Human Mage: Book Three of the Highmage's Plight

by D. H. Aire

  “Do you know, I studied so many bones and fossils? Whole species of your kind have been long forgotten, though, we have recovered those that we could.”

  “Human, cease your prancing! You are mine now! Underhill is already working to drive you mad. See how fast the sun climbs? Years will pass for you here –– the Final Challenge –– to live forever until you reveal the secrets of your mastery over your staff of power and wyvern cloak! What think you now, would be human mage?”

  George took a deep breath of the fresh air and sat down on the grass. It seemed true about the passage of time here. Sunset was rapidly approaching. Abruptly, night descended. He heard the insects and the owls. He thought that this place might serve as a second home. “It is rather nice of you to allow me to stay.”

  Then he saw it rising majestically over the trees. The full moon bathed him. He stared at it and said, “I’ve missed you.” Then he began to sob.

  At the sound the beast bounded over out of the trees and knelt beside him. “This is my home, Raven,” he whimpered. “Oh, how I miss it.”

  It began to rain. Raven looked at the sky and shook her head.

  Grendel gaped, sensing the wrongness as the rain he had not willed began to wash Underhill clean. The trees leaves soaked up moisture; their branches slowly moved to offer the man protection against the gradually raging downpour.

  Lorianne watched from the eyes of a wise owl. “Who?” she heard herself vocalize as the sudden day began to dawn across the Underhill glade. Then another presence was there. He crossed the glade wrapped in a green cloak.

  The Underhill wind seemed to gasp in recognition as the aged elf sat down beside the man and his furred companion. “I do not ask you to forgive me for taking you from your home, Je’orj Bradilei. My land needs that which we descendents of elfdom have forgotten.”

  Alrex, Highmage of Aqwaine, rose, pleading, “Think this is the true image of Underhill? It is but as Lord Faeryn claimed. This is heresy. Do you ask how I know this?” he shouted seemingly at the trees around them. “Because, I have seen this place in the minds of Elvin memory! This is a place of his world— one our ancestors brought with us from that all but forgotten place, for love of it rather than carry the formless chaos that had once been Underhill ever after!”

  Highmage Alrex confronted the sky, “This trap brings not the madness you would lay upon him. Why should this man’s tears wrest control from your hands, Mage Grendel? Do you even yet comprehend your folly? This be a place of the true human heart. This is the human world, which we left behind as so many others before.”

  Abruptly Aaprin and an instantly blazing staff found themselves no more observers of matters Underhill, but in the glade beside the weeping man, who gazed at them almost blindly. Eyes wide, the apprentice quickly offered the man his staff.

  Once grasped, the sun abruptly stopped its descent toward night. With a deep sigh, George rose to his feet and looked about him, then at the too thin elder elf. “Alrex,” he rasped, “let’s end this. Let me go home!”

  The aged elf began to fade away. “You are my candidate for Highmage of Aqwaine. I pass to you my mantle— let none dare gainsay me.”

  That said, Underhill vanished.

  George shivered, sitting drenched from the rain his tears had called forth, and found himself once more in the Hall. Aaprin gaped, looking about him in astonishment. He was standing in the human mage’s rune space, the staff now firmly gripped in the man’s hands.

  Livid, Grendel cried, “Foul! Others have interfered in proper challenge!”

  The Archmage trembled, still staring at the place the Highmage had stood. Had anyone else noticed how emaciated and wan Alrex had become? The image had been sham, somehow cast by his will into the stretch of Underhill, but the presence had been real. What it could not hide was the clear reflection of his reality. Oh, Alrex, you cannot be as near death as that!

  “Foul, I say!” Grendel screamed, even as Archmage Regis shook himself and raised his hand for silence.

  “The Highmage may intervene in any Challenge— it is his right, as you well know. He proclaimed the human his nominee among his other unsettling words.”

  Senason stood feeling the loss of Underhill, while trying to grasp exactly just what had occurred. Beside him, Sianhiel started as if just awakening from a dream, “What happened, cousin?”

