Fierd looked at his master with puzzlement, both sitting on a wide sofa placed right in front of the royal podium. Before them, was the middle of the circle composed of similar pieces of furniture, taken from all over the castle on the Archmage’s order. Even then, there were a few unfortunate people sitting on hardwood chairs, but most had managed to take a seat on something more comfortable.

  “Can’t you… just not accept his participation? Why do you allow such risk?” The apprentice whispered, in an unusually disrespectful way compared to his normal behaviour.

  Kairon took his eyes off the skeleton hanging from the ceiling, once more inert. The Litch’s finger, which he used to mark his participation, was already back in its place too. The Arch Wizard, half-lied on the sofa, his body limp and with a thoughtful, troubled expression. “It's not that I don’t want to – I just can’t. Promises have power, my apprentice, especially so between powerful magicians. Breaking such a promise will have dire consequences, possibly much worse than what the Lich may unleash if he leaves his bindings.”

  Fierd looked down, questions visible on his face. “But… what are we supposed to do then? I don’t want to be the pessimistic crow, but how are they supposed to tell a story better than that pile of bones?” The (alive) participants of the competition sat in their places and enjoyed some late-night, non-alcoholic drinks along with snacks prepared by the castle’s kitchen while talking between themself.

  Some consulted their friends and companions about which story to tell, having difficulty in deciding what would be better – especially since the judge isn’t a person, whose preferences can be known. Some, on the other hand, mostly merchants and craftsmen, placed bets on their favourites in the competition – and scarily, the Lich had the most supporters. They believed in the Undead's long life and experience in the world.

  “It’s a worry for another day, or at least – another few hours. Don’t worry, if the Litch wins and I am forced to unbind him, the absolute peak of our kingdom’s knights and wizards are present here. If we have to, we can give him a battle. And maybe, we will succeed in killing him this time.” Archmage looked worried yet unyielding. It seemed that even the grave news of his mistake, and the subsequent contest participation of the Lich, hadn’t extinguished his drive for stories completely. He still had hope, much of it.

  After taking a deep breath, the Archmage stood up, his expression brightened with a beaming smile – impossible to determine if pake or not – and announced the first contestant.

  “Wandering Wizard Gaftiel! Rumoured to match a Dragon’s skill in a duel of sword and sorcery, please come forward and start your story!” He liked the guy, Gaftiel was hard-working, inquisitive and smart, besides being an inpatient adventurous spirit. His time as the Archmage’s trainee was eventful – though, it was a shame Gaftiel hadn’t shown enough promise to make him an official apprentice.

  The wizard stood up from one of the couches, while Kairon sat down. Slowly, he neared a comfortable armchair, left empty to act as the storyteller’s palace, which stood next to the Archmage’s sofa.

  He sat down, turned towards the Archmage, and said: “Kairon, shouldn’t you cast the spell?” he asked.

  “No, It’s already active for a looong, long time.” The Archmage answered.

  Gaftiel gaped a little, shocked – but soon regained control of himself and started his tale: “Where do I start from…”

  So… For all of you to understand the tale I want to tell, I will have to start from the beginning. Far back in time from now.

  It all began during the Annual Sorcerer’s Summit – hosted this time by the small town located deep in the Great Border Mountains, called Spring Valley. A beautiful place settled between three peaks reaching the clouds, from where water flows to a lake around which the town is built. Leaving the valley by a significantly bigger river, the water flows down outside of the mountains to unite with the Haktara River.

  We were there in the late spring, as normal, for around a week. So, it’s safe to say the weather was beautiful – I certainly recommend visiting it sometime.

  Early activities of the Summit were eventful, I remember that Grand Wizard Orpheus was given his title in the opening ceremony for his discoveries in the field of frequency–related magic. He is still to provide the field with a more official name though, I’m afraid.

  But the moment which is important for my story happened much later, during the open laboratories, when we exchanged self-made spells created in the past year.

  My greatest creation of the time was a fairly complex spell that captured water out of the mud. Very useful due to its meagre energy consumption, compared to the spells which can produce similar results. Its only fault is that it leaves the ground un-arable for a while, though.

  I presented it during the Summit, and while I received mostly prise, one person seemed to latch onto my spell to find any flaws and cracks she could criticise – Aurila of Bulrush, a woman of around my age, beautiful as befits a witch – and a focal point in my story.

  As I said, she seemed obsessed. She asked me multiple, relatively complex questions regarding the spell’s creation and usage, which I found nice as I could properly display my abilities – but I didn’t know at the time, that she wasn’t interested in me, or my spell in itself, rather, she was comparing it to her own.

  You see, she too, created a similar spell and was excited to show it to the whole gathering, but my presentation came first, and threw her off her feet. My spell was simply better, not by much, and it didn’t take anything from hers, but it hurt her pride and made her moment disappear – to my understanding.

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  She promised me later, after the Summit ended and we were riding in the same direction by chance, that she would trump me the next time we met. I agreed to her challenge, and we even set a general direction in which our next major projects should go – earth alteration.

  “Weak and useless – why not something more useful like necromancy or divination? You are wasting your time child, and it's not like you have much of it.” The pearly white skull, hanging below the ceiling cackled. The Lich spoke much more coherently than before, which made some people doubt that it was him, and look around for the copycat.

  “Don’t listen to him, Gaftilel. There is no useless spell, no useless magic – there are only empty skulls that can’t figure out how something may be useful.” Archmage retorted, staring angrily at the Lich, who seemed to taunt him.

  “Ha HA! Little lad, you are a thousand years too young to insult my intelligence. Mighthier men than you have tried to challenge it, and failed miserably.” The Lich laughed down. As he did, his empty torso mimicked the way the living laugh, and rumbled the chains for the first time in a long, long time.

