In a panic, he asked Dengel for a teleportation spell. The dead mage replied that even if he could teach the basics of teleportation in the next ten seconds, Eric had a better chance of killing the soldiers single-handed than coming out of a teleport in one piece. He then lectured on the dangers of teleporting and forgot Eric was there.
You're no help at all!
Fear creeped up from his feet and consumed his whole being. His heart pounded and his mind raced from one idea to another. Useless! All of th—
CRASH!
His front door collided with the floor and the soldiers swarmed like so many ants. Within moments, he was surrounded. One stepped forward and withdrew a scroll.
“Eric Watley, Squad Three Novice of the Dragon's Lair, you are formally charged with the following crimes: accomplice to kidnapping, obstruction of justice, breaking and entering, murder in the first degree, brainwashing of the crown princess, and conspiracy to overthrow the government. Come quietly or we will use force.”
Chapter 20 Who Needs Who?
“I want to see my advocate!”
“You will.” The leader held a pair of handcuffs. “Your fellows are being arrested as we speak.”
No back up . . . Eric chanted under his breath. If this didn't work, he was finished. He spoke the final words, but the blinding light wasn't his flare spell. The blue haze was a barrage of mana bolts.
They pounded him one after another and shredded his barrier. Over and over and over until he collapsed, barely conscious. A wave of searing pain woke him up. Someone was holding his staff! He wanted to retch and scream at the same time. The power of his evil eye put the soldier into shock and she let go. One pulled her away and the rest pounced.
Three pinned him while another two held his staff in place with their boots and two more wrenched it from his gasp with metal pliers. They cuffed them, tethered his ankles, and fixed a soul-biting collar on his neck. Eric couldn't feel his mana. It was gone; cut off. Dengel's warning echoed in his mind. “The most dangerous situation for a mage is to lose their magecraft.”
“I apologize for my subordinate's action,” the Leader said. “She's new and doesn't understand how the Staff Taboo is accommodated by our code of ethics.”
“Noobs never read the bloody manual,” another concurred.
“She will be punished later, and if you like, I will order her to apologize.” Noting his confused look, the leader continued, “Yes, even in cases such as this the taboo is given the highest respect.”
One of the many bags of junk stirred. A hand shot out and grabbed his staff. Eric gasped but didn't feel pain. The hand pulled his staff into the bag and vanished. A soldier grabbed the bag and shook it upside down. Nothing came out. He stuck his hand in but felt only the bottom. In frustration, he threw it on the floor, stomped on it, and walked away. The hand reappeared and pulled his leg out from under him. The hand twiddled their fingers and disappeared again.
Now furious, he kicked Eric. “Where is it!?”
“I don't know.” The soldier kicked him again, and he was whacked upside the head by the leader.
“Do that again and your punishment will be termination and jail time instead of two month's toilet cleaning and two fifty-gold fines.”
“But the princess! This guy corrupted her mind! He deserves it!”
“What he deserves is due process.” He hauled Eric to his feet marched him outside. “Again, I must apologize. However, you more than anyone else should know how much we adore our princess. I myself would like to castrate you.” Eric gulped. “Fortunately for both of us, that is against the code of ethics and so I will restrain myself.”
Forming a circle, the soldiers pushed him across Cutlass Bridge and towards Royal Town. The curtain wall guard glared at him. Everyone in Royal Town did. News spreads fast I guess . . . The guards at the castle entrance looked mad enough to kill him.
A long and twisting stairway separated the castle's ground floor from its dungeon. The tunnels were lit only by light stones. Eric could see nothing but soldiers as they pushed him ever downwards. The cold air bit his lungs. In minutes, his shackles felt like knives and stabbed him when he shivered. Gloom and depression flanked him as completely as the soldiers.
At the entrance to the dungeon, the image of a human held over a pit of fire was engraved on the door. Flames decorated the cell room in torch light and horrific reliefs. Runes were carved into every surface: anti-magic runes, surveillance runes, restraint runes, sealing runes and more he didn't recognize. Kasile was already in one when Eric was shoved in his. The tether on his ankles snapped shut and anchored to the middle of the cell.
