by Gregory Heal
“Phew!” Mira pretended to wipe sweat from her forehead. “Is there anything else you need? Oh, I’ll get you some more water!” Answering her own question, Mira left the hut for the communal well.
Jen put a hand on her forehead and asked, “Do you know what happened to me, Vic?”
“I have no clue . . . but I believe your telemancy powers are starting to awaken. My guess is that you picked up on the distress of a fellow telemancer.” Victor crossed his arms and shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense, though. Why would Draconex be torturing a telemancer?” He looked at Jen again. “Is there anything else that you can remember from your vision?”
Jen closed her eyes and began retracing her steps. “I saw Draconex in front of me, then felt a sharp knife in my left thigh . . .” Jen grimaced as she tried to remember more. “Then I heard someone—I’m assuming the telemancer—say . . . ‘Mintaka’?”
A clatter sounded, so she opened her eyes to see that Victor had dropped his staff.
“Vic, is everything okay?”
Victor was speechless, frozen in shock.
Before he could speak, Mira came in with a gallon of water. “This should keep you hydrated for a while.” Sloshing the liquid back and forth, she walked to the opposite end of the hut to pour Jen a glass.
“Vic?” Jen asked again.
“Yes,” Victor said distantly. He went to the side of her hammock and took her hand. “Are you certain you heard that word? ‘Mintaka’?”
“Completely.” Jen cocked her head to the side in question. “Vic, you’re scaring me.”
Victor put on a soft smile and squeezed her hand. “There’s nothing to worry about, Jenny. Right now, the most important thing for you is to rest. I need to return to Watercress. I’ll be gone for a few hours. You’ll be fine while I’m gone?”
“Yeah, of course.” Jen squinted, suspicious. “Is there something else you’re not telling me?”
Mira was patiently waiting in the wings with a glass of water as Victor hesitated. “All in good time.” Victor smiled again and said, “Mira will take care of you while I’m gone. I shouldn’t be long.” He let go of Jen’s hand so she could take the glass from Mira. He made his way toward the door. “I’ll see you soon.”
“No. I’m coming with you,” she insisted, making a move to get out of the hammock.
“Jen,” Victor said, rather sternly, then reverted back to a sympathetic tone. “You’ve just been through a harsh episode of a mind meld. You need to rest.”
Jen searched his eyes, hoping to glean the secret she knew he was keeping.
“I’ll fill you in when I return,” he conceded. “Trust me.”
“You know where to find me.”
Jen crossed her arms, feeling a twinge of frustration and sadness as she watched him leave the hut. This was the first time Victor had voluntarily left her side since he had shown up on her birthday. Taking a sip of water, she couldn’t believe that had been only a week ago; it felt like years.
“You do look a lot better,” Mira said, jerking Jen from her thoughts.
“Thanks.” Jen rubbed the glass with both of her thumbs as she sat back down on her hammock, thinking. “I’ve had visions before, but this one was the most intense. I’m glad it’s over with.” Jen took another sip of water.
“I can only imagine how it felt.” Mira took a seat on her hammock, rocking herself with her feet.
Jen swung her legs off the side of her hammock so she was facing Mira. “I’m glad you were there to help me, though.” She smiled, raising her glass to her friend. “Were you also there to go riding?”
“I actually work as a stable-hand,” Mira said. “I help care for the griffins when I’m not training. It’s like my second home.”
“Oh, that’s awesome! I’m not surprised, given your love of animals,” Jen pointed out.
“Very true.” Mira laughed. “I’m hoping that Mystra Wingelius will let me adopt one when I make Paladin.”
“Why can’t you adopt one now?”
“Tenderfeet aren’t allowed to care for any creatures during training,” Mira said disappointedly. “Having one is said to distract us from our ‘development.’ ” She made air quotations with her fingers around the word development.
Jen laughed. “How close are you to finishing your training?”
“I’m on my last year!” Mira said excitedly. “I can’t wait to begin the Sorcery Trials . . . but I’ll miss seeing Mystra Wingelius every day. I’ve studied under her for eight years.”
