Children of Fire (22 page)

Keegan watched Vaaler packing his belongings with a powerful mix of emotions: sorrow, regret, guilt … and relief. A score of Danaan guards were waiting in the courtyard to escort Vaaler home, and though he was sad to see his friend go, Keegan knew his departure would put an end to the tension that had been growing between them.

Six weeks ago Keegan had unleashed the power of Chaos on the mortal world. And even though he had lost control of the spell and nearly been consumed by the terrible blue flames, he recognized it as the single greatest moment of his life.

He'd felt the touch of Chaos before: in his dreams, and in the primal release of fury that had killed the man who murdered his father. But in those instances the Chaos had come unbidden and uncalled—he was little more than a conduit for its power.

Rexol's trial had been completely different. Through the incantation of the spell, he had summoned the power and bent it to his will. Before the spell overwhelmed him, he had sensed the infinite potential in his grasp. In that instant, he'd known for the first time who and what he truly was. He was a wizard—a mage who would one day control the very fires of creation.

He'd tried to explain that sensation to Vaaler. The heat of the fire that didn't burn; the rush of Chaos ripping through him; even the terror and searing pain when he lost control had all filled him with a sort of mad ecstasy. It was hard to imagine a more horrible way to die, but it was impossible not to want to try it again.

It sounds like some type of madness,
Vaaler had replied, and Keegan realized that he'd never understand. Empty words couldn't do justice to the euphoria he'd felt. And from that moment, there had been a distance between them,, subtle yet undeniable.

Rexol had warned him this would happen.

You have the Gift, Keegan; it sets you apart from other men. They will never truly know you; they can never understand the power you wield.

You are touched by Chaos. You are marked. Yours is a destiny beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals, and in time they will resent you for it.

Even Vaaler, though he will one day rule a kingdom, is beneath you. A true Chaos mage has no friends and no equals, save for another mage.

It wasn't that Vaaler was bitter or jealous. Not overtly. When he had learned of Keegan's success, he had been genuinely pleased for his friend. But at the same time it was impossible not to sense his frustration and disappointment with his own failure. The prince had come here as a young boy, sent away by his mother and his people in the hope he would return a wizard. He had dedicated years of his life to this cause, and made no progress whatsoever. Keegan's success stripped away the illusion that Vaaler's failures could ever be overcome.

Looking at his friend, he couldn't help but feel pity for him.

“It's going to be boring here once you're gone,” Keegan said, desperate to break the somber silence that hung over the room.

“I'm sure Rexol will keep you busy,” Vaaler replied with a shrug as he continued to pack. “You'll be working so hard you won't even know I'm missing.”

There was some truth in what he said. Since that day, Rexol had increased Keegan's studies and responsibilities tenfold. In addition to memorizing several new spells, he was now studying translated versions of the Danaan manuscripts that had been the price of Vaaler's tutelage. In time he would learn to use magic to decipher the words himself. But for now, his master just wanted him to become familiar with the legends and histories of the Danaan people.

Rexol had also instructed him to keep a dream journal: Each morning he had to record every detail he could remember from night before. Initially, Keegan had objected to this as pointless: Most of the time his dreams were just like anyone else's, a mix of the bizarre and insignificant. And when his dreams gave him glimpses into the future—something that hadn't happened since he'd foreseen his father's death—the images were vivid and unforgettable.

The visions you remember are simply the strongest manifestations of Chaos,
Rexol had explained.
But there could still be prophetic hints buried in the dreams you don't remember.

As you continue your training,
Rexol had added,
your mind will become more focused on the Gift. Your waking mind will become more adept at summoning and controlling Chaos. As a result, your Sight will grow weaker, and it will be more difficult for you to recognize Chaos speaking to you through your subconscious.

Keegan had eagerly accepted the new terms of his apprenticeship. He knew the extra work, while daunting in volume, would help him master his potential and become a true Chaos mage. However, there was one condition he had to agree to: Rexol had forbidden him from studying with Vaaler anymore.

