The Gift of Magic (The Shadowmage Saga)

by Paul Sobol

“You,” he said, turning to Silver, “will have to wait.”

  Istvan indicated the two thugs to place Alex on one of the tables while Smoke moved to one side of the room out of the way. If the amount of blood on the doctor was an indication of what was to occur, then the more distance from the table the better.

  Moved to the centre of the room, Silver was given an unobstructed view of the limp form stretched out on the stainless steel table. The thugs followed Smoke’s example and retreated a dozen or so feet away. Paying them no attention, the doctor retrieved a vial from the cluttered shelves, and opening it under Alex’s nose, the effect was immediate. His eyes opened impossibly wide as he inhaled the noxious substance and began to cough uncontrollably.

  When the fit subsided, Alex laid back, breathing hard. He tried moving but found his limbs suddenly unresponsive. There was a faint glow of energy enveloping the table, and Alex realised he was being restrained. Which meant he was not going to like what came next.

  From the corner of his eye he noticed Silver in the middle of the room as well as the two suited thugs and one other man who looked like he had crawled out of a dumpster recently. The man in blue scrubs came into his field of vision, and Alex was abruptly and shockingly dismayed by the amount of blood soaked into the fabric.

  God, he hoped it wasn’t his own. He didn’t feel any pain, but maybe he was experiencing shock. He fervently tried to remember what had happened, but the last memory he could clearly recall was the fight at his apartment. Silver had come to his rescue and fought several magicians. At some point he must have blacked out, only to awaken on this cold table and unable to move.

  Standing over Alex, Istvan placed a hand on his forehead and began a low incantation. A soft pulsing glow spread from his palm across Alex’s face. It appeared as if nothing happened, but Silver recognised the probing spell and realised the doctor was attempting to access the young magician’s mind by force. It was a barbaric spell designed to use brute strength to smash through most mental obstacles. This method often left the victims psychologically scarred or damaged, but despite its brutality it was grudgingly the most effective way of gaining access to an uncooperative subjects mind.

  Not that Silver would condone its use. The probing spell was used in extreme cases when information was needed to save lives, and in the handful of times when used on prominent dark mages the end often justified the means.

  Several minutes into the probing, Alex was feeling the strain of having his mind ripped open and exposed. Beads of sweat were now running down his forehead, forming small rivulets. His eyes were shut and jaw clenched tight against the pain. Amazed that Alex hadn’t passed out by now or screaming in anguish, Silver knew it would only be a matter of time.

  Something in Alex seemed to break. No longer struggling against the probe’s effects he went completely limp.

  There was no more pain.

  Alex was warm and comfortable, and he realised he was in bed. Rolling over he pulled the covers in tight and sighed with contentment. It felt like a Sunday morning and there wasn’t a single reason to get out of bed until much, much later.

  Inhaling deeply, Alex could identify various smells – his favourite pillow, slightly smudged with drool, the pair of socks he hadn’t quite managed to throw into the laundry basket, a vanilla-scented candle by his nightstand. And pancakes!

  Oh, ambrosia!

  Without opening his eyes, Alex tried to hear who was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. The fact he lived alone didn’t seem important as his sleep-addled brain slowly chugged to life. He could hear something now. A frying pan was moved on the stove. A spatula was being used to flip the golden breakfast treat. A glass was being filled, most likely with milk. And someone was humming.

  Alex suddenly recognised the tune. It came from an oldies song, his mother’s favourite. Dream Weaver by Gary Wright. It was a good song, played often on the radio, and Alex couldn’t help but follow along in his mind.

  The humming grew louder, and as the door opened someone entered his bedroom. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead. It’s a beautiful day outside.”

  Alex groaned in mock outrage at being disturbed and buried himself further into the blankets. Sitting on the edge of the bed his mother tried to coax him out with the promise of pancakes. Damn, it was working too. He was being torn between the warmth and comfort of bed versus hot syrupy pancakes. Maybe he could have both?

  “No,” she said to his unasked question. When did she get psychic abilities? “C’mon, there’s something important you need to do soon.”

