The Mage of Trelian

by Michelle Knudsen

  Calen wandered the castle, not really paying attention to where he was going. Most of the other mages would be in their rooms by now, sleeping, or practicing, or praying, or whatever they did when they were alone. Finding ways to live with themselves while betraying everything that should matter to them. He still couldn’t believe how many had come. More than forty the last time he had counted. And he knew there would be more. They knew Mage Krelig was evil, but they still came. He supposed most of them were afraid of being on the wrong side if Krelig won. But didn’t they realize that if they all fought against him, maybe he wouldn’t win?

  He kept wandering, and thinking. When he reached the stairs, he climbed up and up and up until he reached the outer battlements and stepped outside. The sky was brilliant with stars. Calen stood there for several minutes before he realized that he wasn’t alone.

  Mage Krelig was standing near the door on the other side, also looking up at the stars.

  “A fine night,” Mage Krelig said, walking over toward Calen.

  “Yes,” Calen said. His heart was pounding, but he thought he was hiding it well. He wasn’t doing anything wrong; there was no rule against being out here, but he still felt guilty and afraid.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  It was times like these that Calen was most confused by Mage Krelig. He knew that the man was evil and terrible and heartless and wrong in every possible way, and usually that was quite clear from his behavior and speech. And then other times he’d talk to you just like a regular person, and it was hard to know how to respond.

  But Calen knew he had to say something. Even when he was in a good mood, Krelig hated it when you didn’t answer.

  “No,” Calen said. “I’m not sure why. Sometimes a walk helps to clear my head. I didn’t mean to disturb you, though. I can go —”

  “No, no,” Krelig said, waving him closer. “I’m glad for the company.”

  Calen made himself lean casually against the outer wall, just a few inches from where Krelig was doing the same. He kept his eyes on the sky; he didn’t want to look down and see how far above the ground they were. Heights still made him . . . uncomfortable.

  Which made his escape plan extra terrifying.

  Don’t think about that now! Not here! Not when he’s STANDING RIGHT THERE!

  He tried to think of something safe to say.

  “Is it the girl?” Krelig asked. Calen just stared at him, completely caught off-guard. Krelig laughed.

  “I remember being your age. I know; it’s hard to believe, but I was young once, too.” He shook his head, looking out again at the night. “Be careful with that one. She’s attractive, no doubt, but fiery. Fiery girls are always unpredictable. They usually break your heart in the end.”

  Calen kept staring, trying not to look as shocked as he felt. Krelig talking about feelings was about a million times more incomprehensible than Serek talking about feelings.

  “Still, it’s usually worth it,” Krelig added. “You might as well enjoy yourself while you can, my boy. Our time for preparing is almost at an end. Soon enough we’ll be at war, and who knows what will happen?”

  Calen swallowed, still struggling with this whole conversation. “Well — we’ll win. That’s what will happen,” he said. Surely that’s what Krelig believed, anyway.

  But the mage surprised him. He laughed again — such a normal, human sound that Calen felt like he was talking to a complete stranger. “I do hope so,” Krelig said. “But the gods offer no guarantees, and I haven’t had another sighting since I’ve returned. I know your ability will be a great asset, and I know we are stronger than our enemies. But war is . . . unpredictable. Ha! Like fiery girls. It may seem like everything is going your way, and then suddenly you’re lying in tatters on the floor, wondering what went wrong.”

  Calen tried desperately to think of a response. He couldn’t tell whether Krelig was using war as a metaphor for some girl who had broken his heart a thousand years ago, or . . .

  Krelig clapped Calen on the shoulder. “Oh, don’t be so serious,” he said. “No harm in a few stolen kisses. It’s probably good for you. Just remember that when the time comes, the only thing that matters is the fight. You must be able to cast everything else aside. Can you promise me that? I don’t mind you having a little fun, but if there’s any chance it will distract you from what’s really important . . .”

  “No, Master,” Calen said at once. “I know what’s really important.” Krelig was still looking at him, and he felt like something else was required. “I don’t even — I don’t even know if I like her.”

  Krelig laughed again, actually throwing back his head and guffawing up at the stars. “Yes, that’s often how it is with women. Of any age. Just be careful. And remember what’s important. You’ll be fine. And if necessary, we can always get rid of her. She’s a strong one, and I’d hate to waste her abilities . . . but you are my most important weapon, Calen. If I need to sacrifice her . . .”

  “No!” Calen said, horrified. “No, it’s okay. She’s — she’s not that much of a distraction. I know what’s really important. I promise.”

  Krelig nodded and pushed back from the wall. “All right, then. Don’t stay up too late, my boy. I expect you to be awake at lessons in the morning.”

  “Yes, Master,” Calen said. He watched as Krelig walked toward the far door and disappeared back into the castle.

  Three more days, he thought. Just three more days.

  Suddenly the time couldn’t go by quickly enough.

  Calen did get to sleep eventually, and he managed to be alert for his private morning lessons with Mage Krelig. As usual, the lessons were so engrossing that it wasn’t hard to put everything else out of his head. Almost everything. He still had to be careful not to give any sign that he knew what Krelig was going to cast before he actually cast it. But that was becoming almost second nature at this point. He thought he was doing a good job of pretending it was just another day. Not two days before the day he’d be leaving this place forever.

