A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1) (23 page)

Cally stood. “As do I,” she said.

Jharal sighed and joined her. “As do I.”

Peck stood as well, shrugging his shoulders. “Why not.”

Finally, Niel stood with them.

“If this is all truly hinged on me, then I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, sounding to himself as clumsy and stupid as he felt. “I wish I knew what to say other than ‘thank you.’”

Peck turned away to continue browsing the room. “How about, ‘Please accept my deepest apologies that Jorgan didn’t throw me off the boat.’”

***

He tried to pay attention to the conversation, but Niel’s mind kept straying back to a distressful and morbidly exhilarating thought: Someone out there wanted to kill him.

Lleryth, Riahnn and Briajl returned to discuss with the group what would be needed in the way of additional supplies once their equipment had been restored to them. Although, Lleryth and Briajl did the discussing; Riahnn did little but stand nearby and aim a steady, hateful scowl in Niel’s direction.

“I’ve arranged for you to meet a Professor Ignalius Potchkins,” Lleryth told them, “formerly of Fraal University. He has means to get you back to Lyrria within the time we have.”

“What means would that be?” Jharal asked.

“I’m sorry, but the professor’s response said only that he had the ability, but did not specify. I do not wish to seem unforthcoming, but what matters most is that he was called upon to help and has agreed to do so.”

Jharal tossed his hands in exasperation, but didn’t pursue the matter.

Niel had to admit an eager interest to see how the professor would accomplish the feat. He couldn’t imagine it being done magically—magic on that scale resided only amongst the upper reaches of the College. Yet, he couldn’t imagine it
not
being done magically.

He sighed, realizing he would just have to wait and see—and once again felt the abrasive weight of Riahnn’s glare.

“All right then,” Arwin said. “So Briajl and Riahnn will escort us to the southern edge of the Forest. From there we’ll continue on to Glernny and find this professor.”

Glernny lay at the bottom edge of the Galiiantha territories—a tiny region in southern Aithiq long known as a refuge for scholars, artists, and other intellectuals whose beliefs or subjects of study conflicted with the rules held in place by either the aristocracy, the College, or both. In fact, where Niel lived, commonfolk used
gone to Glernny
as an expression for someone either missing or insane. He wondered which of the two would best describe him in the days to come.

“Does anyone have anything else to add?” Arwin asked.

“Yes,” Niel said, yielding to irritation. “I do.”

All eyes focused on him, making Niel question the wisdom of opening his mouth. “I am truly grateful to the good folk of Chael for their help,” he said. Then he pointed at Riahnn, “but I will not leave until I know the reason for her anger toward us. Or, I should say, toward me.”

Niel held his gaze, but saw from the corner of his eye the concerned looks of his companions, as though he had thrown a rock at the wolves they all thought had safely passed them by.

Carrying the metaphor further, Riahnn bared her teeth.

Lleryth shook his head. “As I had said, we’ve not the time for that. There are far more pressing—”

“Forgive me, Keeper,” Riahnn blurted as she stepped forward, “but I will not let this lie.”

“Riahnn…” Briajl said.

“No!” she snapped over her shoulder, then fixed her eyes again upon Niel. “We have suffered harm and it must be redressed.”

Niel gave a small shrug of incomprehension. “How—?”

The image of a face stole his words—misshapen by agony, burning in the brilliant blue-white of the spell he had inadvertently cast in the tunnels. Only the vision had been much more than mere memory, and the recollection so unexpected, so vivid that Niel squinted in pain and turned his head away, holding his arms over his face to protect him from the excruciating blaze of light.

The image vanished, replaced by the curious stares of everyone in the room.

Everyone but Lleryth, who wore a mask of bemused interest.

“It shouldn’t have burned him,” Niel whispered. He looked at Lleryth. “The man, the one I hurt with my spell. Is he alive?”

“He lives,” Lleryth replied.

“You call that alive,” Riahnn spat. She leveled an accusing finger at Niel. “His name is Evahn, my kinsman. He was a master archer, a poet with his bow, until your magic blinded him. He can never again hunt to feed his children. He can never again defend his people.” Her hand dropped to the delicate-looking sword she wore and clenched the hilt. “You came here to our home, violated our most sacred ground, and took away the worth of his life. I demand the chance to return the deed in kind, as is our way.”

