A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1) (11 page)

Using all means at his disposal, Bradias methodically rid himself of anyone with even cursory knowledge of the stone. Magical items not created through Canon fell within the scope of heterodoxy which not even the Lord Elder could circumvent with impunity, so Bradias kept his aims concealed. Legalities aside, revealing the Heart’s existence doubtlessly would have enticed others to seek it. Bradias knew that even a few magicians recovering pieces of the Heart—cantles, as they had come to be called—would not only tear the dressings from the College’s barely mended wounds, but the bedlam sure to follow would make Uhniethi’s Devastation seem like a child’s tantrum.

Ennalen gazed with adoration at the dark stone resting on her workbench—no mere sliver, but rather, easily the size of her fist—and reveled in the mental image of herself standing triumphant amidst the upheaval Bradias once so feared.

“How near the Wall was this again?” she asked Rass, though she already knew the answer. It had been she who pinpointed its location, after all.

Rass stepped to Ennalen’s side. “A day’s ride at most.”

The massive western boundary known only as the Black Wall ran the entire north-south span of the continent, delineating where the human-dominated Lands ended and the strange realms of the Outer Kingdoms began. The most popular tale behind its construction was that Uhniethi, after his single-handed destruction of Talmoor, fled on horseback from what remained of Lord Juleon’s forces. The ragged army had nearly caught the wizard when he thrust his arms up to the sky. Deafening thunder rattled the earth, and from thin air the Wall had solidified. Some versions of the story claimed that half the pursuing soldiers were trapped within. Some versions said all.

The Wall at one time had been a single, continuous length of rock more than ten men high. But because of its lack of magical properties, as well as its gradual deterioration—several large sections had crumbled away entirely—the Membership’s long-standing consensus was that not only did Uhniethi likely have nothing to do with the structure’s creation, but that the Black Wall probably predated the razing of Talmoor by centuries.

Regardless, as another link to a lengthening chain of coincidence, her fragment’s proximity to the Wall piqued Ennalen’s interest.

Rass, perceptive despite the enchantments under which he labored, offered assurance. “I still say that given our method, we were bound to run up against the Wall sooner or later.”

Ennalen turned to him, amused. “You say that, do you?”

Rass bowed his head, not from embarrassment, but from how the literal-mindedness his conditioning commanded often made responding to sarcasm difficult.

“How do you intend to proceed with our other business?” he then asked.

“Yes,” Ennalen said with a sigh of disgust, “the fairy tale.”

She pinched the corners of the soft, black cloth in which her cantle nestled and carefully folded them around the stone.

“I think another visit with the Lord Magistrate is in order before I decide my course,” she said. “Now that I have this, all the more reason not to rush headlong.”

Something inside her winced at the decision, like a child not wanting to finish a chore before being allowed to go play. But Denuis’s demeanor since assigning her the task of uncovering the Apostate had taken on an uncharacteristic melancholy, and like the cantle’s nearness to the Wall, the timing of his shift in mood warranted attention.

“Well,” Rass said, “I’m certain whatever direction you take will be most impressive.”

Of the many ways his servitude manifested itself, Rass’s tendency toward ingratiation was easily Ennalen’s favorite. She offered her most practiced smile.

“I could not agree more,” she said.

13

Niel stacked his supper bowl onto the serving tray near the door and rubbed at his lower back. He wondered if being bounced around on horseback had bruised something. After a long stretch, he walked to where his bedroll lay.

“Before we head out, Apprentice…” Arwin began.

Niel looked up from his things to the table where the group sat. “Yes?”

Arwin folded his hands. “I wonder if you might step onto the balcony for some fresh air. There’s a matter I need to discuss with the others. Won’t take long.”

Niel glanced at them in turn. “Sure,” he said, then went outside, closing the balcony doors behind him.

Evening had deepened to a flat tint of navy soaking everything he could see. The night air held a rigid chill. Back home, frost probably shimmered across the ground. Maybe even the first dusting of snow.

He crouched on the tiny porch and wrapped his arms around himself. One street over, shopkeepers lit the few working street lamps. Niel wondered why they bothered.

He looked at the sky. Indigo clouds spilled in from the north. The glow of the moons just barely pushed through the approaching cover, and he idly pondered how ship captains navigated on such nights.

Niel settled back against the wall, perturbed.

What was Arwin up to now? Had he changed his mind about having him along? Surely the incident on the horse hadn’t done it—that hadn’t been his fault. True, he wouldn’t be winning any equestrian trophies anytime soon, but at least he showed he could keep from being thrown.

No, that couldn’t be it. What, then? Was it that he’d balked at the mention of theft?

The balcony door squeaked, making Niel jump. Peck peered down at him, aghast. “What are you doing out here without your mittens? Don’t you realize how cold it is?”

Niel smirked at the motherly melodrama and followed Peck inside.

The others still sat at the table. Arwin gestured toward the empty chair.

“Have a seat.”

