Mercury Mind (The Downfall Saga Book 1)

by Chris Mccready

  A second figure emerged near the first and slowly turned to face them. The two figures methodically advanced towards them. As they neared, Donovan got a better look at them. The first one looked light grey in the moonlight, flecked with many small, black spots. Its body had the appearance of stone, sharp edged and crumbling. The second figure had diagonal dark and light banding running through its body like stripes. The edges were more rounded and smoother than the first. Their eyeless faces stared straight ahead, and moss was hanging off them like decaying flesh. The moonlight highlighted crude symbols carved into their hearts and the top of the head, the recesses lost in dark shadow. A puff of wind blew towards Osmont and Donovan, carrying the wet and musty smell of decay.

  “I have not seen a Clachward in many years,” said Osmont, his voice full of intrigue. “The rulers of old used them extensively but they’ve fallen out of practice, with men being much cheaper to hire. They are tough, highly resistant to physical and magical harm, mindless, but relentless. They can only follow the most rudimentary commands. Normally they were used to guard crypts and vaults, or to retrieve specific items or people.”

  “So what are they doing here?” asked Donovan.

  “I’ve never seen one in these parts before, let alone two,” said Osmont. “Unless you get in the way of them carrying out their orders, they will ignore you completely. If we weren’t so close to the capital, I’d sit here and let them go on their way, but I can’t have them scaring people.”

  “What can I do?”

  “You, nothing. You’d be like a flea trying to eat an elephant. Your best bet would be to run if you came across one on your own. Otherwise, they avoid light and intense heat. They bury themselves under the earth before the sun rises each day.”

  Handing the reins to Donovan to hold, Osmont advanced towards the Clachwards. Donovan stood there, holding his breath, waiting to see what would happen. Osmont stopped in front of the lead one, holding out his hand so that he was practically touching its chest, a ball of energy grew in his palms. It grew until it was too bright to look at, then shot into the Clachward chest. When the light disappeared into its chest, the area suddenly became inexplicably dark. A blast of air hit Donovan in the chest, followed by the sounds of an avalanche as the Clachward crumbled to the ground.

  Repeating the process, Osmont disintegrated the second one, before heading into the woods to check for more.

  Donovan remained transfixed in place, having witnessed magic for the first time, when he felt a pull at his wrist. “Easy there, girl,” he said to the mare beside him. A cold, icy sensation began seeping into his wrist, numbing his hand. Turning his head, he saw a pale arm and body attached to the hand gripping his wrist, pulling him slowly backwards.

  A chill breeze blew off the mountain, its icy breath froze him to the core, driving the air from his lungs. His feet left the ground as it lifted him effortlessly and began to carry him, slowly towards the forest.

  The rigid arm was wrapped so tightly around his chest that he struggled to draw breath and was unable to yell for help. It had a stale, earthy aroma. He grabbed its rough arm and tried to pry it away so he could escape, but despite his best efforts, it didn’t budge. It entered the trees with an uncaring purpose, branches sliced into Donovan’s face, but the Clachward continued moving, unstoppable through the brush.

  “Donovan!” yelled Osmont, having discovered Donovan’s disappearance.

  Donovan watched as he scanned the tree line, his experienced eyes quickly picking out the tear in the underbrush. He plunged through the opening, into a tunnel of broken and torn branches, heedlessly continuing on. He summoned a small orb of light, and sent it ahead of him, through the trees, until he could see the Clachward’s silhouette in front of him.

  Donovan flailed his legs in the air, as he unsuccessfully tried to gain leverage to free himself from its grasp.

  A glow of energy appeared around his hand as Osmont pounded up behind the Clachward. He began to pummel the Clachward’s shoulder, small chunks of stone came loose with each blow. It didn’t react to his attack, but continued its steady march through the forest.

  With a mighty blow, he separated the arm, which crumbled onto the ground. He attacked the other shoulder, until it too crumbled to the ground, freeing Donovan.

