A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1) (26 page)

32

“A surprise?” Jharal rumbled as he flung his pack against the closed door of their tiny room. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, a surprise?”

“It’s not really that much of a surprise,” Peck said.

“Oh?” Jharal said with a hard glare. “And how’s that?”

Peck produced an apple and a small knife. “I think the house is going to fly away and carry us off with it,” he said as he cut into the fruit.

Jharal snorted. “Shut up, Peck.”

Peck shrugged and popped a wedge into his mouth.

With their gear stored, the group settled themselves. The space was modest but not uncomfortably so. Arwin sat near the far wall with his bedroll and pillows.

“What do you think of our new friend, Apprentice?” he asked.

Niel sat and wrapped his arms around his knees. He suspected Arwin had asked more out of politeness and for the sake of inclusion than actual concern. Peck forgoing his normal watch should have satisfied Arwin that they were safe.

“I think the professor is all he claims,” he replied. “I think we can trust him.”

“So what now?” Cally asked.

“Well,” Arwin said with a yawn, “I was going to follow Jharal’s advice and take a nap.”

Jharal gave an approving nod.

“No, fearless leader,” she retorted. “I don’t recall discussing what we intend to do when we get back to Lyrria.”

“Oh, yes, there is that.”

“That would depend on how Potchkins intends to get us there, right?” Jharal said, jutting a thumb toward Peck.

“True,” Arwin said, “but just the same, I think the best thing would be to count on you and Cally heading back to Lord Deralden while Peck, Niel, and I continue on to the Black Plains.”

Cally scoffed. “You want me and Jhar to ride off and leave the three of you to fend for yourselves? Try again.”

“Well,” Arwin smirked, “it occurred to me we might not be all that successful. I thought it best to get the word out on what’s going on.”

“And what makes you think Deralden will help?” she asked.

Arwin shrugged. “I figure if the College has been lying to the aristocracy all this time about what they’re up to, then someone is going to want to take the issue to the Assembly. I’ve known him quite awhile. Deralden wields a good amount of respect and has less love for the College than most. My guess is he’ll take advantage of having other lords beholden to him for exposing this.”

“And maybe that would make up for us coming back empty handed,” Jharal added.

“Maybe,” Arwin replied, “but if this Ennalen represents a rift within the ranks of the College, then when this comes to light it could also mean a split in the Assembly, since so many of the lords are pretty chummy with the College. Even if the three of us are able to stop our Magistrate friend, there will likely be some serious political consequences. Maybe even war. But if we can’t stop her, then…”

“Then there will be more important matters at hand,” Niel finished. “To say the least.”

The room fell silent.

“No,” Cally said. “We stay together. Things are bad enough without cutting our strength, and four swords are better than two. If Niel’s piece of the Heart can’t help us, it won’t make any difference what the Assembly knows or doesn’t.”

Jharal folded his arms. “She’s right.”

Arwin considered his comrades. “In for a copper, in for a gold, eh? All right, then. That’s how we’ll play it.”

“Good,” Cally replied. “So what do we do once we get to the Plains? Aside from staying alive, I mean.”

Niel gave Arwin a questioning look. After failing to retain the sleep spell, he didn’t see how much use he would be. Knowing whether Ennalen felt happy or sad didn’t strike him as all that valuable a contribution.

“I guess we’ll have to sleep on that one,” Arwin said.

Jharal snorted. “Then I hope we sleep well.”

“Yeah,” Niel said. “Me, too.”

***

How dare you ask such a thing!

Niel only wanted to know why his teacher glowed so much differently than all the other magicians he’d seen, and it sent Biddleby into a rage. Except it wasn’t Biddleby. He no longer recognized the person standing in front of him. A brilliant whiteness filled the room, as painful in Niel’s eyes as it was on his skin.

Never, ever ask that again, boy!
the person screamed as he shook Niel.

Never, ever…

***

The shaking roused him, but the huge lurch that followed sent a loud groan through the darkness, tumbled everyone into a pile against the door, and thus brought Niel fully awake. As the group untangled themselves from one another, off to one side a candle jumped to life in Peck’s hand.