“Eight years?” Jen repeated, astonished. She didn’t think she had close to that amount of time to learn terramancy, let alone the other four Mancy planes.
“Yep, since I was ten years old!”
Just then, Jen realized that she had become too hard on herself. Learning sorcery took time, and she shouldn’t have expected to pick up each Mancy plane with sudden ease.
“I’m sure it’ll be quite an adjustment,” Jen said, nodding, “but you seem more than ready.”
“I hope so.” Mira played with her single braid as she rocked back and forth in her hammock .
Fatigue hit Jen unexpectedly, so she finished the glass of water and said, “Thanks for the water, Mira.” She set it down on the floor beneath her hammock. “I’m still a little bit out of it, so I think I’m going to take a quick nap.” She tucked her legs back into the hammock and unfolded the throw cover over her body.
“Good idea. We need you to get back to full strength.” Mira got up from her hammock and put Jen’s glass on the small counter next to the sink. “I’ll be tidying up the stables if you need me.” She smiled and left, closing the door behind her.
As if the lights were reading Jen’s thoughts—Maybe they are! she thought—they dimmed down enough so she could fall asleep. Getting comfortable, she nestled in her hammock while her mind kept replaying her vision.
Who was Draconex torturing . . . and why did she see—and feel—it?
And why did Victor react that way when he heard the word “Mintaka”?
With those questions plaguing her mind, she fell into a troubled sleep.
Malcolm couldn’t wait to surprise Draconex with his boosted power; couldn’t wait to see the shock on his face; couldn’t wait to finally pass one of his demented tests. But it was he who was surprised when Draconex led him back to his chambers.
Draconex stopped and half-turned so Malcolm could see him cross his arms in impatience. “Well, aren’t you going to let me in?”
“Yes, Master.” He cautiously walked past Draconex and slid the face of his totem ring into the matching indentation on the handle, opening the door. His chamber almost immediately self-illuminated, torches springing to life on every wall. Keeping the door open, Malcolm gestured inside. “Would you like to come in?”
Draconex silently walked past him, the only sound the flutter of his thick cape. He glided to the center of the room and turned around to face his apprentice. “From the state of disrepair you left my chamber in after our last lesson, you’ve shown me that you can tap into dark magic well enough. But once you did, you let it control you. That was your first mistake. It’s important to know that dark magic is not only an independent entity, but also one that can be tamed. It has a nasty habit of deceiving a sorcerer into believing that he has all the control, when in reality, it’s the complete opposite. If you’re not careful enough, dark magic makes you its conduit for destruction and anarchy.
“The true mark of a worthy sorcerer,” Draconex continued, glaring at Malcolm, “a rank I’m skeptical that you can attain—is when he becomes dominant over dark magic and uses its power to augment his deepest desires and lower his restricting inhibitions.”
Without saying a word, Malcolm reached deep within himself and let his emotions rise. He became angry for constantly being thought of as weak and stupid; envious of Draconex’s power and ambition; hateful of everyone who had ever scorned him; arrogant that he deserved to be the first to find the Halostone. He let
all of these emotions stir as Draconex continued with his pompous lecture.
“Now that we’re in your chambers,” Draconex said, clasping his hands in front of his dragon-enameled belt, “feel free to break your belongings when the dark magic again proves too challenging for you.”
Almost immediately after he finished speaking, Draconex was taken clear across the room and slammed into Malcolm’s bookshelf by a ball of condensed air, rattling several books loose. They clattered to the floor as Draconex gasped for air, his diaphragm spasming from the unexpected spell.
“Try . . . that again . . . boy. You won’t . . . be so . . . lucky.”
WHOOOOOOOOSHHHHH!
A quick breeze picked up and extinguished all the lit torches until darkness reigned. Draconex adapted by channeling the night vision of a bengal tiger just in time to see Malcolm rush toward him. Using the agility of a patas monkey, Draconex leapt up and dodged Malcolm’s body slam, twirling away just as the boy rammed into the bookshelf, knocking more books loose. Malcolm cried out in frustration as he illuminated the torches once more and turned around, flinging the discarded books at Draconex on pockets of air.
