The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  “Yet they preserved the smoking ruins of a classroom in my honor? Surely, there was a plaque made to commemorate the long forgotten apprentice and his rampage?”

  “No, that was later, after I . . .” She sighed and looked down at her hands.

  “Drusilla. What. Did You. Do?”

  She hung her head. “I blackmailed Grandmaster Huron.”

  “How? With what?”

  “With you. The files in his office described how the puzzle box worked. How it was a tool to expose magic users. I figured out how he knew you were . . . what you were. And then after, he told nobody. Not the other guild masters. Not the Black Guards. He kept your secret, Devin.” She smacked the table. “And how did you repay the man? You demolish the Guild Hall.”

  “Should I have thanked him for ruining my life?”

  “I read his notes, Devin. There were tear stains on the pages. You ruined your own life and shattered an old man's heart.”

  “And you capitalized on it.”

  “Yes . . . I was just so . . .” She threw up her hands. “You were gone. I had . . . you know my family history, Devin. My career was all I had left. Huron greased my early journeyman evals on the condition I never reveal the secret of the puzzle box. He gave my career another little push after you'd gone to Corel when several journeymen disappeared. Some thought you had returned and killed them. I knew it wasn't you. Benny hadn't vanished with the rest of them. I may have insinuated I was your loyal scout on the inside though. Between that and the grandmaster, it greased my promotion to master artificer.”

  Devin nodded. “Clever. Brutal.”

  “Artificer born. You know how we play the game.”

  “Blackmail? Conniving? Politicking? They wouldn't have kicked you out for that. The apprentices did worse to each other every day.”

  “Apprentices don't blackmail the grandmaster every day. Huron was in a hurry to push me though the program and out the door. They came up with a pretext to kick me off the rolls soon after. I'm a master in name only now.”

  “For a little arm twisting? For a promotion maybe a year or two early?” Devin asked. “I don't believe it. Who'd you kill?”

  She laughed. “You don't think a tiny, little promotion was all I got for holding those files over Grandmaster Huron's head, do you? Feh. Not hardly. It must've been a year they held you in those cells arguing amongst themselves. And then a gigantic show trial of all things." She grinned slyly. “You never questioned why?”

  He gasped. “You didn't.”

  “Why not?” Drusilla kicked the table with her heel, rocking it. “The Artificer's Guild has all this power, all this prestige. What good is it? I thought even if I had to blackmail them into it, the guild was finally going to do something for the community instead of just filling its own coffers. They were going to sponsor your case and make the judiciary hold a trial for a mage.”

  “And you were motivated by all those warm, cheery thoughts of civic responsibility? How many mages do you know, Dru?”

  “Just one. I had to do something, Devin. I know what those bastards do to mages. I couldn't let . . .”

  He clasped her hand. She struggled and tried to pull away. He gripped tighter. “I owe you my life, Drusilla. Not to mention my freedom. Thank you.”

  She traced her finger along the back of his hand and shrugged. “You would have done the same for me.”

  “Trial, nothing. I would have broken you out of the cells in a dusty haze of rubble and dead guards.” He waved his free arm over the table. “Flattened the place. Sneaky politicking isn't my style. Rebellions are supposed to make noise, Dru, else who's going to notice them?”

  “Fine, so my little rebellion wasn't exciting or flashy. Change isn't always brought on by glamorous explosions or loud rallies. It can be as simple as one person deciding the world needs to change. You were a fool and hot-headed sometimes, but you didn't deserve to be taken to the Atrium of Justice. Nobody deserves that.”

  “Be honest, Dru. If our positions were reversed, you would have never been caught.” He stabbed the air. “In and out. Quick, like a poniard. Now that I've gotten a better look at those beauties . . . ” he gestured to the giant steam engine lathe and boring machines, “does anyone know you liberated them from the Guild Hall cavern? And dragged them all the way to the capital, no less? Why hasn't anyone burgled your shop, yet?”

  “I may not be an upstanding member of the guild, but I'm still an artificer, Devin. We've got a powerful reputation, eh?”

