Human Mage: Book Three of the Highmage's Plight

by D. H. Aire

  His two young apprentices came over. He sighed, knowing that concern for their friend might for once mitigate their mischief. “Where might he have gone?”

  Terus shrugged. Revit glanced at him, “He couldn’t have.” The elfblood boy’s eyes widened, “He might have tried, though.”

  “Might have tried what?” George asked as gently as he was able.

  “His father’s,” they eerily replied in unison.

  “Where’s that?”

  “Fifth Tier, I think,” Revit replied, scratching his head.

  “No, Fourth!” Terus shouted. “Fifth!” “Fourth!”

  George glanced at Se’and, noticing she had fallen fast asleep. To end their bickering, he blearily motioned the boys close, “Just think about Aaprin and what he said about home.”

  The boys looked at each other as George’s eyes went out of focus and the staff glowed bright. :Simply think back and remember,: Staff urged, extending rapport.

  Eyelids drooping, they thought back. When the staff was quiescent, the boys gaped and chorused. “He lied to us!”

  “But why would he?” Terhun asked.

  George sighed, shaking his head. “He likely had his reasons. Abernathy, do you think you might speak with Master Donnialt at the Academy?”

  The Faeryn Master nodded curtly, “Of course— you think he’ll know where Aaprin’s father might be?”

  “Yes, or he might know some who does. But I’m actually more interested in something else altogether,” George stated. “I want to know who else has been asking the same question.”

  Abernathy frowned, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

  “Let us help!” Revit instantly offered.

  “I could use them, Je’orj,” Abernathy assured.

  Nodding vaguely, “Fine, go... But I want followed anyone who’s been asking about Aaprin’s family at the Academy.”

  The Faeryn nodded as he left with the boys, leaving only Terhun curiously behind. “I take it there’s something in particular you want done.”

  George nodded, “Yes, a most unusual source of information; find me all you can about a weapon that does not exist that can kill a mage.” Terhun frowned. “Oh, and one other thing, if…”

  Terhun gave him a long look, “You don’t ask easy favors.”

  “True— also, we’ve little time. So hurry.”

  Terhun quickly nodded, then left.

  Fri’il shook her head, then helped the exhausted Je’orj off with his shirt before he collapsed upon the bed. She stared down at him, trying to decide if taking his shoes off might awaken him.

  :It will not,: she heard out of the very air, turning in surprise. Fri’il stared at the staff, which twinkled. Ruefully, she pulled off Je’orj’s shoes, then lowered the curtains.

  With one last glance at the staff, which was glowing with an odd intensity, she moved a chair beside the door.

  Drawing her short sword, she then sat, bearing it across her lap, stationed to guard her lord husband, pregnant or no.

  Abernathy paused. “Do you truly want to accompany me or go back to the house?”

  “With you,” Revit and Terus chorused, suddenly meek.

  The Faeryn archmage smiled, arcanely gesturing them forth, ignoring the milling Imperial guards and assorted others watching Je’orj’s manor. Up the Third Tier street they walked, the boys frowning as they glanced side to side, noticing how the aged elf directed them out of the path of pedestrians, who seemed intent on bumping into them.

  “Something bothering you, two?” Abernathy asked with the faintest of smiles as they caught sight of the Academy gates.

  Terus coughed with a sidelong glance at Revit, who shrugged and answered, “So it’s true.”

  “What’s true, lad?”

  “The stories that Faeryn mages don’t cast spells like us.”

  The elf shook his head as he continued on, “Oh, Faeryn do spells, make charms, and potions as the need demands, but believe spells can be wrought in myriad ways.”

  “The heresy,” Terus commented.

  Abernathy chuckled, “A Highmage’s heresy that saved an age, opening doors that narrower minds had closed... Oh, and do not confuse Faeryn technique with your gift or that of your master. There are those who dread your works much more than any Faeryn heresy.”

