Path of Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  Leaning closer to the window, Alastair tore his attention reluctantly from the circle to focus it on the figure, who was across the room now and appeared to be consulting an open tome on a small table. A tiny reading lamp provided illumination for the tome and revealed the figure to be tall, slim, and male—definitely too slim to be the broad-shouldered Desmond.

  As the unknown man stepped back away from the light, Alastair got a better view of his aura.

  It was a dark red-purple.

  Alastair stared into the room in shock as he realized who the figure was.

  Selby.

  What was Selby doing out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night?

  Or perhaps the more important question was: how was he doing magic?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  For a moment, Alastair’s brain froze. What should he do? Should he confront Selby? Ignore him and go back to the house as if he hadn’t seen anything? Inform Desmond, or at least ask Kerrick what he should do? It seemed quite odd and more than a bit suspicious that Selby would wait until a night when Desmond was away to do…whatever he was doing.

  Alastair leaned in a little closer, pressing his face against the window to get the best view of the circle. Even with magical sight up, he still couldn’t quite make out its purpose. It looked similar to the tracking ritual he’d conducted back at Barrow, but much less sophisticated in design and potent in power. Was Selby trying to find something?

  Selby turned back around to the circle. Before Alastair could pull back, the young man’s gaze traveled across the window, then locked back on it. He frowned, his expression darkening. Then the magical light abruptly fled the circle and Selby was striding toward the door.

  For a moment, Alastair almost spun and sprinted back toward the house. He was fast and could probably make it before Selby caught him.

  But then he stopped. Why should he run? He had every right to be here. He hadn’t done anything wrong—he hadn’t used any magic to spy on Selby (magical sight didn’t count—Desmond had encouraged him to spend time exploring his surroundings to identify how different auras looked). All he’d done was to spot an unusual phenomenon in one of the estate’s outbuildings and investigate it. If anybody was doing anything wrong, it was Selby.

  So he held his position, standing up and facing the angry assistant steward as he came around the corner, glaring.

  “I thought it was you,” Selby said with a sneer. “Sir,” he added after a beat, and it was unlikely he could have infused any more sarcasm into the word.

  Alastair’s heart pounded, but he stood straight. “What were you doing in there?”

  “Is that any of your concern?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  Selby’s sneer didn’t fade. “I suppose you’re going to trot back up to the house like a good little boy and tell Mr. Desmond everything you saw here.”

  “I don’t know,” Alastair said again, keeping his voice even. “I suppose that depends, doesn’t it?”

  “On what?”

  He glanced back toward the house. “On what you were doing.”

  “I don’t have to justify myself to Mr. Desmond’s golden boy,” Selby said. He glanced at his watch. “You’ve missed dinner. Shouldn’t you be up at the house doing homework or something?”

  Anger rose, and Alastair fought to keep it under control. “What is your problem, anyway? I haven’t done anything to you. We barely speak to each other. Why have you got such a problem with me?”

  Selby looked as if he was trying as hard as Alastair to keep his tone civil. “As a part of Mr. Desmond’s staff, I’m required to treat anyone he brings into the house with courtesy,” he said in a tight tone. “But that doesn’t mean I have to stand for having my activities questioned by children.”

  Alastair almost rose to the bait, but caught himself and gave Selby a cold smile instead. “Is that it, then? You’ve got a problem with my age?”

  “I’ve got a lot of problems with you,” he said. “But don’t worry—none of them will affect my work.” He nodded over his shoulder toward the main house. “So, are you going to tattle on me to Mr. Desmond?”

  “As I said before: I don’t know.” Alastair crossed his arms. “Are you going to tell me the truth?”

  “About what?”

  “Does he know you’ve got the Talent?”

  Selby snorted. “Mr. Desmond? Of course.”

  Alastair watched his aura. To his surprise, while it still billowed with anger and frustration, it didn’t budge at his last statement. Desmond had another mage in the house—working as part of the staff, even—and he hadn’t mentioned it? “So why are you doing it out here, then? Why not use the circle in the house?”

  “Because I’m not permitted to.” Selby let his breath out, and some of the anger dissipated from his aura. “Staff is not allowed in Mr. Desmond’s workroom. As you should well know, since he’s got you cleaning it. Only Mr. Desmond, his guests…and his apprentices.” Once again, sarcasm suffused the final word as he looked Alastair up and down with a slow gaze dripping with contempt. “Or reasonable substitutions, anyway.”

  “If that’s supposed to be an insult, it won’t work. I know that’s all I am, at the moment,” Alastair said. He tilted his head, still watching Selby. Keeping magical sight going was starting to give him a dull headache, so he dropped it.

  “Wait a minute...” He remembered something Kerrick had told him. “I’m starting to get it now. You’re from one of those magical families Mr. Desmond employs on his staff, aren’t you? Did you want to apprentice with him? Is that it?”

  It was hard to see Selby clearly in the darkness, but the anger in his carriage was clear as he tensed and stepped forward. For a second, Alastair thought he might attack him. But then the air went out of his posture and he retreated again.

