Soul of Magic: Book 1 of the Chronomancer Series

by Mark August

  He licked his dry lips in the chilly morning air. Footsteps approached with a sure and confident pace. Two people closed the distance, one in armor. The door closed, and the locks clicked into place again.

  Magic surged as the pair made their way around the prison. The sorceratti was flush with power coursing through her veins. House Atros would not willingly surrender their prisoner.

  Fire pumped through Kincaid’s veins in the ecstasy of magic. His skin ached from the power raging to be released, and his mind prepared for the inevitable battle. His plan hinged on this one moment.

  The nobles rounded the corner. The Duke dressed in the finery of power. The billowing red cloak was sewn with golden thread and carried the golden lion of his household coat of arms. The polished mail glinted in the morning light. He held a flintlock pistol in one hand, and a fine blade hung at his hip.

  But the sorceratti demanded his attention. He didn’t notice the simple clothes in stark contrast to her father’s display of power. Her hands glowed and sparked with arcane energy. With a thought, she’d unleash hell straight to his heart.

  Here and now. Greater than sorceratti and magi. More potent than them all.

  The voice boomed inside Kincaid’s skull. Magic leaped in his heart with each syllable, and his soul wrestled to regain control of the racing power. His heart wanted to explode from within as his heart pounded. Fear the voice might be right focused his attention.

  “I’ve come for the smith.”

  “You are in no place to make demands of this House.” The Lord of Atros’ voice thundered with his command. Even with the two wizards pumped with energy within a few paces of each other, he didn’t lose his confident poise or his arrogant tone.

  “Not a demand, Atros. A statement.” The blackwood cane pulsed with power under Kincaid’s fingertips. He felt the extension of himself into the crafted wood.

  “I’m not in the mood to listen to your threats this morning. I’m going to give you a demand—”

  “I’ll spare your life and that of your family if you let the smith and me walk out of here.”

  “After all you’ve done to me…” The man’s composure cracked. He ground his teeth and cocked the hammer of the pistol. Blood flushed his face.

  Dark laughter escaped from Kincaid’s belly. The lord stepped backward as the sorceratti leaned forward in response. “We remember this differently, Atros. I woke up in your prison. You killed my sister and now hold my friend. My offer is about to expire.”

  “I don’t concede to demands from the peasants.”

  Kincaid shook his head in surprise. The prison bore the scars of his arcane escape. The squad of bodyguards left a charred hole and wet blood on the grass. Even when faced with annihilation, the man couldn’t let go of the station.

  “Your sorceratti thinks differently about my abilities. Perhaps you should consult her before you ignore my final offer.”

  The young lady carried years far beyond her age. Her once young, innocent face bore the heavy wrinkles of age. Where she once had rich black hair, she was now gray. Her eyes glowed with a deep blue as her mind fought for control of the power held within. She’d lose control of her magic and give in to her rage in a moment.

  “He can kill us all, father.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “But I won’t let him.”

  Air fluttered around her, whipping her father’s cloak to the side. Flames traveled up her arms.

  “Vedette, don’t do this.” Kincaid kept his voice level and firm.

  She stopped in front of her father as a shield, even though they all knew her positioning wouldn’t matter. “I am sorceratti to the House of Atros.”

  “You are. But you let me live once. When the guards fired in the prison, your magic deflected those shots. You must remember why.”

  “I was there. I remember.” Those words seemed hard for her to form against the surging magic. She struggled for her own soul.

  “You saved me.”

  “You will answer for your crimes.” Spit flew from Attius’ mouth as he shouted his words over the hum of sorcery. He wouldn’t lose control over the moment to a pair of young wizards. Not that he could stop either one of them.

  Kincaid ignored him. “What did you see in that moment?”

  Vedette fought with her emotions and her power. She thought back to that time. “You are not a sorceratti. But you can use magic. Magi Cormac was in the cells...”

  “Then, why?”