Niel stood, mute with shame.

Arwin stepped between them. “In that case, address your grievance to me.”

“No,” she said, again suspicious. “You said you follow him.”

“I also told you I speak for him. I will answer whatever challenge—”

“That is
enough,”
Lleryth said. “Riahnn, you will observe the place I have given you in these matters, or I will dismiss you from my service altogether. How well do you think your family would welcome
that
news?”

A defiant Riahnn raised her chin and met Lleryth’s eyes.

“I’ll not tell you again,” he said.

With smoldering reluctance, she resumed her spot behind him.

Arwin shook his head, clearly not satisfied. “With respect, I know something of duty to one’s family, and I understand Riahnn’s desire to make things right by hers. My companions and I are indebted to the Galiiantha for providing us food, shelter, and help in preparing for what are surely dark days ahead.” He faced Riahnn. “As thanks, and in appreciation of the strength it took to yield as you did just now, when these matters have been settled I promise to make right whatever wrongs we’ve caused you and your family.”

“Arwin…” Cally whispered with harsh disbelief.

Arwin held up his hand to forestall any further dissent.

Riahnn cocked her head, considering the outsiders with scornful uncertainty.

“No,” she said. “You will leave here, and you will not come back.”

Arwin smiled. “Then that will mean I am dead, in which case you’ll have gotten what you likely want anyway. But you do have my word of honor. If I’m able, I’ll return.”

Niel had difficulty deciding which surprised him more—Arwin’s offer, or that Riahnn had nothing more to say. She nodded at Arwin with an expression he wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“If we’re quite done,” Lleryth said, with more than a hint of disapproval, “may we proceed?”

“Absolutely,” Peck answered as though someone had suggested another round at the Funny Gus, “because you know how thousand-year-old sorcerers and power-crazed Magistrates hate to be kept waiting.”

***

Of the group, Jharal was clearly the happiest to have his belongings returned.

Niel tried not to pay too much mind, but the manner in which Jharal caressed and whispered to his battle axe left him unsettled. Even having his spell book back had not affected him as deeply. In fact, for a while, he’d forgotten all about it.

As the others went over their own equipment and the provisions supplied by the Galiiantha, Lleryth and Niel headed to where the group’s horses were gathered.

“It’s a shame you use these magnificent creatures for common labor,” Lleryth said, a touch of humor in his voice. “I think were you to see them wild in the Upper Valleys, you’d never want to fetter one in such a way again.”

Niel smiled and glanced to where Briajl and Riahnn sat atop their giant stags. “I feel the same about your people’s choice of mount.”

Lleryth gave one of the horses a gentle pat on its neck. “Difficult times are to come, my boy. I do wish there’d been opportunity to instruct you in some of our ways. I think you would have found it helpful.”

For the first time in his life, Niel felt intrigued by the idea of learning about magic outside Canon. He knew of nothing witnessed in his time with the Galiiantha that would let him dismiss their ways out of hand. Then he wondered whether the sentiment had anything to do with the fragment of gemstone hanging in a pouch around his neck.

“Lleryth, what was the magic Uhniethi sought when he came here?”

“That’s been a matter of speculation for a long, long while. No one who would have known survived that day to tell anyone.”

Niel frowned. “No rumors survived either? No one’s arrived at a solid theory, or even a best guess?”

“Speculation is often a pointless undertaking. We didn’t have what he wanted, so he left. There is a poem, though, I recall that spoke to what Uhniethi hoped to accomplish—that gathering a flower’s petals after a wind storm, and reassembling them in precisely their correct order, would have been simple by comparison.”

The answer left Niel less than satisfied.

“Tell me,” Lleryth said, “when you were discussing Evahn earlier, you reacted as if you’d seen something. What was it?”

“On my honor, Lleryth,” Niel said, “my spell called for fire without heat. It should not have burned. I
never
meant to harm him, but it had been so dark, and—”

Lleryth made a shushing motion with his hands. “I know, child. As do the others. Riahnn and Evahn have been inseparable since before they could walk. She needs time, is all. But tell me, what did you see there, back in my study?”

