A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1)

by A. Christopher Drown

  Proper balance of Lady’s Thigh with its complementary ingredients was crucial to achieve the desired effect. The experiences Sala’s apprentice conveyed suggested a weak concoction, but the sample from his workshop contained a dangerously high concentration. At such proportions, if Sala’s apprentice had survived at all she would have retained no memory of the alleged attacks—not even those as disjointed and vague as dreams. Ennalen had no doubt the stupid little girl had fabricated the entire matter, and had planted the evidence in a bid to avenge some other perceived but unrelated wrong.

  Ordinarily the deception would have brought the full fury of Ennalen’s wrath, but her situation necessitated no cause be given to question her dedication. At the same time the number of abuse cases had declined as a result of her work, baseless accusations had increased, and accordingly her ratio of complaints to convictions had dropped—she never pronounced guilt arbitrarily. But the recent run of dismissals possibly could be misrepresented as a lack of thoroughness on her part, which in turn might lead others to suspect her preoccupation with matters other than those pertaining to her office. That was something she could ill afford.

  Ennalen spoke loudly, formally, addressing all present.

  “Good Members of the Gallery, having heard the testimony of the relevant parties, I come to the inescapable conclusion that our Brother Sala has forsaken his solemn duty and besmirched a fundamental trust on which the very existence of our beloved College is dependent…”

  In the Revelator’s Circle, as he had many times throughout the trial, Sala began to sob. Under normal circumstances personal opinion of someone under her professional scrutiny never would have affected Ennalen’s judgment, but Sala’s cowardice and effeminacy readily provoked her disdain, thus she had to admit a certain, malicious glee from the fact that the proceeding’s circumstances were far from normal.

  The finale itself, however, would be a matter of routine.

  Following her zealous summation and the presentation of her verdict, the Magistrate of Record—the senior Magistrate who heard the testimony of all parties involved—would either concur or challenge. If he concurred, the verdict would become part of the official archives and the appropriate sentence would be administered. If the Magistrate of Record challenged, the Members of the Gallery would be polled, and the result of their vote would become the final verdict. Ennalen made a much more effective Magistrate than a magician, and despite her preference for investigation she lacked little as a conjurer. Sala would be condemned.

  Per the statute she herself had written, the first of the two standard punishments for Sala’s supposed crime was castration, followed by permanent excommunication from the College. The second option was imprisonment until the complainant reached confirmation, at which time the offender would be pressed into service as the complainant’s apprentice, subject to whatever treatment his new master saw fit. The former remained by far the most common choice, something Ennalen had never understood. While she saw the appeal of immediate satisfaction, in her opinion enslavement offered the potential for a more lasting and gratifying retribution.

  As she performed for the Gallery that day’s variation on the litany she’d recited so often, Ennalen’s mind drifted to more pertinent concerns, but not before weighing one last time the profound unfairness being done to poor Sala.

  She suppressed a smirk as she concluded her remarks.

  At least it was no arbitrary unfairness.

  ***

  From her balcony in the deepening night, as she had for weeks on end, Ennalen watched the road below and absently stroked the spine of the same book discovered days before. For no particular reason she regarded the elaborate cover and spine once again, this time wondering whether the person responsible for binding the volume had been driven by pride of craftsmanship or by enthusiasm for its content.

  She still had yet to open the book. She had no need. With the exception of a flourish or two specific to a given scribe, the story within would read just as it always had:

  Before the World, the fable went, there had been the Ever—the primal sea of nothingness from which all began. After measureless eons of serenity, a cataclysm brought forth from the Ever the gods and their opposites, the three-headed creature known as the Dragon Sisters. Immediately finding the cosmos abstract and inadequate, the Dragon Sisters went to the grey, wasting body of the Ever and tore open further the wound from which they’d been born. They bathed in their Mother’s blood, knowing it to be magic, and with their new and wild powers began weaving dark spells. Their first incantation created the World—a black, tangled place, but nonetheless something over which they could rule.

  Angered by the desecration of their Mother, the gods buried Her in a distant, secret place. In doing so, the last precious drops of the Ever’s blood trickled onto their hands and into their eyes, giving them, too, knowledge of magic. Now able to see the significance of their siblings’ creation, the gods waged war upon the Sisters to wrest the World from their jealous hold. The stars themselves shook from the ferocity of the struggle, and the Sisters were driven back to the edge of creation.

  With the Sisters exiled, the gods cast their eyes upon the World, and for the first time light shone. The blackness erupted into a melody of lush and brilliant greens, and the tangles withdrew back into the earth. The gods wept when they saw the unintentional beauty of what their Sisters had created, and their tears filled the huge, jagged crevasses of the World, forming the oceans. Inspired by the splendor of land, water and sky, the gods then created beings to inhabit all three.

  Afterward, in those early days, humankind and god lived alongside one another, creating music and poetry and art, enjoying prosperity and peace. Meanwhile, the banished Dragon Sisters discovered the remains of their Mother. They ate what was left of Her body and grew stronger, and watched as their siblings dwelled within the World and forgot what it meant to be gods. Once healed, the Sisters emerged, and when they fully beheld how their creation had been ruined, the Sisters descended upon the World and a final, terrible battle commenced.

