Finder Tolan

by Megan Derr

  Tolan opened and closed his mouth three times, then shook his head. "Don't you think you're being rash?"

  "Not at all, my little spark," Seacrist said with a grin. "Anyway, who will take care of Goss if you're not around, since you've stated I am too incompetent to manage it?" "That is cheating," Tolan said with a glare. "I've only known Goss for a day, and you for a few hours, and now you want me to move in with you and give up mylife in the city and—what? Are all your type this crazy?"

  Seacrist laughed. "I am often called crazy, yes. Of course I do not expect you to agree immediately, though I think you should. I will take you home, and in a few days, you can tell me? But, Goss will miss you, I think. If he has bothered to learn your name, then he likes you."

  "Stop using the child!" Tolan snapped. "That is not playing fair."

  This time, Seacrist smirked. "Well, I can go back to my first plan if you like, but I figured using Goss was slightly more honorable."

  Tolan stared at him witheringly. "What, pray tell, is less honorable than using a child to manipulate me?"

  Seacrist leaned in close, until they were little more than a breath apart. "Seducing you."

  Then he was gone, striding from the room muttering about food and laughing gently. Tolan gaped after him, and it felt as though his face were on fire. Seduce—surely not. He had misheard. The Seacrist Finder, seducing him? Into being his apprentice? And saying that Tolan would someday be a better Finder?

  Shaking his head, shoving the thoughts aside because they were entirely too much to deal with, he moved to the chair and checked on the sleeping Goss. He hoped the bastards who had wanted to kill a helpless child were strung up and left to die slowly. Boiled in the sun, or something.

  He tensed as the door opened, stomach growling at the scent of food but the rest of him too tense to even move as he dared a glance at Seacrist and those damned words played over and over again in his head. Seducing you.

  Swallowing, he stroked Goss' hair, then moved stiffly to the table. "I meant it," Seacrist said as he approached. "I don't know how such a talented and pretty Finder managed to slip beneath everyone's notice, but I don't intend to let you disappear again without a fight. I would like you to stay."

  Tolan shrugged, not certain what he was trying to convey. "What will happen to the damned Seabolts?" Seacrist pushed a full plate toward him, looking vaguely amused. "They will go to trial—that's another reason for you to stay close. You saw that room. You can testify to that and what happened to you. Rather, your testimony would be appreciated. If the trial goes accordingly, they will be sentenced to exile or execution. "

  "Of course I'll testify," Tolan snapped. "I think the whole lot of you need strung up or heavily beaten. Anyone who would do that to a child—" He broke off and picked at a piece of bread. There was silence for several minutes, then Seacrist said quietly, "All jesting and provocation aside, I would like to extend an offer to you. Stay here, with me, for a brief trial period. I can present you with all the necessary certification to say I am not one of those who needs to be strung up. Some would probably say I do need beaten, so I will not argue that. Stay with me, say for a month, and if at that time you would still like to return home, it will be done. But I would like to take you on, and see you reach your full potential. I think your current situation is a waste of your talent."

  Tolan frowned. "Why would you do that? There's hardly anything in it for you. As busy as you must be, you can't have time for an apprentice." "One, you will not be an apprentice long. I think we can have you passing your tests by the end of the trial period. Then you will be free to do as you like, regardless of your decision to stay or go. I am busy, which is why it would be nice to have someone competent to help me. I've considered apprentices before, but they never pass muster. And I think there is plenty more in it for me."

  His eyes flashed in that way that made the room too hot and breathing extremely difficult, and Tolan was thinking about seduction again and wondered if he would ever really consider being that stupid. Still…apprenticing under the Seacrist Finder. That was something mages everywhere would kill to have a chance at. He could take his journeyman tests…and there was Goss, of whom he was fond even if it was probably stupid to be so fond of someone after only a day.

  If he didn't like it, well, he could leave. Couldn't be any worse than his stupid drunken oaf of a master, anyway.

  "One month," he said tersely, and ignored Seacrist's pleased, more than a little smug expression in favor of finally eating.

