Human Mage: Book Three of the Highmage's Plight Read online

  Farrel started, then relaxed.

  The figure said, “You’ve lodgings down that way there at the Inn of Tane’s Talisman.”

  As abruptly as the figure appeared, it vanished back down the alley that Farrel had not even realized was there. With a nervous sigh, Farrel turned to seek their lodgings at the Inn.

  Challenges

  2

  “We can’t let him fail,” Revit opined as they headed for class. “He has got to do this himself,” Terus said. “They’ll notice if anyone interferes! Donnialt is on the Board, himself!” Revit frowned at the pointed-eared Terus, “Well, that might be true, but we can still, uh, give him a ‘boost.’”

  Uncertain, Terus shrugged, “We might— if we were very careful, but we’ll need to be close.”

  Chuckling wryly, Revit suggested, “Above his head close enough for you?”

  Terus’s eyes gleamed with mischief, “Good enough, but we’ll have to hurry.”

  Apprentice Rexil found himself with the unpleasant duty of hunting for the two lads. “Now would have to be the time Aaprin would be tested,” he muttered angrily to himself and headed down another maze of empty halls. “I suppose once he fails, the duty will end up falling to me!” he complained to himself. “When I find them, they’ll not hear the end of it!”

  Above Rexil’s head, Terus looked down through the screen of the air duct, then muttered to Revit, “When we’re through, what do you think about bespelling Rexil’s shorts?”

  Revit looked back at him and replied, “Come on, we can’t be late for this or Aaprin’s really in trouble.”

  Terus glanced once last time back through the grate, “We could bespell every pair with a most unpleasant odor that he’ll never be able to wash out.”

  Revit whispered, “Come on.”

  “I’m coming.” He grinned as Revit chuckled.

  Aaprin swallowed anxiously as Master Stenh introduced Masters Grendel and Donnialt. The youth glanced at the candle set near him in the center of the Hall that was referred to as the Dean’s Sanctum. The most binding of magical protections carefully warded the room.

  Aaprin felt very alone as Master Stenh stated that officially this day was the anniversary of his Seventh Year. This trial was the last they would allow for him to effect even the most minor of spells, that of “Flame and Candle.”

  The three Masters before him would serve as arbiters, judges and witnesses for this test, and then the Master of the Hall sat and waited.

  Donnialt announced, “Begin.”

  Aaprin took a deep breath, then began to chant the spell with perfect cadence and intonation. He concentrated all his will on affecting the spell. He knew that nothing was going to happen— and made a conscious effort to be confident.

  It must work this time, because it had to!

  He finally chose to try the variation on the spell he had discovered long ago in one of the library texts. He sang out in High Elvin, yet he never felt the presence of the runic words that the text said should be almost visible to him as caster.

  He sang on, remembering theory that might allow him to blend the traditional and the variation into a new spell of “Flame” to light “Candle.”

  Stenh closed his eyes painfully, knowing that the lad was not even close to manifesting his gift, while the beautiful voice sang out the spell clear and touchingly.

  Revit felt the pulse of energy and urged Terus forward. Yet, it pushed them ungently back. “It’s a very strong warding,” Terus said, breathing hard.

  Nodding, Revit took Terus’s hand and they reached out together to touch the barrier that was not physically there. They quickly drew a circle, opening a hole in the warding with an ease that would have shocked the ancient Masters that had set the protections.

  The boys pulled at the edge of the hole they made and pulled it wider, then crawled through and could already hear the sound of Aaprin’s spellsong. “We’re too late!” Revit whispered worriedly.

  “No, we’re not!” Terus replied stubbornly, pulling himself hurriedly to the grate. He glanced down, then closed his eyes as if going to sleep.

  Revit quickly did the same and placed his head next to Terus’s, like babies in a crib. ‘Down,’ they seemed to say to each other in their shared dream.

  Down they went.

  Aaprin suddenly felt something change— as did Master Donnialt, who frowned curiously. At two hundred years of age the elfblooded Master of Apprentices had sat at not a few such tests as this. Most apprentices failed at this point; although, they were allowed every chance to succeed until they proved to themselves they had failed and had no choice but to leave the Academy.

