A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos)

by Wilkerson, Brian

  “I have to perform?”

  “Yes,” the manager said. “As the princess' rescuer, I bet you know impressive magic.”

  “Well, yeah, but . . . I can't perform! I'm a warrior, not a stage actor!”

  Basilard whacked the back of his head. “You're not a warrior, you're a mercenary. That means you are whatever the client wants. Understand?”

  “Yes, Daylra.”

  Reluctantly, the battle mage made a spectacle of himself. Meanwhile, the healer served apple pie, poured meat soda, and made small talk, while the fighter was banished to the kitchen after she called a fox a raccoon.

  With mana bolts, Eric displayed his power. With fire, ice, and lightning, he demonstrated his might. At last, he proved his mastery of night and day. The customers were not impressed. All of them could do the first, most could do the second, and they were annoyed by the third. Any ideas?

  Normally I would not debase myself to participate in such a mockery of magic, but your laughable attempts to impress have compelled me to act. Do as I say:

  Eric created a white sphere in one hand and a dark sphere in the other then clapped his hands together. Made from contrasting elements, the spheres both resisted and melded each other. He forced the merge and a small shockwave flew through the room, knocking over glasses and rocking chairs. Instead of a grey sphere, he held a dull gold one. The audience watched, waiting.

  Eric dropped the sphere and on contact with the floor, it shattered into light of infinitely many and constantly shifting colors. The room became a void hosting them alone. They surged over the audience's head and by their feet. I've seen this before . . . All at once, they disappeared.

  The audience stood, applauded, and called for an encore. He was only too happy to oblige. This time he added theatrical movements like the magician he saw at—the tunnel! It's the same! Is this the same power that brought me here?

  He bowed. “Thank you! Thank you! I'll be here until dinner.”

  All of a sudden, he wasn't. He couldn't see his teammates, or Annala, or the restaurant. The world was black. Am I going back to Threa? Color painted the darkness and solidified into the lobby of the Dragon's Lair. Mia was in front of him and the intensity of the relief she brought shocked him.

  “Of course, we have plenty of martial art instructors. Do you have one in mind, Princess?”

  Kasile's here? . . . So it's another mind synch . . . I wish I could figure it out . . ..

  “You flatter me,” said a voice that was not Kasile‘s. “But I'm not her.”

  “The voice is all right, but the outfit is all wrong!” Somehow, Mia sounded perky even when scolding. “There's no point in using an obvious disguise.”

  She pulled a hat off Eric's head. “Really, Princess, why would a nomad come to a warrior guild for martial art lessons? Up north, girls are taught by their own fathers.” She spun the hat on her finger. “It's a tradition to lower the rate of longbow weddings.”

  “It fooled the guards . . .” Kasile's voice said.

  “Then your guards are stupid-heads.” Mia giggled. She glided to the rear wall and pressed a button. “Oh, Laa-hharrggg! I have a job for yoooouuu!” She glided back to her desk.

  A mountain of muscle carrying a battle-ax in one hand and a drumstick in the other appeared in the doorway. He towered over Kasile; she didn't reach his chest. Then a small girl with wings climbed over his shoulder and waved.

  “Hello!”

  “And you are?”

  “Malize! I'm his second head. You know, like 'right hand.'”

  Laharg stuck the drumstick in her mouth. “You'll have to get used to her nonsense. She spouts it all the time.”

  Malize pulled it out and shouted in his ear. “It makes perfect sense and you know it!”

  The world began to shake and the image of the Laharg began to blur. The shaking grew and the guild's lobby became fuzzy and indistinct. Finally, everything crashed and Eric's head exploded in pain.

  The mage blinked and his vision cleared. He was lying on his back and Tiza and Annala were standing over him; the former smug and the latter worried. He pieced the event together: Annala was shaking him awake and Tiza decided to shove him awake.

  He rubbed the bump on his head. “That was . . . astral projection! I must thank my lovely assistants for bringing me back. Let's give them a big hand!”

