Nature's Servant

by Duncan Pile

  “You are back,” a cold voice said from behind him, and Ferast froze in fear, a spine-tingling terror that made even his physical pain seem inconsequential. His master would offer no mercy as a reward for failure. Despite the agony it caused him, he used his legs to push himself around in a slow circle on the plinth, leaving a bloody smear behind him as he turned.

  “I take it from your appearance that you were not successful in fulfilling the task I set you,” Sestin said, and before he could answer, his mind was invaded by the powerful probe of Sestin’s magic. It was as if icy fingers were digging through the top of his skull, peeling it back to expose the thoughts within. Memories of the Measure flashed through his mind as Sestin extracted and examined them one by one. It was the worst and most invasive of all the magicks Sestin had ever used against him; the brutal rape of his mind. Nothing was hidden, nothing was sacred, and as his most private thoughts and feelings were exposed, a spark of pure hatred towards his mentor blossomed into being in the very core of him. He willed Sestin not to see it, throwing up mental barriers around the thought he knew would result in his death. Sestin’s probe ripped through his thoughts, pulling down barriers as if they were nothing, but he seemed to have no interest in Ferast’s feelings towards him, and left that singular stone unturned.

  When he was satisfied, Sestin withdrew his probe and amazingly, Ferast felt healing magic flow through him, knitting his ribs and broken bones back together. The flesh of his torn face was healed as well, and the flow of magic only stopped when the skin had reformed, stretching tightly over his newly formed muscles.

  “Thank you Master,” he said, prostrating himself before Sestin.

  “You should at least begin in good health,” Sestin said menacingly.

  “Begin what?” Ferast asked.

  “Let me make sure I understand the situation,” Sestin said, ignoring his question. “I sent you to kill the Nature Mage but instead you let a petty rivalry with an old friend distract you. You alerted everyone to your intentions by killing this boy, and by the time you faced the Nature Mage, you were too drained to finish the job?”

  “Master,” Ferast pleaded.

  “Silence,” Sestin said, slashing his hand angrily through the air, and Ferast could no longer speak. Panic thrummed through him then, playing his heart like a drum as his master stepped up to him.

  “As I said,” Sestin stated, “you should at least begin in good health.”

  Screams rang through the tower and out into the city. The Spirit of the Ruins heard the first cries and shuffled quickly into the nearest entryway, hiding from Sestin’s wrath. It was not a good night for either the living or the dead to be roaming the streets of ruined Elmera.

  …

  Voltan sat with Hephistole in the Observatory, overlooking the city of Helioport. Voltan had returned from the infirmary as soon as he could, leaving Bork in the custody of the healers. They’d been talking for hours, running over the horrible events of the day, trying to understand what was behind Everand’s murder, and the attempted murder of Gaspi and Taurnil.

  “There is only one conclusion to be reached,” Hephistole said, voicing the unpalatable truth. “Ferast is in league with the renegade, Shirukai Sestin.”

  Voltan frowned, the furrows on his brow contracting tightly. “I don’t want to believe it, but nothing else makes any sense. How else could that boy have learned such advanced neuromancy, or the use of focii?”

  “It’s possible he learned some of it on his own,” Hephistole said, “but he also carried an advanced transportation device, the like of which I believe is only used by Sestin and ourselves. There can be no other conclusion.” The two sat in silence, finally accepting what they had been trying to avoid. Voltan accepted it with anger, and Hephistole with sorrow.

  “What do we do?” Voltan asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Hephistole answered. “But I don’t think we have time on our side. Two of the teams we sent out to find Sestin’s location have come back empty handed once again, and the third is over a month late. I cannot help thinking that we must discover the renegade’s whereabouts, and we must do so soon.” They were silent again as they pondered.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Voltan said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I wouldn’t want to be Ferast right now.”

  “Indeed,” Hephistole responded.

  Sixty-Six

  Jonn had waited in the infirmary while Gaspi and Taurnil were talking with Hephistole. He felt he should be there until they were safely in the hands of the healers, but the waiting was difficult, when all he wanted to do was to see Adela. When they finally arrived, he waited even longer to make sure the healers had everything in hand. It took much longer than he wanted it to, but he had to look after his charges, and they were all deeply shocked and upset. He sat with each of them, talking to them as they slowly drifted off to sleep under the magical ministrations of those who were caring for them. Lydia was in a state of deep shock, and Taurnil refused to leave her for some time, but eventually she too fell asleep and Taurnil was persuaded to get some rest as well. His heart went out to all of them, especially Emea, who had taken Everand’s death very hard. She was a soft-hearted soul, and had really cared for the boy, despite the problems he’d caused her in the past.

  When they were all finally asleep, Jonn took his leave and headed down to the little apartment near the barracks. Being away from Adela had been very difficult. He’d come to depend on her presence and friendship, and wanted to be reacquainted with her as soon as possible. In troubled times like these, you had to grab onto whatever source of comfort was available to you. With each step his excitement grew, and his pace increased steadily until he was jogging in the direction of her apartment, heedless of the curious looks he received.

