The Castrofax (Book 1)

by Jenna Van Vleet

  Lex emerged from the wash room with an armful of wet towels and immediately dabbed at the bloodied skin where Aisling instructed. Her Element would allow her to feel all the damage, but she could not bear to see such a great man so horribly wounded.

  She put four fingers over his broken collar bone and put it back together quietly. His ribs were the next to be repaired, five in all broken through with many more cracked. His forearms screamed to her that both the little bones in them were broken, and the flesh around it pinched and bruised. She fixed those next, shivering as one snapped back into place. Lex managed not to gag. The right femur also had several fissures under a mountain of bruises.

  She repaired the breaks to his hands next, sealing the torn skin above his knuckles. “He fought back,” she murmured, recognizing the defensive marks. “It feels like his back is the worst.” Lex nodded quietly, wiping blood from Gabriel’s hands.

  Balien thundered in at that moment and stopped suddenly when he saw his friend. His mouth fell and quickly sharpened to anger. His fists clenched around the ceramic vials in his hands. “It is a wonder he is alive,” he growled and stepped around to his head. “Did you get anything into him?” he asked Lex.

  “I got the tincture and the salve,” Lex replied and pointed to Gabriel’s face and collar bone.

  “Brace yourselves,” Aisling said, feeling deep into Gabriel’s left shoulder. It snapped with a sickening crack, and Lex gagged again looking away. “Did he truly not break? Did he break and Nolen just continued?”

  “No, m’Lady, he did not break. In the end he kicked Nolen in the nose before the Prince could break his calf.”

  Balien slipped a vial of rose-colored liquid into Gabriel. “He is desperately dehydrated.” Balien pointed to a wound leaking thick blood. They spent several minutes filling Gabriel’s mouth with water and holding it shut until he swallowed. He coughed up most of it.

  “I thought the old stories of Class Tens being hard to break were merely inflated,” Aisling whispered. “We need to turn him over. Whatever happened to his back is accosting all my probing-patterns.”

  With his broken bones healed, Gabriel was easier to move, and both men carefully rolled him onto his stomach. Aisling felt her chest tighten as the light fell upon the wounds.

  “Stars above,” Balien cursed and turned away. “Lady, can you heal that?”

  Aisling put a hand over Gabriel’s back and felt the heat radiating off it. His skin was absolutely torn to shreds, and in some places it had been flayed off completely, leaving the muscles revealed underneath. “N-n-no,” she muttered; Lex carefully reached over the skin and pulled a barb from it. “What instruments did he use?”

  “This was done before I arrived, but I saw a crop, a bullwhip, a metal scourge, and a few different cat-o’-nines.” Lex picked something else from a wound. “At least one of the cats had barbs on it.”

  Aisling sniffed and held a hand to her lips. “Lieutenant, I need you to find me as many Battle Mages as you can. Quickly now.”

  “Yes, m’Lady,” he replied and rose, trotting out swiftly.

  “Can it be fixed?” Balien asked as he knelt to continue Lex’s work.

  “In time. I do not have the stamina to repair everything done to him,” she answered and dabbed at her cheeks with a dry towel. “I did not know Nolen was capable of something as grotesque as this.”

  She put her fingers on the back of Gabriel’s arm and mended the skin. Each piece knit together slowly and sealed, leaving a line of new skin under the dry blood. “Walk back and forth,” she said to Balien. “I am not getting enough energy.”

  “Why do you cry for him?” Balien asked after several rotations.

  The tears spilled afresh at the question. “He was so great, once.” She passed her fingers along Gabriel’s side where the damage was not as bad. “Will you get him out of his clothes?”

  Balien stopped circling and pulled a short knife from his boot. He cut along the outside of Gabriel’s trousers and smallclothes. Aisling handed him a towel to respect the boy’s modesty, and he draped it over Gabriel. The trousers were badly ripped, and underneath there were long thin lines of blood across the backs of his thighs and calves.

  Aisling threw her hands up. “Go summon the Queen. She needs to see what she allowed.”

