The Castrofax (Book 1)

by Jenna Van Vleet

  Casimir gave Gabriel a proud fatherly smile. “What a shame,” he chuckled. “I once heard you wielded Spirit. I would have liked to welcome another Spirit Mage to our ranks.”

  Gabriel slowly smiled. Raising a hand to the skies, he clenched his fist and drew it down sharply accompanied by a blast of lightning that streaked from the darkening night sky and into his fingers. Chiaroscuro lightning flashed across his face. Half the people in the room gave a start, and not because of the sudden lightning.

  Spirit was Gabriel’s favorite Element, and the one he knew the best. Spirit drew from the energy of people and animals. It had more versatility than the other Elements. As long as a living creature sat within a quarter mile of him, he could use their energy. With it he could destroy and heal, attack and defend. It was nearly as graceful as Water, but more solid, allowing him to stand still and make smaller movements with his hands.

  For the Council he displayed his prowess in the Element, creating spears and discs of energy so compressed it shone with light. It could cut through anything but stone and metal. He changed the length of his clothes, wrapped cord around his body, and sank a delve-pattern into a person to feel for illness or breaks. He found one Councilwoman had an old fracture to her collarbone that had not healed, and with her permission he re-broke and healed it quickly, stemming the pain with another pattern that held most of it back. He created a shield and changed its shape and size as well as formed a vibration-pattern that held back sound energy.

  Casimir sat dumbfounded in his chair. He did not bother to stop the show, so Gabriel chose when he would finish. He used his favorite pattern last. While holding a cloth-pattern, he laid the body-manipulation pattern and fueled them together. He fell forward onto his hands, and his body changed from human to tiger, dwarfing the large table.

  Casimir leaned forward. “That is the most powerful illusion-pattern I have ever seen.”

  Gabriel took several steps forward on the table so Casimir could touch him, and the old man gave a startled throaty sound. Others reached out to stroke his fur, and someone grabbed his tail. Gabriel jerked his head around to see Dagan with an amused look.

  Casimir wiped his clammy brow. “I…” he began, then lost himself and laughed, “Can you change back or do you need a private room?”

  Gabriel quickly changed back to his clothed human form. He sat back before the Head Mage and put his arms on his bent knees, breathing heavy. Councilwoman Adelaide with the mended collarbone poked him to make sure he was still not an illusion.

  “I never thought I would see a man of your skills on this table. Are you sure you are of this Age and not a legend?” Casimir finally said.

  “He is as pretty as Dorian Lark,” a grandmotherly woman with short white hair said to his left. “No, the Arch Mage was blond,” a handsome woman with black curls replied.

  Aisling piqued up behind Gabriel. “I assure you I have seen him grow up in his Age.”

  “While the strengths and Elements of each Mage-Select are kept secret from me to avoid bias, I had heard rumors you were quite skilled and strong. You must train in healing with me—I insist. Tell me, that re-breaking pattern you performed on Mage Adelaide, where did you learn such a thing?” Casimir asked.

  Gabriel thought back. “I came up with it. I was healing an old bone one day and felt it would be right to add another string and loop it into the center,” he said and displayed the pattern.

  Mage Adelaide, a young woman who had a comely face and a long brown braid, laughed. “Next you will be telling us you can fly!”

  Lael looked a little stunned. “You just came up with this pattern?” He looked at the Head Mage.

  Casimir grinned. “Have you done this before?”

  Gabriel nodded and snapped his fingers to create fire. He laid a small pattern that formed a flaming rose bud. As he widened his hand, it blossomed. Councilwoman Adelaide reached for it, and he handed it to her.

  “There are very few Creators in a generation,” Casimir smiled. “Those with the ability to create new patterns are always valued. There is but one man alive who has those same capabilities, Mage Malain in Aidenmar. I should like to send you to train with him.”

  “I would welcome a tutor.” Gabriel said.

  Queen Challis peered at him thoughtfully. “Why you, and why now? Why would you have so much power?”

