Eventually, we reached a long desk in the center of the hallway. It took up most of the space, allowing for someone to squeeze by on either side with a little caution around the desk corners. A man was seated behind the desk and was reading from a musty old tome that I could smell from where I stood ten feet away.

  I paused a few moments to see if he would look up, and since he did not, I announced, “Patron Gwydion Istari on duty from the Archmage Tower and Duke of Keelwell.”

  That got the man to look up.

  “Are you, now? Then welcome, Journeyman Istari, how may the Sage Guild serve you?” He said in a tone that suggested he was skeptical about my credentials.

  “I have an appointment with Grandmaster Harper,” I replied without offering details. Master Glimmerblade had advised me that when approaching other mages, especially sages, to be polite, firm, and not to give too much information away. They are a curious lot and will settle into your presence more easily if, by their questions, they reveal your purpose.

  “I have no appointment scheduled.”

  “It was a recent arrangement.” I supplied.

  “The grandmaster is over three hundred years old and does not lightly see visitors. None I can remember under the rank of master in any account.”

  I bowed respectfully but did not remain in that position. I was a journeyman and, while not a master, was afforded more courtesies than I had as an apprentice. I resumed my stance, saying, “Even so, master, I am expected.”

  “Hmm.” He called over to where an apprentice was dozing in a corner. “Dillon! Come here, boy.”

  The young apprentice jumped to his feet, still half asleep from where he had been dozing, and then scurried over to the desk. The master made him wait while he wrote something on a piece of parchment paper. He handed it to the apprentice and said, “Take this to Grandmaster Harper. Knock sharply three times. Repeat the knock twice more after thirty seconds each, and if there is no response, report back to me. One minute up, one minute back. How long will that take you?”

  “No longer than three and one half minutes, master Trasque!” The boy replied loudly. The master tipped over an hourglass on the desk and said. “Depart.” And the boy sprinted down the rest of the short hallway and up a flight of stairs, turning to his right at the top of it. We could hear his feet pounding on stone the whole way up. It had to be three flights of stairs. I wasn't sure I could do that in sixty seconds.

  Turning back to me, Master Trasque asked, “And who made the introduction for your meeting today, Journeyman Isari?”

  “Patron Grandmaster Davon Judas of Keelwell, master,” I replied. I did not use Davon’s full title, but enough of it to suggest importance.

  “Davon!” He said cheerfully. “I heard the young scoundrel was raised to be a grandmaster. At his age, what a burden for him. He was one of my brightest students.”

  The sage looked me over. “Two patrons working together, eh? And at the behest of both the archmage and the Duke.” He grew serious. “It must be about the invasion.”

  I nodded.

  He sighed deeply, his formal pretense dropping. “I am sorry, lad, things do not look favorable for your home. I hope the old grandmaster can help.”

  “Oh, that reminds me, master,” I said politely as I withdrew a letter from my pack where it had been safe from the dunking I had taken earlier.

  I handed him the letter from Master Draconis. “I was asked to give this to the master at the front desk.”

  He unsealed the scroll after taking careful note of it. He read the first lines and his eyes widened. After he had completed it, he set it alight from the candle on his desk and dropped it into a metal bin.

  “Are you familiar with the item being requested?” He asked me carefully.

  “No. I was asked to retrieve a box and bring it to the master or The Tower upon my return.”

  “I see. Well, no matter. It is a little request, but the box will be magically warded for the protection of its owner. Do not allow anyone to tamper with it. It could be dangerous.”

  “Of course, master.”

  We heard running feet on stone returning.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “It appears the grandmaster is awake and expecting you. In that case, I shall have your wizard’s box waiting for you here with me upon the completion of your business with the grandmaster.” He smiled as the running footfalls drew nearer. “The young rascal would take all day to walk up the stairs if I didn’t time him.” He pointed at the hourglass. “It doesn’t keep accurate time anyway. As long as he hurries, that’s all I ask. He always just makes it in time, don't you know.”

  The crusty sage was an old softy at heart. A lot of masters are when dealing with their apprentices. They are often less cordial with rival mages.

  And suddenly my blood ran cold. Master Glimmerblade’s rival, and my new nemesis, was here in the capital. And I was under normal obligation to announce myself at the guild hall. I had completely forgotten, and now I had a conflict. Did I follow protocol or ignore it, hoping that I was not seen in my bright yellow robes coming in here directly from the fountain and not the Enchanter’s Guild?

  The apprentice arrived back and handed the note back to his master, out of breath and leaning on the corner of the desk.

  The master sage looked at the note and said, “There is nothing written on it except my own words.” The master pronounced after turning it over to check the blank back.

  The apprentice, out of breath, said, “The grandmaster…he said…the…journeyman…is expected.” He was too out of breath to get my full name and title.

  And the master did not let that slip. “You will address our guests by proper guild protocol. In fact,” He turned to address me, “since you are expected, journeyman, please approach the identification orb. I’m sure you know the procedure. You may then go up. It is the third level, turn left, first door to your right. Your companions must remain behind in the lobby.”

  Turning back to the apprentice who had been left hanging with the master’s mid-sentence address to me, continued, “You will write the full title of this mage one hundred times before you go back to your cubby to sleep the day away.”

