What Krelig most wanted to know about, other than why Calen “refused” to access his full power, was Calen’s special ability to see the colors of the different types of magical energy involved when someone was casting a spell. But unlike Mage Brevera and his friends back at the Magistratum, Krelig seemed to understand that it wasn’t something Calen could teach someone else how to do. He just wanted to understand what Calen could see and, Calen assumed, figure out how to use it in his war against the other mages. Calen just had to make sure he wasn’t around to be used by Krelig when the time came.
He’d tried, early on, to lie about what he saw. But Krelig had known. He had known, and he had made it very clear to Calen that he should never attempt to lie about his ability again. Very, very clear. And so Calen always answered truthfully now, and held fast to his determination to get away. If Calen wasn’t here, Krelig’s knowledge about what he could see and do wouldn’t make any difference.
Krelig was standing at the far edge of the battlement, looking out into the distance. He didn’t turn or acknowledge Calen’s presence at first, but as soon as Calen was close enough to hear him, Krelig said, “Stand there, and tell me what you see.” Then he sent up a swirl of multicolored energy into the air around him.
Calen stopped walking. “It’s mostly blue and yellow and purple, but there’s a lot of black and orange all along the outer edges of the other colors. As though all the colors have black and orange outlines, somehow.” He squinted, interested despite himself, as was usually the case. Orange was nullifying or neutralizing, and black was for concealment. “Are you trying to hide the colors themselves?”
Krelig let the magic dissipate and turned toward Calen, a half smile on his face. All traces of yesterday’s anger seemed to be gone. For now. “Trying and failing, it would seem.” Without changing expression, he suddenly sent a bolt of red and black energy directly at Calen.
Calen immediately sent out blue and orange magic to meet it, and the spells smashed into each other in the space between them, canceling each other out. Calen wasn’t sure what Krelig’s spell had been, exactly — although red magic was rarely anything pleasant — but he didn’t need to know in order to counter it. This was one of the aspects of his ability that Krelig seemed most interested in: that Calen could create counterspells and defenses based on the colors he was able to see.
And Calen was getting better at sorting out the colors all the time.
Krelig sent a few more easy-to-decipher spells at Calen, all of which Calen was able to block or neutralize without any trouble. They started coming faster, requiring more concentration, but Calen had gotten better at concentration, too. And at casting for longer periods of time without resting. After a few more increasingly speedy but not-too-difficult spells, Krelig turned away as if getting bored. Then he raised his head to look at a bird flying above them. It was one of the bright blue and yellow birds Calen sometimes saw from his room. He liked them; they made friendly chirping sounds to one another when they flew around, and lately one or two had begun to rest on the slim enclosing wall that lined the edge of the balcony when he was standing there. He kept meaning to find some bread or something to give them, to encourage them to visit more often. They made him feel a little less lonely when they came.
Krelig tilted his head and released a bolt of red energy toward the bird.
“Don’t!” Calen shouted without thinking, simultaneously sending a bolt of his own, willing it to intercept Krelig’s deadly little spell before it reached its intended victim. The mass of color flew from his fingertips without conscious thought, and only afterward did Calen notice what he’d sent and why. Orange for neutralizing; yellow for healing, in case his spell was too slow to stop Krelig’s but fast enough to heal whatever damage was done before it was too late; purple for motion and speed, which he guessed he’d included from some desire to make his spell move more quickly through the air. And it seemed to be working — his spell collided with and engulfed Krelig’s, consuming it into nothingness, and the bird, sensing the invisible forces clashing just a few inches away, gave a troubled cry and darted swiftly in the opposite direction.
Calen looked warily at Krelig. The mage looked back, seeming more curious than angry. “Friend of yours?” he asked.
“There was no reason to kill it,” Calen said defensively.
“No reason not to,” Krelig said, with the empty, careless cruelty that always made Calen’s stomach turn. But he still didn’t seem angry. That was good. After a moment he added, “You made your spell faster.”
“Yes.” It hadn’t really been a question, but Calen answered anyway.
“Did your former master teach you to do that?”
“No. I didn’t — it just sort of happened. I only realized afterward what I’d done.”
“Hmm. Could you have made it slower? Could you have made mine slower?”
Calen paused, considering. “I — I think so.”
“Try now.” Krelig released another bolt of red energy, but this one, Calen was relieved to see, was aimed only at the stone wall. Calen cast again, this time attempting to cast into Krelig’s spell instead of just trying to knock it aside or destroy it. He still used purple energy, but the intent was different, and so the effect was different as well. The colors were the types of magic energy, what a given spell was created out of, but each color could be used in countless different ways. He tried to shape the magic into something that would infuse Krelig’s spell and slow it down without otherwise altering it. He thought it worked, at least a little: the red bolt hit the stone with a small explosion, leaving behind a tiny crater, but not as quickly as it would have otherwise. At least . . . he thought so.
He looked at Krelig. The mage was nodding. “It should have hit a little sooner than that. Good. Try it again.”
