The mage, who had stopped his tirade long enough to introduce himself breathlessly as Owen Stillheart, had not stopped talking since what Syrus now referred to as “the incident.” It continued until Markus finally reminded the boys that they had run out of time, and must now join the guards for the auction of Davus’s purple dye. Owen jumped, realizing how much time had gone by. Markus assured him once more that they would pay for the damage to the door, but the man waved it off casually, as if it was no matter at all, and instead offered Syrus one of his books on magic, titled ‘beginning’s in the craft,’ a well-used looking book by a mage named Trisstain Ryebald.

Syrus had felt his jaw drop once more at this priceless gift, but the man would take nothing in return, practically shoving it his hands before seeing them all off, and leaving Syrus with one last piece of advice; “They won’t accept you at the university with just a general knowledge of the world, boy! You must know complex mathematics, geography and history, the workings of metals and chemics, master that book, and save for a wand, else they won’t let you in no matter what talents you possess!” Syrus had hurriedly shouted his thanks once more over his shoulder at Owen, before following Markus on his hurried march back to the inn.

They arrived at The Silver Stag, the inn they had been staying at, each excitedly explaining what had happened to a delighted Davus and a scowling James. Syrus stowed his new book carefully in Davus’s lockbox, and they set off in formation around the wagons to the auction. The auction was an impromptu one, set up by a man James and Davus had met with yesterday after encountering a widespread desire for the product. The man would take a small portion of the earnings, and in return had quickly organized a meeting of important merchants and even a few small-time lords and ladies who wanted to purchase the barrels of dye. Davus had been assured that the bidding would be fierce, and his words were proven all too true by the number of chairs filling the market square, many of which were supporting richly dressed men and women in exotic cloaks and sporting strangely colored hats or other decorative pieces, each looking pompous and important to a boy like Syrus.

There was a small stage at one end of the market, chairs set up to face it, on top of which the barrels were loaded, Davus paraded himself across the stage, flourishing his purple cloak and opening each cask, demonstrating its contents to an officiator and generally demonstrating his skills as a merchant to all those who could see. This was his time to shine, and he did so to great effect, loudly extolling the crowd about his new product and the changes it would bring about their lives. By the end of his speech Syrus was sure that no cask would go unbought, and Davus would leave this market square rich with the drams of these wealthy merchants and nobles. The bold risks he had taken would succeed. Watching from the sidelines and seeing a man succeed after months of hard work had a powerful effect on Syrus, who saw first hand that day how fortune favored the bold.

The casks were sold in pairs of two, with twelve in total, and the last set eventually sold for a total of three hundred silver drams to a smug looking aristocrat in the rear of the square, an astounding sum to the young Syris, who had never seen money in such amounts trading hands before. Davus collected his money, which came not in bags of gold but instead written on slips of paper, with the signatures of both Davus and the buyer, as well as a seal stamped into the note. Davus’s workers took charge of delivering the dye, along with guards hired by the purchasers. Eventually they returned to The Silver Stag, three empty carts in tow, and Davus and James took three of the guards and the provisions cart to the local money institutions to turn paper into gold. When they returned, Davus divvied out the gold he owed to each member of the caravan, along with a bonus Davus distributed to each man with a grin. The men all cheered at their newfound fortunes, and the night was spent in celebration.

Syrus had his first taste of alcohol that night, poured for him with a wink and a nudge by Markus. He normally disdained alcohol, hearing about men who had ruined their own livelihoods in their cups, and he of course would never forget the man who had been brutally beaten in Jeim's market square after drunkenly insulting the wrong men. He had resolved to never allow himself to lose that kind of control over his body and mind, not over something so small as a drink. Nevertheless, the small cup of wine he had been given tasted better than he had thought it would, and he had felt a small flush rise on his face by the time he had finished the cup. It was an enjoyable experience, he decided, but not one that he would seek often.

The next morning they gathered their things, fought through their hangovers, quickly said their goodbyes to the inn staff, and left the city. Davus had, in true mercantile fashion, filled two of the three carts with goods he had purchased after the auction. He would then sell the goods at a premium in Jeim or the towns along the way. Without multiple fragile barrels of dye filling the carts, their load had lightened considerably, leaving more room for men on the carts. This significantly increased their travel speed, and they made good time on the first day, still close enough to the city to be traveling on the same roads that the Count’s guards oversaw, it was close enough to risk speed over safety. The horses driving each cart were kept at a slow trot for about an hour, where they would walk for half an hour, then return to a trot. Keeping at this pace meant that they travelled a total of twenty myles the first day, an excellent pace, especially accounting for the few hangovers that the men could still be seen nursing.

With about twenty days left in their journey, Syrus wanted nothing more than to use this time to peruse his new book on magic, but he couldn’t – or rather, he wouldn’t, while he still had responsibilities. He might not be receiving pay as a guard, but he still ate Davus’s food and travelled among his caravan, riding on his carts. He would not repay him by ignoring the dangers of the road around him, not adding another set of eyes to see what another might have missed. He kept his book locked away in the strong box, and though he could tell Blake was just excited about reading it beside him as he was, he didn’t comment, instead returning to the road to continue the training they had omitted for the last few days. While the cart was moving Syrus had to focus more on the lecture side of Blake’s training, but they still made good progress, and would make more that evening when the cart came to a stop.

They continued like this throughout the next eight days, settling into their routine as walking guards again. They arrived at Janston mostly on schedule, only a few hours late after encountering two bandits, who had thought to ambush Markus as he went scouting around a bend on James’s horse, but he had his bow aimed at them in a heartbeat, theirs aimed at him, and neither man had fired for fear that the other would retaliate, when the rest of the caravan had rounded the bend and Markus, taking his eyes off the two bandits for a split second, had allowed the two bandits to flee off into the woods on their small, underfed and shaggy horses. He took a shot at one, but his shot went wide and the two bandits had escaped unharmed into the woods, where Markus was too wise to follow them. With his lack of knowledge of the land and lack of experience riding a horse through rough terrain, he would only be giving up his advantage, then probably ambushed and gutted by the very bandits he was chasing. This fortunately remained the only event to occur while they traveled, and they spent a day and a night in Janston, Davus selling a quarter of his wares and making even more of a profit from this journey.

Little did they know that this journey was about to take a strange and twisted turn, one which would change the future for them all.