Human Mage: Book Three of the Highmage's Plight

by D. H. Aire

  Lucian came out of the back room rolling out another keg. He smiled at her and some of her tension eased. That face pulled at everyone. Canted ears, slanted brows, elfblood they proclaimed the man in his tattered smock. He paused to rub his lamed arm, then one handed edged the keg, upright.

  The barkeep did the rest, adding the tap, working the keg into place behind the bar. Cook shouted something to him. Lucian nodded and entered the kitchen to help.

  Irin sighed. Lucian lived here, too. There was space in the attic and her father rented it to him as part of his wage. The alleyway stair led up to it directly, affording some measure of privacy to him. Which, she told herself somewhat bitterly, he seemed to relish.

  Father ignored Lucian the second his taproom work was done. Irin wished she could say the same, though. Her mother reminded her time and again that father was scrupulously fair in business. Pay his price and his promises were always met, which was what disturbed her most about her father.

  She was carrying the tray across the room, when she noticed her father speaking with Helvetica’s husband who leaned against the back wall, opposite her. Working her way across, she wondered at that. Helvetica’s family lived in the Sixth Tier these days, left the Seventh when her husband was recruited into the Masonry Guild years past. What would a man like that want back here?

  Irin leaned to deliver drinks, then felt the pinch, “Och! Hey, stop that!”

  “Oh, hey, cutie,” the bearded freehauler smiled. “What you during tonight?”

  A hand dropped to the man’s shoulder and ungently squeezed, “That’ll be your last drink.”

  “Hey!” the hauler bawled, writhing beneath the stern grip. His companions moved to rise then hastily sank back.

  “Go back to work Irin, Cook’s got those haunches ready to serve.”

  “Yes, Lucian.” The elfblood never smiled as his useless left arm twitched uncontrollably.

  The hauler’s companions looked from his beatific elvin canted face to his crooked arm. Fearing magery, they quietly chose to leave.

  Irin’s father signaled his napping musclemen to escort the men out. They did, while the hauler rubbed his shoulder uneasily and made the girl a curt apology. Lucian did not move from their table until he did.

  Lucian shook his head and quietly chuckled, meeting Master Rolf’s grateful gaze. Rolf signaled him to take a break, which Lucian sincerely deserved.

  His hours were long enough without the ‘extras’ that Rolf appreciated. His presence lent the taproom, far less than a tavern, prestige in the Seventh— even a lamed elfblood like him.

  He took a place along the bar and was served a mug of ale, finding himself uncomfortably alone no longer. “Hello, Lucian.”

  “Grigg, join me? It’s been a while since you were here last.”

  “Has at that... Heard that boy of yours did flaming well the other day.”

  Lucian turned in surprise, “Hadn’t heard a thing.”

  Smiling, Grigg replied, “Rexil just visited. Said Aaprin made Apprentice Third.”

  With a satisfied look, Lucian took another swallow of ale, “Good lad, show them your stuff.”

  Grigg glanced uncertainly over his shoulder toward Rolf. “Helvetica was just telling me that since we upped to the Sixth, we don’t get a chance to see you.”

  Going a little cold inside, Lucian muttered, “That happens... So, how are those girls of yours?”

  “Beauties and doing well in school... The Sixth has fine Guilder schools...”

  “Never doubted it,” Lucian said, staring straight ahead.

  “Uh, funny thing,” Grigg muttered awkwardly, “Tica she tells me she’d like another child.” Lucian held his breath and glanced at the other man’s hand, which trembled ever so faintly. “I think she’s too old, Luce. I’m happy with just the three.”

  He sighed, “You know she’s not too old. You married her at sixteen.”

  “But it was almost six years before she had Rexil. Now she’s thirty-seven. That’s pretty old.”

  Lucian shook his head, “For the Seventh that’s old. You’ve a better life upTier. You’ve the finest healers in the word...” his voice caught. There was the root of it. The pain and memory were palpable.

  Obligations, it always came back to what he drew and what he felt he still owed. “She’s not too old, Grigg. Not too old, at all.”

