Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  A second later, Ganir’s pouch went up in flames, leaving the old sorcerer without ready-made spells and nearly defenseless.

  “Leave, old man,” Blaise told Ganir, watching with satisfaction as his opponent threw remnants of the burning pouch on the ground. “I can kill you now, and I will. You have two minutes to get out of my sight.”

  The sorcerer’s pale eyes filled with sadness. “If you change your mind, let me know,” he said with quiet dignity. Shuffling over to his chaise, he rose into the air and flew away, leaving Blaise puzzled and disturbed.

  33

  Barson

  Walking into his sister’s house, Barson inhaled the familiar aroma of baking bread and scented candles. It smelled like home, reminding him of when their mother would bake delicious rolls for the entire household. Unlike most other sorcerers, their mother enjoyed working with her hands—something that Dara had inherited from her, along with her aptitude for sorcery.

  “Barson! I’m so glad you came by.” Standing at the top of the staircase, his sister gave him a radiant smile before hurrying down toward him.

  Barson smiled back, genuinely happy to see her. He missed Dara, though he couldn’t fault her for preferring this comfortable townhouse over cramped quarters back at the Tower. Low-ranking sorcerers received terrible accommodations there, and many of them chose to live outside of the Tower most of the time.

  “It’s good to see you, Dara,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Is Larn here also?”

  “He should be here soon. He’s passing by the well right now,” she said, grinning up at him mischievously. Her dark eyes were sparkling, making her look extraordinarily pretty.

  Barson sighed, knowing what she was up to. “Did you put a Locator spell on him again?”

  Dara’s grin widened. “I did indeed. But don’t tell him; it’ll be our secret.”

  Amused, Barson shook his head. His sister and his right-hand man had been together for the past two years, and she drove Larn insane with her insistence on using spells in everyday life. For Dara, it was a way to practice sorcery and sharpen her skills, while Larn viewed it as showing off. “All right,” Barson promised, “I won’t.”

  “Come,” Dara said, tugging at his arm. “Let me feed you. I bet you’re starved. That sorceress of yours doesn’t cook, I presume?”

  “Augusta? No, of course not.” The very idea struck Barson as ridiculous. Augusta was . . . well, Augusta. She was many things, but homemaker was not one of them.

  “That’s what I assumed,” Dara huffed. “She does know you need to eat, right?”

  “I’m not sure,” Barson admitted, taking a seat at the table. “Most sorcerers—unlike you—rarely think about food or consider that others might need it.”

  “Well, I hope she’s good in bed then,” Dara muttered, putting a bread basket and sliced cheese in front of him. “That and some spells is all she seems to be good for.”

  Barson burst out laughing. His sister was jealous of Augusta’s position on the Council and was doing a terrible job of hiding it. “I’m not about to discuss my love life with you, sis,” he said after a few seconds, still chuckling.

  She sniffed disdainfully, but kept quiet until Barson had a chance to eat some bread with cheese. “So guess what?” she said after Barson ate his second slice. “I was offered a chance to work with Jandison today.”

  “Jandison?” Barson frowned. The oldest member of the Council was known for his teleportation skills and not much else. It was not exactly the most promising opportunity for Dara, given her ambitions.

  “I know,” she said, understanding his unspoken concern. “But it’s still better than what I do now.”

  “Do you think Ganir put him up to it?”

  Dara shook her head. “I doubt it. I get the sense Jandison doesn’t like Ganir very much.”

  “Oh?” Barson was surprised. He was well-versed in Council politics, but he hadn’t heard of any enmity between the two sorcerers. “What makes you think that?”

  “A woman’s intuition, I guess,” Dara said. “It’s just a vibe I got from him when he mentioned Ganir’s name to me once. When I thought about it later, it actually made a lot of sense. Jandison is the oldest sorcerer on the Council, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks he should be the Council Leader instead of Ganir.”

  Barson gave his sister a thoughtful look. “You know, you may be right. Are you going to accept Jandison’s offer?”

  “I think so.” She smiled. “And yes, I will definitely keep my eyes and ears open.”

  At that moment, Larn walked into the kitchen, and Barson got up to greet him.

  When Barson had first learned of his best friend’s involvement with Dara, he had been less than pleased. For one thing, being with a non-sorcerer was looked down upon in the Tower, and Barson had been concerned that her relationship with Larn might be detrimental to Dara’s desire to be recognized for her sorcery talent. However, he could see that Larn genuinely loved her, and that ultimately proved to be the most important thing of all. That, and the fact that Larn was one of the few men Barson was not tempted to kill immediately for laying a finger on his older sister.

  “So tell me,” Barson said to Larn when the three of them sat down at the table, “do you have any news for me?”

  Larn nodded, chewing on a piece of bread. “There has been a lot of activity with Ganir recently. Augusta visited his chambers again, and so did a number of commoners.”

  “Commoners? Why?” Barson looked at his friend in surprise.

  “We don’t know. Ganir’s spies spirited them out of the Tower before we could learn their identities. They were literally brought in to see Ganir and then were taken away immediately. My man only got a quick look at them.”