“Someone had better tell me what that was,” Jharal said, “and I had
better
like the answer.”

“No trouble with the telling,” Peck replied. The light from the candle gave his features a fiendish cast. “The liking part might be a problem.”

“Peck?” Arwin said as he slowly stood.

Peck smiled. “Best you come see this for yourselves.”

Niel and the others exchanged glances.

“All right,” Arwin said. “Let’s do that.”

One by one they dug their own candles from their packs and followed Peck down the short hallway to Potchkins’s main room, which they found to be in even further disarray after being tossed about as well. Even more noticeable, a large trap door hung open in the ceiling, swinging back and forth as the room pitched first left, then right.

Just like a ship.

Peck leveled a self-satisfied leer at Jharal.

Jharal shook his head in disgust. “Godsbedamned. I should have been a shepherd like my uncle. This kind of thing never happens to shepherds.”

Niel swallowed hard. Unlike aboard the
Alodis,
his bracelet no longer aided his equilibrium. His guts felt every tilt and turn.

A rope ladder dangled from the trap door.

“Cally,” Arwin said, raising his voice over the steady breeze blowing in from above, “you and Jhar stay here while we go up and take a look.”

Cally nodded.

“Fine with me,” Jharal said.

Arwin handed aside his candle and went first, followed by Niel, with Peck last. As they approached the opening in the ceiling, the howl of the wind grew louder, and the cold more bitter. But the sight greeting them as they emerged from the darkness made Niel forget any and all discomfort.

Above them loomed the enormous form of what Niel could only think to call a balloon. He’d seen pictures of balloons in his lesson books—animal bladders and such used to capture resultant gases from experiments and that could float as though by magic.

No mere animal bladder, the monstrous but well-tethered form hovering overhead looked easily the size of a castle tower, though its slate color against the dark sky and its lumbering dance in the fierce winter winds made it impossible to judge size with any accuracy. Great butterfly-shaped wings swayed tautly up and down on either side of the cylindrical body. The ship seemed to bear not a single sail.

While Niel could accept the idea of substances being lighter than air, nothing in his experience had prepared him for what his senses now beheld. He gazed alternately straight up at the great balloon and then out to the streaming sea of blackness and clouds. He collapsed to the smooth, wooden deck as much from disbelief as from the disorienting motion of the vessel on which they all had become passengers.

Arwin and Peck helped him back to his feet, and Arwin pointed toward the far end of the ship. “Look there!” he shouted over the rush of wind.

Niel ducked his head around a bit of rigging and saw the distinct, round form of Professor Potchkins manning a large steering wheel mounted atop a platform.

The professor smiled and waved enthusiastically.

Using the maze of ropes for support, the three of them made their way arm-over-arm to the bridge.

“Well?” Potchkins asked loudly as he gestured to the ship in general. “What do you think?”

“Personally,” Arwin answered with genuine irritation, “I think I would have preferred an actual warning than a riddle, Professor.”

The tahlerig’s smile dissolved. “My apologies to you all,” he said, “but in truth, we could not risk you balking at the notion of flying home.”

Arwin considered the answer with a stern expression, then looked up to examine the immense balloon. “How soon will we reach Lyrria?”

“If the wind holds,” the professor replied, “we should reach the coast by late tomorrow afternoon. Maybe early evening.”

The three looked at one another again in amazement.

“Less than a
day?”
Arwin asked.

Potchkins nodded.

“Then no wonder the magicians kicked you out of the University,” Arwin said. “I can’t imagine them wanting to compete with anything so extraordinary as this.”

The professor’s proud grin returned and pleated his round face. “Might I suggest you return below? You should rest as much as possible while you have the opportunity.”

“Good advice, Captain,” Arwin agreed.

As they headed back for the hatch, Niel again took in the improbable sight of the balloon against the menacing sky beyond.

“I wonder how long it took him to build all this,” he said.

“I wonder how he made it up that ladder,” Peck replied.

33

Ennalen welcomed the violet glow.

Not since her school days had she cast a spell for conjuring light, and for all her diligence in preparing to leave Fraal, she foolishly forgot torches. Still, she could have found her way even without the benefit of the soft luminescence coming from somewhere at the end of the cramped tunnel. From the moment she crossed the cavern’s threshold she felt compelled to follow wherever the winding passage led, like a kite being reeled home.

