Human Mage: Book Three of the Highmage's Plight

by D. H. Aire

  The aged herald tensed slightly, “There is one thing that might help us, Majesty.”

  “What? I am avid for any suggestion by now.”

  “Invite him here,” the herald said. “He dare not refuse you.”

  Senason glared at the man, “Splendid idea, but think of what rumors it will be sure to foster.”

  The Empress’s fingers tapped the desk, “Yes, an invitation. Have the scribes prepare invitations to all the noble families of the Court, the mages, the merchants, and the local commanders. It has been far too long since last the palace feted a Ball.”

  Senason nodded, “What better way to watch this man, who has become so difficult to watch otherwise.”

  The herald nodded, “Excellent, Majesty I shall see all in motion first thing in the morning.”

  Part Seven:

  The Ball

  1

  “His Honor, Tristan Y Tane, Fourth Count and Provincial Ambassador to the Right and Just Empress of Aqwaine!” bellowed the herald from the rostrum as George and his companions entered the Imperial palace ballroom.

  George paused to look down into the bustling hall where a crowd representing the wealth and power of the Empire milled politely prior to the beginning of the evening’s festivities. He then looked at the room with particular curiosity, gazing at every angle and joint from wall to ceiling. “It’s even more pronounced here,” he muttered to himself.

  “What is?” Balfour replied, puzzled.

  Blinking, George recovered from his momentary reverie and remarked, “The architectural format here is one that I’ve noticed before, elsewhere.” Numerical standards evaluating the comparison flowed across his mind. “The elvin mind seems to visualize and conceptualize in ways quite alien to human thought.”

  Balfour grinned, “Why, thank you, I shall take that as a compliment.”

  “Hush,” Me’oh urged hastily as their turn for introduction approached.

  There was a sense of quiet power about the room itself, George realized. Pageantry was starkly displayed from the banners hanging from the leveled balconies dotting the wall. Tapestries along the base of the hall moved faintly. George paid little attention, knowing Staff was evaluating the most minute air flow. :The tapestries conceal archways to what are likely private meeting chambers,: Staff stated.

  “Interesting,” muttered George, seemingly to himself. It was the people below that piqued his interest. Lords and ladies, members of the Imperial admiralty, priests, merchants and mages, as well as their retinues clustered, socially.

  Their thoughts welled outward, mentally at his fingertips. Loci of minutia one moment, when in the next like a physical blow, they focused upon him and his party.

  He clenched his hands around his staff, while the orchestra played music meant to convey the magic of this strange land. “Intensify secondary barriers,” George said, his senses reeling.

  The staff glowed briefly. :Acknowledged. That better?:

  After taking a deep breath, George muttered, “Thank you.”

  The herald approaching him frowned uncertainly, noting George taking a deep breath and his mumbled, “Thank you.” Abruptly, the herald found himself addressing Se’and, who interposed herself in front of him. George could not help but smile, while struggling not to note just how lovely Se’and was looking this evening.

  Dressed in a violet gown of silk and satin, Se’and seemed a creature of light, itself. For the life of him, he wondered when she had time to purchase the dress and have it fitted since their invitation to the Ball arrived.

  :The music is reminiscent of the Baroque Period,: Staff whispered in his mind, momentarily glowing as it paused to scan the room to puzzle over the source of the room’s light. The radiance that bathed the hall seemed to come from everywhere, yet no candle burned nor was any other means of lighting in evidence.

  George chose to ignore staff’s curiosity. Instead, he glanced behind him at Aaprin, his newly appointed senior apprentice. The elfblooded teen struggled to straighten his best tunic, which chaffed him terribly since this proved his first opportunity to wear it. Me’oh jostled the lad ever so slightly, smiling in amusement. “No need to fidget, young lord,” she whispered.

  Se’and, with a poise that seemed to startle the herald more than the introductions she wished him to announce, asked him to repeat it all back to her. Slightly offended, he quickly repeated them, verbatim. It was her turn to show some surprise. She nodded and smiled stiffly, “Thank you, good herald. That is it exactly. Forgive me, but it has been long since Cathartan lords have graced such a hall as this.”