  He clapped and the audience joined him. Annala took a bow, but Tiza glared. It probably wasn't a good idea to call her 'lovely.' The only thing that saved him was the manager. She told the fighter to behave and go back to the kitchen. Tiza bared her teeth and attacked her.

  Quick thinking from Eric trapped her in a barrier. She punched, kicked, and screamed even louder. The barrier shook and cracked. Eric grimaced; it was going to break! Her eyes glowed sea blue and the barrier shattered in countless pieces. Breathing heavily, she snarled at the manager.

  “GDL . . . DIE!”

  She lunged. Basilard grabbed her arm and pulled her into a tight hug. Tiza thrashed and struck, but he endured it all, murmured in her ear, and she calmed down.

  “Daylra . . .” Nolien murmured. “Was that—”

  “You have a job to do,” Basilard said. He looked only at Tiza. “Do it.”

  “Yes, Daylra.”

  The audience was perplexed. Some were leaving their seats. Eric reclaimed their attention with a light sphere exploding over the entrance. “And that, ladies and gentleman . . . was a berserker spell! Yeah . . . we use it to buff her in tough battles . . . don't we, Nolien?”

  “Oh yes,” the healer said confidently. “Our mana stimulates her nervous system to boost her adrenaline and endorphin levels which increases her strength and resistance to pain.”

  Hesitantly, the customers returned to their seats and continued eating and watching. Without more than an “excuse us” to the manager, Basilard escorted Tiza out.

  Customers came and went and the day continued as normal. Annala smiled at Eric as she passed and he thought it outshined his current act; illuminating his staff and performing a battle dance with it. Nolien approached a table near the stage and asked for the customer's drinks.

  “You and Annala seem close.”

  “Yeah . . .” Eric said.

  “She seems like a nice girl and a good friend.”

  “Yeah . . .” Eric said again.

  “They say boys and girls can't be 'just' friends, am I right?”

  “Yeah . . .” That's how his older brother explained a new girlfriend every month.

  Nolien gave the day's special to the customers. “So you and Annala are a couple?”

  “Yea-what!?” Eric said. He lost his grip on his staff and it dropped on his foot. He groaned in pain and hopped. His audience laughed and he flushed in embarrassment.

  “You might want to hang onto that,” Nolien said. “Oak is pretty heavy.” Eric glared at his back until he disappeared into the kitchen.

  When the restaurant closed, Team Four regrouped for their next mission. Annala was afraid Motsuc would be closed too, but Eric reassured her that the store was also his home and workshop. Then he added his doubts about Motsuc ever leaving his shop because he was pale as a ghost. Annala giggled, Tiza teased, and Basilard bonked her on the head.

  The commotion from the back room sounded precisely the same as the last time he was here. Though he meant it as a joke, maybe Motsuc really didn't leave his shop . . . A slap of clay crashed to their feet and a body swung into Eric's face. He screamed and whacked it.

  “I'm sorry,” the skeleton said as it swung. “I am closed right now. Please come back tomorrow during regular business hours.“

  Tiza grabbed the thing and held it steady. “Don't worry, Dimwit,” She knocked on the face. “It's plastic.” Then her face contorted into a smirk. “And that was a very manly scream just now.”

  “What do you think?” Motsuc asked, his head halfway out of the backroom door.

  “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

  “Oh good! My cl
ients are going to love it!”

  Basilard stepped forward. “We are here on business.”

  “Splendid! What can I do for you?”

  Basilard explained why they came and gestured to Annala. Motsuc's eyes focused on her and became wide as saucers. For a moment he froze. He didn't speak, move, or even blink. At last, he stepped out of the doorway.

  “Well . . .um . . .let me see what I can do . . .” With shaky fingers, he took a magnifying glass from a shelf. “If you would just . . . hold the runed item out for me to see . . .” Annala held out the gloves and Motsuc examined them. “I see . . . anything else?” Annala pointed to the collar and then to her stockings.

  “Where did you get these?” Motsuc asked.

  “A piece of shit!” Motsuc cowered before her rage but none were more surprised than Eric. He'd never heard her swear before. “Can you remove them or not?”