He's not a wizard. His understanding of Chaos will always be limited to the superficial—the words of the incantation, rather than the true source of a spell's power. Working with him now will only hinder your progress.

Keegan wasn't even allowed to discuss his new training with his friend, and the secrets had further widened the distance between them. And now Rexol was sending Vaaler away.

“It's not right,” Keegan grumbled. “You shouldn't have to leave. Not like this. Not because of me.”

“This isn't your fault,” Vaaler assured him, stuffing the last of his things into his pack. “Things are going to be hard enough without you carrying a bunch of misplaced guilt.

“Besides,” he added, sitting down in the room's lone chair to take a break, “there's nothing here for me anymore. Rexol's done with me.”

Keegan shook his head. “It just doesn't seem fair. Even if you can't … you know … he can still teach you things.”

“He taught me things,” Vaaler replied. “I know the history and politics of the Southlands. I have a better understanding of their culture, and of how humans and Danaan can get along. And I even learned a lot about magic.

“I may never be a wizard, but I understand the theory and practice of the mage's art. I can pass those teachings on to the sorcerers in my mother's court.”

Assuming they'll listen to you,
Keegan thought but didn't say aloud.

“This is for the best,” Vaaler insisted. “I've been away from my home too long. It's time I get back to my own people.”

“Maybe I can come visit you once you become king,” Keegan joked. “You could let me sit on your throne and show me all the secrets of the Danaan Forest.”

“Sure,” Vaaler replied with a sly smile, “but then I'd have to kill you. One of the responsibilities of being the Danaan King.”

Keegan rose to the bait. “You could try. But no king is a match for a wizard.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

Vaaler didn't say anything, and the melancholy gloom settled over the room once again. Keegan cursed himself for his stupidity.

“I'm sorry, Vaaler. I didn't mean that.”

The Danaan prince nodded in mute acceptance of the apology. He seemed about to say something, then stopped. Keegan waited, letting him gather his thoughts.

“Don't let Rexol turn you into him,” the prince finally whispered. “He's arrogant. He's selfish. He uses people. He doesn't care for anyone or anything unless he thinks it can help him in some way.”

“He took me in when nobody else would,” Keegan replied, feeling the urge to defend his master.

“He took you in because of your Gift and your dreams. He thinks you're a key to unlocking the mysteries of the Old Magic. Just like he agreed to teach me only because of the ancient knowledge he hoped to uncover in the books my people gave him. He's obsessed with power; he'll do anything to get it.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Keegan countered. “One day you're going to be a king. Most of us don't have that luxury. We aren't born into power—we have to take it!”

“That sounds like something he'd say.”

The implied condemnation in Vaaler's tone shocked Keegan into silence, and another awkward silence settled over them.

“There's one thing Rexol didn't teach me,” Vaaler finally said. “A lesson my mother made sure I understood as soon as I was old enough to talk. Power comes with a price. It's a burden. It demands sacrifice.

“For all his intelligence and wisdom, your master doesn't understand this. He never did and he never will. When I ascend the throne I will have the power of life and death over all my subjects. When you learn to unleash the Chaos within you, you will have that same power over everybody. But a king must answer to his people. Who does a wizard answer to?”

Keegan wasn't able to think of a suitable reply.

“You're destined for great things,” Vaaler added. “I may not have the Sight, but even I can see that. You have to be careful, though. Rexol's ambition will be his downfall; don't let it become yours, too.”

“So what are you saying? I should leave? Go off on my own? Tag along with your escort until we reach the Free Cities?”

The prince shook his head. “No, your place is here for now. You have to learn to master your Gift. Stay with Rexol. Let him keep teaching you in the ways of magic. But don't become him.”

Vaaler stood up and tossed his pack over his shoulder. Then he crossed the room and reached out, offering his hand. Keegan clasped it in a firm grip.

“You're a good person, Keegan. Don't forget that … brother.”