  She looked again at Gabriel’s back and pushed the edge of the towel down to see how far the lines extended. She was so overwhelmed, wanting to heal it all at once but not knowing where to start. She began with the line that stretched up the middle of his back. The tight corded muscle around it had protected the strip. Bits of skin were still connect, and it was those she began to work with. They extended to connect to others like a fleshy spider web. She had to physically move pieces around to align them, and the feel of it sickened her. Blood was already caked under her fingernails.

  “Your Grace, this is something you truly must see,” she heard Balien say through the walls.

  “Is it as amazing as you say?” Miranda asked.

  “Amazing is certainly a word for it.”

  Balien stepped into the room with the Queen close behind and moved out of her way, so she could see Gabriel. Miranda let out a shriek and covered her face with lace-gloved hands.

  “This is something you need to see,” Aisling said before the Queen could turn very far. “Your hand allowed this. Your son did this.”

  Miranda lowered her hands and looked sideways at the Mage on the floor. “Is he alive?”

  “Barely,” Aisling replied and turned back to mend the strip. “I counted a total of fourteen full breaks. He has lost so much blood and has taken such a force to his brain that he may not wake. If he does, he may not be the same person.”

  “How does this concern me?” Miranda asked, folding her hands.

  “Your actions have consequences,” Aisling answered, clipping every word.

  The Queen straightened. “Are you threatening me?”

  “I did not think that sounded like a threat. Did you, Prince?”

  “No more than a helpful reminder, I think.”

  Miranda eyed them like a cornered mouse eyes a clowder of cats and swiftly carried off in a whisper of skirts.

  Aisling went back to her work soundlessly, and Balien continued circling. It was not long before a red-faced older man with a nose too big for his heavy brow ran up. He wore the yellow mantle of the healer Mages. Aisling admitted him and gave him quick instructions to work on the right shoulder. He passed his eyes over Gabriel with a grim look, but knelt wordlessly and began slowly healing. By the strength of his patterns he was likely only a Class Three, but most Battle Mages were of lower Class. Ten minutes later a young woman in divided skirts with short, corkscrew brown hair joined them to work on the left shoulder, quickly followed by two more men of middle age, both balding. By the time Lex returned, seven low-Classed Mages and Aisling worked on Gabriel who still had yet to wake. Lex also managed to find a Water Mage who worked fluids down Gabriel’s throat and washing his skin.

  Aisling grew weary, so she sat back and gave herself a moment to rest. She knew each man and woman did the best they could, but she could have done better alone had she the time and stamina. She knew Gabriel would be left with lasting damage.

  Night fell and torches lit along with a fire. Food and drink were brought up, but few were in any mood for anything other than a stout brandy. They settled for wine and bread. By the time the last wound was sealed, the sun had nearly rose.

  “Can we stay ‘til he wakes to make sure we missed nothing?” a woman asked.

  “There is no telling when he will wake.”

  “It might be soon, actually,” Balien said from his seat by the window. “The draught I gave him to keep him under should be wearing off.”

  “Since you are weary, you may wait another hour,” Aisling permitted. She stayed by Gabriel’s head. One by one the Mages stood, gathered a bite to eat and drink, and waited by the fire.

  Aisling was the first person Gabriel saw whe
n he opened his eyes. He sucked in a breath and slowly exhaled when he realized he was no longer in the dungeons. Her hand on his shoulder moved back and forth gently. “You are safe,” she said softly.

  He raised his hands, passing them over his stomach before looking down. “I’m fixed,” he said with a shocked expression. His voice was weak, and his face still pale, but he seemed to be in control of his mind.

  “You have many people to thank for that. Would you like to meet them? They would like to meet you.”

  “Yes, but what happened?”

  “You passed into unconsciousness in the dungeons, I brought you out. We have been healing you for some time now.”

  He lifted his torso to sit up but only made it as far as his elbows.

  “He’s awake!” a man called from the fire. “How do you feel, m’lord?”

  Gabriel flexed his hands. “Well,” he replied with a faint voice as several Mages stepped up.

