Magic takes a toll on the wizard, just as any activity would. The amount of concentration can be taxing at first, and novice wizards must pace themselves as they practice in order to remain in control. Sana Magus is the easiest of all the magical Orders because as creatures, our bodies are made to heal themselves. Many times an individual will recover from sickness all on their own given enough time. Likewise, even grievous injuries can eventually be overcome because of our body’s natural inclinations to function properly. Sana Magus invokes not only the magical power that exists all around us, but the divine spark that each living creature carries. There should be no backlash or carry over from healing spells, as there is in the other Magical Orders, but novice wizards would still be wise to take precautions in their efforts as they begin their practice of the magical arts.
Tiberius leaned back in his chair and looked at the apple that was sitting prominently on his table. It was time to put his newfound knowledge to the test. His heartbeat sped up as he picked up the apple and then the dagger. He was about to do something no one had done in Avondale for over a century. He slid the dagger along the skin of the apple. It was so ripe a bead of juice seeped out and ran down the apple like a teardrop.
He sat the apple down on the table and stared at it. He knew there was no turning back, but he felt a shiver of fear as the words of the spell danced in his head. He closed his eyes, thinking about the words, focusing on the spell. Then he opened his mouth, his lips were dry and his tongue felt thick, but he spoke the words of the spell in a quiet voice, almost a whisper.
“Sano Grasilis Abscido,” he said.
Nothing happened. He opened his eyes and the fruit was just as it had been, the cut in its skin gaping slightly. He felt a sense of foolishness, as if he’d been tricked. The book could be a fake, he thought. It could just all be made up. He fought hard not to let his frustration get the best of him. He decided to try again. The book said a novice might need to chant the spell over and over again.
“Sano grasilis abscido, sano grasilis abscido, sano grasilis abscido…”
At first nothing happened and he began to grow embarrassed. He was alone in his room chanting nonsense words. He didn’t know if it was worse that he was attempting magic, or failing so miserably.
Then, without warning, he felt something. It was intangible, like the warmth from the sun, but just as real. He felt movement around him. He opened his eyes and looked at the apple, but it was just the same as before. He looked around him but there was nothing there. The feeling faded. He sighed in frustration, but then he took a deep breath, stared at the apple, and began chanting again.
This time the feeling of movement happened more quickly. The swirl felt like wind, but it didn’t stir anything in the room, not even his hair. He stared at the apple, imagining the glossy red skin sealing back together. The sense of movement grew stronger. Nothing was happening to the apple, but something was definitely stirring in Ti’s small room. He kept chanting, and the feeling of movement grew so strong it began to push on him. It was like standing in a stream with a strong current. He reached a hand out toward the apple and continued chanting. Slowly the swirling magic around him began to move forward, along his arm. He focused on the apple and repeated the spell, over and over.
Suddenly, the apple toppled over and rolled off the table.
Tiberius jumped from his chair, his heart racing, the wooden chair clattering to the floor behind him. He rushed forward and picked up the apple. There was a bruise on the fruit where it had fallen, but the cut was gone.
“Yes!” he shouted, then remembering himself, he calmed down.
The last thing he wanted was for someone to come check on him. He felt so happy that he instinctively bit into the apple. It was cool and sweet. He picked up his chair and sat down, leaning it back on the rear legs and balancing there. He felt so good he wanted to scream. He had just cast his first spell. He may have broken the most sacred law in the realm, but he had cast a spell. He could do this, he thought to himself. He was on his way to becoming a wizard.
Chapter 8
Lexi
Night was the best time. Anything was possible at night, especially when you were invisible. Lexi wasn’t actually invisible, but she was so comfortable in the darkness and so silent that she was like a ghost in the shadows. It helped that most people didn’t like the darkness. She had long ago grown comfortable in the dark. She could stay hidden most of the night, never moving, her breathing silent, her body completely under her control. Sleep could wait for hours with no need to eat or even move.
She was just outside the home of a very wealthy merchant. The alley she was hidden in was littered with trash and smelled horribly, but that only made the chances that someone might notice Lexi, squatting down among the piles of odorous garbage, that much smaller. She was in complete darkness, not even the starlight could reach down between the tall buildings to shine on her. The lamps and candles in the home she was watching had all gone out hours ago. So had the lights that burned in the other building behind her. No one had passed on the street for over an hour. The cold night air made Lexi shiver, but it also kept most people home. Paladins still patrolled the city, but unless someone shouted for help, she knew they would never discover her.
The window she was watching was dark. The lady of the house had dumped a chamber pot from that window and failed to latch it closed. At least there was a slight gap around the window that Lexi could slip her knife in and unlatch the window if she was wrong, but she rarely was about such things. The window was on an upper floor, and the occupants of the house obviously felt safe leaving the window unlocked. It made sense; a normal person would need a ladder to get up to the window and you simply couldn’t walk around the city with a ladder at night without drawing the interest of the Paladins.
In Lexi’s experience, the Paladins were generally nice people. They had committed their lives to serving Addoni, and despite the rigorous demands put on them by the Priests, they did their job well. Still, the Paladins were a reactionary group, good at chasing down criminals, but miserable at actually preventing crime. And Lexi planned to be long gone before anyone even knew she had been in the merchant’s home.