  Donovan tried to scramble out of the way, but the Clachward turned and tracked his path, until Osmont brought forth another ball of energy and stopped it for good.

  “Are you okay?” asked Osmont, helping Donovan to his feet.

  Donovan took a moment to check himself over before replying. “Nothing’s broken.”

  “Good, let’s get back to Haven as soon as possible.”

  Osmont created a second orb of light and had the lights follow him on either side. With their path lit, they swiftly retraced their steps to the road. The two horses stood there, sniffing at the grass, as if nothing had happened.

  Mounting the horses, they kicked them into a trot and rode back to the welcoming gates at Haven. Leaving the horses with the guard at the gate, Osmont told Donovan to find Professor Cleary in his office and have him come to the Headmaster’s office.

  Feeling silly looking for the professor in his office at this hour, Donovan nonetheless headed to obey Osmont’s instructions. He had to pound loudly on the door a few times before he received a garbled response. A few moments later, the door opened to Professor Cleary, his crusted eyes and drool stained shirt indicated that he’d been asleep, yet he didn’t seem surprised to see him.

  “It’s about time,” said Cleary. “He tells me to wait up for him and then takes his sweet, bloody time coming back.”

  Professor Cleary led Donovan to a corner office of the top floor of the building. Knocking, he entered without waiting for a response. Donovan started to follow him into the room, when Osmont, who was already in the room, asked him to give them some privacy for a few minutes. Retreating back into the hallway, he shut the door behind himself.

  Donovan made sure that the hallway was deserted, before hesitantly pressing his ear to the door. The thick door blocked out most of the conversation, but Donovan heard a steady rumble of conversation, and could only make out the occasional word, like Zeren, vile, Clachward and impossible. After several minutes, there was a break in the conversation and Donovan hurried away from the door.

  A moment later, Osmont appeared and motioned him in. Closing the door behind himself, Donovan got his first look at Headmaster Shelden Marrok. He sat behind a solid, wooden desk, a kindly grandfather dispelling his wisdom. Nebulous eyes, creased skin and quavering voice assessed Donovan in an instant before turning back to Professor Cleary. Despite the late hour, he was alert and full of energy, which was more than you could say about Cleary, lounging in a chair, head drooping to his chest every few seconds before he’d jerk it into the air again.

  “Have a seat,” said Marrok, motioning to an empty chair facing the desk.

  Donovan took a quick glance around as he made his way to the offered chair. It was the largest office he’d seen at Haven, cluttered but more interesting than the heaps of paper in Professor Cleary’s office. Pale moonlight spilled through the many windows doing battle with the fiery light emanating from the large fireplace. Shelves full of gleaming metallic artifacts were spread around the perimeter, and a mantle full of carved statuettes rested above the fireplace. An old, dusty robe hung from a hook on the wall behind Marrok’s desk. The room was deathly silent, except for the occasional popping of the fire, as Donovan crossed the room and sat down.

  “It sounds like you’ve had an eventful day,” said Marrok. “I am hoping that you can enlighten us to what you did to attract the Clachward's attention.”

  “I don’t know what happened,” said Donovan hesitantly. “I was watching Osmont dealing with the two of them and he was heading into the forest to look for more when one grabbed me from behind, and carried me off.”

  “This is most strange,” said Marrok, stroking his chin. “I’ve heard of them sma
shing things into pieces if it’s in their way, but never carrying someone off.”

  “Perhaps someone has created a more intelligent version, which was trying to separate them,” said Cleary, awake and alert once more.

  “Unlikely,” said Marrok. “No disrespect to you, lad, but it could have crushed your head like a melon with less effort than it would take to carry you off. Alas, we will not sort this out tonight. I’ll send some men into the woods tomorrow and we’ll see if they discover anything.”

  “Right, to the matter at hand,” said Cleary. “New students will be arriving tomorrow and we need a decision on Donovan’s admittance.”

  “I’ve spoken to the two of you individually on the topic, but perhaps you can give an account for each other,” said Marrok, looking at Cleary and Osmont in turn.

