Human Mage: Book Three of the Highmage's Plight

by D. H. Aire

  Silence filled the room.

  Revit and Terus looked at each other, wondering if this is how it would one day be for them. They clasped hands more firmly. Together they intended to remain, human and elf, as close as brothers— and no one would separate them. They had made that private vow almost from the moment they learned to talk.

  Master Donnialt placed gentle hands to their shoulders. There were tears in his eyes. He would die before he would see these two brave lads face Grendel as this odd human mage now faced him.

  “Oh, this is just great,” George mumbled, entering the rune. His skin tingled even as the rune’s glow vanished.

  “Challenge has been accepted,” the Archmage proclaimed.

  “You mean I don’t even get to say anything in my own defense?” George mused in a whisper.

  :Obviously not,: commented staff, :enhancing rapport. Scanning... Wards have been raised with a high probability the intent of which is to protect the spectators.:

  “That’s just great,” George replied, gazing across the chamber at his grinning and confident opponent. “Well, it would appear he has never met an archeologist before.”

  :Most assuredly not.:

  The Archmage was raising his hand. “Let the Challenge begin.”

  Grendel smiled, placing his hands behind his back and concealed behind his cloak. He gripped the dagger, touching the charmed hilt, just so. Power instantly warmed his hands, then he patiently waited. Everyone would be waiting for him to chant a spell or shout an elvish word to key any number of spells. But that would only forewarn the wary— he had no intention of granting the human any advantage. Let it be quick, sudden, and most certainly, fatal. A human arrogantly pretending power deserved nothing more.

  The Archmage uttered the words that began the challenge. Grendel cast in one incredibly fast burst and smiled as he watched the enchanted blade sing death across the room right toward the human’s heart.

  A Man Among Mages

  2

  The blade was arrowing toward him as soon as the Archmage’s words ceased. Staff flared. :Scan, analysis, options available.: All this flashed through George’s enrapport mind.

  He closed his eyes, seeing without sight the approaching dagger. The telltale that meant high magery tagged it even as he mentally reached out to it, touched it with ephemeral fingers, soothing its heat. When he opened his eyes, he looked at the floating, halted in mid-flight blade, then he moved to cross the rune’s outline.

  The warding flared, instantly shattered, as the man continued blithely forward only to pause beside the dagger, careful never to touch it. “Poisoned, as well, how mundane,” he said to the staring throng, while Grendel blanched in absolute shock.

  “Yes!” cried two child voices above the din.

  Master Stenh rose, “Archmage, the first challenge has been met and answered, has it not?”

  The elf frowned uncertainly. The wisp peered out of his cupped hand and briefly twittered with laughter that mocked Grendel’s very soul.

  Furious, Grendel shouted, “What trick is this!?”

  George examined the hilt of the dagger and, for the briefest instant, closed his eyes. The jewel in the hilt glowed red, then flared to incandescence. Melted metal dripped to the floor, sparked to fine dust and drifted to the wind. “I suppose, Archmage, I am expected to return to the runed area?”

  Swallowing, Regis nodded, “That is— uh, how it is traditionally done.”

  With a shrug and smile, the man returned to his place, while Grendel raged, “What trick does this creature play at? None of you can be that blind! That staff is the source of his power!”

  Abernathy chuckled, “Talismans have never been at issue, Brothers. A mage has the right to carry his arsenal— or would you rather herald the faeryn right to carry no charm at all to wield your gifts?”

  There was a welcome grumbling, even laughter, across the Hall. The Archmage, elf to the core, instead asked, “Human, would you consider further testing without aid of your staff?”

  “I would, your Grace, under certain conditions,” he replied with a wide grin.

  Raven squawked, beat her wings and shimmered, fighting the unseen force that prohibited her from joining her foolish foster-father. ‘Not fight without Staff!’ she mentally shouted at him, frightened.

  He smiled at her reassuringly, then added, “If my opponent declines further use of mundane means to challenge me and my staff is allowed to remain close by. After all, I’m only a human. You would think he should be able to defeat me fairly with magery alone.”

