Restriction: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (The Rise of Magic Book 1)

by CM Raymond

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Adrien drummed his fingers on the arm of the overstuffed chair as he looked down on Arcadia. Just days before, everything he had made seemed so powerful, indestructible. And now, with the return of the Founder, he felt, for the first time, uncertain.

  For a week after his meeting with his old mentor, he fumed over the man’s return—angry about everything, even at himself for not being more cautious. Hubris had gotten the better of him, and he didn’t see a need for preparing for Ezekiel’s return.

  But the old man had returned.

  As the days since their encounter passed, time built perspective, and Adrien’s anger turned to fear. The old man’s trick was telling. Ezekiel had learned much during his time away.

  The fake image that he created to trick Adrien wasn’t magic known to the people of Arcadia. Theirs was physical magic, comprised of the study of material things and their manipulation. They were masters of it, and they passed it on to the next generation through the Academy.

  He knew that the study of particular arts wasn’t exclusive to Arcadians, but went beyond their walls to the furthest reaches of Irth. Each region, each people group, were specialists in magic, though they all gain power from tapping into the power of the same ethereal source. But magic was a difficult maiden to serve.

  Magicians were fortunate enough to have the capacities and faculties to manage the power that was within. The notion that one could work in other specialties had always been inconceivable to all except Ezekiel.

  When Ezekiel had left on his mission, he was already talented in all three arts, though he excelled at only the physical. But the image that Adrien had conversed with, and ultimately tried to kill, on the edges of Queen Boulevard was evidence of the fact that his teacher had been busy over the last almost half century.

  Casting one’s image wasn’t part of the physical arts, but the psychic. While a master magician might easily pick up a few cheap tricks from another art, image casting to the degree to which Ezekiel had accomplished it was no small task. It would have taken someone with a high level of mastery in mental magic to pull off the ruse. And this was precisely what scared Adrien to death.

  The Chancellor was strong and confident in his own mastery, even better than Ezekiel was. But in the face of one who could navigate multiple styles, maybe the physical wouldn’t be enough. If Ezekiel had spent the last decades honing these other crafts... the thought was terrifying.

  But it also gave Adrien an idea.

  Adrien pressed a button on the box that occupied the corner of his desk. The magitech device glowed blue, showing the source of its power. The communication device was just one of dozens of inventions the engineers had developed in the Academy. Just a tool to make the Chancellor’s life easier.

  “Yes, sir,” Doyle’s voice squeaked through the box.

  “Come in here for a minute.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Before the box stopped glowing blue, the door swung open, and his assistant strode into the room. Doyle glanced at the chair, wondering if he should sit and then thought better of it. “What can I do for you, Chancellor?”

  “The magician, has he been spotted today?” Adrien knew the futility of his question. Zeke would only be found if he wanted to be. And that would mean that the magician was ready for the fight.

  “No, sir. Nothing. Our men have been on watch 24/7, and the specialists are still on the hunt, but there’s nothing. No magician. No trail.”

  “We may be looking in the wrong place,” Adrien said. “I need a crew, not a big one. Five or six should do. But they need to be men we can trust, and that can handle themselves outside of the city walls. Can you get such a group together?”

  Doyle smiled, happy to be useful for once. “Of course, sir. I have a small band of resources in reserve for a task such as this. Stellan and his men. They are trained for special missions and remain off the official ledgers in the Capitol. You never know when you’ll need a secret operation.”

  “Yes, very good, Doyle.”

  Adrien explained to Doyle what he surmised from his encounter with Ezekiel’s image and explained that if Ezekiel had improved upon his skill with the mystic arts, then it was possible the teacher had become a student.

  “Now,” Adrien said, “the only one’s capable of mental magic to that degree are the Mystics. Which means that Ezekiel may have spent time with the bastards. There’s a good chance that Ezekiel may have persuaded them to be of some, well, assistance toward his ends. And those monastic sons of bitches are just as idealistic as the old man.”

  “Yes, sir. They could be trouble.” Doyle cleared his throat. “If I could be so bold, what if we launched something more… aggressive on the heights? Maybe it is time to test the machine?”

  Adrien waved his hand. “Only a schoolboy runs in swinging, Doyle. We are looking for something just a bit more elegant. I need you to send the men to keep an eye on the navel gazers—bring back some information. They can be rough, but I don’t want them to start a war. You understand?”

  “Completely.”

  “Can I trust this Stellan not to screw this up?”

  “I’d trust him with my life, sir.”

  Adrien nodded. “OK, but you might want to make it clear that this mission is worth far more than your life, Doyle. You might be giving yourself a bit too much credit.”

  Doyle flushed. “Um, yes, sir. I’m sure I am.”

