Severance Lost (Fractal Forsaken Series Book 1)

by Unknown

  “…the Wizard Council has long respected the customs of the nomadic tribes, both in support of a relatively independent existence from the crown and in…privacy…for the practice of those beliefs.” Ibson continued. “Rainier, I ask your cooperation in confirming or providing additional detail to the events leading up to the final match of the tournament, since you were the only person with Slate the majority of the day.”

  “Matters of the Wizard Council or the crown rarely coincide with the mission of our tribe.” Rainier answered. “But in this instance, I see no areas of conflict either, so long as the teacher/student relationship between myself and Slate is not interfered with. Slate accurately described the events of the day. Are there any specific details that interest you?”

  “Let us begin with your match against Slate. He struck a blow that caught you by surprise. To do this to…you…would seem to be a difficult task. Is it possible that magic was involved, in any form?”

  “The blow did indeed catch me by surprise, but I do not believe magic was involved. He fought fairly and honorably.”

  Ibson paused, contemplating his final question. “Did Slate mention a medallion or totem to you? It appears to be made of stone and was strapped to his arm…”

  “I was present for the healing of his ribs following our match, and there was no such medallion strapped to his arm at that time. I do not know how it ended up there or when.”

  Ibson thanked Rainier for his time and Slate began to stir, being careful not to cause suspicion. Opening his eyes, he found Rainier by his side. “Rest and recover Slate. My tribe grows restless staying in one place for too long, but I will remain behind to begin my studies.” Rainier maintained the stoicism of a diplomat as he departed.

  Ibson slowly made his way toward Slate’s bedside. “Are you regaining any of your strength?” the old wizard inquired. He was regaining strength even though the splitting headache remained and he acknowledged as much to Ibson. “Good, good. Your recovery is progressing as expected. I believe we are ready to recommence the investigation of your hand.” Slate nodded his permission and Ibson probed throughout his body, spending the majority of his time on Slate’s unwounded hand and the location on his arm where he had strapped the medallion. Upon completion, Ibson ordered him to eat and return to bed.

  A pounding on the door woke him. “Let me see the champion!” The boisterous voice of Villifor resonated through the door. The door swung open before it could be answered. Villifor’s voice and animated expression were offset by the hulking figure of Magnus positioning himself respectfully behind the Bellator headmaster.

  “Well fought, Slate! Fractal’s fortune to you! A true champion uses all the weapons at his disposal, even if your choice of words was rather…distasteful for some members of the audience. Nonetheless, I have the joy and honor of proclaiming you the tournament champion.” Each time Slate’s name was mentioned as the champion, Magnus’ eyes grew a little darker. “On behalf of the three guilds, you are given the privilege of choosing your areas of training. Having proven your prowess within the arena, I trust you will hone your skills within Bellator.”

  Slate’s silence was met with unfazed confidence from Villifor. “I look forward to you joining us in a few months when you report for training. For now, I will leave you to Ibson to wrap up this little Ispirtu embarrassment and to restore the name of our champion so that you can walk the streets of Ravinai and bask in the glory you have earned. Few have their names spoken throughout Malethya, and I have heard nothing but the tales of Slate ‘Stonehands’ Severance since your bout.” The final compliment was given with a twinkle in his eye that was one part possessive and one part predatory. Slate got the unshakable feeling that Villifor would settle for nothing less than having the now-famous Stonehands as his protégé. Feeling weary from the exaggerated praise, Slate was relieved when his two visitors left him alone to sleep once again.

  “You must have reached some conclusions by now!” Slate was jolted awake by the forcefulness of Brannon’s voice.

  “I have learned some very interesting facts,” replied Ibson between sips of tea. “For instance, did you know the mission of the nomadic tribes rarely coincides with the matters of the crown? …a fascinating people indeed. Perhaps when the investigation is done I will spend some time learning more of their culture.”

  An exasperated Brannon rephrased his question, “Have you reached any conclusions regarding the manner in which Slate circumvented tournament rules?”