  The herald nodded, “Believe me when I say, your presence honors us. Remember Herald Varian should the need ever arise.”

  Balfour whispered to Se’and, “Do not be deceived by the Empress’s heralds. Many are younger sons of Imperial Houses, who learn the arts of diplomacy through such service. Although, it has also been suggested that the heralds serve as excellent sources of intelligence for the Empress.”

  Herald Varian glanced at Balfour sharply then ascended the rostrum and announced to the hall, “His lordship, Je’orj du Bradelei, Arch-eo-logist Extraordinaire, and mage of all Arts Human.” That caused an immediate stir throughout the crowd, who turned to stare.

  George outwardly remained at ease, “Increase shielding,” he muttered under his breath. “I knew this was going to be worse than the annual University Gala.” The staff in his hand glowed imperceptibly brighter.

  The words “Arts Human” rained against his mental barriers, the herald continued, “Lord of Cathart by Bond of Honor, Daughter House to Ryff du Catha, Sister House to Balfour du Winome, Brother House to Vyss Second-Son du Catha... And, Highmage Candidate of the Empire.”

  Doing his best to seem undaunted by their stares, George faced the now complete silence throughout the Hall. Even the musicians had ceased to play, then hastily resumed as the herald cleared his throat to continue. “His lordship, Balfour du Winome, Healer by all, uh –– Arts Human, Lord of Carthart by Bond of Honor, Daughter House to Ryff, Sister House to Je’orj du Bradelei, and Brother House to Vyss Second Son.

  “The Lady Se’and, First-Among-the-House of Je’orj, First-Among-Sisters to Vyss, Second Son of Ryff du Catha.

  “The Lady Me’oh, First-Among-the-House of Balfour.”

  Varian stepped down, bowed to them gracefully, and gestured for them to proceed as the next herald quickly edged past them toward the rostrum. As George began his descent toward the ballroom floor, Staff chose that moment to visibly flare— the herald reaching the rostrum step actually missed his footing.

  Varian behind them grimly nodded, thinking to himself, that should remind him of proper manners.

  :As it was intended,: whispered a voice distinctly in Varian’s mind.

  He blinked, glanced around but saw no one near enough to have whispered even a word. The staff in George’s hands went suddenly, forcibly, quiescent as George clenched his teeth and walked amid the staring guests.

  Her gaze focused on Balfour’s every step long before he was ever formally announced. There was a look of confidence about him that she had always hoped to see. Yet, now, there was bitterness, too. “I should not have come.”

  Master Ofran glanced at her sidelong, “You had to leave his side sometime, Carwina. The Empress’s invitation only forced the issue.”

  Balfour descended to the ballroom floor— that woman at his arm. HEALER BY ARTS HUMAN, he had returned. He who had left a failure, unable to effect the simplest elvin spells of healing. And they had been so young...

  She gazed darkly at Ofran, “You knew he would be here.”

  “I knew it was possible. The Empress is not always predictable... And, you will be seeing him shortly in any case.”

  “Don’t throw that up at me, Master,” she muttered heatedly.

  “You were both my students. Perhaps, together, the three of us could…”

  “Bah,” she rasped, shaking her head, “even I know the truth of that. Father did
what he felt he had to do and is living only by a sheer act of will.”

  Ofran sighed, “Do not despair. Hope remains... and Balfour’s skills are unmatched.”

  “That’s why I will permit his attendance on my father, but that does not mean I have to stand and witness it.”

  With a healer’s practiced gaze, she took Me’oh’s measure.

  The woman looked pure-blooded human and could hardly disguise the fact that she was several months pregnant. What rankled most was the fact that Balfour had returned, LORD OF A CATHARTAN HOUSE BY BOND, married to the woman at his side. It was simply too much.

  Carwina felt a sudden chill and found that Balfour was staring at her. Then she feared that he had known she was here from the moment he had first entered. Hands clenched behind her, she met his gaze.

  He stood motionless, simply matched her gaze. There was pain palpable between them. Uncontrollable tears filled their eyes.

  “Balfour, are you all right?”