  “I started with the standard test,” said Cleary in a bored tone. “He could barely light the orb. It was, by far, the weakest power that I’ve ever seen, but he undoubtedly has the Gift. His control is exceptional for one his age and his defense is better than some fully trained wizards, but,” he raised his hand to forestall Osmont’s interruption, “his power is so weak that he is no danger to those around him, which is our primary purpose here. It would be a waste of time to allow him to study here.”

  “I believe that we should allow him to study here, but not for the normal reasons,” said Osmont quietly. “As you know, I’ve been searching for information regarding the symbol carved into Donovan’s chest. While I couldn’t gain access to the Royal Library, I have a trusted friend searching it for me. What I did find in one of our libraries is this.” He withdrew a thin book, bound in black leather with golden writing, and set it in front of Marrok.

  “Blood Magic,” gasped Marrok. “Are you sure or is this only a guess?”

  “It’s a guess that I’d stake my reputation on,” said Osmont.

  “Donovan, would you?” asked Marrok, motioning with his arm.

  Donovan stood up to remove his cloak and pull off his shirt.

  “Who could do such a thing?” said Marrok.

  “Only a psychopath would do such a thing to a boy,” said Cleary.

  “Nobody doubts that,” said Osmont. “A couple of days ago, I would have sworn an oath that nobody on this continent was trained in Blood Magic, let alone had the mastery to create something like that.” He pointed at Donovan’s chest. “Now I’m worried that there’s something nefarious happening that we’re not aware of.”

  “I don’t see what this has to do with his admittance,” said Cleary, rising from his chair. “If you have nothing else, I’d like to get some sleep.”

  “We have a duty to figure out who did this and provide Donovan all the help we can. If we’re keeping him around here until we find a way to nullify it, then I don’t see the harm in letting him study at the same time. For all we know, the Blood Magic is sapping his strength, and once we break it, we’ll find that his power is comparable to his peers.”

  “I still think that it’s a waste of our time,” said Cleary, still standing in front of his chair. “If his power increases, then we can always admit him next year. With the control that he’s already demonstrated, I feel comfortable delaying his training for a year.”

  “I agree with both of you,” said Marrok, in a quiet, quavering voice. “This is a most unusual case. My decision is to let Donovan decide, but know this, if you decide to enroll then you will be required to remain for an entire year of instruction, and I can assure you that it won’t be easy for someone with your limited Gift.”

  Donovan started to put on his shirt to buy time to think. Despite the shirt blocking the room from his sight, he could feel the three sets of eyes on him. A day ago, the only thing that he knew was that he wanted to study here. Now, barely a day later, he desperately wanted to find the people who had done this to him, to find out why they did it, but more importantly, to discover who he is.

  He sat there silently for a long time, deliberating on a decision which could possibly shape the rest of his life.

  Chapter 6

  Kort climbed the narrow, snaking path towards the gate leading to Haven. Exhausted and disheveled from four days of walking and three nights of sleeping out in the elements, he knew that he was late arriving, but all he wanted was to pull off his boots and have a nap.

  Craning his neck, he could see the light from a series of torches illuminating the wall far above him. With his destination in sight, he put on a burst of speed. Rounding a switchback in the path, he nearly collided with a small figure dragging a large trunk behind.

  “Don’t hog the trail,” said Kort.

  “Why don’t you give me a hand with my trunk and I’ll be out of your way sooner,” came Ravyn’s exasperated reply.

  “Maybe if you asked me nicely,” he said, attempting to squeeze past the trunk, but giving up when he looked down over the edge of the path.

  Letting go of the trunk, she spun around, hands planted on her hips, the moonlight reflecting off her soft, round face. “I’m a lady and I expect you to help me.”

  “Where I come from, women pull their own weight, and if somebody wants help, they’re nice about it,” he said.

  “Where I come from, men act like gentlemen not beasts of burden.”

  “Yet you expect me to become your beast of burden and haul your stuff for you.”

