Spellscribed: Conviction (18 page)

Selene glared at him. “Let go of me.” She said plainly, her hair shifting almost imperceptibly of its own accord. If her eyes flashed red, he missed it as his attention was taken up by parts of her further south. The citizens around them continued about their business as if nothing extraordinary was happening.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” The man said, not letting go. “Once you say you’re sorry for running into me, I-”

Selene slammed the palm her free hand into his broad chest angrily as she growled at him, her eyes turning solidly red. His grip on her arm failed, as her strike hit with supernatural power. The man shot out into the street with a sickening crunch of bone breaking, bowling through several civilians and knocking them down or into the air. The man crashed into the paving stones almost entirely across the main road, blood spraying out of his mouth as he went still. The others hit by her unintentional projectile began to cry out in pain and surprise.

Everyone around her turned and stared, looking between the two involved. Selene had hit the man harder than Joven could have, and she had done it bare handed. She looked down at her hands, and saw that her nails had sharpened and lengthened a little.

She turned and fled down an alley, while the people around her were still confused. Some people gave chase, but she pushed her legs harder and shot ahead. Her dress split and shredded, unable to restrain her supernatural muscle power. Ever since the moment she’d hit the man, her head felt fuzzy, careening with conflicting, chaotic desires, and her escape became a blur of movement and faces of people trying to get out of her way.

She stopped when she realized no one was chasing her anymore. She looked around, and realized that she was in an entirely different area of the city from where she had started. The tower she had left stood resolute in the skyline, on the other side of the palace from her and quite a distance away.

She looked down at herself and felt her eyes burning with tears. She looked around for a place to hide for a while. After several minutes of searching, she found a ladder leading up to the roof of a building. She climbed up, hoping to find a place she could stop and think without being accosted or disturbed.

She found a stone roof with several large stone crenellations that she could sit behind and be unseen by passersby on the streets below. She dropped down, resting her back against the stone surface and put her face in her hands.

What was going on? She had never experienced such a rush of strength and speed before. Her emotions were wild; she could find no way to keep control of the chaos in her heart. She felt jealousy clashing with trust, fear mixing with every emotion, and her love for Endrance conflicting with her want, her need, to destroy him before he bound her. She felt despair that he was trapped in that tower, and yet joy in the freedom of being alone in a strange city.

No matter how she tried, tears wouldn’t stop trickling down her face. She wiped her face, glad her people didn’t make much use of the make-ups that the women in Ironsoul used to alter their appearance. If she had, her face would have looked even more dreadful than she did now, with rouge and eyeshadow smeared.

Nearly half an hour passed, and only then was she able to start pulling her emotions into check. She did some of the breathing exercises Endrance had been teaching her, trying to understand what her other half was trying to do. She felt her other side, the demonic half, still careening about inside her mind.

It came to her in a sudden flash of insight, a sequence of images and emotions. She saw herself back in the bed, when she was cuddling up to Endrance. She had not noticed the strange energy she had inhaled when she was nuzzling his neck, but in hindsight she couldn’t miss the sudden intake of power she had somehow drained from him.

She realized then that she had drained him in a way that her succubi heritage would have. That energy empowered her demonic half, giving it more influence. She should have recognized its influence on her when she felt the strong desire to physically unite with him, but she had dismissed any suspicions. It had, after all, been a long time. Her demon half had also drained even more power during that intimate moment, and now it was on some kind of power ‘high’ that she was unable to calm down.

All through the images of sex and power flowing through her head, was the thread of rage, tied to a specific word.

“Mercanian.” She whispered, unsure why it was important. But her demonic half feared, loved and hated him because of it.

And since it did, she, to a lesser degree, also felt the same way. Just as much as her moods and behavior were altered by her demonic half, so, too, was that side affected. The fact that her other half’s strength and powers were coming much more easily in the current months, was indicative of their coming closer and closer to becoming one. The only problem was that, the closer they got, the more easily they influenced each other, and they did not yet share all the same motivations.

She sensed, more than heard, the approach of someone on the same rooftop. Her head snapped up, her other half coming to the surface as fast as she could will it.

