Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

  ‘Then for you, it will be more challenging than ever.’

  Aurelian shot a concerned glance at Dusaule. The mute Crofter had taken a vow never to use his offensive powers again, but neither of them could imagine attempting the Rite of Assay without at least being in possession of offensive capabilities.

  ‘Do you think I can do it?’ asked Falco and now Aurelian smiled.

  ‘I wouldn’t be wasting my time on your skinny arse if I didn’t.’

  He waited until Falco looked up at him, before giving him a nod.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, taking a seat beside Falco. ‘Tomorrow we’ll go and see Antonio at the royal armouries. It’s about time we got you measured up for your armour. If he pulls his finger out he could have it finished by the time you get back from the training campaign.’

  ‘But that only gives him about ten weeks,’ said Falco. ‘Surely he can’t produce a complete suit of armour in ten weeks.’

  ‘Pah!’ said Aurelian. ‘He has more than twenty master armourers lounging about in his workshops. Besides,’ he added with a wink, ‘I’ll speak to the Queen. One word from her and he’d conjure a suit of armour out of thin air.’

  ‘And what about the sword?’ asked Falco. ‘How is he supposed to create a sword if I can’t produce the heat to forge it?’

  This time Aurelian looked less certain. Once again he glanced across at Dusaule but the silent Crofter just gave a small shake of his head as if he did not think much of what Aurelian had in mind.

  ‘Well I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Aurelian, scratching the coarse stubble on his jaw. ‘I was thinking maybe I could provide the heat and Antonio can do all the hard work.’

  ‘Would that work? I thought you said your conjuration was a bit chaotic.’

  Aurelian gave a shrug. ‘Got to be worth a try.’

  Once again Dusaule shook his head in doubt, while Meredith frowned with uncertainty. Everything he had read about the forging of a battle mage’s sword suggested it was a highly skilled and challenging affair. The battle mage and the swordsmith worked in concert to produce a blade that not only matched the physical stature and magical ability of the wielder, but his personality too. The thought of some stranger trying to produce a sword for Falco using Aurelian’s volatile powers was sure to end in disaster.

  The armour on the other hand was a different matter. It was the magi who designed the intricate patterns that would be etched into the surface of the steel. Arcane designs that allowed the energy of a battle mage to be dispersed without damaging the steel itself.

  After reading a number of studies on the subject Meredith had made a good start on the designs. He felt confident that he would be able to advise the engraver when the time came. He had now been working with Falco for more than four months, four months of mental observations that gave him a unique insight into the shifting harmonics of his mind. Falco might never develop offensive capabilities but, if he ever did, Meredith was determined that his armour would not let him down.

  ‘Well, that’s settled then,’ said Aurelian, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. ‘Tomorrow we get you measured up for the armour of a battle mage.’

  49

  The Last Surviving Witness

  The early hours of the following morning found Meredith ensconced once again in the archives of the mage tower. In the amethyst glow of the wall-mounted crystals he sat back from the stone table and tried to ease the tension from his neck and shoulders. He had been studying for hours and his mind was swimming with all that he had learned.

  First there had been a series of illustrated books cataloguing the designs incorporated into the armour of battle mages. Meredith had spent a couple of hours working on his own designs and then, on an impulse, he had looked back to see if the designs for Falco’s father were contained in the record. Sure enough there were four pages dedicated to the armour of Aquila Danté. Meredith traced the intricate patterns with his finger, nodding as he saw similarities to the designs he had prepared for Falco. The whorls were tighter and the interweaving bands had a more complex structure, but yes, something close to this would serve Falco’s powers well.

  From this he had moved to a book that proposed several theories on the minds of dragons. The author of this particular work showed that dragons shared a form of collective consciousness. They were not able to ‘talk’ to each other the way that mages could, but there was certainly some form of connection. But the most interesting section concerned something the author referred to as ‘racial memory’.

  The author seemed to suggest that dragons could remember things from before they were born, and that this racial memory grew more extensive with age. In other words the older a dragon was, the further back in time it could remember. He even went so far as to suggest that this might be why black dragons went mad, that somehow the memory of Possession could bring about the state of Possession itself. Meredith made a mental note to search out more material on this subject.

  After this he had collated his notes on long distance communication. While Falco and the cadets were away on their training campaign he intended to put into practice his ideas for a live link of communication between mage towers.

  Meredith had been working with five other mages, two of whom would travel with him to the mage tower in the coastal town of Tempête Havre, fifty miles to the south. The other three would remain here in Wrath. They would establish a mental connection and then they would see how far they could get before the link of communication was broken. Assuming they could maintain their concentration Meredith saw no reason why the mental link should fail. The difficult part came in passing the link from one mage to another. But he was sure it could be done.

  Finally he turned to an obscure manuscript containing interviews with survivors of the Great Possession. But once again he found that there was nothing new to be learned. The final chapter concerned a man who was said to be the last surviving witness of the Great Possession itself. However, there were no details about the man’s name or what he claimed to have witnessed. Feeling thoroughly disheartened Meredith was actually in the process of closing the manuscript when his attention was drawn to a particular paragraph concerning this particular witness who was questioned during the Inquisition of Ossanda in 851AI.