She concentrated her full measure on seeking out any other person nearby, but saw only the brightness before her that threatened to blind even the senses acquired through her cantle.

As she walked she ran her fingers across the faces of the stone statues—perfectly scaled versions of their giant cousins outside, that peeked out from the numerous carved niches lining the walls at eye-level. In one respect, the figures grew in hideousness the farther she went. At the same time, the constantly shifting shadows across their features did lend a certain allure.

The long, twisting tunnel ended with a short flight of stairs that led down to an open archway, on the other side of which she knew waited the source of the glow.

Ennalen descended slowly, listening for any break in the silence. Hearing nothing other than the sound of her own heartbeat, she passed beneath the archway—

—and into a room more startling than anything she had ever seen.

The mountain in its entirety had been hollowed to create a world unto itself. From high above, farther than she could actually see, poured a narrow column of silvery light that pierced the enveloping sea of pale violet like a rapier, illuminating a distant object at the center of the great cavern’s floor.

The Heart.
It had to be.

Carved into the floor looped thousands of concentric circles of minute text in a language she did not recognize. At the center of the circles fell the brilliant shaft of light.

Bizarre murals had been shaped into the dark rock of the wall closest to her—knights and dragons, maidens and demons, people and creatures both familiar and foreign, all intertwined and seeming to grapple with one another for a place at the surface.

In the distance, the gentle breath of a waterfall, explaining the cool, sweet dampness.

Ennalen stepped onto the smooth stone floor, unconcerned about triggering a magical defense like the warding glyph at the New Tower. A distinct energy thrummed throughout the enormous cavern, but its disposition tended toward melancholy, not malevolence. Walking the expanse of the mountain’s interior reminded her of crossing the Black Plains themselves. She knew each step carried her closer to the object within the brilliant beam of light, but the tremendous distance made it seem as though she stood in place.

Because of the intensity of the light ahead, she had to creep up until she was just few paces away before she could—

Disappointment crushed down.

A single length of charred timber half-again her height stood embedded into the floor where the inscription stopped—not in countless concentric circles as she had thought, but in a single spiral beginning at the base of the wooden post and reaching to the faraway edges of the room. Atop the post hung a pair of soot- blackened shackles.

Ennalen stepped back from the column of light and studied her surroundings.

A monument worthy of the greatest gods had been constructed to honor not a lost patron deity, but the adulterous wife of a lesser noble. Ennalen made no judgments herself, but she knew most would find it laughable for such homage to be paid to a woman whom history had branded as little better than a common whore.

The shrine impressed her, but the effort required to build something of its magnitude struck her as a tremendous waste. Had that been what occupied Uhniethi’s time and prevented him from—?

Who are you?

Ennalen turned her head, unable to determine the source of the feeble voice, or after several moments, even whether she’d really heard it at all.

Why are you here?

She moved around the burned timber and saw another shape on the far side of the cavern, an outline barely darker than the mountain wall.

She started toward it, and the dim outline rapidly took a more meaningful shape: a throne as grand as the room that held it. The seat itself looked no wider than her arms outstretched, but the throne’s back and encompassing ornamentation crawled upward and outward until it melded with the carved shapes that had greeted her at the entrance. The dais on which it rested was unquestionably larger than the one within the New Tower. Five steep steps led to its top, and a dark gemstone twice the size of a pumpkin hovered in place over the chair.

At long last, the Heart of the Sisters.

The moment Ennalen thought its name, the gem’s presence boiled in her marrow.

Instinctively, she climbed the first step toward it.

Who are you?

The voice sounded clearly in her head—clearly from in front of her, clearly old and weak, and clearly without the least bit of threat. If anything, it felt confused. Like a plea.

Something moved within the diagonal shadow falling across the throne. A barely visible, huddled shape sat shrouded within.

“My name is Ennalen,” she replied.

Why are you here?

She moved to the next stair, allowing her eyes to cut briefly to the Heart before returning her gaze to the concealing shadows.

