by Ron Collins
“A riveting tale of magic and death, of destiny and the power inherent in the choices we make, Glamour of the God-Touched is as thought-provoking as it is gripping. Ron Collins is a wonderful writer and a spellbinding storyteller.”
David B. Coe/D.B. Jackson, author of the Thieftaker Chronicles
GLAMOUR OF THE GOD-TOUCHED
Saga of the God-Touched Mage, Volume 1
Ron Collins
The Saga of the God-Touched Mage includes:
Glamour of the God-Touched
Trail of the Torean
Target of the Orders
Gathering of the God-Touched
Pawn of the Planewalker
Changing of the Guard
Lord of the Freeborn
Lords of Existence
Other work by Ron Collins:
Five Magics
Picasso’s Cat & Other Stories
See the PEBA on $25 a Day
Chasing the Setting Sun
Four Days in May
Follow Ron at:
http://www.typosphere.com
Twitter: @roncollins13
Copyright
Glamour of the God-Touched
(Saga of the God-Touched, volume 1)
© 2014 Ron Collins
All rights reserved
Cover Design by Rachel J. Carpenter
www.blackmoonbooks.com
© 2014 Ron Collins
All rights reserved
Cover Images:
© Sandago | Dreamstime.com - Abandoned House Photo
© Artranq | Dreamstime.com - Guy In A Black Robe Photo
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All incidents, dialog, and characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
For Tim, Mike, Jackie, and Ken. And of course, for Lisa.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Appendix
Acknowledgements
About Ron Collins
How You Can Help
Prologue
There was so much Garrick did not know about himself.
He didn’t know where he was born. He didn’t know everywhere he had lived—though his earliest memories included a long journey in a rickety wagon. Garrick couldn’t remember if his mother had always been angry, or if she had just been worn down by the never ending stream of burdens put upon her by those she worked so hard to serve.
He remembered sleeping in dirty alleys and drinking milk cut by rain water. He remembered a blur of boarding houses, shopkeepers, and manors.
He knew that, when he was perhaps six years old, his mother had finally given up and sold him to Baron Alzo Fahid, a jeweler in Dorfort. Fahid was a loud man with wicked reliance on drink. He beat Garrick whenever his business lost money, he beat Garrick whenever his mistresses complained about the grime of their work spaces, he beat Garrick—it seemed—whenever the wind shifted to the north. But Fahid was also a gambler and, as gamblers will do, he eventually came to owe a Torean mage named Alistair compensation. In the time it took the men to nod their heads, Garrick was consigned to the manor of the mage.
At first Alistair’s home had seemed a dark and evil place. And he found that Alistair’s form of discipline—being made of arduous tasks such as scrubbing the floors or cleaning Alistair’s beakers and flasks to make them ready for tomorrow’s castings—were longer, harder, and arguably far more painful than the baron’s simple beatings.
The mage superior proved a patient master, though, and Garrick grew to appreciate both the solitude and the structure of a Torean mage’s life. A wizard was intruded upon only when a client needed to boost harvest, mend an unmendable, or scry whatever was needed to be known about a lover, an enemy, or even the occasional ally.
As he grew older, Garrick saw how Alistair maintained an air of mystery about himself that was thick enough to ensure the rest of Adruin would leave him alone. Garrick liked that. He enjoyed that Alistair created anxiety in his clientele—the idea that he could master something so difficult for others to comprehend that they would steer clear of him just to avoid dealing with it. It made him feel unique. It made him feel like he understood things about the world that the common people walking the streets could never manage. It helped him forget that only a few years prior Garrick himself had walked those very streets without even a pair of shoes to protect him from the dirty cobblestones below.
He could see himself living a Torean’s life—fully occupied, yet alone at the edge of the world. So, when Alistair said he would cast the spell to trigger Garrick’s full link to the plane of magic, that by summertime he would be a full mage, he had been excited beyond hope.
Alistair’s trigger meant freedom.
It meant new horizons.
It meant he would be his own master, no longer be tied to anyone else. It meant that as long as he lived, Garrick would never again be in the service of any other man.
Chapter 1
It was mid-afternoon and the crowd was light.
Garrick leaned against the rough-hewn counter, using bread to sop broth from his bowl. His scowl and sharp movements showed his disgust at the Koradictine mage sitting at a table toward the front.
“The wog needs to be taken down a peg,” Garrick said.
“Don’t do it,” Arianna whispered. But the glow of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes spoke a different tale.
She wore an apron tied around her waist. Her dark hair was tied behind her neck. She was stunning, even in the dim light of the diner, and even with the thin layer of kitchen grease that had built across her forehead as it always did later in the day.
The Ladle was a dive built of split lumber. It had a central fire pit and windows that were not quite square but were open to the air to give the place a breeze during the day. Though Evo had been talking about planking the floor for as long as Garrick had been coming here, it was still hard-packed dirt.