  Startled, the moment ended, Balfour turned to Me’oh, “Um, I’m fine. I’ve just been away from Court so long, you understand.”

  Me’oh frowned, clearly puzzled, noting a lovely elvin woman suddenly moving hurriedly away through the crowd in the distance. “That is the Lady Carwina, is it not?” she asked, ever so quietly.

  With a stricken look, Balfour nodded, while quickly wiping away a tear before Me’oh might notice it.

  Notice it she did, touching his shoulder. “You loved her. You had best go after her— with Se’and as chaperone, of course.”

  He stared at her astonished as Me’oh turned to Se’and and said, “Go with him. He has business to attend.”

  George blinked as Se’and nodded curtly and went to Balfour’s side. Aaprin stared as healer and Cathartan moved across the crowd to the far end of the hall. The orchestra took some sign from the Empress’s box and began the opening stanzas of a dance.

  With a bow to Me’oh, George said, “I do hope you will honor me with a dance. Once I ascertain the steps, that is.”

  “Most certainly, my lord.”

  Aaprin glanced up at his master as George looked around a bit, “In that case, let’s find ourselves a spot with a good view, then Aaprin, I believe, can be of great assistance in this grand enterprise—” with a smile for the lad, “and learn another interesting aspect of rapport.”

  “Now, here?” the apprentice muttered.

  George grinned, motioned them off to the side of the dance floor as the guests took position in formal circles.

  Me’oh found her interests focused elsewhere, however. Her gaze followed Balfour and Se’and.

  Aaprin shook his head, wondering not for the first time just what he had gotten himself into. George turned to him, “Aaprin, the first thing I want you to do is simply look around you.”

  His apprentice scowled, “Master?”

  Smiling faintly, “Let’s just say I’m curious about a few things… before endeavoring to meet the challenge of the forms of dance. Now, relax as I’ve taught you and simply look around. Just think about who those people are. Let the music they dance to flow over you.” Aaprin frowned, took a deep breath, and relaxed, wistfully looking around. Rapport reached out to him comfortable and warm, the strange hallmark of the human mage’s tutelage. ‘Who’s that?’ George whispered mind to mind.

  The noble in question wore his family colors and identifying insignia. ‘Lord Severin of West March,’ Aaprin replied enrapport.

  ‘Who’s that?’ noting an individual moving formally a step forward with a flourish in the dance.

  ‘That is a mason’s Guildmaster— upper Guildsmen, by the look of his cloak and— the clip at his shoulder.’

  :The clip, what does it denote?: Staff asked. At Aaprin’s puzzlement, Staff added, :Do not overly concern yourself with making a verbal answer. Just look at the clip closely... Very good, that is quite interesting. Much can be extrapolated from... So many charms, almost as if worn as jewelry, many of them pure fakery— except those worn by the Guild hierarchy and those nobles, there.: Aaprin had spent most of his time at the Academy studying all the knowledge of magery he could, in an effort to effect the magic himself. His diligence provided him an expertise in such things as the mechanics of charms, what would make their spells work, and why others would not.

  :Processing, processing, continuing scan, processing,: whispered Staff across both George’s and Aaprin’s minds.

  :George, look at those swords the guardsmen bear.:

  A powerful sense of unease filled the ether as Aaprin’s eyes widened in sudden concern. They were Bane Swords of unparalleled power.

  Concentrating, George said, “To safer sources of study, Staff.”

  :Those particular weapons appear to have a sense of intelligence. Fascinating.:

  Aaprin shut his eyes, thinking hard, ‘Those Bane Swords are conditioned to warn against and battle the Dark One’s minions.’

  Nodding, George casually pointed out the rings worn on a herald’s fingers. When Aaprin looked that way, Staff’s interest was piqued. :Oh, very well.:

  His scan’s focus completely withdrew from the Bane Swords. With a grateful sigh, Aaprin settled back to “simply watching the crowd” as before. Names and affiliations came to mind as the lad gazed at the men and women, moving almost ritually through the dance forms.

