by Dante King
The mage turned to me as he tried to rekindle his magic. Sparks danced agitatedly between his fingers, but his desperation was working against him.
“Try and concentrate,” I taunted him. “You’re losing grip. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of a Zero, do you?”
He roared in rage and managed to launch another torrent of fire toward me. Rather than forming a neat pole, the magical force seemed to collect at the tip, a dense orb stretched into an oval shape from the speed attracting the flames, which snaked around it in a lazy dance. This ball of flames came too fast for me to dodge, and it whammed into the ground at my feet. I was thrown back by the sheer force of the blast, crashing into the wall beside the window. If I’d been thrown a few paces to my right, I would have smashed through the window. I jumped to my feet, expecting to feel the sting of burn wounds, but my entire body was unharmed. Even my back hadn’t been hurt crashing against the wall. I guessed I had this mysterious aura to thank.
Hell, maybe I wasn’t actually a Zero. That didn’t seem like such a crazy thought now. Maybe the magical barrier around my body was some kind of natural magic?
“Looks like your day just took a turn for the worse,” I said to the mage. He was hunched over, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands clasped together as he tried to gather enough power for another Fireball. “I think I’ve been upgraded.”
“Shut your ignorant mouth!” the mage yelled as a thin whip of slick, bright flames danced out of his fingers.
“Very impressive. How long have you been practicing that little magic trick? Do you do birthday parties?”
“You dare!” the mage yelled with a shaking voice, his chest heaving. “You dare!” he finally roared, sending his lean rope of fire hurtling toward me.
But I knew it was coming, so I danced out of reach with time to spare. I didn’t even have to move very far, and the rope cracked harmlessly against the tiles a few paces to my left, leaving the stink of burned clay and deep fissures spreading from where it hit.
The mage was tiring quickly; I would only have to keep this up for a few more minutes, tops. As soon as he showed clear signs he was done, I could close the distance between us and finish him with my ax.
I was still aware of the faint shimmer, much like mild heat haze that surrounded my body. It clung to me like a second skin. It was intriguing, but I had no time to investigate now.
I kept my eyes fixed on the mage as another Fire Whip emanated from his fingers. I ducked down just in time to avoid the snaking crack. As he prepared for a second strike, I dashed around the wood and stone carcasses of bookcases, statues, chairs, and tables.
The mage sent three short bursts of fire straight at me in quick succession, like lightning bolts flashing across the sky. I managed to duck the first two, but the third bolt struck my arm before I could move. I felt a pang of pain where it hit, and it left my legs a little wobbly, but I remained on my feet. My shimmering body armor seemed to glow a little brighter.
“You’re a Zero,” the mage snarled. “How are you doing this?”
I shrugged. “If I knew, I’d tell you..”
“You lie,” he spat at me.
“About many things,” I said. “But not this.”
The mage ground his teeth in fury and concentrated on summoning another Fire Whip. His fingers sent little clouds of sparks to and fro, clearly some ways off a powerful attack. This was the best chance I’d had yet. I leapt over the lonely pair of ankles and sandaled feet that remained of a shattered statue and sprinted toward him with my axe in hand. I figured I would manage to close the distance a split second before he launched his spell at me. I was out in the open now; I had no option but to finish him very soon, before he finished me. Although the strange haze had protected me so far, I couldn’t risk taking a full-on hit from serious pyromancy fire.
But the floor tiles were broken up so bad, and the debris so uneven, that I was unable to accelerate to my usual sprinting speed. He was getting too close to firing power. Before the flames left the mage’s hands, I ducked low and rolled across the floor toward a large stone table. A bookshelf hadn’t protected me earlier, but a gargantuan slab of stone should do the trick. I crouched low behind the table and peered over its edge just long enough to catch a glimpse of the mage’s silhouette. Even seen through the haze of magical fire and smoke, he managed to retain his regal elegance.
A perfect target.
At near-instinctual speed, I pulled my axe from its sling and launched it. A torrent of fire was the answer I got, a massive, century-old tree trunk of a blast, unwavering but for the licks of flame darting out to touch and destroy anything that came too near to its path. I ducked back behind the table as the flames roared and crashed into the other side like the full force of a lake that had just breached a man-made dam. Just as suddenly—and, I had to assume, too soon for the mage’s liking—the flames stopped. The roaring gave way to a silence, now filled only with my heavy breathing and the soft crackling of omnipresent little fires. I breathed in deep and braced myself to jump whichever way I might have to, before peeking over the table. No mage to be seen, so I risked lifting my head a little higher.
“There you are,” I said when I saw him, lying on the ground with my axe protruding from his skull. His eyes were open wide, his mouth agape as a thin line of blood trailed down his chin.
“Bullseye!” I smiled to myself as I strolled over and tore my axe free. I cleaned off the chunks of unidentifiable meat before slipping the weapon into its sling. Ah, feeling the familiar weight return, that light tug on my shoulder, always made me relax.