Normally, Lexi only did what she needed to do to survive, but this job was different. She had been approached by a tavern owner who needed a favor. The merchant’s son was stringing the tavern keeper’s daughter along in hopes of stealing her virtue. Lexi thought the whole situation was ridiculous; she couldn’t imagine pinning her hopes for the future on a boy, no matter how handsome. Tiberius was the closest she’d ever come to actually having a crush, but she was just too pragmatic to believe that an Earl’s son would ever love her. The tavern keeper was paying her to plant a fake love letter in the boy’s cloak. If she was caught, she would be held in stocks for days, then scourged in public. It would be humiliating, if it didn’t kill her. She couldn’t imagine what Tiberius would think of her. He knew she lived on the streets and did what she had to do to survive, but if he were faced with befriending a thief that was caught red-handed, she imagined he would pretend he didn’t know her at all. That thought made her sad, more than she thought it should.
She shook off any thoughts of Tiberius or of getting caught. It was time to get busy. She touched her tightly cinched cloak, making sure that the little scroll of parchment the tavern keeper had given her was still in its place in her hidden pocket. She stood and stretched, reaching high in the air to extend her spine. She flexed her hands and raised each foot, rolling her ankles to make sure she wouldn’t cramp up as she climbed.
One more look into the street revealed nothing but darkness. She took a deep breath of the frosty air, then began climbing. The side of the merchant’s home that faced the alley had a few windows and one door, but for the most part it was plain stone. Luckily, at least in Lexi’s mind, the stone wasn’t polished or even flattened, producing a very unique look for the homeowner and a very climbable wall for the accomplished thief. She found hand
holds easy enough, although she was only able to grip the wall with her fingertips. She didn’t have shoes and gripped the wall with her toes as she climbed higher. It was a painful and difficult climb. She hoped coming down would be easier. She would have to get in and out without leaving any sign she’d been there.
When she reached the window she spread her feet wide, finding the best toeholds she could. Then, steadying her breath, she tried the window. It was made to swing open from the inside, and she had to take hold of the sill with her cold, almost numb fingers and push gently. She breathed a sigh of relief when the window swung open. Immediately, she heard the grumbling snore of the merchant. Lexi knew she had to get in and close the window before the cold night air roused the sleepers.
She hoisted herself up onto the window sill and leaned inside. It was dark, but her eyes had adjusted so that she could just make out the darker shadow of the fat merchant sleeping on the large poster bed. Lexi reached into the room, making sure there was nothing to trip on beneath the small window. She found the chamber pot, but nothing else. She slid into the room as quickly as she could, then swung the window shut again. Slinking through the darkness was her specialty. She moved across the room, noticing the thick rug around the bed with her bare feet. It was thick and luxurious, but she didn’t have time to worry about the rug. She found the door and stepped into a hallway. There were several other rooms and she checked two empty rooms before finding the son’s room.
Lexi stood over the sleeping form, watching the teenager sleep. She couldn’t help but realize how different their lives were. She couldn’t imagine sleeping so soundly. The boy’s bed was bigger than most of the rooms that Lexi could afford to rent for a single night. She could tell by the boy’s thick chest and broad shoulders that he had never missed a meal. She bet that if she could touch his hands, they would be as soft as a baby’s.
She wasn’t bitter about her lot in life. She hadn’t had the boy’s comforts or security, but she had lived a lifetime of adventures and that was more than she guessed the boy could say. Besides, she would never be caught dead sleeping while someone came into her room and took whatever they wanted. There were windows in the boy’s room, which faced the main road, not the alley. Starlight and the crescent moon sent silver light trickling in through the thick glass windows, making it easy for Lexi to find the boy’s clothes. She slipped the roll of parchment into the pocket of his trousers and started to leave when she noticed the curved Wangorian dagger, tossed carelessly into the corner of the room. It had no sheath, and the flowing design of the steel, folded dozens of times as it was forged, showed the dagger’s origin and value. She wanted it, and even though taking the prized blade would be risky, she decided the spoiled merchant’s son wouldn’t miss it. She picked up the dagger. The handle was wrapped in thick leather, the pommel and cross piece were simple, yet elegant in design.
She tucked the blade into a pocket inside her tunic and left the boy’s room, quietly closing the door behind her. She made her way back to the merchant’s bedroom, and waited outside in the hallway as she listened to him snoring. He grunted, sounding more and more like a fat swine, before finally falling back into the rhythmic rumbling snore. Lexi moved into the room and across to the window quickly. The most difficult part of the entire night would be getting the window closed again. She pulled it open and sat on the sill, swinging her legs out into open space above the alley. She turned onto her stomach, searching the wall for cracks big enough to fit her toes into. When she was sure she wouldn’t fall, she raised her body up, searching for a good handhold beside the open window. When her right hand was secure, she reached in with her left and swung the window closed, making sure it didn’t bang against the sill.
