The barkeep peaked inside and smiled. “Keep your coppers. I’ll take this. You can have your room, a hot meal tonight and one in the morning.”
Markus took the deal. He was willing to sleep outside the next few nights if it meant he could use the money for food over the next few days.
“Room is upstairs. Number 3. I’ll have someone bring up your dinner,” The barkeep handed him a key and a lantern. Then, he resumed cleaning his mugs.
“Do you have an Amanuensis? I need to send a note to someone.”
“Yes, it’s in the back.” He pointed at a door behind the bar.”
Markus left the heavy bag of food behind, happy to take the load off his back. He went behind the bar and entered the back room. Inside he found the machine that would allow him to get a message to General Stack and Linette. He found it on a table in the corner. The lantern helped light the room. Its glow combined with another lantern hanging from the ceiling next to a young woman who sat on a chair on the other side of the room. She was too engrossed in a book to pay him any attention. She had dark hair that contrasted with her pale skin. He guessed her age to be around sixteen.
“Hello.” Markus said.
She raised a finger, signaling him to wait. After some time, she lowered her hand and lifted her head. “Yes?”
“The barkeep said I could use the Amanuensis.”
She gestured to the machine.
“Sorry, but I don’t know my letters. Can you help?”
Irritated, she bookmarked her story and walked over to the machine. Markus walked over to her until he stood close enough to touch her. I can’t reveal my secret to her. How do I phrase this so she won’t know?
“Please send this to Castle Claybury—to Linette from the Order of the Eagle: Passed through Pinemere. Aurora’s friends passed through. I’m heading toward them.”
“That’s all?” she asked.
“For that one, yes. I’d like to send another to a General Stack.” She looked at him directly in his eyes. She squinted at him discriminatory, reminding him of the barkeep. It made him nervous.
“And?”
“He has a private machine. Do you know how to send it to him?”
She sighed. “Yes, I’m not a fool.”
“Oh. Please write that I’m in Darfield and will continue heading in the direction he’d expect.”
She scribed the words. When she finished, she went back to her book like Markus wasn’t there anymore. He left. He hoped both Linette and Stack understood what he meant.
He climbed the stairs and found his room. He squeezed inside as the door wouldn’t fully open, but he tried the bed and laid straight without his head or feet hitting a wall. With nothing to unpack, he locked the door behind him and found a bath at the end of the hallway. He undressed knowing he’d have to put back on his dirty clothes, but tried to enjoy the cold water as it cleaned off the couple of days’ worth of sweat and dirt.
When he got back to his room, a steaming plate of fowl and rice waited for him. He devoured the well-seasoned food and then collapsed in his bed, finding sleep with no problems.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Day 8 — Morning
Markus awoke, darkness filling his small room above the bar in Darfield. He heard footsteps coming from the hallway outside of his room. He looked outside the window, noticing a half-dozen men with torches. Some bore swords on their hips. He stood up and tried to listen for noises through the door. After a minute of silence, he cracked the door a sliver. His tiny view showed him the girl who helped him with the Amanuensis sitting near the stairs. He heard the door below open and men come inside. The girl turned toward the stairway and took a few steps down.
“He’s up here. In room three,” she called to them.
Markus took her momentary distraction as his chance to sneak out. He locked the door and went farther down the hall to the bathroom. He moved inside and out of the door’s path. He closed it without a sound, hoping she didn’t see him. Markus scanned the room for an exit and found a small window. He’d have to be quick to move before they found his room empty, but also quiet enough he didn’t signal his whereabouts.
He stepped into the bathtub, using its few inches of height to get him closer. Markus glanced to his right, noticing a small mirror. He hadn’t looked at himself in some time, but noticed dark lines starting to spread out from his eyes. They were subtle, but unmistakable to him. The low light in the bar made it difficult for the barkeep to notice, but the girl had a lantern lit in the backroom to help her read. She must have noticed them and feigned nonchalance until he left and fell asleep.