  “As of yet, I have not. Perhaps if I could ask you about the wards you placed prior to the match I could gain some insight into the matter.” Ibson replied.

  “For fractal’s sake, Ibson! I placed the standard wards for the detection and prevention of magic surrounding myself, Lattimer, and Slate, per tournament rules. The wards detected no magic spells within the dueling courtyard. Slate has less magic in him than I have in my morning crap, and Lattimer would hardly cast a spell giving his opponent the ability to punch through his shield and break his jaw! Even if my untrained son did cast that idiotic of a spell, it would have been detected by any number of wizards within the arena who had cast their own protective wards, including you. Whatever form of magic caused this incident; it was a result of something that happened prior to the championship fight. Now enough games, Ibson! What have you learned?”

  “You have a sharper mind than I, Brannon. I fear conclusions take a bit longer for my old mind to reach. However, I take nightly walks that tend to clear my head. Would you care to join me tonight? I believe I will take a walk around the arena. I greatly enjoy the view of the setting sun from the arena heights as it sets upon the city.”

  “I’ll meet you at sunset. If you walk the same speed that you work, you should leave this room now to make it through the tunnels in time.” Brannon replied bitingly and left, majestic robes flowing.

  Turning to Slate, Ibson said, “As is typical with most wizards, I find myself in agreement with the ever-wise headmaster of Ispirtu; I should start my walk soon. Since you are regaining your strength, could you find Lucus for me and ask him to accompany me on a walk this evening as well?”

  Seizing the chance to leave the room he had been confined to for days, Slate answered, “I would gladly find Lucus in partial repayment for your kindness. I thought he would have left with the Tallow tribe. Where might he be?”

  “No repayment is needed, Slate. Unfortunately, I do not know where Lucus is located. If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you to find him, now would I?” Ibson stated matter-of-factly. “However, if I were looking for him, I would try the grove of catalpa trees south of town. They are flowering this time of year and he is likely seeking such a place following days in the city and the mindless prattle of its people. I’m sure the guardsmen outside will know the way…” Ibson then shook his head in a manner that showed his opinion of having guard members keep an eye on his activities. As Slate rose to leave, Ibson called back to him.

  “Yes, Ibson?”

  “This is yours, and it should be returned to you.” Ibson tossed the Stratego medallion in the air, and Slate caught it. “Being on the Wizard Council, I am not a member of the Crimson Guard and know little of Sicarius, but I do recognize the insignia. Later, I will want to ask you a few questions regarding its import. For now, just consider this: I have been in this world for quite a while and very few people keep their endeavors as secretive as the members of Sicarius. This is not inherently bad, but secrets kept closely are often guarded from outside view because the morals of most people would judge the activities harshly. Be careful in your dealings with them…and in your choice of guilds.”

  The statement caused Slate to pause, and he felt relief at getting the medallion back. Slate did not want an encounter with the headmaster of Sicarius in which he needed to explain how he had lost the medallion before even starting the game of Stratego. Slate pondered Ibson’s comments while leaving, ordering the guardsmen stationed outside his room, “Take me to the catalpa grove south
of town by the authority of Ibson.” The guardsmen reluctantly acquiesced, telling Slate something about Brannon’s standing orders and Ibson’s place in the hierarchy. Still, they led Slate down the tunnels.

  As they exited the arena, Slate nearly ran headlong into Lattimer Regallo, with Magnus trailing him. Lattimer spoke as he passed by. “There are more deeds done in the Regallo name than there is mining dust in Pillar. You disgrace yourself by your actions in the tournament.”