  Seacrist Sacrifice

  Tolan had never lived anywhere so beautiful. Hell, he'd never seen anywhere so

  beautiful. It was not, however, Seacrist Castle. That was a few miles north, right up against the ocean. No, instead he was actually at Seacrist's—Shaw's—private estate. Why the man needed his own fancy manor when his family owned a castle the size of a modest village, he didn't know. Then again, nothing else about Shaw made sense, so why should his living arrangements?

  Still, Seacrist Tower was beautiful, somewhere between an old-fashioned keep and a city manor house in design, the whole washed white so that it was nearly painful to look upon when the sun was high. In moonlight, it fairly glowed. On cloudy days, it still seemed inordinately bright.

  The focal point of course was the enormous tower at the manor's center. Tall, wide, one of the most impressive things Tolan had ever seen. Save for the sun room at the top, the whole of it was given over to a library-study-workshop.

  Most of their time was spent in the tower, and Tolan could find no cause for complaint. The books alone could keep him occupied for years, and there was plenty more to do besides. Inside or out, Seacrist Tower was a beautiful, fascinating thing.

  If only he found the master of the house as pleasant.

  "You would drive the most sober of men to drink and madness," Tolan snapped.

  Shaw grinned. "Why do you think I give my friends casks of wine as Solstice gifts?"

  Tolan rolled his eyes. "Have you no respect for anything?"

  "Plenty," Shaw replied. "Royal officials just are not among those things."

  "I do not believe you," Tolan retorted. "Name one thing for which you have real respect."

  Shaw laughed. "Magic. Trust me, my little spark, when you deal with bureaucrats as long as I have you learn that most of them do not warrant the respect to which they think they are entitled." "That still does not mean you had to tell the chief secretary of the First Minister to bugger off." Laughing again, Shaw waved his words away. "He got off lightly. Those secretaries are like mosquitoes— they require swatting. I've done much worse to them in the past, when they come to buzz around me."

  Tolan rolled his eyes again and gave an exasperated sigh, then reached out to refill his ale from the pitcher in the center of the table. "Why is the First Minister sending his chief secretary to see you, anyway?"

  "Oh, that idiot Minister is trying to tell me what to do, and what he's going to do, and so far as I'm concerned, he can go soak his head in a piss pot," Shaw said idly, but Tolan recognized the flash in his eyes. Whatever was going on, it was no idle matter. Shaw finished his own ale and snagged the pitcher from Tolan. "It is mostly to do with the adoption of Goss, his estate, things like that. We disagree on how the matter should be handled, and I intend to ignore him until he agrees with me."

  "Of course," Tolan said acidly, "that is the most mature way to handle the situation."

  "Quite," Shaw said. Tolan resisted an urge to lob something at his head, but only because he knew Shaw was waiting for it. He would not pick up Shaw's childish habits; he refused. "So what does the King say about all this? Shouldn't he just put his foot down and tell you what to do?"

  "He says it's more amusing to watch us bicker over it, for now," Shaw said, and bit into a strip of beef on his plate, then swallowed the last of his cheese and reached for the fruit on a platter next to the ale pitcher.

  Goss laughed, and Tolan looked at him, playing happily in his little corner of th
e library and utterly oblivious to the fact his fate was being bickered over by a bunch of overgrown children. Poor thing. Tolan sighed, and reached for his ale.

  It was mid-afternoon, and they had paused for a meal that was either a late lunch, or an early dinner, he could never tell precisely which. Living with Shaw, studying under him, Tolan had quickly learned not to expect a normal schedule. As often as not, Shaw was summoned away on some errand, leaving Tolan with a long list of excruciating exercises to work his way through.

  Why Shaw had him working on things that had nothing to do with Finding, Tolan didn't know—and he'd given up asking. He'd given up anything except doing as he was told, bickering about it, and accepting that Shaw made no sense.

  He was astonished no one had killed Shaw. It was probably a good thing they were eleven years apart; if they had attended basic magic together, Tolan would have murdered him. "If you are nearly done," Shaw said, "I believe wewill begin today to go over the exam material. General practice is certainly a better way to spend one's time, but certain of the test board are fussy old badgers and will want to be appeased to the letter."