  “I accept those stipulations!” Grendel cried triumphantly, while up in the tiers Kolter frowned, deep in thought.

  Something was very wrong here. Who was this man? What abilities made him even think to petition for admittance to the Guild? Surely, he could not be another faeryn. That would be disaster! Grimly, Kolter of Hayden began to chant words that, even through the Wards, reached Grendel’s ears. “Finish this! You have mastered arts that few in this Hall would even credit. Use them now to demonstrate your skill— show them, now, that you should be the next Highmage, as is your destiny!”

  Grendel’s eyes gleamed at the words of his master. The Archmage looked about the room, saw an elfblood apprentice in the nearest booth and gestured for him to take the staff.

  The lad paled as the ward released him for his task and hurried down to approach the human mage. He bowed respectfully. “Your name’s Aaprin, isn’t it?” George asked.

  The apprentice gaped, then nodded as the human mage smiled. “Yes, uh, Milord.”

  “Stand over there within the rune wards,” then George whispered, “but no further.”

  Aaprin frowned, but did as he was bid as the man handed him his staff, “Staff, go with this one, but please none of your tricks... Balfour would never forgive you.”

  Grasping the staff that seemed encased in a scaled armor, Aaprin was a bit surprised. It felt remarkably warm and also felt as if he were grasping leather, although he was certain the staff was made of wood. He bore the staff to the edge of rune-warded area and shivered as he felt the ward rise around him, feeling a bit smothered. The staff instantly glowed a soft amber and his breathing instantly eased. “Thank you,” he muttered without thought.

  :You are very welcome,: Aaprin distinctly heard out of nowhere. His eyes wide, he turned to look for the source of the sound, but saw no one. He swallowed hard and told himself it was just his imagination running wild.

  Aaprin saw Grendel bow to the human mage, and found himself very much afraid.

  Grendel began to whisper the keys, setting lines of a spell instantly into place. His respectful bow to the human was intended to let him know this time that the challenge was about to commence. Yet, that would do him little good, Grendel thought. Oh, no, not for what was in store for him. Already, unease was passing through the tiers as the occupants realized that they recognized his spell and intent not at all.

  Soon he would show them what they had long forgotten. No mundane methods these, he grinned, continuing to mutter under his breath the key words, his hands beginning to glow eerily.

  Louder Grendel voiced a more innocuous phrase, necessary to activate a preset spell, but unrevealing to the mages around them or particularly to the self-proclaimed human mage. When the spell was complete, a wall of flame burst across the hall searing the very air. “Deflect that if you can, human!” he laughed.

  Fire burst toward George spanning the breadth of the chamber with blinding speed. He grabbed his cloak and threw it over his head, hurriedly hiding behind it as a shield. Heat crackled around him and buffeted the cloak, which instantly lost its pleasing form. Scales glistened against the all-encompassing flames as he shut his eyes and hurried to think. A sense of wrongness jarred his human senses as sound and heat thrust him back toward the rune’s rear outline. What was it?

  His fingertips! He blocked out all thought of the fire and eased his grip on his cloak. The wyvern hide cloak felt not the least bit warm, thoug
h, everything else around him indicated that he must have been standing in the center of a maelstrom of fire.

  The roots of his hair began to char, he could feel it— but it was a lie, he told himself. He imagined himself as staff existed. A crystalline computer, it could not feel pain as he felt pain. The wyvern leather, which had not been precisely donated by the wyvern that had tried its best to kill him upon his arrival on this world, did more than insulate him; it broke the power of Grendel’s illusionary fire.

  Aaprin edged back, going pale as he felt the heat, then suddenly did not. :It is but an illusion,: he heard in his mind. :A quite effective and realistic illusion, in fact.:

  “Huh?” Aaprin muttered.

  George glanced back at him, “Grendel’s quite the mage!” Disregarding the whoosh and crackle of the flames half surrounding him, he straightened and put his cloak back about his shoulders as the fire covered him, then marched forward through it, completely unharmed. He thought he really should congratulate Grendel on a marvelous show. “I’ve got to give this one to you. It would make a great circus act!” He gestured to Aaprin, “Come along.”

