1. Chapter 1 #2
He also appeared to struggle with keeping track of all four items, and Rowan watched for the next few minutes as the man almost lost the trunks multiple times when people clipped the rogue items with their carts, and no less than four pedestrians tripped over them.
He seemed to be constantly turning, either to course correct the trunks or to apologize to someone he’d bumped into.
One aggravated matron with a screaming toddler snapped at the man and received an apology, and then they had to stop to untangle from each other as the toddler had grabbed hold of a bag and tried to rip it off the man’s shoulder.
At least two green apples from the bag made a bid for freedom, which the man utterly failed to notice.
They rolled off and under a cart, completely out of sight.
Rowan’s brows were practically in his hairline at this point.
Hadn’t this man heard of carriages? A cart?
But despite the chaos he’d caused, he never lost his cheerful smile.
His platinum blond hair—kept in a short cut on the sides, with bangs that sort of swooped over his forehead—shone brightly under the sun.
He was clearly dressed for travel, with a lightweight jacket made of a dark blue material, white linen shirt, black pants, and knee-high boots.
Surely he wasn’t traveling far, trying to tow those trunks along…?
Strangely enough, he spotted Rowan and his smile turned into one of relief.
Now, Rowan was used to many expressions aimed in his direction at first sight. Smiles didn’t make the list. What the hell? He couldn’t be looking at Rowan.
As if to prove him wrong, the blond weaved his way toward Rowan, and luckily the short trip was devoid of more victims. The second he was in earshot, he started talking.
“Hi! I’m Milo Tobitt, Second Circle Mage, are you Rowan Rangecroft?
Oh good, good, I only got a name and a brief description, but I was told you’d be a giant with long red hair and that I couldn’t miss you and boy howdy was that accurate, I could see you across the plaza, thanks for waiting and escorting me up, I had to settle in Ethel before I could go anywhere and wowee it’s been a day and I can’t wait to get going because I’m so excited! ”
Did he breathe saying all of that? And what was with the relieved smile? Where were the panic and fear? The pained, forced smile most people gave him? The obvious dismay at having to travel with someone who looked like they might eat small children for breakfast?
Where was the normal reaction?
Rowan could only come to one conclusion: This man might not be sane. Either he wasn’t working with a full picnic basket, or perhaps he suffered from a head injury?
The bright smile on Mage Tobitt’s face, the naked relief in his expression, didn’t make sense otherwise.
Wait. Did he say Second Circle Mage? Rowan sucked in a surprised breath.
While he wasn’t fully versed in how the Magic Council operated, he knew there were only two levels above a Second Circle Mage—First Circle and Grand Mage.
All the recent mages sent to Gravegarde had been Fifth Circle, maybe a Fourth.
Which meant this man had to be not only magically gifted, but also incredibly smart to have achieved the rank he had at his age.
The only other high-ranking mage Rowan had met had been in her late fifties, at least, and this little mage didn’t look a day over thirty.
Rowan’s heart started to pound as he realized this man might be the answer to Rowan’s and his family’s prayers. Utterly baffled by this revelation and amiable greeting, Rowan slowly spoke, somehow able to keep his tone neutral. “Is that all of your luggage?”
“Yeah, it is, I overpacked, I’m totally an overpacker, it’s like a chronic condition of mine but I’m going to be staying with you for, like, a year?
Right? I didn’t want to leave anything behind that I might need.
Or want. Or would regret not bringing with me.
So I basically packed everything and now I’m not quite sure how to get it all up there with me except, heh, the magic tow-along spell I’m using now, which probably won’t be a great idea, as it’ll magically exhaust me if I’m doing that the whole trip up. ”
Again, where was his fear of Rowan? Look at him, he wasn’t even fazed.
Mage Tobitt had a thin face, but it was very mobile and expressive, especially his mouth, which was even curled up at the corners, like he was always a breath away from a full-blown smile, even while chattering.
His light gray eyes were, for some reason, focused on Rowan with this air of delight.
