Human Mage: Book Three of the Highmage's Plight

by D. H. Aire

  Nodding, Rolf watched the man scurry from the room with a sense of relief and curious excitement. So, men are willing to pay for you now, he thought, gazing at his daughter, Irin.

  Lucian Summerfelt liked the expression on Rolf’s face not at all as he left the keg at the bar and headed back toward the storeroom.

  “Sit with me, Cousin.”

  Abruptly, Lucian stared at the cowled figure. “I’m sorry, I’ve work to do.”

  “Oh, I’m certain it can wait. Two ales over here for me and my friend!” the newcomer shouted.

  Frowning, Rolf took the drinks over himself.

  “Here you are, Milord. On the house, seeing as you’re a friend of Lucian, here.”

  “Why, that’s quite generous of you.”

  Rolf waited a moment more in silence, “Luce, if you need anything, just call.”

  “I will,” the elf replied, rubbing the flesh of his disfigured hand, a clear indication of anxiety that Rolf recognized as he turned and left with a sense of unease.

  “Congratulations,” the other announced, raising his mug.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why, I would think you’d be celebrating. After all, your son, Aaprin, has been apprenticed at last.”

  “Who are you and what do you want here?” Lucian rasped his crooked hand giving a twinge.

  The cowled figure turned his head ever so slightly allowing the light to shine upon his brow— his elvin brow.

  “Life must certainly be difficult. An elf does not belong in a place like this. Ah, yes, but you weren’t always of such a station.”

  “Leave me alone. I’ve nothing you want. No magic, no love of elfdom to speak of.”

  “Well, nothing yet, perhaps... But I, on the other hand, might have much to offer you. Or do you prefer this life— strictly among the refuse of Imperial humanity?”

  Lucian remained carefully silent.

  The other nodded. “Your son is in an important position of trust. His master, if you have not already heard, is, well, most unusual. Should the lad make known to you any information of interest, I could make it worth your while.”

  Lucian would do, had done, just about anything for his son. Aaprin’s apprenticeship had been the best news he had ever heard. He’d even bought a round of drinks at the end of the night, when only a few remained. The days of worrying about managing to pay Aaprin’s tuition and upkeep in the Academy were over, now they were the responsibility and financial burden of the master who would take up his training.

  What this elfblood wanted would bring all his hopes for the boy to dust. The things I’ve done to keep you in school, boy, he inwardly wailed. The ill-gotten pact he’d made. He looked down at his mug of watered down ale without a word.

  “It is enough only for you to think about it now,” the cowled figure said rising. “And, my most hearty congratulations.”

  Lucian felt his throat filled with ashes as the elfblood exited without a backward glance. Rolf looked from Lucian to the stranger, fearing a real threat to all his grand plans. He grimly watched his daughter as she brought back her tray of empty mugs.

  Irin shivered as she edged past him.

  Revit rubbed at his sore arm. Terus settled into the bath with a pained expression that Aaprin could well understand. His muscles were just as sore from Se’and’s burgeoning efforts to “properly” train them.

  “Magery and illusion are not enough against a sword arching toward you,” she said, which she demonstrated by swatting at Revit, who had smirked at her. The flat of the blade had been a less painful experience than the one she was desperate they understand.

  Revit shook his head. “I simply refuse to have Balfour heal this arm! Let the Master berate her!”

  Sighing, Terus muttered bitterly, “What’s the use? They always seem to argue –– but he never seems to actually win one. “

  “This is OUTRAGEOUS!” Revit practically screamed.

  Aaprin offered, “I think I can help –– here let me look at it.”

  Bristling, Revit splashed toward the center of the bath.

  “Revit, do let him try,” pleaded Terus.

  “No! Let the Master order it!” Revit shouted bitterly, when he noticed the Master’s beast watching from the door. “Get out of here! Leave us in peace!”

  Aaprin watched as the beast glared and stalked off. It seemed intent on following them just about anywhere, which he actually preferred to what usually happened.

