by Pam Uphoff
On the ship, Lieutenant Marquis cornered him. "Do you have any idea what they would do to us if they thought we'd had anything to do with making a gate?"
"Same as they'd do to a Native that could." Jaime's stomach clenched. Especially that genetically engineered Native from Purple.
"Exactly. If you don't want to spend the rest of your life as a guinea pig in a lab, you will slowly recover from your drugging and remember the silly drunken games with that poor turkey they pretended was a dinosaur chasing everyone, and then they killed it and ate it."
"Yeah. That footman had it under his arm, chasing the girls, and we laughed our drunk and drugged asses off about it."
"Exactly."
I'm dead. My life is dependent on this stuck up Frenchie keeping his wits about him.
In Fascia, General Soeder gave them disapproving sniff. "They had a lot of fun with you two. Never should have sent people they knew were associated with the Embassy from here. We'll try this wizards' school, with youngsters who were born and raised here."
The youngsters were loading up and ready to head for the wizards' school. Kenton was trying for blasé, but a grin kept sneaking out. The six younger volunteers weren't even trying to look serious.
Maybe I ought to not let Kenton go. He has been seen in Karista. But not for five years, and he's cut his hair really short. And without him, it would be a mob of seventeen and eighteen years olds going off to magic school without a sensible adult . . .
"Don't have too much fun." Jaime gave up and grinned at their enthusiasm. "And do your homework every night."
"Ha, ha. I'll bet they don't have any. It's not like magic is science or math." Kenton eyed him suspiciously. "Is it?"
"I don't know. So go and find out."
Chapter Fourteen
Spring 1395
Section Two, Foothills Province
The helicopter dropped them off a day's march from the reported location of the "Wizard's Tower."
Kenton watched it fade back into the night, then shouldered his pack and led the way down the dimly visible road.
Chuck and Mike, the fourteen years olds considered it a complete lark.
"I'm going to learn magic!" Mike staggered a bit under his rucksack. His mother had seriously over packed.
Almost seventeen year old Basil Harbin was much too grown up to be anything but grimly serious. "There's no such thing as real magic. We're going to learn all the tricks behind it. So they can't fool us if it comes to war. This is important! It's not a game."
Kenton slid a glance over at John Lennox. "Don't laugh. I saw you go through both stages."
John shrugged. "I tried so hard to not believe in magic."
"I saw a fair bit while I was with the embassy in Karista. I really ought to have talked to that Dominic fellow. His glow was as bright as Jaime's."
"Yours is as bright as Jaime's."
"Yeah . . . but you know? I think that mostly means we aren't well trained. There was this guy . . . Xen Wolfson . . . every once in a while he'd do something—offhand, not even really thinking about it—that ought to have been impossible. I think he was so well trained he could hide whatever he was, because he barely glowed at all."
"Ah, c'mon, you and Jaime shield sometimes, and I can still see that you glow, even if it is a lot dimmer. It sounds like this Wolfson had nothing."
Dawn brightened the sky and the boys started lagging as the road rose into the foothills. And goofed off, running down the first decline, then acted like they were dying on the next climb . . .
The first sign of habitation was a fence. Post and rail, no wire fences here. Fat, well kept looking horses out to pasture. Mares with foals who galloped down to the fence to look them over.
"Oh nice!" Lenny pet them over the fence. Raised in a horse powered society, they all fancied themselves experts.
Kenton stopped in the shade and shucked his pack. "Might as well take a break and let the boys goof off a bit."
"And pretend we aren't admiring them as well?" John dropped his pack and stepped into the shade. "Those are really fine critters. Even the ones with the pinto spots. I'm surprised they keep them, there's no market for travelers' nags."
"Nags?"
Kenton spun around to search for the strange voice.
"And what would a pack of Auralians know about really fine horses?" The speaker was tall and spare. Plenty of muscle, and no stoop, no matter the heavily greyed hair. He blended out of the background of trees and brush like . . . magic. "And more to the point, what is a pack of Auralian wizards doing here?"
