A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos)

by Wilkerson, Brian

  The puppet on his right shoulder said, “Hello.”

  The puppet on his left shoulder said, “Hello.”

  The puppet on his head did likewise, still higher.

  Finally, the man himself turned around and sang in a lower note. “We are Captain Quando of Squad Three,” they chorused. All four of them extended their hands. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Eric stared. All of them . . . are the captain?

  “Doe, you were off key!” the left puppet said. “He's speechless with your poor performance!”

  “No, I wasn't, Rei!” the right puppet said. “He's speechless with my perfect performance!”

  “Both of you could be better,” the head puppet said. “Not just with vocals, but timing.”

  They're . . .arguing with each other.

  “Shut up, Mi!” Doe and Rei shouted. The two shoulder puppets tackled the head puppet to the floor and began a three-way brawl. They're . . .fighting with each other . . .

  “You may be wondering how this is possible.” The man flashed a smile. “No, it's not animation. It is, in fact, the incredibly rare super skill, known as . . . FAMILIAR CREATION!”

  Spotlights shined and trumpets blared. Eric shut his eyes and plugged his ears against the onslaught. “So what do you think? Impressive, aren't we? You've never seen anything like us, am I right?” The music died abruptly and the lights faded as quickly as they came.

  A young woman entered, rubbing her forehead. “Captain, please, stop showing off.”

  “You're always ruining our fun,” the captain whined while his trio of puppets rolled behind him like a thrashing tumbleweed.

  “I apologize for my captain's stupidity. I am Esoli Sideed, the Lieutenant of Squad Three.”

  She resembled the archetypal librarian; rigid posture, nonsense tone, thick-rimmed glasses, except she was only a year older than Eric was. Quando resembled a movie star; the kind that saved the world and got the girl. Without the lights, he saw the man had gold-brown hair, pointed ears, and a white cloak similar to Hasina's.

  “Eric, I assume Mia gave you your guild badge?” Esoli asked and he nodded. “Good, she can be a little scatter-brained.” She stared at the puppets. They were pulled apart by an invisible force and dropped on the captain.

  “Hey, Eric.” The novice turned to see Basilard at the door. “I thought I'd find you here.”

  “Daylra, you knew I'd be in Squad Three?”

  “I had a hunch,” Basilard said, “Why do you think I spent so much time on mana bolts? By your leave, Lieutenant.” She nodded and Basilard beckoned Eric to the door.

  “Um . . .Daylra . . . are all the guild captains . . ..insane?”

  Basilard put a hand to his chin. “I guess they're a little eccentric, now that you mention it.”

  Eccentric, he says. One is a multi-armed sword juggler, another is a ghost who gets their kicks scaring people, the third is a large ham with talking puppets, and the fourth wants to DISSECT me!

  Basilard led him out of the lounge and into the tunnel system. After walking through enough passageways to get an intruder hopelessly lost, they stopped at a steel door. On its surface was a plaque of a cave bursting with odds and ends.

  “Here we are: Storage/Armory/Misc.”

  He pushed the door open to reveal a small room. Opposite the door was a desk and beyond was a hole leading to a larger chamber. Is that the dragon's horde? Also behind the desk was a man with reptilian scales, slitted eyes, and a leathery tail. A dragon!?

  “Hello, Basilard. May I presume this is your battle mage in training?”

  “He is,” Basilard said and nudged Eric.

  “Oh! Hi, I-I'm Eric Watley. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Thomas Gentowa Harrar; the pleasure is mine. Go on in.”

  Storage was a huge hollow chamber with racks upon racks of equipment for the use of the Dragon's Lair mercenaries. Everything from weapons to armor to survival gear to food was stacked and organized and in perfect condition. Basilard guided Eric to the section reserved for staves.

  A rack held them all upright as if at permanent attention. Some were small enough to be held in one hand, some were a head shorter than he, and others as the tall as the room itself. All were made of wood with little ornamentation.

  “Ummm . . .which one should I pick?”

  “Don't worry; the staff will do the picking,” Basilard said, “They're alive just like us.”