  Fri’il entered the chamber, which embarrassed the boys worse than any other treatment they had to contend with.

  “I’ve brought some of Me’oh’s salve. She says it’ll ease the bruising some— at least until Balfour returns.”

  Revit glared, “You bring me that after what you and Se’and did to us in there?”

  She sighed and set the small container by the bath’s edge. “Training is never easy. You’ve shown marked improvement hand-to-hand— but blade work, dagger fending sword, is no easy thing.”

  “But why should we have to learn it at all?” rasped Terus. “We’re studying magery with Master Je’orj, after all.”

  She shook her head, “You are learning a number of disciplines. The use of yourselves –– your bodies –– is just as necessary as the use of your minds. I’ve no magic, but I’ve have fought against those who would use magery and blade to kill me and those I love.”

  “We will not handicap the House by allowing anyone among us to become a liability. The survival of the House is at stake.”

  Aaprin took the jar of salve as she left, noting how angry Revit looked as he splashed over to him and offered his bruised arm. “I am really beginning to hate this place,” the boy muttered.

  Terus shook his head, “If the Master would only teach us magery instead of all this other stuff…”

  Privately, Aaprin agreed, musical notation was the worst!

  Irin paused to watch as Rolf called Lucian to the storeroom. She hesitantly approached the curtain to try and listen, fearing matters concerned her.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Uh, nothing, Mother,” she replied in all innocence.

  Her mother accepted none of it. “Get yourself back to work, girl, before your father finds you slacking!’

  With a sinking feeling, Irin obeyed, glancing back at the curtain with a haunted expression. “So, what, may I ask, was that all about?”

  Lucian sat behind the kitchen table, the smell of cooking mutton thick in the room. He shook his head, “It was about Aaprin.”

  Rolf’s eyes widened, “The lad in trouble?”

  “It seems his new master is rather important.”

  “Blasted Court politics!” Rolf exclaimed angrily. “This could ruin everything.” What had always made Lucian such an asset before, now threatened Rolf’s dreams. Fiercely angry now, “Tell me, Lucian... No tricks, I’ve never played you false or you, me. Truth between us, it may be the only hope for any of us. How much time do you have?”

  He considered. Lucian knew Rolf well. The man was not totally heartless— he was just afraid to lose what he had, and afraid that he could never rise to anything more. By his wit, he had cut out for himself and his family this place, where few should be able to thrive. Yet, thrive here he did, while biding his time and helping Lucian address his own hopes— hopes for a better life for his son.

  At last, he shrugged, “I’m to consider it for now. But that can’t last for long.”

  Rolf suddenly smiled, “Then we’ve still time.”

  “Time?” Lucian shook his head. “They’ve offered me out of this place,” which was something few could afford to ignore.

  Nagging worry tingled at the base of Rolf’s spine. He thrust it back. There was still time. His hopes and dreams could all still come true. He would just have to alter plans a little. Irin was no longer a mere child, he told himself thinking about the offer for her he had turned down this very night.

  “All will be well, Lucian. I’ll see to your
safety. I only need you a little longer.”

  “I’ll not have the lad betraying his master.” Lucian did not like the desperate gleam shining in Rolf’s eyes.

  Rolf looked at him, exasperated. “Of course not. You think I want that bind of madness creeping at my door?! Now, listen, it’s time things take... That’s what you’ll tell that fellow next you see him. I’ll send a man upTier. Someone just to scout Aaprin’s situation, he’ll keep himself visible, make it obvious that your following their plan.”

  Lucian continued to frown. “And how long do you think that will work?”

  Rolf sat straighter, “Long enough for you to meet a certain promise to me— and for me to find you a place to hide out once that little task has been accomplished.”

  “Irin,” Lucian muttered bitterly, “but she’s still but a child.”

  “Woman enough for any man out there,” Rolf pointed. “Woman enough for you. Or do you intend to shirk your commitment to me?”

  Shaking his head, Lucian replied, “You have my promise. But it’s not right. She’s too young.”