  Something was different with Aaprin at this moment. There was now a subtle power behind the spell. He concentrated on the candle, should it even glow for a moment Aaprin could be salvaged. The lad had made friends in a hundred ways— he was a fine tutor for even apprentices Masters privately hoped to see fail one test or another in order to build their character. Those apprentices tutored by Aaprin soon realized that despite his inability to effect magic, he understood its nature better than they did. It was a sobering lesson for them.

  Let that spell bring “Flames to Candle,” Donnialt tried to will, while Master Grendel only feigned interest in the spectacle before him. Time the lad was dismissed from the Hall, Grendel thought to himself even as he felt the power oddly manifest itself. He looked suspiciously at Stenh and Donnialt, thinking they might secretly be trying to help the lad.

  He quickly sensed the power’s emanation. It was flowing from Aaprin himself, whose voice was straining to sing the spell into existence.

  A pulse rang in Aaprin’s head, another, then two in tandem. ‘Sing,’ they whispered.

  ‘Give up the spell which is unreal.’

  ‘Call to the light,’ urged the other. Aaprin’s eyes widened as he felt Revit and Terus somehow there with him, supporting him. Then realized it must be them bringing power to his spell. Interfering! They would make a lie of his passing this final test!

  Tears of anger and frustration poured down his cheeks as he gave up the song entirely and simply shouted out, “NO!”

  Every candle in the room burst into blue flame as Master Donnialt screamed and collapsed.

  Revit and Terus were thrust awake. They trembled, wide-eyed, feeling ill. Something wanted them gone. They hurried off as cramps threatened their arms and legs. They jerkily crawled back through their hole in the warding, which sealed up once more. The pain instantly eased.

  “What happened?” Terus muttered as he fought to catch his breath.

  Revit looked at him wide-eyed, “Aaprin kicked us out.”

  Terus looked back where the hole in the warding had been. It glowed, the faintest blue and flickered like a candle’s flame.

  “Serves us right as Aaprin always says,” Revit chuckled in quiet astonishment, while Terus gaped.

  Stenh hurried to Aaprin’s side as Grendel knelt urgently beside Donnialt.

  “He appears to be in shock,” Grendel announced, begin to chant a supportive spell of healing.

  “Aaprin,” Stenh said, gently shaking the trembling lad, who lay on the floor bathed beneath a bluish haze. Stenh glanced around them at the candlelight. The shades had been drawn for the spell-casting for light, but the flame gracing these candles was like none he had ever seen before.

  He shook Aaprin, “Release the spell, Aaprin. As far as I’m concerned you’ve passed the test.”

  “I have?” the lad muttered distantly, shivering.

  “Yes, you have,” he replied, removing his cloak and draping it around Aaprin. “Oh, then I suppose I should stop it,” he muttered wanly.

  “That would be a good idea, lad.”

  Aaprin blinked, looking pale and confused, “All right, stop it.”

  The blue flame vanished.

  The chamber door suddenly burst open; masters and journeymen rushed inside. “Master Stenh?” “Are you all right?” “Where have you been? It’s been hours!”r />
  “On my honor, Master, this room was no longer in the Hall. Though, who would credit Rexil’s account of the door vanishing as he passed?” said another Master.

  Stenh shook his head, “Gentlemen, I have no idea what you are talking about! So, get Master Ofran here on the double! We need to get this lad to the infirmary and Master Donnialt to his rooms!”

  Journeymen and masters hurried to obey, while outside the door Rexil stood, dumbfounded, muttering, “He must have passed. I won’t have to care for those brats! Good for you, Aaprin!”

  “As stipulated by our contract, I present you with three bonded guards for each evening for as long as the Market Festival lasts and until the caravan can legitimately return to Lyai,” Terhun said clasping Jeo’s hand, his eyes twinkling with ill-concealed mirth.

