The Apprentice

by Byron Bailey

Table of Contents
Part 1 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

I stepped inside Knobby Knuckle’s Nuthouse. The tension eased from my shoulders at the first whiff of toasted chestnuts. The tables reached no higher than a man’s knees. Instead of chairs, the patrons sat on fluffy azure cushions that felt soft to the hand but hard to the buttocks. Old Knobby Knuckles said that the cushions honored the culture where the ever popular coconut came from. Phooey! Who ever heard of a people smart enough to build a dining table yet dumb enough to forget the chairs? I bet the true reason he only had cushions had more to do with the vantage point he obtained in looking down the dresses of his patrons.

Knobby Knuckles lurched up to me. He looked as much like the rabid rat on the sign out front as a man could. It wouldn’t surprise me if Knobby Knuckles had used himself as the model for the sign. It was just like him to pose as the god of nuts. “What do you want?” he asked, his incisors aimed at my throat. Knobby Knuckles had always been an impatient man when there were customers with cleavage to tend.

Did I want the earthiness of walnuts to reassure me of the continued vitality of the world without me in it or did I want the etherealness of almonds to help focus me upon the impending afterlife? Knobby Knuckles clacked his teeth at me, his frown deepening.

“I’ll have just a glass of ogre brandy straight,” I said finally. I didn’t want to even think of the implications of adding pepper or honey to my drink.

Knobby Knuckles handed me my glass. I eased myself onto a cushion next to Keaza Hutafer. “I love you more than anything else in the world,” I said.

Keaza Hutafer grinned at me, placed her hand on my knee. I winced but she didn’t seem to notice. Keaza Hutafer probably wasn’t the most beautiful woman I could find. Her nose was a little too angular and her legs were long enough that if viewed at the proper angle, she bore a distinct resemblance to a chicken. But she had short, silky hair that was comforting to stroke. Her lips managed to be simultaneously slender and curvaceous. Even more importantly, she was a woman a man could hold a conversation with. Many women simply nodded their heads and said, “That’s wonderful,” or “How interesting.” What made Keaza Hutafer so utterly captivating was that she managed to say, “That’s wonderful,” and, “How interesting,” with enthusiasm, almost as if she meant it. We were a good match.

“That’s wonderful!”

I touched her chin, cupped it gently in my hand. Her neck bent, pressing her chin into my palm. With a little ogre brandy in me, Keaza Hutafer certainly could make me forget my thigh for a while. The patrons of Knobby Knuckle’s Nuthouse suddenly stopped chomping their macadamias and stared at us. They always got quiet whenever a couple looked like they might enjoy themselves. I was a class act, though, knowing full well how to treat a woman: take her out into the alley for some privacy.

“Shall we?” I asked.

She nodded, grabbed my hand.

Suddenly, a man in pink robes flung the door open. He was gangly with pale flesh sagging off of his bones like dumplings on an eating knife. Only his eyes weren’t sickly, glinting like the eating knife rather than the dumpling. This eating knife looked as if it could cut deep. He scanned the establishment with a frown, and then placed his hand on my shoulder. “I am Mandethk the Morbid. I have been informed that a Baznich Rutoff may be found here. Could you direct me to him?”

Sorcerer. Instinctively, my fingers slid to the hilt of my sword. Then I remembered that he had said my name wrong. In good conscience, I refused to answer. No Rut Off here.

“He’s right here,” Keaza Hutafer said.

I gave her my you-can-bet-we’ll-talk-about-this-later look, making sure the lines of my jaw were exceptionally harsh. She giggled, reached for my ogre brandy, took a sip.

The man scanned me up and down like I was a woman on the auction block. Normally, I would have been flattered albeit not interested when another man looked at me that way. Anything involving a sorcerer had to be perverted, though, and I was never flattered to be thought of as a pervert. “You should suffice,” he said.

“There’s been a mistake,” I said. “I don’t care what the rumors are but I am not for sale. My advice? Visit the Burrowing Bird Brothel and Catering Service, a fine establishment. Ask for Mervin. He will be happy to fulfill your needs.”

“I am not here for senseless indulgence in the flesh,” he said. “I’m here for my new apprentice. That would be you.”

“What?” Panic started creeping into my voice.

“You are the individual who brutally murdered my previous apprentice, Taizo Kules, are you not?”

“I didn’t murder him.” The law was on my side. I had witnesses.

“Then could you explain how he got chopped up into eighty-seven pieces?”

“He called my mother a whore — got that! A whore. The constitution of Trangilok City gives me the right to defend my mother’s honor. And he called me a bastard. I didn’t do nothing illegal.”

“Illegal, no,” he sighed. “Immoral, yes. I follow a higher law and that law says that you must replace what you have taken. Please, give me your sword.”

The patrons gasped. The air suddenly turned frosty, unfriendly. Knobby Knuckles cracked his knuckles, stared at the shell-strewn floor. Keaza Hutafer handed me back my ogre brandy. I took a long swallow before responding.