  This piqued his interest.

  What did he have to do on a Sunday? Probably mow the lawns. Sheesh. There’s no way that could be called important, more annoying than anything else, and it wasn’t exactly urgent either.

  “What do I have to do?” Alex mumbled grumpily, still trying to play the wronged party.

  “You need to fight. Wake up, and fight back.”

  At the direction of the doctor, one of the thugs came over to the table holding a phial containing a bright green substance and a syringe. After a moments preparation, Alex was about to receive the injection. Disinfecting a small area of skin, the doctor inserted the syringe.

  Alex looked straight up at his tormentor. His eyes suddenly shone with a bright white light. As though no longer restrained his hand shot up and grabbed the syringe and pulled it out before it could unload its deadly contents. Screaming in pain, Istvan fell back as his wrist was broken and the syringe shattered between clamped fingers. Shocked, the nearest suited thug tried to pull out the MP5, but Alex’s foot quickly connected with his face.

  There was an audible crunch as the man’s nose was broken, and as he fell to the floor screaming blood splattered the front of his expensive suit shirt.

  Silver could only stare in amazement as Alex broke free and took down two of their captors in mere seconds. The second thug finally reacted, pulling out his concealed knife and rushed towards Alex, who rolled off the metal table.

  As the second man closed the distance Alex turned with unexpected speed, and using a quick series of hand strikes he knocked the blade aside. In a coup de grace, Alex delivered a powerful blow to the man’s head, and before the unconscious body hit the ground Alex faced his next opponent. Thug number one, blood trickling from his broken nose, finally had his submachine gun out and was ready to rain death. “Die, you bastard!”

  Bullets spat out of the submachine gun, each followed by a small burst of flame, and within a few seconds the magazine clicked empty. Over thirty rounds fired into Alex at close range, and not a single wound showed. Stepping over the small pile of bullets, each still perfectly shaped as though they had hit an invisible barrier, Alex closed in on his target.

  Dropping the ineffective weapon, Thug number one realised too late the anti-magical bracelet was not working. Facing a magician with full control of his powers changed everything, and quickly the man pulled out his own knife. Smiling viciously, he advanced for an attack, knowing the enchanted blade would prove fatal, even for a magician.

  Dodging the well-executed strikes, Alex was quicker, and several precise blows to vital areas had the large man down on the floor incapacitated.

  Inky darkness suddenly shrouded the room, and Silver realised the necromancer had managed to gather his powers. From nearby could be heard a low monotonous chanting, and as Alex turned towards the source he was hit with a blast of red energy. Recognising the spell of Nightshade it should have drained all of Alex’s life energy, but Silver watched in mute astonishment as the crimson haze winked out of existence. Somehow his friend had countered the death spell with seemingly effortless ease.

  That was when Silver remembered one critical fact – like himself, Alex was still wearing the anti-magical shackles and shouldn’t be able to access his power. But there he was, going toe to toe with an experienced necromancer as though he was in full possession of his new abilities. And what was even more impossible – Alex was using magic he couldn’t have known, not e
ven on pure instinct.

  Another voice close by came from the darkness and Silver ducked for cover. Smoke unleashed a barrage of purple energy bolts in Alex’s general direction. But his target seemed completely unconcerned about the deadly magic coming his way and remained focused on the necromancer somewhere in the darkened room.

  Unharmed and unfazed by the magical onslaught, Alex merely stretched forth his hand and a bright blue arc of energy shot forth, temporarily illuminating the room. The attack struck an invisible circle of protection the necromancer had erected. The blue energy crackled and disappeared as it was absorbed by the shield. Uttering harsh-sounding words in an unknown language, Istvan waved his hands and sent a wave of purple energy cascading across the room. Alex’s outstretched hand caused the deadly energy to pass harmlessly around him, and in response dispelled the shroud of darkness created by his enemy.

  In the sudden light the necromancer’s spell could be seen washing over the two incapacitated thugs on the floor, and as the dark magic infused their bodies they began to twitch. With jerky movements the two newly created zombies arose.