  "What does that entail?" Tolan asked, feeling a niggling sense of dread. Taking the various level test before the board of his little city had been one thing—taking his final exams to journeyman before the test board of the royal capital was quite another.

  Shaw finished his ale and poured a third glass, then muttered something and snapped his fingers. Tolan glared at him, trying not to be envious—Finding was one thing, Calling quite another. He had not mastered that one yet, and probably wouldn't for some time still. Shaw made it look so easy.

  Tolan took the sheaf of papers as Shaw handed them to him, and realized they were extensive notes on the exam he would be taking. "This is cheating!" "Ha!" Shaw said. "Those are notes on past exams, not the present one—every last little apprentice in the city is fighting to get his hands on such notes. The masters hint at them just to see their apprentices froth at the mouth and roll around in a panic. "As fussy as you are, my little spark, you will need them. However, that is only for the Finder exam."

  "What?" Tolan asked, frowning. "That's the only exam I'm taking."

  Shaw snorted. "Do you think I have been teaching you all that other stuff just for fun?"

  "No," Tolan retorted, "I figured it was more to torture me." "Same thing," Shaw replied, smirking when Tolan almost pitched something at his head before restraining the urge at the last moment. "You will be taking the Finder exam in one week. In two weeks, you will be taking your Sorcerer exams."

  Tolan choked on the ale he had stupidly picked up to drink. "What!" he gasped out. "I am not—you— that's why you can—I really hate you."

  Shaw laughed and laughed. "I'm not a bloody Sorcerer!" Tolan said. Sorcery. Was the man mad? Of course he was mad, why was he asking that question? Still, it made no sense. Tolan wasn't a Sorcerer—he'd only ever practiced Finder magic once he had settled on that focus. Sorcery was something else again. That was second tier magic.

  "Well, no," Shaw said, "not yet. I should clarify. So far as Finding goes, you will be taking exams to move up to advanced apprenticeship."

  Tolan's stomach knotted. "What? I thought I was good enough to be a journeyman. I'm not?" "Of course you are, don't be stupid," Shaw said, forking up another strip of beef. "Honestly, what do they teach children these days? Advanced apprenticeship is the same as journeyman, except that you remain here with me instead of going out to do your requisite field studies. Traditionally, those who took journeyman intended to move into their own business or to take up an occupation different from those of their masters. Advanced apprentices remained with their masters, with every intention of one day taking over his master's business—essentially, staying on to become an heir."

  Tolan frowned, and started to speak, but Shaw gave him no chance. "I am doing this for two reasons— one, once you are at that level, you can legally assist me on the business that takes me away from home. Two, it means that when you pass your second set of exams, your duel levels will not conflict. That is to say, you will be taking the apprentice exams for Sorcery, which of course require you to have a master, and reside with him. So, advanced apprentice for the Finding, apprentice for the Sorcery."

  "Apprentice…so if you're a Sorcerer, why are you only listed as a Finder?" Tolan demanded. "It's illegal to practice for which you are not registered and licensed." Shaw set his cup down and pushed his plate away, and his levity faded into a solemn demeanor. "For various reasons, his Majesty chooses not to have all of his most powerful mages publically registered. Much of what you have been doing, Tolan, is testing your magical ability. You test high in the second tier so far as latent ability goes. All mages who test at your level are marked out, and appropriately trained, and most are never publically registered by the bidding of the King. Perhaps only one fourth of the mages of our caliber are listed on the public records. The rest of us are kept out of sight, for the most part. That is why I am listed only as a Finder. The very same will apply to you, unless it is decided otherwise."

  Tolan scowled. "So because I have a lot of magic power, my life is being decided for me? I don't want to be a bloody Sorcerer—I just wanted to be a simple Finder, and locate misplaced pearls and dirty letters and kittens. I don't want any of this cloak and dagger nonsense." He shoved his chair back and stood, then stalked from the room, trembling with rage and dismay.

