The tea filled the porcelain cup to the brim. It gave off the soft, gentle smell of lilac. It was calming and Ehrir’s mood was certainly lightened a little bit by the pleasant drink.

Ostrias’ room was bathed in the subtle blue glow of four crystal spheres. They were holding large amounts of magical light and yet it wasn’t blinding nor even really bright. Greyish darkness still dwelled in the room’s corners, although it was still brighter than the darkness reigning outside. The dancing flames in the fireplace casted a yellowy-red shine that was mirrored by the perfectly clean marble floor.

“What did you want to talk about, master?” asked the Undone One after taking a large sip from the teacup.

His words were met by Ostrias’ warm look.

“Well, my dear friend… Will you believe me if I say that no woman wants to be with me and I need you to find one that’s willing to?”

“No, master. I wouldn’t”, answered Ehrir seriously.

The Ashen Gaze giggled, his laughter echoing through the room.

“Well, you’ve caught me”, he said after calming down. “Still, I’ve got an important things to discuss with you. Over the last weeks I’ve grown to have respect for you. I still don’t know if you deserve it, though.” He stopped for a second and watched the Undone One’s confusion and annoyance with a relaxed smile. “I know this sounds rude, but it’s the truth. You have to justify it somehow. If you do it… Your life will become much easier, trust me about that.”

Ehrir swallowed. Ostrias’ words were unexpected for him, but he tried his best to hide the surprise. The chance to earn the Ashen Gaze’s good will was definitely precious. And yet…

“What do I have to do to justify your reverence, master?” he uttered slowly.

“Well, I haven’t figured out all the details, but I have the general idea. All of the things you’ll have to accomplish will happen once we reach the southern shores.” The ancient mage’s voice became thicker, more serious and louder. “You’re familiar with the fact that there isn’t much of a unified nation or country down south, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that is the truth in most cases. I’m thinking that Farnaraen and the other mage can seek shelter in one of the city states, as they are far from each other and the information between them doesn’t spread too quickly. That, added to the fact that the cities are small but full with dozens of thousands of people, makes hiding in them easier than finding a bottle of alcohol in a meadery. But still, I believe that with the right strategy I’ll the traces of Arleon and the Thirdborn.” Ostrias stopped talking and sipped from the tea. There wasn’t only this kind of beverage in his cup, however – the servant added more than generous amount of ale in it right before Ehrir’s eyes just mere minutes ago. The mix was even more soothing than normal tea (according to the Ashen Gaze).

“Master… What is my role in all of this that you talked about?”

“It’s actually simple, my young friend.” Ostrias smirked. “I need a few of my people to go to a certain place… It has a rather bad reputation. It’s known as den of thieves, bandits, assassins and other lowlifes. Even the ruling class there is being bossed around by the masters among cutthroats and such. It definitely isn’t a good place to live in, but for hiding… Oh, it’s perfect for that! The place is so full of beggars, poor people and travelers that Farnaraen and Arleon can pass by unnoticed by essentially everyone.”

Ehrir slightly frowned. The place described by the master awakened a bad feeling in his gut.

“And what… what’s the name of this place?” he asked with the smoothest tone he could.

Ostrias grinned, but not happily.

“Tarha-Nan, also known as the city of cutthroats.”

The hairs upon the Undone One’s neck stood up. The awful sensation inside of him suddenly deepened, although the place’s name was unknown to him. There was this rough, strange feel to the term “city of cutthroats” itself. And Tarha-Nan didn’t sound warm and welcoming either.

“Will I… be sent there, master?”

Ostrias nodded calmly.

“You’ve hit the nail on the head. You’ll go there – together with your fellow disciples and that youngling Sevrian, if you want – and a bunch of other talented individuals under my command. You’ll have a comfortable trip, don’t worry about that – I’ll contact the rulers of Tarha-Nan and you’ll be given a place in the king’s palace for sure. You’ll also receive assistance from both the underworld and the official authorities in the search for the Thirdborn. Maybe you’ll have to conceal your identities in front of the public, but that won’t be much of a burden…”

“Master, be honest with me… what are my chances of success in this? In finding Farnaraen, I mean?” Ehrir interrupted with a low tone, almost a whisper.

“Well…” Ostrias shrugged his shoulders in a vague manner. “Probably not too high. But even if you don’t find him, I’ll appreciate your efforts. If you put some in doing the mission, that is. But I’ll know if you deserve my respect at the end of it, no matter the outcome.”

