by Tricia Owens
But he would not train Hadrian, even though he was the truest definition of a sorcerer. Call it self-preservation. Gavedon was no fool. If he remained stronger than Hadrian, he could prevent the prophecy of his son's life from coming true.
"You simply don’t possess the skill, it appears." Gavedon noted his son's disappointment and self-recrimination which appeared often on Hadrian's face of late. Hadrian's inability to match his father's skills―along with Gavedon's unrelenting mockery of his attempts―were affecting the young man's already shaky self-confidence. "Your progress has stalled. I'm beginning to think I'm wasting my time with you."
Hadrian flinched at the assessment, but he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. "Let me try again. I'm sure I could do better." Though Hadrian clearly lacked self-esteem, he hadn't yet lost that thin vein of stubbornness.
Easy to remedy.
"You could hardly do worse," Gavedon said cuttingly.
Hadrian's backbone wilted. "I could try―"
Gavedon waved him off impatiently. "Yes, yes. You could try until the air screamed from your efforts, but I haven't the time for such uselessness. Watch me, Hadrian." He gathered his robes about him with a long-suffering sigh, letting Hadrian know exactly how tedious he found this to be. "Watch me as I magick and tell me what is the fundamental difference between what you do and what I do. Then perhaps you will see why you are such an unrelenting disappointment to me."
Hadrian sucked in his breath, hurt. Gavedon pretended not to hear.
Heartless, cold―yes, perhaps he was both of those. But he reminded himself that he was not trying to raise a son so much as he was trying not to raise his own murderer. Hadrian required special handling which was not always conducive to familial love. It was unfortunate, but true, and Gavedon felt no guilt.
He had always harbored grand visions. It was what had allowed him to take the fated steps to become what he was. He might be hurting Hadrian now, but in the scheme of his son's life, Gavedon knew he was saving Hadrian. If Hadrian didn't succumb to prophecy, he would become Gavedon's heir, and that was worth any heartache the boy might suffer in the meantime. Heir to Gavedon's legacy was a priceless gift. He intended to show that to Hadrian now.
Gavedon had broken the laws of magecraft long before Hadrian was born. By that time, Gavedon had been a mage for nearly twenty years and grown bored.
The methods and regulations attached to magecraft frustrated him. The basic tenet of magecraft revolved around the understanding―the absolute acceptance―that magick was a coexisting force within the natural world. Magick wasn't supposed to disrupt the flow of energy over the land. Magick wasn't meant to disturb at all. A mage accommodated the land and all its creatures and plants. The world did not accommodate a mage.
To Gavedon, such thinking was like tiptoeing around a sleeping beast that guarded a great treasure. Yes, you weren't likely to be killed. But neither were you likely to gain access to those riches.
Energy flowed across the land like a stream, sometimes pooling in pockets of unused energy. These nodes of power were what mages tapped into. Mages crafted spells to mold that unspent energy into something with purpose. But Gavedon considered such stricture too limiting. Why collect water from puddles when you could thrust your bucket directly into the stream?
When Gavedon had reached the top of Fieran's Peak, when he had been on the verge of his death, he had discovered the secret that had changed him forever: Life's energy didn't need to be painstakingly gathered from the ground like so many fallen leaves. It could be plucked straight from the tree. It could be taken. And by taking from the source, Gavedon gained access to unlimited power.
Sorcery! the mages had cried when he’d descended and shared his revelation. You steal what belongs to the gods.
"Then I am a god," Gavedon had told them. "For to turn away from such power is to be a bird content to nibble on a crumb when an entire loaf of bread is sitting before you."
From that day on, he had magicked using Life's energy, and he was unrepentant.
For his audaciousness he was declared a criminal by the Council of Elders. Merely for daring to disturb Life and take what he wanted he was considered evil. So be it. It was a small price to pay to become the One, founder of the Order of the White Shard. It was an inconsequential slap on the cheek when the reward was being allowed to do this.