  “Anything else?”

  “We got a report from our source who’s watching Blaise’s house.”

  Barson’s hands curled into fists underneath the table. “Did Augusta visit him again?”

  Dara shot him a curious look and opened her mouth, but Larn reached over and squeezed her hand in gentle warning. “No,” he said. “It was even stranger than that. It was Ganir.”

  “Ganir visited Blaise?” Barson’s temper cooled immeasurably. “I thought they weren’t on speaking terms.”

  “Blaise is not on speaking terms with anyone these days,” Dara said. “Once he left the Council, it’s like he disappeared. Why would anyone visit him now?”

  “Was our ally able to figure out what Ganir wanted?” Barson asked.

  “No,” Larn replied. “He’s petrified of Ganir. They all are. As soon as he saw the old sorcerer arrive, he got out of there as quickly as his chaise could carry him.”

  Barson’s lip curled. “Those sorcerers are such cowards. No offense, Dara.”

  “None taken.” She grinned. “I fully agree with you, in fact. I would’ve definitely stuck around to learn as much as I could. By the way, speaking of sorcery, I finished working on your armor. It should now be resistant to most of the common spells.”

  “Thank you, sis.” Barson smiled at her. “You’re the best.”

  “I know,” she said without false modesty. “And soon they will know it, too.”

  “Yes, they will,” Barson promised her, and for the next few minutes, they ate in companionable silence, enjoying the meal Dara had prepared for them.

  When his stomach was comfortably full, Barson looked up at his friend again. “Any news from outside Turingrad? Any more uprisings anywhere?”

  “No,” Larn said, “everything seems quiet for now. There’s just one thing, which is probably nothing.”

  “What is it?” Barson asked.

  “There have been some curious rumors about a powerful sorceress.” Larn paused to pour himself some ale. “Apparently, she’s beautiful, young, and wise beyond her years . . . They say she heals the sick, brings dead children back to life, and can even make the crops prosper wherever she is.”

  Dara laughed. “That’s ridiculous. Bringing
back the dead is impossible, even in theory.”

  “The common people always make up stories that cast sorcerers in this kind of light,” Barson told her. “They want to believe the elite cares about them, that their overlords simply don’t know they’re suffering.”

  Larn snorted. “And I’m sure many of them don’t—because they just don’t care.”

  Barson shook his head, thinking about the gullibility of the common people. The peasants had been conditioned to think that the old nobility had been bad, while their new sorcerer masters were an improvement. Of course, with this drought, many of them were starting to see the truth—hence the increasing uprisings throughout Koldun.

  Remembering the last rebellion he’d been forced to quell made Barson’s thoughts turn back to Ganir. Why had he met with Blaise? Could it somehow be connected with Augusta’s visit to her former lover? And what about all those commoners coming to the Tower?

  Ganir was obviously playing a deep game, and Barson intended to get to the bottom of it.

  34

  Augusta

  Approaching Ganir’s chambers, Augusta knocked decisively on his door. The old man had been avoiding her for the past couple of days, even going so far as to ignore her Contact messages, and she wasn’t about to allow this.

  By the time the door swung open, Augusta’s temper was reaching a boiling point. Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she entered Ganir’s chambers.

  “How are you, my child?” Ganir greeted her calmly. He was sitting behind his desk, apparently looking over some scrolls prior to her arrival.

  “You said you would notify me when your men had some information,” she said bluntly. “It has now been several days, and I haven’t heard anything from you. Where do we stand as far as locating this creature? If your spies have been unable to find it, then I’m going to have no choice but to speak about this at the upcoming Council meeting—the one that’s happening on Thursday.”

  Ganir sighed. “Augusta, you need to have patience. We can’t act in haste—”

  “No, we need to act in haste,” she interrupted. “We need to contain this situation before it gets completely out of control. Did you, or did you not, learn anything thus far?”

  He hesitated for a moment, then inclined his head. “Yes,” he said. “There is something that I want to show you.”

  “Show me?”

  The old man gestured toward a Life Capture droplet sitting in a jar. “It’s from one of my observers in Kelvin’s territory,” he said softly. “Blaise’s creation has been spotted there, at the market in Neumanngrad.”

  Augusta’s pulse jumped in excitement. “Did your observer capture it?”

  “No,” Ganir said. “That was not his task.”

  “All right,” Augusta said, “so what happened? How was he able to find the thing?”

  “You better see for yourself.” Ganir picked up the droplet and handed it to her. “Keep in mind, this is from a man who is a sorcerer himself.”

  Augusta took the droplet and was about to bring it to her mouth when Ganir held up his hand.

  “Wait,” he said. “Before you do that, I want you to start a new recording.” He pointed toward the Sphere sitting on his desk.

  “What? Why?” Augusta gave him a confused look.

  “I want to keep that Life Capture for more study,” he explained. “By you recording yourself using the Life Capture droplet, I will not lose the information that this droplet contains. Instead, I will get a new droplet that will include a few moments before you took the original droplet and a few moments after, as well as a recording of the original.”

