“Hardly. I need you here with me to keep her Grace from exerting herself. I am sending General Calsifer. He should be arriving momentarily to discuss plans.”
“Have you heard who Nolen is after?” Balien asked, and Aisling shook her head.
A knock sounded on the door, and Balien opened it. General Calsifer stepped in, giving them proper nods and salutations. Calsifer was well into his fifties with a short-cropped head of salt-and-pepper hair, but by his straight stance one could not properly guess his age. He stood with his knees at a slight bend to take the pressure off his joints, and Aisling knew him well enough to offer him a seat. He gladly obliged and pulled his sword across his lap. He dressed in a handsome black coat with an eagle stitched over his heart, heralding him as a General. Calsifer had served under Queen Rincarel Bolt who awarded him his eagle. He was loyal only to the Bolts, but would never verbalize such a statement.
“Do you know what Nolen is planning?” Aisling asked after offering him tea which he accepted.
“It should not give you cause to worry, my Lady,” he replied, his voice deep and gravelly. “The Prince never stirs up too much trouble.” He sipped his tea. “From what I can gather, he is searching for a man, and likely a Mage.”
“There are thousands of those,” Balien stated.
“Yes,” Aisling agreed, “But I am loathe letting Nolen out of my sight for too long, especially with an impending coronation.”
Balien gave her a pinched look.
“Has there been word from Princess Robyn?” Calsifer asked eagerly, but Aisling shook her head. “What would you like me to do while on this trip? The Prince will be displeased with my addition.”
“I am aware, but you will say you are on the Queen’s errand to whatever town his destination is. Make up something convincing, and if he balks tell him you outrank him and could command his soldiers away.” Aisling clinked her cup with a nail. Mages were very high ranking in societies, even those with low Classes, but a Class Five did not outrank a General. “While with him I want you to observe and report back what information you can glean. At every town send me a pigeon. I want to know who he is hunting, why, and for what purposes. See if you cannot turn him into a decent person while you are at it.”
Balien snorted, while Calsifer simply nodded and replied, “I would need more time. Do you want me to steer him lost, or prevent him from finding this man?”
“Please, please get him lost,” Balien muttered.
Aisling gave him a disapproving look. “Tell me which town you are heading to in your notes, and if I have instructions, I will send a pigeon to the rookery. Right now I just want an eye on him.”
“As you wish,” Calsifer replied and gave a polite bow of his head.
“Thank you, General,” Aisling smiled and bade him goodnight.
Balien turned to face her. “What will you have me do?”
She tapped a finger on her cup again. “We will have to wait and see. I will send for you if I hear helpful word. Let us plan on this being one of Nolen’s trips where he returns home without any harm done.”
“That we know of,” Balien retorted.
“Until the pigeons start arriving, try and behave.”
He gave a lavish bow at the waist. “As my Lady commands.”
Chapter 9
Prince Nolen set out from Anatoly City with twenty men; soldiers mostly and a few mercenaries for hire. He was surprised to see General Calsifer ride out from the stables on his black destrier Araybiatt to join them. Nolen politely commanded the General to leave, but Calsifer insisted he would rather ride with them on his journey south to visit relatives.
“We are heading west,” Nolen argued.
“Oh, no, I spoke with all my officers in the other hunting parties, and they said you were the party heading south. Am I mistaken?” Calsifer did not receive a response. They were heading south, but Nolen made sure to take them on the western-most road as to not appear a liar.
The Prince could see his mother’s workings in Calsifer’s appearance. She still believed after nearly twenty-eight years Nolen could not care for himself. His mother irked him sorely.
He sent four other parties in different directions armed with what information he knew and instructions for communication. If by the end of the month the Mage had not been found, they were to regroup in Anatoly City to exchange knowledge.
It took Nolen’s party three days to reach their destination, a little town at the foothills of the Gray Mountains called Hollow Downs. It was a pretty town despite being so far from a major city, but they rode through after stopping for a pint and directions.
