1 The Drunken Master Magician

Daylight poured through the dingy window, flickering off the specks of dust that hovered in the still air. Hans let out a shallow sigh and shot a fervid glance at the hole in the wall that was meant to be a doorway. Holding his breath, Hans crept through the crumbling frame out into the front room which was cluttered and strewn with books, papers, and vials of strange liquid. Master Friedrich had not yet emerged from his bedroom, and Hans prayed that he would remain sleeping for at least another hour as he began stuffing a sack with any of the edible food still left in the hovel.

At a loud thump, he ducked his head, and his heart began to race. Master Friedrich was rising from his stupor, and Hans knew that soon his angry master would be barreling out of his quarters ready to beat Hans or have him march into the market for some obscure item on the other side of the rambling town.

The door to master Friedrich's room crashed open, and the master, as if blind, marched over to Hans' room and bellowed, "Hans, you miserable, stupid, cur, where are you?"

The master leaned against the frame of the door and squinted into the dingy room, looking as though he was about topple into the room while Hans, on the other side of the room, pressed against the wall and tried his best to keep from bumping into the table or the vials that were scattered about the room. As drunk as Master Friedrich was now, he would never notice that Hans had slipped out. All he had to do was make his escape without the old drunk seeing him— which he had been doing for the entire year that he had been an apprentice to Master Frederick.

Some master that old drunk had turned out to be, Hans thought bitterly. The old man had promised Hans a better life, but Hans' life had not changed in any way. Not only had Hans not learned any magic, but the old man would get drunk nearly every night and would attempt to take out his frustration on his crippled, twisted apprentice. It was not as though Hans had never been beat before, but his father had simply blamed Hans for everything. At least at home there had been a reason for the beatings.

Hans squeezed between the book case and table, just outside the master's vision, stifling a gasp as the pain shot through his shoulder blades. Straightening was never a good idea. At one point, Mother had thought that if Hans just sat up straight and continued to stand straight that his back would correct itself. Hans shook his head quickly to clear the vision of the beating his father given him when he had collapsed from the pain of trying to obey his mother.

When Hans was about to move away from the bookcase that hid him from his raging master, a book caught his eye. Without thinking, Hans pulled the book from the shelf and studied it. The cover was extraordinary, thick, leather bound with jewels inlaid forming a three looping circles. The title, which was written in the old language, was the word for the elemental magics. The master was supposed to have been teaching Hans magic, and it looked like this book had just what he needed to learn it. At a large crash, Hans' head snapped up, his heart seemed to skid to a stop, resuming its beat as if racing his turbulent thoughts. He was so startled that he nearly dropped the book, but a quick glance in the master's direction revealed that Master Friedrich had only crumpled to the floor. Fixing his eye on the drunk, Hans slipped the book into the sack beneath his cloak and briefly thought that the weight would be a problem. His back would be aching by the time he made it to the tree, but with the master passed out on the floor in front of Hans' room, he knew that he would miss his chance if he waited. Sucking in a breath, Hans shuffled quickly out the door, making sure to close it slowly so that the master didn't revive.

Hans sighed in relief, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that he was not attracting too much attention, but no one noticed him which was the normal way of things. For years he had walked among these people, unsightly, ignored, invisible, and though while he was younger, the isolation and repulsion of the people had plagued him with grief, he now saw the great benefit to being ostracized. No one ever noticed the little hunchback wandering where he was not allowed to be. Hans slid his hood over his head and began hobbling down the street, weaving his way in and out of the bedlam of the marketplace.

Hans continued to shuffle along, pausing only when the dull ache in his leg compelled him to duck into the nearest alley that he might rest before continuing his hike to his tree. He groaned as he leaned against the wall, rubbing his leg vigorously. Hans had lived with pain his whole life, but lately, the pain which had once been easily ignored, was so intense that he had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from crying out. He didn't think that the book had anything to do with the pain, but Hans was wishing more and more that he had left it on the shelf in the master's hovel.

He pressed his forehead against the stone wall, panting and slid the book out from beneath his cloak to study it a little more closely. He had made the decision to take it so quickly that he wasn't sure that the book had even been worth taking. He ran his hand over the cover and the twining circles began to glow. He whispered the title in the old language and the book seemed to fill with life. Hans gasped and shoved the book back under his cloak, feeling the pain melt away. Hans jerked his head about him, hoping no one else had witnessed the strange phenomenon. He straightened as much as his crooked back would allow and stepped back into the mayhem of the street, feeling like he could walk for hours.