  Revit swallowed anxiously, a human boy without a trace of elvin blood no matter what Master Stenh or others had averred his whole life. Terus touched his shoulder sympathetically, understanding and empathizing in a way Revit, only now, was beginning to acknowledge as something incredibly special.

  With an answering grin, Terus reflected that same sense.

  It was as if they were truly twins. They came up to the Academy gate and paused. This was the place Master Donnialt had once told them they were found. Two babes radiating with mage force. No letter of explanation, just names sown upon the blankets swaddling them.

  Abernathy gestured arcanely once more before they crossed beneath the gateway arch. Revit and Terus felt a tingling sensation, knowing that they were passing through the Academy wards.

  Suddenly apprentices, servants, and a passing master abruptly stared at their appearance. Abernathy heard the intake of breath as “Faeryn” was murmured. The master hurried over to him.

  “Archmage,” the youthful master actually bowed respectfully, Stenh must be teaching proper manners, Abernathy thought, grinning. “How may we serve you?”

  “I would like to see the Master of Apprentices, if that is possible.”

  The apprentices stared at the Faeryn master, completely ignoring Revit and Terus. They looked at each other, then testing their theory walked up to the apprentices, who were wondering what was going on.

  The two lads grinned at one another before marching off, still cloaked by Abernathy’s spell, intentionally or not. What mischief they could get into— yet that particular thought made them think of Master Je’orj.

  “Perhaps, carefully directed mischief,” mused Terus, aloud.

  Revit grinned, “Can’t think of anyone more deserving.”

  “Rexil,” Terus chuckled as they raced toward the senior dormitory, where the older apprentice should still be.

  “He was here, Donnialt. We’ve found his clothes in the laundry! Don’t think you can hide from me? Now where is he?” shouted Grendel.

  “Get out,” the Master of Apprentices yelled. “I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about!”

  Grendel angrily replied, “You’ve allied yourself with dangerous friends. When I am Highmage, you could find yourself assigned to the Northland. Do you really desire that end to your otherwise fine career?”

  There came a cough behind them. Donnialt and Grendel turned toward the suddenly open door in surprise. “That presupposes you as Highmage, Grendel.”

  The master beside Abernathy paled as Grendel cried, “How dare you set foot here!”

  The archmage laughed, “The place hasn’t changed much since I left.”

  Donnialt hesitantly smiled, “Hello, Master.”

  Abernathy grinned, “Hello, Donny.”

  Shaking with rage, Grendel stormed out, “I’ll find him, Donnialt! You’ll regret this!”

  “I’ve regretted little of late, especially when I have not the faintest idea what he’s talking about.”

  Abernathy turned to the young master, “Thank you for bringing me. The Master and I need to talk privately.”

  That woke the young master from his anxious funk. He gratefully hurried out, closing the door firmly behind him. “Master, what’s going on? I never expected to see you here again.”

  “Why, it’s good to know you’ve missed me, Donny. You could have spoken to me at the Guild Hall, you know.”

  Donnialt smiled ruefully, “Poppa, is this to be another unpleasant surprise? And you’ve come here of all places. You know I am a traditional mage, like mother’s clan thought you were once, which is why I could do no such thing. So, would you mind telling me what’s going on? The death to
ll for Senason was quite unrevealing and Stenh— well, you know Stenh, he’s barred his door and even I cannot get in to see him.”

  “Hmm, I should have foreseen that... As you’ve noticed from Grendel, Aaprin has gone missing.”

  Donnialt nodded glumly.

  “He may have witnessed Senason’s murder.”

  Donnialt stared.

  Rexil had slept fitfully, worried about Aaprin. The morning bell rang as he washed his face. The other senior apprentices scurried off to the dining hall, while he dawdled, slowly raising his jerkin.

  A voice he thought he would never have to listen to again said, “So, there you are. We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  He turned and saw no one there. He muttered a spell and Revit and Terus appeared standing before him.

  “He’s getting very good,” Revit commented.

  “Well, we’re not here to distract him,” Terus noted inanely.

  “My, oh, my,” Rexil said, “do I call for one of the masters, or are you two leaving?”