Despite being without a lord, Urima Manor was kept well and had not fallen into disrepair. Nolen told his men to make camp for the evening across the road while he went to speak with the remaining inhabitants of the Manor. The servants offered no help, even when bribed with gold squares or threatened with pain, save for one man. When faced with losing a hand, he pointed south and vowed he had seen his young lord go in that direction, confirming his name to be Gabriel. Nolen knew the man spoke truth by the disgusted look the servants gave him.
To the south was Pately Bridge, but if this Gabriel was as quick-witted as his father claimed, he would not stay there. Nolen could not eke out a timeframe from the servants as none of them seemed to know, aside for one woman who mentioned ‘two summers’. He left the manor moody but made his way back to camp with a proud strut befitting a Prince.
The soldiers had been instructed to treat Nolen like one of them, not bowing or using his honorific, but he made sure someone set up his tent every night. It was ready when he arrived. The soldiers brushed their horses down, and a few of the mercenaries started a raucous drinking song around the fire. Nolen joined them for a while as they ate, listening to their stories of battles and bevies. He boasted to have had half the women in the palace, and each one had a rousing story to accompany her. General Calsifer kept to himself and his destrier on the outskirts of the camp.
Well after the sun sank and Nolen’s belly full, he retired to his tent. A mat had been unrolled for him, and after shucking off his boots, he crawled under the blankets. The nights grew colder, and he was forever reminded of his thin skin. He piled on another blanket and wrapped up. So far his intestinal discomfort had not been quite as bad as usual, though it often lessened when he left the bad air of the City. He wondered at times if the discomfort was because of something else, but Lady Aisling had laid delving patterns into his body to seek out problems and came up with nothing.
He was asleep for only a moment when he was jarred awake by a hand on his shoulder. His eyes flew open to see a dark figure above him, and as he opened his mouth to cry out, the figure put a hand over his face.
“Do ne be foolish,” the voice hissed. “Meet me outside in the eastern grove.” With the last whisper, the man simply vanished.
Nolen bolted into a seated position and grabbed his boots, regretting he could not take his warm blankets with. He grabbed a long cloak instead and stepped out of his tent. The camp was quiet but for the watchman who raised his head as Nolen appeared. He hurried off east into a little thicket with a few patches of apple trees.
Ryker stepped from behind a patch of trees. He was draped in a long black cloak and pulled back its hood as Nolen stepped up.
Ryker clicked his cheek as he pulled off one glove slowly. “Where are y’ heading?”
Nolen pointed. “South. It is the only direction I have.”
Ryker looked in the direction, then took Nolen’s arm and pulled it south-east. “Go by that bearing.”
Nolen’s mind worked quickly, and his brows rose. “You know where he is?”
“I do.”
“Why not go after him yourself?”
Ryker fixed the Prince with a disdainful look. “Because y’ need t’ prove t’ me y’ are worthy of the Eagle Throne. I’ll ne gladly hand it off t’ the first soul what lays claim, ne if I want success.”
“How do you know wher
e he is?”
Ryker clicked his cheek. “Same way I find you.” He looked in the direction of the manor. “The servants were not quite as thorough in cleaning his rooms as they thought.”
Nolen did not pry further, though the man left more questions unanswered. “How far south-east?”
“I will redirect y’ if y’ steer off course in a few days. Until then, I have something y’ might fancy.” He reached behind the flaps of his cloak and pulled glittering pieces of metal free. Holding them out to Nolen, the Prince accepted them.
Nolen looked at the four objects in his hands that were cold against his skin. They were in the shape of unlocked manacles, no broader than a thumb and as thin as a coin with two small ridges set below the edges. They were made of burnished copper that gave off the faintest yellow glow between the ridges. One was the size of small dinner plate, two were the size of actual manacles, and the last was made of three conjoined rings. It took Nolen a moment to realize what he held as he turned them over in his hands. The larger one looked as though it could fit around his neck, while the other two….
They fell from his hands, and he took several steps back, feeling as though his supper might come back up. He gripped his stomach and turned away for a moment before facing Ryker. “A Castrofax.”