  Augusta stared at him in shock and amazement. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? The idea was genius in its simplicity. It was widely believed that the droplets were consumable—gone forever once used. But now it seemed like there was a way to use them over and over again. Why had the old man kept this to himself?

  The implications were staggering. If nothing else, it could change the way sorcery was taught. All one needed to do was teach a group of students once and have them record the class via Life Captures. Then the next class could be given those droplets, and their experiences would also be recorded—and so on. This would significantly cut the time each experienced sorcerer had to spend tutoring apprentices—a duty that Augusta particularly disliked.

  Of course, now that she thought about it, it was not that surprising Ganir had hoarded this knowledge. Augusta had always suspected the old sorcerer of keeping secrets when it came to some of his discoveries; he took joy in possessing knowledge that no one else had.

  Realizing that she was standing there in silence, Augusta approached the Sphere and pricked her finger on a needle lying on the desk. Then she pressed that finger to the magical object and put the droplet she was holding into her mouth.

  Ganir reached for the droplet Vik had brought to him. Carrying it to his mouth, he closed his eyes, letting the droplet consume him.

  Vik was sitting on the roof of a building overlooking the market. The weather was nice, and he was quite content. His only gripe was a large wooden splinter that had gotten stuck in his finger when he was climbing up there.

  He could see the whole market from this vantage point, and he made himself comfortable, knowing he was likely in for another boring shift. His job in this territory was to observe public gatherings, which usually meant sitting for several hours and watching people shop. As usual, he was Life-Capturing the experience as Ganir ordered him to do, although Vik honestly didn’t see the point in doing that. Nothing of interest ever happened in this region.

  He had an Interpreter Stone and cards with spells written on them, ready to be cast. One particularly useful spell enabled him to enhance his vision, making his job a little bit more bearable. There was nothing quite like watching a woman changing in her bedroom, secure in the knowledge that nobody could see her from the street.

  Ganir had supplied Vik with many cards that had the intricate code for the spell. Vik was a lousy coder, and he had to take Ganir’s word for it when the old man assured him that the vision enhancement spell was actually an easy one.

  His hearing was also sharpened, and the sound of a young woman’s scream was what first alerted him to the chase happening in the market below. Another thief, he thought lazily. Still, Vik watched the running woman and her pursuer, since he had nothing better to do.

  His interest was piqued further when he saw an attractive young woman in the crowd following the usual chase. That she looked like the description of the target barely registered at this point. All they knew of the target was that it was a young maiden with blue eyes and long, wavy blond hair. She was also supposedly very pretty. The woman below definitely fit the description, but so did hundreds of others that Vik had seen in passing—and even a few that he had watched surreptitiously through the windows.

  Once the thief was captured, Vik continued to observe the scene. It was certainly more entertaining than watching some old women haggling with the merchants.

  He heard Davish speak and was amused at the overseer’s mercy. A poor, starving woman with her right hand chopped off would die just as surely as if she were beheaded—except her death would now be slower and more painful.

  Like the rest of the crowd, he watched the girl’s mutilation with a mix of pity and gruesome curiosity.

  And then he suddenly heard the Shriek. His ears felt like they exploded.

  His head ringing, Vik realized that someone had used a powerful spell designed to deafen and psychologically control a rioting mob—a spell he had learned about but had never seen used in real life. This version in particular seemed more potent than anything Vik had read about. If it weren’t for the defensive shield spell Ganir insisted they all use while on duty, the Shriek would’ve been the last thing Vik heard. As it was, he was in agony. The unprotected people in the square below were falling to their knees, bleeding from their ears.

  Only one person remained standing—the young wom
an Vik had noticed earlier. Dazed, he watched as the beautiful girl walked toward the execution platform and put her arms around the thief huddling in a bloody ball on the ground.

  And then Vik felt it—a sense of peace and warmth unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was beauty, it was love, it was bliss . . . it was indescribable. The wave seemed to emanate from the center of the square, where the two women stood hugging.

  A spell, he realized dazedly. He was feeling the effects of some spell—a spell strong enough to penetrate his magical defenses.

  His finger tingled, and he looked down, watching as the splinter slowly came out of his flesh and the wound healed itself, all traces of the injury disappearing without a trace. Even his head, which had been pounding just moments earlier from the Shriek, felt completely normal.

  On the ground, he could see the crowd still on their knees, staring at the young sorceress with rapture on their faces. Had they felt it too, the euphoria he’d just experienced?

  And then he knew that they had—because when the beautiful girl stepped away from the thief, the peasant woman’s hand was whole again. Whatever spell the young sorceress had used, it had been so potent that it had spilled over to the spectators, healing even Vik’s minor wound. “What kind of sorcery is this?” he wondered in terrified awe.

  Vik now knew why Ganir had dispatched so many of his men to find this girl. As the sorceress touched Davish, Vik pricked his finger and touched the Life Capture Sphere he was carrying with him.

  His heart racing, Ganir regained his senses. For a brief moment, he wondered if he would ever get used to the disorienting effects of his invention, and then his mind turned to what he had just witnessed.