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“What the hell is this?” The voice rang through the halls with a distinct tone of displeasure. I was walking down the corridor when I heard it—reverberating over the onyx stones and not even being absorbed by the gorgeous crimson tapestries that hung. And, I was a far ways away from the voice, so I knew it had to be a loathing scream. “What the hell is this?!?!” I heard it again, louder this time, roaring as I crept closer towards my Master’s room. I knew I shouldn’t spy on him, but his anger intrigued me for some reason. He was always angry. He was always grumbling. He was always snarling as he stalked about his castle. I guess being a wizard wasn’t an easy job…

I read a book on wizards. It was very interesting. I might be a wizard some day, but my Master laughs at me whenever I say so, and he tells me to do something practical. I used to be disappointed, but in the book I read, it said that telling the apprentice to give up was one of the most important jobs of being a wizard master because only those with perseverance can go on to learning great magic… or at least the book said something to that effect. Anyhow, my Master is a strange wizard really—according to the book. See, wizards are supposed to live reclusive lives and not deal with politics and such, but Master is the leader of our city, Scarma. Also, wizards apparently wear lots of different colors for different purposes… I have only seen my Master wear red with touches of white or black, but nothing else—only red. He’s different. But don’t tell him I said that.

See, Master Carsikan—that’s his name—is always very angry. He never hurts anyone, but that’s because he doesn’t have to. Just one look can set even the most rebellious servant back into line if not traumatize them for life. It’s best not to get on his bad side. But anyways, I keep rambling. I tend to ramble. But, to get back on topic, I had snuck outside Master Carsikan’s door, which was closed, and then I pressed my ear against the warm polished wood to hear what he was saying. I’m very curious you see, about wizards, my Master, magic, and frankly, anything that is vaguely related to topics of those nature. I want to be just like Carsikan—grumbles and all. He’s just so… I don’t know… I can’t find the word… but I idolize him. Maybe that’s why I was taking this huge risk by pressing my ear against the door and holding my breath as I listened.

I heard my Master’s voice first, now very restrained and quiet. “What do you want me to do? Coming here like this… showing me… these… what is it you want?” His voice held some sort of paranoia mixed in what his bottled-up rage.

“You read the papers. What do you think?” It’s a man’s voice that I don’t recognize—whispering and smooth as smoky silk. Was it my curiosity, or this stranger’s voice that entranced me and made me lean against the door further, trying to catch every hushed word.

“I think you need to tell me more about this, Zilv.” Zilv, that must be the man’s name… Zilv… I feel like I’ve heard it before somewhere, but I can’t place it.

“Now, now, you know we shouldn’t discuss it… not even here. You can read, can’t you?” Zilv seemed amused as he teased Carsikan, and to my surprise, my Master didn’t explode in fury. Who could this Zilv person be to have such a power? I heard a shuffling of paper. “Here. Read this line again.”

Then there was silence.

“I understand…” Carsikan was barely whispering, and I almost couldn’t hear him through the thick wooden door.

“You know where to meet me. Tonight.” Zilv says in a clear voice, and there is the light ruffle of soft fabric, but I don’t hear his footsteps. “Oh, and, Carsikan?” Pressing even more against the door, I hear a pause in the conversation, and I can imagine my Master arching his eyebrows up in question, his scarlet eyes calm as he waited for an answer. “I think you need to check your charms… someone has been listening to us speak.”

My eyes fly wide and I try to scramble away from the door, but it’s too late. It flies open the next minute, and I cower, quickly trying to get out apology after apology and trying to explain myself before my Master yells at me and maybe even sends me flying across the room with a swift kick. But the yell doesn’t come… Slowly raising my eyes, I stop speaking, and then I see him—not my Master—Zilv.

“Hello,” he whispers, a small smile on his face, and his smirk turns into a slight grin with a flash of teeth.

I can’t say anything back.