Children of Fire (23 page)

Kayla gave him an angry glare, then locked her jaw in determination. She spun away and marched directly over to the portly magician. He greeted her with a smile and a laugh but his expression changed as she spoke to him in a hurried whisper too faint for Keegan to hear across the room.

When she finished the magician peered into the corner, but Keegan knew he wouldn't see anything other than a silhouetted figure sitting alone in the shadows. The man pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. Keegan half suspected his rival would come over to confront him but instead the man climbed on top of the table, drawing amused gasps from the other patrons.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the man called out, “it seems a challenge has been put forth. Apparently there are some in this bar who doubt my power. There are some who think I am nothing but a charlatan.”

High atop the table he was clearly illuminated in the light of the tavern's central fire, and every eye in the building had focused on the man, including Keegan's own. If nothing else, he knew how to work a crowd.

“Gather around, friends,” the man continued, “and I will give you a demonstration of true Chaos shaping the likes of which you have never seen.”

At the invitation the crowd quickly formed a circle around the magician, eager to get a glimpse of his next performance. Even Keegan got up and approached, though he kept himself on the fringes of the crowd. He had studied the man all night; he had examined and analyzed him thoroughly. He had detected none of the faint glimmer of Chaos clinging to the man and knew him for a fraud. And now he was about to expose him.

The man probably suspected Keegan was nothing but a jealous local who didn't like Kayla paying attention to the newly arrived stranger. Perhaps he thought he would give a demonstration of false Chaos shaping that would cow his rival into silence and win an evening of pleasure with the pretty barmaid in one fell swoop. If so, he was in for a cruel surprise.

“Look closely,” the man instructed, drawing a small pouch from within his robes. He opened the leather bag and withdrew a bundle of cloth. Knowing the audience was enraptured with his every move he slowly unwrapped the material to reveal a small glass vial. He held it up for everyone to see.

“Witchroot,” he proclaimed, his voice suddenly somber and serious. “The essence of the mage's power,” he added, his tone hinting at the dangerous secrets trapped within as he gently removing the stopper from the bottle.

Maybe he's not all smoke and flash,
Keegan thought.
Maybe he actually does have some small touch of the Gift.

The man tipped the vial to his lips and let three small drops spill onto his tongue, then carefully stoppered the vial and placed it back beneath his cloak.

“Until now I have entertained you with minor conjurations and simple spells,” the magician said. “But now I must ask for complete silence, for I am about to summon dark and powerful forces!”

There was an apprehensive murmur from the crowd. Keegan knew the magician was stalling, giving time for the witchroot to enter his system. The magician held up his hand to quell the whispers, and then his face twisted into a mask of intense concentration. In a soft voice he began a slow, rhythmic chant—words Keegan recognized from one of the earliest incantations Rexol had taught him. A spell not to destroy, but to mislead.

Slowly, Keegan felt the power of Chaos beginning to gather. But though the magician was reaching out to the Sea of Fire, what came through was a mere trickle. The young wizard held a hand up to his mouth to stifle a giggle at the pathetic display, aware that the rest of the crowd was enraptured by what was unfolding.

He glanced over at Kayla, but her eyes were focused intently on the magician standing on the table. Her face wore an expression of awestruck wonder, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

On a sudden impulse, Keegan began to focus his will. Without a charm to draw on even a simple spell would be difficult, but he wasn't actually trying to summon Chaos. Speaking in a barely audible whisper, he echoed the magician's chant while reaching out with his mind. The similar spells intertwined, allowing Keegan to simultaneously draw on and amplify the other man's power.

A cloud of purple mists began to shift and swirl on the table beside the man, coalescing into the vague outline of a large wolf. Slowly the creature's form began to solidify. The mist became flesh and hair and teeth, though the animal's fur was a purple hue not seen in nature and the creature's eyes were black wells with no pupils. Throughout the conjuration the crowd ooh-ed and ahh-ed. Keegan continued to echo the magician's chanting words, concentrating intently as he subtly twisted and turned the Chaos in another direction.

As the magician finished his chant the wolf completed its transformation from incorporeal mist to physical creature and appeared to come to life. It crouched low to the table, hackles rising as it let out a low growl that rumbled over the mesmerized crowd.

The nearest patrons took a step back, and the magician laughed.

“Never fear,” he assured the people, “the beast is incapable of harming you. Though it looks as real as you or I, it is still no more dangerous than mist—a shadow creature of no real substance.”

He reached out his hand to demonstrate. To the magician's horrified surprise his hand didn't pass through the wolf as he expected but instead struck against the thick fur of the purple beast's heavily muscled shoulder.

The wolf shied away from his touch then turned to fix its growling gaze on the magician, its indigo lips curled back to reveal long black teeth. The magician took a half step in retreat, his eyes wide with horror.

“Be gone!” he commanded, waving his hand in a wide arc in an effort to dispel the beast.

For a second the wolf's skin shuddered as if it was about to disappear once more into wisps of purple smoke. But the Chaos that Keegan had added to the spell had created a phantasm too strong to be dispelled by the other man's insignificant power.