  As hypocrites. He smiled. “Manipulating bastards. The hidden power running the country.”

  “Just so,” she replied. “I am Drusilla, master of the back alleys, queen of the gutter. Enough about my life.” She nodded over Devin's shoulder toward Styx. “What of this silent, wooden companion? A creation of yours?”

  “Oh, I didn't create Styx's mechanicals. I just breathed life into them. Why don't you tell her about it, Styx? Styx?”

  The wooden man kept silent behind his father's chair. Devin turned. Styx was staring at Drusilla with rapt adoration.

  “I owe you my life, too, fair maiden. Because you rescued my father,” the wooden man whispered. Devin could almost hear his brains baking as the raw passion roiled inside. “Because he was your friend and he was a mage. Now we come back to rescue all the mages.” He smiled. “The gods must have led us to your door.”

  Drusilla's eyes grew wide. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” She shook her head, pointing from Devin to Styx. “Whatever scheme the two of you are hatching, I want no part in it. I've crossed the guilds and spat in the emperor’s eye once in my life. And now I'm stuck here. One little rebellion was all I had in me. I will shelter you for the sake of our friendship, and hide you from the guards, but nothing more.”

  Devin nodded, sighing. Styx merely stared with his wide, painted eyes.

  “Well?” she asked.

  Styx said nothing.

  “Did you hear me, wooden man?” Drusilla screeched.

  He nodded, jaw clacking, and smiled. “You are very kind and very loud and very brave, but I do not believe your words.”

  Drusilla glanced at Devin. He shrugged. “My son is younger than he looks, yet older than he seems. Styx still believes the best of people, that evil is just in fairy tales. He'll learn.”

  Drusilla sighed. “If only evil were confined to fairy tales. Not that I am going to involve myself in this wild fiasco, but do you even have a plan beyond 'burn, palace, burn?'”

  “You don't think I traveled all the way back from Corel without formulating a plan?” Devin scoffed. “Of course I have a plan. I'm going to trade on my reputation,” he winked at her, “to rally the mages to my side. Then I'm going to overthrow the emperor, piss on the ruins of his palace, and build a school from the rubble. Change this miserable society. Train mages properly and help everyone see them as valuable members of society.”

  “Your plan is missing a few crucial steps in the middle. You're pretending mages are one cohesive group. They hide alone in the corners, in the fringe, in the gutters of society.”

  “I've come to the right place then, oh Gutter Queen.”

  “Ha! Clever. I'm still not helping you. Tell me, oh wise mage, how were you going to sell this plan to your unorganized confederation of loose, psychotic magic criminals? Even assuming you can find them all scattered in their little rat holes?”

  “They will find me. Mages aren't all—”

  She steamed right over him. “And that isn't even the difficult part. Then you need to turn around and sell this stupid, crazy plan to everyone who isn't a mage that they should trust anyone trying to organize a confederation of loose, psychotic magic criminals. You have no marketing strategy. You never have a marketing strategy.”

  “So it's a rough plan.”

  “It's an insane plan. You need everyone to rally around the one demographic in the empire everybody fears and hates. Before you can change how we treat mages, you need to change how we perceive them . . .” she paused. �
��Wait, what do you mean, 'they will find me?' Tell me: how precisely will they find you?”

  He swelled his chest. “Surely the name 'Devin the Mage' still captivates the public? Holds some small notoriety in the right circles: the rebel, the criminal, the—”

  “The spoiled brat who rained down a swath of destruction because he didn't pass a test. If they remember you at all, it will be as a creature of infamy, not fame.”

  He sighed. “If they remember my mountain of mistakes rather than a sparse handful of minor successes, so much the better. The idiot who destroyed half a city fleeing the guards. The youth who collapsed his own house atop his head. The criminal who lost his foot trying to bribe his way to freedom. The fool who destroyed a Corelian town with a tornado of cobble stones. The villain who slaughtered the entire Red Army in a fit of pique. They could hardly forget the exaggerated antics of that idiot mage, could they?” He paused and looked at her.