  He wanted to hit something. Not in an 'you exasperate me' sort of way. More like in a 'how dare you do this to me' sort of way. Because, really, how dare Shaw do this to him. The deal had been one month to see if he liked having Shaw as his master, if he liked living at Seacrist Tower. At the end, he would have his journeyman status and could choose what to do from there.

  And maybe he had been contemplating if it might be possible to remain with Shaw a little longer. After all, he would be getting his journeyman two years early—two years! So yes, maybe he had hoped to study exclusively under Shaw for a bit longer—the aggravation was worth the magic.

  Seducing you. Tolan flushed, and irritably told him to stop thinking about that. Obviously it had just been a joke. Shaw had not given even the slightest hint of interest in such things since that day. He'd obviously said it just to harass Tolan. And really, what did he care anyway? He didn't. So there.

  What he did care about was being shoved about and forced into a life he didn't want, had never asked for. All his life he'd carved his own path; he was doing what he wanted, what he had chosen. Shaw had no right suddenly dictating his course, no business speaking with everyone but him—the King, and whoever the hell he had secretly tested Tolan for about the damned Sorcery. Damn it, why hadn't Shaw spoken to him first?

  The next time a cute little kid came crying to himfor help, he was dumping it on someone else. He looked up to see where he had wandered, and saw he was in the long hallway between the main front rooms and the eastern wing of bedrooms and private salons—what he thought of as the 'portrait gallery'. He lingered over a portrait of Shaw that must be fairly recent, and he wondered who had gotten him to hold still long enough for it, and how they had done it.

  Even though he wanted nothing more than to punch Shaw in the face, Tolan could not deny he was a beautiful bastard. There was an old saying, that you could tell a mage's strength by the number of his bones you could count. The skinnier the mage, the greater his power. An old wives' tale, of course, but it was true that most mages had little spare fat upon them. Tolan certainly ran toward skinny, no matter how many bowls of Layla's stew he ate.

  So did Shaw, despite the far too pleasing breadth of those shoulders that did not have bulky muscle or excess fat. Tolan's old master had been a rare exception—he'd been portly enough to make an extra Tolan and an additional Goss. Then again, he'd never used his magic past the bare minimum to be a licensed, practicing mage.

  Shaw's black hair and gray eyes seemed to be a family trait, to judge from the myriad family portraits lining the walls
. Especially the black hair; the gray eyes seemed a bit more rare. He was beautiful, and his magic was more impressive still. Also his intelligence, on the rare occasion he bothered to use it. Tolan still could not believethat of all the people in the world, the Seacrist Finder had chosen Tolan as his apprentice.

  Except…it sounded a hell of a lot more now like Shaw was simply doing his duty. All mages of their power level were culled and properly trained. Expected. Necessary. Shaw was simply doing his duty— another admirable trait, Tolan grudgingly conceded.

  But, Tolan realized with a pang and grimace, he had liked it better when he was wanted, not merely a duty chanced upon and obediently taken up. He'd always thought Shaw had just…seen something in him that made him want to take up his apprenticeship. Surely high magical ability was not the only reason.

  Clearly it was, the way Shaw was mapping out his life—Shaw and the crown, and whoever the hell else was doing his duty by ensuring that Tolan did his duty. It would seem that was the real reason for his ire, as much as he hated it, as pathetic as it sounded. After all, he liked magic—especially the challenge of it. If he had wanted an easier time of it he would not have chosen Finding (and still didn't know why his lazy former master had, probably for all the firsthand gossip). To be told he had the potential for Sorcery…what mage didn't dream, at some point in his life, of being amongst the elite?

  He'd plotted his old course because it was what he could do, and could be happy doing, within the limited scope of his funds, his ability, and the sort of life he liked to lead. He had grown up in a village; anything larger than the small cities made him miserable.

  But helping Shaw…he didn't even know exactly what that entailed, only that it required exotic lockpicking skills, Shifting, Calling…Sorcery. It involved doing complicated magic at the bidding of the King. Rescuing babies from monster parents.