A human woman, in drab gray and brown light leather armor, stopped the moment Selene looked up. She was rather plain looking, though it was easy to see she was in excellent physical shape through the tight leather. She had black hair, straight and pulled back into a ponytail. Her plain features registered surprise as Selene looked her over. She had only a single dagger sheathed at the small of her back, a sturdy looking weapon made of simple hammered iron and a full guard swooping over the fingers.

The woman squatted where she stopped, settling onto her heels as she regarded Selene. “You sure know how to run, I’ll tell you what.” She said, raising her eyebrows. “You left all our guys on the streets.”

“Are you with the watch?” Selene managed to choke out, despite the anxiety tightening her throat.

The woman shook her head. “Much the opposite. I work for a certain person who was interested in the abilities of a barbarian like you. He’s seen your companion’s handiwork on a prior visit, and he believes that you definitely put his physical power to shame. Are all of you barbarians such monsters?”

Selene looked back down, trying to get her talons to change back to normal. “I…” she started, hot tears in her face. “I’m not your usual barbarian.” She admitted.

“That’s even better.” Her visitor said with a faint smile. “Look, we can hide you from the guard, even muddle witness reports, so that they start looking for someone else. All my boss wants is a chance to sit with you for a serious business discussion.”

“That’s it?” Selene asked. “You want me to talk to your boss?”

“He’s very confident in the deal he’s offering.” She said with a shrug. “And he’s one of the few who can keep up his end of the bargain without batting an eye, whether it is payment in coin or in exotic drugs from the elven lands.”

Selene wiped her eyes. “What’s his name?” she asked.

The woman stood, holding a hand out to her without a sign of fear. “His name is Zadrah.” She said.

Endrance found the courtroom to be terrifying, but in an entirely different way than the dragon or his encounter with his father. From the defendant’s stand before the judge, given nothing but a simple stool, he knew that hundreds of eyes of mages and Ironsoul’s social elite alike would be upon him.

The defendant’s stand was a simple three foot tall, by six foot wide circular dais made out of a single piece of marble. The outermost foot of the stone was carved in a ring of runes, each as big as the span of Endrance’s hand, and they were filled in with gold. They had empowered the runes when he had been seated, and Endrance felt an incredible magical pressure upon him. There must have been at least four different kinds of spells imposed upon him, but he did not have the luxury of being able to identify them.

As the defendant’s stand was the center point of the court, out from it were three semicircular tables. The tables were impressively thick, strong designs that added to the already imposing architecture of the courtroom. They had enough space between them for a single person to pass, but only the outer sides had chairs.

Beyond that, directly in front of where Endrance was sitting and opposite the only doors into the room, were the judges’ stands. The banner of High King Mastadon hung from the center, and pennants of the Iron Satrap’s King hung from his left and the Viridian Satrap’s King on his right. None of the rulers were present, but several men and women in the different kingdoms’ colors sat at the table directly between Endrance and the judges.

The rest of the room was filled with benches, arranged in much the same way as one would find at a theatre. Each row of benches was on a slightly higher level than the one before it, so spectators in the back could see over the heads of those in front of them.

As Endrance waited for something to happen, more and more people filed into the courtroom. Many of them wore robes with sashes stitched with sigils of mastery. A surprising number of apprentices arrived, many craning their necks to try to get a good look at him.

It occurred to Endrance that among the apprentices, none of them appeared to be under the age of twenty, and many appeared to be in their thirties. Endrance’s brow creased as he tried to puzzle his way through what he saw as an oddity. He had managed to master the basics of magic and earn his wizardry at the age of fifteen. Even considering that he had a good teacher, how was it taking them so long to get through the basics?

He had been raised in a solitary environment, and had been training in magic since he had been able to form cohesive sentences, so he had very little interaction with other apprentices. He hadn’t even begrudged the solitude, but now he was starting to wonder if Kaelob had done it on purpose. Shielded from the comparison, he would not have seen any kind of disparity between himself and the other apprentices.

Then again, knowing now his Mercanian bloodline, just how much of his skill was his own? He was both the son of an Archmagus and the scion of a powerful race of magic users. He had to attribute his rapid success to sheer talent. No wonder every apprentice in the capitol wanted to get a glimpse of him. He was a freak, and now he was on display.