“Why?”

“The first law that the apprentice must learn is called The Code of Palicus.” Mandethk stared into nothingness and recited. “It is inhumane and irresponsible for any magic-using entity to utilize weapons that can slash, pierce, stab, cut, burn, or eat through a bear hide.”

“Well, this sword ain’t even a one-hide sword,” I lied. “So it don’t count.” No way was I going to be anyone’s apprentice. I already had my death planned: a couple days of indulgence followed by a futile attack on the duke’s palace where I would die with a sword in my hand. Between the indulging and the dying, I didn’t have much time for stirring potions.

“For the master-apprentice relationship to function properly, it is essential that the apprentice is never to lie to the master.”

“I’m not your apprentice!”

“There you are, lying again. Now give me your sword.” His voice strained with persuasion like a noose pulling against my will. Almost of its own accord, my sword slipped into my hand.

“That’s very good. Now give it to me.”

My muscles twitched. A rivulet of perspiration flowed down my nose. I extended the hilt of my precious six-hide sword to him. Mandethk clutched for my weapon. Even magic has its limits, I learned. When I saw my sword about to be lost to me forever, I felt a violent snap inside of me like a giant slamming my spine against his knee. I snatched back my sword and returned it to him, point aimed at his throat.

Mandethk leaped backwards. For the only time in my life, I heard him laugh, hollow and ominous, the call of a spectral creature come to announce death in the neighborhood. “Impressive. But you’re not going to accomplish anything by fighting me. You must learn that a man does not need a sword to be a man.”

I stifled a laugh and then cut at his knee. He leaped over my cut and then clapped his hands. My sword shattered into slivers, glittering as they fell to the floor. Anguish gurgled in my throat. My dear mother had given that sword to me on my fifteenth birthday.

“Now that we’re through with that little unpleasantness, let’s be on our way.”

I drew my knife, stabbed for his heart. He clapped his hand. The knife turned to dust. I drew my other knife. He clapped his hand again. My other knife turned to dust.

“Give it up, Baznich Rutoff, apprentice of Mandethk the Morbid. I can counter anything.”

“I’m not your apprentice!” I threw myself at him, my fists and feet lashing out Trangilok Rat Style: feet careening off his shin, fists bashing against his cheeks, knee sinking into his gut, elbow slamming into his face. Barrage after barrage. The Trangilok rat, a furball of fury never relenting until the enemy ceased to move! I had learned from the rat man himself, Gragant Laogar.

My knuckles started to bleed. Yet I pressed the attack. Furball of fury! My feet bruised each time they pounded his groin. Relentless! My knees throbbed in pain. I gave Mandethk one last elbow to the throat and then stopped. Master Laogar would have been ashamed of me. As I gasped for breath, I realized that I was more Trangilok mouse than rat.

Mandethk smiled thinly. “Spell number 205, very useful for protecting against attacks of a more ordinary nature. Now are you finished with your little tirade?”

I knew when I was defeated. Out the door I hobbled. The Trangilok Rat, even with gangrene, was a quick hobbler if need be. (The Trangilok Rat was anything if not versatile.) Into the woods. Moss covered trunks arching. Thorn-covered branches stretching.

Woods?

My hobbling ended as I assumed a pensive stance. Where was Jugular Avenue? I didn’t remember any park in the city large enough to have more than five or six trees. And where were the guards to keep the peasants from chopping them down? A bad feeling squatted in my gut.

“Turn around,” the voice said.

I slowly pivoted and saw a black tower poking out of the forest. I shivered.

“Welcome home, apprentice.”

Not until ogre brandy turned to water and wise men turned to wizards, would I step into that tower. I’ve never seen a more hideous sight like a misshapen penis poking out of a pubic patch infested with the rot. The problem was obvious — too much cover. Whether from trees or hair, the cures for cover were the same: steel and flame.

The cause was equally obvious — sorcerers thinking that being a man required nothing more than a little hair in the right place. Manhood — nay, even civilization itself — was nothing more than the constant struggle against chaos. Whether in one’s pants or on one’s land, what could be more chaotic than a forest? And besides, a properly burned forest only made a tower look taller than it actually was.

“I said welcome home apprentice.” The voice rang through the surrounding branches making every shadow even more ominous than it already was.

I needed to get back to Trangilok. If I died assaulting the duke’s palace, I would be remembered for years as the one who was brave enough to charge into a hail of crossbow bolts. I might even spark a revolution, have a statue erected to me as the father of the new regime. Even if I didn’t directly spark a revolution, I might get a monument for being an influential pre-revolutionary when the revolution finally came. However, if I died in the forest, I would be nothing more than a bacon bit in an enormous bowl of salad.

“Come back to the keep, apprentice. It’s getting dark and the forest is filled with dangerous creatures that become active at night.”