  Grigg touched his hand. There were tears in his eyes as he whispered with difficulty, “Thank you.”

  Irin noticed tension between Lucian and Grigg as they talked, and noted in particular the look Grigg gave her father as he left. Then her father looked at her. She shivered, truly afraid of him when he looked at her that way. He glanced away, then she swayed in relief. Yet, wondered why he looked so smug.

  She was first to enter the house. Se’and waiting at the door as Je’orj railed, “I think you’re being ridiculous.”

  Balfour chuckled, “I think they do this just to see the look on your face.”

  Their tawny furred companion shook its black-maned head at Cle’or as she came back out of the kitchen. The rear grounds and hall were clear. Cle’or gestured the beast toward the upstairs.

  Bounding forward, the beast shimmered; a pale fate with a black crest flew up, changing back to beast as she dropped to the floor and sniffed at the door to each room before examining it carefully.

  Cle’or, in the meantime, was checking each step of the stair, first from the side, then soon was using her daggers to test them.

  “How long do I have to put up with this? Staff says the place still has strong wards and is perfectly safe,” grated George, gripping his softly glowing staff tightly.

  Se’and smiled wryly at him, “We do this for our own reasons, Lord.”

  He sighed, “I know I don’t want to really know, but I’ll ask anyway. What reasons?”

  Fri’il actually blushed, glancing at the older and more obviously pregnant Me’oh. Balfour actually laughed, “They’re like birds, making sure of their nest.”

  Cle’or rasped, “Nest, Husband? I want to find where I can set my own traps for the unwary.”

  George chose to remain silent as Fri’il leaned gently against him, whispering, “This will be our true Home. I will bear you the first born of the House here. Can you not understand why such a thing is so important to us?”

  He took her hand and squeezed it as if to reassure her. Se’and shook her head in disgust, realizing that he would be stubborn to the last, even forced as he was to accept what fate demanded.

  An eternity to George later, Cle’or gave the all clear and they took up the meager possessions and entered. The women casually dropped their things by the stairs, then went scurrying about the house, looking everywhere.

  Cle’or hurried toward the rear Hall. “Just as Ofran said, it’s perfect. We’ve the space to practice arms and for Lord Je’orj to train his apprentices.”

  Me’oh called down from the overhanging floor above them, “These rooms here will be perfect for the apprentice quarters. Se’and! The furnishings are just as Ofran described!”

  Balfour grinned and he and Je’orj began carrying their bags upstairs. Fri’il came out of a bedroom, “In here, Lord Je’orj, this will be our room.”

  Se’and just stood in the center of the room downstairs, gazing everywhere. At Fri’il’s voice, she looked upward, “The bed?”

  George paused at the doorway, and angrily dropped the bags, “No! Absolutely not! I may have to put up with you sleeping in the same room…”

  Fri’il sighed, and repeated their forever litany, “We are your bodyguards as much as wives, Husband... But, ah, look.”

  He did and blinked. Yes, there was one rather large bed in the center of the room, but there were divan beds in the room as well. Fri’il frowned, “Balfour asked Master Ofran to see to this... We have never meant you ill and know this is difficult for you.”

  :You should trust them more,: whispered Staff’s voice in his mind. :They do love you in their way, you know.
:

  “I know,” he mumbled back.

  For Se’and this moment was like a dream come true. They had a proper House at last. The place felt warm and welcoming to her. This was the place they were supposed to be, where the Houses of Je’orj and Balfour would be nurtured and grow.

  Looking at the kitchen, Cle’or shook her head and mumbled, “I really hate doing dishes... Se’and! When do those apprentice lads arrive?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Hmm, not soon enough,” she said to herself. “Are you really set against us having even a cook?”

  Se’and glared at her, “No servants... Ours are proper and traditional Houses from first to last.”

  “Ah, I thought she’d say that. Oh, well, one night of dishes, is all it ever has to be...”

  There was the sound of water splashing above them. There was a delighted howl from the bathing room. Se’and grinned, then watched as Balfour went about hefting their bags up and down the stairs Me’oh shouted to him, “Husband, bring those in here. This shall be our room.”

