The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  But this is Devin. He's erratic. He's frightened. He's Devin. He said the guards already came to his house once. They suspect . . . something. How long before he reveals himself?

  The papers dropped from my hands. The folders scattered as I kicked them against the wall. He's hiding in his home. If they catch him there . . . if he unleashes that awful mage power in his house . . . disaster.

  Do you want disaster? my mind whispered softly. Do you believe he is truly evil, a mage from the story books, a villain worse than any dragon?

  I wrapped my arms around my knees, hugging myself. “No,” I sobbed, “not Devin. The dragon is a mask of metal. The mage is a mask of fire. Neither one is his real face.” I rocked on the floor, tears etching lines down my oil-stained cheeks. “I don't want him to die . . . don't want him to die . . . don't want . . .”

  Then help him, a tiny corner of my mind screamed. For once, truly help him. Bring everything into the open before they slaughter him in secret.

  “Wha—” My tears began to dry as my mind attacked the problem.

  Remember what Dragon Boy used to call the knights too poor or too unskilled to build decent mechanical armor? The ones who welded pots and cookie trays to the skeletal frames of their suits?

  “Yes? Kitchen knights?”

  Ohhhh, they hate him. Use that hate to save him. Draw Devin and the Black Guards into the open. Create a field of battle for the young mage, a battleground he knows well: the courtyard.

  I smiled as my mind raced ahead of me. “Yes, and I think I have the perfect bait.”

  What would all those apprentices Devin has slighted over the years say if you told them of a wonderful opportunity? The chance to burn Devin's most treasured invention?

  I chewed my lip. “Yes . . . those who didn't fully agree with me will leap at the chance once Benson throws his might behind the plan. But we need to turn a mere bonfire into an explosive spectacle. Something audible as well as visual.”

  We're a pack of artificers, are we not? I thought smugly. Encase the old dead tree in a long, steel sleeve: a vertical cannon with a fuse at the base. Stuff in some more dragon oil and whatever else we have on hand. Gather the knights tomorrow. Construct the sleeve as a project. Then . . . light it up. Draw the mage out of hiding. Draw the Black Guards into a trap. Give Devin a fighting chance.

  I stifled a giggle looking around the room. “I have to clean the mess in this office first before making a bigger one in the courtyard. Or at least make it look like a proper burglary . . .” I glanced at the files smeared against the wall—those lovely, incriminating files— and, shoulders shaking with laughter, a different plan came to mind.

  15. DEVIN, YEAR 491

  His mother took Devin by the shoulders, shaking him as he walked toward his sister's room the third time that morning. “Devin,” she said, “you're acting like a criminal. I know you want to help your sister, but you've kept yourself locked in this house for days.”

  “It all went wrong.” Devin glanced at the closed door, guilt stamped on his face. “Everything went wrong the night of the evals.”

  She patted his shoulder. “I don't know what happened that night. I just know there's some horrible conspiracy of silence between you and your sister. You tried your best. She'll open up when she's ready.”

  Devin sighed and nodded. Misera had gone mute. Neither food nor hugs nor her family's pleading yielded a single word. You tried your best. The words mocked him. My best didn't help during my evals. My best couldn't cure my sister. Trying my best isn't enough.

  “You're her brother, by the five gods,” his mother shook him again, but there was no force in her arms. “She needs you to be strong. You're supposed to protect her from . . . whatever happened . . . whatever accident gave her that horrible scar.”

  “I can't always protect her,” Devin cried. Protect her? I am a danger to her. I burned my little sister. She is better off without me, safer without me.

  “Devin, if the five gods descended from the white tower and pulled this house down around our ears, she's still your little sister and you will defend her with your life.”

  The gods won't find anybody home after the guild rescinds my membership. They're going to kick us out into the streets. What if the village doesn't take us back? What if I'm tainted? Where will we go?

  “Against anything. Do you understand me? But you're right. She'll talk when she's ready. We need to talk about something else, you and I.” She pointed her finger back and forth as though weaving an invisible strand between the two of them.

