And the master, of course, did not take the undergrowth with him when he went to perform dark magic at the home of his next customer. Magic is not about weeding beds and allowing the untrained to practice. But even incompetent people don’t like garden beds; but it’s better to confuse weeds with cabbage than, instead of summoning a soul that is peaceful in a good afterlife, suddenly raise an evil corpse.
Marius did not dare to grumble, although every time his mentor went to work, he had difficulty suppressing the desire to ask to come with him. And master Turvon, you know, left the student with tasks that were dirtier and bigger for the time he was away, so that he wouldn’t sit idle, wouldn’t suffer from nonsense and wouldn’t climb into places where he shouldn’t climb without supervision.
So Marius sat in a black tower in the middle of the forest, like an enchanted princess from a fairy tale. He chewed on the intractable science of magic, dismantled ancient books, memorized rituals. Daily household chores – cleaning, a garden with herbs and a stable with the only inhabitant, the black hellish horse Garo – were also on him. You never know whose heir you are. You may brag about your high birth in the palaces, but in the tower of a magician, while you are a student, you are nobody and there is no way to call you. In addition, maintaining proper order in the home, and magical herbs, and even more so, the inhabitant of the stable is the same part of the training. You need to understand what to do with all this and why it is this way and not otherwise.
It was difficult at first. But the autumn poured down with dull rains, the winter swept through with snowstorms, the early timid spring snowdrops blossomed – and from the old Marius, who fiercely wanted to learn, but in the explanations of the master who understood well if one word out of ten, only the name remained. Now he could distinguish one herb from another by smell and touch, even in dried and mashed form. I discovered that thoroughly washing the floor before drawing a circle of invocation on it perfectly sets the mood for the ritual. And the mad creature Garo caressed, accepting the treat, allowed him to comb his mane and pat his terrible face and did not try to bite off his fingers right up to his shoulders. And the master moderated his sarcasm, making remarks about the dubious intelligence of some high-born blockheads.