“You’re going to have to use more than just terramancy to beat me, boy,” Draconex said as he batted away the books like harmless houseflies, “or can you not command any dark magic to help you channel the other mystical planes?”
His rhetorical question was met with more books until the floor and shelves were empty.
Without saying anything else, Draconex summoned dark magic to invoke astromancy. As his eyes turned fully black, he raised his hands, lifting Malcolm off the ground with a zero-gravity spell.
Malcolm, expecting this, snickered, his eyes also turning black. He immediately countered by increasing the gravity of the chamber tenfold. He gracefully regained his footing while his master was crushed to the ground, wheezing from the immense pressure.
“Is this what you wanted, Master?” Malcolm retorted as he stood over Draconex, who was still immobilized and couldn’t move his hands to protect himself or conjure any counter spells. Increasing the crushing weight on the dark sorcerer, Malcolm let the dark magic flow through his nexus and gain access to the astromancy plane.
“I see that you’ve tamed the nexus within you.” Draconex barely had enough air left in his lungs to speak. He knew Malcolm had bested him, but the lesson wasn’t over yet. “Though I doubt that would make any difference if you saw the Lancaster girl again.”
Malcolm clenched his jaw. “She doesn’t stand a chance.”
“You’ve said that before, and yet she’s still out there. Either you’re not as powerful as her, or . . .” His lungs were quickly losing air.
“That’s not true,” Malcolm whispered, fighting the urge to murder Draconex.
“You . . . love . . . her,” Draconex said just as he ran out of air.
“That’s not true!” Malcolm yelled as his eyes returned to their normal color and he lost focus, releasing his hold on the gravity spell.
Capitalizing on the boy’s moment of weakness, Draconex knocked Malcolm to the ground with a quick leg sweep. Looking behind him, he noticed a full beaker resting on a table. Using terramancy, Draconex drew the liquid from the container and froze it just as he shot it into Malcolm’s nostrils. Stunned from the cold and the inability to breathe out of his nose, Malcolm’s strength abandoned him. Draconex placed a leathery hand over his mouth, fully cutting off his supply of fresh air.
“I’ll admit, you had me for a second . . . but you made the mistake of letting me get inside your head.”
Draconex poked Malcolm’s forehead with a filed fingernail several times, drawing blood. Malcolm clawed for air, but Draconex’s hand remained immovable over the boy’s mouth as he channeled the strength of an African bush elephant. Licking the blood from his fingertip, he pushed harder on the boy’s mouth and heard a muffled scream.
“You’re so pathetic. Love only makes you weak and undeserving of power. You leave me no choice now.”
With dead eyes, Draconex watched his apprentice start to convulse as his lungs fought for air. Malcolm was getting weaker with every passing second, until his eyes rolled to the back of his head, deprived of oxygen—and passing yet another test.
A dull headache brought Charles back from unconsciousness, letting forgotten memories rush back into his mind. He was overjoyed to remember his wife, Jocelyn, but that feeling was momentary as he also remembered that she had died in the same explosion that gave him amnesia. The same emotional turmoil came when he thought of his baby girl, Jennifer; he didn’t even know what she looked like now. Determined more than ever to see her again, he tried moving his arms and legs, only to find that they were still bound together. With effort, he opened his eyes to see not darkness, but the world on its side, which meant that he was still in the lighted interrogation room.
Draconex wasn’t done with him.
Moving his sore neck muscles, Charles slowly craned his head around to check if anyone was nearby. After he was certain he was alone, he shimmied off the chair and rolled to the nearest wall to prop himself up. He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but he guessed several hours because the blood from his thigh wound had dried on his tattered pants. Since his ankles and wrists were still bound, he couldn’t fight his way out of Feralot . . . not yet. Thinking about the Ring of Lancaster, he instinctively rubbed his right ring finger with his thumb and was caught off guard when he felt only bare skin. His chest sank in defeat when he realized that he had asked Richard and Beth Smith to protect the ring, along with Jennifer.