Markus pushed open the shutters and climbed onto the windowsill. A small part of the roof sat below him at a sharp slant. All the men looking for him had gone inside, giving him his chance to take off.
He heard slams on the door to room number three. “Open up. We know what you are. The Decayed are not welcome here!”
They kicked at it until they bashed it in. “He’s not here!”
Markus leapt to the ground outside the bar and took off running for the city exit. He glanced back to find several men chasing him. Although strong, Markus lacked the ability to run for long distances with any speed. He found the road outside Darfield that headed south, but after a few minutes, they caught up to him.
They all had their swords and shields drawn while Markus found himself with only his magic. He formed a dark sphere in each hand. The men, all middle age and ranging from fit to fat, stood before him. He caught fear in their eyes, but also a primal determination to protect themselves and their families. Markus couldn’t let them know his plan to spy on the Decayed. For one, he’d risk that any rumors that got out would include that fact and cast doubt on his alliances. He needed the Decayed to believe him. For another, he doubted these men would believe it.
These men might intend to kill him. He wouldn’t let that happen. They’d likely cut off his middle fingers given the chance. He couldn’t let that happen either. Trapped by his need to play the part of a Decayed and his morals, Markus attempted to scare them off. He threw a couple spheres toward some trees off on the other side of the road. The dark magic decayed the wood until they collapsed. The men took a step back, but after regaining their composure, they pressed in on him.
Of the six, two looked capable of handling themselves in a fight. The other four appeared strong, but slow. He flung the two spheres at the capable men in rapid succession. He nailed one and missed the other. The one he managed to hit, stayed down and groaned. The other blocked with his shield and moved far enough away that Markus momentarily faced only the remaining four. He took a few steps back and called two more dark spheres. The men spread out more, making it difficult for him to attack them in groups. As they surrounded him, they each began to test him by lunging forward with their swords. Markus dodged one and threw a sphere at another. He continued to move backwards, limiting the chances they’d get behind him. As he started to throw another sphere, a swift, painful thrust of a sword hilt hit his head. He collapsed, and the men tackled him to the ground. They punched him repeatedly, trying to knock him out.
Arms pulled his wrists and his feet dragged. He tilted his head from the slumped position it sat in and he heard the men talking.
“It ain’t right to kill him. He’s just a kid. It’s not his fault he carries this burden. We’ll remove his fingers and send him back home,” one man said.
Another said, “If you won’t kill him, I will.” Markus heard some rustling.
“You’ll do no such thing. I’m the leader of this town and while I don’t allow the Ashen to live or work here, I won’t allow his death.”
“Yes, he’s young, but how do you know he hasn’t killed someone else.”
“You’re right, I don’t know. After his fingers are gone, I suspect he won’t hurt anyone else. If he’s done wrong, then let them try him in another city. I don’t want him here.”
Markus’ head pounded. His tongue found a loose tooth, and he pop
ped it out and let it fall to the ground a few inches away. He stifled a yawn, wishing they’d just kill him and get it over with. The words spoken meandered to his brain, and he realized they planned to cut his middle fingers off. It jolted him alert and back to his plan to infiltrate the Decayed. But a part of him hated these men. They punched him repeatedly and injured his pride. He clenched his fist, flexed his muscles, and readied himself. His blood boiled to its peak like a teapot screaming for release. It filled his veins and fueled his magic. The darkness overcame him, leaving only a glimmer of light.
Soon, the men stopped and laid him sitting up against a tree.
“Jornod, lay his middle finger out, so I can chop it off with my sword,” from the voice of the leader.
Markus opened his eyes. The men jumped back and put up their fists, ready for a fight. Markus let out a scream from deep down in his soul.
Day 8 — Morning
Winthrop awoke, he sighed and touched his dry clothes. The aroma of eggs and bacon wafted into his room and led him to the mess hall. He helped himself to lots of food, still famished from his use of magic the day before. He sat by himself, hoping to avoid trouble from anyone else.