  Both men smiled at each other, now that formality was complete. The three guards took up posts about the wagon, which Jeo’s partner examined one more time to verify that the contents were secure. The leashed guard beast rose on its haunches casually. The guards had been part of the caravan since Lyai; and since Terhun stood for their bond, had likely been with him for years. They were somewhat used to the beast by now, but were startled by Jeo’s partner calling them to her with instructions that concerned the tawny black-maned beast.

  “So, how profitable did you find your first afternoon of this glorious Market Festival?” Terhun asked as his men were being told that they should not take it ill if the beast vanished from time to time or urged them awake by biting them.

  The guards looked at each other, but the woman did not seem to be joking. Glancing at the beast, which was watching them uncannily, they each began to feel that this would turn out to be a rather memorable assignment, filled with totally sleepless night watches.

  “Not too badly, actually. I sold a rug today.”

  Terhun grinned, “You mean those gaudy tapestries you bought at the Lyai Auction?”

  “Hmm, is that where we got them? Oh, I suppose it was, at that... The fellow, a journeyman, I think he was, of one Guild or another, said something about the violet and blue dyes used to create those hues might make the things valuable in the future. But I’ll know more about that once his master comes to see me tomorrow.”

  Eyes wide with amazement, “The textile Guildsmen might be able to recreate those colors, if the Faeryn mages lend their expertise, that is. I would have never thought of showcasing such things to Guild crafters.”

  His partner catching his eye, Jeo the Merchant, knew he normally would not have, either. One look at them, though, and she had demanded he buy them, saying they must be more than three hundred years old.

  :Three hundred eighty to four hundred years old,: a voice whispered in Jeo’s mind.

  The merchant studiously ignored the comment.

  One, that both of them had no intention of him ever selling, depicted Cathartan warriors in the vanguard of mages battling the Demonlord’s armies. Their black livery glowed violet against the magery set against them, while each bore a distinctive sword of etched midnight black, sparkling with golden fire at their raised tips.

  The staff in the merchant’s right hand was glowing ever so softly, something difficult for Terhun to ignore, but he had gotten used to it. “Trust this man,” the Lyai had commanded, and Terhun, one of His Agents Extraordinaire, had every intention of obeying that command. He had good reason, too. He trusted the man they called Master Jeo; events in Lyai’s Provincial Capital made it clear he was a friend. But Terhun was a cautious spy, which is one of the reasons the Lyai had thought enough of him to assign him to head this, apparently, independent caravan to the Capital’s Market Festival.

  The computer staff considered probing Terhun’s thoughts about his suspicions about rumors of events here in the Capital. But Jeo, in actuality, Professor of Archaeology George Bradley of the University of Terra, quickly blocked any idea of such probing. He trusted the Lyai’s judgment; after all, he had weeded out the assassin in the young man’s Court.

  The Lyai now knew whom he was and what he had come here to do. The young man had enough problems in his own province to be wholly uninterested in stirring things up in the Faer City and Imperial seat of power. The Lyai had only re-established his authority in his province. They shared the same enemy ultimately; one that ‘Jeo the Merchant’ was trying to keep one step ahead of. Terhun grinned ruefully, then asked, “Could I offer you a tour of the city? The Seven Tiers, each offer fairly segregated views of this world, after all.”

  “That will not be necessary, but I do appreciate the thought,” he replied, glancing at his partner, who had completed her ‘orientation’ of the bonded guards. The men looked slightly pale— he understood she enjoyed making him feel that way on occasion.

  Terhun frowned, curious, “Have you been here before, my friend?”

  “Hmm, oh, no... I just have this odd ability to always know where I am in a city like this. You might say that I could stand right here and tell you things about this city you might consider uncanny.”

  Frowning ever so slightly, he muttered, “You don’t say. I’ll keep that in mind.” He grinned, leaving his curiosity in check. “Perhaps, you might join me at the Tavern deBoors this evening?”

  “It’s here in the Sixth?”

  “Just down the Lane of Temples.”

  “It has been a tiring day, but mayhap I will join you later.”