  “Alex, we have a small problem over here.”

  Without responding Alex turned slightly, and with a gripping motion of his hand the shackles on Silver’s wrists fell apart as though made of silly-string. The young magician returned his attention back to the necromancer. The room was eerily lit as blue and purple energy attacks were traded, with neither seeming to gain any advantage.

  Freed from the magic-cancelling effects of the shackles, Silver hastily drew in power of his own, and not a moment too soon. The zombies were closing in, and while this wouldn’t pose much of a challenge for Silver there were two other magicians he had to deal with. The invisible presence was somewhere, but Silver couldn’t take the time to properly look, otherwise it would leave him vulnerable to Smoke’s attacks or those of the zombies.

  One problem at a time – the zombies. Silver concentrated briefly, and in his hand appeared a gleaming sword. Like his namesake, the three feet of metal, including the grip and pommel, was made completely of silver. It was his personal weapon, made from his own energy.

  Two quick swings and the zombies went down.

  Facing his next opponent, Silver hastily brought the sword up and deflected a stream of red energy. Smoke cursed as his attack was foiled, and renewing his efforts sent more strikes of purple force towards Silver who managed to dodge most of them. A sudden ear-splitting scream caused both mages to stop and look around. The sound had originated directly behind Silver, not the other side of the room where Alex and Istvan were occupied with their own personal duel.

  The source of the scream revealed itself as the invisible person appeared at Silver’s feet. Glassy eyes staring wide open at nothing, mouth frozen open in an endless scream of agony as Smoke’s spells had inadvertently struck. Silver silently thanked whichever god had been looking after him before turning back to deal with his long-time foe.

  With a curse, Istvan extended his arms upwards, palms together, and as they parted an inky vortex appeared above his head. From its dark depths came a deafening howl, like the screams of a vast host of tortured souls, filled with sorrow and deepest despair. Alex stood calmly in the middle of the maelstrom that made the room fill with moving shadows. They seemed to be coming from the vortex. The shadows began to close in, but Alex, with eyes shining brightly, clapped his hands together. Silence filled the room. The vortex imploded, and with a rush like a vacuum the shadows were sucked back into whatever dark dimension they were summoned from.

  So profound was the stillness that for a moment Silver was convinced he had lost his hearing, but then the voice of the necromancer could be heard chanting, and an eerie red light flooded the room as more dark magic was created. Trusting in Alex’s new-found magical talents Silver ignored what his friend was doing and concentrated on dealing with Smoke. This vendetta would end today.

  Rather than prolong the fight with magic, Silver advanced, long-sword at the ready. His opponent, also discarding magic in favour of a quick kill, advanced with nothing but his bare hands.

  Never underestimate your opponent, Silver reminded himself as he moved to attack. Swinging the sword he was still wondering what to expect, and as it passed through Smoke he belatedly realised what a fool he had been.

  Smoke, at the last instant, had transformed into smoke.

  Unperturbed, the gaseous cloud moved in close for a strike, causing Silver to dodge aside. The combined momentum of his swing, and the need to avoid getting killed, resulted in an ungainly tumble to the ground. He was getting sick of seeing the rough concrete floor up close. Sensing an attack from above, he rolled to one side, only to end up bumping into a metal table leg. He prayed it wasn’t the one holding the dissected corpse.

  Blindly lashing out, Silver was rewarded with a curse as his sword made contact. Once again in solid form, Smoke retreated out of the deadly weapons range. He clung to a bleeding stump where his left arm used to be, cleanly cut off just above the elbow. As Silver got to his feet he saw the severed appendage on the ground disappear in a puff of smoke. Lazily the grey cloud returned to its owner, taking place where the limb should have been. It too took substantial form and the missing arm reappeared unharmed.

  Whole once more, Smoke closed in for another attack. Silver tried to counter the incoming blows, but it was obvious he couldn’t deal any damage to his insubstantial opponent. Deciding to change tactics, Silver manoeuvred around the room, searching for anything that might lend him the advantage. Careful not to step on the bodies littering the blood-slick floor, he spied something that might be of use. But using it meant getting in close, and one wrong move would be his undoing.