“No … this isn't possible,” the magician gasped, dropping to his knees before the snarling beast.

The wolf barked and snapped at the man, and someone in the crowd screamed. The magician threw himself backward to avoid the harmless jaws of the illusion that he now believed to be real, tumbling off the table to land heavily on the floor amid the scattering crowd.

Still atop the table, the wolf tilted its head back and howled. The patrons began a mad dash for the exits, knocking over tables and chairs and one another in their panicked haste to escape. Kayla, Keegan noticed, hadn't moved—she stood paralyzed only a few yards away from the fallen magician and the snarling illusion.

Fighting his way through the fleeing crowd Keegan stepped forward, a glowing ball of cold blue fire encircling his upraised fist.

“I banish you back to the Shadowlands, foul creature!” he shouted, drawing the attention of the fleeing audience. Even a true Chaos mage had to know how to work the crowd.

He hurled the blue globe at the beast, striking it full in the chest. There was a brilliant turquoise explosion and a crack of thunder that drowned out the rising howl of the wolf. The animal burst into a million purple sparks that showered down harmlessly over the crowd, their cool touch soothing the patrons' fear and calming their panic.

Keegan glared down at the magician still lying on the floor. The cowering man's face was a mix of confusion, humiliation, and slowly fading terror.

“Stick to your magician's tricks,” Keegan said, loud enough for the entire tavern to hear. “Chaos is best left to those with the power to control it. If you were truly Rexol's pupil you would already know this.”

Without another word Keegan turned and strode through the doors leading to the street, stepping over the fallen magician with haughty disdain. The crowd pressed back to clear a path for him, none of them eager to make contact.

Keegan hadn't gone more than a dozen paces down the street when he heard the tavern door slam open behind him. He didn't turn around, only stopped in the street. His heart pounding, he stood rigid as stone, letting the night air cool the hot sheen of sweat on his brow.

“You're a wizard,” Kayla gasped from behind him. “A true Chaos mage! Please, Your Lordship … wait for me!”

Khamin Ankha rode slowly down the dark road, slinking away from Endown like a thief in the night. He had spent several weeks traveling south from Torian, the northernmost of the Free Cities, just so he could show Rexol what an important man he had become. Now he had decided not to go visit his mentor after all. All he wanted was to leave the scene of his humiliation behind.

He was about to become the preeminent lord's mage of Torian! He was a man of power and influence. He was a man worthy of respect. He had been a fool to think these Southlanders would understand that. They were beneath him. All of them barely worthy of his contempt. Yet they had dared to laugh at him as he had lain on the floor of the tavern, quivering in fear.

He pressed on through the darkness, driven by his burning shame, the only sound the steady
clip-clop
of his horse's hooves. But in his heart Khamin Ankha silently cursed the young man who had done this to him, the face of his tormentor forever burned in his mind. And he swore one day vengeance would be his.

After the Slayer's fall, the Crown was given to the defenders of the true faith, that they could use its wisdom to guide the people in the absence of the Gods themselves.

It had taken hours for Rexol to translate the short, two-line passage Keegan had marked for him. The text was written in a dialect he hadn't encountered before, and unlike most of the manuscripts the Danaan had sent him, the contents of the leather-bound tome were protected by powerful wards transcribed onto the pages themselves. The wards cast a veil over the words, making it difficult for Rexol to grasp their meaning even with the help of his translation spell.

It was impossible to know who had created the wards, or why. They could have been a safeguard of the original author, or something the Danaan sorcerers added to the manuscript before sending it to Rexol. But their mere existence forced him to revaluate Keegan.

Rexol had assumed his apprentice's inability to translate the passage was a sign of his imperfect technique, but the fact that Keegan had been able to glean anything at all from the warded document was a testament to his growing strength. He'd underestimated his pupil again, just as he had during his first trial almost a year ago. It was a dangerous mistake—as powerful as Keegan was, even the simplest of his spells could result in strange and unexpected consequences in the mortal world if the backlash of Chaos wasn't properly contained.

Vowing to be more careful with his young apprentice in the future, Rexol shifted his focus back to the brief passage he'd been able to translate.

After the Slayer's fall, the Crown was given to the Defenders of the True Faith, that they could use its wisdom to guide the people in the absence of the Gods themselves.

The phrase
Defenders of the True Faith
was almost certainly a reference to the Order. For seven centuries the Pontiff and his followers had influenced the history and politics of the Southlands; the success of their machinations was easier to understand if they had the aid of the Talisman that supposedly allowed them to see across time and space.

But from what Rexol had read of the Crown, it was also supposed to allow the wearer to see into the hearts and minds of friend and foe alike. If the Order actually possessed it, then why hadn't they discovered Ezra's subterfuge earlier? How had Jerrod evaded the Inquisitors for so many years? And why hadn't the Order sent a summons for Rexol to stand trial for recruiting Keegan?

Maybe the Crown isn't as powerful as the legends claim,
Rexol thought.
Or maybe after centuries of trying to halt the spread of Chaos, they've forgotten how to unlock its full power.

