Apprentice Swordceror

by Chris Hollaway

  Kevon felt the magic begin, more strongly because Mirsa had drifted closer since dropping off the pillar. He also noticed that he’d moved closer without meaning to. Kevon watched Mirsa’s face relax into a genuine smile, her head tilting back slowly as the power built. The realization struck Kevon as the rune became visible in his mind; Water was Mirsa’s Art. Just as Illusion was Kevon’s, Mirsa loved Water. The fact that there were no visible effects to so powerful a spell made Kevon a touch nauseous.

  Kevon focused on Mirsa, watched the color drain from her face as her back arched with the effort for the spell. Just as Mirsa began trembling, Kevon spotted the effect her efforts were producing.

  Three pillars of water loomed over the outer wall behind Mirsa. They snaked up and over, then began weaving in and out, around each other in a giant braid that extended nearly to the inner tower, above the crowd.

  Mirsa let out a soft cry as she convulsed and dropped to her knees. The water formations exploded into a heavy mist that rained down, and one Mage yelped as a stray fish fell onto him.

  Gurlin, now standing at the front of the crowd in the center of the only dry spot in the area, turned to address the assembly. “Does anyone here object to the elevation of Mirsa 'ap Briltor to Master status?”

  After a moment of silence, Gurlin hobbled over and offered Mirsa a hand in getting up. “Masters, if you would accompany us inside for the conclusion of the testing; the rest of you are dismissed.”

  The group of onlookers parted as Gurlin led a wobbly Mirsa back into the central tower. The three attending Masters fell into line behind her.

  When the last Master disappeared into the tower, the group that remained outside began drifting toward the dining hall. Kevon followed slowly, and soon found Pholos shuffling along at his side.

  “Mirsa’s always been good with the elements,” the young Journeyman commented. “But that’s the first time I’ve seen her go all out like that.” They walked in silence a bit further. “I wonder what Gurlin could do if he really wanted to,” he said, concern showing in his voice.

  Kevon shuddered inwardly. He paused as he and Pholos entered the dining hall; the festivities were already in full swing. The large center table was filled with platters of food, servants wove in and out of the crowd carrying drinks, and most eyes were on the performance near one of the fireplaces.

  Waine wobbled back and forth clumsily, managing to juggle four empty plates in a wide pattern. His drunken staggering was obviously for show; each time a plate fell too far it was expertly caught and launched back toward the ceiling in a flash. He griped loudly at all those nearby, and threatened to add another plate to his collection.

  Kevon moved through the crowd, exchanging nods and handshakes with several Magi. He nibbled at the table for a minute, finished off a mug of cider, and drifted back toward the door.

  Before Kevon reached the entrance to the central tower, Pholos caught up to him.

  “What now?” the younger Journeyman asked.

  “I figure I’ll go try and find anything that will give us an advantage tomorrow,” Kevon answered. “Any ideas?”

  Pholos nodded slowly.

  The younger Mage led Kevon into the building and up the stairs to the library side. They cautiously entered the first room. Finding it empty, Pholos led Kevon to a darkened back corner and walked into a solid stone wall, disappearing from sight.

  Kevon followed hesitantly, passing through the Illusion, feeling nothing magical or physical.

  The storeroom he walked into was unlike anything he’d seen before. Staves and rods lined two walls, resting on pegs or stacked like kindling. Another wall held shelves full to brimming of potions and flasks of things Kevon could only guess at. The wall behind that Kevon had just entered through held another set of shelves with loosely stacked scrolls and the occasional book.

  Kevon stood for a few moments, taking it all in before he realized that he could not feel any of the Enchantments that surrounded him. He wondered if any of these were even Enchanted at all. Curious, he reached out and grasped a nearby staff that was hanging on the wall.

  As soon as he touched the polished surface of the staff, he could feel the Enchantment, a Concealed Fire rune he recognized from the book in his pocket. The symbol burned brightly in his mind, and it took some effort to keep power from spilling out. Kevon could feel the layers upon layers of destructive force piled upon one another within the staff, and gasped as he let it go.