  “My father comes from the Age-old Lenis line, and while we were never prosperous, we were always strong. I do not know who my mother is, but I am told she was a powerful Spirit Mage and also had a strong Mage line.”

  “How very unique that all these anomalies should come together in one person. Do you not think this marvelous, Head Mage?”

  “I should say so, though Anomalies are not too uncommon in Mage societies. They are just far rarer now. I have read stories of three Creator siblings, of a Class Two being born to Class Ten Mages, and I have even heard of a Mage with no Elements suddenly come to them when she was in her later years. Every Age has a few unique stories, and I am delighted to see this Age has one so early. Now, Gabriel, is there anything else you should like to tell us or show us?”

  “No, Head Mage,” Gabriel replied with a proper bow at the waist. “I eagerly await your decision.”

  Gabriel finished his story with his head propped on his arms against the table. Robyn stood behind him digging her thumbs between his vertebrae, having worked up both arms to his shoulders.

  “The rest you know,” he mumbled and turned his head to better see her. “I was presented with my Class, and I raced home to tell father.”

  Robyn smiled. “I remember that day well. You walked right up to Cordis in the garden and proudly pronounced ‘Class Five’.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Ah, that’s right. You declared ‘Class Ten’, and Cordis stared at you for a few moments before slumping over in his chair. When he came to, I’ve never seen anyone so proud.”

  Gabriel smiled, remembering his father’s expressions. ‘A Class Ten, in my line!’ Cordis’s voice echoed in his memory.

  “And to think, you’re my Class Ten,” she joked.

  “I suppose I am,” he replied after a moment.

  “You never told me the Lenis line was poor. You have a beautiful manor and rich land.”

  “That was given to my father. Did he never tell you?”

  She made a guttural reply and pulled him forward so she could work on his collar bone. Her hands were hot on his skin and it took all his concentration to not concentrate on them—resulting in ultimate failure. “Urima Manor was given to my father after I was born. The Lenis bloodline, while rich with Elements, has not been prosperous since the Mage Wars when our lands and properties were destroyed.”

  “Who gave you the Manor?” she asked, slipping her fingers under his clavicle to make him wince.

  “Father never said, though I believe it was my mother’s family, perhaps to keep him quiet.” He replied and Robyn made no comment. “I always wondered why father made sure I knew coupling was reserved for the marriage bed until I realized I must be a bastard.”

  “Don’t say such a thing! That is a term with such negative connotations.”

  “What would you rather call it?”

  “A man as powerful as you should never be referred to as a bastard.”

  “I cannot change my bloodline,” he offered.

  “I could pardon you.”

  He bent his head back and rested it on the chair so he could look at her. “It seems it matters more to you than it does me.”

  She gave a nervous shrug and put on her queenly air. “I do not want anything marring your name or hindering you. I should think when I become Queen and you are free to go, you will have a grand reputation as the first Class Ten in hundreds of years and—”

  He put up a hand to stall her. “Free to go? You think I am your captive?”

  “No,” she replied, a tinge of fluster to her voice. “But you have so much power going to waste here.”


  He lifted his head and turned to face her, breaking free of her hands. “I’m here of my own volition because I care about your safety. My father and I agreed it would be best if a Class Ten protected you, but I was the one who asked for the duty.”

  She looked abashed. “I always thought you were here because you had to be.”

  He stood and put his hands on her arms, looking down at her. She had always been petite though she grew nearly as tall as his chest. “I wanted to be with you…as your protector, and just because you take the throne doesn’t mean I will leave you. I will be your protector as long as you are in danger, so get used to me kid. You’re not getting rid of me soon.”

  Her pert lips flattened to a quirky smile, and she slipped her arms around his waist, embracing him tightly. The gesture was so foreign he almost pushed her back, but he welcomed the touch. “And here I thought I was just a hindrance to you.”

  “Only when you don’t feed me,” he replied and awkwardly hugged her back.