  Helena could tell, though. He knew as soon as he saw her watching him at group practice that afternoon.

  “Stop staring at me,” he muttered through his teeth as soon as he could get close enough to her to do so and not be overheard.

  “Sorry.” She looked away, and then asked, “Soon, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  She nodded and then seemed to refocus on the lesson. Calen tried to do the same. He made it through the rest of the day without incident. And the next morning as well, despite having trouble sleeping once again. Helena, too, seemed to be acting normally to him. At that afternoon’s practice, she made just-audible mocking comments about some of the other mages’ spells and rolled her eyes at Calen from across the room, just like any other day. It was strange to realize how much that had used to annoy him, back in the beginning. Now it was a welcome relief to the tension. And some of her comments were actually pretty funny. As long as they weren’t directed at you.

  But even Helena grew serious as the afternoon went on. Krelig was in another of his foul moods, and no one seemed able to please him. Which of course just made everyone less able to focus, which worsened Krelig’s mood even further.

  Krelig was watching two of the mages — Joran and Ya’el — sparring with each other at the center of the room. The two of them were casting shock spells — they gave you a sharp jolt when they landed, but nothing too terrible, and it only lasted for a second. Krelig circled them, and Calen was dismayed to see the mage’s expression darkening yet again.

  “Too slow,” Krelig said finally, pushing Ya’el aside and taking her place. He faced Joran, who had gone very pale. “Are the shock spells too weak to motivate you? Do you need something more dreadful to inspire you to move quickly?”

  “No, Master, I —”

  “Silence!” Krelig roared. He raised his hands and sent something dark red at the other mage’s head. Joran yelped and threw himself flat on the floor, the spell flying over him an
d exploding against the far wall. It left a small crater in the stone.

  Krelig’s eyes grew huge and incredulous. “Did you — did you just duck?” He spoke in an eerily soft voice that did not match his expression in the slightest. “Did you throw yourself to the ground to avoid my spell instead of trying to block it or fight back?” His voice was getting louder now. “Are you a mage at all? Are you? Answer me!”

  “Yes!” Joran yelled. He was still lying on the floor, facedown, his hands covering his head. “Yes! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do better, I’ll —”

  “It’s too late for that. Do you think your enemies will give you a second chance? Do you think they will wait for you to get up from the ground? Do you think they will say, ‘Oh, you’re sorry; all right, in that case, let us start again’?”

  “Please —”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Maybe, maybe if Joran had tried to stand up for himself, to not show his fear, maybe Krelig would have backed down, or merely punished him. Instead, Krelig shook his head in disgust and sent a far stronger stream of dark red at the cowering mage. Everyone gasped; even the weakest of them at sensing magic energy could feel the deadly power in that spell.

  Joran barely had time to scream. He went up in a red burst of magical fire. And then he was just a pile of ash on the stone floor.

  No one moved. They had all seen Krelig punish other mages, had all been punished to various degrees, and they all knew that Krelig had killed Cheriyon, but this was the first time he’d killed someone right in front of them.

  Not the first time for me, Calen thought darkly, remembering how Krelig had incinerated Sen Eva when she’d thrown herself in front of the spell aimed at her son. But he was still shocked into stillness with the rest. Cheriyon had been trying to escape, and Krelig couldn’t have allowed him to leave and reveal their location. But Joran had wanted to stay. Joran had wanted to try again, to get better. He’d just been having a bad day at practice.

  Krelig stood there for several minutes, eyes closed. Trying to get himself back under control? Did he even realize that he had been out of control? When he opened his eyes again and turned toward them, Calen thought he’d tell them that practice was over for today. Instead, he gestured at them impatiently. “Well? Get back to it.” He glanced at Ya’el. “Find yourself a new partner.”

  Everyone hurried to pair up and start casting. They kept going, even when Krelig walked silently out of the room a few seconds later. They kept going even when he didn’t come back.

  That night, Calen brought Helena up to his balcony to tell her his plan. They sat with their backs against the castle wall, looking out at the sky.

  “I can bring you with me if we’re in physical contact,” he said.

  “But . . . how? You saw what happened with Neehan and the barrier. You can’t transport through it.”

  “No,” Calen agreed. “We have to get physically past it first without using magic. That’s — that’s going to be the scary part.” He almost laughed. All the parts were scary. But this part was probably the worst.

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Calen nodded toward the faint shimmer that he knew she couldn’t see. He could see it now whenever he wanted. Usually he caught glimpses of it out of the corner of his eye even when he wasn’t trying, but when he focused on it, he could see it quite clearly straight on. “The barrier here is only a few feet past the edge of the balcony,” he said. “We’d need to take a running start, I think, but we should be able to jump far enough to get past it. Once we pass through it, I’ll be able to transport us to Trelian.”

  She stared at him, then out toward the barrier. “How do you know? Just because it was close to the castle where Neehan slammed into it, that doesn’t mean . . .”

  “I can see it.”

  She turned back to him, staring even harder. “You can? I thought — I thought you could only see colors when someone was casting.”

