by Kris A Hiatt
“What’s the meeting about?” Kint asked, still standing in his doorway.
“I’m not at liberty to say, sir,” Moff replied, trying to sound sheepish. Judging by Kint’s question, Moff guessed no one else had been here to talk to him yet. While he thought that was a good thing, he really had no idea what else to say.
“Then I’m not at liberty to go,” Kint told him. He took a step back and started to close the door.
“Wait!” Moff said loudly. “The trade between the two cities has nearly stopped.”
“I know that, but go on,” Kint bade him, not opening the door any further.
“There’s a meeting between the two barons to discuss trade options. That meeting is at the College. If Shamir were to have former members of the College at his side during the negotiations, he might have the upper hand should the College have any say,” Moff explained. He didn’t know what Shamir wanted with the former magisters, but at least he thought the story he came up with sounded reasonable. He hoped he could get Kint talking and perhaps he could gain some insight on the subject.
“Why would the College have any say regarding the trade between the cities?”
“I can’t answer that, sir. Not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I don’t know,” Moff said, again using his sheepish tone.
“Why me? It’s been close to thirty years since I taught there.”
“Rumor has it that you were one of their best instructors before you decided to retire,” Moff told him. He had heard of no such rumor, but flattery usually worked on people.
“Uh huh, sure you did.”
Even though Kint rolled his eyes slightly when he said it, Moff could tell his comment had worked. The corner of Kint’s mouth turned up slightly in a smile.
“I’m sure their Archmagister could still use someone like you,” Moff stated, trying to keep the flattery going.
“Ha! And I’m sure you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground either,” Kint argued. Any hint of a smile gone from his face.
“I mean, sure, it’s been many years, but I’m sure you’ve still got some talent left in you,” Moff countered, realizing he had somehow hit a nerve.
“Some? Some talent?” Kint asked incredulously. “I’ve got more talent than anyone in that College.”
“That’s quite a boast.”
“Not a boast if it’s true.”
“Can you prove it?” Moff asked. He was curious, but didn’t expect much.
“As if a snot-nosed kid like you would know what magic is,” Kint spat.
“I was a member of the College for a few years,” Moff dared to say.
“A few years? See, you couldn’t cut it,” Kint told him. “Like I said, you wouldn’t know what magic is anyway.”
“While I wasn’t successful, I know what the Paths are and what they entail,” Moff argued, slightly hurt.
“You may know the names of the Paths, but you do not, I repeat, do not know what they entail,” Kint said forcefully.
“So, again I say prove it. Shamir can only take two guests with him. He will only take the strongest magic users with him. Are you strong enough to be one of them?”
“The strongest,” Kint assured him without hesitation.
Moff shrugged his shoulders as if it didn’t matter. In truth, for some reason he believed the old man. Not necessarily that he was the strongest, but that Kint certainly believed that he was.
“Fine,” the old man muttered. “I’ll play the game, though I don’t know why. It’s not like I have anything to prove.”
To Moff it seemed like Kint was talking to himself more than anything, so he kept silent and watched as the old man walked off the porch and to a nearby tree.
“You know Path of Fire, right?” Kint asked, barely looking over his shoulder.
“Of course.”
“You don’t know this,” Kint boasted, placing his hand against the tree.
After only a few seconds, Moff watched as Kint’s hand turned bright red. Tendrils of smoke began to filter out between his fingers. Kint’s hand reminded Moff of the fires of the forge he saw Treace work at in Kilindric. Kint let his hand rest on the tree for several seconds before removing it. Once removed, the burned handprint on the tree was clearly visible. It smoldered and the wisps of smoke were carried off by the breeze.
“Nicely done,” Moff admitted. He knew finding The Calm that quickly wasn’t typical and was impressed by it. But, he had seen Treace fall quickly toward it and guessed it wasn’t that unheard of. But he had never seen anyone’s hand grow so bright. He wasn’t going to tell Kint that, though.
The old man didn’t move a muscle and his face had gone slack.
“Kint?” Moff asked cautiously. He didn’t believe it. Did the old man just stone-face himself?
“Kint, are you all right?” Moff questioned. He guessed that this was a wasted trip. The poor old fool had stone-faced himself.
“Ha! Got ya!” Kint erupted, breaking his façade and smiling broadly.
Moff wanted to slap the old idiot. “You old bastard!”
“The look on your face!” Kint howled. “I love doing that!”
“Ass,” was all Moff could say. The old man surely fooled him with that one. Moffred pictured Kint doing that to his students when he used to teach at the College.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Kint asked, looking at the tree with beaming eyes.
Moff was more impressed with his acting skills than anything, but yet he had never seen someone burn a handprint into anything. It was very impressive. But after Kint’s little show he wasn’t going to let the man off so easily. “Mid-level brothers are able to boil water with a single finger,” Moff offered, as if bored. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
Kint scowled at Moff’s words and gave him a hard look. Moff could almost feel the man’s eyes burrowing into him. It was as if Moff’s words had wounded his pride, not that Moff minded much after Kint’s stunt.
“You know Path of Warding, right?” Kint asked.
“Of course. You make a protective barrier around yourself.”