  Devin paused, not trusting himself to speak.

  “I know things didn't turn out the way you planned, but sulking around the house isn't going to change things. Get back out there. Part of growing up is learning to accept life doesn't always work out the way we expect. Just go be yourself.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “No more hiding behind the guild. Show everyone the real Devin and spit in anyone's face who doesn't like what they see! Will you do that for me?”

  “I will.” He patted her hand. No more hiding. “I guarantee it.”

  Devin stepped outside and filled his lungs with the muck-laden air of the city. I might almost miss this place. The freedom from the future the guild had laid out for him those many years ago was almost intoxicating.

  His vision blurred. He spent his walk to the Guild Hall waving goodbye to all his dreams. The mansions in the east got a tearful bow, the marketplace a fond farewell, and even the Black Guards patrolling the streets each received a jaunty, little wave. What did he have to fear from Black Guards at this, the end of all things?

  Yes, the mage insisted, kill the swine. Roast them in their own armor. They are the ones who should fear. Then torch the Guild Hall to cinders. Pay them back for all those wasted years.

  “No,” Devin argued. “There's only one person to blame, only one soul who deserves a fiery retribution for his actions.”

  Oh? the artificer asked. So you finally admit it. The blame rests with—

  “Benson,” Devin whispered. “What are mechanical horns and claws next to mechanical fire? I will hit Benny where it hurts the most: in his pride.”

  Benson . . . The artificer sighed.

  Toast his hands inside those ugly gauntlets, the mage agreed. But must you use mechanical fire? It lacks a certain . . . flair.

  “He poisoned everyone against me.” Devin envisioned Drusilla waiting by the gate. “Well, not everyone.” But what if Drusilla wasn't waiting for him . . . again? Was he abandoning his sister? Was he really doing the right thing? If only the gods would give him a sign, a signal from on high—

  From the direction of the Guild Hall, a huge boom echoed through the city followed by a giant tongue of flame scorching the sky. Devin glared at the spectacle as every Black Guard in the vicinity ran toward it. No more hiding, he reminded himself. It was time for the Dragon Boy to return.

  Drusilla was not waiting by the gates that morning, but there was a host of Black Guards. Devin saw a few apprentice stragglers and joined them, passing through the cordon of guards. They let everyone wearing a black cap pass.

  Devin heard and saw the roaring pillar of fire and felt the crackling heat long before he saw the source. The old tree behind the Guild Hall had been surrounded by . . . a giant steel tube, a patchwork of shoddy welded scraps anchored to the ground with five guy lines. The tube belched a blackened inferno into the sky. Flames reached up to the heavens, almost high enough to scorch the White Tower.

  Devin shook his head. No, that's ridiculous.

  Two journeyman directed Black Guards away at the gate. Devin could hear their excuses wafting in the breeze. “Just an innocent experiment . . . a little out of hand . . . full approval of Guildmaster Huron . . . we are in control of this situation.”

  We are in control of this situation. The phrase echoed through Devin's mind. For so long, I've wrestled to stay in control. And for what? He ran toward the pillar of fire. Everything still burst into flames in the end.

>   Several artificers of all levels gathered in an undulating sea of people capped with black, silver, and white to watch the spectacle. A few masters tried to chivvy the younger journeyman and apprentices away, but none too vigorously as they were caught in the spectacle themselves.

  Devin pushed through the crowd. My books. My armor. My . . . dragon flamer. Then he saw the debris. Fused parts and tiny gears of the invention he had worked so hard to perfect lay strewn everywhere like grotesque metal walnuts. Bits of loricate armor draped across the ground like wind-swept leaves. Devin coughed in the black, oily smoke. He envisioned his pack, his tools, and all his books slowly curling and shriveling into a blackened lump. He cringed and looked away.

  He glanced at the mouth of the tube, then at the lines anchoring it to the ground. I could use one of those guy lines. Repel down into the inferno . . . somehow not burn to death . . .

  “I know that look.” Someone nudged him with their elbow. Devin turned to see Drusilla hefting his pack. “I saved all your stupid books and your tools, Dragon Boy, so don't go diving down a tube of flames after them.”