  Despite his growing acceptance of magic and the supernatural, Eric was still skeptical of living staves, so Basilard explained. All staves were made from trees and Tariatlan trees were sapient. When a branch was cut off, it retained part of the tree's persona. This fragment would normally fade like an unplugged light bulb, but a branch made into a staff would remain sentient.

  “Got it? Now reach out and say 'come to me'. The staff that wants to be your partner will react.”

  Eric took a deep breath, held out his hand and said, “Come to me.”

  Immediately, one of the staves shook. He could hardly wait to hold it. Having his own staff would make him a real mage. Real magic! The thought made him giddy. Just as he undid one of the latches, the staff bonked him. He yelped. Instead of impatience, the shaking was laughter.

  Basilard chuckled. “They do that sometimes. Close your eyes. Reach out and connect.”

  All he could hear was the sound of his own breath and heartbeat. No matter how he tried, the voices of the staves eluded him. He couldn't hear them! His heartbeat quickened. Would failing disqualify him as a mage? Would he be expelled from the guild? Come on, staves! Talk to me! Nothing but silence and he fell into greater despair.

  Wood hit his palm. Eric opened his eyes to see another staff leaning into his hand. He smiled with relief and closed his hand. A gentle warmth flowed up his hand, up his arm, and to the rest of his body. Invigorating! Holding the staff, he felt capable of more than he could imagine.

  “Congratulations. You're officially a mage.”

  Eric scarcely heard him, so busy was he examining his new staff. It was a head shorter than he and made of black oak with a scattering of runes over its surface. One end had a fist-sized knot of wood while the other was flat. Hello. I'm Eric Watley, a Squad Three Novice in the Dragon's Lair. The staff grew slightly warm in his hands.

  “Your teammates should be here somewhere,” Basilard said, “Ah! There's one.”

  Eric followed his mentor's gaze and there, standing next to another rack of weapons, was a boy in his midteens. He had blue hair, evenly trimmed, and his clothes were almost completely clean; “almost” because of sticky white blobs of bird poop. The only thing that was completely clean was a small pouch strapped to his waist. He was examining the guild's staves with a critical eye, but there was already one slung across his back. It was made of white rowan and one end was shaped like a scalpel instead of a mace.

  “Nolien,” Basilard called. The boy stopped and faced him. “Where's Tsilear?”

  “On a mission,” Nolien replied. “He said and I quote, 'I have better things to do than attend a pointless meeting.' He did, however, drop me off here.”

  “That does sound like him . . .” Basilard muttered. “I hope he didn't skimp on your training.”

  “No, Mr. Bladi. He dragged me all the way to Fort Honor near the Stratos Ruins to suppress a Licshni outbreak. As for Proof of Skill, he volunteered me for a weeklong hunter expedition to the Ogregg Marsh.” The young healer unslung his staff. “I have already received training in Lifecraft and so I brought my own staff. I hope you don't mind.”

  “Absolutely not.” Basilard pushed Eric forward. “Eric, meet Nolien, the healer of our team. It's his job to make sure you stay alive.”

  Nolien held out his hand.”Pleased to meet you, Eric.”

  Eric shook it. “Likewise.”

  “One more,” Basilard said. “Follow me.”

  Basilard led the two young mages to another section. There, swords and pikes and axes and maces stood next to metal staves. In a pract
ice ring, a girl swung a moderate side-sword with great enthusiasm. She wore a tunic and pants with a belt to secure the byrnie chainmail poking out from underneath. Over her shoulders were two straps; one for a scabbard and another for a targe shield.

  Her most distinctive trait was her hair: it was literally dirty blonde. As if dirt and grime were somehow braided into the hairs themselves, streaks of blonde/black ran in odds places. It fell below her ears and above her eyes; ragged and uneven. Her clothes were almost as dirty.

  Feeling Eric's eyes, she stared back. “What!?”

  “Now be nice, Cocoon.”

  The woman next to her was middle-aged with shoulder-length blonde hair. Unlike the girl, there were no grime streaks. A one-piece dress fell to her ankles and her hands were stuffed in pockets. Eric couldn't see any weapon, but spiders crawled up her neck.

  “Stop calling me that!” the girl said, pink cheeked. “My name is Tiza Sprial!”

  “You're still my little Cocoon.”

