Almost Missed Another Deadline

[aesmael]

“So, boy, back already? Did you get lost?”

“It has been nearly a month, Master Krellain.” Than knew there was no point objecting to ‘boy’.

“Why, so it has. I should have noticed the place was quieter. Did you get it?”

“Of course. It’s in here.” He handed his master a small leather pouch, tied shut with an old piece of string. The two of them were in Kel’Karver’s ‘sitting room’, one of several that Than felt to be ridiculously overdecorated, but in this case with good reason. This was where the Sorcerer (he was unrelenting on the issue of capitalisation, though it was so ingrained by now that Than no longer even thought about it) discussed business with his clients and did his best to impress them, while simultaneously giving the impression that he would not so much as bat an eye if burst into flames where they sat. Than could see that the interview chair was still slightly charred from before he had left.

Apart from the rich upholstery, expensive carpet and exotic art, there was also a fair amount of work related paraphernalia scattered about the room. A massive broadsword hung blade-downwards over the fireplace, looking both very expensive and very deadly. Than didn’t know why Krellain kept the thing; so far as he knew, its only power was to inflict on the wielder whatever wounds they used it to cause. Perhaps it was for sentimental value – the blade had after all been one of his master’s first projects. There were other odds and ends of course, jewellery and weapons mostly, since they were the showiest of Kel’Karver’s work, but Than had long ago been weaned off the urge to play with them. He was almost done with his casual inspection when he noticed something new, a clay pot sitting on the mantelpiece. It looked almost like an urn. The odd thing was that it did not seem to be the slightest bit magical, and he had been trained extensively to be able to recognize such things.

Kel’Karver had gotten the pouch open, holding the two-inch long black claw within up to the light for inspection, but put all this on hold when he noticed his apprentice’s puzzlement. “Never mind that old thing; I just needed somewhere to put Mr Connigan while I work on a cure.” Than jerked his eyes back to Kel’Karver’s face, once more trying and failing to meet that sharp blue gaze.

“A cure for having burst into flames and dying, you mean?” asked Than.

The Sorcerer snorted his opinion of the question. “Obviously. He never said anything about the boil. Now, back to business boy. Mr Connigan is nothing for you to concern yourself over.

“This is from a highland canavris, I presume. I wouldn’t put it past you to bring me back a wolf’s claw by mistake.” The canavri were creatures superficially similar to wolves, though larger. It was believed that they were descendants of a long-ago union between a wolf and a drunken fire elemental.

“N-no, I made sure. Black back, white belly and head with black markings like eyeglasses? Makes a hiccuping sound?”

“That’s the one. Female?”

“Yep.” Than sounded justifiably proud. Female canavri made up only a quarter of the population. “Pregnant, like you said. Nearly carried to term.”

“Good. I trust you had no trouble obtaining the claw?” Than hesitated slightly here, then pressed on. “It was just as flammable as you said, Master Krellain.” Kel’Karver looked up from his study of the claw for a moment, casting his gaze over his apprentice for a second time.

“Oh. So I see. Don’t worry; I’m sure the eyebrows will grow back in time.” He took the claw out for another look and then passed it back to his apprentice. “See that slight spiral patterning on the grooves? That means that this specimen will be especially potent.”

“So I did well then?”

“Satisfactorily. My next customer will not suffer the same fate as Mr Connigan.”