  Rolf nodded, “Not too young… Man wanted to know her price. I’ll not have such pawing her. She deserves better… My whole family does. And, I’ll get you the time you need to fulfill our bargain.”

  There was nothing Lucian could say to that.

  Mischief

  3

  Se’and closed the bedroom door. “Je’orj, you have got to do something.”

  “Me? I could barely restrain myself through dinner! I felt their pain the instant it happened! You know what it took for me not to come storming in there!” he shouted. “Balfour has been struggling to teach them the more basic self-healings just to offset the bruising you are putting then through.”

  “I realize that,” she muttered despairingly sitting on the edge of the bed. “Boys just don’t seem to have the proper temperament, strength, or speed of girls.”

  He laughed. “Cathartan wisdom is terribly sexist, Se’and.”

  “Hmm, my brother had basic training before his illness. My Sisters were careful, but he took bruising like anyone else.”

  “For some reason I can’t quite imagine that,” George replied.

  :Her culture does have strong insecurities regarding the safety and protection of males, George. But they very well may train boys even more stringently than girls.:

  With a thoughtful glance at his staff, George said, “Se’and, you seem to forget that they are merely my apprentices, not heirs to Cathartan Houses. I agreed they should be trained. They’ve much to learn on many different levels –– for their own safety as well as ours, but I’ll not have you treat them so.”

  “Are you suggesting Cle’or might do better?”

  He threw up his hands, “Cle’or has her own affairs to attend to! The responsibility rests with you and Fri’il— and they are my apprentices! I’ll see you properly train them and treat them as if you respected them.”

  “I have been,” she averred.

  :You have never trained boys before, Se’and,: stated the now glowing staff in George’s hand. Her eyes widened, hearing that other-worldly voice. :Pretend they really are House heirs. Explain more –– teach them success, the excellence you know they are capable of. Tell them the legends of Catha, so that they may better understand the kind of culture that is both distrustful and cunning enough to survive against Curses, human guile, and the dark powers festering across your land.:

  Se’and stared, then shivered for no reason she could name. Treat them as if they were heirs?

  It was late. Everyone was supposed to be asleep in bed. Terus positioned himself behind the bannister as Revit stretched out his hands to him.

  They concentrated. The merest glow lit the darkness before Terus’s eyes. Revit smiled. Teach them all a lesson not to underestimate the power of magery, they would.

  Se’and would learn! Keep her image firmly in mind, key it so no one else accidentally trips it.

  Such “spells” had always made the apprentices on their bad list seem terribly clumsy and bumbling. Oh, what a day, Se’and would have tomorrow!

  Raven peered down from the top of the stairs, concealed in the shadows. She barely breathed, afraid that the elvin eared Terus might hear her. She watched the boys quietly cross the room and enter the Grand Hall. Slowly, she rose in beast form and looked at the base of the stair. At first she did not see any hint of magery, then she closed her eyes and gingerly felt for the trap. Se’and’s image wafted to her mind.

  Raven tensed and growled. Enough of this! She shimmered, leaping into the air, spreading wings, arrowing through the Hall doors.

  Staff cried, :Warning!:

  George was instantly awake and running, his staff blazing, Se’and a step behind. The sound of shouting could be heard loudly below. Cle’or and a bleary Aaprin rushed toward the heard of the stairs. Dwarven guards pounded at the door as George reached the bottom step.

  Energy tingled behind him as staff flashed an image of a strand of power tripping Se’and. George spun, caught her one handed and staggered beneath her weight.

  She shook her head in surprise and he roughly set her down, then raced across the room, Cle’or at his back, daggers in hand.

  Revit broadly grinned as he smoothed his thin line of energy, creating an effect of slickness. Se’and would lose both dignity and balance when she stood here to address them.

  Terus was working on another trap, a cord intended to make Se’and’s sword suddenly hot to the touch, when he felt the blaze of anger and the sudden flow of air.

  Revit gaped, turning as a large pale bird shot through the doors toward him.

  Terus shouted, “Get down!” Blasting raw energy at the fey creature from his fingertips.