  Revit shook his head, gesturing Terus to watch the hall. “Just answer one question and off we go.”

  Rexil fought to appear calm, knowing they had to be looking for Aaprin. Nothing else might bring them here.

  “Sorry, I’m not into games.”

  Frowning, Revit nodded in all seriousness, “We know Aaprin came to you last night. You used to be friends. You helped him.”

  Rexil tensed, afraid to utter a sound.

  “It is all right, Rexil. We’ve always known that Aaprin’s not from a particularly good part of town... But he couldn’t tell us about it. This is important. He’s in real trouble and we have to find him fast, before matters get worse.”

  Shoulders slumping, Rexil realized he had no choice, “So, I helped him. But I’ve no way to know if he even made it downTier.”

  Terus glanced over his shoulder, careful to keep the grin off his face. Revit had always been very good at pretending to know the truth— all the better to work their particular kind of mischief.

  As Rexil told them where Aaprin had gone, Terus forgot any thoughts of this being fun. A taproom in the Seventh Tier? Revit heard, with a tremble of fear. No wonder Aaprin lied, who would want to admit being raised in such a hellish place?

  Terus nodded to Revit. They had best rejoin Master Abernathy immediately.

  The priest stuck his head out the window and called out to the passing urchin he had noticed. “Good morning to you!”

  “Father Tem! Wha’ ken I’s do for ya?” the lad asked convivially.

  “Why, you can go find Gallen for me. I’ve a little task for him.”

  “Happy to, Father Tem!” the urchin replied before racing down the street.

  Father Tem secured the shutters and turned to face the rows of empty pews. He only hoped Gallen got here soon, the burden of this particular favor he must ask came with great risk.

  Gallen paused by the sundered front doors. He shouldered past dozens of others to look within as Rolf bellowed,

  “Show’s over! Nothing to see here! I open at noon bell!”

  Grumbling the crowd began to back away, knowing that whatever trouble had come to the taproom had passed. Gallen was concerned that something might have happened to Irin. She had too long been a friend to ignore.

  No one seemed to notice when Gallen slipped inside.

  Rolf’s cook and barkeep were righting chairs and tables as Irin’s mother glared angrily at Rolf, who struggled to bar the door as Gallen edged into the shadows, a shadow himself.

  “This is your doing!” she yelled.

  “Shut up, woman... They were looking for Lucian is all. Lucian’s not here. That’s the end of it.”

  “End of it? Irin’s gone, too! That elf meant business. He ransacked Lucian’s… and Irin’s, rooms. He’s going to find Lucian, and Irin’s with him!”

  Rolf firmly shook his head, “She’s not... She’s just run off is all. The damn elf will see she’s not with him and ignore her. She’ll be back, you just wait and see!”

  “She won’t be back! I can’t even say as I blame her! I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s fallen in love with him after all you’ve done to them!”

  “Shut up!” Rolf screamed.

  Gallen left, unnoticed, a talent Cook and the barkeep wished to possess at that moment. Irin, what have you gotten yourself into?

  The cowled figure watched from a third story window of one of the many dilapidated buildings facing Rolf’s place. He observed the gathering crowd and the appearance of the urchin who, some minutes after entering, reappeared.

  He frowned, momentarily uncertain, for an instant it seemed that the urchin had just appeared before the door rather than passing through the doorway. He shook his head and noticed the arrival of another urchin, calling out to the first.

  Moments after they spoke the older lad ran down the street. “Follow him,” the figure ordered. Behind him another cowled shape hurried down the stairs.

  Living up to the Deal

  4

  Lucian was conscious of every sound. He felt the fool, wondering how he could have let any of this happen. There was a noise, which made him gently disentangle himself from Irin’s sleepy embrace. She oddly looked almost smug.

  His son, Aaprin, slept the sleep of the truly exhausted. His flight through the dead of night to the Seventh Tier had left him with little energy. At the last, Lucian had carried him in his arms, Irin burdened with their meager belongings, to this temporary place of refuge.