  He’d already told her the most dangerous secret; this one hardly mattered at all. And he couldn’t expect her to trust him if he didn’t tell her.

  “That’s always how it was before,” Calen agreed. “But now — now if I try, I can see active spells even after they’re cast. It just started happening recently.” He looked at her, trying not to be terrified of confiding in her. “He doesn’t know.”

  No need to explain which he Calen meant, of course. Helena’s eyes widened even more.

  “So . . . that’s the plan. Tomorrow night. You have to be here, and then you’ll need to jump off the edge of the balcony with me. And then I’ll get us home.”

  She looked back out past the outer half wall, squinting, then shook her head again. “If you’re wrong, we’ll both die.”

  “I’m not wrong.”

  “But —”

  “I’m not wrong.”

  She took a breath. “All right. I trust you, Calen.” She hesitated, then leaned over and kissed him again, more gently than the first time. “Thank you,” she said when she’d pulled back. She squeezed his hand. “Thank you for taking me with you.”

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She stood and went back inside, and in a moment, he felt her pass through the doorway wards on her way out. Calen sat there for another hour or so, looking out at the night.

  One more day.

  He slept very badly that night. Nightmares kept waking him — nightmares of falling, of not making it past the barrier, of being caught, of ending up half-embedded in a tree or a wall or, in one dream that was so horrible it was almost funny, materializing into the exact place where Lyrimon was taking an invisible nap.

  Gods, Calen thought after waking from that one. I hope they think to make sure he’s safely out of the way. Too late to send a crow-message to suggest it, unfortunately.

  He tried to seem awake for lessons in the morning, but it was clear that Krelig could see how exhausted he was.

  “I know what this is about, Calen,” he said finally.

  Calen’s heart stopped in his chest, but he fought to keep his face calm. “You do?” He can’t know. He can’t. Unless . . . Helena . . . ?

  Krelig nodded. “But you don’t have to worry. You couldn’t be as disappointing as Joran if you tried. Such slowness is intolerable to me. There’s just no excuse. And . . . the ducking!” Incredibly, he laughed, as if at a fond memory. “I just couldn’t believe it.”

  “Neither could I,” Calen said.

  “And besides, I need you. You wouldn’t be much good to me as a pile of ashes!”

  Calen forced himself to smile. “No, Master.”

  “I can forgive one sleepless night. But I expect you to be back in top form tomorrow morning, understand?”

  “Yes, Master.” Gods, I hope so, Calen added silently. Top form, and far away from here.

  The day passed with excruciating slowness.

  He couldn’t bring himself to look at Helena when he arrived for group practice in the afternoon. And then he worried about how that might look suspicious, until he realized that everyone was avoiding looking at one another today. It made sense, after Joran. No one wanted to see their own fear and dismay reflected in anyone else’s eyes.

  Krelig seemed back in good spirits, and everyone worked extra hard to please him. Calen worried that this might encourage Krelig to kill more mages in order to inspire the rest to better performance, but he reminded himself that this would not be his concern after today. Let the traitors get what they deserved. Although really it was getting harder to think of them all that way. As a group, collectively, he hated them. But he found it hard to wish death upon any one of them individually. Even the truly awful ones — and there were many of those. For every misguided coward who joined out of fear, whom he could almost, almost feel sorry for, there were more who came because they wanted more power, more freedom to do whatever they wished. He hoped they were realizing how little freedom being under Krelig’s rule would truly give them. He hoped it kept them up at night and gave the
m indigestion. He hoped . . .

  “Calen,” Krelig said, startling him out of his thoughts, “come here and demonstrate the proper way to adjust the speed of another mage’s spell.”

  Calen forced himself to focus. He just had to get through this last day without giving himself away. Just a few more hours to go.

  Calen and Helena practiced as usual that evening in the empty training hall. It seemed dangerous to do anything that deviated from their normal routine, and besides, they needed to be together tonight so he could bring her with him. Luckily, she’d had trouble with the speed-adjustment spells earlier, and so they had an easy choice for what to focus on and a ready excuse for practicing late into the night. Anyone who saw them would certainly understand Helena’s desire to not be too slow at mastering something. And they spent enough time together now that the other mages were used to seeing them in each other’s company. There was no reason for any of this to seem suspicious. But Calen worried all the same.

  Eventually Helena released her last spell and said, “I’m done for the night, I think. Too tired. But I think I’ve gotten better, don’t you?”

  “A little better,” Calen said. “Not nearly as good as me, though,” he added, making himself smile at her.

  “Watch it,” Helena said, smiling back. “Unless you want another tickling. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “No tickling, please. I don’t think I could take it right now.”

  “Then you’d better be nice to me.” She walked over and took his arm, and they started walking back to his room. Every step, Calen expected someone to appear and challenge them.

  But no one did.

  They reached his room, and he set the door wards behind him as always. The plan was for them to transport to Trelian at midnight. Just a little over an hour from now. He dragged a small, low table over to the balcony.

  Helena watched, eyebrows raised.

  “Running start,” Calen explained. “I thought it would help us get more distance — run toward the balcony, up on the table, then up onto the wall, and push off. . . .”