The group sat in silence, with the exception of Peck letting the hilt of his knife slap firmly into his hand.
Caleen scoffed. “This is not personal, Apprentice. This has nothing to do with you or where you come from or how well you can speak your piece.” She jutted a thumb at the balcony. “This has to do with the fact that in a couple of days we’ll be out there risking a whole lot more than I care to think about. Which means—”
“Which means,” Niel interrupted, “you’re on a timetable set by Lord Deralden. And running behind, if I recall. Which means you have no other prospects for a magician, and you can’t afford to look around any more, provided you wish to retain his commission. Which means you need to decide which is better, a magician who can possibly be of service or no magician to help no matter how desperate things become.”
Arwin raised a knowing eyebrow toward Jharal. Jharal licked his lips with uncertainty and looked at Caleen. Caleen glared at Niel, then turned toward the wall, muttering to herself. Peck chuckled, and with a flick of his wrist he buried his throwing knife into a ceiling beam.
***
The night chill made the hair on Niel’s arms stand on end. He unrolled his sleeves and hugged himself as he walked, matching Arwin’s slow stride. The Inn’s parlor had closed, and most of the patrons had retired to their rooms or staggered across town seeking entertainment elsewhere. A handful remained outside, conspiring in low tones as they passed bottles amongst themselves.
“You spoke well for yourself in there,” Arwin said.
Niel shrugged. “I don’t like being a topic of debate when I’m not around, and I like it even less when I’m sitting in the same room.”
Arwin hadn’t looked up, but Niel sensed his smile. “So, what do you think of your new traveling companions?”
Niel thought. “To be honest—”
“Always be honest. Something you need to learn quickly is that if you have a thought, if you have an opinion, if something is troubling you even though you don’t know what it is—say something. There are times when a gut feeling can mean the difference between living and dying.”
The sudden earnestness unsettled Niel. “Well, to answer your question, they weren’t what I expected.”
“And how’s that?”
“They all seem so intelligent.”
Arwin stopped and leveled a caustic expression at Niel, who realized only then what he’d said. He was relieved when Arwin smiled a moment later, but when the swordsman pointed up toward the apartment balcony Niel flinched from fear of being hit again.
“Like it or not,” Arwin said, “your life may soon come to depend on the people in that room. It would be in your best interest, and theirs, to see them beyond whatever clichés you may have learned. Beyond merely adventurer, or warrior, or even thief.” His tone darkened a shade further. “Never take anything at face value, Niel. Question everything.”
Niel lowered his arms. “You sound like my teacher.”
“Then I’ll consider myself in good company.”
“You didn’t take me at face value when you proposed this little escapade?”
Arwin quirked his mouth. “You didn’t see the knife I had under my pillow.”
“Knife?”
“I figured you were an apprentice magician, yes, but I didn’t know what you were capable of. I wanted to make sure I could get to you before you spouted off something that reduced me to a dark stain on the cot.” Arwin patted him on the shoulder. “Didn’t sleep a wink that night, you’re so scary.”
Niel shook his head.
“As long as we’re on the subject, Apprentice, it’s high time I knew precisely what it is you can do.”
“Magically, you mean.”
“Quite.”
“I know a couple of cantrips,” Niel said. “Ones I came up with myself when I wasn’t too busy.”
“Such as?”
“The best is one I’ve had ever since I can remember. It lets me make things bounce. Anything. You name it. If it’s not too heavy I can make it bounce.”
Arwin looked intrigued. “Care to demonstrate?”
With his foot Niel pushed some small rocks, each about half the size of his fist, into a rough line. After a few quick syllables and gestures, the rocks shivered. Shivers became hiccups, hiccups became small hops, and then one at a time the rocks leaped up about the height of Niel’s knee. As it dropped again, each stone bounced like a soft rubber ball, and each successive bounce grew higher than the last until the rocks reached chest level.
Arwin watched with amused interest. Niel spoke another set of syllables and the rocks increased their speed until they became a blur. Their collective motion filled the air with a purring sound.
“When I was traveling and it was time to sleep,” Niel explained, “I put rocks like these in a circle, then placed the cantrip to make a little wall between me and whatever else might be around. You know, for animals and such. Back home I used it to make it easier to sweep the floor and dry the dishes.”
“Very pretty. And that’s not from Canon?”
Niel shrugged. “Not exactly.”
Arwin smiled at the confession. “How long can you make it last?”
“I can make one object go for days, if it’s small. The circle I’d put around me usually lasted the night. Whenever the rocks stopped and clattered into each other, I’d wake up.”
“And you can do this whenever you wish?”
“Pretty much.”
The swordsman raised a suspicious eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Sounds like freemagic to me.”
Centuries ago, peasants in Lyrria’s remote regions began dabbling in freemagic, a form of folk-conjuring independent of Canon and since banned by the College. Stories likened its practitioners to wild-eyed diabolists, sacrificing animals and children to appease grotesque, blood-thirsty gods. Niel knew that while most civilized areas had long considered freemagic more lore than fact, magicians still avoided the implication.