  “Oh no, please keep adding to that list.” She beckoned with her finger. “This untapped vein of humility is a refreshing change from the braggart I remember.”

  “I'm not the same person you knew at the Guild Hall,” Devin said. “I've changed.”

  “Well, I look forward to getting to know the new Devin.” She smiled and clasped his hands This time, neither of them pulled away. “Without assisting you with your insane goals in any way of course.”

  “You are very changed, Father,” Styx agreed with a solemn nod. “You are now incapable of using magic. You're not a mage anymore.”

  “Oh no? Still keeping secrets? What will your fellow mages think of the famous Devin leading the charge when they hear you've lost your powers?” Drusilla squeezed the ex-mage's fingers in a steel grip. “The more I hear of this ill-conceived, poorly-designed, so-called plan, the more I hate it.”

  “Bless the five gods you're not helping us, then,” Devin said weakly as she crushed his fingers.

  “Who said anything about not helping?” she spat. “Consider me an intrigued observer. A hawk on the wing spying on two little mice. Somebody has to save you from yourselves.”

  Devin winced. Styx beamed.

  4. DEVIN, YEAR 497

  The unfinished, warped beam hanging over Devin's head always bothered him. Every day when he awoke, he was greeted with that rough hewn, poorly jointed rafter, every night was a miracle the roof hadn't collapsed on his head. It was just another reminder of the unexpected squalor in the capital. Sure, he hadn't expected the streets to be paved with steel, but this was the center of the mighty Iron Empire. Some magnificence was assumed.

  He hadn't done much exploring himself, but according to Styx, the charming gutter quality of Drusilla's alleyways extended throughout much of the new city. Even the glass and iron spires, the capital's version of his home city's rooftop greenhouses, were in disrepair. But the poorest neighborhood in the empire still ate better than the king of Corel. Though food was more expensive than he remembered. That didn't stop Styx from buying new 'exotic' imperial groceries every time he ran errands for—

  Drusilla poked her head into the loft. “Still sleeping on this musty old pallet? I've got such a soft, comfy mattress downstairs. Anyway, your um . . . son is making us breakfast again. After doing all the shopping. I don't know whether it's adorable or terrifying.”

  The only problem with Drusilla's mattress is that Drusilla comes with it. She is a wonderful friend, but after the Abigail fiasco, dare I hope for more? Devin sighed and sat up in bed, wincing as he smacked his head against the ceiling. “I think living here with a real artificer surrounded by all these steam-powered devices unnerves him. He probably doesn't want you to see him as just another machine. He's practicing, showing off his humanity. Fetching groceries and cooking are people things.”

  “He'll deaden my tongue if he keeps practicing.” She wrinkled her nose. “Burning eggs is a people thing, too.” She turned aside as he started to dress. “Get down there before we need to gouge our breakfast out of the pan with a chisel. Teaching a boy to cook is a parent's responsibility.”

  A teacher cannot teach that which he does not know. Devin sighed and rapped on the twisted beam. “Speaking of responsibilities, oh mistress of metal, why don't you ever repair this place? The state of your business is a reflection on you. No wonder all your customers are thieves and cutthroats.”

  She shrugged. “It's a rental. One of Lord Kilandree's many properties, which he leases for services rendered. The man owns most of the slums.” She slapped the walls and a piece of plaster broke loose. “Why should I sink my time and money into an edifice I have no stake in? It's just like the commoners and the guilds. Why should they work to better the empire if they have no voice in how the system is run?”

  “What?” Devin cried, affecting tones of amazement. “An evil nobleman? Not a grandmaster? Could there be a problem with the empire we cannot directly lay at the feet of those awful, awful guilds?”

  She stuck out her tongue and made an unladylike noise.

  It had only been a few days and the argument was growing stale. Drusilla's faltering help with the revolution was more trouble than it was worth. She favored a bottom up approach that wrecked the stranglehold of the guilds. Devin preferred to start at the top of the bureaucracy, behead the emperor and any minions who didn't submit to the new mage regime fast enough, and then start building from scratch. He smiled.