They continued for the better part of three hours, experimenting with speed and slowness. Calen was fascinated. He’d never thought about trying anything like this before. When Krelig finally declared the morning’s lessons over, Calen was exhausted but exhilarated. He loved this feeling; despite the circumstances, despite everything, he loved it. It was like coming around a corner and discovering a whole new world, full of possibility. Every time.
“We’ll be having company soon,” Krelig said, just as Calen was about to head back down into the castle.
“Company?” he asked, turning back.
“The first of those mages who are choosing to join us.” Krelig was leaning on the battlement, looking out at the surrounding countryside. “The first of those ready to cast off the shackles of the Magistratum and help to bring about the new order.” He glanced at Calen and laughed. “Don’t look so shocked, boy! There are more discontented mages than you might imagine. Some will be too afraid or beaten down to admit it, even to themselves, but others will see that this is their chance to change everything. To remake the world into a place better suited for our kind.”
“What — what will happen to those who don’t choose to join?” Calen knew perfectly well what would happen to them, but he wanted to see what Krelig would say.
Krelig’s voice went very mild, and Calen was instantly sorry he’d asked. “What do you think, Calen? Do you think it will be safe to leave our enemies free to walk among us? Do you think we can all agree to live in peace together? Do you think they will stay safely locked in their cage of a fortress while we do as we wish with the rest of the world?” He turned back to look out over the wall again. “You are not that naive, my boy. Don’t waste my time asking questions you already know the answers to.”
“Sorry, Master. Do you know when they’ll arrive?”
“Soon, I think. I’ve been . . . sending invitations. I believe that some of them have been accepted.”
He fell silent, and Calen crept quietly away before he could do anything else to annoy the mage or draw back his attention.
He had known that Krelig planned to assemble whatever like-minded mages he could to join him, but somehow Calen had t
hought that wouldn’t happen for a while yet. Did this mean Krelig was getting closer to starting his attack against the Magistratum? Calen hoped not. He wasn’t ready.
I need more time.
He was learning so much, every day. Getting stronger, and better, and quicker. He wanted to leave, more than anything, but he had to stay long enough to make it worth it. The more he learned, the stronger he got, the better his chances of being able to help bring down Mage Krelig. Of stopping him from carrying out his evil plans. Stopping him forever, so none of them would ever have to worry about him again.
Because if they didn’t, Krelig would take them back to the days before the Magistratum existed, when mages were free to use their abilities for whatever purposes they wished, without any rules or constraints of any kind. He would stand atop the rubble of the broken Magistratum and the fallen bodies of his enemies and demand that all nonmages bow to his will. That all kingdoms recognize his authority over them. And if they refused, he’d destroy them, too.
And he could. Calen didn’t know if anyone realized how incredibly powerful Krelig truly was. Calen hadn’t been able to imagine many mages willingly joining Krelig’s cause, but he knew — firsthand, didn’t he? — that Krelig had ways of convincing people to do what he wanted. And even a small army of mages under his control would be more than any kingdom could stand against. But most of them would probably try anyway, because who wanted to submit to rule by a sadistic, crazy, evil mastermind? Trelian would certainly not go down without a fight.
But it would still go down. And Meg and everyone else he cared about would go down along with it.
He had to learn enough to save them. He hated it here, hated Mage Krelig and hated being away from Meg and hated thinking about what the others must believe of him now, but the learning would be worth it. Was worth it. Worth the pain and the punishment and the loneliness and everything else. Or it would be, once he was ready. Which would be . . . soon. But not yet.
Not quite yet.
There was still too much left to know.
“AGAIN.”
Meg was on her feet before the whole word was out of the captain’s mouth. On her feet and racing toward where Jakl was waiting, ready to run this drill a hundred more times if that was what she wanted. As soon as she touched his back, the dragon launched himself forward and shot into the sky. Meg let him go for a few seconds of pure, blissful speed before turning him back around toward where the soldiers waited below.
“Not bad,” Captain Varyn said gruffly once they were near enough to hear him. Meg couldn’t help grinning. She knew by now that “not bad” was about as close to a compliment as she was ever likely to get from the man. And besides, she could tell that that had been their fastest time yet.
Meg couldn’t imagine when she might actually be called upon to leap up from the ground like that and fly away on Jakl’s back on a moment’s notice, but she supposed the Commander of the King’s Army wanted her to be ready for anything — and he’d never had a dragon to work into his plans before. So they practiced running, flying, leaping, hiding, sneaking, diving, carrying, and every other thing Captain Varyn and Commander Uri could think of. Meg didn’t mind. She was still just so glad that they were letting Jakl and her fight at all. Well, that they would let them fight. So far it had just been drills, and practice, and training. The war had already started, but not for her. Not yet. But soon.
It had better be soon.
Not that she was so eager to put herself in danger — she wasn’t crazy. But every day they waited, more of their soldiers were fighting. Fighting and sometimes dying. Adding a dragon to their forces would be a huge advantage. She couldn’t understand what they were waiting for.