  Kairon looked to the side for a moment, smiling briefly towards his disciple – who too, seemed as if he were about to burst chuckling. Then, he turned once more to the ceiling and said: “And yet, it’s you who are bound to a ceiling for literal centuries! I would bet the smartest man in the world would find a way out, over such a long time – but now, shush and let the storyteller finish, if I could, I would banish you from the hall for interrupting.” As the Archmage talked, an invisible wave of power spread out of him over the hall, enveloping each and every listener, binding their vocal cords and in the case of the Lich, the air around him.

  The last who remained with his tongue untied, Gaftiel the Wandering Wizard, resumed his tale.

  I met Aurila of Bulrush once again, far sooner than I imagined I would, as it was about two and a half months after the gathering in the Great Border Mountains had commerced. In the time between, I had a few small adventures and even managed to win a duel against Cyrion of Tyrmoy, but none of those happenings deserve our attention at the moment, not even my glorious victory.

  We met by chance, at the crossroads leading to the towns of Riverside and Orchidshade from the City of Cambria. I was leaving the city, after dealing with some personal matters of mine, and beating Cyion in a fair duel – she, on the other hand, arrived from Orchidshade, with a basket of fresh apples and pears in hand. We both headed towards the Riverside.

  At first, she was startled. She dropped the basket and drew her wand from behind her coat, ready to strike me with some hasty spell at a moment's notice. I, on the other hand, remained calm. I didn’t have evil intentions, and I knew a competent witch like her would be able to feel that, as long as she calmed a little and tried.

  Soon, she sheathed her small focus, gathered the scattered fruits and slowly walked up to me, with a questioning expression.

  I will try to recount our conversation as accurately as I can, but considering that Aurila isn’t present here today, I can’t be sure if I missed something.

  “Gaftiel, what brings you to these corners? I thought you stayed further west.” Aurila said.

  “Aurila, nice to see you, – I don’t have an area I call home, that’s why it’s ‘Wandering Wizard’, not ‘Wizard of Bulrush’ as it’s in your case,” I replied.

  She looked at me from head to toe, presumably thinking.

  “Have you come to further squash my ego? You finished prematurely and can’t even give a dame the time she hoped to have?” She accused, hits of anger clear in her voice.

  Of course, at first, I didn’t know what she was talking about, but soon I remembered and laughed a bit.

  “Oh, no no no. I haven’t even started to compose the spell – we’ve met purely by chance, Aurila.”

  She then, after further evidence from me that I didn’t intend on finding her, invited me to her home. It appeared that she lived nearby, in a nice, tall house in the middle of a bogland. I didn’t know that the town or village of Bulrush, from which part of her title stemmed was nearby, but I accepted regardless, having no immediate plans and full of curiosity about how the witch lived.

  As we walked, I asked her about it — and you wouldn’t believe what the answer was. Aurila, after finishing her apprenticeship, decided to follow the ?fairytale standard of female witchcraft” — as she called it, and built herself a home in the middle of a marsh, close to multiple middle-size villages and not so far from bigger towns. Ideal for the villagers to think twice before approaching her home, but still close and safe enough that if they need her services they will gather the courage. The city of Cambria is an additional perk, high-paying jobs and shops ideal for a witch are present there.

  Closing on the structure, I couldn’t be more amazed at her dedication to the old reliable, fairytale standard. The house was wooden, tall and slightly off – as if the building were about to break apart in coming moments, yet stood solidly despite the wet, soft ground. Just like the horrible houses of nightmare-inducing fairytales told all across the continent, as a warning and teaching.

  Nearby, below a large tree with a wide crown, there was a man in poorly-made clothing waiting for us, soaked and shaking. I couldn’t guess though, if he was scared or cold.

  I stood some distance away when Aurila closed on the guest, an apple in her outstretched hand as a symbol of peace. He accepted and started to frantically talk to the witch as if regaining his humanity and courage, broken from the spell of silence. I couldn’t hear that though, as Aurila blocked their conversation from the outside world, the only thing I could do was to observe.

  When the man stopped talking, Aurila took the lead – and even though I couldn’t see her face, I could tell she talked with unnerving calmness and confidence, presenting her price. From time to time, the man’s face twisted in various emotions, ranging from regret and stupefaction to fear and shock. After each round of contortions, he would then reply back, clearly louder than he wanted to.

  After a while of such an exchange, the man finally agreed to something, nodding with a sombre expression, as if already regretting his decision. Aurila on the other hand, waved at me to follow her inside her abode.

  There, she led me to a balcony, from which the whole wet forest could be seen and went down again. Out of there, I saw her as she left the house with a small package, carefully covered in large leaves and bound by simple straps. When the poor villager received it, he handled it with utmost care, as if his life was on the line – and maybe it was.

  She returned to the balcony a few minutes later, with a tray of sweets and a pot of tea. When I asked, she refused to answer about the man, nor did she tell me what was in that package. Eventually, I stopped asking, realising that no matter what I did, she wouldn’t break the promise of secrecy she had with her customer.

  I changed the topic, asking her about life in the marshlands and the nearby villages’ general state of affairs. I think she was starved of human interaction, as when not blocked by a promise, she talked with no end in sight. No wonder though, plebeians rarely have the balls to talk with one of us. Especially on such trivial matters. Before I left for the road again, she showed me her glass house, where she cultivates herbs and flowers – more than I can remember.

  My second meeting with Aurila can be considered a friends meeting, even though we weren’t exactly friends yet. But the last situation I want to tell you all about had a much different feeling, much different circumstances, and a far odder ending…