“To help right a wrong left unavenged for far too long, Brother.”

Again, the figure in the darkness shifted.

You… will help me?

“Yes, Brother,” she answered as she took the third step. Deep inside, from chest to womb, the Heart pulled at her. “I wish to punish those who have taken from us what was not theirs. I wish to make suffer those who have caused us so much anguish.”

Punish… suffer…

“Yes, Brother,” she soothed. A tremor of warm anticipation pulsed through her as she climbed the fourth and final stair. The air grew thick with the Heart’s allure, like the warm breath of an insistent lover. “Tell me what I may do.”

Do...?

The intensity of tremors made her gasp. “Yes. Tell me how I can help you.”

You may…

“Yes,” she whispered, almost wantonly.

... look down.

The world stopped spinning.

Ennalen stood in place and read the wide, ornate letters of gold gleaming at her feet:

ANESE.

The dais on which she stood had not been erected for mere ornamentation. The immense chamber surrounding it was no meaningless temple.

It was a tomb.

Ennalen’s head snapped up. Like a monster breaking the surface of a murky sea, the horrible, decomposed face of Uhniethi emerged from the depths. Where eyes should have been blazed two murderous orbs of violet-crimson. Torn, black lips curled into a broad, demonic grin.

“You should take better care where you trespass, my dear Magistrate,” he said, his breath fetid with decay. “Your disregard for my love’s rest is most offensive.”

From the ancient magician emanated a baneful current of power so tremendous it threatened to wash Ennalen away in a river of insanity. Vileness filled the pores of her skin; foulness stung the back of her throat. Terror lay barbarous siege to her emotional defenses, an assault she knew she could not long withstand.

Ennalen backed down one step. “My apologies, Your Luminance,” she said with a trembling, deferential bow.

Uhniethi stood. He wore ornate ceremonial robes of cream and gold, elaborately embroidered with indecipherable symbols. Though he was tall, the skull-like head and gnarled hands that protruded from the garment gave him a frightening, disproportionate shape.

“‘When the subject of an investigation realizes the avenues of conversational evasion have been reduced from few to none,’” he hissed, “‘then physical escape is typically the final bid toward avoiding punishment…’”

Ennalen recognized the words. Her mind raced.

A quote? Yes! From one of her textbooks.

She took another step backward with little notion of what to do next.

Attack? Impossible.

“And ill-advised,”
Uhniethi said as he glided to the edge of the stair above her.

The unnaturalness of his voice made Ennalen want to claw out her ears. She glanced behind her. The expanse made it clear that running would be foolish.

“Quite,”
he chided.
“I wonder if the look on your face is anything like the one I wore when the Elders took hold of me.”

Ennalen’s thoughts ran in panicked, ever-tightening circles as her fortitude deteriorated against the sheer magnitude of Uhniethi’s presence.

Then, from nowhere, she realized Uhniethi had left his quotation incomplete.

For whatever reason, he had shown her the way out.

No, not out.
Through.

It was a test.

She forced herself to straighten her back and make as defiant a stance as she could.

“However,” she recited, “the truly disciplined mind, regardless how criminal one’s actions or intent, will steadfastly challenge and seek to defy a figure of authority even when all hope is lost.”

Uhniethi ceased his advance.

“Excellent,”
he said. His nightmarish smile widened.
“You may survive your indiscretion after all—”

A self-satisfied relief filled Ennalen.

“—for the time being!”
he growled as his face crumpled into a hellish mask of hate.

With a flourish of Uhniethi’s arm, Ennalen flew from the stairs and high into the open room. Her arms squeezed to her sides with such force the pain and pressure prevented her from crying out. Her head snapped back hard as she flew with nauseating velocity back toward the throne where Uhniethi stood. She stopped so close to his face that had he anything left of a nose, it would have been touching hers.

“I will teach you what you wish to know,”
he whispered. The rot of his words smothered her.
“But I doubt you will find the cost at all to your liking.”

Succumbing to the relentless power exuded by the mage, Ennalen went limp in his grasp.
“Yes, Magistrate,”
she heard him say as blackness overcame her.
“Sleep. You will have much to do when you awaken…”