“I won't, brother,” Keegan replied.

And with that they parted ways, both knowing their divergent paths would likely never cross again.

“Master, I found something! A passage in one of the manuscripts!”

Keegan's tone was breathless, though whether it was from his discovery or from running down the long flight of stairs from the library to the lab to share his news was difficult to say.

Rexol pulled his attention away from the assortment of oddly shaped stones he'd been examining. He'd been hoping to find the petrified remains from a griffin or some similar Chaos Spawn in the collection, but so far had come across nothing save mundane rocks shaped by the forces of wind, rain, and time.

“What did the passage say?” he asked his apprentice.

The young man shook his head and rubbed the back of his hand across his sweating brow, smearing the faded outline of the glyphs painted on his skin.

“I … I couldn't make it out. Not entirely. But there was mention of one of the Talismans.”

Rexol didn't speak right away. Instead, he studied his apprentice carefully. The young man's dark eyes were glazed and sunken, his face drawn and tired.

It had been almost a year since Rexol had sent Vaaler away. Since then, Keegan had slowly been learning the spells that would enable him to read the obscure languages of the ancient Danaan texts. And though he worked hard at his studies, he still struggled with the complicated ritual.

His mind is not as quick as Vaaler's,
Rexol reminded himself. The Danaan prince had a unique gift for memory and comprehension; he would have made an excellent mage if only he had been touched by Chaos.

“You're certain it mentions the Talismans?”

“The Crown,” Keegan insisted. “Something about it being taken or stolen. I thought you would want to see it yourself.”

What Keegan lacked in his craft, he more than made up for with raw potential. Even with imperfect technique, he was strong enough to pull important words or phrases from the texts, which he would mark so that Rexol could review them in more detail. And he had an uncanny knack for finding references to the Talismans among the thousands of Danaan manuscripts—even from the dusty pages of centuries-old books, the Old Magic called to him.

“I will review it tonight,” Rexol assured him.

“Should I keep searching the other texts until then?”

It was impossible not to hear the eagerness in Keegan's voice. Like Rexol—like all wizards—once he began calling on Chaos it was difficult to stop. But it was obvious he was nearing the physical limit of what he could endure.

Keegan was a valuable tool, but one that had to be employed carefully. His power far outpaced his ability to command and control it. The accumulation of witchroot he'd been taking over the past week would compromise his judgment, make him reckless and overconfident in his abilities. Rexol had to be careful not to push him too fast or too hard.

“Enough studies for today,” the wizard declared. “Rest up, then go into town for supplies. I'll expect you back in three days.”

Endown was a city of a few thousand inhabitants a day's ride to the northwest of Rexol's tower, the closest settlement of any significant size. Keegan had visited regularly every couple of months over the past year to purchase supplies for the manse, though he suspected Rexol was also using the trips as an excuse to force him to take breaks in his training.

He didn't like putting his studies on hold, but he'd learned to appreciate the brief respites from his grueling apprenticeship. While in town he had no responsibilities: He didn't have to study, he had no chores, and he didn't have to make any meals or clean the premises.

And, unlike the empty manse, in Endown there were other people he could talk to. People like Kayla.

“Here you go,” the pretty young barmaid said as she set the flagon down in front of Keegan.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice wooden and dull as his mind struggled to shake off the fatigue of the day's ride and the last lingering effects of the witchroot.

For almost a week he'd been taking large doses each morning to enable his spells of translation; it would be another day or two before his system was fully cleansed of the drug.

Instead of disappearing back into the tavern crowd, Kayla hesitated. When he realized she was staring at him, Keegan flicked his gaze up from her low-cut blouse to meet her eyes.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I've been working too hard,” he answered, his eyes shifting down to the floor.

He hoped she would ask him about what he was doing. He couldn't tell her his true calling—he had to keep his association with Rexol hidden so the Order wouldn't find out. But he'd devised a solid backstory in case anyone ever questioned him when he came into town.