  “Score one for the Boy Wonder. Go on, then—say what you want to say and get it over with. I’ve got to clean up here before I’m needed back at the house.”

  “What do I want to say?” Alastair asked, confused.

  “Have a go at me about being a failure—we can’t all be child prodigies like you, after all, can we?”

  Alastair stared at him, even more confused. “Why would I do that?”

  Selby didn’t answer him. “Are you going to tell Mr. Desmond you found me here?”

  “I told you—that depends on you.”

  “How?”

  “Tell me what you were doing in there. Show me.”

  Some of the old sneer came back. “Why should I?”

  Alastair was getting the impression Selby had issues that had very little to do with him, and he’d just blundered into a minefield he’d never been meant to encounter. “Because,” he said patiently, “I’m not Mr. Desmond’s apprentice. Not yet. I’m on probation. You might not believe it, but I’ve got no real desire to get you in trouble for whatever you’re doing out here. I don’t care what you’re doing—it’s none of my business. But,” he added as Selby started to speak, “there’s no way I’m putting my apprenticeship at risk for somebody I barely know and who seems to hate me for things I didn’t even do. So I guess it’s up to you, isn’t it? Tell me what you’re doing out here, or I will ask Mr. Desmond about it at our next session.”

  Once again, Selby’s eyes glittered and his posture stiffened, and once again he deflated. “Fine,” he said, resigned. “I’ll show you, if you insist. Come on.” He gestured back toward the little house.

  Alastair followed him, wondering briefly if he was making a mistake. If Selby really did have it in for him, and if he was a more talented mage than he was letting on, this could be a potentially bad decision. Hell, Selby was bigger than he was and could probably overpower him physically, if it came to that. These thoughts lasted only a second, though—his curiosity abou
t what the man was doing in there swept them away.

  Selby went in first, paused to light a couple of candles on another table just inside the door, then stepped aside. “There. Take a good look.”

  Alastair stopped just inside the door, where he could get the best view of the room. Selby had pushed the meager furniture against the walls, clearing space for a circle about six feet in diameter. He’d drawn the circle itself with chalk; it included intricate sigils around the outer diameter, with lines radiating out toward crystals and candles he’d placed around the perimeter.

  As Alastair had noted from his glimpse from outside, it was a simplistic thing, but constructed with obvious skill. He’d been wrong about the purpose, though—he could see that now, on closer inspection. He paced around it, examining the sigils with more care and trying to reconcile them with what he’d studied in his theory lessons with Desmond. “This is a...you’re trying to connect with the ley lines, aren’t you?”

  Selby blinked. “Not bad,” he admitted. “Maybe you do live up to some of your reputation after all.”

  Alastair continued studying the circle. Desmond had told him during one of their early lessons that Caventhorne was constructed on land intersected by five ley lines, which made it one of the most magically potent locations in England. This didn’t surprise him—he knew his own house in Surrey was at the confluence of three, which was why things like the wards around the house didn’t require periodic refreshing, and why magical workings done there tended to be more powerful than those in other areas. “I’m not sure I understand why, though. You say Mr. Desmond knows you’re doing this?”

  “He does, yes. And I don’t care if you mention it to him. It’s not a secret. There’s no real why to it—it’s an introductory technique. Mr. Desmond gives me a bit of instruction when he has free time, and I spend some of my time off practicing.” He crossed his arms. “There. Satisfied I’m not trying to summon a Great Old One or something?”

  Alastair nodded. “I’ll go now. Sorry I interrupted you.” He turned toward the door, then turned back. Selby was gathering up the candles and crystals around the outside of the circle. “I’m not your enemy, you know. This whole thing isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me, either. You think I don’t know everyone’s expecting me to fail because of my age? I don’t even know if I’m doing what Mr. Desmond expects—he never tells me how I’m doing. So every day this month, I’m just waiting to see if I do something wrong and he chucks me out on my arse. You glaring at me from the shadows because you’re jealous of something I can’t help isn’t making it any better, and it can’t be much fun for you either. So just—you leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone. Fair enough?”

  Selby’s steady, appraising gaze settled on him for a moment, and then he nodded once. “Fine. Fair enough.” Then he returned his attention to what he was doing.

  Alastair had made it a few steps out into the clearing when Selby called to him. “Mr. Stone?”

  He stopped and turned back. What was it now? “Yes?”

  “You should be careful.”

  “Careful?” Alastair blinked and tensed. That had almost sounded like a threat. “Of what?”

  “Magic.” Selby leaned in the doorway; his pose was casual, but his aura wasn’t. “Just a bit of…friendly advice. Respect it. Never take it for granted.”

  What an odd, sudden thing for him to say. “Er…right. I won’t. I never do.”

  Selby held his gaze for a moment longer, then spun without another word and disappeared back into the little building, leaving Alastair to regard the space he’d just occupied with confusion.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next morning, he showed up as usual for his lesson. Desmond was waiting for him when he got there. “Did you do as I instructed yesterday, Mr. Stone?”

