The Mage of Trelian

by Michelle Knudsen

  Right, Calen thought. Okay, then.

  He stopped straining to see. He looked out at the seemingly empty air and widened his sliver of white into a fine spray that radiated out from — not his hands, he realized; he wasn’t using his hands. From his head. From his mind. Show me! he demanded. He knew it wasn’t the words themselves that mattered, just the power behind them.

  He waited, watching the white energy fly outward, carrying his will with it. And then he saw it illuminate the magic barrier. Which was suddenly, faintly visible. A shimmery black and orange and white curtain, paper-thin, but impenetrable to whatever it wanted to keep inside. It surrounded the castle, only a few feet beyond the walls and windows of the upper levels, but much farther out near the gate and along the outer perimeter on the ground. In fact . . . he squinted and saw that the gate itself had several layers of protection. Krelig had known the second that Cheriyon passed through the gate and had been able to catch him before he reached the outer barrier. So just walking — or even running — far enough away to be able to transport wouldn’t work. Not down there.

  People could pass through it nonmagically, but not without alerting Mage Krelig.

  Some magic could pass through it; he and Krelig had both sent magic into the air far beyond the castle during lessons, and Calen had been able to send his information-gathering spell at the crow. And the crow itself had been able to pass through, even while carrying Serek and Anders’s spell. But people being moved by magic ceased being moved by magic at its boundary. Which made sense, since surely the whole purpose of it was to prevent any of Krelig’s recruits from leaving via magical means.

  So all he had to figure out . . .

  Suddenly someone’s hands were on him, yanking him back from the window and up against the wall.

  Krelig — I’m caught —!

  But it wasn’t Krelig. Calen had a glimpse of Helena’s fiery red hair and dark eyes and then she was suddenly closer and then —

  And then she —

  It took his confused brain several seconds to put it together.

  She was kissing him!

  He tried to push her away, but she blocked his hands and kept her mouth on his. And part of him, he realized, wasn’t really trying all that hard to make her stop. It was . . . interesting, the kissing. No one had ever kissed him before.

  It was not precisely unpleasant, either.

  But it’s Helena!

  He thought that he should try harder to push her away now, but then he heard Krelig’s voice from behind her and the kissing stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

  “Really, Mage Helena. I must ask you to stop terrorizing my poor apprentice.” Even through his confusion, Calen could tell that Krelig was still amused. Not angry. Thank the gods.

  “I didn’t hear him complaining,” she said, just defiantly enough to avoid being outright disrespectful.

  “He looked like he was about to faint.”

  Helena shrugged. “I thought he deserved a reward for not crashing me into a wall or impaling me on a table leg earlier,” she said.

  Calen finally found his voice. “I was not about to faint!” he said. “I was — it was —”

  They both turned to look at him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of how to finish that sentence, and after a moment they went back to ignoring him again.

  “It’s nothing to me if you like each other,” Krelig said. “And alliances can be useful, when you’re fighting in and against groups. Just see that it doesn’t interfere with your training. And that it doesn’t become annoying.”

  Calen tried again. “There’s nothing — we’re not —”

  They didn’t even turn to look at him this time.

  “You fight well together, and that’s something I can use,” Krelig went on. “Just remember that your first loyalty must always be to me.”

  “I know, Master,” Helena said, all traces of defiance gone. “Your will above all.”

  He nodded, satisfied.

  “But —” Calen began.

  Krelig rolled his eyes and walked away.

  Calen turned to Helena, furious.

  “What — why?”

  “Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” she said. But her eyes were straight and serious on his, and she held his gaze intently. “And I meant it about you deserving a reward. You’re powerful, Calen. I’d rather have you on my side than against me.”

  “But —”

  She glared at him, but her voice stayed lightly teasing. “Maybe if you help me work on that transporting spell a little, I’ll kiss you again.”

  Calen stopped trying to interject any sanity into this conversation. It was clearly impossible.

  She turned to glance behind her, then leaned in close. But this time instead of kissing him, she only whispered. “He was coming this way. I don’t know what you were doing, but I didn’t think it was anything you wanted to be caught at. Was I right?”

  “Oh. Yes. Uh — thank you.” He paused, then added, “So you didn’t — you weren’t . . . ?”

  She smirked at him. “I suppose I did want to thank you a little. But mostly I just wanted to save your skin. You’re the only one here I can stand besides myself. If he kills you for ‘making him wonder about you,’ who would I practice with then? Lestern?” She made a face.

  She studied him, then asked, “So what were you doing?”

  “Nothing,” he said immediately. “Just — thinking.”

  “Hmm.” She looked skeptical, but didn’t press him. “Well, I wasn’t kidding about wanting help with the transportation spell. Would you practice with me a bit before dinner?” She smirked again. “Don’t worry — I promise not to kiss you.”

  He shook his head to clear it and pushed away from the wall. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go back downstairs.”

  She started walking and he followed, trying not to think about how her last comment made him feel vaguely disappointed.