If Kayla asked, he would tell her he had come from Parssia, a city three days' ride away—close enough to be heard of, but far enough away that few in Endown would know much about it in the way of specific details. He'd explain that he was a scribe's apprentice, an occupation that would suit his slight frame and pale skin. Scribes were rare, they made good money, and sometimes they met with nobility: That would account for his simple but well-made traveling clothes and the courtly style of his dark, shoulder-length hair.

He'd tell her that his recurring visits to Endown were to meet with a wealthy client in the area he wasn't allowed to mention by name; and since goods in Endown were less expensive than the city, his master had instructed him to purchase supplies before heading home.

It was a good story—simple, and tinged with a hint of mystery. Unfortunately, Kayla didn't ask.

“I'll come back and check on you in a few minutes, Keegan,” she promised, giving him a warm smile before turning to deal with the other customers.

Keegan thought he sensed something more than simple friendliness in her smile. He felt an actual connection with her, something he hadn't felt in a long time—not since Vaaler had left. And she'd actually remembered his name from the last time he was here; obviously he'd made some kind of impression on her as well.

It was almost twenty minutes before she returned; the tavern seemed unusually busy this evening. Instead of another flagon of ale, however, she dropped a sweet-smelling cup of what appeared to be green tea on the table in front of him.

“If you're tired, this will perk you up,” she explained.

Keegan took a tentative sip, then curled his lip at the unexpected bitterness of the drink.

Kayla laughed. “Small sips,” she told him. “Trust me.

“Can't have you slipping off to bed early tonight,” she added. “You'll miss the show.”

“What show?”

“We've got a wizard in town!” she gushed, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

Keegan's heart skipped a beat before he realized she wasn't talking about him.

“A wizard?”

“He rode in yesterday,” she said, speaking quickly. “I wasn't here last night, but they say he did some magic right here in the tavern!”

“You mean a magician,” Keegan said, suddenly understanding. “Not a wizard.”

Keegan didn't like magicians. Sleight of hand and flashy effects were often used to simulate the effects of Chaos by hucksters and charlatans. Some used their art only to entertain, but the less scrupulous were not above portraying themselves as actual mages to reap adulations and privileges they didn't deserve. He had seen the terrible power of true Chaos unleashed, and whenever he witnessed parlor tricks passed off as magic it left a foul taste in his mouth.

“What's the difference?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

“It's—never mind,” he said, cutting himself off mid-sentence. Explaining the difference between a magician and a real wizard could draw the kind of attention Rexol wouldn't approve of.

“He's over there,” Kayla said, tilting her head toward the center of the room and speaking in an excited whisper. “I'm hoping he gives us another show tonight!”

“I'd be shocked if he didn't,” Keegan muttered. “What wizard could resist showing his awesome power for the chance to get free drinks?”

The young barmaid gave him a curious look before turning away and heading back into the crowd. Keegan let his eye follow her swaying hips as she made her rounds, while at the same time trying to get a glimpse of the so-called wizard in their midst. A small crowd of patrons had gathered around the large table in the center of the tavern, but they were pressed in too tightly for Keegan to see the trickster who had beguiled them.

“Kayla, come here and watch this,” one of the men at the table called out, frantically motioning with his arm.

The waitress scurried over quickly, eager to see what was going on. She stood unnaturally straight and tall at first, keeping herself slightly withdrawn from the rest of the huddled crowd, her body tense with nervous anticipation. As the hidden wonder unfolded she slowly bent in closer and closer to watch.

A few seconds later there was a sudden burst of light and a sharp crack, and everyone jumped back with a start. Kayla gave a squeal of surprise then laughed in delight. A small puff of red smoke curled up from the center of the table. When it cleared Keegan finally got a look at the portly charlatan who had conjured the effect.

