Magician Prince
The Magician Rebellion:
Volume Three
By
Curtis Cornett
Magician Prince
The Magician Rebellion: Volume 3
Copyright: Curtis Cornett
Published: 9th May 2013
Publisher: Curtis Cornett
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2013 by Curtis Cornett
Cover design by Curtis Cornett
Book design by Curtis Cornett
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Curtis Cornett
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Magician Prince
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
A Final Word on The Magician Rebellion
We Are Pack
Hunted
A Treatise on Magic
Prologue
The first time I met the sorcerer called Byrn was when I caught him stalking about in the lower reaches of Cardamon. Humans were not a terribly unusual sight in the underground city, but my mother did not raise a fool and it was plain to see that this tall human was following me about town. To be fair, I was being overly cautious of those around me, because I was sneaking about too and that may have played a role in my success at identifying my pursuer. I thought I was being particularly clever with the spell I had draped over me like a coalman’s coat. My disguise was that of a handsome young dwarf. I suppose it would have been wiser to pose as a more mature and less striking looking fellow, but it is the province of those that are very old like myself to want to relive their younger days and I must admit that I do enjoy the lingering glance and smile of a young lady sporting a full beard on occasion.
I digress, this human had seen fit to follow me and I had to get rid of him before my rendezvous. At first I tried to lose him in the twisting corridors of the city. I assumed he was a newcomer to Cardamon and thought that losing him would be easy among the cramped streets and twisting passageways, but every time I thought him lost the human turned up a few minutes later. Finally, I had no choice except to confront him or miss my appointment and I was not about to miss the magi convocation.
After a few more sharp turns I managed to lose the human for a minute and circled back behind him. I drew my fisher’s knife. I had no intention of using it, of course. I just thought to scare this nosey human a bit and get him to leave me be, but when I jumped out behind him and shouted, “Ah ha!” he whipped around like lightning and with no more than a glance at the wall beside us a small block of stone shot out and hit my hand, knocking the weapon out of my grasp. My yelp was like that of a ratting-dog and the human laughed at me, but it was not a cold or callous sound and I found myself apologizing for coming at him with a knife. He was a likeable human and I quickly learned that this Byrn was a powerful sorcerer with a particularly unique ability. He could see magic and not just the spectacle of a fireball or the shimmer of a ward, but he could see the subtler magics and its natural flow around him and in that way he could manipulate that flow to serve his will. That was how he began following me, because he caught a glimpse of my spell and it was unlike any enchantments he knew in his homeland of Aurelia across the Great Sea. It was that ability that prevented me from losing his tail despite all of my craftiness, because he could always track my spell even if I was out of sight. As intriguing as Byrn and his peculiar talent was I still had a commitment to keep with my magi brethren and had to bid the human adieu, but we agreed to meet up the next evening at my favorite tavern, The Shaving Axe.
The next evening could not have come soon enough for me to meet with this master of magic. The cogs turned in my head as possibilities danced before me. What could I learn from a magi like Byrn? He obviously seemed interested in learning more about the differences between our culture’s magics and I must admit that the more I thought about it the more I found it difficult to contain my excitement at the idea of some scholarly discussion with a magi from another culture.
I had been waiting for no more than a few minutes when a burly dwarf sat down across from me. He landed in the chair with a harrumph and demanded a rock-ale loudly from the tavern matron. My illusion was not active and I drank with my usual aplomb as a grey-haired, old dwarf, “That seat is saved, friend.”
The burly fellow looked at me with a sidelong glance and actively ignored me. His fingers strummed on the table as he waited on his drink and he gladly took it from the matron. “Put it on his tab,” he said and gestured to me with a cock of his head. I was about to object when he took a drink of his rock-ale and immediately gagged on it. “This is awful. How can you drink this?”
“If you don’t like it, the door can hit your ass on the way out,” declared the tavern matron, but I thought that I had the game figured out and told the matron that my friend would behave himself.
“Byrn?” I asked, incredulous. He nodded. He was wearing an illusion cloak just as I had done the day before. Apparently he was able to analyze just about any magic spell that he saw and replicate it!
For the next week Byrn and I met every day. We traded stories and discussed magic with such frequency that those days were a blur of intellectual stimulation. Byrn came to Cardamon with a group of elves seeking passage back to his homeland, but with winter being in midseason there were no ships sailing from the overdocks and as powerful as the sorcerer was he was still going to be stuck in my fair dwarven city for the next three months. He had been away from his homeland for nine months already and was desperate to get back to Aurelia and to his woman. To hear him speak of her, Alia Necros was a goddess come to earth. It was clear that he was in love with the woman and that only fueled his need to get back home.
