Silver Mage
By D.W. Jackson
Copyright © D.W. Jackson
This book is dedicated to my nieces Felicia and Tara.
Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
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PROLOGUE
Thad loved his son, but watching the young man through the magical window as he went through a large stack of papers was not very entertaining. Turning his head slightly, Thad looked at Humanius. The god sat close by with a seemingly disinterested look upon his face.
The god was an enigma to Thad. From what he had learned, Humanius was a monstrous god who sought the death of all mages and magical creatures out of hate, but that didn’t seem to be the truth. The god did want the land cleared of all magical creatures, but it was out of love for the people. Thad didn’t agree with the god’s views, but he could understand them. What he couldn’t understand was the god’s reaction to when his plans failed. He did not get mad, or even slightly upset. In truth, sometimes the god seemed happy about what would be considered a bad outcome in his designs.
“You know, the whole reason I ended up in the abyss was because of your white swords,” Thad said, almost surprised that the thought hadn’t hit him before. “For years, almost all of my time was researching you and those cursed swords, but given the time I have spent with you not once have it occurred to me to ask how they worked.”
Humanius looked over to Thad with a brilliant grin on his face. “I was wondering when you would get around to the swords. I must admit that I have watched you over the years, and more than once I was sure that you would figure out their secret.”
Thad waited anxiously for the god to continue, but after the silence hung in the air for more than a brief moment, Thad new that he would need more prodding. It was almost as if the god was enjoying forcing Thad to work for every little piece of information. “How do they work?”
“It was one of my better ideas to tell the truth,” Humanius said with a wide grin. “You suspected that it canceled magic, but that was where you made your mistake. Had you ever looked at it from another angle, you would have understood them better. Especially given that you used the same kind of magic in some of your own enchanted items.”
Thad felt his nerves start to twitch as he waited eagerly for the god to continue but after a few seconds, Thad began to understand that Humanius wanted him to try to work it out on his own. If it didn’t cancel magic, then how did it work? It could absorb it, but then there would still be a magical presence. Whenever he had observed the swords, it was almost as if there was an empty space around them. “It sent the magic somewhere else,” Thad said after thinking through it for a long time.
“Correct,” Humanius declared enthusiastically. “The swords worked much the same way as the sending boxes that you made, but they were designed only to bring one thing through and are always open. It is thanks to the swords that I can still use magic, even in this frozen wasteland. Though you have your own link to the outside world, so you shouldn’t be so surprised.”
“Link?” Thad asked confused.
“I see you haven’t noticed,” Humanius replied with a smug smile. “Your staff is still sending small amounts of magical energy to you. It isn’t enough to be of much use, but it is the reason that your magical eye is still working. If your staff was just a bit stronger, your foot might still work. But alas, I still commend you on getting anything through the veil, even if it has weakened, it is still quite the achievement.”
Thad reached his hand down to his foot and let his fingers brush against the cold metal. He didn’t often think about his foot and eye, having lost both so long ago that there magical replacements felt natural to him. “For once, Thuraman is being useful and I don’t have to listen to him complain,” Thad said with a sad smile.
CHAPTER I
Bren picked up the next sheet of paper out of the large stack that sat upon his desk. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to focus, but couldn’t find much enjoyment in looking through the mountain of information. It had been almost half a year since he had taken the position of king. His Kingdom was not large, but it still seemed to take up a large portion of his time.
Letting his eyes scan, he noticed that a thick envelope in a dark cream color sat on top of the stack. Setting aside the paper full of numbers from taxes collected over the past harvest, Bren picked up the envelope. To King Farlane, from Her Majesty Queen Farlane.
As Bren cut the envelope open, he thought about his name. King Farlane…It made it sound like he held too close of ties to the Farlan Queendom. It wasn’t a large issue right now, but could become one in the future. He needed to fix that, and soon. Bren thought about what he could do and decided that taking his father’s name would be the most appropriate action.
He hadn’t heard from his mother since he had taken control over Torin. He expected her to be mad, and wouldn’t have been surprised if she had taken another trip to visit him in an attempt to drag him back to the palace. His hands trembling slightly, Bren unfolded the thick parchment.
