Epilogue
The last time Alia went running through the woods at night it was to escape her father’s magicians. She was scared of what would happen that night. She feared for her safety, but more than that she feared for the safety of Avelice and Kaleb. It was a terror that she never hoped to experience again and so far she had not. This time as she traveled under the veil of night Kaleb slept peacefully in his palace room. Avelice was snuggled into her mother’s arm and she did not fear for either of them. No one chased her on this night. This time when Alia ran she was no longer running away. She was running to something very special.
The cabin was in shabby condition, but was far from the derelict that Alia had seen only two weeks prior. It was originally an old Kenzai safehouse used for their members to have some secluded downtime when operating outside of Mollifas. It was one of the queen’s advisors, an old man by the name of Gaden Mourninglight who served as head of the Kenzai within Aurelia, who brought the location to their attention as a potential safe haven where one could stay close to the city, but still live undisturbed.
A single candle burned in the window as a beacon calling her there. Her heart beat a little faster as she drew closer, but she was not scared. She knew what awaited her within those walls. As she turned the knob and opened the door Alia caught herself holding her breath and let it go as the door swung open and cast light out into the darkness.
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the light as she walked in. Hands, gentle and strong, took Avelice from her and then those arms wrapped around her in a warm embrace.
“I have missed you,” Byrn whispered in her ear before he let her go.
He pulled out a chair and offered Alia a seat at his kitchen table. When she was seated he took one beside her. The smell of stew simmering filled her nostrils, but she was not terribly hungry. Byrn was not interested in eating at that moment either. Instead, he spent some time playing with his daughter who found his new scraggly beard absolutely fascinating and took delight in yanking at the short hair on his chin.
“How did the pronouncement go?” he asked and Alia noncommittally shrugged.
“There was nearly a riot, so it went about as well as we could have hoped for. It is a new experience to walk the streets of the capital openly as a magician.” Alia slipped off her cloak and hung it on the back of her chair.
“It is a heavy burden you have taken on,” Byrn told her. “Even Sane lived in the shadows for much of his time as the royal magician, but you will be the preeminent representative of what a magician can be. Compared to that, I am almost glad that I have to pretend to be dead.”
Alia laughed at that. “I guess you did get off easy when you put it like that. By the way, the queen sends you her love and Sane hopes that ‘his old friend Baryn’ will be able to see him off before he begins his journey across the Great Sea.”
“I would not miss it for anything. It will be hard to see him go after everything we have been through.”
Alia went into the kitchen and filled two bowls with stew before returning. “He will not be gone forever. I personally put a dozen transportation runes in his pack- each one leading back to Mollifas.
“Incidentally, your mother will begin looking for a new court magician soon and we both agree that this ‘Baryn’ character would be a perfect candidate. Of course, I would prefer a somewhat younger incarnation if you ever hope to find me on your arm. I do have a certain image to maintain now.” Alia said with a falsely snooty attitude.
“So picky!” Byrn teased. “But I think that can be arranged.”
A Final Word on The Magician Rebellion
Thank you for reading the final volume of The Magician Rebellion trilogy. It has been a labor of love in bringing this all together and the words of encouragement from the fans have helped to fuel me in completing this story so quickly. I really tried to take your comments and suggestions into consideration as I wrote this in an effort to make the finale the best chapter in the series and hope that it shows in the end product.
This is the conclusion of The Magician Rebellion, but that does not mean that it is the end of stories that take place in this universe and of course there is still the story of Avelice Aurel that is begging to be told one day as the next generation of heroes reach maturity.
However, in the short term I have another project that I am going to begin working on shortly that will apply the lessons learned in the writing and construction of my first series. The new project is still in the early phases of planning, but it will include fantastic inventions and colorful characters in a world that is very different from Aurelia. It will not only be different from the world of The Magician Rebellion in terms of setting, but will be told in a different fashion allowing for greater character development while still retaining the action and adventure aspects. The next project will also be done as fully contained stories so there won’t be the usual cliffhangers I’ve done with this series and allow me to work on multiple projects at once.
As always I can be reached at [email protected] for anyone that wants to contact me directly.
Oh, I almost forgot. I have also included two short stories that take place prior to the events in Rogue Magician. The first takes place in the elven forests where Sari grew up. The second takes place in Aurelia long before Byrn was born. If you are familiar with my rarely updated blog, then this is not new material for you, but for most people it will be their first time reading these stories.
There is also a treatise on the various forms of magic in Aurelia, since that was one of the things being asked for as well. Sorry for all of the wand wiggling, I tried to refine that a bit in this last book, but had to remain true to magic system already established in the previous books.
We Are Pack
It was a distant whine that tickled at the edge of the elf’s hearing. He was known among the inhabitants of the Red Tree Forest as their king and took his responsibility as their chief protector very seriously so that he felt compelled to personally investigate every disturbance in his realm. It was through this desire that the elf’s feet began to glide across the forest’s floor. His movements were swift, but light and precise so that hardly a blade of grass or errant leaf could attest to his passing as he rushed ever onward. The wind whipped past his ears as he traveled faster and faster until the trees became a red-brown blur around him.