  In their lessened state the gods could not counter the Sisters’ brutality and feared the World would be lost forever, until a great cacophony of war horns sounded and from all directions charged a thunderous army. Humankind had assembled its mightiest heroes to help defeat the Sisters once and for all. The tide of the conflict turned, and the Sisters realized their destruction was at hand.

  Rather than suffer outright defeat, in a last act of spite the Sisters tore open their own chest, scooped out the vile heart within and hurled it down upon the World. As it fell, the heart became an immense black gem, and when it struck the ground, it shattered into countless pieces. The dying Sisters knew those pieces one day would be gathered and reassembled, and release a power with which the children of the gods would surely destroy themselves and every—

  Ennalen’s attention snapped back to the present. A tiny, dark shape, silhouetted by the lamplight that haloed the low hill appeared on the walkway.

  Her pulse quickened, but the excitement that leaped into being plunged again as she recognized who approached the Ministry of Law—a messenger from the New Tower; not at all for whom she had hoped.

  Apparently, the Lord Elder summoned.

  Instead of waiting for the announcement, Ennalen wheeled around, stomped inside, and slammed her book onto the nearest shelf.

  She stopped, drew a long breath, and after another moment’s pause gently took her cloak from its hook on the wall and proceeded downstairs.

  5

  Niel had hoped stowing his things as slowly as possible would discourage the swordsman, but Arwin watched and waited with maddening patience. Even more insufferably, despite his better judgment Niel had to concede a needling curiosity about the stranger’s proposition. Biddleby liked to say the simplest equation for a long life was prudence plus indifference, but what harm could come by humoring Arwin and listening to what he had to say?

  Once it became obvious he co
uld stall no further without looking ridiculous, Niel dropped onto his bunk and contemplated his accidental companion.

  “If you don’t mind,” he finally said, “tell me how you know so much about magicians.”

  “A very good friend was one,” Arwin replied. “A rather talented one, at that.”

  Again, intriguing—assuming the swordsman spoke the truth. Canon often demanded one forgo concerns like food and sleep, never mind friendships. The rare person claimed fondness for a magician; the rarer one claimed to have it reciprocated.

  “How is it you’re acquainted with our good captain?”

  “I met him years ago, shortly after I left home. From time to time, when he happens to be in port, Jorgan lets me stow away. For old time’s sake.”

  Niel cocked his head. “He doesn’t exactly strike me as the sentimental sort.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of his blade when he’s perturbed, that’s for certain.”

  The ship lurched, pitching Niel forward.

  Arwin reached out and caught him by the shoulder, saving him a hard landing on the floor. “And we’re off,” he said.

  Niel pushed himself from Arwin’s grasp and righted himself. “So it would seem.”

  An oddly harmonious groan of straining wood filled the cabin as the sails caught hold of the nighttime wind. Niel gave a quick, silent hope that Jorgan’s pilot had good eyes.

  And then, with no small dose of self-loathing, his curiosity finally won out.

  “What kind of proposition did you have in mind?” he asked.

  Arwin was clearly pleased to begin his tale. “I’m headed to Trelheim to meet some friends,” he said. “Haven’t seen them in months. Closer to a year, really.”

  “Trelheim?”

  “Small town in northern Aithiq. Borderland country, just north of the Great Forest. The Galiiantha aren’t fond of us settling so close to their home, you know.”

  True enough. Stories ran rampant in the Lands about humans wandering too far from the colonies and disappearing. Some said the primitive Galiiantha tribes had a taste for human flesh.

  “Ruins from one of their old cities are supposed to be a couple days inside the Forest. A certain nobleman asked me to—”

  Niel raised his head. “You’re… an adventurer?”

  Arwin shrugged. “I prefer explorer, but yes.”

  Barely one rung up from actors, who themselves hardly ranked above peasants, polite society looked upon adventurers with scorn. Unlike acting troupes, though, who depended on the merciful patronage of whatever local lord they entertained, the aristocracy tolerated adventurers primarily because those who spent their days seeking fortune in the wilds of the world could also readily defend themselves. Some lords even considered it fashionable to send small bands of hired swords into the untamed reaches, sparing expensive and valuable members of their own militia. That didn’t make adventurers and their lawless ilk any more palatable to Niel.

  “I don’t want to hear any more, thank you.”

  Arwin rolled his eyes. “Of all the… Please tell me an educated fellow like yourself can set aside silly prejudices for the sake of conversation.” He gestured at the cabin walls. “After all, you seem to be in my debt.”

  Niel fished into his belt pouch. “I’ll gladly pay my portion of the fare,” he said, then held out a copper coin.

  “Keep your money,” Arwin replied. “I don’t want it. What I do want is common courtesy. Hearing what I have to say will cost you nothing more than staying awake a little longer. After that, you’re welcome to decline my offer and we can part as friends. Otherwise, dismissing me out of hand would be rude and insulting.”

  Despite the unmistakable umbrage rising in Arwin’s tone he remained a portrait of composure, so Niel decided not to ponder whether Arwin’s hand had come to rest on his sword by mere coincidence.