  Staff commented, :I have a match to this particular dance from Balfour’s recollections, George... I think with the lightest probe of partners around you that you could “dance the night away.”:

  “Good,” George muttered, hearing the music drawing to a close. He offered his arm to Me’oh, ignoring the looks they drew from dancers and sidelined guests alike.

  She grinned, “Milord.”

  Handing the startled Aaprin his staff, George said, “Stay close— within ten feet.”

  Staff mind shouted, :Keep up with them!:

  “But ––!” he muttered, his feet moving to keep pace with the pair, seemingly of their own volition.

  “Hey!”

  “Excuse me, pardon, me,” Balfour said as he wove around the dancers, feeling like he was physically tied to George somehow.

  :So, it’s awkward,: Staff said.

  George and Me’oh danced, with the elfblood youngster in their wake, which made Me’oh laugh and momentarily forget her concerns. As the dance came to an end, pairs formed into lines for the next round. The space around them cleared slightly until an older elf garbed in healers colors and an elvin lady came to their side. “Me’oh, it is lovely seeing you here,” the healer remarked to George’s surprise.

  With a warm smile, she replied, “It is always a pleasure, Master Ofran. May I introduce you to my companion, Lord Je’orj du Bradelei?”

  Ofran grinned, “My honor, sir. My charming companion for this dance is the Lady Rowena of the Merchant House of Rowena.”

  “I have heard a great deal about you, Master Ofran,” George replied. “It is also a pleasure meeting you, Lady Rowena.”

  With a faint smile, “Perhaps after this dance, we might talk, Lord Mage?”

  Lord Senason

  2

  “Only if you call me George. I am an archeologist by trade actually, not a mage.”

  She frowned and said, “Je’orj.”

  “Oh, well, close enough,” he replied as she shook her head, confused by the remark, her thoughts of possible political and financial advantage feeling derailed. Leaving the elvin lady uncertain in the extreme as the orchestra began playing George took Me’oh’s hand and accompanied her through another dance.

  Throughout the Ball, those around him, particularly the Lady Rowena, thought it unsettling that the man would dance with his eyes practically closed, but he never missed a step.

  Ever since the herald had announced the human mage and his party, Senason Faltendril, elvin Highmage Candidate, unconsciously found himself shaking his head to anything said to him. At last, watching the human dance in that most irritating way he seemed to have found, he mutt
ered aloud, “The fool, human mage, indeed.”

  The Empress casually touched his arm, “Do not let his presence bother you. Though, I know not what Alrex has schemed, in my heart I know that you are the Highmage-to-be.”

  Sighing, Senason smiled softly to the beautiful woman at his side, “You comfort me, when it is I who should be comforting you. This festival is ill-timed, at best.”

  “The Empire does not stop for an Empress’s worries, my love,” she whispered the endearment ever so softly. “The Empire and all the Human Lands are in jeopardy. Sen, I truly think it best to see all the Highmage candidates and their interaction with the Court. So I may best learn who supports whom, who merely is testing the waters, as it were— to know where and when a quiet word pushes forward your candidacy.”

  “Alrex’s appearance before the Guild still worries you?”

  “So near death,” she muttered, glancing at the human mageling and the pregnant woman at his side. Alrex, should I take heart by that appearance or should I take it as an ill omen? Why a human of all things? How can he even wield magic?

  The Empress’s Herald came up behind them, “Majesty, it is as we expected. The human and the healer are the talk of the Ball.”

  She turned to the wrinkled and aged man, noting the readiness of her bodyguards. Their sheathed swords gave off the dread aura that all creatures of the Demonlord’s feared. These Bane Swords were as precious as they were deadly. “What opinions prevail?”

  “Um, Your Majesty quite understands that I, and my heralds, have not actually been eavesdropping...”

  “Why, of course not, Lowell,” the Empress replied with a broad smile.

  Grinning, the Master of Heralds answered, “Those of Grendel’s ilk are saying that the human and even the elfblood healer, his protégé, are masters of Faeryn magery. That the candidacy of a full human is a mockery concocted by the Faeryn, who support him. Also, there has been some mention that Lord Lyai, of all people, is his personal sponsor –– which bears some nosing about.”