Kenton winced. Are we that obvious? He glanced over at the younger kids . . . who stopped moving. His neck stiffened, and then all of him was . . . just standing there, tense muscles locking every joint.
John had stepped out to looked at the man, he was now standing very still. "We're headed for the Wizard School that's supposed to be out here somewhere. We want to learn magic, and get as strong as the Kingdom is."
The boy blinked . . . "What was that?"
"A truth spell." The old man's hand snaked out to touch John's face. "Wizard gene. Four insertion packets. Other genes . . . half magic, half absolutely, completely not. Interesting. So, you're from Earth?"
John sort of twitched. "Half. I was born here."
Kenton grunted with effort and turned his head to look at the man. "Who are you?"
The stranger stepped closer, studying Kenton. "Takes a lot of power to force your way around a spell I throw." He reached out and touched Kenton's face. Stepped back, rubbing his fingers together. "Huh. One of Oscar's kids with a Oner mother. That boy sure did get around."
He turned away and strolled over to the boys. Touched them one at a time. Then strolled back. "Relax."
John scrambled backwards, found his balance. He looked like he couldn't decide whether to run or attack. Kenton was quite sure running would be a better idea, but perhaps not the best.
"Well, all of you have power genes. Not all wizard, but it'll be interesting to see what the Oner gene can do. Come along." He stopped a few paces away to look back at them. "I'm Nil, the Archwizard, and head of the school, such as it is. If you want to learn, come along." He turned and walked away.
Kenton grabbed his backpack. "Well, come on. This is what we're here for, right?"
***
Nil looked the youngsters over. Born in Fascia, raised by a pack of Earthers, pretending to be Auralians. Old Gods know what the hell this lot might do.
"The rules here are simple. I'll teach you magic and if you use it to harm anyone I care about, I'll come and kill you."
They swapped nervous looks. Yeah, by the time I'm done with you, you'll know I mean it and that I can do it.
He led them around to the back of the stumpy ugly tower and through the gate.
Then through a trans-dimensional gate.
Nil suppressed an evil chuckle at the youngsters' shock. Didn't know we had a gate, eh?
The only two proper buildings on the world of Prairie Coast were ridiculously ornate stone buildings. He'd finally broken down and requested Dydit and Never pave the road in front of them. If he ever got around to landscaping, they might even start looking a bit less out of place.
"Everyone lives down on the beach. This is near the equator on an extreme ice age world. We apparently don't do bad weather." He led them through the dunes and gave them a minute to appreciate the white sand beach and rolling waves. The students further down the beach were throwing fireballs at the surf.
"Those four are the only students here, at the moment. So you lot will get a lot of personalized attention." He gave them his hungriest smile. "In fact, you'll get a lot of attention, while we figure out how this Oner power gene works."
One of the boys pulled his gaze away from the fireballs. "But . . . how did we get any Oners genes? Mom's Auralian, and Dad's . . . " he stopped abruptly.
"From Earth." Nil finished for him. "But the Oners were in Fascia and Discordia, kissing up to the real Amma for de
cades before they walked through the Earth Gate and disappeared. I've heard the Oners like to have a cadre of halfers on their colony worlds, so they are encouraged to spread their genes around. And what with all the genetic engineering for good looks and a lack of deleterious genes, well, their daughters were good looking enough to wind up in the Amma's harem. And when widowed, remarry. Possibly even for love." He eyed the boy. "What is your name?"
"Basil. Basil Harbin."
"Right. Well, you have the Oner gene. And you, and you. What are your names?"
"Lenny Hardcastle."
"Mike Atchley."
"And you three are wizards. What are your names?"
"John Lennox."
"Rick Jamison."
"Chuck Laskouski."
"Right." He turned and eyed the man. Golden blonde, he even looked like Oscar. "Kenton, was it? You've got the Oner gene to go with the mage gene. And I suspect, no training worth mentioning?"