The room filled, and Endrance wondered just how many people were here to watch his prosecution. He craned his head, looking around, and yet he didn’t see any of his companions amidst the faces peering excitedly at him. They were spectating, many of them treating this event like another form of entertainment. How could this be his people?

But they were. When the doors sealed, it seemed that only the upper echelons of the Circle of Magi were able to make an appearance, filtering down into seats until the courtroom was full. Some apprentices sat in the front, while the masters seemed to prefer sitting in the back. Less chance of getting stabbed in the back if no one sits behind you, Endrance supposed.

Still, Joven and the others hadn’t arrived. He knew they had made it into the city, so they should have come. Unless… they had not been told when or where the trial was.

Endrance heard a rush in the air behind him, and several mages appeared in the courtroom by the two unoccupied tables. They spread out, filtering to their respective chairs, and Endrance could see Weldom scowling at him while he took his seat.

Endrance turned his eyes from the grudging magus and regarded the others at, what he assumed to be, the prosecution’s table. Two other mages sat with Weldom, both ranked wizards, based on their robe colors and sashes. One was a woman with short cropped black hair on the top of her head with the sides closely shaved, a distinct enough appearance that Endrance recognized her from Kaelob’s stories. Her name was Alana, and she must have come from a long ways away, as Endrance had been under the impression that she was steward of the Sunken Tower, near the desert separating Ironsoul from the elven lands.

The other was an overly rotund man, in robes that looked uncomfortably tight for him, stretching over his nearly spherical belly. He had a pudgy face with a sparse, scraggly beard and messy black hair. However, his clothes, though poorly fitting, were immaculately clean and made of extremely high quality cloth. He had several bits of jewelry on his person that Endrance could feel the faintest tingle of magic from, even through the wards. The overweight mage eyed him for only a second, and then settled into his seat with a sigh, as he turned to talk with Alana. Other than the three mages, four apprentices busied themselves about the table, evidently part of their staff.

The table for the defense had only one person sitting at it, leaning back in his straight backed chair with his boots up on the table. Endrance blinked several times, hoping the rest were just late. The lone man was tall, with deeply tanned skin and long arms. His black hair seemed just barely under his control. He had intense, brown eyes and an aquiline nose. Instead of the traditional robes worn during public events, he wore durable pants and a shirt underneath some kind of coat. The outside was made of pale blue, scaly leather with a red silk interior. Standing next to him was a crimson staff, which stood straight up on its end dutifully, needing no rack or stand to keep upright.

Endrance sorted through his memories, trying to figure out who he was or what his appearance signified. The only clue he had was the coat, the trappings of a war mage. He had heard talk about war mages, specialists in combat magic that were called upon when the Circle of Magi were threatened. They had made a huge impact in Ironsoul politics three hundred and seventy years prior, when the Scarlet Satrap had attempted to take control of the capitol. It had been a short occupation, one that got the attention of the war mages because the Scarlet soldiers started killing off mages.

Why was his defense a war mage? Endrance had now lost any notion that he knew what was going on anymore. The war mage spotted him looking his way and winked, halfheartedly waving his hand in greeting. Endrance sighed and hung his head.

“Doomed.” He whispered. “I’m so doomed.”

“Hey!” a voice whispered in response, sounding as if the person was right next to his ear. “Don’t say that, I haven’t even introduced myself yet.”

Endrance looked back at the war mage, who smiled and briefly raised his eyebrows before whispering. The words again appeared in Endrance’s ears.

“Part of the magic of the court.” The mage said. “It allows the defendant to consult his defense team without compromising the circle. Which I completely should advise you that, attempts to escape or even leave the circle, would be both very bad for your health and highly amusing for the audience. Also, keep it to a whisper if you want to talk to me. Anything louder gets broadcast to everyone in the room.”

“Okay.” Endrance whispered back.

“My name is Ahmed,” the war mage informed him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Endrance.”

“You have?” Endrance replied. “Like what?”

“You’re the youngest man to become a wizard, for starters.” He said. “The record used to be mine.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I managed to make wizard by twenty four. That you managed to do so nine years sooner than I, is no less than astounding.”

“It’s… hard to explain.”

“Oh I know, for starters, no one in the audience knows exactly how old you really are. They assume you’re older than you look, but are claiming your age is lower than it really is.”

“Why would I do that?”

