Spellslinger: The fantasy novel that keeps you guessing on every page

by Sebastien de Castell

  It didn’t.

  The only break in Tennat’s concentration was the giggle from watching me try. It wasn’t enough to weaken his gut sword.

  ‘Keep … smiling … you little rat …’ Ferius moaned. She flung another card from her deck and Tennat screamed as the sharp edge dug into the palm of his hand.

  I knew Ra’dir was already preparing another fire conjuration, but I couldn’t think about that now. Ra’fan had a clear line of sight at Ferius and was readying a different kind of binding spell. Again I raised my hands to try another spell, but Ferius shouted, ‘Enough with the parlour tricks, kid.’

  She’s right, I realised. No spell I attempted was going to help. I tried throwing the metal card she’d given me, spinning it through the air the way I’d learned to do with the paper ones, but these had a different weight and the surface was slippery. The card bit into the ground at Ra’fan’s feet. Having neither more cards nor spells and not knowing what else to do, I ran for him.

  Something hot scorched the side of my shoulder and I realised distantly that I’d nearly run straight into a blast of flame from Ra’dir’s outstretched hand. The air was hot all around me. I ignored it, leaping the last few feet between me and Ra’fan. My burnt shoulder collided with his outstretched arms, breaking the somatic form. I nearly screamed from the agony and stumbled when Ra’fan’s elbow slammed into the side of my head, blurring my vision. At least it took my mind off the pain in my shoulder.

  As I fell to the ground, I heard him uttering the spell a third time. I swung out my arm and hit his shin, but the blow lacked any force. Something shiny caught my eye and I saw my metal card, the four of clubs, sitting next to me. I grabbed it and slashed wildly at Ra’fan, catching his hands. A thin line of blood appeared in the air as the razor-sharp edge of the card sliced across both palms. He gave a terrified scream that was music to my ears. It’s possible that I’m not a very nice person.

  ‘Kid!’ Ferius shouted. I turned my head to see Ra’dir standing a few feet away, three separate metal cards stuck in his big chest, still firing blasts of fire from his hands. Ferius was limping and the side of her left calf was smouldering. I rolled towards Ra’dir and kicked out hard, smashing my foot into the side of his leg. His blast went high as he fell to his knees next to me. The next thing I saw was the heel of Ferius’s boot connecting with the underside of Ra’dir’s chin. His head went back and the rest of him followed. Even then, even as he grimaced in pain on his back, he began uttering the syllables of another fire spell, only to have his words end in a gurgle. Ferius Parfax had her boot on his throat.

  Looking up at her was like staring into the face of an angry goddess. Her hat had come off and her red hair floated in the breeze like flames rising from a wildfire. In each of her hands she held several cards, sharp edges shining in the light of the nearby braziers. She was smiling, but not with her eyes. ‘You keep talking about magic, kid,’ she said to me. ‘You keep talking about power. You want to know what real power looks like?’

  ‘If you kill us you’ll start a war,’ Ra’fan said defiantly, though with his injured hands buried in his armpits he didn’t look very impressive. Tennat was on his knees, crawling towards his older brother.

  With her boot still on Ra’dir’s neck, Ferius snapped both her wrists out and I watched in horror as the cards flew from her hands towards Ra’fan and Tennat. She’s killed them, I thought. They misjudged her. I misjudged her. She’s … I hadn’t realised that I’d closed my eyes until the sound of Tennat crying forced me to open them again. Five metal cards were stuck in the dirt just inches from each of the brothers.

  ‘Now that,’ Ferius said, removing her boot from Ra’dir’s neck and setting off towards the entrance to the square where the initiates were already scattering, ‘that’s magic.’

  THE SECOND TRIAL

  A mage’s power either grows or weakens. Power never remains still and neither does the strength of a nation. Only those who can find new sources of strength may earn a mage’s name. Those who cannot have no value to our people.

