Once Arawn glared at the room for the second time, a shiver ran down more than a few backs. He thought that it'd be great if he could have some light shine between his fingers to make sure everyone felt that intimidated, but he wouldn't risk it. His control of the magic was non-existent.
As he waited patiently, one man could no longer hold it in. He smashed the mug he'd been holding onto the table and glowered back at Arawn. "If you dare to do anything to us, you'll be jailed, mage boy. There are laws against such things. So scram!"
"Really? And you say there are no laws against brothers disappearing randomly? I thought to have a nice talk with you lot, but if you're not willing, I'll go to the authorities, no problem."
He turned then, ready to leave. If they weren't going to talk, he had no way to force them, but he doubted that they would just let him leave after such a threat. Few people were eager for authorities to visit them, at least based on how many claimed innocence while lamenting in the cells above the Gutter.
"Wait!" the barkeep called. He waved for him to come back with shaking hands hidden in the folds of the rag. "I remembered him."
Arawn wasn't naive enough to buy it, but he didn't say anything. He waited, watching the middle-aged man fidgeting before him.
"He came here for a few days some week ago, but…" The man's voice went quiet. It forced Arawn to step closer to hear him. "He was asking dangerous questions, and being loud about it. We people here are normal dockworkers and small businessmen. When two soldiers came to drag him out when he drank himself into a stupor, we didn't dare interfere. That's all I know!"
The barkeep looked at Arawn with wide eyes, looking like a scared mouse. There was a good chance he was telling the truth, but Arawn had a problem with his story—one that was lying dead in the corner.
Guards were meant to protect people, not to kill them, so the would-be assassin had to be someone else. And he wasn't dressed in anything fancy, same simple clothes as most of the clientele in the tavern.
The man's dagger was still in Arawn's hand, but it had no special marks on it. Not that Arawn would have recognized them if there had been.
He looked back up at the barkeep. "So what was that dangerous talk you spoke about?"
Sweat poured down the man's forehead, and he brushed it off with his rag. "I'm sorry, I can't—"
"Please?" Arawn asked, giving his most innocent look. "I just want to know what happened to my big brother."
"He was killed for his big mouth, what else do you wanna know?" the man who'd slammed the his mug earlier hollered. Instead of fear, there was only disgust in his expression. "And if you want to follow him to the grave, don't drag us down as well."
"What?" Arawn stared at him, open-mouthed. Corwal was dead? Suddenly, he wondered if they had been speaking about two different people and just didn't know it.
The man sent him a dark glare. "You think this is a game, kid? You brother was killed, and now you're on the same road. Do you think all assassins will come in broad daylight?"
Broad daylight was a bit of a stretch, Arawn noted. He couldn't stand sunlight yet, so it was good that most taverns opened only in the evening and were barely lit.
"I won't die that easily," he murmured in answer, then went to the body of the man who'd attacked him.
He leafed through it without minding the blood oozing from the chest wound, but didn't find anything useful. In the end, he just picked the other dagger as well and left. All the tavern's patrons watched his actions in open horror. They only breathed a sigh of relief when he closed the door behind himself.
The carriage was waiting just around the corner, and it brought Arawn back to Corwal's abode. Seeing it from the outside, he was surprised to note that it looked exceptionally small. It was squeezed in between two houses like a thin dwarf who was being pushed out by its wealthier, and a lot more rotund, neighbors.
Eliot opened the door while Corwal was working in the study. He was examining some papers with a frown on his face. Upon noticing Arawn, he smiled and motioned for him to come over.
"Did you learn anything?"
His voice was void of any expectations, and Arawn grinned a little to himself. Was he that untrustworthy? If he said he would repay his debt for the food, he meant it.
Without preamble, he placed the two daggers on Corwal's desk and described everything what had transpired. His tale didn't take long, and soon he had two people staring at him like they'd seen a ghost.
"I thought you were against killing anyone, even criminals," Corwal said, his brow furrowed.