  The priest gestured for him to relax, seeing him rise fretfully. “All is well,” the aged human priest of the Temple of Unity assured as he brought back their belongings, which he had taken to properly “bless” them.

  It was enough for Lucian to know that this underground room the priest had ushered them to a heavily warded chamber that offered several cots to sleep on. The possibility that someone might scry Aaprin’s location and find them was simply too great. Lucian had accidently discovered that this temple was so warded just after his wife’s death.

  Grieving, he had seen the structure and entered, seeking solace. Here he was not a crippled elf, he was just someone recognized as part of the whole, elf, man, dwarf, what matter? The Empire was born, when elf and man were joined as one people— enemies no more, though, the One Who Dwells in the North forebore such a peace.

  The moment he had stumbled toward the altar, he had felt the first trace of energy. His mind cleared, the wards functioning on several levels including, astonishingly, on emotional ones. The temple became his island of sanity; although, to judge by Irin’s remarks the past few days, his decisions which advanced his son’s chances for a better life might have been, he admitted, less than completely logical.

  The priest gestured him to follow him into a side chamber, seeing Lucian intent upon speaking to him. “This room is still within the wards,” the priest assured. “I take it that now that you’ve rested you might care to explain thy need, Lucian.”

  Nodding, Lucian took a deep breath, “I didn’t know where else to turn.”

  Irin awoke the moment Lucian rose, yet continued to feign sleep. Her feelings were terribly mixed. She was both afraid, and something else she did not even know how to describe. Whatever, compared to recent events being here was a great improvement.

  Her eyes half closed, she saw Lucian accompany the priest into a side chamber. Barefoot, she slowly eased from the pallet she mischievously had chosen to share with Lucian. “Please, love, I’m afraid,” she had muttered fawningly, glancing meaningfully at Aaprin, who blearily watched, wondering at the relationship they had claimed since he had found them together.

  She had told Lucian and Aaprin to turn their backs as the Priest left them to remove their clothing and put on the cassocks. Father Tem had promised to return soon for their clothing, which he disposed of before anyone could seek to scry them through the fabric itself. Lucian and Aaprin instantly did as she bid.

  Irin remembered being distrustful an
d looking over her shoulder and, well, ended up watching them, Lucian in particular, disrobe. They never turned as she slowly took off skirt and jerkin and hurriedly donned the cassock, embarrassed.

  It had been strange looking at Lucian that way, all things considered. Her face grew hot, just thinking about. In the end, Lucian’s crooked hand made it difficult to lace his cassock· “Oh, here, let me,” she offered, coming to help him as the priest returned. She remembered the strange look he had given her, which somehow made her angry enough to say, “So, Lucian, do you think our children will be as fair as Aaprin, here?”

  The old priest had been quite startled by that remark, possibly more than Lucian, who forgot to breathe. “Oh, don’t mind them,” Aaprin offered ruefully, “they’re planning to marry.”

  The priest instantly grinned. Lucian began to choke as Irin laughed, hurrying to pound the elfblood’s back. “Oh, this is perfect!” Irin chimed. “We could get married right here.” Thinking back on it, she began to wonder at her joke. It would certainly serve her father right. In the Empire, as a human, she was of age to marry, if still a bit young. Her father would have no further say in her life— and she and Lucian could fulfill the stupid bargain. She could bear his children, albeit, one day years from now.

  Uh, now that might take a bit more thinking about, the young woman reminded herself. Now what were those two talking about?

  The priest spread his arms wide, “You know you are quite welcome to stay here.”

  “I appreciate that, Father Tem,” Lucian replied. “But we may have placed you in grave danger.”

  “Anyone in need of warded chambers usually is. You warned me enough that I’ve taken added precautions. I sincerely hope your son was not particularly fond of his clothes.” At Lucian’s querulous look, he explained, “I just gave them to an urchin friend of mine to distribute throughout the Tier. That should ultimately fragment any attempt to scry for him.”

  “We can’t stay here long,” Lucian said, worriedly.