Life's energy rushed over him like the rays of the sun bursting over the mountains. He gasped, overcome as always by the sheer eroticism of the sensations that flooded his every nerve-ending. He could see Life glowing around him, highlighting every leaf, pulsing in every stem of a flower. His body surged to full arousal―a purely involuntary response―but one he would enjoy sating later upon one of the female members of the Order.
Hadrian didn't know this feeling. Hadrian couldn’t tap Life and was likely confused by Gavedon's primal responses to magicking. That was fine with Gavedon. Keeping his son a virgin in all things, even magick-induced enjoyment of the flesh, was just one more way to keep him uncertain and ignorant, dependent upon Gavedon for everything.
With his skin blazing and his heart pounding, Gavedon gazed beyond the courtyard to the forest just outside. He sent strands of magick through the courtyard opening and wrapped them around the trunk of the nearest tree. Like plucking a feather from a chicken, he tore the tree from its place in the soil. Life screamed in protest, but the wail was something Gavedon could block from his awareness. Especially when there was something much more beautiful to listen to: that vibrant, steady beat that was the heart of Life. It was akin to burrowing against a mother's breast to hear that sound. It was like crawling back into the snug warmth of the womb. If threatened with its loss, Gavedon knew he would gladly trade his son's life to be able to hear it again.
Holding the uplifted tree with ropes of magickal energy, Gavedon threw it farther into the forest. As it crashed against the other trees, mowing the smaller saplings down, Gavedon cut his connection to Life's energy. He panted breathlessly, his eyes large, a grin on his face.
When he turned to Hadrian, his son stared at him in awe.
"You truly are the One," Hadrian whispered.
Gavedon nodded, his heart strumming. "And that is why you will do everything that I tell you to."
~~~~~
Hadrian couldn’t pull from Life as he could, but that afternoon's lesson had left Gavedon thoughtful. He had much at stake in the Order. There were many aspirations he had left to him and many dreams that he vowed to see come true in this lifetime. Though he had learned the secret ways of extending life that only the Elders knew, such knowledge would not help him should someone decide to murder him. The seer had warned him that Hadrian would be present at his death and most likely have a hand in it. But that had been two centuries ago. In that time, Gavedon had done what he could to prevent Hadrian from becoming the type of man who could kill his own father.
But Gavedon needed to be certain.
He found the seer in his room in the east tower. The old man rarely left it now that infirmity had stiffened his joints and bent his back. Death was close at hand. It had become the seer's keeper in his self-imposed prison.
The old man's rheumy eyes looked up tiredly as Gavedon admitted himself into the bare room. Dirty plates and empty mugs littered the room's sole table. The seer didn’t take meals with the rest of the Order anymore. The trip down the winding stairwell had become too painful for him.
"I desire another reading," Gavedon declared without preamble. "Much time has passed since the last one. I wish to know if I have successfully altered the course of my son's future."
The request was shocking enough to bring a spark of life to the old man's face. He sat up straighter in his chair and quickly put aside the book he had been reading.
"You must be mad!" the old man exclaimed, too stunned to consider the wisdom of his words. "Bad enough that we have scryed twice. To do so a third time is to cut my throat this instant. The Council will not sit by for this again, my
lord."
"You taste the dirt of the grave already, old man. What matter if the Council cuts your life short by a few months?"
The seer shook his head fearfully. "There are ways to meet Death that are more dreadful than others. I prefer to pass over peacefully in my bed than by the cursed magick of the Council. I won’t do this. I refuse."
Gavedon considered the weight of the seer's will. The first time he had convinced the seer to read for him, the results had spurred Gavedon to climb Fieran's peak. Gavedon had always thought that overcoming the seer's reluctance that first time would be the most difficult. He stood corrected. He knew he would not win this latest battle by force or through cajoling. A bit of incentive was called for.
Gavedon bowed his head in acknowledgement of the other man's fears. "I ask you to risk much, I admit. If my own life weren’t at stake, I wouldn’t be so demanding of you. But you understand my dilemma: the Order of the White Shard must continue. My teachings must not be halted by my premature death. I won’t allow it." Gavedon stroked his chin, studying the older man with narrowed eyes. "You’re old, Midagon. Your bones ache, preventing you from sleep. You’ve lost your enjoyment of living and I sympathize. I would like to offer you something in return for a reading. Something no man can refuse."
