The captain shrugged. “In either case, with your spawn, the same reasons hardly applied.”
“No, thank goodness for that. My son, and no matter what happens he will always be my son, was no magic-spewing dragon. Nor was he some haughty artifice prince. But as much as I have enjoyed our little chat, I didn't call you into my office to talk about Sascha. I just wanted to clear the air between us before you left the country. There are mages and then there are mages, isn't that right, Captain? Some even you must treat with a light touch.”
“May I remind you that the small monster who was your son was still a monster? And despite the danger posed by Devin, the way we skirted the law handling that larger monster still makes me uncomfortable. We set a terrible legal precedent, sir. We made a mistake, sir. I repeat, it gives me nightmares.”
“Wait, our minor abrogation of the penalties of mage law is the source of your nightmares, Captain? Not the devastation he unleashed on this city? Not his hideous crime? Not the horrors he inflicted on your . . . mates? A bent law keeps you awake at night?”
“Not so minor, sir. Once we start bending, where will we stop?”
“Indeed,” the magistrate chuckled. “Do you remember why we fitted Devin with that awful cast iron boot? Where in our past did we unearth that relic? Tell me, oh historian. We haven't used those brutal things in centuries. Now we clamp them on young mages. ”
“Yes, sir, I don't know where it came from, sir,” the captain said. “But I believe we used the device so his victims would have ample time to run away.”
“What do you think of Sergeant Jemmy, Captain Vice?”
The man glared at the apparent non sequitur. “Jemmy? He does his duty. The man is very conscientious about acquiring different candy flavors for my rawhide experiments.”
“And do you think that is the only reason he stocks your little chamber of horrors with candy?”
“Of course, sir,” the captain snickered. “He's scarcely passing it out among the men, now is he?”
“Quite right, Captain, quite right. Well, since you've taken such an interest in wizards and wizarding laws of late, I think it only fair to give you this assignment.” The magistrate pulled a folder from the pile and slid it across his desk towards the captain. “Someone needs to go check up on our wayward wild mage. Here is everything we have on his family history, current whereabouts, and violent crimes. Let me see, here's a military map of Corel. You notice the two troop insertion points marked with red ink?”
The captain did not touch it. “Sending me up the river, sir?”
“Oh, no. The river is for large, well-funded expeditions. I am sending you over the mountains. We'll outfit you a field kit, an old hunting gauntlet, your own brass watch, and off you go. I think we can even scare up a few northern mercenaries. Congratulations, Captain: your first independent command.”
“Barbarians, sir? I demand a full company of Black Guards.”
“Everyone has higher duties to perform than watching your back, I'm afraid. I just can't spare the men with the current mage outbreak. The trip should take you through a foreign land infested with sorcerers, warlocks, magi, and wizards of all stripes. You can't do a thing to them, sadly. Our writ of law you cherish so much does not extend to Corel, but I imagine they could do all sorts of nasty things to you. I hear the country is lovely this time of year: the leaves all turn the color of fire, blood, piss, or shit. I expect you'll return in a few seasons. If you return at all.”
“I protest, sir. I must stay here and attend to my duties.”
“Oh no, Captain. Right now your duties are marching you straight through the Kingdom of Corel.”
“But, sir!” For the first time, the captain looked flustered. But he looked too flushed. There was something else behind those burning cheeks: a quiet gloating, almost as though some part of the madman wanted to trek through the mage-infested hinterlands. However, all the other parts were quivering with indignation.
“Leave now, Captain Vice, or I will have you imprisoned for insubordination, dereliction of duty, and disrespecting a superior officer.” The magistrate smiled at the sound of a broadsword easing back into its sheath followed by the quiet creaking of greaved feet attempting to tiptoe down stairs. The magistrate shooed his subordinate towards the door. “Don't tarry, Captain. I've already filed the paperwork for you!”
14. DEVIN, YEAR 495
The rose hip seeds buried outside the old wizard's front door survived the winter and welcomed the warmer days of spring by germinating and sprouting. The roses themselves were still a distant, future promise of summer, but those cheerful little sprouts remained a constant, growing reminder of his failure. Nature has succeeded where Devin's magic had not. He gave the plants a sour glance before slamming the door.
My magic still falters with the most basic tasks. I cannot even replicate the magic I used to create Styx after Cornelius hobbled me, Devin thought. I reach for those petals and all I get is a handful of thorns. Where is that sham wizard?
Devin felt trapped in a cage of his own design. When he could not succeed with the most basic two dimensional exercises controlling the stone, Cornelius had crafted a spell to restrain Devin's powers, citing the unpredictable, explosive nature of the youth's magic.
“I found a site for my cabin,” Cornelius sang from outside the house as he opened the door. “It's right on the mountain over town. There's a field, a gap in the trees like a giant bald spot.” He unknowingly rubbed the back of his head. “You can see it from our doorstep on a clear day. It's wonderful, it's . . . what's wrong with you, Devin? Your face looks like the hind end of a wyvern.”
“Come in, Cornelius. I'm happy for you, I really am, but it's the dawn of a new year. The Black Guards will come marching into town as soon as the roads dry. It would be nice if I knew how to use my magic before the invasion hits. You promised me you could open that magic wellspring and teach me. Instead, you have allowed me the thinnest trickle of power.”