Niel focused. “I more than saw. I felt it. Right then I thought it was Evahn’s face that burned… but then it was me, as if the light came from my face.” He exhaled heavily and blinked several times as though emerging from a dream. “It seemed so real.”

Lleryth pointed at Niel’s chest. “Empathy of that sort was also my first experience from being with the stone. Quite compelling, don’t you agree? For me it took years, though, not the scant few hours it has taken you.”

Niel slipped the pouch out from beneath his tunic. “So what does that mean?”

“Again, I’m not certain. Granted, I was not allowed to be as close to the stone as you, but I think that makes little difference. I would say your vision of Evahn suggests an intuitive awareness, one not entirely dependent on the stone given the intensity of your spell. A spell that should not have burned, but did.”

Lleryth smiled when Niel wrinkled his brow. “Don’t look so puzzled, child. It’s not that bizarre a concept. A primary difference between our peoples is while you perceive magic as an external force to be harnessed and controlled, we believe it emanates from within.”

Niel considered the statement. “So which one is correct?”

“Both,” Lleryth said. “Or neither.”

“Of course,” he replied.

Lleryth chuckled. “Think of it this way: for the body to function and grow, one must eat. But there is no one correct meal for everyone, everywhere. Different cultures put together many varied combinations of foods and spices to create many different ways of accomplishing essentially the same thing—nourishing the body.”

“I used to know a cook,” Niel said, “and he liked to say there’s a lot more to eating than chewing.”

“Precisely. Preparation can be just as important. Furthermore, what sits well in my belly may not do the same for you. With your Canon it is much like that. Many read from the same book, yet despite the insistence for uniformity, the end result always reflects the individual. I believe these fragments of the Heart augment one’s inherent magical talents. What you and I have experienced is apparently but the first part of that process.”

Niel toyed with the pouch he wore. “If just being close can affect me, what would happen if I touched it?”

Lleryth’s face grew dark. “It is not time for that.”

“Will there be?”

Lleryth gave a long, vague glance into the Forest. “When you have nothing left but it and what has always been with you.”

Briajl approached, a blanket draped over his forearm. He nodded to Lleryth, and then, to Niel’s surprise, him.

“The others are nearly ready,” Briajl said, his manner curt but not hostile. He held out the cloth. “This is for you.”

Niel accepted the item, a thick cloak weighing far less than its bulk implied, and offered Briajl his thanks.

Past Briajl’s shoulder, Niel’s eye caught Arwin swinging himself up into his saddle and steadying his horse as it took a few antsy steps.

Arwin called over with an exaggerated wave of his arm. “We’re off to save the world, Apprentice. Wanna come?”

Niel grinned despite himself, then turned back to Lleryth.

“Thank you, Keeper,” he said. “For everything.”

Lleryth cupped Niel’s cheek with affection, which let Niel see clearly the old man’s brilliant shine. “Remember all I have told you, child, and we will look back on this day with cause for song.”

29

A single, massive column of sheer, white stone, the New Tower loomed magnificently before them, giving the impression it had pushed up from deep within the earth.

Except it wasn’t, and it hadn’t.

Though the Tower stood unchanged, Ennalen now saw the subtle imperfections of the illusion. As she got closer to the Tower’s only entrance, Ennalen felt the flaws in the magic perpetuating its appearance. And it sickened her.

Revulsion spun to delight as she beheld the two guards at the Tower door, each in full armor with wicked-looking pikes at the ready, and each wearing the colors of Fraal University.

It seemed she had been expected.

More than three hundred years had passed since any soldier from the outside had set foot on College grounds. Idly, she wondered who on the Board had solicited the University for the loan of this pair, and what explanation might have been given for so extraordinary a request.

“None shall enter!” barked the taller of the two. In a sharp, practiced motion they crossed their polearms in front of the entryway. “By order of the Lord Elder!”

“How interesting,” Ennalen replied with a smile.

With a twisting motion of her hands their weapons clattered to the walk and the soldiers flew backward, crashing head-first through the thick wooden door, splitting it down the middle and tearing it from its hinges. Without breaking her stride, Ennalen crossed the threshold.