  “I can! No worries! I can.”

  Motsuc backed away from Annala, but didn't turn his back. He replaced the magnifying glass on the shelf and selected a new device. This one was a hammer with suppression runes up and down the handle. Etched into the head was an image of a single eye with a wide and piercing stare. Eric recognized it as the symbol of Order. The rune must work by drawing on him for power.

  “Hold still and I'll depower the rune.”

  The hammer's head glowed with a colorless light, which distorted the surrounding space. It IS invoking Order's power . . .which would explain why Dengel thought the rune couldn't be removed . . .He didn't know a tool could do this.

  Annala fidgeted, but held still nonetheless. The rune appeared as the hammer drew close and pulsed like a heart. The beats quickened as the head was laid on top of it. Then they slowed and the circle faded. Eric felt like he watched something die.

  That is the power of Order. It drains the energy that supports all life and seeks to control its Source. It is a disgusting and blasphemous power.

  Just thinking of that rune as an elf or human makes my skin crawl.

  A dried husk, yes. However, it is a 'necessary evil' to preserve Noitaerc.

  Annala was overjoyed. She ripped the collar off and instantly a mana sphere appeared in her hand. The sphere became water, then mana again; fire, and then mana; wind, and mana one final time before it vanished. Her smile reached both ears and she threw her arms around Eric's neck.

  Tiza opened her mouth. “Tiza, not a word.” Her mouth closed, her arms crossed, and she humphed. Annala's happiness grew with each charmed cloth she tore off.

  “That'll be twenty-five gold, please.”

  “I'll pay for it,” Eric said. “You shouldn't have to when you already suffered so much.”

  “No, I'll do it,” Annala said. “It was my fault.”

  “What's a little gold between friends?”

  “Eric, I'm flattered, but I've put you through enough trouble.”

  “It's no troub—”

  “Thank you for your business, ma'am.”

  Tiza put her coin bag away. “What? You stole the last toenail, so now we're even.”

  “Are you a novice mercenary?” Motsuc asked Tiza. He was relaxed now that Annala had stuffed the five items away and no one wanted to talk about them.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “How would you like to work here over the summer? All you have to do is stand at the front desk and take customer's orders. I'll pay you—”

  “I'll pass. I'll be too busy with guild missions.”

  “Actually, you won't,” Basilard said, “Novice levels jobs are sparse in the summer because school is out. Students compete for jobs that novices do over the school year. I'd take it if I were you; you might learn something about forging.”

  “How would you know?” Tiza asked.

  The thirty-something-year-old smiled fondly. “When I was your age, it was my job.” The kids looked from Basilard to Motsuc and back again; they looked the same age.

  “One of my ancestors was a demon. I don't have his fur, but I do have his longevity.”

  “All right. I'll take you up on that job.”

  “Great! I hope you're not as clumsy as Basilard . . .” He trailed off when Basilard gave him a cold look. “Wasn't! Anyone can drop a wrench once or twice.”

  “Team, let's go before I get an urge to ask Motsuc where he got these items.”

  Motsuc gulped. “I assure you I run a legitimate business!”

  “Relax, Motsuc. I do not care what you buy or sell. Unless of course, someone pays me to care.”

  “That day will never come.”

  “I hope not.” Basilard said. “I don't want you setting a bad example for my students.”

  Nolien congratulated Tiza for finding employment in the same manner she found correct paths. She swatted him; he ducked and said he foresaw the swipe just like he foresaw the mission slump and so secured a position at Roalt's branch of the Silver Dragon Orphanage. Basilard almost knocked Nolien off his feet with a congratulatory back slap, for which Tiza mocked him. Still hanging off his arm, Annala asked Eric to work at Across the Sea.

  Back on Threa, he had practiced sleight of hand, but always choked, bungled the trick and got heckled. One time they threw rotten tomatoes at him. This time it was his job and he knew real magic. Whenever he got nervous, he'd remember that an audience wasn't as bad as giant scorpions or monster wolves. It had been fun and the applause wasn't too bad either. He told Annala he'd apply the next day.