  He turned into her street and came to a dead stop. Something was wrong. The door that led to the small group of apartments she lived in had clearly been kicked in and then repaired since he’d been away. He rushed to the door and pushed it open, running up the stairs three at a time. Turning the corner, he groaned aloud when he saw the splintered remains of what used to be her door. Going cold all over, he stepped into the room and froze, staring in disbelief at the ruined furniture. With wooden steps he walked over to the bed and picked up a scrap of parchment, on which was scrawled a single word: JONN. Turning it over, he read words that etched themselves forever on his mind:

  “I HAVE TAKEN BACK WHAT IS MINE. DEATH COMES FOR YOU. ITS NAME IS BELASH.”

  He stared at it numbly for a moment before falling to his knees and letting out a howl of anguish that shook the very walls of the apartment. Nothing else mattered now; not even his duty to his charges. If he didn’t get Adela back he might as well be dead. Stumbling out of the room and back down the stairs, he strode to the barracks, gaining in speed as a desperate plan formed in his fevered mind. Magicians didn’t normally get involved in law enforcement, but this time they would. They owed him, big time. First he’d go to Trask and then he’d go up and force Hephistole to help them if he had to grab him by the throat and make him agree to it. Refusing to think about what was happening to Adela in that moment, he sped towards the barracks.

  …

  Less than an hour later, Jonn and Trask entered the tower and told the receptionist they wanted to see Hephistole. The drillmaster was clearly unhappy at the idea of travelling by magic, but Jonn had no time for his discomfort. Voltan transported down and led them to the plinth, asking what the matter was. Jonn refused to tell him, preferring to wait until Hephistole was present too, and the warrior mage took them up to the Observatory without further questions. Hephistole rushed over to help Trask, who stumbled from the plinth, white-faced and sweaty.

  “You have to help me,” Jonn stated, earning surprised looks from both magicians.

  “What’s wrong Jonn?” Hephistole asked, lowering Trask into a chair.

  “It’s Adela,” Jonn said. “She’s been taken.”

  Vol
tan walked over and put a hand on each of Jonn’s shoulders. “I can tell this is urgent, but you need to slow down and explain this properly.” Jonn forced himself to take a deep breath, assured that he was being taken seriously. “Sit down and tell us what’s going on,” Voltan said, and Jonn complied. “Now who is Adela?”

  …

  “Start from the beginning and tell us everything,” Hephistole said. Pushing down his frustration, Jonn forced himself to calm down and tell them the whole story.

  “I rescued her from slavers in the Thieves’ Quarter,” he started, earning surprised looks from both listeners. “She was taken by pirates from her home in Beran. They were going to sell her in Namert, but they stopped in Helioport to pick up supplies and she was bought by someone called Belash.”

  Trask grimaced at the name.

  “You know this Belash?” Voltan asked him.

  “By reputation,” the drillmaster answered, clearly troubled. “He is the leader of a criminal group called the Rats and without a doubt, they run the criminal underworld here in Helioport, along with several other large cities in Antropel. We have long suspected he has links with the Ghannai and with Namert, and now we have evidence that it is so. Belash rules the Rats with an iron fist, but has managed to avoid detection for nearly twenty years. This is the first time we have a direct report of someone meeting him face to face.”

  “A dangerous man then,” Voltan said.

  “The very worst,” Trask added grimly.

  “And he purchased Adela from the pirates you say?” he asked Jonn.

  “Yes. I rescued her and have been looking after her in an apartment near the barracks. I went straight there after we got back from Arkright, and the place had been ransacked.” Jonn had to stop speaking to restrain a sob, and Trask patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

  “Show them the note,” he said. Jonn fished it out of his pocket and handed it to Voltan.

  Voltan glanced at it quickly before passing it to Hephistole. “What do you want from us Jonn?” he asked.

  Jonn cleared his throat before speaking. “I want you to help me get her back.”

  “She is important to you, this girl?”

  “More than my own life,” Jonn said, his voice cracking as he spoke.

  Voltan exchanged a long look with Hephistole. It was the chancellor that spoke next:

  “Jonn, please listen patiently to what I’m about to tell you. If you don’t react until I’m finished it would help greatly.”

  Jonn nodded, though he didn’t like the sound of whatever Hephistole was going to tell him.

  “After the Thirty Year War, the Arcane Accords were signed by the heads of the magical order, agreeing that we would never again take a direct hand in the ruling of any city, town or principality in Antropel. We are barred from interfering in any matter of politics or law enforcement, save where the crime is magical in nature or is perpetrated against magicians.”

  Jonn opened his mouth to object to what sounded like a refusal to help him, but he restrained himself, remembering his promise to hear Hephistole out.

  “It may seem unreasonable to someone who has not studied history, but believe me, the abuse of power by those already gifted with the immense advantages that magic bestows is too great a temptation for the unscrupulous. When they reach adulthood, all magicians are voluntarily bound by bonds of service that we cannot overrule without inflicting great pain on our own persons.”

  “I am not saying we won’t help you Jonn. You are our friend, and Gaspi’s guardian, and we will do everything within our power to help you, but what we can’t do is take it into our own hands to rip the city apart looking for Adela.”

  “What can you do then?” Jonn asked, pleading.

