"If my days were longer, or I only moved a bit faster, maybe there would be time. But, as it is, this is the best that I can do." She hoped that explanation would stand on it's own and there wouldn't be any more questions.

He did not miss a beat and was working on his first word before she even drew breath, "Well, that's just not good enough." He half rose from his chair as she stood, always the gentleman, even when delivering bad news. "If you can't manage your workload, I'm sure I can find someone else who can."

Arielle gave him a tight–lipped smile, barely holding her tears in check. She turned her back to him, but paused before heading to the door. "I'll give it my best," she said and beat a hasty retreat from the cold library. As the door closed behind her, she missed her mentor's reply "Let's hope that's enough."

The fire had long since died out in the main workshop, but Arielle didn't dare take the time to rekindle it. Had she been less engrossed in her tasks, it might have occurred to her that she had mastered a spell that would not only relight the fire, but also keep it going indefinitely. It had been added to her repertoire not a fortnight past, so it was not as ingrained in her as some of the other spells she had mastered. As it was, the room had grown cold as the sun set. It was not the first time Arielle had stayed past the end of day working on her tasks, and her mother would not be well pleased when she finally returned home tonight. She felt Arielle was wasting her time becoming apprentice to a magus who appeared little more than an apprentice himself, and she took every opportunity to lecture her wayward daughter that working the inn was as fine a job as any young woman could hope for.

"You won't meet anyone in that awful hut of his. Best you stay here. With the travelers we're getting now this is a main road, you'll find a fine husband soon enough." The only sentiment they agreed on was that the place the magus Javid called both home and business was not a place any sane person would live. The fact that Arielle could now identify most of the individual smells made the unique fusion of odor that assaulted one in the small workshop was less than comforting when she had to spend hours on end in the small space. Tonight the geret root she was working with mostly blocked the other smells, but she couldn't say if that was a good thing. Resisting the urge to rub her sleepy eyes, the geret root being caustic, Arielle focused on the final chant that would strip the most potent part of the root, allowing the root itself to be a carrier for a charm. The salve created from the stinging plant would be applied to a sword on the morrow, which, when combined with another spell, would ensure the steel would be ever sharp.

Most of the business Javid had was from wanderers, and most of those mercenaries headed for the battlefields to the west. Locals preferred the ministrations of Lyndel who, while a healer of limited skill in magic, was a familiar face. Javid had only arrived in Woodlynn four years prior and, rather than introducing himself to the villagers, had quietly set up shop, a sign advertising the services he could provide appearing one morning in front of an old hut that had been abandoned for years. It was on his first, and only, visit to the Wanderer's Salvation that he met Arielle, two days before her thirteenth birthday. A week later a summons arrived for her at the inn. Curious, Arielle accepted the invitation and arrived at the hut the next day. She hadn't needed her mother's warnings to be wary of the encounter, but common sense dictated that one did not refuse the request of a magus, no matter how suspicious he may seem. She was surprised when he greeted her in a cordial manner, and offered her imported tea. She was even more surprised when he got to the point of the interview. "I need an apprentice. I need someone local who can help be my face to the world, and help me run errands in town. This person would also, of course, learn what I know of magic. There are many potential youths in this area, but quite frankly you are the best candidate, if young." He held up his hand before she could interrupt.

"I understand this may put you in an...awkward situation, me being who, and what, I am, but I assure you, you have every right to refuse me. It is a request, not a demand, and there is no hidden agenda should you choose to walk away now."

Arielle had studied the magus who, to all outward appearances, had at most ten years on her. She was about to refuse, but something in his deep blue eyes, an innocence, perhaps, drew her in. Instead she asked, "Why me?"

He smiled at the inquiry, relived she had not refused him, "Ah...that is difficult. I could tell you that as the innkeeper's daughter, you would be well received by most in the area, or could provide me with the best knowledge. I could tell you that I always wanted a beautiful woman as my accomplice." She had blushed at this, but if he noticed, he continued as if he hadn't, "Or I could tell you that I sense potential in you, a great potential that I do not even understand. But not one of these reasons, or even the sum of them would be the whole truth. I'm afraid I cannot give you my full reason for seeking you as my apprentice. But perhaps in time, if you care to stick around to find out?"

