’t watching when he rolled himself onto Emir. When he was confident he wasn’t going to slide off the horse's back, he let Emir step in behind Vigo’s horse as they walked back towards the road. Leif kept his eyes mostly closed. Cracking them open occasionally to ensure his horse was still behind Vigo’s.

  “What you’re feeling is something akin to the morning after you’ve had too much wine.” said Vigo, “or like using a muscle you’ve never used before. Your body is trying to recover the only way it knows how. In a relatively short time, you will adapt and the recovery will be easier.”

  Leif groaned in response. He kept his eyes closed and imagined leashing his horse to Vigo’s so he didn’t have to stay awake. Out of curiosity he focused his attention within himself and tried to feel his magic again.

  He felt nothing. He felt as he’d always felt. There was no wellspring of power waiting for him. His magic was gone. He groaned again in frustration.

  “Where did it go? I can’t feel it any longer.”

  Vigo chortled, “If you were to lift a stone over your head one thousand times in an evening, your shoulders wouldn’t work properly the following morning. That is what you’re feeling.”

  The traffic on the road became constant. Caravans barreled past them. Most of the wagon trains were bursting with goods. They had bands of mounted security trotting alongside to ensure the goods made it safely to their destination. Leif supposed the armored and heavily armed men were a necessary expense for such commercial endeavors. Brigands or some creatures of the night, or both, had been known to spoil the investments of enterprising transportation concerns. They were close to Penth which likely added to their wariness.

  One such man saw Leif observing the wagons and gave him a dark glare. The glare confused Leif, but he held the man’s gaze. The large caravan guard looked as if he was about to ride towards them when he noticed Vigo at Leif’s side. The man looked back towards his wagons and continued forward albeit with a few glances back towards them.

  At midday they stopped. Vigo led him to a small outcropping of large stones a short distance off the road. It gave them slight cover from the passing travelers.

  Leif climbed down from his horse and unrolled his bedroll. He wasn’t wasting a moment of this break not asleep.

  Vigo drew the larger of his two swords. The wizard removed his cloak and lifted the blade before him. Slowly and deliberately, he moved. His sword moved with him in a fluid motion like it was a part of him. Vigo was practicing. He was fighting invisible enemies. His steps and swings became faster. His sword sheared through the air as he moved through a series of parries and reposts.

  Leif was entranced by the dance. He hadn’t envisioned Vigo needing to practice anything so deliberately. It was difficult to picture the man having done anything but springing out into the world fully formed and fully competent.

  Despite his curiosity, sleep was waiting for him. He closed his eyes and within moments he was asleep.

  ***

  When Leif awoke he felt more refreshed than he’d expected. Vigo had kicked his booted foot but opening his eyes was less of an ordeal this time. Vigo had his cloak back on and was pushing his book back into his saddlebags. Leif sat up to find a small pile of wild strawberries in an open pouch next to him.

  “Did you pick berries for me?” said Leif, confused and still waking up.

  Vigo ignored him. Leif managed an appreciative nod towards the man before rolling out from under his blanket and packing his things, his strawberries, and himself, onto Emir. His aching stomach was thankful for the food.

  The pair continued on their path. The road had widened and deep ruts from hundreds of wagons were carved into the dirt. The sky had become overcast but despite some hints of darkness among the clouds, no rain fell. They continued for hours more. There were still numerous travelers, the sight of which kept the journey interesting until finally, they crested a ridge and the port town of Sersk spread out before them.

  Leif supposed ‘town’ was the wrong word. Sersk was a city. It was sprawling and uneven, as if the buildings had sprung outwards from the port as they were needed. Sersk was the largest port on the Kilden Sea.

  From their higher viewpoint, Leif could see the Kilden just north of the city. Tall masts from numerous ships pointed skyward and swayed peacefully on the waves.

  Sersk itself was a large half-circle of a city. Or, Leif supposed, it appeared more like a half-spider web the way the roads criss-crossed one another. Neither the cliffs to the east nor the Todda River, which cut southwards through the city from the harbor, had impeded its growth.