Kint approached Moff with an outstretched hand and grasped his shoulder.
At first he was scared, noting the hand that grabbed him was the same hand that burned the tree. Then he noticed the hand was no longer red and had seemed normal. Regardless, he feared he might get burned and flinched anyway.
Kint smiled broadly.
Moff guessed Kint knew that would happen. Once he realized he didn’t get burned he steeled himself and nodded at the old man. He didn’t understand why Kint grasped his shoulder. The barrier only protected the caster and didn’t affect anyone else.
Kint closed his eyes and a few seconds later a shimmering barrier formed around his body.
Moff couldn’t help but to be impressed by how quickly the old man could find The Calm and find the correct emotion.
His vision began to blur. It was as if he was underwater with his eyes open. He was scared the old man was casting some damaging magic on him. He nearly pulled away from Kint’s grasp but as he pulled his hand up to remove the old man’s arm from his shoulder, he realized he wasn’t going to be hurt.
Kint’s barrier enveloped both of them.
Moff felt Kint release his shoulder from his grasp. Just as quickly as his vision blurred, it cleared. After a quick inspection, he noted the barrier around him had faded, but it still shimmered around Kint. The old man opened his eyes and the barrier disappeared into nothingness.
“Close your mouth,” Kint instructed. “You look like a slack-jawed idiot.”
“How?” Moff managed to ask before snapping his mouth shut. He was astonished. He had never seen nor heard of anyone being able to place a barrier over someone else.
“I told you I had more than some talent,” Kint replied with a chuckle.
“That you do,” Moff agreed, clapping Kint on the back.
“So I take it you haven’t seen that before?”
“I have
not.”
“Not many could do that when I was there,” Kint proclaimed, his eyes in the distance.
“Fewer now, I’d say,” Moff told him. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he would have heard about someone being able to cast a barrier on two people.
“None, I’d wager,” Kint declared proudly.
“Did I tell you the meeting was in Haven?” Moff asked as a new plan formed in his head.
Chapter 2
He closed the tome and leaned back in his chair. It was the second tome Brental had quickly read through. Both of them contained at least a dozen things that made him glad the crazy old man was dead. If Nimbril was good at one thing other than being stupid, Brental thought it was keeping records. There were dozens of tomes penned by the old man himself. He knew it would take months to finish them all. But the two he had already read told him enough. He was right. Nimbril had been purposely weakening their order over the years and the tomes contained proof. Now that Brental ran the order, he intended on restoring it to what it should have been all along. A group of powerful magic users, not some weakling order whose greatest offensive feat would be to heat a cup of water. He could feel there was more power to fire magic than what was being shown by Nimbril. Now he had the tomes and, hopefully, some insight on how to improve its power. And he had the resources. The coffers of the College were full. That was another thing Nimbril was good at. He had accepted huge donations from wealthy families everywhere. In truth, their donations were nothing more than bribes. They were bribes to get Nimbril to accept one child over another. Thanks to the corrupt old man, Brental had more money than he knew what to do with. Not that he was going to tell anyone, but he had it.
“Sir,” a young member said, opening the door to what was once Nimbril’s chambers.
“What is it?” Brental asked without looking up from the latest tome he was perusing.
“A courier arrived from Shamir, sir.”
Brental turned to face the young man and couldn’t recall his name. Not that it was important he do so, it just bothered him that he didn’t remember it. He took the scroll from the young man and motioned for him to excuse himself.
“Sir,” the young man said while bowing.
During one of his visits to Kadenton under Nimbril’s rule he had commissioned a researcher to find retired magisters that lived in the area. At the time he was hoping they would support his idea that Nimbril was corrupt and had been sabotaging their order. Now that Nimbril was dead and he was the Archmagister, he didn’t need them for that. But, he still wanted that list. He hoped some would recall the older teachings.
He broke the seal on the scroll and rolled it open to read it. He sighed heavily. It wasn’t his list of magisters. Shamir requested his presence in Kadenton. It had only been a week since he assumed the role as the leader of the Onneron College. Yet already Shamir was demanding him to fulfill his end of their bargain.
~~~
“King Shamir, I present the Archmagister of the College,” the guard escorting Brental announced, bowing to Shamir.
Shamir dismissed the guard with a nod before settling his smirking gaze upon him. Brental didn’t miss Shamir’s new title. It didn’t really surprise him. After all, it was part of the pitch Brental used to sell his plan.
“My King,” Brental said dryly after the guard had left the room. He dipped his head forward slightly in a mock bow.
“I am your King.”
“Liernin might disagree with you,” Brental dared to argue, knowing full well it would agitate Shamir.
“Are you mocking me now?” Shamir asked. His face going a deep red.
“No, no,” Brental assured him. “I’m only playing around. Isn’t that what friends do?”
“So you think we’re friends?”
“Of course,” Brental lied.
“I don’t need friends. I need a leader of mages who will help me win the war. Did I choose correctly or did I make a mistake?”
“No mistake,” Brental told him. “I am the Archmagister.”
“And I am the King, you would be wise to remember that.”
“And I helped you gain that title,” Brental reminded him, willing to push just a little further. “You would be wise to remember that.”