A blue bird with a long feathered tail squawked in protest at his passing when the King of the Red Trees came too close and blew it off course forcing the bird to land awkwardly in a bush or risk crashing into a tree. The King turned his attention to his winged subject to make sure it had come to no harm. Forgive me my passing, the King of the Red Trees pushed the thought at the little bird, but did not slow his pace so that if there was a response he did not hear it.
Then as suddenly as he started, the elf stopped running and for a moment his dark, flowing hair shot past his face as if it was still trying to continue on without him. The King of the Red Trees knew he still had a great distance left to travel, but now he recognized the sound for what it was and what it implied gave him a chill down to the bone. The King drew his bow and hurried once more redoubling his efforts. He now knew he was following the sound of a babe crying… and the snarling of beasts.
The King shimmied up a hardy red tree without slowing his pace and began to leap from one branch to the next. His feet unerringly found the strongest limbs and best footing as befitted one born of the forest all in an effort to gain a vantage point over the forest’s predators that were quickly surrounding the youngling.
A grey wolf growled hungrily as it pulled at the calf of a dead elf woman. From her dress, the King of the Red Trees knew her to be a member of one of the city clans. The elf-sister must have traveled a fantastic distance before finally being run down, but this could not be the work of a lone wolf. Even a city elf could avoid a single wolf.
The King moved closer being mindful of the living shadows below him. A pack of wolves closed in
all around the elf’s corpse. The King notched an arrow and took aim at the one worrying at the mother’s calf. The crying was much louder now that he was so close to the source. His superior ears were nearly deafened by the child’s wails. It was clear that the sound was coming from underneath the dead elf and the wolf was determined to reach the babe protected under its lifeless mother.
Let her go, the King whispered to the wolf, and I will let you live.
The grey wolf looked up at the King of the Red Trees, but did not let go of the leg he held tightly in his maw. This is no concern of yours, elf. What is done is done. It is the cycle of life that your kind values so much. Is it not? We have our kill and there is nothing you can do to change that.
It was true. There was nothing he could do for the city elf…
You misunderstand me, wolf. I do not seek to take your kill. I only want the youngling.
The other wolves began skulking surreptitiously in the King’s direction. He was safe from them in the tree, but they could prevent him from reaching the babe if they truly wished it.
Maybe we want the elf-cub too, the wolf snarled, We will eat to our satisfaction.
Then be satisfied with the one that you have already killed! I will not allow the elf-babe to die as well! The King snapped.
At that the grey wolf did finally drop the leg he had been holding so tightly. His gaze was malicious and for a brief moment the King knew dread, but he did not fear for himself so much as for the child.
The wolf considered for a moment and then made an offer. A compromise, then? What if we agree not to kill the young one, elf? The wolf’s demeanor was harsh and threatening. The idea of compromising did not sit well with a creature used to getting what it wanted without the need for debate even if the compromise was its own device. What if we choose to make her one of us instead? She could be a wolfen roaming the forest among us. She could be Pack. In Pack she would find strength and safety. In Pack she would find a new family to replace the one lost this day. Would you deny her that? With that last thought, the King felt a sense of pride shine from the wolf.
I would, the King of the Red Trees answered without a moment’s hesitation. He released an arrow and it flew at the wolf before the predator could react. The air split just above the beast’s head and the arrow bit into the wood of a nearby tree with a loud thwump. A warning shot.
The wolf growled and his pack joined in so that the forest was alive with the angry sound drowning out the crying youngling. We are Pack, elf! That may mean little to you, but to us Pack is all that matters. You can kill me, but my Pack-brothers and Pack-sisters will hunt you down. You cannot end us all.
Can’t I? The King whispered nothing more. Instead, he let that thought with all of its self-assurance and calm sink into the wolf’s mind as he made a show of readying another arrow and took aim once more.
After a long silence the grey wolf relented. Take the loud one. She grates on my nerves anyway.
The King of the Red Trees stored his bow and moved from tree to tree until he was above the dead elf-sister and her baying child. Then he leapt nimbly down from his perch into the midst of the wolves. He pulled his knife and stood defensively between their pack leader and his prize as he lifted the mother’s body to uncover the elf-babe who continued her weeping unabated.
The wolf snapped at the King and kept him from grabbing the child. The Pack advanced on the King forcing him to either ignore the exposed youngling or drop his guard.
Foolish elf, the wolf whispered coldly, You threaten our Pack and moments later jump into our waiting jaws. You are brave, elf, but we are many. We are Pack.
Another wolf snapped at the King of the Red Trees. This time it came from his right, but the animal bit nothing but air when the elf twisted away from him and delivered a kick to its body pushing the second wolf away.
The grey wolves inched closer prepared to pounce in an instant. The King of the Red Trees smiled knowingly.