  12

  Outcast

  When Shalla and I used to get into one of our interminable fights as children, my father would wait patiently until one of us had won or we’d both simply run out of energy and then he’d look at each of us in turn and say, ‘So, done then?’

  One of us – usually the one my mother had commanded to sit down so that she could place a cold compress on a swollen eye or bruised cheek – would take note of my father’s tone and mumble, ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Good,’ my father would say, and clap his hands once as if he were banishing a spell. ‘Then we’re all friends again.’

  Most times we were too exhausted to question his rather dubious logic, but on the one occasion when I challenged him on it he took me aside and said, ‘You fought. Victor and vanquished were decided. Whatever began the dispute is now resolved.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be friends with her? She—’

  ‘She won this time. Next time perhaps she will lose. Either way, there is no virtue in continued hostility. The Jan’Tep do not hold grudges.’

  At the time the idea was inconceivable to me. Every fight, whether with Shalla or someone else, felt like a life-or-death struggle waged over the greatest of causes, even if that cause was merely determining the rightful owner of a toy. But Shalla would do just as our father requested and act as if nothing had happened. ‘Just a little game Kellen and I were playing,’ she would say when Abydos asked why one of us had an arm in a sling. Not knowing what else to do, I would just nod and agree, convinced that Shalla was somehow mentally defective for being able to so convincingly pretend a fight had never happened.

  It wasn’t until the day after my fellow initiates had tried to cripple Ferius Parfax and myself that I realised Shalla was the normal one.

  ‘Will you be joining us today, Kellen?’ Master Osia’phest asked. I looked up to see him standing a few feet away from where I sat on a bench between two of the columns. The other initiates, waiting around the oasis, pretended I wasn’t there.

  Osia’phest’s question was stupid of course. He’d seen my magic fail – everyone had. I wasn’t going to be able to draw a soul symbol, or craft a spellstone, or summon a power animal, or perform any of the other tasks that could be used as proof of passing the second test. So the old man already knew I wouldn’t be participating in the trials today. But – and here’s the ridiculous thing – for him not to have asked the question might have implied that there was some other cause for my present weakness, such as having got involved in an unsanctioned duel on the side of a suspected Daroman spy. By now the whole town must have heard about it, but legally I hadn’t done anything worse than anyone else who’d been there. So now, just as my father used to do after Shalla and I got into a spat, we were all going to pretend nothing had happened.

  ‘No, master,’ I replied. ‘I’ll just watch from here for today. I’ll continue the trials when …’ When what? When the insane dowager magus decides to give me an object of power so I can fake my way through the test? No, don’t think like that. I was going to find a way to make my magic work again. If I could convince Panahsi and a couple of others to help me, there were still things I could try to get my bands to spark. In the meantime I’d be damned if I was going to let Tennat or anyone else think I’d given up. ‘I’ll be coming here every day to observe,’ I said defiantly.

  He nodded sagely, and then came closer and quietly asked, ‘Have you tried casting one of the simpler forms, perhaps one of the evocations of breath? Perhaps here in the oasis you can—’

  ‘You know I can’t,’ I said, practically growling under my breath. I felt immediately guilty for my outburst. Master Osia’phest had been the most understanding of my situation out of everyone. And yet I still couldn’t keep the anger down. ‘Even if I could, what good is casting a stupid breath spell? It’s the weakest form of magic.’

  He took a seat next to me on the bench. ‘Do not underestimate bre
ath, Kellen.’ He slid the right sleeve of his robe up to reveal the silver tattooed sigils representing breath shimmering brilliantly under the withered canvas of his wrinkled forearm. ‘Breath is the power of movement, Kellen, of channelling. It can give voice to other forms of magic. Perhaps on its own it’s not quite so impressive as ember or iron, but combined with other magics, breath can be … remarkable.’

  At this point I’d settle for mediocre.