  Balfour groaned, “Je’orj, just don’t stand there!”

  There was laughter. George came back down the stairs to take up another load.

  Grinning, Se’and looked at the walls, then waved at one, “Cle’or, what do you think about our displaying the tapestry right here?”

  The other woman paused to consider it. George groaned, “Don’t make me have to try to eat in front of that hellish thing!”

  Cle’or laughed at the look Se’and gave him. “Perhaps, you would prefer it upon the ceiling above your bed?”

  “Uh, no, there will be just fine,” he replied in haste.

  Staff twittered, light flickering up its length, in the eerie way it considered laughter.

  Few people with any kind of wealth at all ever entered the Seventh without a conspicuous escort. They were always notable and rarely played with.

  Irin frowned, looking out the kitchen window as the escort took station in their alley. A brown robed woman, wearing simple shoes, ascended the stair to her home. “Come away from there, Irini!”

  The girl quickly turned and faced her mother. “You know not to watch such goings-on!”

  Angry, Irin snapped, “Why does father even put up with it?!”

  Her mother suddenly looked at her most peculiarly, glancing over her shoulder to ascertain the taproom was completely dark now that the sun was well risen.

  Hesitantly, she asked, “Uh, whatever do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen women visiting Lucian before...”

  “He is entitled to his privacy, child.”

  “When I was younger I thought, wildly, that he had just tried to disguise his magery and was reading futures. But I am not a child anymore, Mother.”

  There was a sad look in the woman’s eyes as she raised her hand to her daughter’s chin and looked at her with a measuring gaze. “No, not a child anymore.”

  “Mother, what is going on?”

  Suddenly feeling weak, her mother sat down behind the kitchen table. “Sit.”

  Irin did so and leaned forward urgently, feeling her heartbeat racing, “Please, tell me, Mother. Somehow, I know this concerns me!”

  There was a mist of tears in the woman’s eyes. “I’ve always told you how scrupulous your father is in business.”

  Her daughter nodded. “He made a deal, long ago, with Lucian. Tuition to the Academy for Aaprin is no small thing for one of Lucian’s station. Rolf pays the tuition without fail and he boards Lucian in the attic...”

  Irin frowned, “But Lucian surely can’t be earning enough to pay back such a loan.”

  Her mother glanced ceilingward, “Oh, you see, he does...” She sobbed, unabashed, “Rolf says he is earning us our way to the Sixth— and you a proper husband one day.”

  “Mother, why are you crying so?” Irin rasped, upset, “I don’t understand any of this!”

  Grasping Irin’s hands, she said, “The tears are for the price to be paid, that Lucian pays willingly for his son.”

  Irin trembled. “You’ve heard your father tell us often enough that our world jumps for those of elvin blood... Humans are fodder for armies, work, and all manner of service. The Seventh is full of such, whether they be dwarf or man.”

  Her mother’s gaze turned inward. “‘Elvin blood is the key to success. Show you have the blood skipping in your veins and those who would never look at a human twice pay you heed,’” she quoted Rolf as if he, himself, had spoken.

  Irin shivered as her mother nodded. “It’s true. Elfblood children, fathered with potential magery in their veins will lift a family to new heights... Lucian, lamed as his is, can hope for no better than what Rolf offers him.”

  Eyes wide, Irin gaped.

  Her mother coughed and left her. How could she tell her Irini the rest? Oh, Rolf, what price we pay for this folly!

  Aaprin Summerfelt

  2

  He was so excited his hands shook as he packed. Apprentices were bundling up their things. The wards would be changing again. All the raised Third Level Apprentices were shifting to their new Master’s Rooms. Aaprin’s hands shook, he was the last to make Third before Master Donnialt proclaimed the time for changes at hand.

  Those proclaimed Apprentice Fourths, hugged the remaining Fifths wardmates goodbye. Rexil paused at the doorway to glance in at Aaprin. The apprentice shook his head as he watched Revit and Terus begin to throw their blankets over the depressed students being left behind.

  “Cheer up!” the two cried. “It’s only for now!”