  “The rods aren’t as scary as the staves,” Pholos offered, giving Kevon a knowing look.

  Kevon hesitated before picking up one of the stubby short-staves from its place on the shelf. Again, the Concealed Fire rune sprang to mind, but there was no thrumming urgency, no sense of power barely contained. The symbol was merely there, crisp, clean, and effortless.

  These must be focal Enchantments, Kevon thought. The staves are more like scrolls, filled to bursting.

  Kevon held the rod he’d picked up for a moment before stuffing it into an inner pocket of his cloak. He rummaged through the shelves, touching the Enchanted rods briefly until their magic revealed itself to him before moving on. He passed up several more of Fire, two that seemed to be Water, and a rod of Light before switching to the shelf that held the rods Enchanted with Darkness.

  Kevon staggered backward as the twisted image of the Dark rune formed itself in his mind. He shook his head and shuddered involuntarily before skipping over the rest of that shelf to the next one.

  The very next rod that Kevon tried was a Movement one, or something very similar. He liked the way the symbol felt in his head, and he pocketed that rod.

  Kevon turned to find Pholos carefully stuffing a satchel with scrolls, muttering softly because he could not fit as many as he wanted to in the small bag.

  “How long before we’re missed?” Kevon asked quietly.

  “Hours, normally,” Pholos answered hesitantly. “Today, though…”

  Kevon nodded his understanding. “We don’t want to chance Gurlin getting suspicious. We’d better hurry and leave.”

  Kevon watched out of the corner of his eye as Pholos stuffed half a dozen rods at random into different concealed pockets before straightening up and smoothing his robes out.

  “I’m done!” the younger Mage announced, slipping the strap of his scroll-laden satchel over his head. Pholos contorted his arm out and back into his robe-sleeve and slung his bag snugly under his arm, patting it gently, the bulge barely noticeable under his cloak.

  Kevon followed Pholos back out the Enchanted doorway to the library.

  “What about potions?” Pholos asked as they stepped into the empty corridor. “Will we need any?”

  Kevon shook his head. “If we need to rely on potions, we’re not ready. They’re too slow. We might pick some up afterward if you think we could use them.”

  “It might be better if we weren’t seen together,” Pholos commented.

  Kevon nodded, and started back down the way they had entered, as Pholos continued through the library side past the laboratories. Kevon went down and up the stairwells, doubling around and down the hallway to his room. Once inside, he swiftly packed his pilfered items out of sight underneath his other belongings.

  As he found himself doing more and more often lately, Kevon went over his mental list of the weapons he had at his disposal. His knife and the two rods were all he really had left; he could not readily trust in scrolls as Pholos appeared to be doing.

  The rods, the dagger, and the element of surprise… Kevon thought grimly. And Pholos… The afterthought came haltingly to mind, but Kevon latched onto it fiercely. He’s a good kid. He’ll do whatever he can.

  “I’ve just got to do as much of it as I can myself,” Kevon muttered, “so he won’t have to.”

  Kevon paced back and forth around the front of the bed for a few minutes, finally stopping in front of the linen chest placed there. He rummaged through it and found an older sheet that was starting to wear thin. Straining, he tore
several strips from it, which he folded lengthwise, making thin, flat cords. Kevon removed his cloak and pushed back his tunic sleeves. He took the Movement rod and tucked it under the bunched cloth of his tunic by his shoulder. After thinking about it for a moment, he shifted the length of wood downward to rest under his arm just far enough away that it wouldn’t poke him in the armpit. He took one of the lengths of torn and folded linen and tied it around his arm gently. He then secured the other end of the rod just above his elbow, turning the tied ends of both cords down. Kevon straightened his tunic sleeve out, and it just covered the end of the anchored rod; someone looking for it might see it, but it would not be noticed by a casual observer.

  Kevon secured the Fire rod on his other arm in the same manner, straightened his tunic, and put his robes back on over the whole thing. He walked around for a while, and after several adjustments found the right tension where the rods would not slip, and his arms would not go numb.