Byrn also told me of some great troubles facing his homeland. Human magi were being imprisoned without cause and magic collars were being used to control them and thwart their wills. Worse, a friend of Byrn’s called Sane, who was once a royal sorcerer, was now a slave and in need of rescue.
It was then that I decided to impart some sad news to my new friend. Aurelia was in a state of turmoil and civil unrest since he left. Every day until the ships stopped sailing due to the coming harsh winter there were stories abound of their magi attacking all over the human kingdom and the populace was living in terror as the fighting grew worse. If I thought that this news would dissuade Byrn from going back to Aurelia, then I would have been dead wrong. If anything the news only served to make him more
adamant about returning as soon as possible.
We also spoke of the troubles facing magi in Ghant and more specifically in Cardamon. Unlike the human kingdoms that have notoriously treated their magic wielders harshly, the dwarven kingdoms generally took a more cooperative approach to their magi. Our magi were adept at enchantments and used our skills in the creation of magical goods that were sold all over the world. However, our noble families and elected representatives wished to pay us so poorly that we would be akin to slave labor so that they would get rich from our work while we lived in poverty. They thought that they could get away with it, because we were such a small segment of the populace and no one would care, but we went on strike and not long after they started rounding up all of the dwarven magi and imprisoning us or slapping the wealthier among us with hefty fines under the threat of draining their family fortunes.
I don’t recall how exactly we got on the subject of myths and legends one semi-drunken night, but I told Byrn and his elf companion of the firehawk, a dwarven heroic figure from the old tales. The elf was a tall woman with no chin hair to speak of that always made me think of a newborn baby, but Sari was congenial company and never refused a drink. The rest of the elves that traveled with them had left for their forests, having delivered Byrn safely to our fair city. Anyway, we got to talking one night and I told them the story of the firehawk- a bird born of fire and magic that gave its life to save the dwarven people from our ancient orcen enemies. It was said that the firehawk would rise again one day when the dwarves were next presented with a crisis too great for them to face alone, but that day never came. Byrn told me that there was a similar bird in Aurelia called the phoenix, but that they were supposed to have all been destroyed hundreds of years ago as they were believed to be the servants of magicians.
Then Byrn had an idea that would change the fate of magi in the dwarven realms. He spent days studying bestiaries and going above ground during the daylight hours. When I asked him what he was up to he would reply that he was “bird watching” or “working on something new.” Working on something new? I’ll be honest and admit that I was excited to see what Byrn was planning. It seems so obvious looking back on it now, but at the time I could only wonder at what this magician, who seemed to have near limitless energy and could replicate any spell that he saw, was trying to accomplish.
Finally, Byrn came to me and announced that he had something to show me. I watched him with rapt attention as he bent down, bracing his back for what was to come. It happened nearly in an instant as a bright red burst of fire shot from his back. I literally fell out of my chair as I watched the flame grow, then take shape. The fire spread out to either side of him at twice the length of a human. At first I thought that something had gone wrong and his spell was out of control, but the flames began to coalesce and take a definite shape before solidifying as a fire construct. Byrn had made himself a pair of fiery wings. He flapped them experimentally and looked to me with a grin that reminded me of a child that had just learned his first spell.
“The firehawk,” I stammered, flabbergasted.
Even having seen it, I did not comprehend what Byrn was intending, but the full gravity of what he planned became apparent a day later when he broke into a work camp and freed a dozen magi that were arrested for peaceful protests. Among them was my son, Nikare. During their escape Byrn donned his fire wings and masked his appearance with my illusion cloak before declaring from atop a building in a most dramatic fashion that he was the firehawk and that the magi had his favor.
The city was in an uproar over the news and in the weeks to come Byrn played the role of the firehawk at every opportunity to promote magi rights. He never set out to hurt anyone. That was not what our protests were about, but his appearances brought attention to our plight with the commoners and more importantly it got the attention of the governing council, but I always got the feeling that Byrn was always thinking about his home in Aurelia and the woman he left behind.
-An excerpt from the journals of Tire Goldennaire, Council Magister
Chapter 1
The common room of The Shaving Axe was covered in shadows from the quartet of lamps placed one in each corner. Though it was midday no natural light could reach the inn located a hundred yards under the surface of the earth in the bustling dwarven city. The low light was not a factor for most of the bearded populace, but for the human, Byrn Firemas, and his traveling companion, Sarianna of the Red Tree Forest elves, it was still difficult adjusting to the total blackness of living underground even after the months that they spent in the dwarven kingdom of Ghant and the seaside city of Cardamon.