  “Did you—you did not say anything about…” Aisling began and trailed off.

  “No, he got nothing out of me.”

  “How did you withstand it, sir?” a man well old enough to be his father asked.

  Gabriel looked up at the faces with an unsure gaze. “I willed myself to resist.” He pushed the blanket off his chest and looked down at his torso. “You all did this?”

  “Your back is fixed as well,” Aisling said as he reached a hand to touch his shoulder.

  “I am indebted to you,” he said. His gaze locked onto a wristlet for a moment.

  “Would you like me to draw you a bath?” the Water Mage asked, and Gabriel nodded.

  “Help him up, will you?” Aisling asked the men.

  “I’m not a child, I can stand,” Gabriel objected, but failed on his first attempt. Two men hauled him to his feet and supported him as Gabriel held the blanket around his waist. His steps were slow, and he hung his head as the change of elevation taxed what blood he still had in his veins. Balien walked backwards with a flask of water urging Gabriel to drink it all.

  Aisling turned back to the other Mages. “I thank you for your actions today. You are all most honorable.”

  They said their thanks and took their leave, giving proper bows before exiting. As they left, a rookery page trotted in with three bird scrolls for her. She slowly walked to the washroom, unrolling them as she went, standing in the doorway of the brightly lit room. The bath was already turning murky.

  “Here are your pardons from the Head Mage,” Aisling said and held up the scrolls. “He saw fit to send three in case the birds did not reach us.”

  Gabriel ducked his head under and came up. “Where is Nolen?”

  Balien shook his head.

  “He is going to be mad you brought me out.”

  “He’s going to be angrier you kicked him,” Lex called from the room.

  “He will be more livid about his Air Guard.” Balien stated grimly, leaning against a far wall. “The counts finally came in. Do you know how many of them you killed?” Gabriel shook his head with a look that said he did not want to know.

  “Any word from Robyn?” he asked and picked up a scrub brush. Aisling shook her head.

  “I must rest,” Aisling said after a moment of silence. “I will leave you until tomorrow. Nolen will not be so foolish to come for you again, so stay abed. You lost a great deal of blood and it will take you a while to recover.”

  “Thank you for coming for me, Lady Aisling,” Gabriel said with a small smile of gratitude.

  She felt herself choke up again, but she said nothing. With a bow of her head, she slipped away.

  Chapter 23

  Fire Mages were hard to bend. Of all Mages, those wielding Fire were the fiercest, which was why Ryker liked them the best. The Class Four woman that stood before him had not broken, but she was not far off. She held a silver platter with a finely polished tea set and waited for Ryker to motion for her to set it down. She was not broken, but she was smart enough to know not to provoke him.

  Ryker found her in the city of Aidenmar and stole her in the dead of night. She put up quite a fight, but he could of step between worlds. As soon as she screamed something to her children, she was miles away from her home. She called herself Anabel though he never had a knack for names. He would kill her, but at the moment she was a decent cook.

  Atrox Manor had been built back in the Third Age and preserved by countless many patterns. She was a stout structure built with two wings and many stories with tall ceilings, reaching high in Third Age style. The great room where Ryker resided was built with magnificently large windows to maximize the view of the surrounding mountains and plains of Anatoly far below. Two fires on either side of the room spilled heat into the room, fueled by his Fire Element. The manor was often cold because she sat so high in the mountains, higher even than Castle Jaden.

  “Set it there,” he motioned to Anabel. She was dressed in what garments he saw fit to provide for her, and today was a burnt orange peasant dress that did not fit her so well. He saw that all his captives wore the color of their Element, so he did not have to remember. “Fix it how I like.”

  Throughout the Ages tea was the one thing that remained the same. Some Ages liked tea with milk, others with honey, but they never changed the flavor of a good Cinibarian black or a Desuldane green. Ryker found tea to be one of the few things he truly enjoyed and had several cups a day.

  “Will he be having any?” she asked levelly and motioned to the man lying on the floor beside Ryker’s high-backed chair. She was making a joke, but he did not like humor.