The room looked like it could fit three hundred with room to breathe. Long tables with benches stretched from where he entered to the other side of the hall. The walls were stone, but a few tapestries hung here and there. Still, the decor left something to be desired.
Shannon and Mikael walked toward him. He kept his attention on his food but they snickered as they passed and something landed on the table in front of his plate. It was a portrait of his dad, but with the hooded cloak and menacing look, he’d never have recognized it before. It’s my dad’s trading care from the Order’s card game. Winthrop looked up at who had thrown it. Mikael glared at him.
“You don’t belong here. Dymnos will boot you out before the week is over,” he said so others couldn’t hear him.
The two of them moved on and Winthrop picked up the card. He stared at his dad. Tears well up in his eyes and a couple slid down his face. Why couldn’t his father be a real hero? Instead, he killed innocent people like Shannon’s parents and probably countless others.
“That’s a good card to have in your collection. Hard to defeat,” a man said as he sat down across from Winthrop. He placed his plate of food on the table and took a few bites. His deep-set blue eyes bore deep into Winthrop. The lack of hair made him look much older than Winthrop guessed he was.
“You might want to sit somewhere else,” Winthrop said.
The man looked around and stood up to look at his seat. “Why what’s wrong with this spot?”
“Me.”
He took another bite and sized Winthrop up. “You’re harmless.”
Winthrop glanced down in shame. Word had gotten around about his abilities. He gathered himself back together. He picked up the card and put it closer to the man. “This is my father. Apparently, he killed many people, including friends and family of people in this Order.”
Saying it gave Winthrop a jolt of power. Not a magical power, but a certain ability to push people away.
“What does that have to do with anything,” the man said, biting off some bacon. “Tell me, do you like to kill or harm people?”
Winthrop jerked back, “No, of course not!”
The man pointed his fork at Winthrop. “Do you lie?”
“A small fib every occasionally, but no, I try to tell the truth.”
“You sure you’re not lying about that?”
Winthrop laughed
“Yes. I’ve always resolved to have integrity.”
“Then, you’re okay in my book. Name’s Mort.”
“Winthrop.”
“I don’t have one but there is another card of your father. It’s one where he’s from the Order of the Ox and protects those who can’t protect themselves.”
Mort looked him in the eyes and said that with all truthfulness. Winthrop took a staggered breath, like when you’ve been crying and can’t handle that much air. I wish I had that card.
A tower bell began to ring repeatedly and brought Winthrop of his thoughts. He searched for the source of the sound, but it lay out of view.
“Better get to class, Winthrop. First day is important. Leave your plate. I’ll clean it up.”
Winthrop shoveled two more bites into his mouth, nodded at Mort, and took off.
Lady Northa stood in the main hallway and directed students. She caught Winthrop’s eyes. “Winthrop, down the hall two doors to the left. Proceed three doors to your right.”
He followed her directions and found himself in a room with about a dozen newly minted wielders—those he’d traveled with from Claybury and some others. The teacher hadn’t arrived yet, leaving Winthrop vulnerable. Shannon, her friend, Mikael, Jared, and the rest of the traveling party stood before him. They stopped their conversation and turned to look at him.
“Did you sleep well last night?” Mikael asked.
“Slept great, actually.” Winthrop reacted. He didn’t want them to know about his stash of extra blankets.
“One, two, three!” Shannon yelled. Everyone in the room formed a blue sphere without a moment’s hesitation.
“Your turn,” Shannon said.
Winthrop tried to hide his emotions. Anger and shame both flared at the same time. His heart began to race. I can do this. Can’t I?
The door opened and Dymnos entered. His blue cloak hung to his mid-calf and his chest pushed open the robe. His frame reminded him of Markus.
“Perfect, practicing your magic improves your ability in it. It’s like a muscle—resistance makes it grow stronger. Today, however, is a lesson on theory. Please release your spheres.”