  ‘Go on,’ Master Osia’phest said. ‘Show me the first evocational form for breath. Unless of course you’ve forgotten the fundamentals?’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten anything,’ I said. I could recite by heart the intonations and cantillations for all the breath spells. I’d mastered the somatic shapes, the envisionings, the anchorings. All of it. Just like I had for sand and ember and iron and all the others. There wasn’t a single initiate in my clan who knew the forms as well as I did, not even Shalla. It just didn’t make any difference.

  ‘The first evocational form,’ Osia’phest prodded me.

  I forced myself into a moment of calm, softened my gaze and envisioned the movement of air. That’s always the hard part with breath spells: holding something that can’t be seen in your thoughts. I reached out with my hands, extending my index and middle fingers to form the somatic shape of direction, pressing the tips of my ring and little fingers into my palms, the sign of restraint and control. My thumbs pointed straight up, the sign of Please, ancestors, let me cast this one stupid spell.

  I set my will upon the air and spoke the single-word incantation. ‘Carath.’

  A tiny sliver of wind passed through the space between my hands, following the line of my index and middle fingers. It was barely enough to trace a thin line in the sand at my feet no more than six inches long.

  ‘Well …’ Osia’phest said. ‘It’s not … so bad. Your abilities are not as promising as they used to be, but they are not entirely gone either.’

  To understand just how pathetic that statement was, you’d only have to remember that this close to a Jan’Tep oasis you could take a deaf, dumb and blind Daroman sheep herder, show him the spell and he’d probably summon up a more vigorous gust of wind than I just had.

  Osia’phest patted me on the leg before rising from the bench. ‘As it turns out, you aren’t the only student feeling unwell today.’

  It was only then that I noticed Tennat some forty yards away across the oasis, sitting on a bench just as I was, hunched over and looking, from this distance, utterly miserable. He had none of the cuts and bruises he deserved though, no doubt because his father had healed them. Ra’meth, in what can only be an injustice on a cosmic scale, was an even better healer than my mother.

  ‘Initiate Tennat found himself unable to perform the preparation spells this morning,’ Osia’phest went on. ‘In fact, his situation appears to be worse than yours. I had him attempt the same spell I requested of you, and he couldn’t summon any of the breath magic whatsoever.’

  Well, maybe there’s some justice in the world after all.

  ‘Four other initiates are similarly afflicted. The sudden onset of this condition among so many is … improbable.’

  A thought came to me, and a sudden hope came on its heels. ‘What if we’re all suffering some kind of temporary illness? Maybe I’m not—’

  ‘Your magic has faded gradually, over weeks and months. This is a natural occurrence for those called to the life of the Sha’Tep. What is happening to the others is not natural.’

  Considering how casually Osia’phest spoke of my becoming Sha’Tep, I couldn’t imagine anything I cared about less than Tennat’s suffering, but I still found myself asking, ‘What do you think is weakening them?’

  ‘There are poisons known to cause such symptoms … though the formulations are complex and known to only a few. However, it’s not impossible that a particularly clever and determined person might uncover them, given time and motivation.’ There was something in the old spellmaster’s eyes as he gazed at me … Was it concern? No. Suspicion. It was as if he was waiting for me to confess something. ‘Your house has feuded with that of Tennat in the past, has it not? One cannot help but note that most of those afflicted come from families who support the House of Ra, or who might make their own claim the title of clan prince.’

  ‘You can’t possibly think that I—’

  Osia’phest put up his hands. ‘I make no such accusation. I know you to be a good lad, though reckless and, forgive me, somewhat callow at times. But what I have noted, so too will others. They may seek justice even in the absence of proof.’ He took in a deep breath and seemed to hold it for a while. ‘A people bound together by magic, and yet so often we seek to unleash the worst of that magic upon each other.’

  I was trying to imagine any way in which this day could get any worse. Without success. I stood up and grabbed his arm. ‘Master Osia’phest, I didn’t do anything to anyone. I’m not responsible.’

  He gently took my hand away. ‘Kellen, I’m afraid there is a great deal of difference between not doing something and not being responsible for it.’