The past couple of months had been an adjustment for everyone, but she thought that the soldiers were getting a bit more used to having a dragon in their midst. They had already been used to seeing him around the castle, but that was different from seeing him up close. Or from being expected to ride on his back, which Captain Varyn had required most of them to practice (with Meg’s assistance) at least a few times. And a few days ago, he’d had Jakl practice plucking soldiers from the ground and flying short distances with them dangling from his claws. That had been kind of fun. Well, not for the soldiers, probably. But Jakl had enjoyed it.
The best thing about training was that it helped her not think about other things. Like, for example, her supposed best friend, who had abandoned her and gone flying off with their very evil and terrible enemy for reasons no one could begin to understand.
But she had to let herself think about him sometimes. Because she had to find him. She had to find him and get him back home, where he belonged.
Captain Varyn dismissed them for the day, and Meg sent Jakl off to nap and get something to eat. She wanted him rested and fed and ready for later. She was going to do something very foolish. She didn’t want either of them to be tired, or distracted by an empty stomach.
She gave her practice armor to Devan, who smiled shyly at her and gave her a quick little half-bow when she thanked him, as he always did. She smiled back and then shook her head at him as he jogged away. Sometimes she thought the soldiers were almost as perplexed by her presence as they were by Jakl’s. There weren’t any other women in their ranks, let alone princesses. For the most part they seemed to have settled on sort of intentionally forgetting that she was a princess during training, which suited Meg just fine — it wouldn’t do for anyone to waste time trying to be polite and deferential to her in the middle of a battle! But once training was over, they remembered again and had trouble figuring out how to behave. She trusted they’d get it all sorted out eventually.
Pela, ever the perfect lady-in-waiting, was standing patiently beside the castle steps, today’s stack of important papers in hand. She gave Meg a summary as they walked inside.
“I have the latest reports on the war; your parents want you to be prepared to discuss them at breakfast tomorrow morning. There’s the usual pile of petition letters and”— she gave Meg a sympathetic glance before continuing —“your history tutor sent over a new list of reading assignments.”
Meg made a very unprincess-like face. Her parents had agreed to cut back on her lessons during the current crisis, but not to stop them entirely. Meg usually liked history, but although she understood her tutor’s inclination to shift their current focus to studying other wars and conflicts, she was getting a little tired of endless reading about death and destruction throughout the world’s past. There was more than enough of that happening right here in the present.
Pela went on, relaying a few more notes and messages, but as soon as Meg’s door closed behind them, she dropped the hand holding the list and looked at Meg beseechingly.
“Princess, this plan is very foolish.”
Meg sighed. “I know, Pela.”
“Are you certain you will not reconsider?”
“Yes, I’m certain.”
Pela nodded, but managed to convey a vast amount of disapproval along with the acceptance. “Very well. In that case, I have laid out your clothing and arranged for your evening meal to be brought up to your rooms.”
“Thank you,” Meg said. And she meant it. She wasn’t sure how she would have gotten through the past several weeks without Pela’s quiet, able assistance. And kindness.
“Please — just be careful,” Pela added.
“I will. I promise.”
Pela’s mouth twitched in a very interesting manner, but she had it back under control again so quickly that Meg couldn’t really be sure what she had seen. She presumed, however, that Pela did not quite believe that Meg was capable of being careful.
It was probably not such an unreasonable opinion.
Pela helped her change out of her training clothes and then ducked back out, leaving Meg to spend the remainder of the afternoon going through the letters and other documents that her parents had sent for her to read. Training to fight in the war was one thing, but they still expected her t
o keep up with her responsibilities as the princess-heir as well. Meg understood, but she wished that the news weren’t so uniformly grim and discouraging. Lourin and its allies were advancing steadily, and every day brought more reports of Trelian’s soldiers falling back. They were outnumbered, waiting on reinforcements from Kragnir that hadn’t yet arrived, and they were losing ground. Meg knew that her father had still not abandoned all hope of negotiating an end to the fighting, but she didn’t think it was likely to happen. Meg suspected that lingering hope was the main reason she and Jakl hadn’t yet been allowed to join the war effort. She thought they had waited long enough, but it wasn’t her decision to make. She had her orders, and currently those orders were to continue training and nothing more.
And you always follow orders, do you?
Meg tried to ignore that voice she kept hearing in her head. The one that pointed out how her current plan was a direct violation of everything she had promised her parents about being more responsible and less impulsive and able to follow orders and do what she was told.
It’s not impulsive, she told herself. I’ve given it a great deal of thought. That was true. But somehow she didn’t think that really made much difference. She knew, she knew it was almost certainly the wrong thing to do. But she didn’t know what choice she had. Mage Serek refused to do anything. She’d pestered him relentlessly, cajoling, pleading, demanding, screaming . . . until he had finally banished her from his quarters entirely. Banished her! For trying to make him do what he should have been doing anyway. Well, if he wasn’t going to try to find Calen, then she would just do it herself.
The Mage of Trelian Page 2