  “...There remains some confusion over the witness’s testimony. However, it is known that he was released by the Inquisition and moved to a tower that was better prepared to treat the symptoms of his distress. The mention of ‘confinement’ in the transfer order suggests that the witness remained disturbed by the horrors he experienced when the dragons first turned to murder. A more detailed account of his testimony, and an analysis of his mental state, can be found in Sennicio Verde’s book entitled, The Last Surviving Witness.”

  Meredith stared at the title of the work. He was surprised that he had never heard of it before. Turning to the bibliography he ran his finger down the list of books that the author had referenced. If the location of the book was listed as Wrath then it must surely be lost because he had found no sign of it in all his searching. But there was a chance that copies might reside in other mage towers. Finally his finger came to rest and Meredith could only stare at the page. There was the name of the work, the author, and a list of the places where copies of the work were held.

  The Last Surviving Witness: Sennicio Verde: Wrath & Le Matres

  Le Matres, the city that Falco and the cadets would visit on their training campaign. Meredith’s heart was suddenly beating quickly. Here was an account of the Great Possession from someone who had actually survived it. The copy in Wrath had obviously been lost but the copy in Le Matres might still remain.

  Meredith’s mind raced as he wondered if he might join the cadets on their campaign. Le Matres was much further away than Tempête Havre but distance was not really the issue. His idea should work over two hundred miles as easily as fifty and besides, it would allow him to continue his work with Falco.

  He glanced once more at Brothe
r Serulian, perched like a wrinkled mannequin on the edge of his chair. Shaking off the familiar sense of unease Meredith placed the manuscript on the pile ready to go back on the shelves. Thanks to Brother Serulian’s skill he had already forgotten the name of the book he had just put down. He had also forgotten most of the information contained within it, but he had not forgotten the title of another book, a book that might yet survive in the mage tower of Le Matres.

  Meredith gathered up the notes and sketches he had made for the patterns on Falco’s armour. It was late and tomorrow he would need to discuss his change of plans with the mages who were working with him. He could not imagine they would be pleased but they too were eager to see if his idea could work.

  As he departed the chamber Meredith passed through the gaze of Brother Serulian but as ever the old man seemed completely oblivious to his presence. His instructions were to make sure Meredith learned nothing of the 84th decade during his time in the archives of Wrath. They made no mention of the 85th decade or works that might exist in the archives of Le Matres, where Meredith Saker might finally learn the truth.

  50

  The Armour of a Battle Mage

  The workshops of Antonio Missaglias lay in the north east quarter of the city where the prevailing winds carried the smoke from the forges into the mountains. Falco and Meredith tried not to get in the way as they waited for Aurelian to return with the master himself.

  ‘Malaki would love this,’ said Falco as he savoured the elemental embrace of the royal armoury.

  ‘It’s too hot,’ replied Meredith, mopping his brow and Falco nodded.

  The air felt warm against his face and was filled with a heady mixture of smells that he could actually taste upon his tongue. The earthy aromas of wood-smoke and ore mingled with the sharper tang of metal. There was the distinctive smell of leatherwork and a cloying hint of oil from the quenching baths. The various pumps and bellows gave the impression that the entire building was breathing and the sound of hammer on metal was everywhere, from the rhythmic boom of sledgehammers drawing out a blade, to the lighter prang of peening hammers on bespoke pieces of plate.

  It was an environment that Falco found familiar and reassuring. He breathed it in and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as Aurelian reappeared, weaving his way between the anvils, benches and racks of metal tools. Behind him came another man who did not meet Falco’s expectations at all. He had expected a tall and cultured artisan but as they drew closer he could see that Master Missaglias was a hunchback, although Falco could not tell whether he had been born that way or developed the condition from years of bending over an anvil. He was short, almost dwarf-like, with the massive shoulders and soot-blackened skin that one associated with people who spent their entire lives in a forge. His bare arms were thick with scars as was the ruddy skin of his face, but his dark eyes twinkled with a keen intelligence.

  ‘Master Antonio Missaglias, allow me to introduce two of your fellow countrymen, Falco Danté and Meredith Saker.’

  Antonio dipped his head and smiled as he saw Falco glancing at a distinctive scar that looked as if he had been hit in the face with a red-hot horseshoe.

  ‘Got that from a warhorse,’ he said in the neutral accent of Valentia. ‘Think the old fella took issue with my stable manners.’

  Falco winced.

  ‘He was only putting me in my place,’ said the master with a shrug. ‘If he’d meant to hurt me he would have crushed my skull like a melon. So,’ he said, looking Falco up and down, ‘you’re looking for some armour.’

  Falco bowed his head, feeling suddenly self conscious.

  The master smiled. He made it sound as if they had just popped in to order a new set of arm guards. He cast a searching glance over Falco and then his sharp eyes moved to Meredith.

  ‘You’ll be the one designing the surface detail I suppose.’

  Meredith dipped his head in acknowledgement. His hand drifted to the leather scroll case hanging at his side which contained the sketches and notes he had been working on the previous night.

  ‘And when would you be needing this armour?’ Antonio asked, turning to make his way through the workshop.