  With a shrug, Senason muttered, “That— human has just become a Candidate for the Highmage’s Seat…”

  Kolter of Hayden glared, his hands balling up into fists, then felt the wards fall with the conclusion of the challenge. Underhill should have been beyond the human’s experience. The few humans ever to enter had to be carefully protected; the sight of the yellow sun, strange animals and trees had all challenged their sense of reality. Yet, it was the play of time that most unhinged their sanity. Elves did not have that problem and felt they could spend forever within Underhill. It was place of healing, antithetical to humankind.

  It should have driven George mad, trapping his thoughts and sanity. He had somehow not only accepted the changed reality, but also had taken control of the environment in ways that only Grendel, through his spell, should have been able to.

  Kolter descended the tiers as stunned mages and apprentices moved toward the floor. The Master of Hayden’s mages realized that this— this human posed a serious new threat to his plans. He knew the faeryn mages would, doubtless, back the man out of sheer spite. That Master Stenh was following at the Highmage’s bidding was obvious. What he could not countenance was the fact of the newcomer’s humanity— and actual ability to counter elvin magery.

  “Grendel,” he whispered, opening himself to the dark power he could never acknowledge publicly— a power which promised him ultimate control of the Empire. This mere human Candidate could not be allowed to jeopardize plans set in motion over centuries.

  Human magic had once even had a name. It had proved the bane of Elfdom, had caused the split that set the Gate’s Guard and the most noble Elvin Houses against their sovereign Elfking. It had taken millennia for the word and its meaning to be completely forgotten by the by the short-lived humans. “Technology must not be allowed to return,” he muttered, his eyes glowing eerily red as he bespelled one last command to the frustrated Grendel.

  A sudden sense of calm settled up Grendel, which Archmage Regis thought most welcome. A red glow came into Grendel’s eyes and he stiffened. His hands clenched into tight fists, even as he raised his arms high. The next word that issued from his mouth brought looks of consternation and a mad rush to flee by those nearest him. Lightning flared about him.

  The building shook as the City Wards fought the manifesting ill presence of Darkest Magery. However, Grendel’s spell invited the presence to take form, welcoming it.

  Abernathy shouted in horror and did his best to aid the Great Wards. His cry was picked up by dozens of others who, in their own ways, followed his example. Thunder shook the chamber and rents opened in the floor before the maniacally shouting Grendel. Smoke burst from the broken floor and the Dark One’s angry image formed.

  Lady Mother of Scryers, Lorianne, actually laughed, “Why, Lord Demon? Your first visit in centuries, all because this man’s presence terrifies you!”

  Master Donnialt forced Revit and Terus to the floor, “Stay down or forfeit your very lives!”

  Grendel spoke, voicing the Demonlord’s words. “SO ALREX’S PET HUMAN AND I MEET AT LAST! OBVIOUSLY, YOU HAVE MET THESE PAULTRY MAGES’S CHALLENGES. NOW, MEET MINE!” Grendel’s hands opened. Wind raged forth from them, instantly sweeping aside mages and apprentices alike, who had been too shocked to raise wards.

  Aaprin moved to exit the rune, when George’s hand prevented him. “Something’s very wrong,” he muttered weakly, sensing the change in Grendel.

  Underhill had drained them both in a way neither would have thought possible. When Grendel began his spell, George could sense terrible hatred being directed at him. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for w
hat might come next and his computer staff flared bright.

  :I detect—: Aaprin heard that strange voice seem to say out of the very ether as the man beside him nodded and responded, “Yeah, I recognize the texture of that particular presence.”

  The Lady Lorainne laughed and taunted the forming presence. An elemental wind rose from Grendel’s outstretched fingertips. The wind struck with gale force as the staff flared with blue light, which somehow cut the sting out of the worst of the winds swirling and angry heat.

  Aaprin’s apprentice livery tore, as he fought to clutch the man’s arm before him, holding on for his very life. He thought he saw the man cast something into the wind, which regaled them with sound of unearthly laughter.