Even his body language was relaxed, open, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Rowan’s feels lurched. Baffled, he had to wonder, was this what it felt like to have people approach you normally? Damn, it felt…good. Really good. The pressure of having to somehow convince this man to trust him had abruptly vanished, and Rowan felt far lighter as a result.
On the one hand, if chaos had a face, it would be Mage Tobitt’s.
He clearly didn’t think too far ahead if he thought towing trunks through a busy city a good idea.
On the other hand, he might be a good sort.
He also had a pleasant personality, if nothing else.
A thought whispered through Rowan—maybe, just maybe, the next few days wouldn’t be an absolute disaster.
Also, if Mage Tobitt lived up to his rank and could fix Gravegarde’s ward, Rowan might just weep.
Mage Tobitt swayed slightly as he repeatedly adjusted the bags on his shoulders, and he seemed to be waiting for some kind of response. Not wanting to give his swirling thoughts away, Rowan kept a neutral tone. “I have a cart.”
“Oh, splendid! Uh, room for all of my stuff, I hope?”
“Yes.” Rowan pointed to the cart and dark bay draft horse standing a few feet away, waiting on them.
On the way down here, the cart had been stuffed full with the tax money.
Now it was only a quarter full, containing Rowan’s single trusty travel bag, along with the supplies for the return trip, all neatly organized off to one side.
He’d anticipated needing space for the mage’s items and had deliberately ensured there’d be plenty of room.
“Wonderful, wonderful!” Before Rowan could offer a hand for either of the bags or trunks, Mage Tobitt shuffled closer to the cart.
Rowan coaxed Stan forward and then moved to help the mage lift the trunks into the cart, and they were much lighter than Rowan had anticipated.
The mage chattered all the while. “I’m just going to put all of these in here—don’t worry, nice horsey, they have lightening spells on them, couldn’t manage the bags otherwise—and oh, you got the trunks?
You’re such a sweetheart—and presto, we are ready to go! Did you pack snacks?”
“I packed food.” Snacks? Sweetheart?
Mage Tobitt pouted but then quickly reverted to a sunny smile. “Ah, well, I packed snacks. Hopefully enough for the both of us, as I do get quite snackish, if you know what I mean. Hmm, I understand it’ll take four days to get to Gravegarde?”
Trying to keep up with the little mage’s thought process hurt Rowan’s brain. “Correct.”
“Then we’d best get cracking. Unless there’s something else you need to do here?”
Rowan shook his head. This man was beyond strange, but also incredibly friendly.
And while tall, the wisp of a mage gave the appearance of being someone whom Rowan could break over one knee without breaking a sweat.
But if his mage rank was true and he had some fight in him…
Well, Rowan knew all too well appearances could be deceiving.
“Can you drive?” Rowan had anticipated needing to ride separately from the mage (no one wanted to ride alongside him on a cart), which was why he’d brought Stan along. It was a bit of a pain to put the draft horse on lead—much better to have someone else actively drive the cart.
“Oh, sure! Old hand at it. Used to help out an elderly neighbor of mine. Uh, this lovely black stallion is yours too, I take it?”
“He is.”
“He’s a brute. Gods, look at all those muscles.
Mr. Horse”—Mage Tobitt dramatically put a hand to his head like a wilting lady—“I’m jealous of your muscles.
I can’t get muscles like that no matter what I try.
I’m doomed to my twinkiness.” Abruptly, he recovered from his vapors and straightened, expression alight with eagerness. “Anyway, let’s gooooo.”
Definitely prone to dramatics, this one. The way he bounced from one emotion to the next was erratic, to say the least.
Rowan put a foot in the stirrup and swung himself up and into the saddle.
Stan huffed, as if tired of all the waiting around and eager to get going.
Mage Tobitt, somewhat to his surprise, did seem fully capable of driving the cart.
He set to it with the ease of long practice, all the while making kissy noises at the dark bay.
This would either be the longest trip in history or the most entertaining. Frankly, right now? Rowan wasn’t sure which way it would go.