Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 75

Marches had not yet found the time to leaf through the healing spell books Ryffin had so lovingly picked out for him, thus leaving himself vulnerable to an anticlimactic death from tripping down the stairs or accidentally stabbing himself with a quill.

Neither had he the chance to taste a drop of wine for the last three weeks, not since seizing all the Dark Saints carriages and sending reinforcements across the border.

But most importantly, he had abandoned his bed-tea today for a greater cause.

That was a grave sacrifice he was willing to make, for it meant enjoying Ryffin's company.

Chalk screeched on rough stone, the runes coming alight on the surface for a moment before fading into the wall. Ritual chalks, it turned out, were not so bad after all, and certainly not narcotic, or else Ryffin would've been high out of his mind by now. They made the painstaking work of carving runes into stones far easier, and in the right hands, they could do wonders. Marches had half a mind to learn the rune letters once again, so that he could try out some Ancient Sorcery himself--if the lack of tea and the cool darkness of the tunnel did not lull him to sleep, first.

"Slightly to the right, if you please," said Ryffin, turning from the tunnel wall, correction glasses perched on his nose and chalk dust caught in his auburn hair.

"Yeah--? Right, sure." With an eye-watering yawn, Marches held up the green-glass lantern to illuminate the walls. "This good?"

Ryffin sighed. "Your right."

"I always am." Marches began nodding off again.

Ryffin put the chalk aside, and leaned close to hold the sorcerer's drooping face between his palms. He shook him gently. "El. On your feet, now. Wake up."

Other times, he would've been rendered speechless from the closeness, but now, the sleep-drunk Marches only smiled. "Haven't heard that nickname in years. They used to call me that back at the academy. Good old days, eh?"

Ryffin smiled, but it faded soon and he let go of him to sit down by his side. He took off the glasses. "Mhm. Depends on who you're asking."

Marches woke with a start, for the alchemist sounded so grim. Then realization hit him hard. Ryffin fiddled with the chalk piece in his hands, face painted in gloomy shades of green from the lantern.

And then, Marches finally braved the question he'd been meaning to ask, yet things kept coming one after another.

"Why... did you leave the academy?" he said.

Ryffin got to his feet quietly and got back to work. Marches followed him along with the lantern in silence. For the next few minutes, none uttered a word. Just when the sorcerer was sure Ryffin would never speak to him again in his life--the latter spoke.

"I didn't leave. That would imply I had a choice in that matter," he said. "I fled."

Here within the dark confines of the tunnel, lit by a single lamp, Ryffin told him the tale, one of a sorceress declared dead and her work stolen, and of an alchemist who discovered her work and the injustice done to her, and thus had to leave behind all he'd loved in order to save his life.

"The High Sorcerer did this?" Marches said in disbelief. "Well I never! I've handled matters of the academy before. Not the most fair place, I'd say--not unless you can please the right people. But I never thought the High Sorcerer could stoop so low as to try and kill his own apprentice."

"That's why you must step out there more. Issuing orders from within the luxury of the palace would achieve little in this corrupt city if you aren't out there to enforce them," said Ryffin. "And I mean this as no admonishment. It's a fact, one that has been proven right in King Forthwind's passive way of ruling."