  Calen sent the bird back with a message that said he needed more time.

  He knew they didn’t have a lot of time. More mages were arriving every day. And while Krelig was still sometimes relatively normal — as normal as he ever got, anyway — his violent outbursts seemed to be getting more and more common. He’d set one of the mages on fire the other day for failing to correctly perform a new spell quickly enough. And not just his hand or foot — his whole body. The man had been screaming, the rest of them frozen in fear and horror, and Calen had been on the verge of putting out the fire himself when Krelig had suddenly seemed to come back to some semblance of sanity. He had appeared momentarily surprised to see the man burning to a crisp in front of him, then waved a hand and put him out.

  Calen had seen the colors for both the fire and the quenching a few seconds before Krelig had cast them.

  It had been happening more and more often, at first sporadically and then more regularly, until he was seeing the colors early nearly all the time. In fact, his biggest challenge at practice now was trying not to react to the early indications of what someone was about to cast. Mage Krelig thought he knew what Calen’s special talent was. He had known. But now — now Calen seemed to have another special talent. Or a new manifestation of the old one. Or something. Maybe because of the new levels of power he could access now. But whatever it was, he knew it was vitally important that Krelig not find out. No one could find out. Not even Helena.

  Because if Calen ever did get out of there, this new ability could be the key to defeating their enemy.

  If nothing else, it would give the good mages an advantage that they sorely needed. No matter how much Mage Krelig taught his recruits — and they were still learning at an incredible rate, every day — the older man still knew a million times more than all of the rest of them combined. And he was so strong. Serek and Anders and the rest of the non-traitor mages were going to need all the advantages they could get in order to have a chance. Calen had to get back in time to help them.

  But he also had to learn enou
gh to make sure he was able to really make a difference when he got there. Seeing the colors early wouldn’t matter unless he was able to use those extra seconds to cast the right spells.

  Sometimes when he had those thoughts, the little voice in his head asked him when that was going to be, exactly. When would he know that he’d learned enough? Maybe he should take what he knew now and leave before it was too late.

  And that was probably good advice. But . . . what if the next thing Krelig taught them was the spell that ended up being the one they needed? What if the next group practice revealed some other mage’s self-invented spell that shed new light on something Calen had never considered casting before? What if the next piece of essential knowledge was right around the corner, and he left just one crucial day too soon and missed learning what he needed to learn?

  You could keep saying that forever, you know.

  I know.

  Calen decided that when the crow next arrived, he would set the date and confirm the location for his jump. He was pretty certain that he knew how to do it. He was terrified by what he would have to do, but he thought it would work. And the voice in his head was right. He couldn’t keep putting it off.

  But then the next day at practice, Krelig taught them a variation on shields that Calen felt sure he would never, ever have thought of on his own. See? he said to himself. There’s still so much to learn! How can I leave now? How can I ever leave?

  What?

  Wait. Wait, I didn’t —

  The voice in his head didn’t say anything. But it didn’t really need to.

  He did not feel that way. He did not. He wanted to leave more than anything. No amount of learning would be worth staying here with Krelig. Not ever.

  Calen took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the lesson. He couldn’t let anyone see how shaken he was.

  Clearly, he had to get out of there as soon as he possibly could.

  When the bird came again, Calen calculated how long it would take it to get back to Serek and then return with confirmation, based on the time between the bird’s previous visits and how much faster he might be able to get it to fly with a little extra magical help. Then he picked his date. Six days from now. No — no, seven. Seven days. Or would eight be safer?

  He made himself stop. Seven days.

  He spelled the crow and sent it on its way, giving it as much extra speed as he thought would be safe. He didn’t want to give the bird more speed than it could handle. But it was hard to hold back.

  Calen tried to act as though nothing were different. He had his private lessons, then group lessons. He ate meals with the others in the dining hall; half the tables were full now when they were all there together. He practiced with Helena and tried not to think about whether she would try to kiss him again. That had been . . . confusing. Best to just pretend it had never happened.

  She seemed to feel the same way, as far as he could tell.

  So, good. That was good.

  He thought he’d been doing a decent job of behaving normally, but Helena stopped him as he started back to his room after practice.

  “Calen,” she said.

  He stopped and turned around. They had already said good night; he was surprised to see her still standing where she’d been when he’d first turned to leave.

  “What is it?”

  She only stood there for a minute, not speaking. Then she came toward him, and he froze, wondering if she was going to kiss him.

  She did throw her arms around him, but she only hugged him close. Then she whispered in his ear. “If you’re leaving, take me with you?”

  He tried to pull away, but she held him fast.

  “I — I’m not —” He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to lie. But he couldn’t take her with him. Could he?

  Could he?

  He pushed her a little away from him, but only far enough to look at her. To look her in the eyes.

  Could it be a trick? He thought of the way she’d promised Mage Krelig her first loyalty. But then, they all had. You had to, to survive here. He’d done a lot of things to survive here. Done things he wasn’t proud of. Said things that weren’t true.