  “Thank you.” He slipped the pack over his shoulder, grunting at the weight. “What happened?”

  She stared and said nothing. He could see the calculating thoughts churning behind her eyes. She opened her mouth several times. When she finally spoke, her words were disjointed, like gears skipping over a stripped cog. Devin couldn't help but think she was reserving what she had meant to say for later. “There's been some gossip . . . about you. Someone . . . discovered your machine. They learned about its horrors. That person . . . told everyone that such a dangerous thing had to be destroyed before someone got hurt.”

  “Benny,” Devin growled. “Had to be Benny. And my armor? My things?” Devin yelled, waving at the blazing tree. “Did those have to be destroyed, too?”

  Drusilla crossed her arms. “Is the gossip true? You built that thing? You created a device to torch people?” She curled her fist and Devin flinched.

  “It had other applications,” he said.

  “What? To shoot fire like the mages shoot fire? How could you create something so vile? How could you want to turn good, honest people . . . into mages?”

  She shook her head in disgust and as a little twig fell from her hair, Devin was reminded of some delicate, woodland creature escaping the fray. He wanted to join it. He had no excuse. Was that what I was truly thinking? Was it a practical tool or something fanciful and terrible?

  There was steel in her voice as she accused him. “You could have hurt so many people with your fire . . . spewing machine.” Drusilla turned away. “So I showed Benson where you hide your stuff. It had to be destroyed. I . . .” She blushed and looked down at her feet.

  She's hiding something, Devin thought, clenching the wet strap slung over his shoulder as this thought was soon eclipsed by the next. My best friend betrayed me to Benson the Barbarian.

  The gout of flames finally began to die, choking on the smoke as the fuel within the strange tube exhausted itself. Cries of disappointment arose from several younger members of the audience. The journeymen and masters started to usher the awestruck apprentices back inside. Devin and Drusilla melded into the crowd.

  “You didn't have to do that . . . let him . . . show him . . .” Devin stumbled, at a loss for words.

  “There are so many things I've had to do,” Drusilla said quietly as they pushed through the crowd. “I promised myself . . . I promise I'll tell you about it, reveal everything this afternoon. Benson wanted to play the game one last time. That was part of his price.”

  And you paid that price. Did you even hesitate? This really is the end, Devin thought, following the trail of apprentices back into the Guild Hall. The last round. The final game. This ends today, Benny.

  But as Devin sat through the longest morning class ever, vengeful thoughts against Benson kept veering back to Drusilla. What did you want to tell me? Why did you not appear at the gates that morning? Or appear as my witness that night?

  Devin was surprised to see Higgins leading the class through some arcane application of brass welding. The old coot never deigned to lecture mere apprentices if he could help it. Higgins saw teaching apprentices as nothing less than a punishment. What has the oil-addled fool done to annoy Guildmaster Huron? the youth wondered. Does this censure have something to do with his spiteful conduct at my evaluation?

  Then it was time for the final game. Everyone kept to their seats. Devin, after half standing, sat back down again. He stared around the room. What have you been planning, Benson?

  Journeyman Higgens looked perplexed. The plans did not seem to have included him. “Class is over. It's time to leave.” He gestured his arms like he was scooping dirt with his hands. “Arise and face the end of your day.”

  Benson chuckled. “We need this classroom, sir. It's unsafe out there.” He gestured to an open window. The sun was shining and birds were chirping. “The heat from venting the explosion deformed that giant, metal tube. Might fall and hurt someone.”

  “Don't you apprentices normally play outside?” Higgins pressed. “There's not enough room for your little game to frolic indoors, surely?”

  “Knights-and-dragon,” Drusilla whispered. The other apprentices took up the chant, pounding on their desks. “Knights. And. Dragon. Knights. And. Dragon.”

  Journeyman Higgins raised his hands to placate the class. “I stand corrected. Surely the knights need the large courtyard to hunt this dragon?”