  The apprentice bowed and said, “Yes, master. Thank you, master.”

  I did not miss those days.

  I walked over to the Identification Orb, a familiar butterfly feeling in my stomach at the discomfort of its presence. It was not painful, just uncomfortable.

  I placed my hand upon the orb, and it sank into the surface about a quarter of an inch. An intensely warm but not burning sensation overcame me, and the orb flashed once, powerfully. In a deep bass, masculine tone, quite different from the others I had experienced, an ethereal voice recited my name and status.

  The voice intoned, “Gentry Lord Gwydion Istari, Treble Patron, Journeyman of the Keelwell Enchanter Guild Hall, Dwarven Master, Dwarfkin, Elfkin, Earthkin, Commander of Keelwell Special Services, and Champion of Keelwell.”

  The master sage tilted his head down to look at me without his glasses, which he must have used primarily for reading. “Treble patron? What does that even mean?”

  I bowed to him and said, “A mystery for another time, master sage.” And I moved past him and up the stairs a bit more briskly than I might have otherwise.”

  Behind me, I heard, “Well, don’t just gawk, boy. Write it down. You may just have met a notable historical character of your own generation. Treble Patron, indeed. Get it right, lad.”

  I slowed down to a normal climb after I turned the steps so I would not be winded upon reaching the grandmaster.

  Unlike the entry hall, the stairs were plain but elegant. The sages would save their most dramatic art and beauty for their library. And the sage guild library here in the capital was supposed to rival that of the scholars and university library in the number of volumes. Of course, many of these volumes would also be magical in nature.

  The third-level hallway was not quite halfway up the total of seven stories that made up the guild hall. I was led to believe that the library itself took up all seven stories with central access from each floor.

  The grandmaster’s door was easy enough to locate. It was right where the master had said it would be, plus there was a brass name plate that had become quite weathered in age. An empty chair rested just beneath the plaque. I was surprised that no apprentice had polished it. But then again, at two hundred, maybe in the eyes of a sage, aged patina is more preferable to shiny and new.

  In fact, as I thought about it, I was sure it was by choice.

  Grandmaster Horatius Henry “Hawkeye” Harper was the eldest known living human sage in the realm. At three hundred twelve, he was still living at the sage hall and conducting research, although I had no idea what kind of research. Rumors about him suggested that he was even older, having used longevity potions until their benefits had reduced to nothing. He could be as old as four hundred, or they could just be rumors.

  An apprentice was waiting for me because the door opened immediately upon my knock.

  The mage was seated at a firm but comfortable chair at the head of a long, mahogany table that had a number of books piled upon it beside a neat pile of parchments with two inkwells and an assortment of quills.

  The mage looked up at me and motioned me over.

  He looked old. Very old. His wrinkles had wrinkles. His back was slightly bent forward, whether due to age or decades perched in that position from writing and reading, I didn’t know. Maybe both.

  But his voice was stronger than I expected it to be. There was a quality to it that did suggest age, but it was strong. He must have had a deep voice in his youth, and it carried into his advanced years well.

  “So, what is this urgent matter that the young rascal Davon insisted I meet with you about, eh?” He asked me as I was ushered by the apprentice into a chair to the mage’s left.

  “Davon did not explain?” I asked. This had been planned as a short courtesy call and to collect some volumes that Davon wanted copied.

  He waved his hand. “Yes, yes, he wanted some books which I copied for him.” He pointed to the two nearest stacks of books. They were multicolored volumes and new. The copies were already completed and waiting for me to transfer them into my adventurer’s backpack. The tiny chests were still filled with coins and jewelry back in my vault.

  He continued. “But I wanted to know what your story was. An enchanter fetching books for a sage? That is worth a tale, I’m sure.”

  This was not going to be a quick hello, thank you, and book pickup.

  But then again, this was a legendary sage, and just being permitted in his presence was something of an honor. Despite the urgency and short timeline today, I would enjoy a few minutes with this notable character from history. He lived a life more than ten times as long as I had existed and maybe twenty times.

  So I shared a little about the goblin invasion and how we were using runes in creative ways to defend the city.

  He was very attentive, and before I knew it, he was interviewing me and asking me all sorts of questions. Over the next hour, I told him my life’s story. I shared about my father and growing up surrounded by books, my mother’s life as a druid, my training, adventures at Park Pond, and Shark Bay. I shared the painful memories of the loss of Sundance, the creation of the Shoppe, becoming Dwarfkin and a dwarven master, and I even told him what happened at my trials.

  The questions he asked were unlike anything I had ever experienced. He just drew information and memories out of me, and I shared them with him.

  He was good. Really, good. It was not a magical effect; he just had a perceptive mind.

  At the end of an hour, he sighed and sat back. “You have been very kind to an old man. Is there anything I can do to help you other than share these copies with Davon?”

  “Well,” I began.

  “Don’t be shy, lad, out with it.” He remarked.

  “I told you about the creation of the Single Use Spell rings. Would you please cast three True Copy spells on these three gold rings?” And I placed them upon the table.

  He looked at me and not the rings.

  “Answer me this riddle and I will do as you ask.”