Chapter 755 — Distance
Blade of Dawn · Page 3 of 4
It was not until she had ducked into a nearby side chamber that she realized she had rashly abandoned her mentor—and had this been a year ago, it would surely have earned her a dreadful punishment.
Just as Mary grasped the gravity of her mistake, the door of the side chamber swung open and Daniel stepped inside.
The old mage in his black robe merely looked at her in silence for a moment, then said offhandedly, "I have arranged for them to rest elsewhere for a day. Tomorrow they will be sent home.
"If you do not wish to see them again, then you need not see them for the time being.
"Afterward, I will have people see to their livelihood."
Mary kept her head lowered, her voice a hesitant whisper. "...Thank you."
"There is no need."
"Master, am I... am I really so worthless?" Mary summoned the courage to lift her head and look at her mentor. "They are my parents..."
Daniel cut her off in a placid tone: "They did not wish to come at first. Only after the apprentice I sent displayed the identity of a mage and offered them a sum of payment did they agree to meet with you."
Mary was somewhat dazed. "Payment..."
"This is no one's fault," Daniel said evenly.
"Master, did you foresee this situation all along?"
"Yes," Daniel said, his expression unchanged. "But this was your own choice, and a situation you had to face. So I did not intervene."
Mary bit her lip, then lowered her head and looked at the robe she wore, and at the silver insignia near its collar that denoted a mage's rank.
What created the gulf was not only the separation of more than a decade.
"Master, between the extraordinary and ordinary people... is the difference truly so vast?"
"In most places, it is exactly so."
Mary bowed her head and for a long while said nothing more.
Daniel, for his part, turned and left the room, troubling his apprentice no further.
He still had a task assigned by his master to carry out.
...
In the back alleys of Aldernan's East District, a man with a scruffy beard, sunken eye sockets, and wholly unremarkable features was staggering along the street.
The man reeked of strong liquor and carried a cloth bag of food in his hand. His hair appeared not to have been groomed in a long time, and the somewhat worn clothes on his body matched the standard of living of most in this quarter.
Winter skies always darken early, and the dimming light of day had already settled over Aldernan. Scattered magic-crystal streetlamps lit up one after another from far to near, illuminating the old and dilapidated streets of the East District. Foot traffic was sparse; the factory workers had not yet made their way home. The occasional figure seen at the roadside was, if not a suspicious idler, then mostly a heavily painted low-class prostitute who had only just come out to the street.
The drunken man walked on, and all at once an inexplicable palpitation came over him, bringing the man in the worn coat to a halt.
He seemed merely to lean against the nearby wall, sick from the drink, yet his right hand moved without betraying anything to press at his waist, quietly closing around a spike wrought of gold.
A faint magical glimmer flowed across the spike's surface.
A tramp with a messy beard walked past him, and as the two passed each other, the tramp suddenly turned his head and looked his way.
In the drunken man's eyes, the tramp's form abruptly twisted and writhed, transforming into a figure in a black robe, face hidden in shadow.
A voice reached his ear: "Meet at No. 14 Blackiron Lane."
The drunkenness in the man's eyes had vanished entirely. Without any outward sign, he put away the golden spike, and sensing another will stirring quietly within his mind, he changed direction as he walked and murmured, "Yes, Bishop."
The man turned and left the alley, and along the road he had walked, no bearded tramp had ever been there—as though it had all been an illusion from first to last.
...