“I judge by your reaction y’ are familiar. Pick them up.”
Nolen unsteadily approached the objects like he would a rabid ferret, eyeing them as if they might jump at him. Stooping, he collected them carefully in both hands. The largest one swung open from an unseen hinge, and he gagged.
Any Mage would choose death over the binds of a Castrofax. Made to be clamped around the neck and wrists, once locked a Castrofax could never be opened, except in death. The connected rings was undoubtedly the control piece. The real fear behind the Castrofax was not the idea of lifelong imprisonment, but the Castrofax’s true purpose. Any Mage who wore the control piece had full access to the bound Mage’s powers, be they Class Ten or Two. The bound Mage had no access, rendering them as useless as a non-Mage.
It was then Nolen realized what Ryker meant when he said he would help Nolen keep the Class Ten. Any man knew a Mage could be restrained if their hands were bound, for a Mage’s true power lay in their fingers. This object brought a whole new darkness into the bargain. In the span of a heartbeat Nolen found himself at a pivotal crossroad. He could refuse the Castrofax and lose all that Ryker promised, or he could accept them and deny any goodness he had left. Could he really condemn a man to the cold death of a Castrofax to gain power? He knew before he started on this quest that sacrifices would have to be made.
He clenched his fists around the cold copper pieces. “South-east, you say?” Ryker gave a slow approving smile. His skin was not so drawn and pale as before, but he still had a slightly ghoulish appearance about his face. “Which of the six is this?”
Ryker folded his arms and took a proud stance. “It is called Overturn, or just Copper if y’ fancy.”
Nolen looked again at the pieces, knowing the stories of the six forged Castrofax. Each had a name, and each performed a different action. The Glittering made of glass paralyzed a man, one named Eraser killed the descending bloodline of the captured Mage. Lady Misery made of silver caused spasms of pain. Nolen believed the other three were lost to the Ages where only legends whispered of titanium, marble and copper. If legend proved truth, this Castrofax was the last forged and the most used.
“Does it reverse patterns like the stories say?” Nolen asked.
“It does. Some of the Castrofax block the bearer from feeling the Elements, but ne only does this one allow it, it also lets him use his Elements.” Ryker explained with pride as if he was talking about his child. “Yet, if he fuels a pattern it will reverse in some way. It will quickly teach him t’ ne use,” he chuckled. “Get that on him, ac I will show y’ how t’ handle him ac his power.”
Nolen tucked the cold bands in the folds of his cloak. “I look forward to it.”
“Read up on this,” Ryker said and threw him an old book. “Find out what Elements he wields ac study a few patterns. I will need y’ prepared t’ find mine Silex.”
“I will,” Nolen nodded, wrapping the book up. Ryker gave him a dark smile and motioned him to return to camp. As soon as Nolen turned away, Ryker vanished again in a whisper of fabric.
“Prepare yourself Class Ten.” Nolen whispered as he made his way back to camp. ‘You stand between me and glory.’
Chapter 10
The plush chair Aisling sat in was inviting, but she was not solaced by comfort. She twirled a small scroll in her fingers. A pigeon delivered it from Hollow Downs, written in fine boxy script by General Calsifer. It seemed Nolen was after a Mage who still bore no name. She knew in an instant which Mages lived in Hollow Downs; however, she had more disquieting matters on her mind.
She received a bird from the Head Mage a day before asking about the illusive Class Ten from Hollow Downs. She was certain the incidents were not coincidence. ‘What would the Prince and Head Mage want with Gabriel Lenis? How did Nolen discover the well-kept secret?’ The only people who knew Gabriel’s Class were the Council and perhaps a handful of others. The Council had been required to keep Gabriel’s Class and location secret.
She rose and strode to her writing desk to pen a letter back to the Head Mage. ‘All I know is Prince Nolen searches for him as well,’ she wrote detailing Nolen’s movements and suspected motives. She rolled the parchment into a scroll when a hurried knock sounded on her door. She quickly opened it to reveal a tired, travel-worn man in a dusty cloak bearing the insignia of Castle Jaden; two conjoined towers with a double black flame between them.