The class complied. Winthrop moved to stand with the crowd, but hung on the edge and away from the group. Dymnos stood before the class. “There are seven levels to every Order. Each of you is here because you reached the first level during your testing. The speed at which you progress to another level depends on two factors. Each level requires you to accomplish something special and specific. Even if you’ve done that item before, it won’t count if it happened before your testing. The second thing is fitness. Magic requires extensive strength and energy. You may have noticed that those in the Order of the Lion are bulky and strong. Their magic requires brute strength. Nine out of ten of them would collapse from exhaustion if they had to run more than half a mile. They lack stamina, but their magic doesn’t need that. It needs solid muscle. You, did you also pass the Order of the Lion test?”
Mikael stepped forward. “Yes, sir.”
“Everyone see his size? It reeks of someone suited for the Order of the Lion. Like myself, the two of us have the mass for it, but it’s not a guarantee. Your name?”
“Mikael, sir.”
“Mikael, forget the Order of the Lion. You belong to this Order. You must abandon any ideas of a fallback plan.”
He nodded.
“The Order of the Eagle is the opposite. They are rail thin because they don’t need strength, they need endurance. Our magic requires a mixture of both which is why you’ll exercise twice a day until you reach a peak level of fitness. Be prepared to eat a lot. After that, you can pull back to once a day. But always, always practice magic throughout the day. It needs to turn into such a habit that you can retrieve it like a trained solder pulls his sword.”
His words worried Winthrop. He feared that Dymnos would command that they form spheres next.
“As you progress in your training and fulfill the special requirement, you’ll gain additional abilities. For example, each of you can reinforce an object or a person. When you move onto the next level, you’ll also learn to enclose things. We call that a Surround.”
Mikael smirked at Winthrop. I did that once at Claybury.
“Any questions?”
“What are the special and specific actions for each level?” the Mor girl asked.
“What’s your name?”
�
��Alexi, sir.”
“Alexi, we don’t divulge that information. The Masters of this Order believe it better if you discover them on your own.”
“Okay, let’s practice. Form a sphere.”
The class did so on command. Winthrop closed his eyes. I believe in this Kingdom and in this Order. I resolve to make it right again…Who am I fooling. I can’t form a sphere. He tried to form a sphere, but it popped instantly.
The class chuckled at him. Dymnos walked over to a small chest in the corner and opened it. While his back faced the students, Mikael formed a sphere and threw it at Winthrop, locking him to the wall.
Dymnos turned too late to see who had done it. “This is not the place for pranks. Who did this?”
The dozen remained silent. “I’ll have the student who did this come forward or all of you will help clean in the kitchens.”
Dymnos released Winthrop. Mikael stepped forward.
“I suspected as much. Why did you do this to your fellow initiate?”
Mikael looked like he lost a few inches of height. “He pushed Shannon on our first day of travel and his father killed people we loved and cared for. I think his inability is because of the taint left by the Ransacker.”
Winthrop turned to Dymnos, confirming that he had been looking at Winthrop. “So, you’re Jack the Ransacker’s son. I’d heard that you tested for magic, but word hadn’t reached for which Order. Is it a coincidence you tested for the second of his two abilities? He turned back to the class. Yes, yes, it is. Magic is not passed down. If the stories are true, he hasn’t seen his father in ten years. Did you even know about his true nature?”
Winthrop liked Dymnos. “No, I found out after I tested for this Order, but before I tested for Decayed magic.”
“I see. Everyone, forget what his father did to you, your friends, and family. If but for just a minute. Winthrop grew up believing his father was a hero—that he belonged to this Order and sacrificially gave his life to save a village. His father had never spanked Winthrop or even raised his voice when unwarranted. Then, after years of missing him and wishing he’d never died, he comes to find out he produced unspeakable acts of violence. I don’t care how strong any of you are, all of you would struggle with magic like him. Class dismissed. Go outside for exercise. Winthrop, please stay behind a moment.”
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