  Laughing, Adrien said, “I’m screwing with you, son. Now, get your ass out of here and get those men to work. I want a report in no more than ten days time.”

  Doyle groveled just a bit more before he left.

  Alone again with his thoughts, Adrien turned back to consider how in the name of the Matriarch he might be able to draw Ezekiel out into the open. Adrien knew the collective power within the Academy was great, far greater than what Ezekiel would have acquired, even if he had studied a hundred years. He was only one man after all. And the old man couldn’t know much at all about the magitech and machines they had mastered in his absence. But Ezekiel wasn’t stupid either. If he was planning an assault, he would be looking for stronger allies than the mystics.

  Then it struck him. “The girl,” the Chancellor said aloud into his lonely chamber.

  Among the few reports he had of the man, the only one that resonated with Adrien was the girl from Queen’s Boulevard who the magician stepped in to save. The old man had even put three of Adrien’s Hunters in the hospital over it. He wouldn’t have shown his hand so soon unless it was important. Unless she was important. Something was there, but Adrien couldn’t put his finger on it. There must have been something special about the girl.

  As he looked at the finely crafted marble chess set across the room, he realized that she might just be the pawn. Figure out how to move her—or the ones that she loved—and he might get the magician to do exactly what he wanted.

  He called Doyle back in and sent him off with another plan to put the girl from Queen Bitch Boulevard into jeopardy.

  ****

  Hannah opened her eyes to end her meditation session. It had been an hour—at least she was pretty sure it had been, but it felt like five minutes. Hours of work centering herself at the beginning of every day was turning her into a freaking monk, and the results were uncanny.

  She had always thought that magic mastery was about learning all of the right moves, or spells, or shaping the right magitech weapons. But the old man was right.

  She made the fastest advances—and recovered most quickly—when she paid attention to her inward life. Holding a finger up to the old man, she placed her middle finger on the opposite wrist and waited for a pulse. The tiny thumping under her skin was steady and slow. Hannah was pretty sure that within another week, she might make the damn blood pumping in her body stop altogether.

  Turning to Ezekiel, she said, “Still pumping, Zeke. But barely.”

  “Good. Nothing is more important than what is in here.” He placed his finger
on her chest over her heart. “Control that and you control everything.”

  Hannah nodded. “But before, you talked about unleashing passion. What about the day when my brother almost died? My heart was sure as hell racing then.”

  “It was. And you’re one lucky son of a bitch that the power inside of you didn’t burn you right up.”

  “Bitch. Not son of a bitch. Like the Matriarch.”

  She winked at the old man. They still hadn’t talked about the Matriarch and the Patriarch much, though she knew he was a true believer. Hell, he was old enough he may have known them.

  There would be time for religion, but now training took center stage. He would make comments often enough and use their names, not in vain, during their work together.

  But otherwise, he didn’t become religiously intrusive, which was refreshing, since she expected him to be as aggressive as the Prophet. The one thing she did know is that according to Ezekiel, the Prophet had it all wrong concerning the use of magic by the public. Magical arts weren’t meant to be restricted to the wealthy. Anyone who could control it should be given a chance.

  She followed Ezekiel down the steps leading from their old tower toward the woods. It was nature magic day; there was no doubt about it. Wanting to make sure she didn’t progress in one art faster than the others, he had kept her on a careful schedule since her initial training.

  One day for each art.

  Her training sessions were measured by skills, not time. The man had a careful curriculum marked out, and he kept her within the boundaries he prescribed. Ezekiel had told her that if one art developed faster than the others there would be a chance that she wouldn’t become a polymage, which was the primary goal.

  The old man had learned much from Lilith, the Oracle, during his own training.

  This particular lesson was one learned through negative experience. He had advanced his physical magic skills in excess of the others. Ezekiel’s magic default was nearly always physical—though he could call up the others with greater intention. Hannah would be stronger than her master.

  When it came to which art she would perform when the pressure was on, he wanted her answer to be “yes.”

  Every damned one of them.

  “What’s up today?” she asked as they neared the edge of the woods. “Talking with trees?”

  “Nope.”

  “Water sculptures?”

  “No."

  “Bestiality?”

  “Hannah, please!” The old man had his limits regarding her crude nature. She loved pushing the boundaries. “None of the above. Your skills are coming along. Quickly, really. It is time to take the next step into new magic.”

  Looking down at Sal, she knew Ezekiel was talking about something similar to the transformation of the lizard, but she couldn’t imagine what.

  She knew this time was coming, but she hadn’t been looking forward to it. How the lizard was transformed into a… whatever it was, remained a mystery, and if the old man wanted her to replicate the task, Hannah wasn’t up for the challenge.

  It’s not like she hadn’t considered it herself. She even tried, without Ezekiel knowing, transforming an ant into something different. The damn thing just kept walking its path.