  “Because we had a plan for you. You would become our pawn.” A wild grin lit her face.

  Kincaid’s surging power buckled for a moment. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. Magi Cormac never explained the details.

  “Let her go.”

  “After killing my brother? The experiment is over.”

  Energy blasted across the gap between them.

  Seventy-Seven

  Kincaid - Magi

  The triumphant symphony of magic pounded its rhythm in Kincaid’s head. The explosive release took less than a thought as lightning flashed toward his body.

  Before he could bring his cane up in a gesture of defense, his mind evoked a shield. The impact of magic against magic flashed around him and drove him back from the assault. The earth smoldered around him from the energy.

  She was immensely powerful and committed to his destruction. The young woman strode toward him and flung globes of fire at him. Her assault didn’t give him time to recover.

  Fire enveloped the young mage and drove him to his knees. His magical shields collapsed to a fraction of air around his clothes. He smelled his hair singeing from the heat, and his clothes smoldered from the impact. With the two blasts of fire passed, Kincaid jumped to his feet and backpedaled.

  She kept coming toward him.

  He weaved the blackwood cane in front of him and drew on the strength of the sorceratti’s stolen soul. He imagined the air becoming solid, he felt the water from the nearby well, and the morning air turned into a shield on his left arm. The consolidation of power into a tight circle glowed with a fiery white light.

  The sorceratti unleashed a torrent of fire from both hands. Her hair whipped around her from the inferno she created, and Vedette’s eyes lost touch with sanity.

  The shield hissed as the water provided a layer of protection. This time Kincaid didn’t expend arcane power absorbing the magic. Instead, he deflected the blast away from him.

  The entire archway behind and to his left exploded from the errant blast. Rubble filled the courtyard, and Kincaid coughed with the dust from the smashed walls.

  Lightning cracked from the clear morning skies and slammed down from above in a ripple of explosive power. Blast after blast rained down like cannon fire. Kincaid weaved shields of energy to deflect the lightning blasts. Rooftops exploded from the energy, houses crumbled from the impact, and screams of the innocent tore in the morning air. The storm was too big to confine its effects.

  The destruction. The vision.

  For a moment, Kincaid was outside of himself, standing on the farthest island. He watched the destruction of the city with each arcane blow. Houses exploded as debris filled the square around the House of Atros.

  The voice inside his head laughed. He was the instrument of destruction.

  The storm dissipated as Vedette pulled in her breath and summoned a new stream of magic. Kincaid snapped back into the moment and used the household's fallen stones as weapons of his own.

  He pulled stream after stream of magic into his soul and launched projectiles the size of boulders at his opponent. He gestured with his cane at the largest piece of rubble and hurled the chunks at the young woman.

  Her hands moved in a blur as she launched blasts to shatter the rocks. She swayed and turned, dancing with beautiful poise against the attack. Vedette gave herself to the magic as her eyes tracked to each target. Dust billowed, and thunder cracked. Stones exploded from her masterful defense.

  The glow from each blast faded quickly. Vedette poured her soul’s
energy into the flawless defense, but her soul was fading. The destruction of parts of the house and the city block drained her life. The youth who once confronted him in his prison cell was gone. The elderly body of a woman approached her end.

  Kincaid’s barrage ended as he felt the stolen soul tire. The blackwood cane hummed from the release of power along its length. Vedette’s dance ended in the piles of debris and drifting powdered rocks.

  Yes, my student. Finish what you started.

  The pair faced off against each other. Their arcane energy pulsed in near unison as each harnessed the energy. Kincaid’s mind touched Vedette’s power. He couldn’t understand how their flows could be matched in harmony, like each was playing a chord of a larger song. Then who was directing the music?

  “Vedette, stop. You are killing yourself.”

  Her eyes were wild with emotion, beyond the strength of logic. Energy crackled in her hands again as her thinning gray hair flew around her. “You did this. You did all of this.”