There was a third possibility as well—perhaps the Order didn't have the Crown after all. But Rexol wasn't willing to consider this alternative. Believing the Crown was locked away somewhere inside the impregnable Monastery walls was far preferable to thinking he still had no idea where to find any of the Talismans after so many years of research.

The only way to be sure, however, was to get inside the Monastery—close enough to feel the Crown's presence. A decade ago he'd been on the other side of the black stone walls, but he'd been too focused on his confrontation with the Pontiff to listen for the call of Old Magic. Now he knew what he was looking for.

Getting inside the Monastery, however, was a problem. The Order was too suspicious of him to grant an audience. And even if he somehow convinced them to let him in, taking the Crown and getting out again was a task bordering on the impossible.

But magic was all about making the impossible happen. Now that he knew where to find one of the Talismans, Rexol was determined to claim it as his own … no matter what the cost.

Keegan woke screaming, thrashing off the covers and struggling to rise from the deep mattress he was drowning in. Nightmare visions still filled his head, mingling with the unfamiliar surroundings to form vivid scenes of gruesome death.

The terror quickly faded as his conscious mind took stock of his surroundings, though his heart was still pounding and his breath was coming in quick, ragged gasps. Light from a full moon spilled through the open window, enough for him to make out the furniture of the room he'd rented for his stay at Endown.

Only then did he notice the shadowy form of Kayla, naked and huddled in the corner. Seeing a semblance of calm had come over him, she stood up and slowly approached the bed.

“Keegan,” she whispered, “can you hear me? It's Kayla.”

“I'm … I'm okay,” Keegan answered, though he was only half paying attention to her.

Concentrate. Remember the details before the dream fades.

“What happened?” Kayla asked, reaching out to put a soft hand on his bare shoulder. “One moment you were sleeping, then all of a sudden you started screaming.”

The Order. Inquisitors. They were torturing me for information.

“I tried to wake you, but you just kept screaming. Then you started flailing around. I … I thought you were going to attack me.”

No. They're not torturing me. It's someone else. A woman.

“Please, Keegan—I'm scared. Is something wrong? You can tell me.”

All the pieces fell into place as the terrible truth dawned on him. He'd been an idiot; a fool. Rumors of his performance at the tavern would spread quickly; it wouldn't take long for the Order to hear about the dangerous display of Chaos magic.

They'd send someone to investigate, seeking out the rogue wizard's identity. They'd learn about Keegan; they'd discover Rexol had defied the Pontiff by taking another apprentice. He had to warn his master. Their only hope was to flee before the Inquisitors came for them.

But he and Rexol weren't the only ones in danger. Too many people had seen Kayla leave the tavern with Keegan. The Order would want to question her.

Kayla was brave. She was loyal. The night they'd spent together was more than just sex—she cared for him. She'd try to protect him. The Inquisitors would sense her feelings for Keegan, and they'd know she was lying to them. They'd torture her for the truth: whipping her soft, pale skin; cutting and maiming her pretty features; burning her most tender and private flesh. And when it was over they'd execute her for consorting with a rogue wizard—he'd seen it in his dream.

Your dreams don't always come true. You saved Tollhurst from the Raiders. You can save Kayla.

She began rubbing her hand gently on his shoulder.

“Keegan? Please talk to me, Keegan. I want to help you.”

He slapped her hand away and shoved her, sending her staggering back.

“Get off me!”

By the moonlight through the window he could see her eyes go wide with shock and confusion.

“I … I don't understand.”

“Shut your mouth, you dirty whore!”

She raised a hand and reached out to him tentatively, his unexpected venom leaving her mind reeling.

“But … I don't … why?”

“I know your type,” Keegan spat. “You think I haven't slept with dozens of women who try to win my favor by spreading their legs?”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head, still trying to grasp the inexplicable change in Keegan's attitude. “It's not like that. I … I thought you were nice. Sweet. Kind.”

He barked out a laugh, harsh and cruel.

“Did you think you were special? You're even stupider than I thought.”

He laughed again; an ugly, contemptuous sound.

“I'm done with you, whore. Grab your clothes and get out.”

In an instant, Kayla's expression changed. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched, her lip curled up and her chin thrust forward.

“You bastard!” she snarled. “You son of a Chaos-spawned bitch!”

Keegan sprang to his feet and lunged at her, grabbing her elbow before she could react. He hauled her toward the door, propelling her along so that she had to scramble to stay on her feet.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, slapping at his face with her free hand.

Ignoring the assault, Keegan yanked open the door and threw her out into the hall, still naked. She stumbled and fell onto her hands and knees, then turned over and crawled backward away from him until her back hit the far wall.

As she sat there on the cold stone—naked, angry, frightened, and humiliated—Keegan scooped up her clothes from the floor and threw them at her, then slammed and locked the door.

Knowing he had to warn Rexol as soon as possible, Keegan quickly dressed. Kayla started banging on the door just as he finished.

“I hate you, you bastard!” she shouted from the other side. “You'll pay for this! I hope the Order burns you alive!”

Good,
Keegan thought as he hastily packed his things.
When the Inquisitors show up, tell them everything you know about me. Curse my name and let them see how badly you want revenge. And if you're lucky, they might just decide to let you live.