Ahmed shrugged. “Childish stuff. If you’re really skilled enough to be a wizard and are that age, then you have a huge badge of prestige. You look the age too, which means even if you’re lying about your age, it isn’t by very much. You’re going to look young for centuries, something that many of the apprentices you see here had dreamed of and never attained.”

“Because they were old by the time they gained enough power that their aging slowed.” Endrance replied.

“Yes.”

“But I’m not lying.”

“I know. I can confirm that through the truth spells in your circle. When you are asked that question, you need to answer as clearly and honestly as possible. You need to not be surprised when the audience reacts, no matter what happens. Do you understand?”

“I… I guess so.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m confused.” Endrance replied. “How is this important?”

“It’s important because the first thing the prosecution is going to try to do is discredit you. They’ll attack your expertise and your relative inexperience. I predict they intend on proving you were not truly ready to be a wizard and have your title revoked on top of whatever punishment the High King has in store for you.”

“That would be bad.”

“Yes.” Ahmed replied. “That would be bad. You need to sound as professional and as skilled as possible. Don’t make anything up, and if you don’t know something, say you don’t. Weldom may ask you questions about theories or magics that are beyond your ken, to try to make you feel inadequate. Don’t believe him.”

“Okay.”

Ahmed continued. “Also, you should be aware that he’s going to come at you from angles you aren’t expecting. He’ll question how you were raised, including your parents. He’ll question the skill of your master, Kaelob.”

“No, he won’t ask about my parents.” Endrance replied, giving a slight shake of his head. He noticed that several of the apprentices socializing suddenly looked his way. So one of the enchantments drew people’s attentions to his movements, that was useful to know.

“May I ask why?” Ahmed asked. “I was called in as a favor to Talos, but he was too busy to give me the full rundown.”

“Uhm…” Endrance murmured. “Who else can hear these whispers?”

“No one, except you, me, and possibly the Archmagus.” Ahmed replied. “Is it that secretive?”

“I don’t know about that, but it would cause more of an uproar than my age.” He replied.

Ahmed shook his head. “Go ahead. I’ll gauge the importance of it.”

“My mother is the old Archmagus, Valeria.” Endrance whispered through still lips, in case someone was trying to read them.

Ahmed’s eyes widened. “That… might close the court for a day.” He replied in whisper. “I might need to drop that volatile fact if things aren’t going well. Who is your father?”

“I…” Endrance trailed off. “I can’t say.”

Ahmed looked honestly surprised. “You’re not lying.” He whispered. “All right.”

The doors opened, and an armed escort entered the courtroom. In the middle of a dozen men armed in plate mail with halberds at the ready, walked High King Mastadon, the Elder Black Dragon who pretended to be a man. Only a few knew that the soldiers surrounding him were entirely for show. Mastadon could probably tear through his whole army on his own.

Everyone stood as the High King entered the room. No announcements seemed necessary; everyone immediately recognized his authority. Endrance figured the dragon’s aura of awe that he had felt in the chambers below the city, had been filtered down into a less overwhelming form while disguised as a human. How the great creature weighing over a hundred tons managed to fit that much mass into a human form was a thought he felt best saved for a day he could really put his mind to it. It was impossible to not feel his presence, so Endrance had to conclude he was really there and not using some combination of illusions and scrying magic to emulate his appearance.

Endrance jumped to his feet, distracted by his thoughts long enough to realize he was indeed the last man to stand before the High King. A shiver of dread passed through him. Everyone was having his actions broadcast to them, so his being last was not going to be overlooked. He saw the looks of distaste on the front royal guard’s face, and Endrance did his best to look apologetic.

The High King was soon seated, and then the next ruler entered. The Viridian Satrap’s leader, King Ohv, looked older than Mastadon and was ornately decorated, but notably less so than the High King. Anything more could be considered an offense to his superior.

The Iron Satrap’s ruler entered after that, dressed in less ornate, but more combat capable garb. Once he was seated, the doors were sealed, closed and locked. Endrance gave up any chance of his friends arriving in time. He had no idea what had happened to them.

“The preliminary trial shall now begin.” High King Mastadon said, his voice booming through the room. “We three will preside, as will the representative of the Church of the Holy Circle of Magi.”