  “Everything we can save taking the law into our own hands. We will submit ourselves to the highest civil authority in Helioport and take our orders from him. If he gives us permission to do so, we will support the search for Adela. We will scry her out if possible, and aid in her recovery, but it must be done under the strict orders of the civil authority, and the rescue itself must be carried out by the city and not by ourselves.

  Grinding his teeth in frustration, Jonn stood up to leave. “What use is that?” he asked. Voltan walked over and placed his hands on Jonn’s shoulders.

  “Jonn,” he said, looking directly into his eyes. “You know me well enough to trust my word, yes?”

  “Yes,” Jonn grunted after a moment’s hesitation.

  “Then trust me in this. There is much we can do that will not break our vow of service. We will just have to be clever about it. So how about it? Do you trust me?”

  Jonn’s shoulders dropped and he let out a noisy sigh as he sat back down.

  “I trust you.”

  …

  Hephistole sat up in bed long into the night weighing up their options. In the very darkest hours, he reached a decision, and immediately sent a mental summons to Voltan. If it were anyone else he’d wait until morning, but Voltan wouldn’t mind being woken for something so important.

  It wasn’t long before the warrior mage stepped into his bedroom. He hadn’t stopped to dress, and was robed in a dressing gown, cut from the finest black velvet.

  “Thank you for coming so swiftly,” Hephistole said, taking a sip from the glass of sherry he was nursing.

  “What is it Hephistole?” Voltan asked.

  “I believe I have the way forward.”

  “And that is?”

  “We are under pressure, possibly even outmatched. With the added strength of several focii, Sestin’s pupil was able to stand against Gaspi, despite Gaspi’s enormous power. Even the elementals have proven themselves to be vulnerable, and we have suffered all of this without even facing Shirukai Sestin himself, who could have accumulated any amount of dark knowledge and power in the last few decades. We already know Sestin has summoned a Darkman, and as soon as he has conquered it, we will be facing a formidable foe that none of us have ever fought. In short, we need another weapon in our arsenal, and a powerful one.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Voltan asked.

  “We must find help at the Temple of Pell,” Hephistole said simply.

  “Pell!” Voltan repeated, sitting straight up. “How do you know it still stands?”

  “I cannot answer that question, but the knowledge came to me with such suddenness and certainty I am inclined to trust it. We know that a single fragment from the altar saved you from a Bale-beast.”

  “I would have been dead without it,” Voltan responded gravely, “but if the temple still stands, it is well within the boundaries of the ogre nation. It would take an army to get there.”

  “I was thinking more of a stealth expedition,” Hephistole answered.

  Voltan absorbed the idea in silence. “Do you want me to lead it?” he asked at last.

  Hephistole laughed with relief, tension leaking from his shoulders as they sagged forwards. “I would go myself but I cannot leave the college while a Darkman may yet attack.”

  “I understand,” Voltan answered. “It’s extremely risky, but I agree - the artefacts themselves may give us a fighting chance against Sestin. Who will go with me?”

  “Gaspi, Taurnil, Lydia, Emea, Rimulth, Talmo, Baard, Sabu, Zlekic and Zaric.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Voltan said. “Gaspi and Taurnil, fine, but the girls and the fledgling shaman? They’ll be a liability. And why not Jonn?”

  “Jonn would not go,” Hephistole answered. “I’d send him if I could but he only one thing on his mind right now, and we have given our word that we will help him. As for Emea, Lydia and Rimulth, I have already tried to split them from Gaspi, and they put me to shame with wisdom beyond their years. Destiny has called them Voltan, and if I’d not let them attend the Measure, the water spirit could not have saved Gaspi’s life when he fought the Skelkans, nor Taurnil when he fought Ferast. I understand your concerns Voltan, but I will not argue with destiny twice. They will all go with you to Pell.”<
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  Voltan’s brow furrowed as he weighed up Hephistole’s response. “Very well,” he said. “But if any of these young magicians are harmed on the journey, we will have much to regret.”

  “You don’t need to tell me that,” Hephistole responded quietly, finishing off his sherry in a single mouthful.

  Sixty-Seven

  Several days later, Gaspi picked up two pieces of post from his pigeon hole in the Warren. The first was one of hundreds of identical envelopes sticking from every pigeon hole on the wall. It was embossed on college notepaper, and he picked it up with a heavy heart, suspecting that he knew what it contained. The second item was a large, thick envelope edged with gold and written in fancy, flowing script. Picking it up, Gaspi turned it over and read the words:

  “From the Borough of Arkright, Mayor’s Office”

  Returning to his room, he shut the door behind him and sat down heavily on his bed. He opened the college letter first, and as expected, it was a formal announcement of Everand’s death, sent out by Hephistole to the whole magical community. He read it slowly, his eyes sliding over the words without really taking them in. He’d always had this idea that everything would work out alright, that there was some kind of justice in the world, but Everand hadn’t deserved to die. In fact, his death had come at a time when he had humbled himself and made peace with those he’d wronged. It had happened just when he’d started to become a great magician in his own right. It was so unfair, and in the wake of such a tragedy, Gaspi felt hollow inside. It was as if some core part of him had been emptied of what had once been a warm spot of hope and faith.