  “Oh! It’s passed supper,” she exclaimed and dashed into the cottage. He snapped his fingers and pushed a flame into the hearth, illuminating the dark cabin. As she rushed about, he couldn’t imagine not being her protector. He suspected he would always stay to protect her once she took the throne. If anyone asked, he would say he remained for her safety, but he would be lying. He stayed because he did not want to imagine a day without her, because he was in love with her and hoped he would someday work up the courage to tell her.

  Chapter 8

  Nolen sat in his bathtub, submerged to his chest in murky water. He did not bother glancing towards the main door when someone knocked. It was probably his insufferable mother wanting to know more about his trip. He had not been in the palace more than ten minutes before his mother sent a page for him. He refused the page and instead drew a bath. Kilkiny Palace had been fitted with modern plumbing years ago, and he took the liberty of daily baths to warm him.

  The trip back from Jaden had been long on his tired body. His mind wracked with Ryker Slade and the inevitable discovery of Ryker’s disappearance. ‘Did anyone recognize me or Shibaler at Castle Jaden? I made sure to leave my room untouched, but would someone have a way of knowing I was there? Perhaps a Water Mage could feel the drain of his bath to find it was not dry. I should not have bothered with the bath, but I could not have gone to an Arch Mage smelling like an animal.’

  He had his work cut out for him now: Find the Silex and locate the mysterious Class Ten. Grabbing a goblet from the side of his bath, he swilled the wine to calm his nerves. The window inside his bed chamber blew a shrill blast of cold air into the wash room, and he ducked further under the water.

  Nolen tried to remember his conversations with the man claiming to be the father of the Class Ten. The man had been quite willing to pass off the information for the right price. ‘He is called Gabriel. He was named a Class Ten two years ago. He wields all Elements but Air, and has a brain to match his Elemental strength. You would be wise to stay out of his way.’ Nolen hadn’t liked that comment too much. ‘You will find him in Urima Manor outside Hollow Downs. If not there, he would go to Jacinith or Pately Bridge. He might venture as far east as Sabin or Rolynston, but he would stay within a day or two ride of Urima Manor.’

  Nolen was curious why the Classing of a Ten had not been broadcasted through the Mage communities. Surely it would bring them great joy to hear their bloodlines spat out something worthwhile. ‘Why not keep him secret? He has what every man wants: power.’

  Sometime earlier Nolen approached Lady Aisling and asked if she knew anything about a Class Ten. She carefully brushed the rumor aside saying she heard nothing, and he could not tell if she was lying.

  He downed another goblet of wine as he planned his next move. He would need a band of men to go to these towns and look for any man with his descriptions. The so-called father said he would be tall with black hair and blue eyes, were he in his usual form. When Nolen asked what other form he would take, the man refused to answer and stopped speaking outright. So he was looking for a man that was not always a man, in one of five possible locations, and that was only if the father’s words were correct.

  Nolen stood and toweled off, abandoning his usual way of air-drying to the warmer embrace of fabric. Stronger Air Mages could actually change the temperature of Air, but Nolen could hardly manage a few degrees in room-temperature direction. Years of intestinal discomfort had left him lean and hardened. It was hard for him to keep fat on, so he often dressed warm. Anatoly City sat on a hilly plane that was warm in summer and chilly in winter, but never as bitterly cold as Jaden got in winter.

  The fire in his bed chamber had already been lit and blazed. He sat before it with his legs outstretched. The wind blew sharply heralding autumn, and with a complex Air pattern he pinched two fingers to minimize the air between the window and pane.

  In order to find the Mage in a timely manner, he would have to depart immediately with a band, sending another four to each of the named cities. While he was slowly losing power over the army to his cousin Balien, his Air Guard would always remain loyal to him, and there was plenty of trackers and hunters in the faction. He selected names from his memory as he waited for food to be brought up.