  Slate stopped and said, “I don’t know the deeds of the Regallo family, but I know how much mining dust is in Pillar. Most people work the mines all their lives and they learn from an early age to set their pride aside before it consumes them. Your pride was your weakness and it made you unworthy of the championship. ”

  “Tournament champion is simply a title. Once we enter the guard, your title will mean nothing. I look forward to evening the score with you, Slate. I’m sure Magnus would like a chance to spar with you as well.” Lattimer smiled and Magnus clenched his jaw, revealing muscles Slate didn’t know existed. Lattimer and Magnus retraced the path Slate had just taken with the guardsmen. Could Lattimer and Magnus be meeting with Ibson? Did Ibson ask Slate to find Lucus just to get him out of the room for this meeting? If Ibson didn’t mind meeting Brannon in front of Slate, why did he want to question Lattimer in private? Was Ibson even questioning Lattimer, or was he jumping to conclusions? His mind raced as Slate followed the guardsmen out the tunnels of the arena and into the city.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AN ALLY LOST

  The sunny afternoon infused energy and excitement into the city of Ravinai. The marketplace bustled with patrons searching for fresh vegetables from outlying farms and peddlers selling their wares. Young and old men purchased flowers; the young men attempted to gather favor from the girls at their sides, and the old men tried to pacify their spouses for past transgressions. Merchants yelled, banged pots, and generally did anything they could to garner attention.

  Slate took in the sights, sounds, and lively atmosphere while occasionally smiling and waving at citizens who recognized him from the tournament. It was strange and exciting to have complete strangers know your name. The guardsmen tolerated the brief encounters of celebrity and ushered Slate toward the southern outskirts of town.

  As the city died away, the added weight in Slate’s hand reminded him that he still carried the Stratego medallion. He casually tossed it in the air and the bright sunlight caught the surface. The Stratego medallion now consisted completely of stone, devoid of the iron present before his match. Slate nearly fell on his face, faster than even Magnus had gone down.

  He needed to discuss the implications of the medallion’s change, but with whom? Ibson was the obvious choice, but he could have switched the original medallion with a stone replica while Slate slept, although the motive for such an act was beyond Slate. Lucus and Sana seemed trustworthy, but he knew so little of them. Rainier? After his conversation with Ibson, the Tallow clan was a bigger mystery than the wizards. If the medallion truly had lost the iron from within, had it ended up in his hand? Was that what the Sicarius headmaster intended? For now, it seemed most wise to keep the information hidden until he knew who was trustworthy.

  A few minutes out of town, a simple dirt trail through the woods led to a large glen and a grove of trees at its center. The trees stood nearly fifty feet tall and were covered with groups of trumpeting flowers. Slate assumed these were the catalpa trees, although he had never seen such a tree in Pillar. A man leaned against the trunk of a catalpa tree in the middle of his own private sanctuary, awaiting their arrival.

  “Ho, Slate. It’s good to see you up and about again. I trust Ibson has healed your wounds.” Lucus greeted Slate.

  “He has indeed. It’s been a difficult few days, but I am feeling much better. Do you know Ibson well?”

  Lucus smiled. “You could say that. Ibson was my teacher, and now he remains a friend for whom I have great respect.”

  “I am to relay a message to you on his behalf…”

  “Let us speak privately.” Lucus interrupted. “Guardsmen, would you leave us?”

  One Crimson Guardsman set her feet defiantly in the ground. “Brannon gave us orders to accompany Slate if he were sent somewhere by Ibson. We will remain.”

  Lucus responded, “I would not expect you to disobey a direct order, but this investigation is being conducted under the authority of the Wizard Council as requested by Brannon, in order to retain impartiality. This conversation may contain confidential information, so I need to temporarily eliminate your ability to hear our conversation.”

  The Bellator Guardsmen begrudgingly agreed. “That’s acceptable, but don’t try any trickery, wizard.” Lucus clasped his hands over the ears of a guardsman and looked up to the leaves of the trees. Shortly thereafter, he repeated the procedure for the second guardsman.

  Slate began, “You didn’t need to go to all that trouble…Ibson just asked for you to accompany him on a walk this evening.”

  Lucus smiled, “It was no trouble, and now we can speak openly without word of our conversation going directly to Brannon or Sicarius. While we talk, let’s help out the catalpas a little bit.”