King Farlane, I have received word of your accession to the throne of Torin. I offer my apologies for not being able to greet you in person, but state affairs have kept me from venturing far from the capital. I do wish to have an audience with you at your earliest convenience, either at your place or my own. Until that time, I wish you and your Kingdom the best of prosperity.
Bren read through the letter numerous times, and with each reading, he could imagine his mother’s voice saying the words in a sarcastic tone.
“Still hard at work my lord?” A light musical voice said from the doorway.
Setting down the thick paper, Bren turned to see Lillian, a young looking elf standing with a large tray filled with various treats and a steaming glass of hot tea. Like most of her kind, Lillian was tall and had a strong build, with long light silver hair and bright golden eyes that glowed as if a bright fire burned behind them. Her ears were rounded, having been cut at an early age, as only those of the noble class were allowed to keep their pointed ears. “Lillian, that looks delicious,” Bren said smiling.
“You spend too much time sitting in this dark room,” Lillian said, setting down the large tray. “You need to get some fresh air and exercise. I am sure that Cass and Jacob would love to see you doing more than sitting on your backside.”
Bren laughed as he picked up his tea and took a small sip, the hot liquid slightly burning the tip of his
tongue. “I am sure they would enjoy being able to beat me around the training field for a few hours.”
Grabbing a large piece of ham, Bren got to his feet. His legs tingled and a small fire ran through his toes. Stretching, Bren looked over to the corner of the room where his father’s sword hung on a small peg, along with the combat leathers that he had received recently. As requested, they were not extravagant, but they still had an official look to them.
As he strapped on his combat leathers, he let his fingers run across the dark green eagle that had been embossed on the right chest. As he looked over to Lillian, he noticed that she had a smirk on her face, as if she was declaring victory. “I need to break in the leather or it will hamper my movements when I need them,” Bren said, blushing slightly as he hooked his sword belt around his waist. It was a brilliant sword, but like his name, it showed its allegiance to Farlan with its crescent moon on the hilt. He hated thinking he had to get a different sword, but he knew that it would look bad if too many people thought he was merely a puppet ruler for Farlan.
“Lillian, I need you to draft up a document changing my official name from Farlane to Torin,” Bren said as he walked out the door.
“As you wish my lord,” Lillian said without even a hint of questioning in her voice.
Bren didn’t look back, he knew that Lillian would see to his needs. In truth, had it not been for Lillian, his new kingdom might have fallen apart before it had a chance. She knew a lot of politics and governing, more than he did, and that was with him growing up in the Farlan palace. Though his mother had not shown much interest in teaching him about the more delicate things that it took to run a country efficiently.
As soon as Bren descended the stairs, he found Cass and his other guards waiting for him. Having grown up in the palace, he was used to guards and he was lucky enough that Cass was not only a skilled fighter, but also a good friend.
“Are we going to war majesty?” Cass asked with a half smirk.
“Not today Cass, but I will keep it in mind,” Bren replied with a wry smile. “I thought it was about time I started practicing once again. If I spend another day in that room surrounded by papers, I think I will get grey hair before I am seventeen.”
“Then we should have you join us for our morning and evening training,” Cass replied, this time his voice serious. “It is hard to keep your guards trained when half of them have to be on standby.”
“I think I can handle that,” Bren answered, taking the complaint for what it was. Cass was right, unlike his mother, he didn’t have an abundance of guards and they needed to practice their group training otherwise when something did occur, they would not know how to work as well as a single unit.
They started with one of Bren’s least favorite exercise….running. Torin was not huge compared to many other capitals, but it was still an easy four miles to run completely around it. By the time they returned back to the makeshift palace, Bren was sweating hard and his lungs felt as if small knives were stabbing into them. His new armor had rubbed the skin under his arms and around his chest raw.
Bren looked for a nice shaded spot to catch his breath but as he stumbled toward a large oak tree Cass cut him off holding a wooden sword out to him. “Bren why don’t you spar with me since it has been a little while since you handled a blade.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Bren gasped his breath still coming hard.