“Word from Jaden?” she asked.
“Councilwoman,” the man greeted, breathing hard. He did not allow himself time to find his voice, and instead offered a folded letter with the Head Mage’s stamp in wax. “It’s urgent.”
She unfolded the letter with rushed fingers as her adrenaline spiked. It took her a moment to read, and the contents swept her legs out under her. The messenger swooped in and eased her to the closest chair as she read the letter again.
“Slade is awake,” she breathed, but if the man heard her, he paid no mind. ‘That is why Casimir wants Gabriel. Is Nolen searching for him by Casimir’s bidding?’ “Help me up.” He guided her back to her writing desk, but she shook so hard she could not hold the pen steady. “Are you returning to Jaden?”
“With your reply, yes.”
“Then you will write this for me.”
“Gladly,” he nodded and grabbed the paper, smudging it with dust. She began to dictate but did not get far, for a page boy appeared in her doorway. He offered her another note delivered by bird, and she took it with shaky hands. The tiny wax seal marked the Head Mage’s stamp again. It read:
Councilwoman Selene and Councilman Kieran are missing. As the only other Council Member living outside Jaden besides Queen Challis, I advise you return here immediately for your safety.
Her mind spun. She could not leave Anatoly City, not when Queen Miranda needed constant watching; not with Nolen’s suspicious actions and Robyn’s hopeful arrival.
“Pen these words,” she began, knowing they could be the words that sealed her fate.
Ryker Slade slowly paced the small dark room in a circle, keeping his movements predictable and unchanging. Changing them would give him leverage, and at the moment he wanted an even playing field. Steadily he circled the man in the center of the room, tied to a chair.
The man’s receding red hair hung wet and limply in front of his downturned face, but his eyes followed Ryker. He bled from the gaping wound where his right ear should be and from his lips where he had been struck. The rest of the damage was internal where it would hurt the most. He breathed in ragged gasps, and Ryker was sure he finally reached his breaking point. All men had one, and Class Fives were much easier to break than the Class Tens of old. His favorite tact was to threaten the removal of a body part. Men
were far easier to submit when threatened with castration. Women were much harder, but he had many other skills to break them too.
“Kieran,” Ryker said, rolling the man’s name over his tongue and made a clicking noise that caused his captive to jump a little. “Tell me more of this Class Ten.”
“I…know nothing,” the man stated with a thick backwoods accent recognizable even in this Age.
“Shall I repeat mineself t’ hear the same answer?” he asked and stopped. Councilman Kieran marked his movement and stuttered a little, dripping spittle and blood down his once-nice green coat.
“I know little,” the man said and tried to adjust his hands that were well secured behind his back. His fingers bound to each other. “I tested him near four years ago and ‘aven’t seen no sight of him since.”
“Tell me more of his power. What Elements does he wield? Does he have any special skills? Which is his best Element?” he asked calmly. To his dismay, his captive said nothing. It seemed the man was not yet broken.
Ryker abruptly about-faced while unsheathing his belt knife and grabbed one of the Mage’s fingers. Kieran had no time to protest as Ryker severed an index finger at the second knuckle. The man screamed in agony, throwing his head back. His voice echoed through the stone room. Ryker threw the finger at his feet and brushed the blood off his hands.
“If I ask again, y’ will lose the whole hand, joint by joint.”
The Councilman bit his lip holding back fierce tears. A Mage without hands was like a racehorse with a broken leg. “Will you let me live?”
“If I like your answers.”
“Please, I have a wife and babes.”
“Go on then.”
Kieran squeezed out two tears. “His…his best Element was Spirit.”
Ryker gave an approving nod and began his circling again. “Continue.”
“H-he is a Creator as well, the…the only Creator left alive.” His face paled a little more as the blood leaked from his finger.
The Castrofax (Book 1) Page 9