Byrn sipped some rock-ale, a nasty concoction that was a favorite of the underground denizens who had never had the pleasure of tasting ale made with the wonder of wheat. He forced the liquid down his throat and did his best not to gag, an act that would have earned him some good-natured ridicule from not only Sari, but the two dwarven magicians, Nikare and Tire.
Nikare watched Byrn closely for any sign that the human was having difficulty with the brew and nodded agreeably when Byrn’s mug rested on the table and took several large gulps of his own before slamming his mug triumphantly with a toothy grin.
“Boys, if you are quite done, the bard is about to begin,” the elder dwarf and father to Nikare, Tire told them and they turned as a group to watch the lone dwarf in his fancy leggings tuning an out of key lute. As bards go, this one was fairly dreadful when it came to the much vaunted musical talents of the human kingdoms, but they came to The Shaving Axe for the other bit of value that bards were known to provide: gossip mixed in with a bit of news.
The bard scanned the crowd before him with a thoughtful expression. “I have news that most of you will find disturbing,” he told them without cheer, “It is no secret about the trials that have been happening across the Great Sea in Aurelia.” He strummed his lute lightly as if he were reciting a poem and not speaking plainly. “For the past year, Aurelia has been accosted by magi bent on overthrowing their good King Kale. We all know that the war there has been terrible with much loss of life. Aurelia continues to struggle against their magi and worse yet our own magi have been very vocal about seeking what they call restitutions from the Council.”
“Death to the Firehawk! Death to them all!” shouted one dwarf who was bolstered by shouts of agreement from a few others in the common room.
“Aye! Death to the Firehawk!” Nikare repeated and held his mug for all to see. He gave Byrn a none-too-subtle wink and they clinked their mugs together though Nikare thought it far more humorous than Byrn did.
“Death to the Firehawk,” Byrn repeated less boisterously and gritted as he took another sip of his rock-ale as Nikare finished off his mug. “I should have left you in that prison camp,” Byrn whispered to him.
“I was just joking with you. We are friends just like you and father. Are we not?” was Nikare’s quiet response. He pretended to take no notice of Tire’s glare.
The bard held up his hands for silence before continuing. “The Firehawk is nothing more than superstition. It is an old wives’ tale meant to inspire the dwarven people, but the magi have sought to turn this legend against us for their own ends.” The bard continued talking, but Byrn paid him little mind. He had heard all that he needed to know. Fighting was still heated in Aurelia. He had tarried for too long in helping the dwarven magicians, not that he had any recourse to cross the Great Sea since arriving in the city. The magi protests started with the best of intentions for equality, but the dwarven magic users were soon on the brink of defeat due to their own unwillingness to resort to violence when Byrn arrived and took up the guise of the Firehawk- an old character from dwarven lore who was said to have been the one to lead the dwarves underground to avoid a long forgotten catastrophe at the hands of the orcs thousands of years earlier. The Firehawk saved them, but more importantly it inspired them to fight on all those years ago, and it was that same inspiration that Byrn tried to bring the dwarven magicians.
“Are you sure you want to go back? Think of all we could still learn from one another.” Tire asked snapping Byrn from his thoughts. “Nikare will not admit it, but even he appreciates all that you have done to aid us.”
Avoiding locking eyes with Byrn, Nikare twisted his head around and hollered for the waitress to refill his mug.
“I must go,” Byrn told them, “There are people I care about back home and I must know they are safe. I have tarried here too long already.”
“Luck be with you,” Sari extended her hand and they clasped each other by the wrists.
“You can still come with me,” Byrn offered, “Your bow would be of great help.”
Sari shook her head, “It is not my fight and I now have a duty to return to my people.” Shortly after being transported to the Red Tree Forest, Byrn and Sari learned that her father, Shatala, had grown ill in her thirty-year absence. Though she would not be the next leader of her clan due to her long absence, Sari still decided that she wanted to be there for her father in his final years. “Just promise me that you will find Sane if he still lives and give him my rune.”
“I will.”
“Then this is the end of our alliance,” Tire lamented, “but know that you will both always be welcome in my humble alchemy shop.”
“Enough with the goodbyes,” Nikare cut in, “Byrn, we have found a vessel that should meet your needs and is set to disembark within the week, but it will require no small bit of magic on your part.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Byrn assured him.
Chapter 2
The incessant bickering of the nobles drove Prince Janus to distraction. They stood before his father’s court and pleaded for favors like back alley beggars or tried to position themselves to improve their social standing, but when Aurelia needed them to protect their own cities, they could not be counted on to do even that much.
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