  Aaprin shouted, “Cut it out!” then saw Rexil standing there. He approached the new Third, who had once been his closest friend as “punks” in the Seventh (a life neither of them ever mentioned— it was the only thing Aaprin instinctively trusted between them these days).

  “I hear you’ve been posted to Master Deylon.”

  Rexil swallowed, uneasy, “That’s right... Uh, what about you?”

  Shrugging, he glanced at Revit and Terus, “I’ve been told that the three of us are to report to Master Stenh in the morning. I guess they felt that only I could handle the brats. We’re being assigned outside the Hall, I think.”

  Nervously, Rexil commented, “That’s what I heard... Told your, uh, Father yet?”

  “No, but I’ll be leaving to see him in a few minutes. I mean to surprise him.”

  Rexil shrugged, “I’m going back to the Sixth... Uh, I’ve called a carriage. Can I give you a lift part way?”

  Aaprin blinked, muttering, “I’d appreciate that... Thank you.”

  “See you out front at the next bell, then?”

  “Sure— but I’ll have to hurry.” The sounds of mayhem surrounding Revit and Terus rose. Aaprin groaned, “Forget this. I think I’m ready now.”

  Rexil commiserated, “After you, before either of us gets hauled in to clean up the mess they’re making.”

  It was usually considered impolite to run within the Academy Halls, but they did, anyway. Aaprin laughing, Papa will be so proud!

  “You don’t think I’ve grown too fat, do you?” The woman seated across from him at Rolf’s Tavern in the Seventh Tier.

  “Tica, you’re as lovely as ever,” Lucian replied, his smile unfeigned. “So tell me, how are the girls, really?”

  She chuckled, “Grigg positively dotes on them... And Rexil certainly favors you. Sometimes, that boy can be supremely overconfident!”

  But Lucian’s face had gone dark, “They are your children. Your son and daughters... I have only one child, and that is Aaprin.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she pled, taking his hand gently in hers. “It’s been so long, I’d almost forgotten.”

  There were tears in his eyes as he turned away from her to carefully smooth the sheets upon his soft bed, the one real piece of future in his attic room, where crates, otherwise, served as table and chairs.

  “It’s Mina, isn’t it?”

  His twisted hand spasmed, anger filled her visage as he
straightened and turned to face Helvetica. Yet, the sight of the compassion there sobered him. “I should have bedded you sooner—” he choked, “the money might have actually helped save her.”

  She shook her head and muttered, “She was like a sister to me. I would have given you the money for the fees in a second, Luce.”

  He held her bitterly and tenderly as his eyes welled with tears. “Who could have known? Grigg wanted a son—you, a way free. I was grateful just for the opportunity to finally do something that might help her.”

  Tica hissed at him, “How can I do this to you again?”

  At that, Lucian laughed, his crooked arm loosely embracing her. “I always pay my debts, my dear Tica... And, oh, what debts they are.”

  Forlorn yet yearning, Tica sighed, “Will you give me another baby boy to cradle in my arms?”

  He chuckled, knowing this particular dance well. “We certainly shall try.”

  Gallen was late making his weekly rounds this morning. He looked down the alley and began to make his way toward the kitchen door.

  There was a sudden noise behind him and the urchin lad hurriedly hid behind crates filled with the taproom’s previous night’s refuse.

  A brown robed and hooded woman ascended the back stair leading toward the second floor, while her two-man escort tried to look inconspicuous just within the alleyway entry.

  Gallen silently cursed, catching a glance inside of Irin’s back turned toward him, speaking with her mother. Why must it always be so hard finding scraps in even the welcomest lodgings of the Seventh?

  Ah, well, Gallen thought to himself, settling in for the long wait. Lucian was obviously entertaining a bit early today... Drat!

  With the recent Market Festival drawn to a close, the traffic was somewhat lighter down the Concourse. Rexil pounded the roof of the cab, calling for it to stop.

  The driver reined back, “Aye, M’lord.”

  Aaprin glanced at the window. “This is just fine, Rexil. Thank you!”

  “Mother would skin me if I made you walk, while I rode most of your way,” Rexil said, grinning.