  “Don’t you see—”

  She didn’t. The energy in her fists turned to balls of energy shifting colors. Pure arcane power didn’t have a specific color—it had all of them and none of them. Each blast drained the user’s soul with untold consequences.

  Kincaid summoned a shield in each hand. Direct assault between wizards had to be avoided. Magi Cormac knew wizards could kill themselves with the summoned magic. If one wizard committed their being to the fight, they could win. And then they would join the results as a corpse.

  The cane funneled the magic and reduced the strain on Kincaid’s soul. As the arcane blasts pounded against his impenetrable shield, the cane vibrated and threatened to come apart in his hands. Objects had limitations for the magic they could channel. He didn’t want to lose the last symbol of his old life.

  The concussion of the blasts seemed distant. The force didn’t reach him, and his shields blocked the sound. The people on the block must think they were under assault from a cannonade from a fleet of ships. Stones danced around Kincaid with each blast. Glass shattered and fell from windows around him.

  The relentless assault drove him backward. Each step felt like surrender, but Kincaid had no choices. Each impact made his soul suffer as he tuned his shield to the attack. He peered over the edge of his glowing shield as she started to run towards him. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

  Kincaid imagined the entryway to the Atros compound. His magic responded as he blinked back into existence outside of the compound. He glanced around the block to find an area to retreat until Vedette appeared in front of him with a red flash of light.

  Fires rained down from the heavens as Vedette unleashed hell. Kincaid tapped into the waters of the bay and surrounded himself with a globe of energy. Cobblestones glowed like coals and then melted at his feet. He sank deeper into a crater as his defense strengthened against the unholy assault. Storefronts burst into flames and crumbled at the faintest touch.

  Blue watery magic defended against the red fires. Just like his vision of the city’s destruction. Nearby lives ended in a moment. Vapor filled the air from the colliding energy.

  The blackwood cane shattered in his hands. Splinters of wood tore into the flesh of his palm, but the rage of magic wouldn’t let him assess the damage. Master Barnet was gone.

  Water flooded at his feet as the crater expanded broader and deeper. He was waist high in the hole as the stolen sorceratti’s soul snapped from existence. He angled his protection and stepped out of the crater.

  With a gust of air, he cleared the vapor from his vision. Vedette stopped. A young man emerged from the destruction to face the ancient body of a failing woman. Her back bent over with age, and her hands no longer could release the curl of her claws. Vedette’s milky eyes took in the destruction she created. She sat on the ground and looked up at her opponent.

  “Please, Kincaid, kill me.”

  Kincaid crouched down with his legs pressed against his heels. He ran his hand to brush aside the few wisps of hair covering her eyes. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “You’ve already killed yourself.”

  He pulled himself back up and looked around the ruined block. The vapor hung like an eerie fog, and the arcane fires joined with a cloud of oily smoke. Kincaid wiped his dry lips with his tongue and tasted burnt wood. Grit ground his teeth. He released the powers of magic in his soul.

  He was alone.

  He turned his back on the soulless husk of a woman lying in the street and turned toward the prison house.

  Seventy-Eight

  Kincaid - Savior

  The silence in the courtyard of the ruined house unnerved Kincaid. He wished the House of Atros would make a climatic stand and fight to the last. Something to justify the loss and destruction. But the guards and servants did not come near the courtyard. Kincaid listened for the sounds of commands, and he longed for Lord Atros to make his appearance. He wanted the man to see what his decisions had done to his own house. But Kincaid didn’t find any pleasure or confrontation.

  The prison door was cracked open, and Kincaid wondered if the guards had fled with their charges or just chose to escape with their lives. With a small stream of magic, he created a ball of light in his hand. Fear bubbled up in his heart. The prison was too quiet.

  What if they hadn’t put Sholeh here? What if he had accidentally killed her in the arcane confrontation with the sorceratti? He’d find her. He’d tear apart the rest of the house to get her back.