Richard! Charles remembered.
He tried reaching into his nexus to tap into telemancy so he could communicate with his old friend, but it was extremely difficult, nearly impossible, like walking on legs that have atrophied from years of disuse. In his desperation, he didn’t give up. With each attempt at telemancy, he grew stronger, repeating his friend’s name until he felt a channel open up.
Richard . . . Richard!
Charles hadn’t been returned to his cell, which was making both Richard and Beth worried. Usually the guards brought him back a few hours after his interrogation, depending on the level of torture that he underwent. By now the guards had tossed in two daily rations, indicating to Richard that it was closing in on twenty-four hours—one full day—since Charles was taken away from the Smiths.
And just when they’d discovered his true identity.
It wasn’t fair.
Beth had been awakened by the conflict that had ensued when Charles refused to leave his cell, so Richard had explained to her his unbelievable realization. Beth had broken down in tears—both happy and sad. Happy to hear that their dear friend was still alive, but sad that he had lost his memory and languished in the Lair of Despair for nearly twenty years while they raised his daughter.
They had anxiously awaited Charles’s return so they could help him remember more and possibly ask him further questions. Now, their spirits were fading as another hour ticked away into the ever-hungry darkness, still with no sound of Charles.
“Does he know where Jocelyn is?” Richard asked her husband after a good period of silence.
“I didn’t get a chance to ask him. His memory was starting to come back in fragments when the guards took him.” Richard paused. “Beth . . . I saw Charles’s face. The guards knocked him out with some kind of spell, but it gave off a flash of light. He looked so gaunt.”
Beth slid over and gave him a hug. “Maybe now that you’ve helped him remember who he is, he’ll find it in himself to get stronger.”
“I hope you’re right, honey.” Richard rubbed his wife’s back, praying that he would be able to see Charles once again—when, all of a sudden, he heard a distant voice.
Richard . . . Richard . . .
At first, Richard thought someone in the cell bay was trying to get his attention. But Beth would have heard it too. Instead, she gave no indication she’d heard a thing. He shook his head, scared that he was beg
inning to show signs of dementia from being in this hellhole of a prison for too long. But the voice kept saying his name; the voice sounded eerily familiar.
Richard . . . can you hear me?
Who is this? Richard thought.
It’s me, Charles.
Charles?! How are you doing this? Richard was more relieved that his friend was still alive than concerned that he might be developing schizophrenia.
Thanks to you, I now fully remember who I am and the powers I possess. One of them is telemancy, which gives me telepathic abilities, Charles explained.
I’m so thankful you’re alive! Richard thought. Beth and I thought we lost you for good this time.
Don’t count your blessings just yet. Draconex isn’t done with me now that he knows I’ve regained my memory.
Beth, having noticed that Richard was distracted, put a soft hand on his cheek. “Honey, are you okay?”
Richard didn’t respond, not breaking his concentration.
What does he want from you? he sent to Charles.
Richard felt Charles put up a mental wall before he said, Something that I don’t want you to have the burden of knowing. I couldn’t bear to live with myself if Draconex found out that I had told you.
I understand, Richard thought to Charles. I probably wouldn’t be much help anyway.
Richard, you cared about me even before you knew who I really was. You’ve helped more than you can imagine, and I’m even more indebted to you than ever before.
Richard smiled for the first time since he was imprisoned. Help me and Beth escape and we’re even, he said, adding levity to their deep conversation.
There was the hint of a chuckle in Charles’s voice. Trust me, I’m not leaving this place without you.
Richard then felt a spike in alertness from his friend. Charles?
Draconex is on his way back. I have to go. Charles was curt, understandably so. Richard, no one can find out that we’re telepathically linked, or they’ll hurt you and Beth. I’ll reach out when I can. Stay strong. Charles quickly cut his link with Richard.