“Your trial will begin tomorrow,” the Leader said. “Try to get a good night's sleep.”
The soldiers left in single file. The door closed and locked. His rage erupted.
“You just had to hurry, didn't you!? You promised you'd wait for me! You promised! But that's what politicians do, isn't it? Empty promises!”
“You don't know what you're talking about . . .” Kasile said softly.
“What was that!?” Eric shouted again and pulled on his restraints. “I can't hear you over the rattle of my chains!”
Kasile rolled to face him. “I said, 'you don't know what you're talking about'! You have no i—”
“Oh poor princess! Poor misunderstood princess!”
“Stop it!”
“Poor paranoid princess!”
“Now you're gonna get it!” Kasile rolled into a ball, tucked her feet underneath her, lunged, and fell flat on her face. For which Eric jeered her and for which she glared murderously. “Do you have any idea what growing up was like for me!?” Eric opened his mouth. “Shut it! I'm talking!
“For as long as I can remember, I knew of the Royal Trial. I was to be Ataidar leader and savior! Do you have any idea what that's like? Knowing that at any time a mysterious disaster would strike and you were the one expected to fix it!?”
“Then why did you need me, a novice mercenary, to teach you magecraft!?”
“Because the better ones were turned away. My father thought mercenary magic was beneath my royal dignity. Why do you think I lied on CV and told everyone my instructor was from the royal guard!? Why do you think I had to sneak out for lessons with Laharg!?”
“You still should have waited for me.”
“Just for the sake of argument, let's say that I did call for your help? What then? You would have been captured just as I was! You would only have made me look more suspicious!”
“You don't know that! I would have thought of something!”
“Like what?!”
“Like . . .like . . .a . . .”
“Ohh! Did you figure that out all by yourself?”
Eric growled and fumbled for a comeback. After failing, he simply rolled away from her; the wall was a better view anyway. He could feel the self-satisfaction radiating off her. It made him want to scream, so he did. He was shackled in a dungeon, accused of sedition, and awaiting trial. What dignity did he have left to lose?
“What's your problem?”
“I didn't want this! I didn't want to be a mercenary or your puppet! I just wanted to get by! Instead, I'm about to be tortured!” He rolled on his back and shouted at the ceiling. “Tasio! Get down here! Send me back to Threa! I don't want your help anymore!”
“You're abandoning me?!”
“Yes, Your Highness, I am. Ever since you hired me for the Joust, it's been one disaster after another! My best friend died, my mentor almost did, I crossed a desert on foot, I slipped in knee-deep sewage, the entire city hates me, and now THIS!”
Eric shook his chains. Kasile was silent. He was about to declare victory when she spoke up.
“I didn't hire you.”
Silence. I was sure it . . . He thought she hired them as some political stunt. It doesn't matter anymore . . . All he cared about now was getting out of this cell and back home; back to Threa; where he was jobless and soon homeless. As pitiful as it was, it was b
etter than being in a dungeon. He called out again and realization hit like an atomic bomb.
He tricked me! Tasio was a trickster and this was his trick. He was never going to help Eric; that's why he had been missing this whole time! He had been watching Eric's strife as twisted entertainment. This must be his favorite part . . . when the puppet realizes he has strings.
“You should have waited! At least to tell me your plan! I could've told you how stupid it was!”
“It made sense and you know it!” Kasile retorted. “I had to move quickly or that ambassador would have made himself into a viceroy and Ataidar a colony nation!”
“Parrrraaaannooiiiiddddd.”
“Well, mercenary, let me make this relevant to you: your guild is history. Now that I think about it, Dragon's Cult is more accurate. They knew I couldn't resist mending a broken bird . . . I can't believe I broke up with Siron for a honey trap . . .” She trailed off, muttering dark things.
Once again, silence reigned in the dungeon.
Horrible thoughts festered in Eric's mind: led by a charismatic leader, their own ideology, living near the main building, whole families were part of it. Basilard never did tell him how to promote. Maybe swallow enough brainwashing.