  White light from the arcane glow pushed back the darkness inside the prison. His eyes darted from corner to corner. Cormac’s prison cell was cleaned out. Scorch marks covered the floor and ceiling, and a temporary repair replaced the hole in the roof. But the iron doors hung freely. The locks he destroyed in his escape hadn’t been replaced. These cells were empty. Dust hung in the air, and Kincaid assumed some of the blows of magic must have been close to this spot.

  He turned toward the block with the small cells. Each cell was large enough to allow a prisoner to stand. The back rows had been spared from the fire and stood ready to receive a new group of prisoners. This area was also empty.

  Kincaid walked down the main hallway of the prison toward the guard office. The walls of the office were thick, and the door was iron bound. If prisoners rioted, the guards would be safe until help arrived. He turned toward his left and peered inside. Two bunks, a sturdy table, a couple of chairs, a chest, and a coal-burning stove were the only amenities in the room. He peered behind the simple screen shielding the chamber pot to also find the area empty. The guards fled long before he arrived.

  During his time in prison, he never saw the final quadrant of the structure. Thin wooden walls covered this small area across from the guard room. The handle from the fire-damaged door came off in his hand. He grabbed the edge of the door with his fingers and pulled it open.

  The stench of blood and carnage assaulted his nose. The smells were old but never went away. A single oil lamp flickered in the torture room. The walls and floors had the burnt red of old stains, but the jingle of chains caught Kincaid’s attention.

  Kincaid burst into the room and turned toward the noise. His heart collapsed when he saw a half-naked Sholeh strapped to a long table. Her head was covered in a sack, and her skin didn’t show the signs of torture. He sprinted to her side and tore off the bag.

  Sholeh’s terrified eyes were wide in panic until she saw the man who rescued her. Tears flooded her face, and Kincaid pulled the rags out of her mouth.

  “I’m here, Sholeh. I’m here.”

  Sholeh managed a whimper in response and pulled futilely against the chains. Frustrated, Kincaid pulled in a tight stream of magic and used a small arcane blade to cut through the hardened steel shackles. Metal crashed to the floor, and Sholeh’s arms were around him. She didn’t hold back her emotions and didn’t concern herself with modesty. Kincaid wrapped a cloak around her shoulders and held her shaking body close.

  “I’m so sorry, Sholeh.”<
br />
  She looked him in the eyes and tried to wipe away her tears.

  “By all that is holy, Kincaid. What took you so long?”

  Kincaid let out a laugh from within his belly. “Between the gunfire and arcane battle that destroyed the house and the block, I needed a few extra minutes. But I was thinking about you the whole time, if that helps.”

  “It does. I didn’t know if…”

  “It doesn’t matter now. We’re going to get out of here. Did they hurt you? Can you walk?”

  “They threatened terrible things if you did not surrender. They wanted to—”

  “They will never do that to you, Sholeh. No one is going to hurt you now.” He offered her his left hand as she tried to put her weight on her legs and feet. She winced as feeling rushed back to her legs.

  “By all that is good, I did not think I would ever feel this weak.”

  “It’s ok, Sholeh. Take a minute and get your strength.”

  Each step became easier as Kincaid kept his arm around her waist. Sholeh’s confidence returned as her legs followed her mental commands. Her head came up and looked around the room they had kept her in. In a moment, her face turned white as realization came in.

  “Focus on me.”

  Her head stared straight ahead. “I think the guards kept my things. Can we find them?”

  Clothes and tools might be all that she had left for her own efforts at sanity. He took her across the main corridor and was relieved to find that the structure remained empty. The guards weren’t returning. Sholeh pulled away from Kincaid and started to go through the chest in the office. Soon, a small pile of tools and clothing appeared on one of the cots. Kincaid turned around as she changed back into a shirt and made her tools take their place at her work belt.

  Sholeh stood much like her old self. Tools of a smith hung at her belt, and her craftswoman's hands held a hammer in each one. She nodded to Kincaid and gestured for the door.