I sniffed the air like Master Laogar had taught me. Nothing dangerous at all. Just a bunch of dogs and a bear hide like they have hanging from every lord’s wall. It would be fitting that I have my own bear hide to drape over my shoulders. After all, the original sword tester’s code required that a blade be able to slice through a bear’s hide. Once bear hides became rare, though, the code was changed. Now each sword was simply labeled with how many leather hides it had penetrated on its virgin slice.

The trees obscured the sun better than any monsoon, making it hard to even tell up from down. Away from the tower and towards the tower were the only directions that mattered now. I chose away.

The bear hide scent got stronger, filled my nostrils with a peppery, muskiness that made the hackles on the back of my neck shrivel. Maybe I didn’t need a bear hide. Bear hide seemed to be the forest’s equivalent of latrine rags.

Suddenly, a ball of incandescence appeared over the tower, lighting up the forest with flickering shadows. I wanted to spit but didn’t make the effort. Just what I needed, a tower with the glowing gonorrhea.

“I hope that helps. I don’t want you to get lost.”

The bear reared in front of me. I had always assumed a bear to be a kind of shaggy, wild bovine. Sword testers certainly wouldn’t have switched from leather hides to bear hides if the two hadn’t had something in common. However, I didn’t think cows — not even wild ones — had finger-sized fangs. I turned to hobble-run away.

The bear crashed after me, its breath a grunting pant on the back of my neck. Baznich Rutoff wasn’t a bacon bit! I focused on the incandescent ball over the tower and pushed my legs to their limits. Where had my rat whiff gone wrong? Only in the forest could normally inoffensive scents foretell of a nightmare creature.

I reached the keep, felt a moment of elation. Vicious creatures were universally afraid of outposts of civilization. Before I could turn around to make an obscene gesture at the forest, though, claws ripped into my backside, hurling me down onto the drawbridge. I was a fool for mistaking the keep for an outpost of civilization.

“Get off of my apprentice!” Mandethk ambled after me.

In the true spirit of the rat, I decided to fight as viciously as possibly. It might not save my life but if I could rip out an eye or break a paw, then maybe the creature would think before attacking the next person to be rat-trained. The rat was anything if not self-sacrificing. I twisted onto my back, brought my knee to my chest and kicked out at the creature’s guts.

The bear didn’t even flinch before snapping at my throat. I slid to the side, brought my elbow down across its snout. Furball of fury! A claw stabbed into my shoulder but I managed to wrap my entire body around it and twisted with all of the leverage I could muster. As the bone snapped, a roar ripped through the air. The creature yanked its broken paw back but I wasn’t about to give up. I kicked out at the injured paw, heard another roar. I started to kick again but stopped as the creature limped away.

Mandethk stood over me, his jaw flexing from side to side. “Amazing. Not a single fatal wound on you.”

“Well, I sure feel like I’m going to die.” Where in the forest was I going to find a new shirt? Maybe I needed to go after the bear and take its hide. If only I had my sword!

Mandethk placed his hand on my forehead. “You’re not going to die but this may hurt a little.” He spoke a dozen words that made the hackles on the back of my neck rise. The air sparkled. When I finished writhing like a gutted gladiator, he stood over me, his arms akimbo. “Better?”

“I suppose so.” I realized that I actually did feel better. Forget about the minor wounds from the bear. My leg felt whole. I peeled the bandage away, didn’t smell even a whiff of sour. Nothing remained of the wound but a splotch of pink. Gangrene wasn’t going to kill me. And then it struck me. I was going to live, live as a sorcerer’s apprentice. I suddenly felt unclean. He had used magic to stop my escape from this world. Better to have a hoard of worms crawling over me than the attentions of a sorcerer. Maybe a dip in the moat would make me feel cleaner. But I knew of the allure of water. Water never made anything clean. Just look at the creatures that lived in it: fish, diphtheria fairies, and algae — stink upon stink.

“Then I guess it’s time to say it officially. Welcome to Garnijon Keep.”

My first close-up impression of the castle known as Garnijon Keep was one of horror. I stumbled across the courtyard, stared at the lichen-splotched blocks of black basalt. The blocks made the entire castle seem oppressive and cold like a brooding mountain not to be challenged. I kicked out at a block and felt pain. The bruise on my toe only added to the impression as if Garnijon Keep couldn’t help but crush any who dared live beneath its walls. And then there was that horrible tower poking above it all.

I now knew why Taizo Kules had picked a fight with me. Any death I gave him had to be more merciful than that which he would find in the forest or the keep. If I still had my sword, I would have fallen upon it. Instead, all I could do was gaze upon the naked despair wafting from the trees and shudder. No one civilized could endure that much despair indefinitely. Mandethk had to die. There was no other option. He would never let me go and with his sorcerer resources, he would always find me if I fled.

How to kill a sorcerer? I didn’t know and apparently Taizo Kules never did, either. At least I couldn’t be in a better position to find out. Whether I liked it or not, I had become a sorcerer’s apprentice.