“Can the execution at least wait until dawn?” Niel asked, surprising himself with the animosity in his tone.

“At least,” Arwin said. “Sorry for asking you to step out, but in a moment you’ll understand.”

“Let me guess. A new proposal?”

“You might call it that. But first let’s be frank and start with a few truths.”

Niel crossed his arms. “Let’s.”

“For the moment, you are an apprentice magician without means,” Arwin said. “Do you think that a fair assessment?”

“For the moment, yes.”

“Good. Now, we here have no formal vow of unity here, no sacred bond compelling us to stay together. What keeps us tied to one another, romantic as it may sound, is a simple love of freedom and adventure. And, of course, profit, when it happens our way.”

Niel glanced at Peck, who tilted his head in agreement.

“It’s vital that we be able to trust one another,” Arwin continued, “to know that even when we have our differences, out in the field those differences are set aside and we focus on the goal at hand. Because on more than one occasion, that goal has simply been to stay alive.”

Niel’s temper rose. “Are you saying that after coming all this way you don’t think you can
trust
me?”

Jharal’s voice rumbled forth. “If you’d shut your hole, little toad, and get that snotty look off of your face, you might
hear
what he’s trying to say.”

Niel glared at the bearded man, a stinging retort on his tongue, but the fierceness of Jharal’s eyes made him reconsider.

“Niel,” Caleen said, her voice mild, “just listen.”

“I can imagine how difficult all this has been for you,” Arwin said with a sigh. “Everyone at this table at one time or another has had to leave something important behind. It must be terrible, putting it lightly, to be an apprentice magician suddenly without the slightest chance of furthering his abilities.”

The statement cut Niel deeply with its exactness, and because it came from someone he thought couldn’t possibly have understood.

Arwin gave a long exhale. “You recall the friend I mentioned aboard Jorgan’s ship?”

“Yes,” Niel said. “The magician.”

“His name was Lodell. We knew each other as children. He felt very differently about the College than you, and when we were old enough he and I left home to seek our fortune. Luckily, his teacher was quite the radical and provided him with a spell book to help him on his way.”

Niel had
never
heard of a confirmed magician actually allowing his apprentice to forgo the College, let alone simply giving away something as precious as a spell book.

Arwin went on. “One day we came to a small town in the South and decided to stop and rest. You’re no doubt aware how unpopular magicians are with Southerners, so we made sure Lodell looked like any other traveler.”

He paused and took a swallow of wine from the tankard in front of him. “We got a room. Lodell went downstairs to the tavern to have a drink while I stayed with our things. I’d just dozed off when suddenly there was shouting and banging all around. I grabbed my sword and ran to the stairs. Half-way down I saw Lodell lying face-up on the floor, staring at me, a dagger in his throat. Next to him was a charred body. Someone either picked a fight with him or sensed what he was or both, and Lodell managed the only spell he really knew—a Burn spell, to make lighting campfires easy. And then they killed him.

“The others noticed me, and seeing as how I rode in with Lodell they charged up the stairs. I grabbed as much gear as I could and jumped out the window. Lucky for me the horses were close by, because I broke my ankle when I landed. I mounted mine, took the reins of Lodell’s, and got the hell out of there.”

Arwin leaned over in his chair, brought up a small package wrapped in a violet scarf, and set it on the table. He pushed the bundle over to Peck, who in turn slid it to Caleen, who picked it up and placed it gently in front of Niel.

Niel looked at the bundle. The cloth shimmered with a familiar incandescence.

“His spell book,” he whispered.

“As a token of the camaraderie I spoke of, I offer you this. Study this. Learn. Because it’s what we need of you, and what you need for yourself.”

Niel felt ashamed. Embarrassment urged him to refuse the gift, but he knew the deep insult it would be to Arwin.

That, and it was a
spell book
.

He rested his fingers on the smooth fabric and smiled at the familiar, comforting warmth he doubted any at the table had noticed as they passed the book around.

“I thank you,” he said as he looked around. “Most humbly and sincerely. Thank you, all.”

Caleen offered a small smile and a nod. Jharal grunted his approval, though she had to elbow him to do so.

***

What The Ragged Rascal had been only on the outside, The Funny Gus was through and through: shabby, unkempt, uninviting. The Gus was far smaller than the Rascal as well, dimly lit by random candles mounted to beams and unfinished walls. Nonetheless, a surprising number of people crowded the noisy little tavern. The place smelled of spilled whiskey, charred meat, and sweat.

Arwin and Niel entered first and claimed a table in the corner apparently just vacated, given the scrap-laden pewter plates and tankards stacked to one side. Cally emerged at the doorway, shoving a groping reveler into the wall much to the raucous delight of his drinking companions. Jharal arrived soon after. No one paid him direct mind, yet the crowd instinctively parted to allow him plenty of room. Peck simply appeared next to Niel following the distracting clatter of a tray falling somewhere on the other side of the room.

“Nice place, huh?” he asked as he slipped into a chair.