Garrick had first come to the Ladle because it was a favorite of Alistair’s, and because he liked the bread. But Arianna’s arrival changed everything. After seeing her, Garrick had lobbied Alistair to send him to Dorfort at every turn. Alistair would grumble and speak gruff sentences, but would then find he needed something important. Today, for example, he was in town to retrieve venison and salt, which they would use during their trip to Caledena next week, and a collection of spices, which Alistair always needed to augment his sorcery.
Garrick had taken to escorting Arianna home in the evenings, and last week they had shared a kiss. That kiss filled his mind constantly. It encompassed his entire sense of being throughout every minute of every day he had been away from her.
That kiss was his, and no weak-chinned Koradictine could take it away.
Garrick’s stomach curdled as the Koradictine wizard leered at Arianna. His eyes narrowed as the Koradictine glanced out the window and drank from his mug. The mage seemed anxious, like he was waiting for someone. It gave the man an air of arrogance that Garrick nearly choked on.
He felt Arianna’s focus from the other side of the counter. She was waiting to see what he would do, wondering if he would rise to her bait. Or, was she perhaps wishing he would?
“He’s Koradictine,” Garrick finally replied. “He deserves whatever he gets.”
“Evo will kill you if you chase his coin away.”
Garrick chewed his bread. It tasted like sand. “He looks like a crimson buffoon.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“Why would I be jealous of a Koradictine, and a grimy one at that?”
“He’s fair enough.”
“He’s too old for you.”
“That just means he knows the world. Perhaps he’ll sweep me off my feet.”
“Not likely.”
The Koradictine waved Arianna over. She wiped her hands down her apron and moved to attend to him.
Garrick grabbed her arm.
“I’m serious, Arianna. If he keeps talking to you I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Zap him with one of Alistair’s lightning bolts?”
He sized the mage up.
“Maybe.”
Arianna arched an eyebrow and removed his hand from her elbow.
“I’ve got to go to work.”
She went to the Koradictine then, leaving Garrick to daydream of raking the mage with his own high magic. What a stir that would cause—him, a Torean apprentice, taking down a Koradictine.
He would be able to do it someday.
Someday soon, too.
And now that Alistair was also bringing Garrick into his business dealings—his superior taking him to visit Caledena’s Viceroy next week being just one example—Garrick was feeling, perhaps for the first time, a sense of true confidence. He knew the basic structure of spell work, he had cast smaller cleaning magics and mending cantrips so often that his gates and the pathways to the plane of magic had scoured themselves into his mind. It felt good to actually have a future.
It gave him a swagger bold enough he was actually able to talk to a girl like Arianna. It was just a matter of time before he would be able to address this situation in the manner the Koradictine deserved. He hoped Arianna would not be fooled by this fop’s advances. Or, to be precise, he hoped Arianna would not be swayed by the lure of a full mage. At least not yet.
It could happen.
What did he know of her, after all?
They had talked often, and they had shared that one kiss. But who really was Arianna, daughter of Helene, floor maid of the Ladle? Certainly she was beautiful and quick witted, but was she trustworthy? Was she the kind of woman who could fall for a swarthy Koradictine?
These questions flashed through Garrick’s mind as Arianna approached the Koradictine.
The mage gestured out the window as she came to his table. Both of them laughed. She smiled at him, and put her hand on his shoulder as he pointed to the menu Evo had chalked on the wall earlier.
Garrick liked the Koradictine less every moment.
He hated the air of superiority that came with every Koradictine, the air that marked the order as certainly as that garish crimson vest did. He despised the aura of control the mage conveyed, and absolutely loathed the wiry patch of a beard the Koradictine was failing to grow.
It was all disgusting.
What was it about Koradictines today, anyway? Garrick had been in Dorfort for less than an hour, and he had already seen enough crimson to last a lifetime.
Made him sick to his stomach.
In truth, Garrick knew little about the orders—only that Lectodinians and Koradictines had very different ideas about how magic should be done, and that they detested each other. Their only area of agreement was that independent Toreans were the scourge of the plane, and that Torean wizards should, at best, be ignored.
He scowled and gripped the edge of the counter.
Garrick would alert Alistair to the Koradictines’ numbers later this evening, and if his superior was feeling talkative enough he might teach Garrick something more. If not, then Alistair would file the information away to index against other reports, and it would come back to Garrick later.
The Koradictine finished ordering and, as Arianna turned to leave, he pinched her high on her hip.
She jumped and batted playfully at him as she walked away.
Heat rose to Garrick’s cheeks. Was she actually encouraging this lout?
As Arianna neared, though, her face grew dark, her jaw set at a firm angle, and her step grew purposeful. She stalked toward the back to give Evo the mage’s order, and as she came to Garrick’s place she paused and spoke in a low, firm tone.
