Nature's Peril Part 1 (The Nature Mage Series) (8 page)

The door to Ferast’s cell creaked as it swung inwards. He opened blood-rimmed eyes, peering at the hem of Shirukai Sestin’s scarlet robes. “Master, please, no more,” he croaked, pain shooting through his body as he spoke. Since Ferast’s catastrophic failure at the Measure, Sestin had tortured him physically and mentally every day and every night. Ferast knew it wasn’t just for the sake of chastisement. The renegade took pleasure from causing him pain, revelling in every blood-soaked moment. He’d been at death’s door several times, begging for the end to come, but Sestin was a master, using his unparalleled knowledge of the mind and body to keep him dangling there, hanging over the abyss by a single thread. However much Ferast pleaded, that thread never snapped.

He gasped as h
ealing power flooded into him, dulling the sharp edge of his pain and then washing it away entirely. His bloodied vision cleared, his bones knit back together, and before long he was completely restored.

Ferast
stayed where he was. He’d learned the hard way that it was better to wait for Sestin to tell him what to do – even something as simple as getting to his feet. His only strategy for survival was to show his compliance in every tiny matter; even his own torture.

There was no point getting up anyway. Sestin only healed him so that he could
begin torturing him again. Sometimes he got bread and water, but more often than not the pain started as soon as his wounds were fully healed. Ferast braced himself, waiting for the inevitable agony, but it didn’t come. Sestin just stood there, looking at him.

“
Do you think you have served your penance?” he asked.

Ferast
feared to answer. Sestin was almost certainly teasing him with hope – a hope he didn’t dare to contemplate, for when it was wrenched from his grasp, the pain was all the worse.

“Do you think y
ou have served your penance?” Sestin repeated. The palpable threat in his voice told Ferast he had no choice but to speak.

“If you believe I have,” he responded, cursing himself for a fool as he felt the tiniest glimmer of hope flicker into being inside of him. He lay there in petrified silence, listening to the rasp of his own ragged breathing.

“A good answer,” Sestin responded eventually. “Stand up.” Ferast stood up, facing his master. Any moment now, Sestin was going to plunge him back into agony. “I have decided that you have paid the price for your failure,” the renegade said. “Do not doubt me – it is over. Furthermore, it is time for you to undertake your next duty.”

Ferast
would have fallen to his knees in relief, but Sestin had told him to stand up, and Ferast had lost the ability to do anything except what his master told him. Weeks of torture had forged him into Sestin’s creature through and through. He craved his master’s approval more than anything, more than magic itself! “Anything master,” he said, and he meant it.

“The Darkman has been thwarted,” Sestin continued. “It has not
been defeated, but somehow the Nature Mage escaped it just when it had him in its clutches. It will continue to pursue him, but the Nature Mage is many miles distant as yet, far to the north. The Darkman will kill him eventually, but with the delay comes risk. Hephistole has been seeking my location for some time. If he discovers I abide here in Ruined Elmera, there can be no doubt he will attack.”

“What would you have me do, Master?” Ferast asked, bowing his head.

“I am sending you to Namert to recruit men who would fight for me,” Sestin responded. “The city is a law unto itself, a den of murderers and violent men. Raise me an army of a thousand such men, and I will reward you greatly. You shall be their general, second in command only to me.”

“As you will, m
aster,” Ferast said. He could barely keep up with what was happening – one moment he was the subject of Sestin’s experiments and the next he was being named second in command – but it was inadvisable to show hesitancy. “What shall I pay them with?” he asked.

“You’ll think of something,” Sestin said. “Steal some gold, coerce them with magic. Do whatever you like, but whatever you do, bring me an army within
three months. Once they are here in Ruined Elmera, they won’t need money anymore.”

“As you will,” he said once again.

“It appears you have learned your lesson well,” Sestin said, scrutinising him with glittering eyes.

“Thank you master.”

Sestin left the room, turning around to face him from the corridor. “Get yourself ready. You leave today.”

…

Hephistole couldn’t sleep. Truth be told, he hadn’t been able to sleep properly for weeks. He felt like he was trying to make sense of an inconceivably complex puzzle, but he just couldn’t make any of the pieces fit together. It was overwhelming, and while he struggled with it, his head was as clogged up as Main Street on Feastday. He was so consumed by fruitless thoughts that he hid away in the Observatory, avoiding the company of others. Worst of all, he seemed incapable of making even the simplest decisions. Every waking moment of each long day was filled with the same thoughts, circling around and around in his brain without ever finding resolution – Ferast, turned renegade; Everand, dead by Ferast’s hand; an immortal elemental, destroyed; and as far as he could see, it was all his fault.

If only he had reached out to Ferast before the young mage lost hope in his mentors and fled the city, then all of this could have been
avoided. Ferast’s corruption had been the first tumbling stone, without which the avalanche could never have happened. Hephistole couldn’t even claim ignorance as an excuse. He’d received several troubling reports from the boy’s mentors, but he’d delayed for too long, and by the time he got around to addressing the issue, Ferast had fled. That was Hephistole’s unforgivable act of negligence – he was a teacher, and caring for his students should always be his highest priority, regardless of which ones he liked the best. Hephistole
knew
he had his favourites, and while indulging himself in Gaspi’s development, he’d neglected the boy who needed his guidance the most.

Gaspi!
Hephistole thought to himself with sadness. Who’d have thought the boy would have taken it into his head to go ahead with the quest? And Voltan had been complicit in it! The warrior mage had been his friend and trusted advisor for over twenty years. Hephistole would bet his life on Voltan’s loyalty, which led him to an uncomfortable conclusion – their confidence in him had been destroyed, and they’d felt the need to take things into their own hands.