Wolf, you mistake me for a human. I understand what it means to be Pack. I know your strength. The King raised his empty hand to the trees and lowered it again in a swift chop. In response a rain of arrows from unseen hands fell down all around the wolves causing many to jump back, but none were harmed. I am Shatala, King of the Red Tree Clan. We are not so different. You are Pack and we are a clan. We are an assembly of warriors sworn to protect the Red Tree Forest, but we are a family as well. We take strength from one another and defend each other as brothers and sisters in arms. Using the pack leader’s own words against him, the King added, You can kill me, but my Clan-brothers and Clan-sisters will hunt you down. You cannot end us all.
The wolf nodded reluctantly. You are Pack. After a few moments more of thought, he added, Shatala, King of the Red Tree Clan, take the elf-babe, but leave the meat for us and there will be no more bloodshed between our kinds, indicating the elf woman’s body.
The King gave a short nod in return. Very well. I will take the youngling and leave you to your meal. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the babe and bounded into the tree taking his leave of the wolves. He held the child securely against him as he bounced between trees, but she felt safe in his arms and stopped her howling turning to coos instead.
After a time the King stopped to regard the child. He held her up and away from him to get a good look at the youngling. Her legs kicked with strength that was surprising for one so small and she swung her arms at her sides enthusiastically. She would make a strong protector of the forest in thirty or so years.
“Welcome, daughter of the Red Tree Clan.”
Hunted
The boy’s days were spent at his father’s feet in a very literal sense fore he was the son of a cordwainer and now that his eldest sister had run off with some hooligan leaving him the only child and heir to the family business it was the boy’s lot in life to learn all he could about crafting the fanciful shoes of the wealthy and their repair. It was a terribly dull profession, but the boy put his heart into learning it. After all, he did not want to disappoint his parents.
His father would become dispirited like when his sister left and take to the bottle again. He had only recently begun to sober up though it was more than a year since she left.
The boy’s mother was in some ways far worse. Ever since his sister left she would sit huddled in a chair with her knees up to her chin and whimper or cry openly. In the winter, she was covered with a blanket and in the summer, she was not. This was at the best of times. At the worst she would begin sobbing uncontrollably usually triggered by the boy walking in the room and he learned to avoid the poor woman and the unexplained guilt this caused him.
So he studied his father’s work for hours on end and learned his craft and at the ripe age of thirteen the boy decided that he knew all he could about making fine shoes and was ready to set out on his own, but he did not. He could not abandon his parents. Despite the difficulties at home, they needed him and loved him.
Every night he stared out of his window as he drifted off to sleep thinking of his sister and wondering where she might be. Was she happy with the lout who stole her away? Were they married now? He hoped so. His eyelids would grow heavy and sleep would take him to a land of dreams that could be blindingly bright at times. He would see his sister there sometimes. She would be sitting or cooking and the hoodlum would come up behind her and hug her lovingly. Then, he would kiss her neck or her lips. They would laugh often- much more often than the boy ever saw her laugh before.
At other times the dreams were darker than any moonless night. Men cloaked in shadows would come for him and bang at his window. The boy would hide under his blanket hoping that they would go away, but they never did. They would break through the latched window with a sword radiating a soft blue shine that illuminated their faces revealing contorted features and eyes that hungered after the boy. The house would then explode with noise as the house became overran with the cloaked men. They would pull his covers, his only form of protection, away leaving him completely vuln
erable. Then one of the men would reach for him…
He was always startled awake at that point. His body would be covered in sweat and his breathing would be weighty and loud.
It was following one of these dreams that he caught his first glimpse of one of these men. He had gone out to fetch some lunch for his father and himself after they had spent most of the morning cobbling old, but well crafted shoes or cutting strips of leather for some new creations. The boy had worked up quite a hunger and was quick to return with their cut of beef and bread. As he rounded a corner, he saw a hooded man dressed in drab browns leaving his father’s shop. The hooded one was startled a little as he almost ran into the boy turning the corner. His cloak whipped up as he shifted his weight to avoid the boy, revealing a sword belted at his waste.
The boy hurried into the shop and found his father glowering at the wall.
“What is wrong, father?”
“Nothing, Sane,” he paused as if he had something else say, but only repeated, “It’s nothing.” He absent-mindedly clunk some coins together under his palm. He would lift them up and let them fall again producing the light clink sound. Eventually, he asked, “Do you know why Avelice ran away?” His eyes were bloodshot.
The boy thought back to the dreams he had about the man who whisked his sister away and how happy she seemed. He guessed that Avelice ran away with the man, because she loved him, but somehow that did not feel like the answer his father was searching for. Sane shook his head. “Why did she run away?”
“Your mother and I hid the truth from you and now I think maybe we were wrong to do that.” Sane’s father swallowed deeply and his voice was nearly caught in his throat as he forced the words out, “Avelice was a magician and so was the young man she left with- Xander was his name. He said that he could feel her drawing on magic power subconsciously and offered to take her away before the Kenzai discovered her.
Magician Prince Page 31