  ‘Well, he’s joining the cadets on their training campaign,’ said Aurelian, falling in beside him. ‘So I guess you have about ten or eleven weeks before he gets back.’

  The master snorted at Aurelian’s confidence in his ability.

  ‘I know we’re talking about the armour of a battle mage,’ persisted Aurelian. ‘But I’m sure, with all your resources...’ His voice tailed off as if even he knew it was too much to ask.

  Antonio led them down the middle of a long building with work stations on either side. Falco caught the pungent smell of acid and saw pieces of armour being prepared for etching. The noise of the main workshop began to abate as they moved further away. Finally they came to the fitting rooms.

  ‘So what do you think?’ asked Aurelian, his earlier confidence giving way to uncertainty as their journey through the workshops reminded him of just how much went in to producing a suit of armour. ‘At least you could make a start. It’s still going to be some time before Falco can attempt the Rite of Assay.’

  Antonio stopped and glanced again at Falco before giving Aurelian a disapproving look. It seemed that he also doubted that Falco was ready to face the challenges of the rite. He turned as one of the fitters approached them.

  ‘This young man is in need of armour,’ he said. ‘The armour of a battle mage,’ he added. ‘How soon do you think we could oblige him?’

  The fitter bowed his head and smiled politely. He drew a measuring cord from around his neck.

  ‘If the young master would care to follow me.’

  Falco glanced at Aurelian who gave an affirmative jerk of his head then, feeling distinctly uncomfortable at being the centre of attention, he followed the man to a fitting area at the far corner of the building. The area was enclosed by curtains and as the man drew them back Falco stopped in his tracks.

  There, in the centre of the room, was a suit of dark steel armour arranged on a wooden stand, a suit of half plate and chain with breastplate, armguards and gauntlets on the top half and cuisse, greaves and armoured boots on the lower. Hanging on a separate stand beside it was a metal round-shield and topping it all a barbute helm with its distinctive T-shaped visor that seemed to stare at them in a strangely intimidating way. The armour was clearly not finished but all the main shaping work had been done.

  ‘We kept to the Valentian style,’ said Master Missaglias as if he was seeking Falco’s approval.

  Falco’s eyes took in the additional armour on the sword arm and the leading left foot, distinctive features of Valentian armour, but he was too dumbstruck to respond. Behind him Aurelian was quietly laughing.

  ‘When?’ asked the amused old battle mage.

  ‘The Queen approached me towards the end of autumn,’ said Antonio. ‘She said the emissary was bringing a new battle mage to the capital and could I please begin work on a suit of armour.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ muttered Aurelian, shaking his head and moving to inspect the armour more closely.

  ‘It took us a while to prepare the metal and complete the annealing process,’ Antonio continued. ‘Then once Master Danté arrived we took measurements from the training armour he used at the academy. Finally we took advice from Lanista Magnus on how he thought this particular cadet would develop.’ Here he looked again at Falco as if trying to gauge how accurate the lanista’s prediction had been. ‘We’ll need to make some final adjustments, of course, but I think we got it fairly close.’

  Behind Falco, Meredith seemed equally impressed by the Queen’s subterfuge and foresight. The armour was yet to be properly finished but it was very nearly complete and he found himself wishing he had more time to work on the designs that would be etched into its surface.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Aurelian but Falco could only stare.

  Master Missaglias waved over two fitte
rs who were hovering nearby. Meredith and Aurelian were politely ushered out as the two silver haired men came into the room. They relieved Falco of his cloak and sheepskin jacket and began to measure him from head to foot. While one of them held a leather measuring cord up to various parts of Falco’s body the other made entries in a book that was already full of notes. And then, stripping Falco down to his shirt and undergarments they began to dress him in the armour, while he stood there, embarrassed and bemused, like a prized bull being prepared for market.

  They began with a light quilted hauberk and a pair of leather trousers lined with brushed silk. Over this they laid a shirt of mail, carefully tailored to reduce weight without compromising the areas not covered by plate. Next they helped Falco into a pair of armoured boots and strapped on greaves and cuisse to guard his lower legs and thighs. Over this they fastened the breastplate and back plate, which had two major articulations across the midriff to allow Falco to bend and roll, plus a series of smaller articulations at the neck to prevent the metal from digging into his throat. They strapped layered pauldrons over his shoulders and slipped his hands into gauntlets of leather and finely jointed plate, while his forearms were encased in plate armguards, or the ‘lower cannon of vambrace’, as the masters of this workshop would say.

  Finally they lifted the barbute helm and here Master Missaglias pursed his lips as if the fit of this would show how well they had estimated the dimensions of Falco’s body. The fitters did not place the helm on Falco’s head but rather handed it to him instead.

  ‘You are not a king,’ explained Antonio. ‘Tradition has it that a knight should place the helm upon his own head.’

  Falco paused and looked down at the cask of steel in his hands. The act of donning this helm suddenly took on a solemn significance, a physical representation of the responsibility he was accepting. But slowly he raised the helm and closed his eyes as he brought it down upon his head. The two fitters drew back as Master Missaglias moved to stand in front of him.