  They got to their spot by the river and sat on the rocks. She was happy to be sitting in the warmth of the sun. The days they spent in the training rooms of the tower wore on the girl. No matter how hot it got outside, the place was always cold, damp, and reeked of mildew.

  Ezekiel watched the river, and Hannah followed suit. Meditation was coming along, but all of the damned waiting for her mentor to talk was getting old.

  “Yep. It’s still right here,” she quipped, looking at the running River Wren. “Freaking love it. Want me to stop it up or something?”

  After more silence, the old man finally spoke. “I want you to change Sal.”

  She looked down at her lizard who was looking back up at her. His tongue lashed in and out of his mouth. Ezekiel had never called him by name, which was odd. “The lizard?”

  “He’s not a lizard, Hannah. What once was, is no longer. You changed him. The entity that you first encountered in the market is a different being now.”

  “Um… OK. What the hell do you want me to do to him?”

  “That’s not up to me. It’s between the two of you. I don’t have a connection with your friend. To me, he is just another creature. Once you bound yourself to Sal, the possibility of me connecting with him became, well, impossible—as far as I know. The two of you are connected through a thick covenant that will not easily be broken or overtaken.”

  “All right.” She looked down at Sal and inspected the spikes protruding from his vertebrae. Hannah wasn’t sure, but she thought they had grown slightly since the day she took him in.

  She imagined what else she might do to him. Make him grow? Change his color? Give him opposable thumbs? None of it seemed right. She locked eyes with the creature, trying to read his thoughts.

  Then it came to her, the perfect image of what Sal was to become.

  “I think I’ve got the picture in my mind. Now, what do I do?” she asked, keeping the image primary.

  Ezekiel gave her a gentle smile. “I haven’t the slightest. This is your magic, not mine. We’re in new territory here.”

  “Not. Very. Helpful.”

  “Like all magic, it is a matter of focus. Focus on the image inside of you. Maybe that will work?”

  She snorted, “OK, but if something goes wrong and I start growing spikes, please stop me.”

  Hannah closed her eyes and began the work. She pushed Ezekiel, the sound of the River Wren, and even Sal out of her mind as she found her center. Everything faded into the background, and all that remained was her and the power flowing through her body.

  She doubted that she could make it happen for a moment, and then set aside the doubt as well. Hannah was a magician. As far as her mentor knew, she had done something no one else had ever accomplished. She reminded herself of this several times, building her confidence along the way.

  Then she set that aside, too.

  All that remained was her and the power. She opened her eyes and focused on her pet at her feet. Sal sat still. Their connection was strong, and he knew exactly what she was up to. He was a willing lump of clay. Ready, asking to be molded according to her plan.

  Considering that transmogrification was something akin to physical magic, she brought her hands in front of her and started a series of complicated motions—none of which she had ever considered or practiced. But she fell into a routine with it, repeating the same motion again and again. As her digits and hands twisted faster and faster, she tried to push the energy under her skin toward her hands and out into the lizard. But it wouldn’t budge. It was as if there was a barrier between her and Sal.

  After what felt like hours, Hannah’s arms, heavy as lead, dropped to her side. She slumped on the rock and looked up at Ezekiel.

  “Nothing.” She told him, wiping sweat out of her eyes, “It’s not working.”

  He nodded, “No one said this would be easy, Hannah. Try again. Please. The fate of Arcadia may depend on it.”

  She nodded, then grit her teeth and tried to refocus. She closed her eyes and pushed away failure and disappointment. Ezekiel’s expectations came before her mind’s eye, and she pushed them away.

  Once empty, she chose the path of nature magic. She turned her palms upward toward the sky and entered into something like a trance. All of her mental and emotional energy flowed, trying to connect with the creature, begging his body to do precisely what she wanted him to do, but Sal was unresponsive.

  Finally, exhausted, she bent over at the waist and rested on the rock. This time she didn’t care what he thought, she just wanted to go away. To sleep for a year. Arcadia be damned. Let Adrien have it. Magic was too hard, and she was far too weak.

  Ezekiel had made a terrible mistake choosing her.

  “You can do this, Hannah,” he s
aid, terser than she had heard him before. “Damn it, you have to.”

  She fought back. “I can’t! It’s not in me. I didn’t do this before; it just happened.”

  His reply was whip crack, “Don’t be a damned child. Magic doesn’t just happen. Magicians are magic. You are a magician. You are magic.” The old man was nearly screaming in her ear pushing her feelings over the brink.

  Hannah lashed out. “Leave me the hell alone, you freak. I’m just a bloody kid!”

  His answer was unambiguous. “You’re not a kid. You’re a magician. You were made for this. Stop wasting your life.”