  It shrieked, dived out of the blast’s path and curved to rake claws across Revit’s arm.

  The boy screamed in pain, wincing, as he fell. Terus angrily cried out, another blast arcing from him and squarely striking the bird –– but to seemingly no effect. It shrieked and now dove at him; as he ducked aside it shimmered. His master’s beast bounded to the floor and charged him with a deafening roar. As it struck, they tumbled, Terus crying out, his body glowing as he fought to fend off the beast and shield himself from the cuts those raking claws threatened to make.

  Revit leapt upon the creature’s back, trying to pull it off Terus, when the beast twisted and was suddenly lowering its muzzle toward him. His eyes went round staring at its glistening teeth.

  The Hall flared with light and shook with a reverberating, “ENOUGH!”

  Revit found himself held in mid-air, the beast whimpering, struggling against the pervading brilliance.

  Terus moaned, pinned to the floor.

  The beast shimmered. A naked girl gasped, “Father! They meant hurt Se’and!”

  The light faded and the room grew crowded as George plucked Revit out of the air and settled him ungently to the floor. Terus was suddenly free as his master knelt and hugged the sobbing girl. “Not let them,” she cried.

  “I know,” he whispered as Aaprin stared, hearing Balfour and Me’oh tell the dwarves to remain outside, all would be well.

  Se’and leaned against the door and frowned as Cle’or slowly put away her daggers. Fri’il paused behind her, “Well, their training natural or otherwise seems to have been up to the challenge.”

  Se’and shook her head ruefully and watched the scene before them.

  “Hate them,” Raven wept into his shoulder.

  “They just don’t understand. They will in time— they tried to do something very bad and you stopped them. You did what you thought best. You didn’t hurt them much, see?”

  Revit and Terus stared, their eyes widening noticeably at Raven’s look of satisfaction at Revit’s cut arm and the bruises Terus could not forestall even through his shield.

  “Gentleman, I would like to introduce you to my foster-daughter, Raven, whom, up until this point, has been remarkably shy.”

  They swallowed
hard and nodded to the naked girl their master cradled in his arms. “Now, gentlemen, you’ve some explaining to do. Se’and, please stay. Everyone else, who is not needful, leave us alone.”

  Cle’or motioned Aaprin and Fri’il out, closing the door before the bemused Balfour and Me’oh.

  “I’ll look at them when you’re done, Je’orj,” Balfour said as the door closed resoundingly. “Never a dull night around here,” the healer muttered to a very quiet Aaprin.

  “Uh, foster-daughter, Milord?” Terus muttered.

  Me’oh smiled, “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

  “No matter what form she’s in,” added Fri’il as Aaprin wide-eyed was ushered back up to bed.

  “Gracious Empress.”

  “If I desired a sycophant, I would have brought in a member of Court!” the Empress of Aqwaine exclaimed, seated behind the desk of the Imperial chamber.

  The steward bowed low as the elvin mage, Senason, grinned, “Majesty, do let the man answer your questions.”

  She shrugged, “Very well. Steward, what have my agents learned of the human Candidate?”

  “Last, I told you of the dwarves now guarding the grounds. The Registry has also opened the records documenting the status of the property as a Cathartan House, although, there appears no claim that the man is Cathartan, himself. We continue to attempt to follow the woman, Cle’or, on any number of occasions.”

  “Still no success,” the Empress prompted with a frown.

  “I am sorry, no, Majesty.”

  Senason shook his head in rueful disgust. “Canny, isn’t she? The best my people have been able to ascertain is that she leaves the Tier entirely— no longer even trying to escort the elfblood, Balfour, to the Hall.”

  “The dwarves, again, Majesty. The Hall has never had so many recorded by the wardens in living memory.”

  Disgusted, the Empress sat back, “So, I’ve a candidate of entirely unknown potential— other than the fact he is clearly human and is Alrex’s chosen. Neither of you can tell me anything about him.”

  “Scrying,” Senason shrugged, mentioning it, knowing how ineffectual the spells had proved.