“And yet you wouldn’t have your title without me.”
Brental realized he didn’t have a response for that remark. It was true. Nimbril had already named Drevic as his successor as Archmagister. Only Shamir’s help allowed Brental to change that.
“Cast aside your ego and do as I command. You can either be on the front lines with your men when the time comes, or you can be an advisor at my side,” Shamir threatened. “I couldn’t be certain of your safety on the battlefield. But if that’s where you want to be, please continue to mock me.”
“No my King,” Brental said sincerely after a moment of consideration. While he didn’t like being threatened, he was smart enough to know his limitations. He was confident in his powers, but right now they were no match for steel.
“I thought not.”
Someday he knew he wouldn’t be taking orders from anyone, but until that day, Brental was stuck with Shamir.
“With that foolishness aside, how long until I can see a demonstration?” King Shamir asked.
“Normally, members of the order are schooled for two years prior to taking on the concepts of magic. After that it is nearly a year to even get themselves centered enough to begin to use it,” Brental explained, knowing it wasn’t going to be what Shamir wanted to hear. He knew he could get members ready sooner than that, but he wanted as much extra time as possible. He wasn’t interested in war, but it was the price he had to pay to get what he wanted.
“Three years! Unacceptable!” Shamir spouted. “Unless Liernin surrenders, we take Kilindric in the spring, then, once fortified, we’ll march on to Haven from there.”
“You are asking me to do in nine months what is usually done in three years.”
“Your list of former teachers is complete. They have been summoned here and you’ll meet with them tomorrow. Perhaps with them you’ll find a way. For your sake, let’s hope so.”
“Yes, my King.”
“Good,” Shamir said. “I’ve already sent people to Kilindric with orders to pack up your things.”
“For?” Brental asked.
“You’re moving here. Isn’t it obvious?”
“But the College—” Brental began.
“Is where the Archmagister is,” Shamir blurted, interrupting him. “And the Archmagister will be here in Kadenton with his most adept students. Besides, it will not do to keep me waiting for nearly two weeks every time I summon for you.”
“I hadn’t expected the move, that’s all,” Brental offered, still trying to process it all. Everything he knew was at the College. He’d been there for more than half his life. He had envisioned that he would lead from there. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the College behind. All of Nimbril’s old tomes were there. He still had dozens to read through. But, he understood where Shamir was coming from. He didn’t like the idea of traveling to and from Kadenton every time Shamir wanted a progress update either.
“Surely you don’t think I’d risk Liernin taking over the College with you in it, do you?” Shamir asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
“I thought we could solidify the position by stationing men there,” Brental replied. He had collected himself and wanted to make sure Shamir knew he understood the bigger plan.
“I have solidified the College already,” Shamir told him. “This morning, with the fifty men I sent there.”
“I’m sure Liernin’s spies will see them and notify him of the movement,” Brental reasoned, surprised Shamir hadn’t thought of that.
“And they will see small groups of robed brothers with wagon loads of supplies coming off the ship.”
Shamir’s plan unfolded in his mind and he completely understood everything then. Even if Liernin had spies, which he most likely
did, then they would only see what appeared to be members of the order bringing in supplies. In reality those men were troops dressed in robes and those supplies contained weapons and armor hidden inside them. “Clever.”
“I’d like to think so,” the King replied.
“Where will I stay?”
“I’ve got the perfect spot picked out for you and your fledglings,” Shamir informed him. “I’ll have one of my men escort you there once we’re completed here. You’ll want to tidy up and make yourself at home I’m sure. Your belongings should be here within the week.”
“But, with all due respect, there are things I don’t trust anyone to recover in my stead. I’d like to ensure their safety and collect them myself,” Brental said thinking of the tomes.
“My men are well trained,” Shamir assured him.
“In combat, certainly, but the esoteric nature of what we do means they will most likely miss something I need and mistake it for trash,” Brental countered. “I can just picture one of your men tossing one of my journals in the fire to keep warm.”
Shamir looked up at the ceiling and Brental took it for the man considering his words.
“Those journals hold the key to our success. If one is missed or misplaced it will take time to retrieve it. If your men destroy one, well…” Brental went on, leaving the last part hang in the air for Shamir to digest.
“Fine,” Shamir relented. “Just take a ship this time. It’s much faster.”
“I’ll leave after the meeting tomorrow,” Brental informed him. He looked at the frown that formed on Shamir’s face and quickly added, “If that’s acceptable to you, of course.”
“Of course.”
Even though he agreed, Brental thought there was a hint of anger in Shamir’s voice. He thought it best to not say anything further to provoke the man. “If you have no further need of me?”
“That remains to be seen. But, you are dismissed.”
Brental bowed, not a fake bow like he did upon entering, but a full bow. He wanted to make sure Shamir believed he was fully behind him.
For now.
~~~
He was in a foul mood. Shamir was testing him, he knew that, but selecting an old slaughterhouse as their new home was disrespectful. The place still stunk of rotting meat and the dirt floor was stained everywhere with blood. When Shamir said he had the perfect spot picked out, Brental surely did not picture that. He would talk to the King about it, but he knew he was being punished for his insolence and doubted his lodging situation would change any time soon.