"Yes . . . sir."
"Interesting. From what I've heard it ought not need an intervention. Luckily the wizard boys are young enough for the usual treatment."
"The usual treatment?" He looked wary.
"It's those nasty male hormones, they mess up the proper development of the magical abilities. Castration enables them."
The boys shrunk back.
The man crossed his arms and glared. "Not going to happen."
Nil grinned nastily. "Thought that was normal for you Auralians." His gaze swung back to the boys. "Of course, in these decadent modern times we just suppress hormones magically. So stop looking like you want to run away.
"Dump your packs—above the high tide line. Then come and meet the other Master Wizard. If any of you wizard types' mothers are from Verona, he may be a relative."
He pretended he didn't overhear the youngest muttering to each other. "So your granddad is a Verona rapist and mine is a Oner rapist. Aren't we lucky?"
"Maybe it wasn't rape . . . " the other youngster muttered.
Ah, children. So naive and optimistic.
Chapter Fifteen
Late Spring 1395
Crossroads, Foothills Province section one
And one day he woke up and felt alert. Alive. Good.
"About time." Xen savored one last breakfast in Flare's kitchen, then saddled Pyrite and reported for duty.
Magic Central was deserted, so he dropped down to Colonel Janic's office.
"Well, well. Look who's alive." Janic looked him over, and nodded in satisfaction. "Good timing, you can sit in the back of the monthly briefing and catch up a bit. I'll fill in the holes after the meeting."
He followed the colonel down to the main conference room, got a thump on the shoulder from his great grandfather, General Rufi, then retreated to a seat far down the table to listen.
Dominic and Fuchsia were both in attendance. Still sneering at each other.
What I wouldn't give to be able to go home to a roaring fire, instead of a room in the officer's barracks. I could go back to sleep, and dream that I really was pulled through a gate and healed Rael.
Or I could face reality and get over it. Her.
I suppose I could move into the Palace, or Rufi's mansion . . . too bad they expect people to live in Karista when they're posted here. I can't stay at the Tavern.
He jumped as someone kicked his ankle. He glanced across the table. Garit was looking up the table to where Dominic was wrapping up a report to Rufi and Janic.
". . . a witch that is killing miners. So I'll be scouring the New Lands trying to track down those rumors."
Poor sod. Hunting the few scattered members of Ricardo's murderous gang.
Captain Negue—Prince Staven—tapped fingers. Probably irritation that four of the women associated with the Assassin who'd murdered his brother were still at large, a year and a half later. But possibly just for the pleasure of being able to do it. His right hand was still a bit undersized, the skin looked pink and new, untanned and unweathered.
Give him another summer and you'll never be able to tell he lost the arm from the elbow down. He must have kept it covered while it was growing. Which I can understand. No point in scaring people. Although plenty of people will be spooked. He's the first well known high society type to ever do it.
Maybe the Wine of the Gods will stop being a party aid and get taken seriously for the whole range of things it does.
And if we can just find those four witches then we can call the whole ungodly mess of the assassination done.
Xen winced. And I'm probably going to be doing that, unless they need me in Fascia.
Fuchsia rose and gave her report on the new spy mission to the One World.
Whoa! How'd I miss that? No wait. I said something to Lefty, didn't I?
"We're solid on finances, this time. We have six students enrolled in three different schools, and are buying computers and power generators." She nodded toward Major Walcolm. "So other people can train people on their use."
Wacolm nodded. "The academics are half excited and half dismissive. But I've got plenty of volunteers to go there. I've got a couple dozen people prepping to move to One World as soon as they're up to speed on the tech and culture." He glanced toward Xen. "The test runs with the charms worked well. No one picked up that they aren't 'Halfers' as they call their half Oners who don't have power."
The meeting lasted till well after quitting time.
Dominic, Fuchsia and Garit followed him out . . . with Prince Staven trailing.