“Well, true,” he said. “Cantrips aren’t like spells. They don’t require nearly as much effort, but I don’t think—”
Arwin laughed. “You sound afraid I’ll turn you in. Relax. Although, I would like to know what actual spells you know.” He winked. “From Canon, of course.”
Niel licked his lips. “I had a scroll in my pack that contained a Conjuring of Light.”
Arwin stood, waiting. “That’s it?”
“I’m an apprentice,” Niel said. “I expected to be on my way to the College by now.”
Arwin clearly had hoped for more. “Well then,” he said, “we shall have to remedy that as soon as we can.”
“How?” Niel asked.
Arwin grinned. “I might have an idea or two.”
***
Niel lay on the floor in his bedroll, miserably exhausted yet thoroughly awake, hands folded behind his head, counting the cracks in the plaster between the dark, bumpy ceiling beams. After hours of battling the endless parade of errant thoughts marching through his head, he’d grudgingly resigned himself to going wherever his mind chose to roam.
For the moment, that wherever was back once more to the first trip into town he’d ever taken with Biddleby. He hadn’t been much older than five.
In exchange for the occasional spell that kept pests from his crops, Edgas, the farmer who lived a short walk from their house, loaned Biddleby an ill-tempered dray mule whenever needed along with a small cart for carrying back supplies. Niel remembered having to clutch the bare driver’s bench to keep from being bounced off into road, and how sore his arms and backside were after arriving home again.
On that first excursion, though, Edgas had decided his crops could do without Biddleby’s help and asked that he have the mule’s feet shod instead. After their errands, which mainly consisted of Biddleby catching up on news and selling back items he’d augmented with a minor charm, they parked the cart atop a steep hill in front of the farrier’s shop. Biddleby set the brake, untethered the mule, and as he led t
he animal into the paddock commanded Niel to stay with their belongings.
Being so young, it hadn’t taken Niel long to grow deathly bored with waiting. So, he made a game of hopping from the driver’s bench to the rear of the cart and back, over and over. On his final vault, Niel’s foot caught on the driver’s bench and he tumbled into the open back. When he sat up again, a horrid old man in rags stood beside the wagon, his yellow eyes wide in a frightening gaze.
Niel scrambled away and fell over the driver’s bench yet again, releasing the wagon’s brake. By the time he collected his wits, he and the cart were racing down the hill toward town. All he could think to do was hold on amidst the rush of faces and shouts, through the glimpses of people grabbing up their own children and jumping out of his way.
Just as he’d been about to cry out for his teacher, Biddleby emerged from the sidewalk at the bottom of the hill and put himself directly into the path of the runaway cart. He made a quick motion with his hand, and the cart skidded to a stop but a half-pace from where the old man stood.
For Niel, the rigid silence during the ride home had been as much punishment as the lack of supper that night and the extra chores for the remainder of that week. He’d wanted to ask about the unusual gesture, but decided not to risk making matters worse. Instead, he simply apologized; he hadn’t meant to be so much trouble.
In place of the customary scolding, Biddleby had told him nothing one did went without consequence. Something always happens after, so even the smallest act warranted as much thought as possible.
In the late Trelheim night, Niel rolled over, pillowed his head with his elbow, and smiled in bitter, weary amusement.
Instead of finding comfort in Biddleby’s advice, he’d rekindled the dread of losing his grip as the world careened beyond his control.
10
Denuis’s chambers were too ornate for Ennalen’s tastes, but not gaudy. Stately, she supposed was the best word. A lush, ox-blood carpet covered the common area, a large oil painting hung on each of the five olive-mottled walls, and from the off-white ceiling an embossed motif of tangled vines carried halfway down the archway separating that space from the private rooms beyond.
Flames crackled in the grey stone fireplace, itself framed by dark wooden shelving that served as home to countless old books and scrolls stacked any which way they might fit. Over the years Ennalen had straightened those shelves innumerable times, only to watch them revert to disorder within days—one of her earliest lessons in futility.
Facing away from the fireplace, the same chair where she sat the night she brought Solamito’s eye. The sight compelled Ennalen to remind herself once again that Denuis’s suspicion toward her was but supposition. Other than the jarring change to her plans by Thaucian, she had no evidence her trustworthiness had been called into question. Nevertheless a smaller, equally persistent voice reminded that her life could be in real danger.
She placed her hand on the chair back. Through her work at the Ministry, Ennalen had achieved a great deal of influence over the College’s course—but her accomplishments to date would seem mere dalliances alongside what was to come. Danger or not, nothing would deter her from restoring the College to the glory of its former self. Not the Lord Elder; not even forsaking the trust of the person who had saved her.
“Ah,” Denuis said. “You’re here.”
Ennalen nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. She normally took care that no one ever approached her from behind. Granted, Denuis had used the portal enchanted to provide direct passage from his chambers to the Tower and back, but it wasn’t as if she’d never before waited there for him to arrive.
“Good morning, Lord Magistrate,” she replied in a light, practiced tone while cursing herself for the lapse.
Denuis gave a dreary sigh. “Yes, yes, I suppose I should have said, ‘Ah, Magistrate, you’re here.’ I do forget how you enjoy your formality.”