  A pretty girl with red hair and freckles brought his supper, but he was in no mood for dessert and let her leave without a word. The savory smells of buck stew and fresh bread tickled his senses, and he happily obliged when the door closed. He continued to plan the next days’ activities until everything was laid out.

  Donning a pair of boots and a nice coat, he left his rooms to find the necessary people to accomplish his tasks. He recruited four officers in his Air Guard and gave them instructions to find thirty men each for the hunting parties. Then he made sure Shibaler and proper horses would be ready by morning and sent several pages to pack food and supplies.

  His work now set in motion he made his way back to his quarters. The royal quarters were in the northern-most wing. Standing twelve stories high, it was the tallest and grandest of the wings. They were lined with flickering lanterns, tapestries, and paintings, and each doorway was etched with gilt and carvings. Nolen lived on the fifth floor, a whole floor away from his mother and her lackey Aisling, but unfortunately on the same level as Balien.

  He rarely saw his cousin, which was good because the man irritated him. They played different games, and Nolen could never figure Balien’s out. Balien had his own set of allies that Nolen could never locate, and the man was deft with his manipulation skills which often kept Nolen on his toes. For the most part his cousin stayed out of his personal life and kept the berating to the training field and dinner table. Sadly for Nolen, today was not one of those days.

  Balien rounded the corner just as Nolen reached the landing from the stairs. Balien slowed his walk to meet up with his cousin. Nolen attempted to speed away, but Balien caught him.

  “Word is you are forming a hunting party,” he stated as he matched Nolen’s leggy stride. “To what end, might I ask?”

  Nolen shot his cousin a sharp look, remembering Ryker had used the same phrase, but there was no way Balien could have known. “To hunt the best game.”

  Balien gave a knowing nod, having spent most of his time around soldiers. “Men.”

  “Hardly a man at all.”

  Balien’s dark gold eyebrows rose. “Woman? Nolen, really.”

  “I do not see why it matters. You are not accompanying us.”

  “Oh cousin, what are you after now?” Balien sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. “Would you really leave the palace in my hands for another week?”

  Nolen had no reply to his cousin’s jesting. When they were younger Nolen had been able to get away with his Element as a weapon, compressing air to slap his cousin from a distance or shooting jets at him when he tried to eat, but Lady Aisling could see his patterns and put a stop to it. Still….

  “Good night, Balien,” Nolen stated, giving a small wave of his hand. The gr
ay pattern woven across his fingers made a sharp snap as it struck Balien across the back of his head. “Enjoy your run of the palace.”

  Balien gave him a murderous look and slipped out of his vision. Nolen ducked into his room. He spent an hour packing, looking for clothes that would be considered somewhat common but not peasant. He did not want to look like a Prince, but a lower Lord would suit him. Regardless of his appearance, he would be riding Shibaler, and anyone who knew their horseflesh would know he was a well-bred Aidenmarian destrier. His bags packed and his affairs in order, he managed a few hours of sleep.

  “No, I am serious, he has his fingers in something,” Balien said as he took a defensive stance. Lady Aisling regarded him with a thoughtful eye as he stood in her solar. Night had already fallen, and the fire burned low. He was as handsome as his father, with his mother’s dark gold hair and wit.

  “Can I offer you some tea, Balien?” she asked, gesturing to the pot warming by the fire.

  “Thank you, Lady, no,” he replied, but noticed her cup was low and fetched the pot to top her off.

  “Look at this, a Prince serving an advisor,” Aisling tittered before taking a sip. “Should it not be opposite?”

  “Hardly, Lady,” Balien smiled as he returned the pot. He was one of Aisling’s fondest companions in the palace; a man of stalwart heart and values. As excellent as he was at manipulation, she was better, so they allied long ago. She considered him a friend, almost a son since his mother was taken from him when he was only thirteen.

  “Yes,” she said, steering back into their conversation. “I am hearing whispers of a trip Nolen is planning. I want someone I trust to accompany him.”

  Balien’s arms fell from their folded position over his chest. “Please do not send me thus.”