However late in the year, the wind was driving a chilly drizzle hard enough to sting when it hit his face. Ugg. I suppose I'd better see about a spot in the officer's barracks. Or better yet, at least for tonight . . .
"I was thinking, the Tavern." Xen said. "Good food, roaring fire?"
Three nods and a hesitation.
Xen eyed Staven. Was he trying to be friendly? Does a Prince have friends or only sycophants? "Have you been there before? Excellent cook, well behaved customers."
"Sounds good. Do you go from the temple?"
"No, we've got a closer route. I put it in when I was spending my time watching those gates."
A whip of wind driven rain sped their trip. The corridor was at the back of a small stable. The former carriage house for a mansion that had burned down years before. One of Colonel Janic's safe houses that had proven to not be very safe. Something to do with a defector from Discordia.
The corporal on duty was facing down a trio of well wrapped civilians as they walked up.
". . . army is keeping the stables. You'll just have to build another."
"Humph, that will take up half the garden! I don't see why the army won't sell this silly little shack!" The woman's voice was high class and dismissive. She turned to see why the corporal was staring over her shoulder. "Who are you?"
"The people who use the stable. You're buying the rest of the lot?"
"Not without the stable!" She sniffed at their uniforms and huddled in her immense fur coat. Her hat was pulled down over her ears; he couldn't even see the color of her hair.
I could move the corridor . . . or better yet . . .
Xen eyed the two men. "Let's see, you'd be the husband and you'd be the realtor? Got a contract form handy? I have been thinking about moving out of the barracks."
All three looked offended.
The realtor cleared his throat. "I believe the lot is well out of a soldier's price range."
"Oh, well, yeah. Never mind. But why don't you give me your card, I'll come look at smaller places tomorrow." Xen cheerfully took the card and walked around the lady and into the stable.
"What are they doing in there . . . "
The corridor cut off further comments. The others stepped through after him, and out the side of a different stable eight hundred miles away. Inland and north of the city, it was even colder.
Fuchsia shook her head and scurried across the courtyard. She automatically picked the door on the left.
Xen led the others throu
gh the same door. The kitchen smelled wonderful. Baking bread and chickens, a row of pies on the side table.
Staven glanced skeptically at the plate in the cook's hands. Half a boiled chicken, peas and mashed potatoes . . .
Flare just grinned. "Don't worry, that's for General Mikow, poor man has a touchy stomach." She set the plate on a tray and started dishing up more.
A girl whisked in, scooped up the tray and carried it out.
"Staven, this is Flare, best cook in several worlds. And I think we'd better get out of her way, I didn't think it would be busy, tonight."
"Oh, the kitchen at the fort burned down. Rumors that the troops cheered are exaggerated. I've been run off my feet for a week, but they ought to be back in business tomorrow."
Two girls walked back in, carrying trays heaped with dirty dishes. They both had the unmistakable glow of witches. "That's the last of the regulars, now it's just the officers who came in late. Hi, Xen. Hi, Fuchsia!"
"Hey, Lapwing, Kestrel. Is there anyplace to sit out there?" Xen peered through the door.
"Yep. Jacana's wiping a table down just for you guys."
"You know all the witches, don't you?" Staven glanced around at giggles.
"I'm related to half of them, one way or another. In this case, Lapwing is, umm, a first cousin once removed. I think. Jacana and Kestrel are from the other two main witch lines, so I'm not related. I don't think." Xen walked into the dining room and headed for a clear table. Right by the so-desired crackling fire.
He paused to warm up.
Garit eyed him. "If you don't want to live in the barracks, you could move in with Rufi."
"Nope. No palaces. But I do want a fireplace, all my own. I'll stick with the barracks until I arrange something else."
Dominic shook his head. "You can't buy a house in that neighborhood. Didn't you notice the size of the houses? Even if you could afford that lot you'd have to build a huge house just to satisfy the neighborhood covenants."
Staven snorted. "Good thing he's rich, then."