  “No, I want you to assist me in carrying my belongings up to the gate.”

  “Hey, what’s the hold up?” came a commanding voice from behind.

  “This lady,” said Kort, “packed herself a trunk that her body can’t carry.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Prince Caddaric. “I’m your prince, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll move out of my way. I’m already late enough thanks to the Queen’s extended goodbyes.”

  “I’ll get out of your way as soon as the princess up there gets out of my way,” said Kort.

  “Princess,” she said, her icy tone more biting than the wind swirling around the mountains.

  “If you had helped her, then neither of you would be in my way now,” said Caddaric.

  “Exactly,” she said, “finally someone with some sense.”

  “Alright, I’ll take an end just to get you out of my way,” said Kort, picking up an end of Ravyn’s trunk. “What did you fill this with?”

  “Only the essentials.”

  With each of them carrying an end of the trunk, they began to travel up the path again. “Hey,” said Caddaric, “aren’t you going to help your prince?”

  “You were doing just fine on your own up until now,” he said.

  “You will regret getting on my bad side.”

  “Fine,” said Kort.

  They readjusted their positions and started up the path again. Ravyn leading, Caddaric in the rear, and Kort still in the middle, the handle on Ravyn’s trunk in his right hand, Caddaric’s in his left. Scuttling sideways along the path, he alternated between staring down over the edge of the path and almost scraping his nose on the stone wall as they followed the switchbacks up the side of the mountain.

  Kort gratefully set down the two trunks when they passed through the heavy wooden gate into Haven. Kort got his first look at his new home. The whole complex was basked in the late afternoon light, the air already cool despite it only being early fall.

  Nestled in a nook, high up between two mountains, it sat in a flat, wedge shaped area, bordered on two sides by the steep walls of the mountains and a high, thick wall bordered the front face. Two imposing buildings rose up near the center of the yard, splitting Haven in half. The buildings reminded Kort of the church back in Blaine, plain stone construction, tall diamond shaped windows, devoid of any adornments. A shiver ran down his spine, knowing that he was going to be living in one of those buildings. A stone courtyard covered the area in front of the buildings, with only a few hardy weeds poking through the gaps between blocks, and Kort could see grass, trees and bushes, all well-trimmed, growing on the far side of
all the buildings.

  Two men, huddled in fine cloaks, waited to greet them.

  “Hello, to you all,” said a kindly old man, coming forward to shake their hands. “I’m Headmaster Marrok.”

  A pale, stooped man stayed at Marrok’s shoulder, focusing on the paper in his hand and not offering to shake hands. “I’m Professor Cleary,” he said absently.

  “Prince Caddaric Kelvin,” said Caddaric, stepping forward to introduce himself first.

  “Ravyn Thaliard,” said Ravyn, shaking Marrok’s hand.

  “Kort Byron,” mumbled Kort, not looking Marrok in the eyes when he shook his hand.

  “Good, good,” said Cleary, marking the paper in his hand. “We’re only waiting on one more.”

  “Where are we with the living quarters?” asked Marrok, quietly.

  “Bad,” said Cleary. “Mrs. Betha’s got them packed in there as tight as we dare. Attendance has almost doubled over the last ten years, but I’d expected that at least a few of them wouldn’t show up.”

  “We have no choice but to turn the storage room into a temporary dorm. Are all of you okay sharing a room?”

  The three of them looked at each other uneasily, none of them wanted to spend any extra time in each other’s company, but not wanting to disappoint the Headmaster, they all agreed.

  “Donovan, can you show these people to the west storage room on the top floor, and let Mrs. Betha know that she needs to setup the room?,” said Marrok.

  “No problem.” Donovan separated himself from the stone bench on which he had been lounging and glided over to the gate. “Am I staying in the same room?”

  “I suppose so,” said Cleary, studying his paper. “Ask Mrs. Betha to set it up for five people, and try to hang a curtain or something to give the ladies some privacy.”

  “We’ll be joined by another girl?” asked Ravyn.