"I had no idea you were this dedicated," said Mr Drennon almost admiringly. "It has been just two months and you are already ready to do this. It must be said – you are, without a doubt, the most able student I have ever tutored." Firenze glowed with the praise.
"Now if you would, I have the pentacle and so on set up. I trust you know the incantations?" Firenze nodded eagerly, barely able to contain his excitement. He had been waiting for this moment for weeks. They crossed the room to where a pentacle had been meticulously drawn. Trails of incense had been sprinkled around the edge, a few lotus petals scattered periodically. Firenze checked the runes – some basic wards, nothing too fancy. He smiled a little – no doubt something small was expected of him. He took a piece of chalk from his pocket and traced a second line, drawing in runes as he went. Mr Drennon, seated opposite, leant forward interestedly. From the look of the extra wart, something big was coming. He did not request any information from his apprentice – he let Firenze's actions speak for him.
Firenze began chanting in a strange, melodic language, his eyes half-closed with concentration. He briefly considered a variety of creatures, but settled for one he had studied and knew much about. Changing chants, he turned to the summoning of the spirit. A plume of grey mist, glittering dully like tarnished brass, rose slowly from the floor. It seemed to collapse in on itself, into the shape of a small, brown, unassuming dormouse.
Mr Drennon frowned. Surely this was not all? Was Firenze tricking him in some way? He muttered a spell under his breath, tracing the words of Firenze's spell. This could not be right. The spell was high-level, perhaps dangerously so.
Suddenly, the mouse burst into a flurry of white-hot sparks, which in turn formed into a lion – but it seemed... off. The coat was too faded, the mane lacking lustre, the eyes dull and empty. It roared, a dim, jangling sound, like it was being heard from far away. The lion paced around the edge of the pentacle, but found no weaknesses – the spirit was trapped firmly in its pentacle. Unfazed by the huge animal, Firenze began to cast a ward. In protestation, the spirit transformed quickly into a towering griffin, kicking its front paws angrily and beating its wings in frustration.
Thick reddish-pink tendrils of fleshy substance rose from the floorboards, seemingly appearing from nothing. They wrapped around the griffin, melting into it like butter into a hot roll. It roared and writhed in pain. Where the tendrils touched it, colours sharpened, lines became more defined, as the animal took its form. With a loud fizzing, the feathers of its wings turned bronze, the talons of its pawns became shiny and clacked against the wooden floor, the sleek fur of its back became glossy and dark.
Firenze showed no signs of worry at this very real, very alive monster, just a few feet away from where he was standing. His teacher sat back, thoroughly impressed with his apprentice's handiwork.
"Dismiss it," he said, his voice carrying over the griffin's low growling. Firenze quickly said a few words of dismissal. The creature exploded into a burst of blue smoke and Firenze half-fell, half-leant back against the wall, panting for breath after exhausting himself from the strenuous summoning.
"I must say, I'm impressed," said Mr Drennon. "A zoion, if I'm not mistaken. Very ambitious for one so young, but you performed admirably."
He passed a glass of water to Firenze. "Well done. Shapeshifters can throw the most seasoned wizard, but you were unfazed throughout."
"It was no trouble," Firenze replied, smiling.
"Perhaps in the future, we could try raising a human spirit," mused Mr Drennon. The idea sent a funny jolt through Firenze. Humans? Animals were one thing, but to raise a person from the realm of the dead...
"What do you think?" asked the teacher. Firenze jumped a little.
"Whatever you think is best, sir," he replied automatically.
"Very well. We can work on it," said Mr Drennon. "You are dismissed – well done."
"Thank you, sir," Firenze said subserviently, ducking his head in respect and leaving the room quietly.
On the walk home, he thought about the proposition. A human... Did he have the right to do such a thing? But the great magicians had never worried about what was right. What was it Mr Drennon always said? 'A conscience has no place among wizards', that was it. And Mr Drennon was always right. Wasn't he?
Doubts started eating away at Firenze. He remembered Mike's advice – to remember why he started learning magic. He thought back with a small smile to all those years ago, when he had been so naive. There was no way of remaining "good". He had started to help others, if he remembered correctly. He snorted with laughter. As if that was possible! Normal people could barely stand to talk to him, let alone trust him! Besides, Mr Drennon wanted him to do this. He had to, if he wanted his favour.
It was only when he arrived home that he put his finger on what that feeling was, when he first heard Mr Drennon's idea – horror, and a tiny inkling of fear.
The next day, Mike heard a knock on his door. He opened it and was confronted by the sight of Firenze, looking weary and depressed.
"Firenze? What's wrong?" Mike asked, concerned.
"I've... left home," Firenze replied. "I told my mum I didn't want to study under him anymore, she got angry, and kicked me out. You know that old apartment I used to rent? I'm moving back in there. Here's the address – just thought I'd let you know." He handed Mike a slip of paper.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Mike asked hesitantly. Firenze nodded solemnly. Mike sighed.
"I'll drop by later, see how you're getting on," he said. Firenze smiled briefly, turned and walked away. Mike closed the door quietly and flopped down on the small bed, considering Firenze's decision.