“Not from lack of being reminded.”
Denuis glared up from untoggling his outer robes.
“I believe the servants have your breakfast ready, my Lord.”
He acknowledged her with a mild grunt, tossed his robes onto a nearby ottoman and beckoned her to follow into the dining room.
Ennalen made it a point never to be seated in the presence of others unless absolutely necessary. If social occasions were truly warfare disguised, as the saying went, then she saw no need to render herself all the more vulnerable by not being on her feet. She knew she was safer with Denuis than anywhere else on campus, save for her own workshop, so she had no qualm about sitting with him when he asked. However, always mindful of the goblet at her elbow that night years ago, she had never eaten with him, and she never would.
They shared a corner of the large, simple table. Other than the dull clicks of the water clock in the next room the only sounds came from Denuis himself. Even with his lips together, he’d always chewed loudly.
The Lord Magistrate was a distinguished looking man—just past middle age, stocky but not fat, with dark skin and piercing grey eyes a few shades lighter than what had invaded his mustache and beard. He carried an air of sternness, though his scowl often proved the most formidable aspect of his displeasure. Often, but not always. Over the years Denuis had earned the respect of the Membership as someone both easy to deal with and a person not to be crossed.
From him, Ennalen had learned one need not yield to be equitable.
“It seems the Lord Elder’s occupied a good deal of your time as of late,” she said.
Denuis nodded, swallowing a mouthful of eggs and game as he reached for his empty coffee mug.
Ennalen hefted the black pot set between them, offering to pour. “I take it this is all of great importance to ask me to abandon my responsibilities,” she said, being careful her sarcasm sounded not too pointed.
“Not abandon, Ennalen.” Denuis raised the steaming cup to his lips and blew gently across the top. “If anything, dramatically increase.”
She set the coffee pot back down. “Might I be enlightened, then, as to my new and illustrious chore?”
The Lord Magistrate wiped his mouth and beard with his napkin, leaned back with a sigh, and matched Ennalen’s hard gaze. “You’re familiar,” he began, “with the stories surrounding the one called the Apostate.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. Reflexively, the ages-old nursery rhyme sang in Ennalen’s head:
No blade sharp enough to cut it,
No steed swift enough to give chase,
No lass sweet enough to charm it,
No day long enough to let wait.
Girls gather ’round to make ready,
Boys gather up to make war,
Three gold to all who are steady
’Neath the banner of the Apostate.
After the Dragon Sisters, the Apostate was arguably the most noteworthy character in folklore. Children from every caste played games to chants about how one day the Apostate would come and, among other things, mend the mythic gem known as the Heart of the Sisters. But the disquieting coincidence of Denuis mentioning the Apostate there and then was not the reason for the sudden gnarl in the pit of Ennalen’s stomach.
Rather, it was what her investigator’s intuition told her was coming next.
“Good,” Denuis said. “Because you’re going to find him.”
Ennalen barked a loud laugh in disbelief, both at the ridiculousness of the request itself and the correctness of her instinct. “Denuis, you cannot be serious.”
“I’m quite serious. As is the Lord Elder, who’s invested a great deal of time coming to the conclusion that the emergence of the Apostate is near.”
Ennalen had played more than enough hands of Stash with Denuis to know when he was shamming, and nothing about his face suggested anything but grim sincerity. Besides, if either the Lord Elder or Denuis suspected her of treachery, the premise of the Apostate would be a stupendously bizarre way to expose her.
She shook her head, forgiving hers
elf for her show of surprise. She couldn’t possibly have factored into her plans anything as preposterous as a children’s story coming to life.
“What do you think of that particular… theory?” she asked.
Denuis folded his napkin and dropped it across his plate. “At first, the same as you do now. That it’s insanity. But the Lord Elder makes an interesting if not compelling argument.”
“Argument?”
From a vest pocket inside his robe Denuis produced a slender quill. He laid it on the table and watched as it slid toward her on its own volition. “This will provide what you need of the Lord Elder’s research.”
Ennalen took the feather and tucked it away in her robes. “All right,” she said, feigning tedium, “so all of a sudden I’m hunting down storybook characters. If I find him... ?”
“If you find him, do nothing. Inform the Lord Elder and myself, and that is all.”
Ennalen raised an eyebrow. “Inform you.”
Denuis leveled a thick finger at her. “Ennalen, you must be perfectly clear on this point. Your sole responsibility concerning the Apostate is ascertaining whereabouts. Nothing more.”
As if that weren’t enough, she thought. The proverbial coin in the button-barrel.
“I understand,” she said.
A dull chime from the adjacent room marked the hour. Denuis stood.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day already.” He gave a fatherly chuckle. “And no doubt you’re hungry.”
She rose as well. “Good morning, my Lord.”
Denuis offered a weary wave from over his shoulder as he crossed into the hallway, then he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.
Ennalen remained standing for a long while after. She dared not set foot outside so long as there existed the smallest chance of someone seeing her along the way, and then later whispering to the delight of anyone who might listen how he’d spied the ferocious Magistrate Ennalen earlier.
A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1) Page 7