  Grendel gaped as he saw the man march through the rune ward toward him with the apprentice not far behind.

  Stenh found himself standing almost against his will as the fire roared over Je’orj. His body seemed to shrivel as he desperately hid behind his cloak of all things.

  Scales glowed against the magic fire. “Wyvern,” muttered the Archmage beside him in astonishment, even as the man rose to stand taller amid the blaze.

  Grendel actually gasped as the human shape within the fanning flames that seemingly blistered his skin to charred remains began to adjust this glistening scaled cloak across his back, then marched through the grisly flames.

  He was a figure in an inferno. The stench was appalling. Mages gagged, voices cried out in horror, yet out of the roaring fire the human continued to walk rather casually. Only passing through the flames’ outer edge made the image of death vanish; unharmed, eyes closed, they saw Je’orj pause directly in front of Grendel’s rune.

  The mages gaped, then gasped in disbelief hearing the man’s taunt about a “circus act.”

  George smiled, “I do hope you gracefully concede, this time.”

  “Even if he does not,” proclaimed the Archmage with an incredulous grin, “I do... Most amazing— both of you! Such illusion has never been demonstrated in more than a thousand years and only then by the most powerful and talented of mages.”

  The compliment did nothing to ease the sour feeling in the pit of Grendel’s stomach.

  “There will be a brief recess. It appears that many of us may be in need of it.” The wards dropped and Raven flew from her perch and settled on Aaprin’s startled shoulders.

  “There is, yet, the third, and final, challenge,” Grendel whispered, intended for only George’s ears.

  He shrugged. “I look forward to it.” George turned his back and crossed the room to a staring and transfixed Aaprin and took back his glowing computer staff. “Raven, do find a better perch, you’re frightened the boy.”

  “How did you know it was illusion?” Aaprin rasped as George took the staff from his nerveless fingers.

  “Didn’t at first, truth be told... Now, pardon me a moment. I have some thinking to do.” With that, the staff flared and even Master Stenh who was hurrying toward them was given pause.

  The Faeryn masters, Hyram and Fitzgerald positioned themselves defensively about Revit and Terus even as the were-falc shimmered and bounded to the floor. The beast eyed those in the hall in front of George warily, before settling at the man’s feet. It growled, as Stenh approached with the frowning Lady Mother, Lorianne, not two steps behind him.

  “You all right, Aaprin?” Stenh asked.

  The youth replied, feeling a bit hollow inside, “Certainly, why wouldn’t I be?”

  The Scryeress paused to look at the Human mage. She stretched out her hand as if to discern something beyond anyone’s vision. She suddenly trembled, and mumbled something about, “Trolls,” before eyes wide she practically fled to Andrienne of Tane.

  Stenh shrugged as Master Donnialt hurried to catch up to Revit and Terus, who had raced from the booth as soon as they realized that the respite was real. “Wow,” they muttered gaping up at the man, who appeared to be asleep, though, there he stood, hands clasped about the strange staff.

  The beast growled loud enough, to make them edge back from their almost unconscious desire to touch the glowing staff. Instead, they rushed to Aaprin, “What was it like?”

  “Were you scared?”

  “The staff— how did it feel?”

  “You could feel it— it’s alive, isn’t it?”

  “Hold on!” Aaprin muttered, grinning. “One question at a time… and it’s me who wants to know!” He hugged them close and whispered, “Are you both all right? I was worried sick waiting for you to come through the Enchantment— and then there you were surrounded by imps!”

  Terus looked at Revit, who shrugged blankly, “It just took a little longer, is all, Aap.”

  The senior apprentice stood straighter, looking into their faces as if he were the scryer and not Lorianne. “We’ll talk this out later. But am I ever glad to see you both!”

  Smiling much easier, Revit and Terus murmured in unison, “Us, too!”

