Rogue Magician (The Magician Rebellion) (16 page)

Now
that the bandits were approaching instead of moving away they suddenly became
much more reliable targets. Readying her bow and arrow Marian took aim at the
nearer of the two shadow forms and loosed the arrow. An instant later his body
jerked and fell backward as the arrow pierced his light armor and then his
flesh.

The
last bandit was almost upon her by the time Marian readied another arrow. There
was no time to aim before she loosed the arrow and, thankfully, hit the brigand
in the middle of his neck when he was less than two meters away.

Using
her hunting knife Marian cut Sari's bonds freeing her wrists. The elf massaged
her wrists revealing red bruises where the rope had rubbed against her skin.

“
Did
they harm you?” asked Marian.

“
Not
as much as they would have like although I was starting to get concerned when
they hauled me out of the tent.” Sari approached the downed bandit with an
arrow protruding from his belly at a leisurely place. His breathing was shallow
and in no condition to put up any resistance. “This one is still alive, but
mortally wounded. You should put him out of his misery,” the elf said plainly
bearing neither malice nor compassion for her former captor.

The
man gurgled blood and spit as Marian approached him. She drew her dagger- a
longer and sharper version of her utilitarian hunting knife. When she stood
over the Black Brigand, Marian stopped for a moment staring at him. It was the
fat one who had been laughing at his friend’s joke earlier. A minute before she
killed another man almost without thought. Before that she killed two others at
the camp. However, those kills had been different. They were not up close. When
those men died she did not have to look them in the eye.

“
It
is harder when you are face to face. It is much more personal like this than it
is with a bow,” said Sari. “It is also easier to take a life in the middle of a
fight than it is when the fighting is done and your foe is at your mercy... at
least the first few times.”

Marian
knelt at the brigand's chest. She put her free hand on his chest to hold him
still and hesitantly brought the dagger to his throat.

“
No!
No! Please, miss!” the man protested weakly, but Marian closed her eyes and
slit his throat. When her eyes opened she saw the bandit's throat covered in
crimson as blood gushed down his neck and seeped into the soil. The apprentice
wanted to cry, but fought back the urge burying the feeling deep inside her.

An
empathetic hand on her shoulder touched Marian. “It will get easier,” said the
elf.

“
Is
that a good thing?” asked Marian not unkindly.

Her
master was a blur before her as she tried to look through her watery eyes. She
could not gauge her master's reaction, but noted that Sari had taken a more
somber attitude instead of her typically playful persona.

After
a few minutes as they walked towards the recently abandoned camp Sari asked,
“How did things go with the rest of the Black Brigands?”

A
more sedated Marian told her, “Two are dead. I scared off the other two so that
I could get to you more quickly.”

She
was reasonably certain that the master ranger would have been fine without her
apprentice's assistance, but that was not something she was willing to risk.
When she was at her lowest and had no idea where to turn it was Sari that
showed up as if a gift from the gods giving her direction, friendship, and
teaching her how to live for herself.

Since
the great magician uprising a hundred and fifty years ago women began to take
more independent roles in Aurelia, slowly at first, to the point where seeing
women warriors or other more traditionally male roles is no longer an uncommon
site, but many young women still took the more traditional role of wife and
mother as Marian had. She still missed her husband and son greatly, but she no longer
felt that deep emptiness anymore.

“
Then
we have two more to track down before we get paid,” Sari said with her usual
smile. “There is a village nearby. Let us stop there and see if we can pick up
the trail of the last of the Black Brigands. The first round is on me.”

The
flame took the form of a whip as Byrn envisioned it forming just beyond his
hand. He watched it flick gently back and forth as he slowly twisted his wrist
careful not to lose control of the fire or accidentally flick it against
himself or Sane. It took nearly two weeks to get to this point, but master and
apprentice were both very pleased with the result.

“
Impressive,”
said Sane eying the magical whip with a critical eye. “There are no breaks in
the construct. No errant flames being released. The weapon is formed close
enough for you to control it, but far enough away to protect yourself from
burning...

“
What
is this shimmer?” Sane indicated a small area where the flames pushed away from
his apprentice’s hand wielding the weapon.

“
I
am also casting a light protective shield between my hand and the whip to
reduce the flame's heat coming back at me,” Byrn told him boasting.

Looking
closer Sane regarded the gentle sheen of the small magical shield more
intently. A small grin creased his lips and the old sorcerer nodded
approvingly.

“
Using
two enduring spells at the same time is an impressive feat. It requires
accessing two different aspects of your personality at the same time. There are
powerful magicians in the world who are unable to effectively do that. How did
you manage it?” Sane asked curiously.

Byrn
shrugged. “The heat was making my hand too hot and made it harder to focus my
thoughts. I thought if the heat was not bothering me then I could more easily
focus on directing my emotions and maintaining control of the form.”

“
So
you tapped into the desire to alter the world around you and created the shield
thinking that it would require less energy than would be wasted by trying to
ignore the heat,” Sane interrupted. “That is really very smart. In time as a
fire master you will have little reason to fear the flame, but for now it is a
truly impressive feat although I doubt there would be many other magicians that
would require the protection and have the natural talent to cast that
combination of spells.

“
Have
you ever heard of a prodigy? It is someone- a young person or novice- that has
an exceeding amount of skill despite very little experience. I think you are
one,” the sorcerer said simply. “It's the only explanation I can think of for
your rapid advancement.”