  She looked back at him, her eyes shining. With tears? Because he was leaving? Or because he might leave her behind? Or because she was about to betray him?

  No. He didn’t believe that. Maybe it was foolish. . . . It was almost certainly foolish . . . but he trusted her.

  And really, there was no reason he couldn’t take her with him. One more mage who knew Krelig’s secrets — she could be an asset. At the very least, it would mean one less mage to fight against them. And she knew Calen, knew how he fought and what his strengths and weaknesses were, and if he left her here . . .

  He pulled her close to him, so he could whisper in her ear. He supposed they were being careful in case anyone was watching. Or listening. But he didn’t mind the closeness so much just for itself.

  “I don’t know for certain if it will work,” he whispered. “But I can try.”

  “Please,” she said, pulling him closer. “Please.”

  They stood there for a little while longer. And then she abruptly pulled away, wiping her eyes. “See you tomorrow,” she said in a lighter voice. “I’m definitely going to block that fire-arrow spell next time!”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it!” he answered in the same tone.

  After another second, they both turned and walked in opposite directions.

  Calen hoped he hadn’t made a terrible, terrible mistake.

  PRINCESS . . .

  Someone’s voice, calling her in the darkness. Calen? No, not Calen. He was too far away. He had left her.

  She felt Jakl calling her, too. He never called her Princess, though. He didn’t exactly call her anything. There was just a feeling that meant her, that he connected only with her. He was sending that feeling now, wanting her to come back.

  I’m trying, she thought at him. And she was. But everything was so dark. She couldn’t tell where she was, or which way to go.

  Jakl seemed to feel her trying, seemed to be reaching back toward her. She went to where she could feel him. It was like standing outside with your eyes closed, feeling the sun shining on your face. She moved toward the warmth of him, that feeling of her that he was sending so fiercely. She followed that feeling, pulled herself along it like a rope. It got easier, lighter, as she got closer. She could feel him pouring his strength into her, making her stronger, making her able to find her way back, until . . .

  She blinked, and the world started to come into hazy focus around her. At first all she could see was an enormous green shape carving out a space against the sky, but she knew who that was, of course. Jakl hovered over her — no, around her — no, both. He was coiled around her as much as his size would allow, his head bent down to be just inches away from her own. When he realized that she was awake, he blew out a hot, snorty breath that lifted her hair back from her face and made her laugh despite the pain.

  “Yes, hello,” she said, half whispering, half croaking, trying to reach out and stroke his worried face. “I’m here, I’m okay.” Her arm didn’t seem to want to do what she told it, though.

  “Princess! Thank the gods.” It was Captain Varyn, a bloody bandage wrapped around his head. He leaned closer to her, fending off a persistent medic’s assistant who seemed to be trying to put more bandages on him. “Are you all right? Are you really back with us?”

  “Yes,” she managed. It was hard to talk. “Hurts, though.”

  “Don’t try to talk,” he said at once.

  She glared at him, or tried to. You asked me a question! But she didn’t try to say it out loud.

  A tall woman with a white medic’s sash pushed Captain Varyn firmly back in his chair, then turned toward Meg. “The difficult captain is right, Princess. You shouldn’t try to talk. You’ve been injured. Your shoulder was badly burned, and we’ve immobilized your arms and chest to help prevent further pain or in
jury. You were grazed by one of those fireballs, and then you took an arrow in the leg on your way down. Your throat, I believe, is only hoarse from screaming, and maybe a little from the smoke. Your right ear was very slightly scorched, but the shoulder took most of the fire’s damage.”

  Meg nodded slightly, grateful that the woman was giving her the information she would have been asking for if she could. Some of it, anyway. She looked at Jakl. Did you catch me before I hit the ground? He must have. Surely she would be dead otherwise.

  Yes, he thought at her, but hesitantly. After a moment he added something that felt like: Just.

  The medic looked back and forth at Meg and Jakl. The dragon hadn’t moved an inch to make room for anyone else to get closer to her, although at some point he must have allowed them close enough to treat her wounds.

  “Your dragon saved your life,” the medic said. “He caught you just before you would have been lost to us. Not gently, but then, I don’t suppose he had much choice at that point. He broke your arm in the process —” A flood of shame and sorrow flowed from the dragon through the link. The medic seemed to guess something of this; she placed a hesitant hand on Jakl’s neck. “A small price to pay, Sir Dragon,” she said. “You saved your lady, and then you saved us all.”

  What does that mean? Meg thought at him. Strangely, the shame flared up again, though less intensely than before.

  Well, if he wasn’t going to tell her . . . “What — what did —?”

  “Please, Princess,” the medic said. “I’m sure the captain will tell you everything, but first you must rest.”

  Meg tried to protest, but someone held a cup of sweet liquid to her lips, and then everything went fuzzy and dark again. But it was a different dark from last time. Sleep. Not — not whatever that had been before. And she could feel her dragon there with her. That was enough. She stopped trying to resist and let herself go into the darkness.