  Lord Senason approached the Faeryn of Faeryn, Abernathy, “I have been most surprised by your support of the human this day.”

  “He has done rather well,” Abernathy said, grinning.

  “Too well by half,” Senason replied. “As a human he should not be able to compete. Yet, we all saw him pass the Enchantment as only an elf or elfblood ought to be able... Do you suppose, he is one of our blood?”

  “I have it on quite good authority that he does not possess even an ounce, which would delight the humor of Faeryn, were he alive this day.”

  “Abernathy, I feel a powerful hand in this... Do not make me an enemy, I who respect the Arts Faer,” Senason said. “All our arts will be needed at the Final Reckoning.”

  The elder mage chuckled, “Then are you truly so blind? Je’orj du Bradelei possesses knowledge and gifts we do not even recognize... Perhaps, his arts will, too, be needed that grim day hence.”

  “Bah,” the younger elf groaned, marching away in disgust.

  Sighing, Abernathy nodded, “And you will never acknowledge that it could be a human hand that turns the tide in our favor that day... Thus, a poor choice of Highmage would you be.” He chuckled, then thoughtfully gazed toward the floor, where the man, Je’orj, stood. Eyes shut as if communing with fate itself. Then again, perhaps, he was.

  “Grendel, he simply can’t be that good!” Meltran assured him.

  Mage Grendel glared back at him. “I’ve got to think this through. The third challenge is my last chance.”

  “Only if you think it so,” affirmed Kolter of Hayden as he approached them. Meltran and Grendel’s other supporters hastily moved away, taking up casual positions around them. Kolter of Hayden had that effect on a lot of Imperial mages, who knew that the Archmage of Hayden served as an important patron.

  “Master, I have failed twice, when victory should have been swift.”

  Kolter nodded. “He has surprise on his side. We know nothing of him. You nullified his greatest advantage when you separated him from his staff— he merely overcame his fear of the unreal, likely through use of that wyvern cloak.”

  “Where could he have gotten such a thing?” Grendel asked.

  “It will likely be yours soon enough, so what does it matter?” Kolter said smiling, though, his eyes shown with an otherly fire that sent a chill down Grendel’s spine.

  “What do you desire of me, Master?”

  Kolter smiled truly this time, “I would advise the following...”

  Archmage Regis returned to his seat. The floor quickly cleared as mages and their few apprentices present hurriedly returned to their booths. Regis frowned, noticin
g that the Lady Mother, Lorianne, left Andrienne of Tane’s booth and take a vantage that was usually reserved for the Highmage, when he sought merely to observe a session.

  Her gaze turned toward him. The wisp he still cared for, trembled. “Fate plays a hand in events,” her voice whispered directly to his ears alone. “The Highmage is among us –– this challenge is not at all what it appears. Beware.”

  The elf coughed, disconcerted, then glanced about the Hall. He raised his hands, knowing that events had long since defied a rational elf’s explanation. “The Challenge is hereby reconvened.”

  “Thank you, Lord Archmage,” grinned Grendel.

  Third Challenge

  3

  The spell surprised everyone. Grendel shouted it in a singsong that everyone in the room, except a certain human, instantly recognized.

  Reality warped, the room opened around him as George fought to maintain his footing. This must be Underhill, George realized, feeling his computer staff was both there and not there. Grendel apparently had set up a warding, but didn’t quite understand the nature of being enrapport.

  He found himself surrounded by trees in a glade. The sun was— the sun of his home, soft and yellow, the clouds he had always known drifted toward a horizon he could not see. Oak trees, yews, even a birch, he realized in wary surprise as quickly as he noticed the absence of his opponent.

  Perhaps, he wasn’t Underhill, at all. Had Grendel cobbled this place from his memories?

  That brought heaven to a pause. “What no maple trees? Or did your ancestors never taste their syrup? The matter of a continent should not have kept them away, after all.” He did a gentle dance across the glade. “Beloved trees— I thought never to see your like again! Owl and squirrel, are you here in Underhill? Or did they leave you in your native land?