Heir of Dust and Wind

Chapter 2 - The Signature

Trygve stood in the early morning light and surveyed the street. 

The rain had stopped, and a few rays of spring sunshine managed to fight their way through the remaining mist that the night had left behind.

He squatted and flared his nostrils.

Despite the persisting stench of sewer and urine, which was typical for this rather shabby part of the city, the magical signature hit him crisp and clear. I was tinged only slightly by the coppery smell of blood.

The fact that it was so easily detectable even after last night's rain and in spite of the dreadful odour of his surroundings, made him think that this novice's talent had to be quite significant. The blood indicated that the Awakening was linked to violence of some kind.

Hopefully, he was someone that could handle himself in a fight, he thought. Then his contract with Frode could finally be fulfilled, and he was free to pass on.

Getting back up, he almost winced at the sharp pain between his shoulder blades.

It was getting harder and harder to keep his struggle hidden these days. But he wouldn't give the Council, least of all Frode, the satisfaction of seeing his suffering. He'd sworn himself not to do so. 

Ever.

However, the persisting and increasing ache made him hope even more that this one would be his golden ticket.

But then the centuries had told him not to get his hopes up. So far the trials had stopped all of them and for him to be free again, the novice needed to pass at least two. There was no such thing as renegotiations where bargains with the Alderman were concerned.

Focussing on the task at hand, he followed the alluring trace of magic. While it was clearly there, it did not form a trail he could follow. He scanned his surroundings again, looking for more clues.

There was a tram station not far away, but then, the signature did not lead in that direction. So, another form of transportation had been used. He sighed wearily. He had hoped there would be a lead he could track down without much difficulty, but today the stars were not in his favour.

He felt impatience and frustration well up inside him. Waiting for the next flare in the signature's energy was a tedious task. Staying in the Nether Realm for longer than absolutely necessary was an additional strain on his already battered body and mind.

Returning to Frode was absolutely out of the question. He would not give the sorcerer an excuse for using one of his ever creative punishments on him. Better to stay in this dimension and to bide his time, strain or no.

A rustling noise behind him made him turn. An old woman, hunched by age and homelessness, shuffled along the street pushing a shopping cart full of dirty plastic bags. Wheezing with every step she made, she slowly crept on. Regarding her limited mobility, she probably stayed nearby.

Trygve smiled. 

Just like that, his lead had come along after all.

***

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