Golden Prophecy

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VURALA WASN'T a hard man to find.

His shop was on the outskirts of the city, down a small alleyway that held two other shops: one was a butcher, the other was an old bookstore. Vurala's shop proclaimed magical weapons that could be custom made, or bought over the counter that same day. Those who knew of him had luck with his weapons; those that stumbled upon him were another story.

Andorra and Callum stood in front of the shop, debating for a moment whether or not they could run away instead. Well, Andorra considered it. Callum pulled her along. "He won't bite. Now, c'mon and hold your chin up. You're about to demand training lessons from a grump of a man."

Andorra was nervous about that. Her palms grew sweaty just thinking about it. She let Callum steer her towards the door, but she was the one who opened it, the sound of grinding metal meeting her ears.

The inside of the shop was dim. Weapons hung from three of the walls, some with price tags, some without. There was a single aisle that held smaller weapons, such as hand knives, in baskets. Towards the front of the store was a countertop, and beyond the counter was the entrance to a back room.

The back room was where the sound of grinding and clashing metal came from. Andorra wondered for a moment if Sivelle had led her to the wrong sort of training master, because she absolutely did not want to learn how to use one of the long swords on the wall. She absolutely did not want to train with a man wielding one, either.

She inched closer to Callum, as if that would save her from this fate.

"What did I say about having your chin up, Princess?" he hissed. "You look like you're about to pee your pants in fear."

That would be because Andorra was about to pee her pants in fear. She straightened her shoulders and tried to school her expression into something nonchalant.

The sound of metal stopped, and there was a yell from the back. "Who's here?"

The voice was deep, gruff, and a little bit angry. Andorra swallowed a lump in her throat as she stepped forward. "The Prophet sent me here to give you something."

Vurala was a hunk of a man. He was tall, with wide shoulders and a wide stance. His skin was as dark as his hair, and the horns that twisted up towards the ceiling were gray. When he stepped out from the back, Andorra watched as he swung around a sword, almost absentmindedly. Was it an intimidation tactic? Andorra wasn't sure.

"Sivelle sent the Princess? Interesting." He swung the sword and slammed it against the counter. "I'm sure you aren't here for a weapon. Or, perhaps your little guard is. Does your father know you're playing around in the city?"

Callum's jaw clenched tightly, but he held his tongue.

"I want you to train me on how to use my magic." Andorra cut right to the chase. No babbling Princess today. She lifted her chin a fraction higher. "I have something you want, and I'll give it to you in exchange."

Vurala let out a barking laugh. "There is nothing you have that would make me agree to a fool's errand such as that. I will not be training you."

Andorra reached into her bag, her hand wrapping around the orb. This better work, she thought to herself as she pulled it from the bag. The moment she held it up in the light, she saw Vurala stiffen. The counter separated them, but Andorra swore she could see Vurala judge the distance between them, and if he was close enough to snatch it away from her.

"How did you get that?" He demanded.

"Sivelle said you can have it when you agree to train me. Saturdays and Sundays work best for me."