  I spent the next few hours watching and listening as Master Osia’phest ran the other initiates through recitations of incantations, hierarchies of mystical strictures and endless meditations during which, I was quite confident, Osia’phest took a few naps.

  After a while I found it impossible to keep my own eyes open during the endless droning and repetition. Each time I opened them, I instinctively looked over at Tennat across the way, expecting to see him charging at me, his hands blazing with magic. But he never moved. Sometimes he would glance back at me, but he never said anything. That suited me just fine.

  What had happened to dampen his magic? And what about the others? I knew I hadn’t caused their sickness. There was one explanation that didn’t require anything nefarious: fear. Magic requires perfect concentration and indomitable will. Emotional trauma made those almost impossible, and Tennat had done quite a bit of sobbing last night.

  ‘You look pleased with yourself,’ Panahsi said, rousing me from a brief doze.

  ‘I didn’t see you coming.’ I shuffled over on the bench to make room for him but he didn’t sit down. He had his arms crossed in front of him and I noticed right away that something had changed with him. ‘You sparked your ember band … That’s great,’ I said, struggling to inject sincerity into my voice.

  He nodded with grim satisfaction. ‘Did it this morning.’

  ‘How did you do it? Maybe you could help me later. I have some ideas about how I might be able to—’

  Panahsi cut me off with a sneer, which was an unusual expression for him and looked just comical enough that for a second I thought he might be joking, until he said, ‘You know what, Kellen? I’ve figured out why you don’t have any magic.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘Because you don’t deserve any.’

  He took a step closer to me, his wide frame blocking out the sun. ‘Magic is the gift of the Jan’Tep. Not the Daroman. Not the Berabesq. Not whatever you are.’

  I stood up, rather too quickly, and all my various cuts and bruises from the night before came screaming back at me, making me dizzy. ‘I’m just as much a Jan’Tep as you are,’ I said, and tried to push him away. It was stupid for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that Panahsi had been, up until that day, my best friend. He was also very heavy. My shove didn’t move him an inch. His sent me reeling back over the bench.

  ‘You sided with that Daroman woman over your own people, Kellen.’

  I looked up from the ground, past Panahsi, to where the other initiates were doing a poor job of pretending to be oblivious to what was happening while sneaking quick glances towards us. Tennat, sitting on the bench on the other side of the oasis, wasn’t pretending at all. It was the first time I’d seem him smile all day.

  I got to my feet. With the bench between Panahsi and myself I decided to try a different tactic. ‘They were going to hurt that woman, Pan
ahsi. Is that what magic is for? To lord it over and torment people who don’t have any?’ Oh gods, please let that not be the case or I’m completely screwed for life.

  ‘Ra’fan says she’s a spy.’

  ‘Ra’fan is an idiot. So’s his father and so’s Tennat, who nearly crippled you last week in case you’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Tennat beat me because he’s strong, just like the rest of his family. He’s going to be a mage who fights for our people. Just like I need to be.’

  That made me snort. ‘Panahsi, you’ve got more potential than Tennat’s whole family. You’re going to be three times stronger than—’

  ‘Not if I keep hanging around with you I won’t,’ he said, his palms open by his sides.

  My people learn not to clench our fists when we get angry. It makes it harder to form the somatic shapes needed for attack spells.

  ‘Are you going to beat me up, Panahsi?’ I asked.

  He hesitated. ‘I could, you know. Even without magic. I’m stronger than you, Kellen.’

  ‘I never said you weren’t.’

  For a moment he just stood there as if he was about to say something else, or was waiting for me to say something, but neither of us did and so he just turned and walked away from me, back to the other initiates. I couldn’t hear what he said to them, but I doubted he was singing my praises, because a few of them laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

  It should have been obvious to me what was going on, but I’m a little thick sometimes. It was Tennat who illuminated things for me when he came over shortly after Panahsi left.