As he sat there reflecting,
Hephistole reasoned that perhaps he’d got exactly what he deserved, but admitting culpability didn’t help him with other matters that were being rammed down his throat. Emea, Lydia and Rimulth, for instance, were bothering him at every conceivable opportunity with talk of pursuing the questers into the wilds. Indecisive he may be, but there was no way he was going to send even more young people into danger. Not after what happened to Everand!

Ar
ound and around the same thoughts circled, never resolving themselves and always causing more damage to Hephistole’s fragile mental state. Lying in bed, the chancellor stared hopelessly at the ceiling, hoping that exhaustion would at least numb the edges of his pain, but it didn’t help.

BOOM!
Hephistole sat bolt upright. What in the world was that?

BOOM
! Was someone banging on the Atrium doors? The sound must be echoing up the field of variable density. Hephistole sprang out of bed, pulled on a thick dressing gown and slippers, and hurried to the shaft. He wanted to get down there first before any of the students went to investigate, but using the plinth was too dangerous. He didn’t want to just appear in the Atrium without knowing what was happening down there.

He reached the shaft and threaded magic into the field, forming an invisible platform
. He stepped out onto it and began to drop. He let himself fall rapidly, the various floors of the tower passing by in a blur, and just before he reached the Atrium, he tightened his fist, slowing and then stopping his descent. Crouching down, he altered the balance of densities once more, dropping ever so slightly until he had a full view of the Atrium. It was empty.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Hephistole nearly jumped out of his skin
. Someone really wanted to get into the tower. Well, there was nothing for it. He hurriedly lowered himself to the plinth at the bottom of the field and stepped off onto the floor. Summoning fistfuls of power, he stepped towards the door.

“What’s going on Hephistole?” a voice said from behind him. It was Professor Worrick, arriving on the eighth plinth in his nightclothes.

“Stay back Antonius,” Hephistole said, and took a step towards the doors. “Who goes there?” he called.

“I’m here
for Hephistole,” a voice growled from the other side of the door.

“This is Hephistole,” the chancellor responded. “
Who is this? It’s the middle of the night!”

“
Just let me in!” the voice said in a tone that spoke more of irritation than of threat. There was something familiar about that voice.

Taking uncertain steps towards the door, Hephistole reached out and grasped the handle, sending a thread of magic through his fingertips to
unlock it. He turned the handle and pulled the door open, taking a step back and drawing even more power to his fists in case he needed to defend himself.

A huge shadow filled the doorframe,
the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man. The shadow stepped through the door and into the revealing glow of Hephistole’s magic. Arcane light reflected in startling green eyes, shaded with every hue of growing things under the sun. A well-tanned face was framed by dreadlocked hair as tangled as a forest thicket.

Hephistole stared at the wild-man in disbelief. “Heath!”

…

“
That’s no way to greet a visitor,” the druid said, eyeing the balls of power encircling Hephistole’s fists distastefully.

Hephistole glanced at his summoned power as if in surprise. “Right, sorry,” he responded, the light winking out, and leaving them in sudden darkness. Moments later, a globe light appeared, hovering in the air between them.

“What are you doing here?” Hephistole asked. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The druid was a hermit, and profoundly uncomfortable around people. Helioport was just about the last place Hephistole would ever expect to see him.

Just then, a rush of scrabbling claws sounded from behind the druid, and a cream
y white ferret came scurrying through the door, followed by an otter with eyes as blue as the summer sky.

“Loreill, Lilly!” Hephistole exclaimed, the arrival of the spirits heralding all sorts of questions and emotions he wasn’t prepared for. No doubt the air spirit was outside even now, circling the skies.

“Let’s go somewhere more private,” Heath said.

“
My office,” Hephistole responded. He led them across the floor of the Atrium towards the twelfth transporter plinth, noticing for the first time that students had transported down from the Warren and were watching the exchange in curious silence.

“Antonius, can you put them all back to bed?” he asked as he passed Professor Worrick. The professor mumbled something in the affirmative as they passed, staring
with fascination at the druid.

“Step on,” Hephistole said, ushering the druid and both elementals onto the plinth before joining them himself.

“Is there any other way?” Heath asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Hephistole answered. “We have to be touching,” he added with an apologetic grimace.

“Just get it over with,” Heath said, standing still and waiting for the transportation to be over. Hephistole reached out and placed a hand on Heath’s shoulder. The elementals knew what was expected of them, and flopped down on Hephistole’s feet.

“Observatory,” Hephisto
le said, and they were swept up by the magic of transportation.

…

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” Hephistole said, eyeing the druid in amazement.

“
Neither can I,” the druid mumbled to himself, shaking his head to clear the effects of transportation. “Forceful magic!” he spat distastefully.

“You said you were here to see me?” Hephistole said.

“Right you are,” Heath responded. “I only want to explain this once, so you may as well wake Gaspi, along with the other spirits’ bond-mates, and bring them here.”

“Oh!
That might be problematic.”

“
How so?” Heath asked.

“Gaspi isn’t here.”

“
Well where is he man?” the druid rumbled.

“I honestly don’t kn
ow,” Hephistole answered. “We were planning a quest – a long journey to Pell, where we hoped to recover fragments of the altar to El-Amyari. Gaspi wanted to get going, but I was delaying until the spirits returned. I believe he has gone ahead with the plan, along with a number of others.”