  “Oh no, we already uncovered the beast's lair and captured the dragon, sir.” Benson smiled and leaned back in his seat “Torched all of its treasure. We don't need any room at all for what comes next.”

  Devin clenched his fists. He could feel them growing hot as he pushed his feelings down into his fingertips. “Not yet,” he whispered, keeping the heat contained. “It's not time yet.”

  “If you're certain,” Higgins shrugged as he gathered his papers into a leather folder and slid towards the door. “Then I shall see you in the machine shop later. All except you, Devin.”

  Devin felt every eye in the room turn on him. He could hear their thoughts, feel the exhale of the breaths nobody realized they had been holding. So, the rumors are true.

  Higgins smacked the wattle-and-daub walls with his folder. “Don't tear the place down.”

  “We won't,” the apprentices chorused.

  Benson smiled and turned towards Devin. “A true dragon walks among us now. Shooting fire from your fingertips no less.”

  He knows. Devin hid his hands beneath his shirt, his mind shrieking: It's over. Benson knows I'm a mage.

  Be at peace, the artificer sighed. It was over the moment you accepted help from that volatile, magic-wielding pest.

  Oh, it's over all right. It's over for them, the mage snarled.

  “It was truly a wonderful device, Dragon Boy,” Benson smirked. “A machine that shoots fire. Pity we had to destroy it.”

  Oh, thank the five gods, Devin thought, glaring at his best friend while she hung her head. He's just talking about the dragon flamer. The ex dragon flamer.

  “I almost cried when Drusilla rallied everyone and called for its destruction. She led us right to the old tree. Right to your little hideaway. She is a true loyal knight after all.”

  Some of the other apprentices gasped. Others shrugged. All eyes turned to Devin.

  Drusilla? Devin's eyes narrowed as her cheeks flushed. Does her betrayal run so deep? Was she ever truly my friend? Was she merely pretending, plotting this whole time? Who is the second most skilled apprentice in the guild? Who gains favor with Guildmaster Huron after I've been swept aside?

  The hurt in the old man's eyes that night was a stain he could never clean. The shame of it blazed bright in Devin's thoughts. He punched his fist beneath the desk. Somewhere deep within his mind, the mage cheered as the flames grew hotter and hotter.

  “What have you done, Drusilla?” he whispered in the silence. He shoved his chai
r away and launched to his feet. “What did you need to tell me so desperately this morning? Have you been masking your true nature this whole time? Pretending to be someone you're not? What are you hiding?”

  “No, not like this! Not here.” Drusilla choked back a nervous laugh and bowed her head.

  “Yes,” Devin said, pointing at the floor. “Here. In front of everyone. Explain your treachery, knight to dragon.”

  She stood and squared her shoulders. “Fine. I wanted to keep this private. I wanted to have an earnest conversation about it with you. Want to do it here? We'll do it here. Shall I turn those accusations back on you? You're not the only one with questions? But all of mine lead back to this one: how'd you make the puzzle box sing?”

  Devin stumbled. “I . . . that's not important.”

  “Oh, but it is. Did you use some sort of mechanical wizardry?” she sneered.

  “Wizardry?” Devin asked weakly as she stormed through the classroom to reach him, pushing desks and apprentices out of her way.

  “Then there's the case of your broken invention the night of the evals. A dead machine that suddenly, mysteriously starts working again.” She grinned and wiggled her fingers at him. “Just like the puzzle box, yeah? Did you touch them with those skilled fingers and they just sprang to life?”

  Devin looked down at his hands, fingers clenching. “No, I mean I didn't . . . ” How does she know?

  “But you can repair anything, Devin,” she said. “You're always so helpful with everyone's projects. Such blatant skill. One glance . . . all fixed.”

  Devin stared, struck mute by the onslaught. What does she know?

  She grinned. “It's like you have a touch of magic in those fingers.”

  Devin backed away, waving his arms. “Drusilla, what do you mean?” She knows. She knows. She . . . his mind gibbered as she maneuvered him behind the large lectern in the front of the classroom. Every eye was upon them. Every breath was held.