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  The place bustled with activity. There was a buzz that came from thousands of people engaged in one form or commerce or another. Leif felt the energy of it creep through his bones and crackle on his skin.

  They entered the city through Sersk’s main gate. It was busy and dirty and crowded. Wagons filled the road, coming or going from the port loaded with piles of goods to ship, or to caravan across the country of Foerst.

  Vigo turned them off the main road and onto a side street. They continued on the perpendicular path until Vigo felt they’d sufficiently avoided most of the traffic.

  They turned left and headed again towards the port, the pounding heart of the city. The street they’d picked was named Inger’s Gate. A small sign at the street corner told them so despite half the letters being worn off to near nothing. It was far less crowded, which wasn’t surprising considering the inhabitants. The street was dirty. It was poorly maintained and the buildings on either side could have used new paint years ago. Some of the people hurried about their own business, their eyes focused on the cobblestone street. Most on the street looked to be harmless beggars. Leif pitied them.

  There were some who watched Leif and Vigo who didn’t seem so harmless. More than one of these men twirled knives between their fingers.

  Vigo watched them back. His eyes were taunting, as if daring them to approach him, perhaps wishing for it. Leif put his hand on his sword and subtly loosened the blade from its scabbard.

  “Did you intend for us to come down this road or was this an accident?” Leif looked over at Vigo, as his concern grew in the pit of his empty stomach. Vigo smirked at him, “It’s the most direct route.”

  As he’d done multiple times that day, Leif reached for his magic. He felt nothing. It was gone. He feared he was broken. That he’d burned himself out or lost the connection forever. He was still weary, but not so much as before. He'd hoped it would have returned by now.

  The trick he had done with the bread on the countertop was nothing compared to what he’d felt in the battle with Vigo. He searched within himself. He agonized over it. He was annoyed and frustrated. Embarrassment kept him from telling Vigo. He knew he should ask the wizard again but he didn’t.

  Leif’s thoughts were interrupted when it became apparent that there were several unkempt and dirty men whose pace and direction had begun to match their own. They kept a distance that could have very easily been mistaken for threatening. A skeleton of a man broke away from his companions and approached them from Vigo’s side. He had rags draped over his bony frame. His beard was long and stringy and his eyebrows were the bushiest Leif had ever seen. The sheer weight of them forced the protruding growths of hair to droop down over his eyes. Dirt and grease covered his hands and face. His mouth wore a permanent sneer despite his attempt at a smile. The teeth he showed, the ones that weren’t missing, were brown and splintered.

  “Spare a few marks for a poor old man?” said the beggar as he boldly stepped in front of Vigo’s horse, forcing them to pause.

  “Move away,” Vigo spoke back firmly, with an obvious disgust towards the man.

  The dirty and spindly beggar smirked back at Vigo. He casually took another step forward. He then pulled his rags to the side to draw a poorly maintained knife from his poorly maintained trousers. Leif noticed movement in his periphery and looked up to see several other unkempt thugs creeping towards them from all sides. The gang of thieves had surrounded them. “Those are some very fine looking swords on your back, sir. I’m guessing a lord would pay handsomely for those.”

  “A lord would pay handsomely. But they’re not for sale,” responded Vigo. The others crept closer to Leif. Vigo sat unmoving and calm. He wanted to follow Vigo’s lead, but he wasn’t letting them get closer without being ready to defend himself. He drew his own sword and pointed it at the approaching derelicts despite the protest from his sore shoulders. “No closer.”

  His unsheathed blade and the command he’d issued had the opposite effect Leif had intended. The men on his side lunged towards him. The first came at him with a short knife. Leif swept his longer sword blade along the man’s forearm. The man yelped in pain and surprise and he lurched away as the other two raced towards Leif. Neither brandished weapons that he could see, but they could easily pull him off his horse if he let them. He slashed at them, mostly trying to keep them too afraid to get any closer.

  The first thief, who had approached from Vigo’s side, moved to take another step towards the wizard. His foot never touched the ground. The ragged man was lifted from the cobblestones. He hung suspended in the air, his feet several inches above the ground. He swung and kicked them wildly but he was unable to retreat. Fear and recognition filled his eyes. The floating thief dropped his knife and threw his hands up in surrender. “Begging your pardon Mr. Wizard, we didn’t know.”