“Until you learn to control it, a trickle is more than enough. I have contacts all across the kingdom Devin and heard not one whisper of an invasion. Patience, lad. We have the time to do this right.”
The artificer grunted his approval while the mage sputtered.
“Do what? Turn me into another one of your experiments?”
“Have you been doing those exercises with the pebble? Control is your weakness, Devin, not power.”
“After two seasons, the most I can do is fling a pebble with my mind. And I could do that much the first day I discovered magic.”
“You are getting more accurate at least,” the wizard murmured. “And the next step? Have you been practicing?” Cornelius asked, rolling his hand. “Can you orbit the pebble around your head? Have you at least progressed from a linear two dimensional path to a parabolic curve?”
Devin focused and the pebble rose in the air. The stone began a smooth arc as always, then zipped into a straight trajectory half way through the turn and buried itself in the wall.
“Too much, too fast,” the wizard said. “Maybe your mind is clouded. You must embrace the tiger.”
“A pox on your tiger! I don't even have enough power left to make my fingernails spark.”
“Good,” Cornelius nodded. “That means you're using it all up. As you should be. I provided a steady stream that we can measure and study. We must proceed cautiously. Your magic is too dangerous to be left uncapped.”
“How long are you going to pretend to study this before you fix it?”
“How long are you going to pretend to practice before you learn something? Patience, Devin.” Cornelius made placating motions with his hands when the youth bridled and they both sank into their respective chairs. “In theory, your condition should not exist. Yet here you are. Fact trounces theory.”
“I don't want to trounce theories. I want to trounce Black Guards,” Devin said. Captain Vice could return at any day with an army clad with black armor and shrieking brass watches. He felt powerle
ss.
“Devin, you had far too much power surging through your system and far too little control. That 'cap' as you call it is for your own safety. I've said as much before, but you never listen,” Cornelius sighed. “After a long season of experiments, I still can't explain how your talent works. That frightens me. You would burn this house down to the ground attempting to light a candle. I am slowly beginning to understand Azumel's horror. The old stick always could delve deeper into a person's etherium than anyone I know.”
And just what did Azumel see? “I need to go see Magnus,” Devin said, rising and pushing back his chair. “We're close to making a reliable metal ankle joint.”
“Send the doll. This is more important,” Cornelius said, grabbing the youth's arm and pulling him back down.
“Styx,” Devin called. “Will you please go to the smithy and pick up the new steel ankle attachment from Magnus? If it's not ready, pester the apprentices and borrow the wooden model.”
The automaton pumped his steel fist in the air. The entire arm was glistening metal from shoulder to fingertips and Devin paused a moment to admire his handiwork as Styx patted the youth's shoulder with the wooden hand. The master smith had been a fantastic ally unlike some other masters he could name.
“I will apply gentle persuasion, Father,” Styx said, shedding a trail of flour dust as the automaton walked towards the door. All the blacksmith's apprentices will be eager to show me their mettle.” He waved as he left the house.
Devin examined his shirt. Those singed, wooden fingertips had left a black smudge on the fabric. He smelled of yeast. Styx was spending far too much time at the bakery again.
“A steel arm?” Cornelius sighed as the door closed. “I thought you were going to replace the joints, not refurbish the whole arm. My doll looks asymmetrical, now. One of his arms is lovely, living wood. The other is a metal monstrosity.”
“I told you before, he is not yours to command like a slave.” Devin hiked up his pants and planted his new metal limb on the table. The ankle was a simple spring-tensioned hinge and steel foot little more than a block with stubs to represent toes, but every step carried him closer to a new reality. “I suppose you think this is a monstrosity, too?”
“No, lad, never.”
“With winter ending, we've been getting more tourists into town,” Devin said, shifting gears. “The imps are swarming through the streets.”
“Yes, and the price of Golden Dragon Blend is plummeting. Thank the five gods and the Dark Cabal. The annual catastrophe of wyrms are emerging from the nest and slinking out of their caves into the world. The deep forests are glut with them. The Wyvern Preservation Guild has their hands full . . . or burnt. Who cares?”
Devin crossed his arms. He glared at the teacups. They're just baby dragons. How can someone derive such pleasure from hordes of dying baby dragons? How can I? Am I a monster, too?
“Don't scowl at my tea cups. You drink as much Golden Dragon Blend as I do. Most of those wyrms were going to die regardless. Why should we let the weasels, the foxes, and the wolves gorge themselves while my tea tin sits empty?”
Devin crossed his legs to let the light streaming through the window highlight his new steel foot. “I'm going for a walk outside.”
“Going wyrm hunting?” Cornelius smiled. “Bring some back some scales for the tea tin, won't you?
“Studying your magic is more important that theorizing about a machine. You just need to keep practicing. Though I admit those machines present a fascinating mental puzzle. One thing puzzles me, however.”
“Just one thing?” Devin asked. “If we could only examine one of those damn watches and figure out how it functions. You had one and you threw it away, Cornelius.”