  Instead, he listened.

  ***

  Lord Deralden, governor of the midland province of Edlaan, had called on Arwin and his band to scout for the ruins of an ancient city in Aithiq. His territory had suffered a bad year in crops, and taxes had fallen short. Though regarded as generally fair and honest, Deralden led an extravagant lifestyle, and to maintain that lifestyle—not to mention other necessities such as paying his troops—he needed a considerable influx of funds. Deralden hoped to partake of the rumored riches hidden within those unexplored regions.

  Arwin had been tasked with finding the site, assessing the best way to exploit it, and returning with his information. If the prospect held promise, Deralden would outfit the band should they wish to stay on, or if not, pay them for their services and send them on their way. But Arwin needed a magician. With even the simplest of incantations, magicians could produce light if torches failed, detect other magic that might do harm, and locate the way to safety should they become lost.

  “I looked every place I could think where there might be a magician for hire,” Arwin went on. “Finally, I ran out of time and started wondering how to explain showing up at Trelheim empty- handed.”

  “Why?” Niel asked, more engrossed than he knew he should be. “Rogue magicians aren’t exactly easy to come by.”

  Arwin grinned. “True, but my reputation would have taken a serious bruising had you not happened along.”

  “Not to mention your ego?”

  Arwin looked even more astonished than when Captain Jorgan had called him a liar. “Ego?”

  Niel shook his head, too tired to smile. He looked over at his pack, thoughts coming too quickly to sort. It had been a very long day, and he wanted sleep.

  “To be certain,” he said with a stretch, “you’ve given me a good deal to ponder. I’d like to rest on it, if you don’t mind.” He yawned and rolled onto his side, facing the wall.

  “Of course,” Arwin replied. “Sleep well.”

  Niel barely heard him.

  ***

  A shock of brilliant turquoise made Niel grimace as he pushed open the deck hatch. The sea glared just as intensely as the endless sky, as though the entire world had fallen away and in its place left a dazzling palette of blue from which only earth-colored wood and raw-white sails offered refuge.

  Niel smiled, thrilled to be actually, finally on board a ship at sea.

  He’d slept very well, better than he had in weeks, but the wide open sky overhead, the cool sea churning below, and the fresh, salty air rushing by his face underscored the fact that he was not only relaxed and well-rested, but also famished. A few rations remained in his pack, but he decided to see if he could find something more satisfying than dried oats and old walnuts.

  He let the hatch fall shut behind him and stood enjoying the ship’s gentle pitching and rolling as she cut her way through the water. Thanks to the rope bracelet he’d charmed before leaving home, Niel felt none of the nausea he suspected he otherwise might. He strolled about, steering clear of the sailors as they went about their work but marveling at the way they scurried without effort up the masts and bounded across the deck, never getting entangled in the riggings or in the way of one another.

  On the far side of the ship Arwin leaned forward with his arms folded atop a rail. At his elbow sat the remains of a half-eaten apple, and Niel’s mouth watered at the thought of fresh fruit. He stared at its glossy round redness, at the soft yellow where it had been bitten—until the ship suddenly pitched downward and the apple bobbled over the side.

  Niel approached and leaned his back against the rail where the apple had been. “Good morning,” he said over the hiss of the sea. “Lost your breakfast.”

  “Good morning,” Arwin replied. “Not to worry. It was my third. Here.” He produced another. “Compliments of our good captain.”

  With a muttered thanks Niel grabbed the fruit and bit deeply. The skin broke with a satisfying snap, and the apple’s juices filled his mouth with clean, tart sweetness. He munched loudly and happily as he looked out upon the sparkling water.

  “Egads,” Arwin said. �
�Sure hope it’s not poisoned.”

  Niel stopped chewing. So much for prudence.

  “Das nah vey vunny,” he said through his full mouth.

  Arwin grinned and faced the sea again. “I know. Careful not to choke.”

  Niel made short work of his breakfast then tossed the core over the side. After sucking away the juice from his fingers and knuckles, then wiping his hands on the inside of his tunic, he gave a contented sigh and joined the swordsman in his vigil.

  “Would you mind one more question?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” Arwin replied.

  “How is it you came to be an adven— explorer?”

  The swordsman frowned as he weighed his answer. “Not so long ago I had something taken from me, something far more important than I first thought. My own fault, really. Set something down long enough and someone else is bound to come along and claim it as theirs. I should have tried to get it back. Instead, I ran away. That’s the vague and mysterious version, meant to pique your interest. If you want specifics, you’ll have to come with me to Trelheim.”

  Niel smiled. “I’m sorry, but I have to decline.”

  Arwin returned his attention to the horizon.

  “Being familiar with magicians,” Niel explained, “you know I’m obligated to attend the College.”

  Arwin nodded. “I do. But I thought I’d ask anyway, in case you…” He trailed off, dismissing the unspoken portion with his hand.

  “In case I what?”

  “It’s not important.”

  In his mind Niel, saw himself reaching gratefully for the chance to exit not just the discussion but the entire situation. To his own astonishment, he then saw himself slapping away his own hand before blurting: “If you have something to say, then say it.”