The climb down was nerve wracking and her heart raced. If she was seen scaling down the wall, she would be arrested. She had to force herself to breathe as she climbed down, finally getting both feet on the filthy alley below. She moved cautiously out of the alley, looking both ways along the wide avenue that ran in front of the merchant’s house before hurrying away.
Once she had gone down two sets of stairs to where the road was narrow and the houses along each side were overbuilt, like a mouth with too many crooked teeth, she finally pulled out the Wangorian dagger. It was a nicer weapon than she had ever owned. The weight of the gently curving blade, which was as long as her narrow hand from palm to fingertips, was perfectly balanced by the hilt which felt perfect in her hand. It was exactly the size she would have chosen for herself, but the imported blade was easily worth a dozen gold crowns. She could fence it for a quarter of that price, but she didn’t think she would. It was the kind of weapon she wanted to hang onto.
She was halfway back to the tavern to report her success when she was startled by a figure appearing suddenly in the street before her.
“That’s a nice bit of steel,” said a thin, greasy looking man stepping out of the shadows.
“Too nice for a little mouse like that,” said another man from behind Lexi.
She glanced back over her shoulder and saw a fat man lumbering toward her. She didn’t bother to reply. She knew she couldn’t talk her way out of the situation. She realized it had been a mistake to focus her attention on the blade while she was still in the street. She silently berated herself for being so careless.
“Is that your blade sweetheart?” the first man asked. “I doubt it’s tasted blood.”
“No one owns a blade until it tastes the blood of his enemies,” said the fat man.
“Look at her, Ox,” said the skinny man, obviously using the other man’s nickname. “She’s a pretty little thing.”
“Tasty,” the fat man said, his voice dripping with heinous intent.
Lexi was moving before either man realized it. She spun back toward the fat man, who raised a ham-like fist, but the Wangorian dagger split open his nasty shirt and scored a vicious cut across his pasty white belly. The man bellowed in pain, staggering back, but Lexi was already moving toward the other man. Everything happened in a matter of seconds, but as Lexi moved forward she realized that the curve of her new weapon made it necessary to turn her wrist inward so that the blade could have its full effect. Silently she chastised herself for not spilling the fat man’s guts. It was a mistake she didn’t intend to make again.
The skinny man had a rusty knife of his own, and was bobbing toward her. Lexi couldn’t tell if the man had some type of physical problem, or if he was just excited by the fight. She moved into his range, then just as quickly jumped back, avoiding the inevitable swipe of the rusty blade. The skinny man was fast, but predictable. Lexi swung her own blade, narrowly missing the man’s arm, then let her momentum carry her forward in a spin. The men had seen the new dagger she’d just stolen, but they hadn’t seen the little blade she always carried. It was a thin knife that fit snug in her belt. She had drawn it with her left hand the moment she spun into action; now she slammed the small blade into the man’s groin. He screamed and pulled away, but the damage was done. The little knife wouldn’t stop a bigger blade, and in most areas of the body could do little more than make a man angry, but in the right spots it was deadly.
Lexi saw the man’s blood spurt out of the wound, like a black fountain. Normally she would have run at that point, but the fat man was still alive. Living on her own as she had for most of her life, Lexi knew that leaving an enemy behind meant living in fear. The fat man was hurt, but not out of the fight. He would heal and his anger for her would fester. She was adept at getting out of trouble because people constantly underestimated her, but an enemy who set a trap for her could easily get the upper hand. The fat man was certainly stronger than she was, if he got his hands on her, she would be helpless.
She turned back to the fat man who was lumbering forward, one hand on his stomach, the other holding a club. Lexi moved backward, waiting for her chance to strike. It wasn’t difficult to pretend she was terrified. The fat man’s face was contorted with rage and she was certain he intended to bash h
er brains out with his club.
She passed a stack of empty wooden crates and pulled them down between herself and the fat man. He charged through them as if they were nothing but weeds to be trampled. She stepped into the entrance of a building with a low awning that was made of wood. The fat man swung the club in an overhead blow, but it caught on the awning. Lexi dashed forward, swinging her knife, but the fat man backhanded her with his free hand, the knuckles smashing across her cheekbone and eye, opening a nasty gash that was bleeding freely. She went sprawling across the ground, which was muddy. She rolled onto her feet just in time to see the fat man lumbering toward her once again. This time he had the club in both hands above his head. Lexi waited as long as she dared before rolling to the side. The fat man slammed the club down where she’d been, and was slower standing back up straight than Lexi was. She stabbed the dagger into the man’s thigh.
The fat man grunted, looking down at the knife handle protruding from his leg. Lexi let the weapon go and moved away from the man. He turned and staggered after her, but the dagger slowed him considerably. The temptation to run was almost too much for her. She was used to striking first and ending a fight before it really started. Her miscalculation with the Wangorian dagger had given the fat man a second chance and his rage made her feel weak. He was dragging the club as he stalked toward her. She glanced around the dark street. She could see people peering furtively from their windows and doorways. She knew she had to make a decision—fight or run. She wanted to get someplace safe, to nurse the cut on her cheek. She could feel the hot blood running down her face, her eye was already swelling shut, and as she touched it with her hand, her resolve hardened.
Avondale Page 5