“The watches generate a multitude of questions that access to a physical specimen will not answer.” Cornelius shrugged. “From what I've observed, these devices appear to integrate magic and machinery at a very precise, fundamental level. If magic is illegal in the empire and all the magicians are cowering or vanished, then who designed these watches? When were they created? How are new devices manufactured and distributed? The more I mentally examine the theory behind those watches, the more questions arise. Figuring out how the thing functions would merely be the wyvern's wingtip.”
“An artificer designed the watch, obviously. They design everything in the empire.”
“Do 'they', lad?” Cornelius asked, placing a slight emphasis on the word. “Do you never miss it? Your old life?”
“Nonsense! My old life abandoned me. I'm a wizard, now, right? I'm a learn-ed scholar, not some imp metal worker with grease up to my elbows,” Devin said, looking at his clean hands. “Corelian down to my fingertips. I need some fresh air, Cornelius. Thinking about those stupid watches is too distressing.”
The old wizard sighed and then nodded. “Give Abby or Magnus my regards, lad.”
“The watches violate every tenet of natural philosophy I've pieced together and studied among all our combined books. Those things should not function and yet . . .”
“Yes, they violate all the natural and unnatural laws.” Cornelius quirked an eyebrow as he glanced at the youth. “Much like your magic. Which you should be studying. We live in strange times. Go take a walk. Expunge the swirling obfuscations from your head. I need to spend some time ruminating. I must lie beside the tiger and meditate.”
“Don't let your worries devour you, Cornelius. At the end of the day, it's just a machine. An impossible, stupid complex machine that absorbs magic. Hardly worth examining. By the wisdom of the five gods, my mind is still reeling.”
If Armand's watch absorbs direct attacks, perhaps I should approach the problem from an oblique angle? Devin pushed the watch from his mind as he closed the front door and stepped into the crowd. The town bustled. Responding to the persistent warmth in the air, locals had exchanged dark, somber clothes for what Abby called bright weather plumage. Everyone whistled and sauntered through the streets wearing dazzling leafy greens, vibrant dandelion yellows, soft bluebell blushes, and pale speckled tulip whites. The warm weather had returned; life was blooming again.
He chuckled. Some folks were still wearing their festive New Year's attire. The youth plucked his own homespun, yellow shirt and merged into the crowd.
Here and there a spot of black or brown clothing marred the bright display, but the dark wardrobe was offset by a bright yellow sash or a green hat, so Devin's eye glossed over it. But as he approached the shops in the center of town along the main road, the colors of the clothes began to shift and as the bright, gay colors retreated into the shops, darkness marched up and down the streets: melancholy browns, serious grays, pulsating maroons, and always the bitter, bitter black. The imperials were on vacation and they took their vacations seriously. The only hint of color was the gold or silver jewelry they draped like buntings over their bodies.
The day was too nice to mock imperials and their weird sense of fashion. An imp couple walked past. The woman's robes jingled with loose coins while her husband trailed behind her, balancing a mountain of wrapped packages in his arms. They invade our town and we welcome them with open arms. But they don't attack us with swords and arrows. No, they come wielding money. Devin shook his head and entered the smithy.
“Hail, Magnus,” Devin shouted across the room as the smith worked at the forge. The youth pitched his voice over the ringing hammer. “Has Styx arrived, yet?”
“Taking a break from your books? Does Cornelius know?” The blacksmith laughed, gesturing with his hammer to the workbench where Styx was sorting a pile of small, delicate, metal parts. “By the gods' ancient eyes, Devin, are you trying to blind me with that yellow shirt? New Year's is long gone, boy. Half the damn town would drag that festival half way into summer. Choose your side, Devin. I side with the half who end the festival in proper time and return to work.”
“Father needs a break from acquiring knowledge,” the wooden man muttered. “Before the weight of the knowledge breaks him.
”
“It's not that yellow. Of course I returned to work the day after New Year's. Cornelius had us running thought exercises on those mage-killer watches before we've ever actually had the chance to examine one. The theories Cornelius devises to try and explain how the things work are ridiculously intricate. I need to remember that it's only a machine and somebody designed that machine. I need to get inside the mind of whoever created the thing.” Devin nudged Styx to one side and rummaged through the tools scattered across the workbench.
“So you come to relax with a machine you designed instead?” Magnus asked, setting his hammer on the anvil. He walked over to the barrels next to the workbench, blew the grit off an old mug, and poured himself an ale. “Something you can see and touch with your hands?”
“This is vital work towards understanding a perplexing magic instrument and building me a new foot. Not because I need a break or because I miss tinkering or anything like that. You know, for all its mystery, that watch is still just a lump of metal. That's your expertise, Magnus. Has Cornelius never consulted with you?” Devin asked the smith.
Magnus blew bubbles as he snorted into his ale. “By the gods' hairy knees, Devin. You think that old coot would ever ask the advice of a humble blacksmith to help unlock the mysteries of some magic geegaw? After he flew into such a rage when we built Styx?”
“That's blasphemy, Magnus,” Devin said quietly.
The blacksmith shrugged. That was as close as he ever got to apologizing. Religious rebukes rolled off his beard like spilled ale.
The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 33