At first glance he actually did have the look of one who possessed the Gift. His hair was braided in the style of mages, though it was much more orderly than most. A few basic, but accurate, warding symbols had been painted onto his face, though the ink was faint and fading, as if it had been done many days ago. His heavy cloak and thick robes were finely tailored and dyed in rich hues—nothing like the coarse but serviceable clothing Keegan or his master typically wore, though that didn't necessarily mean anything. Rexol preferred to dress in a way that accented the wild, untamed appearance of a Chaos mage for the effect it had on more civilized folk. But a lord's mage often dressed in more cultured and refined fashions to blend into the noble courts where he served. To complete the picture several strings of animal teeth and bones hung from the man's neck.

But even from across the room Keegan could sense that the necklaces were nothing more than bits of ordinary teeth and bone taken from some mundane creature. Relics of the Chaos Spawn tingled with power; an invisible but unmistakable aura surrounded them: the buzz and hum of stored energy waiting to be unleashed. The strings dangling from this man's neck were dead and lifeless, a sham prop to fool his gullible audience.

The audience applauded heartily for several seconds before most of them wandered away, still chuckling over the performance. Four of the more curious spectators pulled up chairs at the table, joining the man who had performed the show with hopes that a steady stream of ale might pry loose some dark and wondrous magician's secret.

“Did you see the show?” Kayla asked when she circled by Keegan's table again.

The young man shook his head. “Too crowded.”

He was feeling more alert than before, sharper. Whatever concoction she had given him had done the trick.

“He might do some more magic later,” Kayla said. “I bet nobody would mind if you squeezed in at the table to watch.”

“I'll pass,” Keegan said glumly.

“Come on,” she pressed. “It's not every day we get a wizard here in Endown.”

“He's no wizard,” Keegan snapped. “Colored smoke and flash powder are only good for amusing the ignorant masses!”

Kayla took a step back, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Well,” she said coldly as she regained her composure, “I happen to enjoy magic, thank you very much!”

Keegan tried to think up a quick apology, something to thaw the sudden chill. But before he could come up with anything the serving girl had turned her back on him and stamped off to tend to the other patrons in the bar.

For the next hour Keegan watched the magician holding court in the center of the tavern. The tricks were simple: coins appearing and disappearing; mugs levitating or dancing across the table at the magician's command; illusions punctuated by flash powder and colored incense to give them the false trappings of true power.

Every time Kayla brought the man a drink he would perform a caper for her amusement. A tiny flower would unfold in his hand; a glittering cloud of dust would shower down over the table. And each time Kayla giggled in delight and paused in her rounds to talk with the man, smiling and laughing at everything he said.

Occasionally she would head in Keegan's direction and drop another flagon of ale on the table. He tried to make small talk, but she brushed him off, still smarting from the remark he had made earlier. Each time she came by, Keegan guzzled down his drink and quickly signaled for another, knowing it was the only way to keep her from ignoring him completely. It wasn't long before the alcohol combined with the traces of witchroot in his system to wrap him in a comfortable warm glow.

You're drunk,
he thought.
Better go sleep it off before you do something stupid.

He motioned for Kayla to come over so he could settle his tab.

“That fellow's not just some magician, you know,” she hissed at him when she got close. “He just got a posting as a lord's mage in one of the Free Cities on the border of the North Forest.”

In his inebriated state Keegan could only refute the ridiculous claims by snorting out a derisive laugh.

Ignoring him, she added, “His name's Khamin Ankha. He says he studied under the most powerful wizard in all the Southlands: a man named Rexol!”

Keegan didn't recognize the name, but he had seen enough from the charlatan to know the pompous ass had never studied under his master. He'd probably heard Rexol's name somewhere and was using it to attract attention; Rexol's reputation was well known among the rulers of the Southlands. Dropping Rexol's name was probably how he'd conned some low-ranking noble into give him an official posting.

“I haven't seen any true magic from that trickster yet tonight,” he declared with a bravado born of too many ales. “Khamin Ankha is nothing but a fraud. You can tell him that from me.”