Patron of Mages
"Eat it Amie and stop being so fussy," Tarmas the Wizard cajoled, his dismal demeanour for once tempered by genuine concern.
"Only if you tell me another story; like the ones in that book."
Tarmas sighed. The child certainly may have magic flowing in her veins, but her stubborn nature could mean the death of her one day. As his own had almost meant for him all those years ago. He sighed again, shaking off the dread that came to him, suddenly and unbidden.
"Which book would that be child?" he asked gruffly, knowing full well which one she had meant.
"The one by Volo," she asked eagerly, ignoring his bluff.
"Marco Volo is a fool. You should put no stock into anything he has ever written. A waste of good vellum if you asked me."
"Please Tarmas," she pleaded, "How else am I supposed to stomach the mere cabbages you put into this?"
"No. It's bad enough you fill your mind with that useless drivel, but do not expect me to."
"Then tell me about the wizard."
Tarmas touched her forehead with the back of his hand. The fever was still burning brightly in her, despite Merring's potions. He would have to go and see the priest again as soon as the child slept. Perhaps she would eat her soup and fall asleep if he conceded to her request. With luck the fever would blur the details enough that she would remember little in the morning.
"Very well, Amie, but on two conditions…"
"Anything!"
"You haven't even heard what they are yet…"
"That I eat my soup and drink that awful potion," she piped a little too lustily. A coughing fit wracked her little body and he had to thump her back firmly to ease it.
"Now hush and eat. All your coughing will just interrupt me."
"I promise," she agreed, as he spooned a mouthful past her fever-chapped lips.
Without preamble he launched into his tale.
"Wode knew he was in trouble. His Luskan porters had disappeared the previous night, most likely deserting. The footprint under his left boot was twice, no three times as large as any he had ever seen before. Perhaps they hadn't deserted him, he thought, but were taken by trolls or ogres or giants."
Amie stared at him with wide eyes, her mind's eye painting the hapless porters into metal cages, hanging from giant rafters.
"Were they in cages? Like the one Magpie sleeps in at night?"
At the sound of his name, Magpie the raven cursed in Illuskan, before hopping down to perch on Tarmas' shoulder.
"Oh very well, Magpie, you can play with my spoon when he's finished giving me this awful soup," the girl promised the bird in the same language.
Ignoring the interruption by both his apprentice and familiar, Tarmas continued.
"Yes, the lucky ones at least."
"And the unlucky ones?"
"What do you think girl? Now would you want me tell my tale or answer your questions all night?"
"I'm sorry Tarmas. Please don't stop."
"Wode followed the giant footprints, each stride carrying him deeper into the forbidding cave. He stopped when he smelled the awful stench, his dawnfry making childish cartwheels inside his stomach."
"Was it a troglodyte?"
"No you silly girl. It was the giants."
"Are giants that smelly?"
"Well these ones probably hadn't bathed in years, if ever. I suppose not unlike most people here."
"Like Lewy Jons?" she giggled, pinching her nose.
"Oh, much worse than that muck farmer—or his pigs. Following the smell, Wode soon saw his enemies, and his missing porters. He knew they were much too tough to kill or put asleep. There was nothing for him to do but cast some illusions, hoping to scare off the nasty brutes sitting around a giant cooking fire. More like a bonfire to the likes of you and me. As quietly as he could, he began conjuring some giant snakes and spiders."
"Snakes and spiders?"
The mage sniffed dismissively as if the answer was self evident.
"Of course yes. Everyone knows the giant kin are afraid of snakes and spiders, especially ones their own size. Just like you Harbormen fear the mere moccasins and swamp spiders. With good reason I might add. Filthy place this is, with too much of anything that is poisonous if not cooked, and inedible most of the time even then."
"So did they?"
"Did they what?"
"Run away?"
"But of course. Wode was one of the best illusionists in all of Faerûn. The gnomes of Lantan had taught him most of their really good spells."
"And did Wode rescue them?" she yawned, after he had dabbed at her lips with a linen kitchen cloth turned makeshift napkin.
"Yes he did. They even fished the poor unlucky souls out of the giant's cooking pot and gave them a proper burial later."
"Were my parents glad to see him Tarmas?"
"It had been your uncle, and later, when he first met them, they had not been pleased. Their brother had been one of the unlucky ones," the wizard replied, stroking her hair.
"Is that why he came to West Harbor?"
"No. It is the reason he stayed."
"You're a brave wizard Tarmas…" she whispered, her words slurring as sleep took her.
Tarmas Wode shook his head sadly, remembering the truth of that awful trip. He had been neither brave, nor resourceful when he had seen the monsters feed. He had saved nobody and would have been killed himself if not for a halfling traveller.
"Come Magpie," he sighed, getting up and pulling the covers up to her chin, "Let's go see Merring again. I still owe them a life, so his potions better work."
"Dread and death," the raven cursed, echoing the mage's fears as they stepped into the night.