  “I went into town, yes.”

  “No studies?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you enjoy your break?” Desmond directed gestures at various books and reagents, settling them neatly on the table in front of him.

  Alastair thought about his time with Madeleine Hill. He’d enjoyed chatting with her, but he had no illusions that anything further would come of it. He wondered what it would be like to have a girlfriend, like most guys his age did. It was a remote concept, sort of like wondering what it would be like to live at the bottom of the sea. “Honestly, sir—I think I’d rather have stayed here and worked on my magical studies.”

  “Oh?” Desmond’s eyebrows rose.

  “Well—it was good to get some exercise, and I met a girl at a chip shop and we chatted for a bit. But my mind kept going back to magic.”

  Desmond didn’t seem disturbed by this. “Mr. Stone, your devotion to the Art is admirable, and I certainly understand how you want to focus on it to the exclusion of all else, especially during this probationary period. But learning to clear your mind of distractions is a vital part of magical training. Especially if you want to reach the highest levels of skill.”

  Easy for him to say—his position was secure, and he didn’t have to worry about what might happen if he let his mind wander too far from the areas he was supposed to be concentrating on. Last night, for example, his dreams had been decidedly non-magical in nature, having a lot more to do with Madeleine Hill than constructing ritual circles. “Yes, sir,” was all he said.

  “Good. If you pass your probationary period, I will expect you to allow time in your schedule for such breaks. You won’t have a great deal of time for recreation, so you’ll need to make the best of what you do have. Now let’s begin today’s lesson.”

  To Alastair’s disappointment, Desmond didn’t teach him any new techniques today. Instead, his master focused the first part of the lesson on refining the telekinesis spell so he could begin both to lift heavier objects and to exhibit greater control over them. The second half was devoted to work on the massive circle in the middle of the workroom, as Desmond stood back and watched while he attempted to set up a ritual designed to aid his concentration, using nothing but what he could find in the books in his library.

  By the end of the session he’d barely begun the actual construction of the circle; he’d spent most of his time running back and forth to his bookshelves, trying to find the correct references to show him what he needed to do.

  As usual, Desmond didn’t seem bothered. “Your homework before this evening,” he said, “is to continue consulting your reference books to finish as much of this as you can for our next session. As a more ongoing project, I want you to practice the telekinetic spell. Try lifting different things of increasing weight, holding them aloft as long as you can, and moving them around. It will be tiring. It will probably be painful. But this sort of thing is similar to training physical muscles. You have the ability, but you’ll never progress if you abandon your efforts when they become difficult. Do you understand?”

  That was definitely Desmond’s pet phrase, Alastair had decided a while ago. “Yes, sir.”

  Desmond didn’t turn to leave yet. “Mr. Stone?”

  “Yes, sir?” Alastair had been about to head back to the bookshelf; he stopped and waited.

  “You’ve seemed distracted about something today. Is your mind perhaps on something other than the lesson?”

  Damn. That was one unfortunate thing about learning magic—and especially about learning it from somebody as good at it as Desmond. He wondered if that was why his master hadn’t taught him to conceal his aura yet: so he could keep an eye on it for potential problems.

  For a moment he didn’t answer, but then he let his breath out. “I…suppose it is, sir.”

  “Would you care to tell me what it is? Did something happen during your time in the village yesterday?”

  “No, sir…not exactly. It was actually on my way back.” He paced, feeling stuck between two equally undesirable
courses of action. Despite Selby’s surly personality, Alastair didn’t want to get him in trouble. But even more than that, he hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Selby there was no way he’d put his potential apprenticeship with Desmond at risk by withholding information from his master.

  He brought his gaze up to meet Desmond’s. “As I returned last night, I was scanning the grounds with magical sight, and I spotted something odd—a sort of glow coming from one of the outbuildings. When I investigated, I discovered Selby there, setting up a magical circle—and actually making it work. He told me you were aware of it.”

  Desmond’s expression didn’t change. “I am.”

  “Right.” Alastair shelved a book and looked away. “Then it’s none of my business, I suppose.”

  When Desmond didn’t reply, Alastair turned back around. The man was watching him intently; he wasn’t sure if Desmond was simply scanning his aura or trying to read his mind. As far as he knew, mages couldn’t read minds—but Desmond did seem to break quite a few of the established molds. “Sir?”

  Desmond remained silent for a moment longer, then waved Alastair toward a chair. “Sit down, Mr. Stone.”

  Alastair did as he was told, perching on the edge of the hard-backed wooden chair. He waited.

  Now it was Desmond’s turn to pace. “You are curious about Selby.”

  He couldn’t exactly deny it. “Well…yes, sir. But I assumed it wasn’t my concern, or you’d have mentioned it before.”

  “I didn’t mention it before because he prefers to keep his magical abilities to himself, and I respect his request. But now that you’ve discovered the truth, I think it best that you know the whole story. I despise rumors and half-truths—nothing more quickly upsets a smoothly running system.”