A man ran for the door, gurgling a loud retch as he cleared the threshold. Several watching his flight cheered.

“Colorful,” Niel replied, earning chuckles from his companions.

A husky blonde barmaid in a frilly, soiled blouse strode up to the table and cleaned away the dishes. Her sweat-damp hair had been hurriedly pushed back from her flushed face except for a short, stray ringlet stuck to her forehead.

“Well, hello there, Inda-my-lovely,” Peck crooned.

“Bite my boil-ridden ass,” she said, placing a fresh candle in the red glass globe at the table’s center. “What’ll you have?”

“Same as always,” Arwin said. “Ales all around—”

“—except for big, mean Jhar,” Inda finished with a lilt in her voice, a quirk of her mouth and a meaningful wink. “He wants a dark bitter.”

Jharal rolled his eyes and looked elsewhere.

“Ale for you, too, dear?” Inda asked Niel.

“Yes, please,” he replied.

“Well,
manners
,” she said with a smile. “We’re short tonight, so one of you will have to go get your order when it’s ready.”

“I’ll do it,” Peck volunteered, “if for no other reason than to be close to you once more.”

“The day you die,” Inda retorted as she walked away, “is the day there will again be joy in my life.”

He smiled. “Gods, but I love that woman.”

“You know her, I take it?” Niel asked.

Peck’s face went blank. “Know who?”

“Lively tonight,” Cally noted as she looked about. “Hope it doesn’t turn out like last time.”

“I hope it’s
better
than last time,” Peck said with a leer.

“Last time?” Niel asked, at once curious and concerned.

“Found ourselves in a bit of a ruckus when we were here last,” Arwin explained. “Rather unpleasant.”

“And Jhar’s got the scars to prove it,” Peck said. “Give the lad a peep.”

With a sigh, Jharal pulled up his left sleeve. Across his dark skin, amidst the brambles of course black hair, lay a series of short, deep marks each the shape of a crescent. One, though, formed an appreciable crater.

Niel’s eyes widened. “Those look like
bite
marks?”

“That’s because they are,” Jharal replied.

“Someone took a
bite
out of you?”

Jharal rolled down his sleeve again.

“Lucky for us they spit him out,” Cally said.

Peck frowned. “Can’t imagine him tasting very good.”

Jharal balled a head-sized fist at him. “Keep it up, friend, you’ll be finding out.”

Peck held up his hands. “Easy there, big, mean Jhar. If the fair Inda sees what a brute you are you’ll never get into her stall again. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask—after your little tryst, did you have to sleep standing up as well?” He punctuated the question with a whinny.

Both Arwin and Cally laughed out loud.

Jharal snarled as he stood and stalked around the table. By the time he got to the other side, though, Peck was already several steps away.

“Come, Lord Elder,” Peck called, beckoning to Niel. “Let’s see if our drinks are ready.”

Niel glanced at Arwin, who nodded reassurance. “And bring back some bread or something while you’re up.”

“Instantly, sire,” Niel replied.

The bar sat a short distance from their table, but Niel had to wrestle the crowd for every step. Peck slinked ahead to an open barstool and waited for him to arrive.

“Comfortable?” Niel asked.

“Yep, but I was saving this for you. The drinks’ll be up in a minute. Thought I’d go harass Inda a little more. I think she missed me.”

By the time Niel opened his mouth to protest, Peck had disappeared. So, he hoisted himself onto the low-backed stool, figuring he’d better before someone else took the spot.

The gathering seemed rowdier from the bar. Even the bartender—a long-haired man with a dark, greasy mustache and beard, sporting myriad bluish tattoos on his neck, shoulders, and arms, and a large ivory stud through his nose—scowled and barked his way from customer to customer as he took and filled orders.

A tide of elbows and arms pushed and receded against Niel’s back. Not wanting to risk another scene like he’d had with Jharal, he swayed along as best he could.

“S’pose he’ll want wine again?” a gruff voice asked off to his left.

“Doubt they serve his vintage here,” replied another. “He looks all dainty and refined.”

“Maybe Inda could breast-feed him,” commented a third, followed by loud guffaws.

“Scrawny as he is, I could breast feed him,” answered the first voice, earning even larger laughter from the others.

Niel peered over his shoulder. There sat the same three men that had been at the Rascal the night before. The first wore an eye patch, the second lacked several front teeth, and the third had an unevenly shaped head apparently shaven with a dull, rusty blade given the number of scabs that crisscrossed his scalp.

“You have something to say, Sweetness?” No-Eye asked with a jut of his chin.

Niel shook his head and offered his friendliest smile. “Nothing at all.”

“What, we not fit to talk to?” Toothless demanded as he and his comrades stepped from their own stools and trudged over.

Niel sighed and hung his head in disbelief.

Toothless gripped Niel’s shoulder and spun him around, his breath oppressive with garlic and alcohol. “I said, you got a problem with talkin’ to us? You too important for us?”