Ehrir thought about the sorcerer’s words for some time, while sipping from the lilac tea. Then he slowly nodded.

“I’ll try to do as best as I can, master”, uttered he in a seemingly obedient tone and bowed his head. He wouldn’t like visit some damned city reeked with criminals, but not agreeing with the Ashen Gaze wouldn’t do anything good in the current situation.

“Good, my young friend” said Ostrias warmly and extended his hand towards the exit. “You’re free to go, if you want to. But I suggest you finish your tea first – it’s damn good and it’d be a waste to just leave it like that.”

Ehrir followed his master’s advice thoroughly before leaving. There were one more thing he needed to do (except return the tome of transmogrification to Ahor) before going to sleep again.

He was on his way to make the magical blade Lantor desired.

***

“So you succeeded?” uttered Lantor with a giant grin on his face. He was brimming with happiness and his voice alone lightened Ehrir’s mood up. His life lacked such pure cheerfulness.

“I did, indeed. The book turned out to be useful. That said, I should return it to Ahor…”

“Oh, to hell with this! You can return it when you have the time to do so.” The man slammed his fist against the table, but not in an angry way.

The two of them were in Lantor’s room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a couple of scented candles near the bed. The sword was lying on the table. The turquoise beads on the dragon-shaped pommel shone under the flames’ light in an almost supernatural manner.

“Well…” Ehrir exhaled, trying to calm himself down. “Shall I begin?”

“Oh, yes, yes. Go on. You’re the expert here, after all.” Lantor tried to sound relaxed, but almost jumped out of his chair when the Undone One started touching the blade and executing the transmogrification.

There were fails, of course. The sword wasn’t a coin and it needed much more focus and energy for the process to take place, practically pushing Ehrir to his limits. And he needed to rest after every try.

During those exact breaks he heard the blade’s story. It had been forged by Lantor’s uncle, a master blacksmith from the south, and it was one of the last swords created by the talented man that supplied the armor and weapons for Lantor’s brother when the aforementioned became a knight around ten years ago. Then, in a tragic turn of events, the uncle’s life was taken in a small, later contaminated plague that devastated the entire city he had lived in. It was an event to be forever remembered by the young man Lantor was at the time. The sword was one of his uncle’s masterpieces and probably the last one at that. It was extremely precious to the man, but useless to him as a magician in its current state. And that’s why he wanted to enchant it.

Ehrir listened to the story quietly and emotionlessly. The things Lantor was talking about – the loss of loved ones, their legacy and the importance of said legacy… Those were things vague and distant to him. He never had a family in any sense of the word, after all. He couldn’t feel sadness for a story he couldn’t relate to, but the weakness in Lantor’s voice when he spoke about his uncle made him sympathize with the man. It also gave him more motivation to do the transmogrification right.

And still, he failed. Multiple times, at that. He got near to success much faster than with the coin, but that was only because he was familiar with the process now. Still, the blade was much more demanding when it came to both the imaginary shape and the energy needed. Success came at the end, but it had a price.

Ehrir felt weakness in his knees and blood on his lips as soon as he was done with the blade. There was pulsating pain in the back of his skull for some time now and the Brand was aching too, but both places exploded with agony when he finished. He barely kept the scream from escaping his throat and fell on one knee.

“Ehrir… Ehrir, are you okay?” Lantor put his hands on the Undone One’s shoulders. He was clearly worried.

“I’m fine”, mumbled Ehrir as he wiped the cold sweat off his forehead and cleared the blood on his mouth and chin. “Magic is a tough bitch… for sure.”

“Yeah, no doubts about that.” There was some relief in Lantor’s words. “Here, sit down. Was the… did you succeed?”

“Go and see for yourself.” The Undone One got up (barely) and sank in the couch while gritting his teeth from the pain. He watched in silence as the mage in front of him held the sword in his hands and a cheery smile bloomed on his face.

“Well, the rest of this will be done by me. Rest, my friend. You well deserve it.” whispered Lantor. He stood there holding the blade for a while, intense and serious expression twisting his facial features. It was obvious that he used magic. Ehrir watched him practically half-asleep and at some point sank into complete slumber.

When he woke up the man was standing right in front of him. His grin was almost from ear to ear, the sword resting in his right hand. Its blade was engulfed in blue flames.