Arawn shook his head. "Anyone who dares to take another's life forfeits their life in the process." Corwal still stared at him with a question in his eyes, so he continued. "Not everyone sent to prison is a criminal. Feist, for example, was sent to the Gutter for negligence of his duties. But that man in the tavern, he was ready to kill me on sight just because I said something he didn't like."
"So you CAN kill…" For some reason, Corwal looked disturbed by that thought.
It made Arawn feel strange. He wanted to say that he would never kill again, but he'd broken such promises too many times to be able to make them again. Even though he was a monster, someone deserving of death, no one should take it upon themselves to send him off. First, it wouldn't work and hurt everyone around. Second, because it would damn them as well.
Yet people tried it again and again. Sometimes they came close and a dozen more people beside them suffered. If they didn't, Arawn escaped with taking only one life. His magic was volatile, but it wasn't bloodthirsty—it just wanted to be free.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Eliot suddenly shouted out, looking at Corwal with betrayal in his eyes. "He's a strong mage, isn't he? And now I've insulted him by treating him like another street urchin! Master, why would you do that to me?" The young boy was on the verge of tears.
The sudden change in topic startled both Arawn and Corwal. They looked at each other, then at the teary boy before them.
"Calling him a great mage is a bit… of a stretch," Corwal muttered with another look at Arawn. "He's strong, but he's even less trained than you."
"What do you mean?" Eliot asked suspiciously.
Corwal raised his hand, and a cold light blossomed above his palm. It was beautiful, but distant and terrifying. Arawn barely kept himself from taking a step back. Nothing good ever happened when magic took material form.
"He's using ether like hired muscle, flinging light around like it was a club. I feel pained every time I see him do it."
The boy's eyes narrowed, and he was about to say something, but Arawn took the chance first. "Why would you call upon magic now? It's dangerous."
"See? He doesn't even use the term ether, just calling it magic like those without it." He then turned to Arawn. "Watch me."
He raised his hand, and the white light in his hand trickled away through his fingers, then dropped on the table. Like a worm, it went over the desk and crawled into a cup of water.
The next moment, water rose into the air. There was no light anymore, just the few mouthfuls of water. They twisted and morphed, forming into a flower, then a bird, and an image of Arawn's face.
As he watched it in disbelief, the water suddenly formed into an arrow and flew straight at him. Too amazed by the sight, he reacted too late, but the water stopped just before hitting his chest. It stayed there for a moment, hovering right before his heart, then retreated and fell back into the cup. When he came to look down at it, the water inside was still, like it hadn't just risen up and done circus tricks.
"How did you do that?" Arawn asked in an awed whisper. He'd never seen anything like that before.
Magic was light. It was the white dust that existed in everything in the world, so how had Corwal raised the water? He was sure it was the man's work, but he couldn't understand how it could've been done.
It just didn't make sense!
"That's what you go to a magic academy for," Corwal said with a ghost of a smile. The water jumped from the cup, floated for a bit, then fell back again. "Magic is too mystical a term. What you, I, and Eliot can do is call upon the ether. It's the particles that exist in every single thing in the world, but not everyone can see them or put them to use. We can. But just materializing ether is a waste of energy.
"It's much better to use it through a conduit, an element which you're attuned to. For me, that's water. When I'm using it, I can fight for twice as long when compared to when using raw ether. Eliot prefers fire, though it's been a rocky road," he said with a look to the boy who blushed a little.
"I'll get better with time," he promised in a whisper.
Corwal nodded. "I know. And now you'll have a training partner. We can't let Arawn keep using ether like he does now. It's disgraceful, like letting a child play with knives without teaching how to use them."
A choked laugh left Arawn's mouth. He tried to speak, but no words came.
Could Corwal have thought of anything crazier? Arawn was an unstoppable monster while just slinging pure ether around, so what would happen if he was taught to use it?
The image in Arawn's head was a rather unsettling one.