  “You've got that look again,” Drusilla said. “Even if you succeed, decapitating Horatio II won't solve anything. There's still the council. And how will wanton destruction endear everyone to the mage cause? No matter what you build from the rubble, you'll just be another conqueror. If you wreck the bureaucracy, the empire will dissolve into the five kingdoms again.”

  Devin pulled his shirt over his head. “Would that be so bad?”

  “Bad? All those old kingdoms had kings. You know every noblemen worth his silk is secretly pining for the glory days. They were even worse than the empire. You'd start a five way civil war among any half forgotten nobleman with a smidgeon of royal blood in his veins and ex-imperial magistrates trying to wrestle for power. And that's just infighting within the provinces. Who knows what horrors an imperial collapse would inflict on the capital itself. It would be a blood bath. Nobody left alive to attend your precious school.”

  “You expect a revolution to be clean?” Devin snorted.

  “You can't smash the imperial machine and then go build your mage school from the rubble. You would just be playing into everyone's fears. Mages would become the new evil bureaucracy. You would exchange a technocratic stranglehold for a vice made from magic, replace chains of gears and iron with chains of spells and etherium.”

  He shook his head. “Magic doesn't quite act like that.”

  “People act like that! We would have ex-convicts and magic users lording it over a broken land from a throne of bones and blood.”

  “You get prosy when you're hungry,” Devin said, smiling. He took her by the shoulders and nudged her gently towards the ladder and the ground floor where he could smell Styx burning meat and gristle. He followed her down.

  “Idiot,” she said. “At the end of the day, your glorious revolution will only supplant one tyrannical system in favor of another.”

  “Then we shall install a puppet emperor. Someone sympathetic to our cause.”

  “Someone who will abolish the guilds?” She raised an eyebrow as she turned towards the table.

  He nudged her in a different direction towards the sink. “Someone who supports the mages. I didn't come here to fight the guilds, Dru.”

  “You won't have a choice,” she said, sighing as she washed her hands. “The empire isn't a man on a throne. It's the people on the streets. Mages may be the enemy they fear, but the guilds are the enemy they know.”

  “Maybe.” He scraped the black crust off his fried egg and winced as he bit into it. Charcoal had more flavor. He forced himself to chew. “I need to get out more. Get a feel for things.”

  She
crossed her arms. “With high guards and black guards looking for you?”

  “Nobody's looking for me,”

  “They will when you start sniffing around for mages. What are you going to do, start knocking on doors? Is there a secret test?”

  Devin thought of the brass watches the Black Guards seemed to carry everywhere now. “The guards will lead me to the mages.”

  Drusilla snorted. “And shadowing guards isn't the least bit suspicious.”

  “Better than knocking on doors. I just need to get my hands on one of their mage detectors. You know, the ones that look like large brass watches?”

  Drusilla nodded. “I'm familiar with the things. Not a clue how they actually work, but a worn gear is a worn gear. I've fixed a few of them in my time.”

  Styx sauntered to the table, chisel in one hand, iron pan in the other. His apron hung loose on his narrow frame. “How's your breakfast? I'm getting better, right?”

  “It's certainly looking less crusty than yesterday,” Drusilla said, smacking her egg against the table.

  Devin pushed away from the table and glared at her. He clapped Styx on the shoulder and gently maneuvered the wooden man toward the kitchen. “Why don't you clean up the dishes? You can tell me all about the new food you bought later.”

  Styx smiled. “Of course, Father.”

  He returned to the table to collect the dishes. Drusilla stabbed her egg with a fork and frowned when the tines bounced off. “Why are we letting the only one of us with no sense of taste or smell cook all the food?”

  “Because his hands aren't covered in machine oil and engine grease all day,” Devin said, “and it makes him feel useful. So, what's on the list for today?”

  Drusilla leaned back in her chair, rubbing her forehead. “You've got more experience with metal limbs. The actuators in Fordus's new steel hand will need to be realigned after we give the finish one more polish.”

  “Finally paid you, did he?” Devin asked, pushing his plate away.