  “Nay, I do ne think he will be. Do y’?”

  “No,” she finished stirring his tea and brought it to him on a porcelain saucer.

  “Did y’ try ac poison it this time, or did y’ learn your lesson the first?” He took it from her and smelled the aromatic leaf mixed with bergamot root.

  “It is clean,” she replied and backed away from him. Her face was smooth, but her eyes were angry. She left children behind, and her husband had been missing for many months. She wanted to return home, but Ryker had no intentions of letting her leave.

  “Y’ may go. Have dinner ready once the sun sets.”

  “Yes,” she replied, adding something rude at the end he did not quite catch. He let her get away with it now, but he would teach her better later. His pets did not undermine him.

  He returned his attention to the man on the floor near his chair. On Ryker’s evening romp the through Parion the night before, he found the kingdom had very few Mages left. But there were a few living in houses designed for them. It seemed people could go to these houses and hire the Mages for help. He snickered at the thought of Mages being hired for anything. At the Spirit House, he found a pretty brunet girl with olive skin, but when he tried to take her, a young man had jumped him. The fool learned quickly that Arch Mages were not to be surprised.

  The man was now on the edge of death, his lungs nearly collapsed as blood filled his chest cavity. As the blood deviated from his veins it, it pushed his trachea to one side. The veins in his neck were filling up fast. They would reach his brain soon and kill him. Ryker sipped his tea.

  When the man finally died, Ryker was ready. His eyes suddenly became white, and he reached a hand down to grab the man’s head, but he did not seize the body. Instead he reached through the skin to the white-blue spirit of the man himself.

  To Ryker’s vision, the world of reality changed to an afterimage of what truly was. The white fire became black, the brown walls changed to white, and the snow outside became as dark as sin. The only objects that did not change were people, retaining their white skin. The change in vision was a consequence of stepping into the spirit world and branching the planes of reality.

  “What will we do with y’ then?” he mused. Long ago he discovered how the layers of the spirit world joined together with the waking world and allowed for manipulation. One of the things easily manipulated were the spirits themselves who were fully conscious beings of on
ce-living people. Ryker could alter their state of awareness and insert his own will. Once changed, these spirits could be released into reality and denied their rightful existence in the spirit world unless defeated. The common folk called them specters, and it was rare for one of them to slip pass the veil of reality. It was even rarer for them to have substance.

  Substance was the first change Ryker gave, making the man solid as he took away the spirit’s self-awareness. Next he changed the man’s hands, turning them into weapons that would electrocute with a touch. He smiled as he worked, feeling the tax on his stamina. This would be the fifth specter he released into the world. He was most chagrined to feel his fiery Councilwoman slip back into the spirit world, but the Councilman with a stony kiss was still out walking.

  He laid a pattern, and both he and the specter disappeared out of the manor, moving the world around him in a lost form of travel called shift. The Mages of today had grown so weak and stupid, losing so much of their former knowledge. ‘That’s what happens when y’ breed yourselves out,’ he smiled. ‘Funny, that was why I started the Mages Wars.’

  He dropped the man outside a town close to Anatoly City and continued on, searching out the Mage Prince Nolen. Ryker could not say he liked the boy, but allies were what made him strong in the previous years, and he would need as many as he could. So far the Princeling had done what he asked, even going so far as capturing the Class Ten. That was something he certainly did not expect.

  He found Nolen in his rooms, dressing in new clothes. His former apparel was balled up on the floor, stained with blood. Nolen gave a little start, still not used to the sudden entrances. Ryker liked that he kept the boy on edge.

  Nolen pulled on his shirt, stuffing it into his unlaced trousers. “My lord,” he said with a proper nod of his head. The boy was respectful; that was notable.

  “I came across some information y’ might like regarding your sister,” Ryker said and folded his arms. Since his hibernation, he had been able to exercise and dine on his favorite rich foods. His body had filled out like he was supposed to. The sun had even warmed the color back into his skin.