I stood at ease and surveyed the destruction. The library was in complete shambles. The two surviving mages had run off with the most powerful seal in all of Trysca. My fellow guardsmen were dead. And I, the Zero, was the lone survivor. Well, the Zero. . . I was about to celebrate my sudden admittance to the world of magic when I felt the haze surrounding me flicker. The ethereal glazing that had probably saved my life slowly died down, with little intermittent bursts of renewed brightness. It was warm and felt kind of sticky, as if the flesh I had just cleaned off my blade had been spread all over my body. But there was a tingling sensation too. My skin was on edge as the haze gave its last signs of life, leaving as its only trace my every bodily hair standing on end. Oh, well, so much for my share of magic tricks. Perhaps it would come back soon and give me some time to find out where it came from.
I heard footsteps coming at me from two separate directions and turned to face a group of spellswords. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. As ever, their timing was perfect, party-pooper perfect.
One of the soldiers stepped forward authoritatively. His eyes ranged around the room and finally landed on me with undisguised distaste. “What happened here?” he demanded, as though I were on trial.
As always, I managed to keep my cool when facing cocky superiors. “We were attacked by mages.” I gestured to the one by my feet. “There were two others with him; they got away.”
“He’s dead,” the soldier stated, surveying the carnage with detachment.
“Astute,” I replied, giving him a vigorous nod that left him in that sweet inbetween spot, unable to make out whether I was actually commending him or being sarcastic. “The library guards will need medical attention,” I added, quickly returning to the serious matters at hand. “Some of them are still alive but badly hurt.”
“We’ve seen to them,” the spellsword replied.
“Good,” I said with a curt nod. I looked at a couple of his footmen in turn, finally turning back to their leader. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I stepped around him and made my way back to the reliquary.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He called after me, too confused to keep the authority ringing in his voice at maximum capacity.
“There’s something I need to see to first,” I said. “You’re welcome to come with me.”
I could feel a few of his soldiers at my back but didn’t bo
ther to count. So they were following me. Did they really suspect I could have anything to do with the desecration of the Arcanum? Well, let them figure out the truth for themselves. I had my own priorities, and I wasn’t about to apologize for it.
Once I got back to the reliquary, I followed the scent of perfume and headed to the bookcase where I knew she would be hiding. I gently opened the hiding place. There she was, the gorgeous woman I’d encountered in the dungeons. She was still a little dazed.
“It’s safe now,” I said as I knelt down next to her.
“Wait!” one of the soldiers called, striding over. “What are you doing?”
I kept my eyes fixed on the poor student. She’d got caught up in something she had nothing to do with. “Are you okay?” I asked, offering her my hand.
More soldiers were starting to gather around me, and I was now certain they wanted to question me further. I was the only one left unharmed from the heist, so they must have suspected I was involved, or at least somehow in the know. They would most likely forcefully drag me back somewhere for questioning, but I had to ensure the beautiful young mage was okay before I allowed the guards to take me away.
Her eyes darted from me to the soldiers standing at my back. She stiffened at seeing the cohort of mages in their flowing purple robes, but she almost immediately stepped out of the darkness of her hiding place to face the men, her hand softly slipping into mine on the way.
“Ms. Cyntria,” I heard the first soldier say gravely, and I turned in time to see all of them bow their heads.
I swiveled around to the woman I apparently should have been calling Ms. Cyntria. “You know these guys?”
She sighed. “They work for my father.”
“Your father?” More mystery. . .
She didn’t elaborate. Instead, she removed her hand from mine and pulled her cloak more firmly around her shoulders. She looked visibly shaken and, despite all the eyes resting on me, I wanted to make her feel better.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re safe now.”
Her big, almond-shaped eyes were grateful. They soon slipped down the length of my side. “Your arm is bruised.”
I glanced down at my forearm. The skin there was slightly blotched with red scars, the markings of a low-grade burn. “So it is,” I nodded. “I’ve had worse.”
“Pyromancy?” she asked.
“Yeah. It definitely was.”
She seemed puzzled by my answer. “That’s powerful magic. If it made any contact with you…”
“I should be dead?” I asked casually. “And, yet, here I am.” I smiled. I knew I sounded cocky, but I didn’t care.
“But how?” she asked with barely masked fascination.
I paused. “I wish I could answer that.”
Her digging eyes lingered on my face before falling back to my arm. There was curiosity in her gaze, more than a little admiration, and perhaps even a hint of desire?
“Lillian!”
She gasped at the sound of the commanding voice as a tall man entered the reliquary with at least five more spellswords at his back. He was a handsome man, with dark hair that was graying at the temples. He wore black trousers and a long black coat over a burgundy-patterned waistcoat with deep red lapels. He carried an impressive walking stick, with a pommel carved into the shape of a great stallion’s head.
The man’s almond-shaped eyes struck me as familiar. His magical aura was the same dark, pulsating purple as Lillian’s. The scent of his magic matched hers closely too, though there were a few diverging notes just beneath the surface.
“Father,” she greeted him without meeting his gaze.
He fixed her with a glare laced with concern. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Lillian said quickly. “This guardsman—he protected me.”
Lillian’s father turned his eyes to me. They were blue too, but a little darker and plainer than his daughter’s, less startling.
“And you are?”