  Staff flashed a warning even as George found himself forced to enter a dangerously deep level of rapport. The wind buffeted him, threatening to rend him apart if allowed its inhuman will. People’s screams roared with the tearing wind as the apprentice hung on to him in fear of his life. The staff shielded George as best it was able, battling the fiercely swirling air surrounding them.

  Raven shimmered into bird form and struggled to fly through the living wind and reach Je’orj’s side. With a cry of frustration and rage the wind tossed her backward through the air. Pulling her wings tight, she shimmered and struck a tier wall running on four feet.

  Memories of fighting wyverns, demons, and worse crossed George’s mind. The computer staff burned with incandescent light and the wind began to smoke as George drew his discolored dagger and cast it with all his might.

  Evil laughter greeted the puny act of defiance. The Demonlord’s image began to move toward them. Grendel’s eyes gleamed luridly, showing triumph.

  The discolored metal blade clove through the magery, which should have slowed it perceptibly; yet, on it came as if there were no barrier at all. The laughter stopped as that which possessed Grendel cried out in pain. The Demonlord realized his error in astonishment. The human’s blade was made of the hated metal— the enemy’s metal, created by those thought long vanquished. It should not exist in this place. He forced his puppet mage to dodge the dagger, but too late.

  The last weapon developed by human science against the enemy’s mageries had to be simple. Technology had failed man. The guns and bombs they had had wreaked havoc at first, but all too soon were gone, or were nullified— made useless against mage-wrought defenses. The technology to make more was lost. The knowledge and skills to manufacture them became impossible. Yet, man fought on, with simpler more primitive weapons and even bare hands.

  With the last of their skills the human colonists developed one final weapon, something simple. The alloy looked less natural than it was. At first, elves had not recognized its potential and tried to brook magic against it— to their rue.

  The successor to those first primitive alloys was found in the blade from a long forgotten people of a shattered land. The discolored metal merely nicked Grendel’s cheek as he ducked— but that was all that was necessary. The Demonlord screamed, “NO!”

  The explosive concussion ripped the spell out of existence and momentarily deafened everyone in the Hall. The Demonlord’s image was blasted away. Grendel collapsed as the force that had possessed him was cut off.

  George fell to his knees. Stunned, Aaprin leaned weakly against him. :Scanning complete— negative contact confirmed... The city wards are coming back into place... Monitoring Grendel’s life signs… He is alive, but unconscious.:

  “Who said that?” Aaprin wondered, his ears ringing.

  :Fascinating, he can hear me.: The voice that sounded vaguely like Mage Je’orj’s own said in his mind, mildly amused. :Hmm, well, his sensitivity should not be particularly surprising... I shall introduce myself properly, later.:

  Donnialt cautiously rose and looked about the disheveled chamber. Master Stenh gazed back at him. Revit and Terus looked at each other and said, “Wow.”

  Donnialt shook his head and coughed. “I think it’s time I introduced you to your new master.” They stared at him, then quietly accompanied him down the tiers. Donnialt thought to himself, so this is what it takes to get them to behave themselves.

  Raven padded up to George. He hugged her furred form awkwardly. “I’m fine.”

  :He truly is, Raven,: Staff assured her.

  Aaprin turned to gape at the glowing staff. Its light flickered as he heard the words in his mind. :Yes,: Staff said and seemed to wink at him. A moment later, :Mm, George, I do believe the lad’s fainted...:

  George shook his head in exasperation and wondered what could possible go wrong next. That’s when Master Donnialt came over and introduced him to Revit and Terus.

  Part Five:

  Apprenticed

  1

  The coachman raised his head and glanced at the Guild Hall archway. His eyes widened as he noted the figures hastening into the street, one figure was nursing his arm close to his chest, while others visibly sought the support of others.

  Coaches of all shapes and sizes hurriedly drew up to the Guild as the coachman hastily ascended his perch, yet he paused, waiting. Minutes passed before a beast bounded forth from the archway followed by three lads and a mage leaning heavily upon his staff. The coachman slapped the reins and urged his horses to his fare. He drew rein before them even as other drivers cursed him.