  Smoke advanced quickly, hoping to catch his opponent off guard, but Silver dodged at the last moment. Slipping on a patch of fresh blood Silver fell backwards, and knowing his foe would press the advantage expected an attack. Swinging wildly with his sword he caught Smoke just above the abdomen, slicing a neat furrow through soft flesh.

  Shifting to his insubstantial form, Smoke paused while the damaged area returned to normal. Using this brief moment of respite, Silver was once again on his feet, ready to meet his opponent’s next move. Predictably, Smoke advanced. Deciding to finish this game of cat and mouse, the dark mage summoned a pair of wickedly curved daggers. The kill had to be up close and personal.

  Supremely confident in his invulnerability, Smoke attacked with a series of high and low strikes. For several quick moments Silver remained on the defensive, parrying the attacks he could and dodging the ones that got within his guard. The end was nigh, felt by both magicians, equally scrounging for a minute advantage. The one to falter now would perish.

  Lock-step in a dance with death, Silver feinted with his next attack, and as expected his opponent took the bait. A searing pain along his side confirmed Smoke’s counter-attack was successful, and although it cost him now, ultimately he was positioned with the advantage. The silver blade swept around in an arc, unopposed and inevitable, angled to sever his opponent into neat halves. At the moment when the blade should have parted skin, it passed effortlessly through vapour.

  Using the sword’s momentum, Silver turned with the motion and delivered a backhanded blow. But just like the sword, the hit was ineffectual and passed through the dark mage. Falling to the floor Silver tried to favour his uninjured side, but the sudden burst of pain as soft tissue and exposed muscle were torn was unbearable.

  Quickly returning to solid form, Smoke stood over his foe, poised for the final death blow, but something felt different inside. Unconcerned about the odd sensation right now, he was too preoccupied with the killing strike that would see his long-time enemy finally vanquished. But as Smoke raised the curved daggers everything froze. The final expression on his face was complete and utter disbelief. His most vehement enemy lay exposed at his feet, alive to savour the victory, words of one last spell vanishing from his lips. What had gone wrong?

  Smoke felt c
old, but it wasn’t the cold of imminent death; rather it burned like liquid fire through his veins. Attempting to counter Silver’s spell the dark magic was beyond his reach. He had no power! With tongue and throat already frozen closed, the last words, a curse, died on Smoke’s lips.

  Silver watched intently as the last dregs of life slipped away, and sighing in contentment he said a silent prayer to the spirits of those who had been wronged so long ago. Their deaths were finally avenged; they could find peace at last and move on. For now though he had something more important to take care of.

  The mana came sluggishly; a testament to how much blood he had lost, but with enough power he was able to cast a healing spell upon himself. His wounded side no longer bled freely, and within minutes the muscle and tissue was restored. It still felt very sore, and only a thin white scar remained as evidence he had been mortally wounded, but other than that he felt much better.

  Preferring to lay still for a bit longer, Silver glanced over at the remaining two combatants. The fight raging down one end of the room seemed to have gained intensity, as both magicians brought their full powers to bear. Dark spells were deflected while bolts of scintillating blue light were destroyed with hateful glee. However, as Silver watched on, the necromancer’s attacks were weakening. Realised his power was waning, the necromancer began to panic.

  In a final desperate attempt, Istvan launched a furious attack of psychic blasts and mana-draining enchantments. Alex, sensing his opponent’s weakened position, countered the attacks by reversing the spells onto its owner. The necromancer reeled as the psychic magic tore through his mind, and as his mana drained away, fell to the floor unconscious.

  Surveying the room and the carnage that been unleashed, Silver was both thoroughly impressed but disturbed. Not a bad day’s work, he thought to himself. But it is not over yet. Alex stood unmoving, apparently staring at nothing, as though he were someplace else far away. The unsettling white glow of his eyes dimmed, and Silver wondered what had caused it in the first place. There were just too many unanswered questions surrounding this young man, and perhaps for the first time Silver questioned the decision to save him.