Byrn
appreciated the praise, of course, but he thought there might be another
explanation. The tutelage he was receiving from his friends in his cell cluster
had helped him to think on more advanced techniques. Many spells were beyond
his abilities, but the ideas got his mind working on ways to simplify them, so
that he could wield them or at least a near enough approximation.

It
was strange to think of his cellmates as friends, but that is how Byrn had come
to think of them. They were murderers, thieves, and malcontents. Tell was a
rogue magician imprisoned for running away from his domain. Fredrik was a
pirate captain who used his lightning to rob merchant ships. Ryonus was a
bastard son who killed his father, a South Lands lord, after the man refused to
acknowledge him. Xander led an infant rebellion against the kingdom that never
quite got off the ground. Byrn even considered Mantellus who seemed half crazed
most of the time and admitted to killing dozens of people before finally being
caught a grudging friend.

In
truth, Mantellus Firekin scared him a little. Not because he was a lunatic, but
because in terms of magical affinity Byrn was most closely aligned with
Mantellus and he feared one day becoming like him. In a fit of rage Byrn had
taken nine lives. Maybe that is how it began with Mantellus too. It was easy
enough to imagine being a rogue magician in the kingdom forced to kill to
survive. Maybe Mantellus got used to the killing and eventually learned to enjoy
it over time.

There
were times late at night when Byrn would stare at the ceiling and wonder at
what drove his fellow fire elementalist to become a killer as he was now, but
Byrn dared not ask. He did not fear that his cellmate would refuse to answer.
It was that the answer might strike too close to home for Byrn’s liking that
gave him pause.

Of
course the goddess Ashura's curse would end his life the first time he killed
anyone even in self-defense, so there was some comfort in that even if the
thought was grim.

“
End
the spell,” Sane told him and Byrn complied. Once the spell was released he
instinctively relaxed his muscles and centered his mind so that he could be
ready to cast a new spell at a moment's notice.

“
Now
cast it again,” his master ordered.

Byrn
did as he was told focusing intently to create the small shield followed
closely by the fireball carefully holding it in place; finally bending it into
the shape of a whip. The entire process took about a minute.

“
End
the spell,” Sane commanded once more. Once again Byrn did as he was told
although a little less willingly.

“
Cast
it.”

Byrn
must have had a puzzled look on his face, because Sane told him, “You have
achieved the end result of the spell effectively, but it is no good to you if
it takes more than a few seconds to cast in a dangerous situation.”

They
went on like that for several more cycles. Each time Sane's commands getting
more frequent as Byrn completed it faster and faster until he could do it in
just a few seconds.

“
Great
work. You should write it down in your grimoire. That spell may come in handy
for some other prodigy one day.” Sane motioned him to the table where the book
sat next to the sorcerer's bag. Byrn went to the book and felt a sudden rush of
panic as he did his best to position his body between the bag and Sane who
stood no more than five or six yards away.

“
Have
you spoken with the king about releasing me into your custody?” Byrn asked. He
did not turn or look up from his writing.

“
I
have,” Sane answered. His sudden shift in tone betraying the bad news he
brought, “His highness is resolute that you serve out your sentence, but I will
speak with him again in another year or so when you have advanced even further.
Perhaps then he will see the wisdom of my words.”

With
that, Byrn made his decision. It was time he made his escape from Baj. The
magician apprentice slipped his hand into the pouch containing the traveling
runes and feeling several brush against his fingertips he lifted one out
between his index and middle fingers as Fredrik had explained to him. Hoping
that he did not take one that would be missed soon Byrn slipped it into his
trouser's pocket and quickly began writing in his grimoire.

When
he was finished Byrn turned to face his master. His practical mind told him to
remain silent, but the young magician found he could not. Looking his master in
the eye he said, “I want you to know that I appreciate everything you have done
for me since I was locked up in here. I don’t think I ever told you, but I was
adopted as a boy. Before that I grew up in the unfriendly confines of an
orphanage where we were forced to beg for handouts and bring whatever we earned
back to the housemaster. When the Lightfoots adopted me I was so happy and more
than that- grateful… To lose them, the only people who had shown me any
kindness for the first ten years of my life, was more than I could accept. At
first I was angry and blamed you for the loss of my family, but since then you
have done much to earn my trust and I wish that things could have been
different.” Byrn trailed off for a minute. He was unsure what else to say so he
simply added, “Thank you... for everything you have done to help me.”

The
sorcerer seemed to blanch a little bit, but only smiled.

***

Byrn
followed the guard back to his cell. He could feel the tiny cut of wood pressed
against his leg through his trouser's pocket. His heart felt as if it might
beat out of his chest and his face felt flush.

“
You
feeling alright?” asked the guard when they reached Byrn's cell.

“
I
am fine,” he told the guard wishing to hurry the man on his way, “just a bit
tired from training.” The guard nodded and opened Byrn's cell allowing him
entrance as if he had a choice.

The
heavy iron door closed with a screech behind him followed closely by the sound
of the locking mechanism. Byrn looked around the cell at the faint glow of the
runes on the walls sapping the remaining magic in his veins that had built up
from his time in training. Byrn had to act quickly if he was to have any hope
of escaping.

“
I
have it,” he told the others.

Mantellus
whooped in excitement.

“
Are
you sure you do not want to pass it this way?” the killer asked dubiously.

“
Do
not be foolish,” Ryonus chastised him, “Not only do you lack the necessary…
mental faculties to cast the spell, but it would be impossible to get the rune
to you in the first place.”