  The others in the crew stopped advancing. They stared in disbelief at their floating comrade. The knife that he’d dropped never fell. It hung suspended in the air next to him. With a menacing slowness, the shabby blade turned in the air and stopped with the sharpened tip poised between the ragged thief's eyes.

  Leif looked back at the group that moments before had been harassing him. They had thrown up their hands and started walking backwards, away from Vigo and Leif. The other thugs who had been closing in did the same.

  “Perhaps now is a good time for you to find a new line of work,” said Vigo, his attention returning to the floating beggar before him.

  “Of course sir, please sir, have pity on me, I’m just a poor, stupid, helpless man who never had a chance,” the beggar whined.

  “I’m not a compassionate man.” Vigo paused as if considering, “Get out of my sight.”

  Vigo released the man from the grip of his magic. The dirty thief collapsed in a shamble of bones and rags. He climbed to his hands and knees and crawled away. Leif could hear him muttering, “Thank you, sir, sorry, sir, thank you, thank you, I’m sorry, sir.”

  When it was clear the threat was gone, Vigo and Leif continued down the cobblestones, not sparing another look at the beggar and his gang of thieves. Leif heard the beggar’s knife clatter to the stones behind them.

  “That could have been worse,” said Leif.

  Vigo mused aloud, “Men like that make up the vast majority of humanity and are a good case for the refuse-cleansing value of war. They are an infestation of human roaches…we give far too much prestige to the worst and too little honor to the best among us.”

  “You wish for war then?”

  Vigo smirked. “I align my purpose with war. I yearn for it. As should you.”

  “Surely war is not a wizard’s only purpose.”

  Vigo smirked again, “Wizards were made for war. Or perhaps, war was made for wizards.”

  “Perhaps just you. I’m just here to protect my family.” Leif looked away, embarrassed the curt retort had escaped his mouth. Vigo straightened his back and spoke again.

  “Survival in war necessitates the cultivation of discipline, strength, confidence, ingenuity, physicality, fortitude, ruthlessness, prudence. Conquest requires excellence and mastery. You wish to become powerful and capable? To protect yourself and your family as your father couldn’t? You must master war.”

  “Do you always talk like this?” Leif asked, genuinely curious but also in an attempt at levity.

  “We must be forged Leif, by blood and sweat and failure and violence, through force of will. I became this way through my own effort and the horrors that I’ve seen. Weakness is pathetic and useless, so I became strong. Ugliness is repulsive and reflects the poor character of a place and people, so I surround myself with beauty. If you allow yourself to be cognizant of what is contemptible in the world, you’ll also learn what is good and noble and true.” His response didn’t contain anger but when he spoke like this his words were always carefully considered. He spoke with intensity and reverence. Reverence to what, Leif could only guess. Perhaps it was reverence for himself, or his life, or his mission.

  “I understand. But who speaks that way? How old are you, actually?” Leif turned towards Vigo expectantly. He preferred the banter to Vigo's heavier words.

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “Not a day younger than 60, surely.”

  Vigo scoffed, “I’m 24 years old.” Leif wasn’t surprised. Despite his rough countenance and commanding presence, Vigo’s face was youthful.

  “24 years old and still unmarried? With the way you talk I’m surprised you don’t have women flocking. Must be a scandal in Danaria.”

  Vigo scoffed again. “I have had many women available to me, but only one worth my attention. Why do you think I haven’t given you more time to recover? My bride wouldn’t forgive you if you caused us to delay our wedding. ”

  Leif’s jaw fell open. He thought the man was joking, but he quickly realized Vigo was quite serious. He felt a profound appreciation for the man that he hadn’t fully considered. Vigo had traveled all this way to find a new mage. He’d left his home, his wife-to-be, probably his family, so that he could find and help a stranger become a wizard.

  Leif took on a serious tone and he replied, “Congratulations, Vigo. I had no idea.”

  “Thank you. My bride is my treasure, and my peace. But you are here because it is important to me to find new mages, to rebuild the Guild. ” Vigo continued down the street in silence.