  Slate walked with Lucus into the center of the grove and glanced back to find the guardsmen following at a respectful distance. Lucus noticed Slate’s interest in the guardsmen and asked, “Are you wondering what I did to them?”

  “In the past few days, I was healed using magic three times, had the iron in my blood fused with the bones of my hand, and I am under investigation for something I know nothing about. Yes, you could say I’m interested…”

  Lucus laughed and gave Slate his first lecture on magic. “Magic requires two components, the spark and a pattern. Did you notice that I maintained physical contact with the ears of the guardsmen? This is not required, but it reduces the amount of power or spark that the spell requires. The amount of spark that each wizard has is inherent and cannot be changed. Did Brannon test you for the spark when you met him?”

  “Yes, he did. He told Ibson his morning crap has more spark than I do.”

  “That sounds like Brannon,” replied Lucus. “I’m afraid that means you won’t be able to learn magic. Nonetheless, if you are interested, I will continue to explain the best I can.”

  “Please, continue…even if I can’t practice magic, I would still like to understand it.”

  The lesson continued. “To cast a spell the spark must be linked to a pattern in which the wizard has a level of understanding. This is best explained as an example, such as our Crimson friends back there. When I looked up at the leaves, I was focusing on the pattern of the wind blowing through the leaves. It tumbled upon itself after encountering a leaf, causing the leaf to move and the wind to change directions. My understanding of this pattern, linked with my spark, recreated the phenomenon within the ears of the guardsmen. The air surrounding their ears tumbles upon itself and prevents sound from entering. I did not deafen the guardsmen. I simply made it so the only sound they hear is tumbling air, much like the rustling of leaves in the trees above.”

  “Then what happened when Sana tried to heal my broken ribs?”

  “Sana understood the pattern to grow bones, but she tied too much spark to it, causing your bones to grow more than she intended. I reversed the pattern and adjusted the spell to counteract the effects. She is still learning, but one day she will be an excellent wizard.”

  “She let her mistake affect her too greatly. Where did she go?”

  “Our relationship is rather loose. I enjoy time alone, and Sana keeps her own schedule. When she is here, I teach her. It is an unconventional match of wizard and apprentice, but in our case, it works quite well. Now, let’s help out the catalpa and get back to Ibson.”

  The flowering trees towered overhead and reformed Slate’s view of his place in the world, while Lucus looked upon the trees as he would a long-time friend. The wizard approached a tree that had fallen recently; its larg
e, heart-shaped leaves were still green. With one powerful swing of his axe, he buried the blade into the heart of the tree trunk. The green leaves turned a sickly brown, falling to the forest floor while the axe blade began to glow. Lucus removed his axe and knelt in the center of the grove, resting his free hand on the forest floor. The remaining buds of the catalpa flowers bloomed before Slate’s eyes. First a few flowers, but as the spell radiated outwards, hundreds and then thousands of petals opened. Lucus analyzed the wind passing through the trees and swung his arm in a circle. The wind followed the movement of the axe, creating a gentle breeze that carried pollen from flower to flower. After the flowers pollinated, he thrust the axe upwards and sent the remaining pollen high into the air, where it would disseminate and settle upon distant catalpa flowers.

  Lucus lowered his axe and hung it from his belt. The wizard preempted Slate’s questions and astonished expression. “An explanation of that spell is beyond your first lesson in magic, and I have other things to discuss. Let’s walk.”

  Slate gathered his senses from the display he just witnessed and matched Lucus’ pace on the way to Ravinai and the arena. The Crimson Guardsmen dutifully followed, albeit at a further distance given their newfound respect for Lucus.

  Lucus ignored the reactions of the guardsmen and addressed Slate. “I owe you an explanation regarding the Tallow tribe. Do you know what it means to become a teacher?”

  “So far, Rainier deserves the title of teacher more than I. He knew my arena opponents and their fighting styles. Rainier made a mistake in choosing me as his teacher.”

  Before answering, Lucus decided to broaden the conversation. “Do the people of Pillar tell stories of the nomadic tribes to the South? They have developed a certain…reputation.”