  Alf and Meg lay at the guild's entrance in a tangled and moaning heap. When one tried, weakly, to move the other, just as weakly, pulled them back down. Annala backed away uneasily and said goodbye to Team Four.

  “So who won?” Basilard asked seriously.

  “I did . . .” Basilard chuckled and began a healing spell. The pair begged him not to as they were having a “Who Can Get Up First” contest. Basilard shrugged and stepped over them.

  “Will they be all right?”

  “They'll be fine.”

  They entered the lobby and made their report to Mia. Since his own novices had summer jobs, Basilard told her to give future missions to another team. She recorded that in the guild's database and reported that Princess Kasile requested Eric's presence at the palace tomorrow.

  The mercenary was allowed through the curtain wall without argument. They had orders to let someone of his name and description in, no questions asked, by the princess herself. They didn't even insist he have an escort.

  The title of “Princess Rescuer” might have raised his stock, but the ambiance was still far from welcoming. The last time he came, it was for a job and he was treated like riffraff. Now he was here as a guest and treated like a germ. Two guards stood at Kasile's door and announced his presence.

  A princess cleaned and polished by a corps of handmaidens opened the door. She looked just as royal as the day they met, but unlike then, he wasn't dazzled by her beauty. They were too familiar for that. Instead of a princess, he saw a friend.

  The princess penthouse was decorated in shades of red and pink and gold. From her bed to her vanity to her bookshelf, the style of fire dominated. The princess sat at a table molded like an open flame and prepared with tea and biscuits.

  Hands in her lap she said, “Eric, I wanted to thank you again for all you've done for me.”

  Eric slipped into the opposite seat. “You don't have to keep thanking me. We're friends.”

  “I know, but thanking is all I can do. Father wouldn't agree on a reward . . .”

  “It's okay, Kasile, you don't need to feel bad about it.”

  Flames in her eyes, she politely asked, “Are you feeling my emotions again?”

  “I can't help it! It feels like a cold draft.”

  “To business . . .” Kasile ran a gloved hand through her hair. “I didn't invite you just to thank you again. I want you to compete in the New Scepter Magic Competition.”

  “The what?”

  “A week-long contest for mages under twenty-one years of age,” Kasile expl
ained. “It is supposed to be open to everyone, but there are still rules that weed out anyone not enrolled at the Royal Academy of Magical Study.” She grinned like a trickster. “As a royal myself, I can bypass all those horrible pretexts and recommend someone.”

  Eric deadpanned, “So I'm a tool in your latest political protest?”

  “Eric! How could you say such a thing!?” Kasile placed her hand over her heart. “I would never call you a tool!” The grin returned. “You're my co-conspirator.”

  “Tomeytoh, tomahtoh.”

  “We're friends and friends help each other.”

  Eric stood up. “As much as I'd love to get tangled up in your political conquests, I'm going to work at the Across the Sea restaurant so I won't have time for them.”

  Kasile raised her cup. “Royal tutors are paid better.”

  Eric pushed his chair in. “Was the old one a murderer? I killed an Ataidar citizen the other day. I can still see his blood on my hands. ”

  “Not a problem.” She sipped her tea. “Your advocate already contacted the Knight of Justice and presented your case to him. He agrees that you shouldn't have to appear in court. If, for some reason, you do . . . I might have a few things to say.”

  Eric slouched. “You don't take 'no' for an answer, do you?”

  Kasile smiled charmingly. “That's how I was raised.”

  This is a historic moment. I'm being strong-armed into a job. “Well, then, I guess I will accept the position of your magic tutor.”

  “Great!” Kasile clapped her gloved hands together. “I'd like to start with barriers . . .”

  Just like with mana spheres, she was a quick study and formed her first one within an hour. Not only that, Eric couldn't break it no matter how hard he punched or kicked. Dengel was absolutely ecstatic at this turn of events. He lectured (not bragged) about his elevated role as an imperial tutor in ages past and how delighted he was to be one again. Eric reminded the dead mage that he was the one teaching. Furious, the tenant dared him to teach fireballs.