  Out of a sense of self-preservation, Eric bit his lip.

  “Eric, Nolien meet . . .” Basilard glanced at the spider lady, who nodded. “ . . .Tiza Sprial.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Tiza,” Nolien said. She took pleasure in squeezing his hand. Nolien didn't wince, but Eric wasn't so stoic.

  “I'll take over from here, Sathel,” Basilard said to the spider lady.

  Locking eyes, she said with deadly severity. “Take good care of my Cocoon.”

  “Daylra!”

  “I will,” Basilard replied, equally grave. “Don't worry.”

  “I'll be working in Rlawader for the indeterminate future,” she continued. “When I come back, I expect her whole and stronger.”

  “I stake my sword on it.”

  “Good.” Sathel noticeably softened and put a hand on Tiza's shoulder. “Basilard is your Daylra now, but I can still be your mentor . . .or . . .maybe—”

  Tiza shrugged. “I'll call you 'Spider Daylra', and him 'Bloody Daylra'.” Sathel smiled, but it was bittersweet. She turned her back on the new team and walked out of Storage.

  “Was that your mother?” Nolien asked Tiza.

  “No, apprentice mentor,” Tiza said. “I have no idea who my mother is.”

  “I . . .see . . .” Nolien said.

  “Now that we're all together, why don't we get to know each other? I'll start. My name is Basilard Bladi and I am the sergeant of this team. I'm also your mentor in your respective fields. I like raw meat. I dislike control freaks. My hobbies are sparring and practicing bladicraft. I joined the Dragon's Lair because it's family tradition. My dream is to pass on this sword to my first born child.”

  Nolien stiffened at the mention of primogeniture. “Tiza, why don't you go next?”

  “Fine. I'm Tiza Sprial and I'm the fighter of this team. My likes, dislikes, and hobbies are none of your business. I joined ‘cause Captain Blond Psycho noticed my amazing talent and begged me to.”

  “I heard a different story,” Basilard said. “One where Lieutenant Jemas caught you picking his pocket and dragged you to the guild to treat your many injuries.”

  Tiza froze, then turned a burning glare on him. “When I become a paladin, she will recognize my talent! And so will everyone else!”

  “Quite an ambitious young lady, aren't you?” Basilard remarked, not at all phased by her outburst or her narrowed eyes.

  “I'll do it no problem! Just wait and see!”

  Basilard smiled. “I will, won't I?” Tiza sat down, crossed her arms, and continued to glare.

  “I'll go next. My name is Nolien Iteleh from Heleti and I will be this team's healer. I like studying Lifecraft and dislike show-offs. My hobbies include Chess, Go, and other games of strategy. I joined the Dragon's Lair because I felt I could help more people here than at the Heleti General Hospital where the rest of my family works. My dream is do as much good as I can. I am pleased to meet all of you and I look forward to working together.”

  “An idealist . . . I hope our line of work doesn't make you jaded.”

  “I will do my best, Daylra.”

  Everyone looked at Eric. He jumped to his feet. “Oh! Ah . . . I'm Eric Watley . . . I . . . I'm this team's battle mage. I'm Threan so I'm still getting used to this world. I joined the Dragon's Lair because it was the first job I was offered. I like corndogs and my hobbies are puzzles . . . I don't have any dreams.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Basilard said understandingly. “But they help. All right, it's time for your first mission.” He chuckled. “A time-honored tradition in the Dragon's Lair, carried out by generation after generation of novices—”

  “Spit it out already!” Tiza shouted.

  Basilard's smile widened. “You mission iiisssssss: collect snacks.”

  “WHAT!?” All three novices shouted.

  “Each of you has to find out what snack your captain likes, buy it, and bring it back.”

  “Is this a real mission?” Nolien asked.

  “Of course; you will be paid by the captains themselves,” Basilard said. “Mia has it, so take the snacks to her once you get them.”

  Tiza and Nolien grumbled all the way to the Squad One Lounge. They went back and forth about it being a waste of their time and talent, etc. Eric walked silently. Personally, he didn't mind because it wasn't dangerous. Until Squad Two . . . Squad One's crest was a pair of crossed swords.