The darkness in his cell was surpassed only by the growing darkness in his heart. All his memories of the guild were twisted and warped. Every smile hid a scowl, every kind gesture was a deception, all the talk of family and unity was a lie. His picture of the Dragon's Lair, so noble and inspiring, was remade into something ugly and disgusting. Eric cried. All his anger was gone, spent, and in its place was a void.
Might as well make the most of the situation.
What could possibly be good about this situation?
Why are you asking me? Dengel asked in return.
Didn't you just—
He heard voices. He saw movements. A shadow darker than the gloom of the cell loomed above him. Stirrings in his heart reached out. Rest . . . Dark-Half-Of-The-Chosen . . .a new land awaits . . .
Go away! I refuse to die! . . . Again! Dengel shouted.
What can I do? What can you or anyone else do? The shadow loomed larger. Neither of us can use magic. For all your power, a single rune stops you cold. The shadow loomed larger still.
Ever since he learned to control his mana, he felt it coursing through him. It gave him confidence. It was a power he could pull from within himself, but now it was gone. There's no point in struggling . . . Inky black trailed from the shadow to his heart. I was a failure before and I'm a failure now. I'm so pathetic even the soul of a legendary mage can't redeem me. A voice cackled with glee.
The lock clicked and the knob turned. Is it tomorrow already?
The door swung open and light stones illuminated the cellblock, but the mundane light failed to dispel the looming shadow. A boy in sleek body armor moved silently towards the prisoners. A longsword and heater shield were strapped to his back, but it was the silver hair that caught Eric's attention. Even in Tariatla, silver hair was rare.
Kasile perked up at the sight of him. “Siron?”
The boy knelt before her and said, “Yes, Your Highness, it is I.”
“Don't call me that . . . the king must have disowned me by now.”
“I hope to relieve you of your sorrow, Your Highness, but to do so I must speak with the mercenary.” He stood and turned to the room second inmate. The shadow made him double take but it raised a tendril to its mouth in a hushing gesture.
“M-Mercenary Watley, one week ago I asked how you found Her Highness's captors and you gave me a cryptic answer. Do you have anything to tell me now?”
Eric broke his promise and told Siron everything: his tenant, the Kyraan healer's offer and how he and Dengel found Kasile. Siron waited politely and when Eric was finished, he asked serious questions for clarification. Then he paused.
“That is a fascinating story, Mercenary Watley and I will believe you if you have proof.”
Dengel, how do I prove that you're in me?
Yes, that is the question. Any knowledge I could give you, that he would know, you could have found yourself. However, I do know of one guaranteed way.
What?
You must give me full control.
NO! That is the one thing she told me NEVER to do!
Why should you care about losing your body? You are about to lose your life.
Touché . . . I, Eric Watley, give you full control over my body.
The bottom of his mind dropped out from beneath him and he fell from the control room to the basement. If I'm falling in my mind, why does crashing hurt so much . . .? A great force rushed from below him and soared above his metaphorical head. He tried to move his hands, legs, or head. So this is what it's like to be paralyzed . . .
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Eric's mouth said. “I am the Greater Mage who sacked nations. I am the Sage who codified the art of Magecraft. I am the Scholar to whom all others are students. I am Dengel Tymh. If you doubt my words, then look into my eyes.”
Siron inhaled sharply. His pupils dilated, his body tensed, and he stared at Eric unblinkingly. Just as suddenly, he thawed and fell to both knees, shaking violently.
What did you do to him!?
I gave him the proof he wanted: the bulk of my spiritual power. It is much greater than yours or any normal human's, for that matter.
“T-truly y-you are, t-the legend-d-ary m-mage,” Siron said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. After several rounds, his shaking stopped and he stood up. “There are only a handful of people in all of Tariatla who possess such vast spiritual might.”
“I traveled with all them,” said Dengel with pride.
“Indeed. Greater Mage Tymh, in times less urgent and violent, I would like to speak with you at length. You could solve a number of academic debates.”
“I would love to. Now explain the situation.”