When the protective rune above the arched doorway unleashed its assault, she bared her teeth and growled. Skin searing, she bent and grabbed the ankle of one of the motionless soldiers and swung the man over her head, using his helmeted skull to knock the stone with the offending rune from the entryway.

Ennalen dropped the man’s leg and brushed her hands off against one another. With a crooked smile she crouched and drew the sword from the other soldier’s belted scabbard.

The Tower was only known to prevent magic derived from Canon from being used within, but nothing guaranteed the energies from her cantle—hidden safely away—would reach her once she ventured farther inside. Best not to be completely defenseless.

She stalked down the long corridor to the main audience chamber, her appetite whetted for the feel of Thaucian’s thin neck in her fists.

Despite her violent cravings, Ennalen rounded the final bend in the hallway and burst into laughter. Dutifully posted outside the door of the chamber, trembling in pale dread, stood the same young acolyte who had escorted her to Thaucian and Denuis what seemed ages ago.

The one who had lied to her.

Ennalen quirked her mouth, relishing the moment. “I suspect the Lord Elder is aware I’m here.”

“He is, Magistrate.”

She gestured toward the chamber. “Then be so good as to announce me, please.”

“Yes, Magistrate.” He fumbled for the latch ring, turned it with a loud clank, then pushed open the door.

“Magistrate Ennalen, of the Ministry of Law,” he announced, then stepped aside to permit her entry into the great room.

As she strode past the boy, bloodlust tightened Ennalen’s flesh. Anything short of achieving the murderous climax building inside her would be insufferable.

She stopped almost mid-step.

Instead of Thaucian alone in the chamber as expected, she found herself the focus of the entire Board of Elders—each of the fifteen seats on the grand dais occupied by its appointed Member. Ennalen glanced about the austere faces of the Board and realized what each of the Members wore about their necks: thick silver chains from which hung small, dark stones.

Cantles.

The tip of her sword clanged against the floor as her arms dropped in disbelief.

“You are welcomed, Magistrate,” came the Lord Elder’s salutation, his voice far from the rough, weakened timbre to which she had become so accustomed. On his face, a confident smile made clear his entertainment from her dismay.

“Come close so that we might speak more comfortably.”

Uncertainty gripped her once again. She fought the urge to crouch down, head in her hands, and scream as the vehemence cleaving through her threatened the last remnants of her sanity. Instead she forced herself still, though she knew her appearance woefully lacked the poise for which she had made herself known.

Cantles! They all have cantles! How can that be?

Thaucian’s deceptions clearly ran deeper than even Denuis had known. But if each of the Elders had his own portion of the Heart, why hadn’t the Board simply done away with her if they knew what she had been doing?

A basic rule of investigation holds that a person fails to pursue an obvious avenue due either to unwillingness or inability. Even with the aid of their cantles, the Elders were apparently not in a position to eliminate her, but at the same time had no trepidation allowing her into the Tower. That suggested a balance of some sort had been achieved—inadvertently, she guessed.

An equilibrium the Board wished not to upset.

Thaucian smiled again. “You’ve deduced we’ve nothing to fear from one another.”

Ennalen exhibited her best courtroom deportment. “Why ever would you fear me, Lord Elder?” She stood her sword upright in front of her and folded her hands over its pommel at her chest.

Thaucian frowned. “This is no longer a time for games, child. This is a time for plain talk, for much will be determined by what happens here in the next few moments.”

“Very well,” she said, “then allow me to begin. How do you explain each Elder here keeping of a portion of the Heart?”

“It’s quite simple. The tale of Bradias—in fact, the
existence
of Bradias—is a lie fabricated to help conceal the truth of the Board.”

Ennalen all but forgot her rage in a sudden desire to learn more. “That truth being?”

Thaucian chuckled. “Do you recall, my dear, when you were young, your attempt to discern my age?”

His knowledge of what Ennalen had long considered a harmless inquiry, despite its surreptitious nature—something about which she had never confided to anyone—stamped out what doubts still flickered in her regarding Denuis’s claims.