  The symbols projected into his mind by the rods would take some getting used to. Kevon closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples for a few minutes. He adjusted the knife at his back carefully, using folds of his robes, then left the room for a trial run with his arsenal.

  Kevon wandered from library to library until he found the one that Shofud was now studying in. He strolled through, browsing through book titles, working his way closer to the portly Mage, keeping watch out of the corner of his eye for any reaction. After circling around Shofud twice, and getting nothing more than the usual looks of mild irritation, Kevon concluded that his setup was as safe as it could possibly be. He met Shofud’s next scowl with a smile and a shrug, and excused himself.

  Kevon threaded his way back down the hallways and outside to head back to the dining hall. He spotted Waine immediately upon entering. The Warrior was carrying a large tray, and was laughingly refusing to perform another juggling routine, to continuous noises of disappointment.

  Waine saw Kevon as soon as the crowd thinned for a moment. He worked his way over, and addressed Kevon quietly.

  “When were you wanting to take that ride tomorrow?” he growled under his breath. “I need some time away from here already.”

  “An hour or two after our guests leave, I should imagine,” Kevon answered, just as softly. “Pholos is coming, too,” he added.

  Waine raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen him ride,” the Warrior commented, “but can he ride?”

  Kevon kept his voice flat. “He knows how we ride. He’ll keep up.”

  “Tomorrow, then.” Waine whirled about and wove back into the crowd with his platter held high above his head.

  The noise of the crowd lulled for a moment before erupting into cheers and applause. Kevon turned to the entrance just in time to see Mirsa sweep back the hood of her new black cloak and beam a rather genuine looking smile around the room. The rest of the Masters, followed by Master Gurlin, filtered in the door around and behind Mirsa.

  Waine pushed through the crowd and gave Mirsa a brimming mug and a wink, eliciting an even wider grin from her usually pinched features. The party started back up again, less rowdy, but just as noisy as it had been before the last arrivals.

  The celebration wore on, and Kevon found himself enjoying it despite his apprehension about the coming confrontation. He wandered through the crowd, witnessing displays of magical prowess that were just as impressive as Mirsa’s had been, if on a smaller scale. Masters Conjured things from thin air, Transformed elements from one to another, and levitated with Movement. As soon as some of the older Masters excused themselves for the evening, Kevon began yawning in preparation for his own early exit. Scanning the room, he spied Waine and Mirsa off in a corner, and after watching for a moment, gave up trying to decide who had cornered whom.

  Kevon sighed loudly and shook his head. He refused the next mug of cider that was offered him, and apologized to the group he’d been conversing with as he began heading for the door.

  “Leaving so soon?” Gurlin rasped, catching Kevon by the arm, less than an inch from the concealed rod.

  “Yes,” Kevon answered, half-turning toward the older Mage, not meeting his eyes. “Important day, tomorrow.”

  “That it is,” Gurlin agreed, releasing a relieved Kevon’s arm. “Don’t lose your nerve. Everything depends on it.”

  “Yes, sir. I know.” Kevon answered, turning to meet Gurlin’s gaze. “I promise I won’t fail.” Without waiting for Gurlin’s smile of approval, Kevon continued out the door and over to the central tower.

  Partway through the great hall, Kevon thought he saw a figure lingering at the entrance to one of the side rooms. The torches on the pillars that flanked the main path through the hall did not provide enough light to see clearly, so Kevon concentrated and formed a Light rune, pushing a glowing sphere ahead of him as he walked toward the side room.

  “Hello?” he called, slowing as he neared the hall junction, circling wide to get the best view of the entryway possible. Hearing no response, Kevon crept slowly into the room, his rod’s Concealed Fire rune at the ready.

  The storeroom looked as if it hadn’t been used for ages. Dust covered shelves and crates, and barrels were stacked in pathways. The floor seemed to be the only clean part of the room. Kevon walked down the clearest path between shelves, shifting his Light spell to look around. The route dead-ended at a blank stone wall.