"I have no need of riches," the seer said quietly, warily.
Gavedon's smile deepened. "What about the riches of your youth?"
Silence settled like fog over the room. Gavedon held the seer's filmy blue gaze, watching as understanding broke slowly over the weathered old face.
"You don’t possess the ability," the seer breathed, sounding afraid.
Gavedon smirked. "You know I do, old man. It’s as I said: the Order will continue under my lead for several centuries to come so long as nothing unnatural―" he said the word with a sneer, "―happens to me in the meantime. I possess the ability and I have access to the power. I can use both for your benefit."
"But only if I assist you," the seer said, bitterness tainting his face.
Gavedon crossed the room, standing over the seated man. He made his voice intimate. "You've done it twice before. Once more will hardly deepen your transgressions. You're a criminal already. But if you do it this final time, you will be rewarded. You’ll be able to walk down those stairs again without pain. You’ll be able to look across the water and see the Graying Cliffs without a glass." He dropped his hand to one bony shoulder. "You will have a second chance to do all that you wished you had done in your first lifetime."
Ambivalence swung like a pendulum behind the seer's eyes. Gavedon watched the debate within and knew how close the older man was to succumbing.
He bent lower and murmured against the stringy locks of gray hair, "I know you’re lonely. Perhaps you will find love this time around, old man."
The seer pulled away from him and looked up. His expression was hard. "Don’t call me that. My name is Midagon."
Gavedon smiled, unapologetic. "Of course."
~~~~~
Gavedon set the basin upon the table, watching the water slosh gently within. "Since it will be our last, I wish a more detailed reading this time. Describe for me the exact moment of my death and who is there."
The seer, moving to stand before the basin, crossed his brows in consideration. Now that he had succumbed to Gavedon's offer, the old man radiated a subdued excitement. It amused Gavedon immensely. Every man had his price.
"My readings are never more than impressions at best," Midagon replied carefully. "I see life paths, I see how they interact, and I can usually tell from the change in the lifelights what has occurred. But to see something so specific as you're asking for will be difficult, if not impossible. I have not the skill."
"Do you lack in skill or in power?"
Midagon raised pale blue eyes to the other man and nodded slowly, a cautious smile curling his thin lips. "Yes, I see what you mean. Perhaps if you enhance my abilities, I may receive a clearer picture."
"It will be done. Begin."
The old seer, wrapped in the double warmth of his robe and a shawl, bent over the basin and allowed his gaze to lose its focus as he concentrated. There were no outward manifestations of what he saw. Scrying was not an act of drawing magick. Midagon possessed the talent for reading signs on the magickal plane that were invisible to others. Signs that even Gavedon, who considered himself the most powerful magick user in the land, could not see.
Behind the old man, Gavedon tapped into Life, shivering as the power swept through him. His body grew taut with the force of the energy flowing into him, but he tempered and controlled it with spoken words of magecraft until he had bound the energy into an invisible cape which he guided over the seer's shoulders. Gavedon then uttered a Cast of Transference which allowed the bound magick to sink into the old man's body. Midagon gasped aloud as the energy melted into him.
"I see!" he exclaimed hoarsely, clutching at the table's edge.
"What do you see?" Gavedon demanded, sudden anxiousness getting the better of him.
"A town by the sea. Prosperous in the light of day, the bosom of death in the blanket of night."
Gavedon despised the riddle-like nature of scrying. Its vagueness tried his patience. "Give me a name," he grated out.
"Many boats," Midagon murmured, blue eyes blind to this world as he watched the future enacted before him on another plane of existence. "There is a wide body of water. Not the sea... a half-moon beach that stretches to the left."
Gavedon pulled more energy, letting it seep into the magickal binding covering the seer’s shoulders. "In which direction does the sun set?"
Midagon's eyes moved. "It falls beneath the eastern horizon. I see nothing but water when I look thus. No land to the east."