“I recall having difficulty uncovering much information about you at all,” she replied.

“As you were meant to, since I am nearly three hundred years old. As is each of my esteemed Brothers and Sisters on the Board.”

Ennalen gasped. “What?”

“After the Board was reestablished following the Devastation, this body explored the damage done, particularly within the Black Plains, where we first discovered the cantles. The rest is much as you have been told, but rather than hiding the pieces away, we studied them, collectively and individually, seeking to unlock their powers.”

“And one of the benefits of your prolonged exposure,” Ennalen surmised, “is this longevity you and the Board claim to enjoy.”

“For the most part, yes.”

“I imagine then,” she continued, “that with the help of the cantles it’s been a relatively simple matter to feign the regular rotation of Members to and from the Board when necessary. An Elder pretends to die, takes the form of a younger man or woman, then is elected back onto the Board. Thus plenty of time is gained to selectively bring true replacements into your fold, and your secret is maintained.”

Thaucian smiled broadly. “My dear Magistrate, you are a credit to your office. Which brings us to the here and now. While potent in the extreme, the powers of the individual cantles are finite, and we are rapidly approaching those limits. Just as our predecessors, we have been unable to overcome them.”

Ennalen considered his words. “You’re dying.”

The Lord Elder nodded. “The flesh has boundaries far short of those of the Heart. The time has come for us to seek out those who might succeed us while we still have sufficient time to teach what we’ve learned.”

The irony made Ennalen smirk. “Apprentices?”

“Yes,” Thaucian said, “and after more than a century of vigilance, you are the first we have found.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In all that time, you’ve only come across one person worthy of assuming the role of Elder? Forgive me, but does that not diminish your chances of locating fourteen others any time soon?”

Thaucian again laughed softly. “While you are indeed the first candidate, you are not the
only
candidate. We believe there will be others along readily.”

Ennalen narrowed her eyes. “Denuis mentioned a boy named Niel.”

“Indeed. And there are others.”

Three hundred years…

Each of the Elders possessed a cantle, enabling them to extend their lives by nearly three centuries—and her cantle was much larger. The remainder of the Heart, if indeed intact as she had seen in her visions, was far larger still. A sudden possibility sprang into her mind, one she otherwise could not have dared imagine.

“No,” she said. “I will not join you.”

Thaucian pressed his fingertips together as he leaned back into his chair.

“Magistrate, I urge you to reconsider.”

Ennalen’s sense of wonder evaporated as rage and indignation again flared.

“I think not. First, while most entertaining, I’ve no reason to believe in the perfect honesty of your tale. Second, it occurs to me that had the Board been interested in bringing me into the fold, as you say, you’d have done so long before now. If what you say is true, Lord Elder, that for the time being we have nothing to fear from one another, then to me that suggests I am much more than merely a potential successor. It likely means I’ve become a genuine threat, something you would prefer to rein in before it grows beyond your control.”

Thaucian sneered. “You’re alluding, perhaps, to your own intention to heal the Heart?”

She tilted her head. “Am I?”

“Such arrogance. And such ignorance. Do you truly think yourself capable of what we combined have been unable to do?”

“I think that as of right now, this equilibrium between us is due to the Elders’ collective mastery of your relatively small portions of the Heart, balanced against my comparative inexperience with a much larger, more powerful portion. Quality versus quantity, if you will. I also imagine my skills improving, whereas your cantles, Lord Elder, won’t be getting any bigger.”

Bright hostility burned in Thaucian’s eyes. “You will fail, Magistrate,” he said, “and you will die.”

“Then you’ll have lost little, since there are just so many more potential replacements out there from which you can choose.”

Ennalen turned to leave but paused as the intricate map in the floor caught her eye. She raised her sword and with one tremendous thrust plunged it deep into the marble at the point marking the College.

The thunderous noise of her strike rolled through the great chamber like splintering ice. Cracks webbed outward through the polished stone from the large gouge she’d made and stopped just shy of the dais.

“But if I succeed,” she said, “may the gods themselves offer you mercy. For I will surely not.”

Ennalen turned her back to the dais, left the sword embedded in the floor, and strode from the room.