  “Let's get this over with,” Tiza groaned and pushed the door open. They made slow progress, as everyone wanted to meet Eric and Nolien. When they finally entered the captain's office, they saw Giji pushing papers with two arms and juggling swords with the other two.

  “Hey, Tiza, what can I do for you?”

  “Captain, we need to know what your favorite snack is.”

  “Ahh . . ..” Giji looked at the ceiling. “I must say I like apples.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” The trio left the lounge. “One down.”

  “Do either of you know the location of the Squad Four Lounge?” Nolien asked.

  Both his teammates shook their heads.

  “I can help you with that.”

  A girl walked out from behind a corner. Eric recognized her as the same girl that chased after the ghost. Her body was slender and her face was delicately featured; her blonde hair was up in knee-length pigtails and she wore a pink dress with a high collar and long skirt. Altogether, she looked too fragile to be in a warrior guild. Captain Giji was intimidating and even Tiza looked tough enough. This girl looked like she would break if someone poked her.

  “The captain likes raisins,” she said and ducked back around the corner. Confusion ran across Tiza's face and she ran after the strange girl.

  “Hey! How did you—” She cut off when she saw she was speaking to an empty hall. She returned back to her teammates, even more confused. “She . . .vanished.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Nolien mused. “Well that makes two. Eric, lead us to Squad Three.”

  It took two minutes for Eric to realize he was lost and one more for his companions. “Ow!” he shouted and rubbed the spot on his head where Tiza swatted him.

  “Why didn't you tell us you didn't know where you were going?!”

  Eric looked down sheepishly and muttered apologies.

  “Now, now,” Nolien said. “The important thing is to find the Squad Three Lounge. I'm sure we'll find someone to—” Tiza was already walking down a random path. “Tiza, you're going to get more lost!”

  Tiza answered without breaking stride or looking back. “How can we get more lost than what Dimwit here already made us?” Eric apologized again and Nolien sighed.

  So they wandered aimlessly through the many tunnels and passageways of the Dragon's Lair. Eric had no idea how long they wandered because the walls didn't have windows. They could have been lost for hours and night could have fallen. He got sinking feeling in his gut. If they had been lost for hours, then the captain's meeting might be over and done with. He could have made his team fail their very firs
t mission! All because he couldn't remember the location of his own lounge.

  “Here we are!” Tiza declared; her voice dripping satisfaction. “Told you I'd find it!” She pointed to the crossed black staff design on the door.

  “Find it?” Nolien asked skeptically. “That was luck.”

  “You mean, woman’s intuition.”

  Inside, the same thing happened as before; every mage wanted to meet Tiza and Nolien. When they finally reached the Captain's office, Quando did the same flashy routine and Eric had to shout their question over his trumpets.

  “Potato chips!” Four voices chorused.

  “What kind?” Eric asked.

  “Barbeque!” Mi shouted.

  “Original!” Do shouted.

  “Sour cream and onion!” Rei shouted.

  “Cheese!” Quando himself shouted. They all glared at each other.

  “When a guy argues with his own puppets, you know there's something wrong with him,” Nolien drawled. Tiza and Eric nodded.

  “Just get a variety pack,” Esoli muttered.

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Eric said. They left with the captain still arguing with his familiars.

  Nolien knew the tunnels of the Dragon's Lair better than Eric or Tiza and the team soon arrived at the Squad Two Lounge. In fact, it took longer for Tiza and Nolien to get out of the lounge than for Nolien to guide them to it. Eric stayed outside because he was afraid of being in the same room as Hasina. When the pair finally emerged, Tiza said, “Captain Blonde Psycho said she would tell us if we let her 'take a look at you.'”

  Eric paled.

  “Don't worry,” Nolien said quickly. “The lieutenant said she liked chocolate. All we need now is Squad Five. Do either of you know where it is?”

  “Hey, lovely lady.” A man sauntered their way and kissed Tiza's hand. “Might I be of service?” Tiza kneed him between the legs. He made a funny nose, grabbed his family jewels, and fell over.

  “That's two strikes!” Tiza shouted, “One more and I cut it off!”

  A woman with bunny ears ran by and stopped at the man kneeling in male pain. “Does it hurt?” The man nodded. “Good.”