Gavedon recalled his memories of the mainland. A half-moon beach to the west...a bay...sunset in the east...a town that was farthest east...
"Rhiad," Gavedon said eventually.
Midagon instantly nodded. "Yes!"
"Why are you seeing Rhiad?" Gavedon asked.
Midagon turned his head, watching something with a seer's eyes. "A man is from this town. He is present when your lifelight ends." Midagon's eyes widened. "His lifelight is tainted by blood and death!"
"An assassin?" Gavedon snapped. Despite his impatience he was excited. Midagon had not mentioned Hadrian, so perhaps the prophecy had changed. An assassin was simple to handle. Much preferable to dealing with an errant sorcerer.
"Perhaps a soldier," Midagon corrected, his brows drawing forward. "No, he works alone. A mercenary, then. I sense many conflicts within him."
“What of me?” Gavedon demanded. “How does he harm me?”
"I’m unable to see such specifics. Hadrian is there at the end...This man, too. In Rhiad...you are there and—my gods!" The seer gasped, bringing a gnarled hand to his mouth. "So much suffering! It is massive. It is terrible―"
"What in the blazes are you talking about?" Gavedon demanded angrily as the seer's utterances became more and more outlandish. "You're not making any sense, old man!"
Midagon shivered. "The mercenary from Rhiad follows your lifelight like a hawk after a mouse. He is relentless. And Hadrian is there…always there." The seer shook his head. "I don't understand."
Gavedon realized the seer was babbling. The old man apparently couldn’t handle the full force of his readings when enhanced by Gavedon's magick.
"Listen carefully, Midagon," he said, enunciating his words deliberately. "Are you telling me that it’s this mercenary whom I should fear? That it is he who will kill me?"
Midagon dropped his hand to the table and braced himself against it, visibly shaking with the strain of his reading. "He is the reason for everything," the seer panted, pale faced. "It is because of him that you will die."
The words were powerful. They managed to leave Gavedon slightly shaken even though he knew it was only prophecy and could be prevented. Learning that he was fated to die by the hand of a mercenary was disturbing, but Gavedo
n quelled his fears. Twenty years ago, he had been told that Hadrian would be the one to kill him. Gavedon had apparently managed to change that future. Gavedon would make certain that this, too, would not come to pass.
He cut off his connection with Life. Midagon reacted as though a supporting hand had been jerked away from him. He collapsed against the table, knocking the basin and its contents over the edge.
Gavedon looked upon the gasping man with disgust. "I don’t know if such a reading was worth the reward I offered. You left much in question, old man."
"It was the best I could do," Midagon whispered, dropping his head to the wet surface of the table. "Scrying is an uncertain art. What you’ve learned tonight is more than any man is allowed to know."
"By edict of the Order, you mean." Gavedon scoffed at that. "Well, let the Council tear their hair out in fury, for we are about to do even more to incur their wrath." He looked the other man over, pretending to debate his next steps, though he had decided before the reading exactly what he intended. "I suppose I do owe you something for the information you’ve given me, however shadowy it was. I offered you your youth. You will have it." He smiled thinly. "To a degree."
As Midagon turned his head and opened his mouth to question what Gavedon meant, Gavedon pulled from Life again, shaping it with magecraft. He used spells that were not meant to be used outside of the presence of the Council of Elders. Spells that were secret to all but a handful of trained mages. And to him.
Midagon shrieked and arched off the table as the magick struck him. Gavedon felt no pity as the other man's screams echoed off the stone walls. Using magick was at times uncomfortable. And this was powerful magick that Gavedon used. A little discomfort was to be expected.
For long minutes, Midagon writhed in agony beneath the magick Gavedon inflicted upon him. A blue haze hovered over the twisting figure of the man as he collapsed to the floor. His skin softened and grew thicker. His hair darkened and bones solidified. Beneath the haze, Gavedon measured the progress of his magick until he deemed himself satisfied. He ended the Cast abruptly. In the ensuing silence, Midagon whimpered pathetically with his head pressed to the floor.