“Of course, sir,” Siron turned once more to Kasile and knelt. “Your Highness is a better detective than the ambassador from Ceiha gave you credit for.”
“But I was wrong.”
“Not necessarily. There is a plot to take over Ataidar, but Ceiha is not the mastermind. The ambassador is pawn for the real one.”
Hope returned to Kasile's eyes. “You mean . . . the ambassador was bait?”
“Yes, Your Highness. The true mastermind knew you would pounce on a perceived threat to Ataidar because Your Highness is so dedicated to this country.”
Fire rekindled, her eyes narrowed. “Who is this mastermind?
“They . . .they are . . .” Siron paused. “The real conductor of this deceit is . . .” Siron paused again. He gulped. “ . . . my father; Duke Selen of House Esrah.”
Kasile closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. “ . . .Of course . . .of course . . .He was leading me all this time . . .” Her fists clenched and she jerked in her chains. “He played me like a violin!”
“I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness; I will beg a thousand times though it will never be enough. Neither of us deserves it.”
“Your father doesn't!” Kasile spat. “But you have done nothing that needs forgiving.”
Will someone tell me what's going on!? Eric asked. Oh yeah . . .Uh Dengel? Could you ask them? The undead mage complied, but not before telling Eric that he'd already figured it out.
“Duke Esrah was invaluable to the investigation of my kidnapping,” Kasile said, “When I was looking into the Joust, he gave me the wire cutters. He helped me track the movements of guards and locate the meaning of that obscure rune on my father.”
“The king is not controlled by magic,” Siron said. “That 'rune' is a scribble of invisible ink. However, His Majesty has invested a vast degree of confidence in my father. It was he that suggested Your Highness be barred from combat training because it was 'beneath your royal dignity' and from magecraft because when you receive royal magic it would be obsolete and thus a waste.”
He stood up and turned to Dengel. The s
hadow was still there but this time he ignored it. “Mercenary Watley, Greater Mage Tymh, I thank you both for what you have told me. Now I may act with a clear conscience.”
He withdrew a pair of keys and freed Kasile. She thanked him politely and when she stood, her head was held high and her shoulders were back. The sight gladdened Eric. He was still mad at her—very mad—but it was inspiring nonetheless. Siron released Dengel next and the Greater Mage rubbed his neck. Mana resuming its flow was as painful as regaining blood circulation but he welcomed it. Without a word or gesture, he summoned a blazing fire to his hand.
“It is good to be back.” He made a face. “Even as a temp. Hmm . . . My first project shall be to regain my elfin heritage.”
“Wonderful!” Kasile said. “Many have tried, but if anyone can succeed it is you, Greater Mage.”
Eric's eyes looked at her with disdain. “My title is 'Sage,' thank you.” He inspected Siron's armor. “What manner of armor are you wearing? I have not seen the likes of it before.”
“Two thousand years is a long time, Gre-Sage Tymh, and in that time technology has advanced in the arts of smithery and smelting. My armor is neither bronze nor iron, but a metal alloy. It is both lighter and stronger than the armor of your time.”
“I'm more interested in where you got the keys,” Kasile said.
A grin wormed its way across Siron's formal face. “Ah, yes, the keys. Well, your Highness, the guard on duty was doing such an admirable job that I felt he deserved a vacation.” Siron led his companions out of the prison. “To the land of dreams.”
A uniformed man was sprawled on the floor. Kasile knelt to check his pulse.
“We must hurry,” Siron insisted. “When we reveal that so reputable a figure as Dengel Tymh was the force behind Mercenary Watley's rescue of Your Highness, as opposed to a plot within his guild, together with the physical evidence I have gathered, both your names shall be cleared.”
“By the same stroke, yours shall be stained. Why are you helping us?” Dengel asked.
Siron showed him the crest on his shield in response. “My family has stood guard over the royal family for generations beyond count. My ancestral grandfather was the personal bodyguard of Queen Shalidthros herself, his son became the second captain of the Royal Guard, that son's daughter was the personal aide to Queen Shalidthros' grandson in the war of the Mana Storm and that daughter's—”
A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) Page 40