  He grinned before turning to glance down at the party. “M’lore, good day ta ya.”

  The man with the tall wood staff ushered his apprentices into the coach, the beast bounding in ahead of them. The oldest of the three apprentices, an elfblood adolescent, offered his master what support he might.

  The mage banged the heel of his staff upon the carriage floor as they settled. The coachman waited not a moment before they were off, heading downTier. Two urchins were walking down the street as the coach passed. The driver merely glanced at one. The younger of the pair then raced into an alley, passing a prearranged message by ways far quicker than the coach would take once it reached the busier main avenues of the Third Tier.

  Revit swallowed a bit anxious, glancing at Terus for reassurance. Terus had none to offer, having to contend with the shifting position of the fey beast, which shoved him against the window. “Uh, Master,” Aaprin muttered worriedly, “are you all right?”

  “Master,” the sound of the word alone made the senior apprentice uneasy.

  “Fine— just tired,” George replied as the staff he bore began to glow ever so softly.

  From the coachman’s grate above, “Well, you should be. You’ve been in there for three whole weeks.”

  At the sound of the voice, George stirred enough to crane his neck dangerously and mutter, “Terhun, what are you talking about?”

  “Three weeks— and the name’s Lexi. I’m jus a poor coachman makin’ a livin’. Don’ know no one name Terhun, M’lore.”

  The apprentices frowned as their new master shook his head confused. “Three weeks,” then he muttered to himself, “Check internal—”

  :Diagnostics indicate,: whispered a voice that startled Aaprin, which neither Revit or Terus seemed to hear, :that it has been 21 days, 15 hours, 43 minutes, and 22 seconds since we entered the Guild Hall. I— George, subjective time elapsed 3 hours 6 minutes and—:

  “Enough,” George said with a sigh.

  Aaprin stared at the staff, having noticed it seemed to glisten as if the voice out of nowhere might be issuing from it. “Ter— Lexi,” their master shouted up to the grille, “don’t tell me you’ve been waiting two days!”

  “O’course not, m’lore. I gets ta share tha duty with a coupla dwarven friends o’ yourn, I did.” Then dropping the accent, “Which I hope you keep in mind when tips are due.”

  George shrugged, “‘Dwarf friendship appears to have interesting connotations.”

  “So does dem sharp knives of some of yourn most lovely ladies, I darest remin’,” the coachman offered, back in character.

  With a grunt as reply, George muttered something under his breath, wh
ich drew the odd response from the ether, :Well, possessiveness can have its advantages. And you must admit, George, that blackmailing Terhun into helping out has really become part of Cle’or’s life’s mission—:

  “It’s not Cle’or I’m worried about,” George mumbled as the younger lads glanced at him uncertainly. His apprentices, he amended mentally, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the additional entanglements in his life.

  :Well, you are a teacher.:

  “Of archeology at University,” he mumbled, his students had never been quite this young –– and certainly had never included elves.

  :Revit is not elvin. He’s as human as you are; though, for this world his talents are decidedly more in line with recognizable gifts.:

  Aaprin stared, strangely certain that the staff was somehow talking to the human mage.

  George met the apprentice’s gaze and nodded. “So, you can hear him.”

  :Likely a side-effect of the shielding,: opined that odd voice as the staff glittered.

  Aaprin simply stared in wide-eyed astonishment, then hesitantly nodded, hardly daring to speak. :Relax, kid. George won’t bite, and I’ve no teeth.:

  With a slight shiver, Aaprin wondered about that remark. After all, he had been there when Grendel had raised the Demonlord to kill “the upstart human mage.”

  George sighed, catching the direction of Aaprin’s thoughts, recalling the moment he had thrust the boy behind him as he glimpsed Grendel’s otherly anger move into a killing frenzy. He raised his mental barriers and leaned his forehead against his staff. “All I really want, is to return home,” he muttered as the coach bounced slightly across the cobbles. Home, a distant world, birthplace of man, where an archeologist could muse and explore the lives of people and places past— not live amongst them in a place where elves ruled.