  Recalling the armory upstairs, Kevon approached the wall and reached out touch it.

  Solid… he thought, frowning. He looked around for other signs of recent activity, but found none. I’m sure I saw someone.

  Kevon retraced his steps out of the storeroom, extinguished his light, and returned to his room for the night.

  * * *

  Mirsa waited behind the hidden door for several minutes before leaving the passageway back into the unused storeroom. The dim reflected light from the great hall was more than enough to see her through the familiar twists of the room, even through eyes narrowed in displeasure.

  “Pity I’m leaving tomorrow…” the newly promoted Master growled through her teeth. “Your education might have been… interesting.”

  Chapter 31

  After a fitful night of tossing and turning, Kevon woke midmorning, well after he’d intended. By the time Kevon secured his gear and made his way outside the tower, Mirsa and the other Magi were already departing. He followed the procession out of the tower walls and across the drawbridge, standing quietly amidst the crowd of waving and cheering servants and Magi.

  The departing caravan pulled out of earshot, and the servants began to straggle back into the tower. Kevon spotted Waine near the stable. The Seeker nodded casually and walked inside the outbuilding.

  Kevon turned and followed the last few servants across the bridge. He wandered through the second floor hallways of the central tower for a while, finally returning to the library where he’d spotted Shofud earlier.

  “Is Master Gurlin about?” Kevon asked.

  “I haven’t seen him,” Shofud answered irritably. “If he has need of you, he’ll find you after he takes his lunch.”

  Armed with a better estimate of the timing of his confrontation, Kevon marched down to the dining hall to get himself breakfast. Entering, he spotted Pholos and the brothers seated at different tables. Not wanting to rouse undue suspicion, Kevon sat at a separate table and waited for someone to bring him food.

  Pholos picked half-heartedly at his plate, staring off at nothing in between bites.

  Is he all right? Kevon wondered. Should I have trusted him with my secret… with anything? He tried to push it out of his mind, but was unable to eat much more than his young friend.

  Kevon sat sipping a mug of cider after sending his unfinished breakfast to be discarded. He kept losing himself in the swirls of spices that churned across the top of his drink as he blew on it gently to hasten its cooling.

  Kevon sat upright suddenly as the wooden fork and spoon he’d been using stood on their own and began attacking each other fiercel
y. Feeling the two Movement runes pulsating individually, he glanced over to where the brothers sat watching his table intently.

  “Ha!” the younger brother cried as the spoon swung its stem in shallow, sweeping attack that sent the fork clattering to the table.

  Kevon shrugged and leaned back into his mug.

  “Master Gurlin is waiting by the tower for you,” the older brother grumbled.

  Kevon took one last drink, nodded, and stood to leave.

  Gurlin stood near the central tower, directly across from the entrance to the dining hall. The aged Wizard was leaning on his staff with both hands, eyes closed, face turned full into the late morning sun.

  “Well, then,” Gurlin said, turning to face Kevon as he drew near. “Are you ready to begin the next stage of your training?”

  Kevon stopped and inclined his head slightly. “I am, Master,” he answered.

  Gurlin nodded, smiling. “Then show me what my friend Holten has taught you so far, this skill in Illusion.”

  Kevon nodded, inwardly relieved. This was what he’d been counting on. If he could completely drain his magical reserves, there would be no discharge of magic when he grasped the knife to kill the Wizard. Kevon had even given the Illusion he was about to work quite a bit of thought since yesterday.

  Kevon stilled his mind and formed the rune, paying much more attention than usual to every nuance of the symbol in his head. He evened his breathing and spread his arms away from his body, palms upward.

  Kevon fed energy into the rune and began superimposing his Illusion over himself. The sounds of a heavy breeze whipped up as the Illusion started with false debris skittering across the grounds and funneling upward around Kevon. The Illusion settled over Kevon and his hair appeared to whip about and upward, as did the corners of his cloak.