Arielle had nodded, sealing her fate, binding herself to the mysterious figure who only avoided becoming an outcast by not interacting with the members of Woodlynn in the first place. But business from the mercenaries was enough to keep food on the table, and to keep Javid's workshop and library stocked, so he was content with his place.

Arielle put the final ingredients for the healing charm in the dried geret root, and buried it in the now cool embers of the evening's fire. Carefully she cast the fire spell, causing the embers to heat to a warm glow. Once she was satisfied that the spell was secure, and would remain in place until she returned in the morning to retrieve the root, she carefully approached the door to Javid's library. "I'm going," she said quietly, not sure if her mentor was deep in study, or even asleep. She listened for an answer and, getting none, sighed and headed out. As exhausted as she was, her night was only beginning.

The frown on Javid's face was echoed in the crease that formed on his forehead. His silence was worse than the scolding Arielle had been expecting. She tried to not squirm when his glare passed over her once again as he paced the small floor of the library.

When Arielle had arrived that morning, there had been shouting inside the hut. She was debating whether or not to go home and apologize later, when the door opened and an angry pair of mercenaries stormed out. Javid stood in the doorway, disheveled and clearly agitated, watching the larger men leave. Arielle froze as her mentor turned his eyes her way. They were hard and cold, and immediately Arielle understood that it was something she had done that was the cause of the trouble.

That had been nearly an hour ago, and Javid had yet to say a word. Fear kept Arielle silent as well. She looked up from the rug, whose designs she had been intently studying the past twenty minutes. Javid had stopped a few paces beyond her chair, facing away from her. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was quiet.

Arielle's heart skipped. The pain was so evident in his voice, as was the fact that her mentor was trying his hardest to disguise it. She opened her mouth, but quickly shut it again, unsure of her transgression. She closed her eyes and pictured the mercenaries as they appeared when they left. Focusing her mind as Javid had taught her, she could recall details that hadn't registered in her conscious mind even as they occurred. One of the men, the larger, had a large stain on his tunic, rusty brown. He'd been wounded, badly. His stiff movements indicated he was still healing, and might not regain full mobility in that arm again. The shorter, wiry man carried an empty scabbard on his back, clutching a broken sword in one hand.

"I made a miscalculation on a protection spell," Arielle said, suddenly understanding. "And the sword, it was one I had enchanted. I must have used the wrong portion of geret root, or misspoken the charm, and it caused the blade to grow weak." An apology seemed too little for the grave errors she had made, but she gave it any way.

"Perhaps you wouldn't have made the errors if you had been getting enough rest." Arielle paled at his cold tone. "Or is become a magus not important enough to you, that you must pursue other work with your copious free time?"

"My father wouldn't accept that I was apprentice to a magus, if you must know," she said, stiffening in her seat. "My mother was kind enough to lie to him, and told him I was apprentice to a dressmaker. The only way I could keep him from finding out the truth was to produce some wares for him to sell."

"I understand these nighttime practices were quite skilled," Javid said, not relenting. "Skilled enough to catch the eye of a certain gentleman, and that now you are making a dress for your own wedding."

"It's true," Arielle said icily."My father found a suitable husband for me."

"Why?" Javid asked, finally turning toward her. "Why didn't you tell me? As your mentor I could have handled the situation with your father. I could have hired a dressmaker from Galesburg if you had insisted on the ruse. Do you enjoy it that much? Is that tedium more important to you than your studies, your talent?"

"Its not that–"

"What then? What ? Do you despise me? Fear me? Why did you not tell me?"

"I..." Arielle swallowed the words that were about to spill forth, an untimely confession. She rose and walked towards the door, careful to keep her back to her mentor. "I regret to inform you, magus Javid, that what you have heard is true. I will soon be a married woman, and will not be able to be apprenticed to you any longer."

"Do you love him that much, that you'll give up the chance to become one of the world's greatest magi halfway through your studies? Do you love him more than-"

"Who said love had anything to do with it? Not that I would expect you to understand. You lock yourself up here, away from the real world. Rumor is that magi don't feel real emotions, anyway. Perhaps I'll take that, at least, from my time here."