“The boy did nothing wrong,” Wulfgar snarled at him.

“No, he has performed admirably,” Malchor agreed. “Ah, you fear for him?” The wizard took his measure of the huge barbarian, Wulfgar’s muscles still knotted in rage. “I assure you, the boy is treated well.”

“Not by my eyes,” retorted Wulfgar.

“He aspires to be a wizard,” Malchor explained, not ruffled by the barbarian’s scowl. “His father is a powerful landowner and has employed me to guide the lad. The boy shows potential, a sharp mind, and a love for the arts. But understand, Wulfgar, that wizardry is not so very different from your own trade.”

Wulfgar’s smirk showed a difference of opinion.

“Discipline,” Malchor continued, undaunted. “For whatever we do in our lives, discipline and control over our own actions ultimately measure the level of our success. The boy has high aspirations and hints of power he cannot yet begin to understand. But if he cannot keep his thoughts silent for a single month, then I shan’t waste years of my time on him. Your companion understands.”

Wulfgar looked to Drizzt, standing relaxed by his side.

“I do understand,” Drizzt said to Wulfgar. “Malchor has put the youth on trial, a test of his abilities to follow commands and a revelation to the depth of his desires.”

“I am forgiven?” the wizard asked them.

“It is not important,” Wulfgar grunted. “We have not come to fight the battles of a boy.”

“Of course,” said Malchor. “Your business presses; Harkle has told me. Go back down to the stables and wash. The boy is setting supper. He shall come for you when it is time to eat.”

“Does he have a name?” Wulfgar said with obvious sarcasm.

“None that he has yet earned,” Malchor replied curtly.

Though he was anxious to be back on the road, Wulfgar could not deny the splendor of the table of Malchor Harpell. He and Drizzt feasted well, knowing this to be, most probably, their last fine meal for many days.