“Kurt Woodsman, sir,” I said respectfully. Unlike the spellswords, I recognized a powerful sorcerer when I saw one. Not to mention the political power he obviously had. Continuing my work in the Arcanum was unlikely after the evening’s trouble, but crossing this man would mean not even getting a job cleaning alleyways.
He looked me up and down without reservation. “Woodsman, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you were one of the guards on duty tonight?”
“I was, sir.”
He was still regarding me with an appraising look when another spellsword entered the reliquary. “We found another petrified guard at the entrance, Archmage Barlin.”
So, he was one of the Archmages from the institute. No wonder Lillian radiated magical potential—she came from a powerful lineage.
“Take him to the institute,” the Archmage ordered. “Once he has been de-petrified, we can question him.”
“Understood, my lord,”
The soldier backed out, and Archmage Barlin turned his attention to his daughter. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I wanted—”
“I don’t care what you wanted,” Archmage Barlin interrupted her harshly. “There is a reason I keep you in the Spire. It is for your own protection.” He turned to the two soldiers behind him. “Escort my daughter back to the Spire, and make sure she stays there.”
Lillian’s jaw jutted out in anger, but she did not raise her voice to fight back. Her eyes lingered on me for a moment before she turned and followed the soldiers out of the reliquary. I felt a spasm of disappointment. I’d hoped to have a moment or two alone with her—and she clearly wanted the same. My considerable experience with women, let’s say, had taught me when their attention hid more than polite interest.
“Where did you come across my daughter, Mr. Woodsman?” Archmage Barlin’s hand rested casually on the pommel of his walking stick.
“In the catacombs, sir,” I replied.
“The catacombs?” Archmage Barlin repeated.
“She seemed to be lost.”
“Why were you in the catacombs?” Archmage Barlin asked, making no attempt to hide his suspicion.
“I was dealing with a rodent infestation,” I replied. “The rats are attracted to magical relics.”
“Apparently, they’re not the only rats who are attracted to magical relics,” he said under his breath. “Tell me what happened.”
He gave orders like someone who had been born doing it. He radiated power, and I couldn’t help but be impressed.
“I had just finished dealing with the rodents, sir,” I explained. “I was making my way back to the library when I ran into your daughter. She seemed lost, so I offered to show her the way out through the library. Then we heard strange noises above us, and I went to investigate. I told Lillian to—”
“You will refer to her as Ms. Cyntria, Mr. Woodsman,” Archmage Barlin cut me off.
One of the spellswords stifled a laugh, but I ignored it. “I told Ms. Cyntria to stay here in the reliquary while I went to investigate. I found the three mages leaving the Eastern Hall. One of them held the Terminus Seal.”
Barlin sighed deeply. “But not the mage who lies in the reliquary as we speak, the one with the split skull?”
“No, sir. Not that one. The Terminus Seal was taken by one of the two mages who fled.”
“Am I right in saying you are non-magical?”
Immediately, the shimmering armor that had protected me from the mage’s attacks came to mind. But I said nothing about it. I didn’t yet understand it myself, and there was no need to have anyone else start speculating.
“I’m a Zero,” I confirmed. I wasn’t about to let any of the other guards point it out to Archmage Barlin before I did.
“You fought against a pyromancer single-handedly, and here you stand, telling the tale,” Barlin remarked, cocking his head. “Please enlighten me as to how this is possible?”
I resented this line of questioning, but I was also a consummate profes
sional. I would not let the mask slip off my face. “I was smarter than he was,” I said.
Barlin raised his eyebrows for a moment. I was sure I saw one corner of his mouth twitch upward before he choked down the urge to smirk.
“You will be escorted to the guardhouse for further questioning,” he concluded, turning away from me.
“Am I under arrest, Archmage Barlin?” I asked as two soldiers stepped closer.
“Why, Mr. Woodsman?” Archmage Barlin asked. “Have you done something that warrants an arrest?”
“I have not,” I said confidently.
“Then you have nothing to fear from a visit to the guardhouse,” Barlin replied. “Take him down and hand him over to the city guard.”
He nodded to the two soldiers behind me, and they flanked me on either side. Left with no choice, I exited the reliquary with them. We took the grand spiral staircase down to the first floor of the library before walking out into the bright sunshine of Trysca.
There was a wagon outside waiting for me, the only fitting mode of transportation for someone of my station. I would have preferred to ride on horseback, but I wasn’t about to make demands of an Archmage. Two city guards stood beside the wagon, both of them looking unreasonably irritated. I ignored them, got in without complaint, and let them shut the door behind me. It was a closed wagon, the kind they used to transport prisoners; apparently, I was no better than a suspect. It seemed the Archmage didn’t believe my story. Either that or he considered me a threat. I had to admit, the latter was kind of flattering.
The wagon started moving, and the calm of the albeit bumpy ride gave me time to recall my fight with the pyromancer. If it hadn’t been for the translucent armor, I would never have survived that battle. I’d been surrounded by magic for long enough now to recognize it when I saw it, and that was definitely it. Of course, I’d never faced off against a powerful mage before, but still, if I possessed magic, wouldn’t I know it? As far as I knew, I came from a long line of ordinary humans, with no magic whatsoever, and I’d made my peace with that. A peace that seemed destined to be broken.