“Just don’t get caught,” she said.
The doors swung stiffly shut behind her.
Garrick and the Koradictine exchanged grins in the way men do when they think women aren’t watching.
To the Koradictine, Garrick was probably just some young punk, eighteen or nineteen. Maybe older. Garrick was thinner than most his age, and a shade taller, a combination that made him feel awkward. His dirty-blond hair was pulled off his face for travel, making his features even more peculiar. He wore a simple cloth shirt and riding breeches that were frayed and scuffed by long use—not that he ever dressed for much otherwise. Even if the Koradictine was aware of Garrick’s apprenticehood, he would probably not have cared. And, even if he had already been triggered, Garrick was a mere Torean—an annoyance at best.
He stood at the counter, feeling the pressure of Arianna’s comment and the Koradictine’s smugness. It was time to defend his woman’s honor, time to make this Koradictine into the fool he most certainly was.
He would have to be careful, of course. The Koradictine could not know what had happened or things could get out of hand—and Garrick most certainly didn’t want to cause a big enough furor that it got back to Alistair. His superior would be livid if he found Garrick playing pranks on a mage of the order, so he would have to be sly. But Garrick could link to the plane of magic, and he had a few useful little spells at his disposal. He was sure he could manage it.
As he reached for his link, Garrick focused on the Koradictine’s ale. The honey-sweet taste of magestuff pooled in his thoughts and wicked up through his gates until it was ready to go.
The mage brought the mug to his lips.
Garrick lidded his eyes and concentrated on the essence of the mug, then the ale. He imagined a hole in the ceramic just below the mage’s lip. He pictured a fine stream of amber liquid dribbling out of the hole to splash over the Koradictine’s vest. “Ajero,” he whispered while at the same time twisting a finger.
The flow of magic burned through his link.
The mug shattered with a resounding crack, pieces of ceramic flying in every direction. Amber liquid splattered across the table and—with the best of all blessed luck—all over the front of the Koradictine’s prized vest.
“Gods be damned!” the Koradictine cried as he held the remnant of his mug aloft, ale dripping from his beard and nose.
Conversation around the room drew to an abrupt silence.
All eyes turned to the Koradictine.
Garrick struggled to maintain a proper face as the mage’s cheeks grew to be as red as his vest.
“What are you grinning at?” the mage said to Garrick as he threw the handle away, slid from his seat, and dabbed at his vest.
Hearing the ruckus, Arianna came from the kitchen.
She stopped short, and stifled a chuckle. “Are you all right?” she said as she went to the Koradictine.
Evo arrived next, wiping his hands on a towel. He was a big man, and his bald head glistened with sweat from the cooking oven’s heat.
“What happened?” Evo said, his gaze flashing between Arianna and the mage.
Arianna opened her hands at each side, her eyes growing wide. “I don’t know.”
“Use your brain, cook,” the Koradictine said. “Your cheap mug soaked me.”
“It broke?”
“I was drinking, and it shattered. Ask the boy there.” He pointed to Garrick.
Evo looked at him.
Garrick steeled himself for the final touch.
“He poured it on himself,” Garrick said. “Then he broke the mug. I think he’s just looking for a free meal.”
“You’re a
damned liar, boy.”
The mage took a step toward Garrick, but Evo interceded, biceps bulging.
“I think it’s time you left,” he said.
The Koradictine gathered his wits and glared at Garrick with a stare laced with venom.
For a moment Garrick thought the mage was going to cast a spell. He worried that the faint aroma of honey associated with his own magic might have wafted to the Koradictine and given him away.
“So be it,” the Koradictine finally replied.
He returned to the table to pick up his hat, and a walking stick he had leaned against the wall. He looked at Garrick. “You’re getting on to being a man someday, boy. You best think about taking care of yourself.”
Then the Koradictine pointed at Evo.
“And you, sir, have lost my meal coin.”
Then he was gone, and the place grew awkwardly silent.
Evo turned to Arianna. “That’s coming out of your pay.”
“But “
“Clean the table,” Evo said as he returned to the kitchen.
Everyone went back to their food.
Conversation rose.
Arianna picked up the bigger pieces of the mug, then swept up the rest. She grabbed her rag and flung it at the table, wiping in hard, circular motions. There would be a price to pay for this, Garrick saw. But it would be worth it. When the table was dry, she straightened and went toward the back to dispose of the debris.
“You owe me a mug,” she said as she passed him.
He could not help but smile.
Chapter 2
Garrick was nervous as they left the Ladle. The memory of last week’s kiss was firmly on his mind.
It had taken Arianna only a short while to forgive him, and by the time he returned with Alistair’s supplies she was already laughing about the expression on the Koradictine’s face. She even told the story to several patrons.