  Farrel was just returning as Terhun signaled his personal escort, bowed, then left. The apprentice gestured, “Our rooms await.”

  Jeo’s partner took his arm and said too sweetly, “After you, dear.”

  The merchant sighed, glanced at the guard beast as if it could reassure him. It actually appeared to grin back.

  The bonded guards began muttering about the pay for this job not being enough as soon as the merchant, his lady partner, and apprentice were out of sight.

  The guard beast actually seemed to glare back at them. “Definitely not enough,” one muttered.

  Hunters

  3

  Jeo the Merchant entered the room and set his staff squarely in the middle. It remained steadfastly upright as he walked away from it.

  His apprentice, Farrel, closed the door behind them, threw the bolt, and secured the lock. His partner looked at the room disdainfully. “The bath is down the hall, I noticed. Not much to say for it, except for the bed here.”

  With a grimace he muttered, “I thought I told you to find us a room with more than one bed.”

  Farrel bowed, “So, you did, my lord— but, uh, none seem to be available due to the Market Festival, I understand.” Farrel’s smile was most annoying.

  Jeo shook his head, then gave up. “I found the Innkeeper’s comment about our privacy and safety particularly reassuring.”

  Farrel, back turned to Jeo, removed the merchant apprentice livery and jerkin with obvious pleasure. Outstretching arms, Farrel commented, “Cle’or is ever one to make certain of such things... When she came out of nowhere and told me where we would be staying, well, I felt a bit embarrassed.” Farrel walked over to Se’and, while Jeo began removing coin from his purse in obvious delight at how much they had earned. “Uh, Se’and,” Farrel said, uncertainly, “you don’t think she’ll chide me for not noticing her faster, do you?”

  Se’and chuckled and shook her head as she looked through her bags for something less confining than this dress she had purchased in Lyai. “I’ll be sure to vouch for the improvement in your swordplay.”

  Farrel muttered a reassured, “Thank you,” then unexpectedly, turned and lunged at Jeo. Coin went flying as Jeo fought to disentangle himself from Farrel’s embrace and kisses.

  “I really hate playing the lad,” she muttered, trying to remove Jeo’s jerkin.

  He groaned, “Stop that,” and captured one of her arms.

  Her other hand made a feint toward the clasp of his pantaloons. In his haste to prevent her, she tripped him and knocked them both onto the bed.

  “Let me go,
Fri’il!”

  “No!” she giggled, whispering into his ear, “I love you.”

  He sighed and momentarily stopped resisting.

  “Cle’or will surely not believe how well trained you’ve become, my lord.”

  Jeo returned the hug of his young, he was careful not even to think “wife,” bodyguard’s kiss, grimacing, “You know how I feel about this.”

  Se’and held up what she considered proper clothing, black bodice and Cathartan livery. “No matter what plans you have, my lord. You will leave us a House in the end... One way or another.”

  He colored, but not from anything she had said. Staff was sparkling in that way of his. :George, Fri’il just wants to feel attractive. It is also rather obvious that her pregnancy is giving her “the hots” for you.:

  “Shut up,” he mumbled, seemingly to himself.

  Fri’il grinned, lying back on the bed, “I’ll bet Staff just told you that soon I won’t even be able to play at being a lad.” She held his hand to her stomach. “I wish I was far enough along to feel the baby kick.”

  His visage softened as he bent and gently kissed her stomach, “I don’t know what life has in store for you, precious one.” Se’and noted the tears in his eyes as Fri’il glanced from him to her uncertainly. “One thing I will promise, though,” he told the unborn, “you will be raised with love and always have my love no matter where I may be.”

  Fri’il hugged him fiercely, “Do not leave us, Lord Husband.”

  Se’and sat down on the edge of the bed, “We will be a proper House, husband.”

  “So, you’ve told me,” Jeo muttered gently pulling away from the younger woman. “As far as I am concerned, I would much prefer you both stop calling me husband. I took no vows— and the custom of my land doesn’t recognize multiple marriages.”

  Fri’il sighed, “It has never been your customs that concerned us, Lord Husband.”