“A soldier should never go more than a week without holding his blade in his hands,” Cass admonished Bren. “As the weapon master always says, ‘Treat you weapon like a lover and never leave her alone for long.’”
Sighing, Bren took the offered practice sword. “I thought we would be doing some katas first.”
“We do that after sparing. It’s better to fight when you still have some energy. Also, it makes it easier to spot problems in the katas when someone is tired.”
Placing both feet slightly apart, Bren leveled his shoulders and braced himself for Cass’s attack. It came swift and hard as Bren had expected, with Cass leading with a straight lunge. Bren shifted his feet, pivoting on his heel and swinging his lead leg around, dodging the blow and putting him on Cass’s weak side. He countered with a swift strike to Cass’s exposed side. Cass pivoted on his rear foot, bringing his sword around with a back swing, knocking Bren’s sword up. Off balance, Bren hopped back and reset into his original stance.
“Good, at least your footwork is still good,” Cass said with a warm smile. “Remember, if your feet can’t keep up with you, then you are dead on the battlefield.” Shortly after his praise, Cass continued his attack in earnest, striking at Bren with such speed and ferocity that would make a Vathari blanch. Within the span of a few heartbeats, Bren’s sword had been knocked from his hand and the tip of Cass’s sword was at his throat.
“Again,” Cass said, using his sword to toss Bren’s weapon back to him.
In four matches, the best that Bren could do was hold Cass at bay for a few moments. It had been nearly a month since the last time he had crossed blades with Cass, and the other boy seemed to have almost doubled his skill in that time.
Are you sure it is his skill that has increased, and not the decrease of your own? Your father spent hours training his swordplay and magic when he found the time; though just like you, when he was younger, he would often forget that without practice, skills tend to decay over time.
“You might be right,” Bren replied to Thuraman, the words whispered in his mind so that only his staff could hear them.
You should also train your magic, otherwise it will fail you when you need it most.
Bren looked down at the long glove that covered his right hand. He had been wearing the glove since the last time he had tried to use magic. He had accomplished his goal, but the spell had been much stronger than he had anticipated, and while it hadn’t sent him to the medical ward, it had left him weak. However, what bothered him was what had happened to the once small silver scar on his hand. What had once just been a small silver line now covered his whole right hand up to the wrist. “I don’t think that is a good idea,” Bren said, his voice laced with worry.
Your skin is changing color, it is not harmful. Your body is just adjusting to the large amount of magic that has to move through it.
Bren ignored Thuraman’s words. The staff had been around him his whole life, but he didn’t completely trust it. It was a magical item created by his father, but it always seemed to have its own agenda and Bren knew that if it could accomplish those goals through his death, it wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice him.
After sparing, they moved on to Katas. Bren was happy that the worst of the practice was over, but after having to fend off Cass’s attacks, it was hard to hold his weapon up without straining himself. Before the katas were finished, Bren started to miss working the pells. It was much easier to practice a swing when you had a piece of wood to stop the blade, it made it much harder to knock yourself off balance.
As soon as Cass called an end to the practice, Bren stumbled over to the large oak tree next to the palace and collapsed on the ground. For a brief moment, Bren thought about removing his armor, but quickly decided it would take too much energy.
“You look as if you were ran over by a stampeding bull,” Cass said, taking a seat next to where Bren lay.
“Everything hurts,” Bren replied with a groan.
“That happens when you neglect your practice,” Cass replied without any remorse in his voice. “You really shouldn’t just lay there, your muscles will get still. Then we will have to carry you in.”
With a light whimper, Bren pushed himself up. “I know,” Bren replied, getting to his feet slowly. “If everyone’s ready, I need to make a trip to Crushers.”
“We are all fit for duty,” Cass said with a smirk. “I think you are the only one who found todays practice straining.
“I order everyone to act as tired as I feel,” Bren yelled, getting a laugh from his guards.
“I don’t think
I could ever look that bad!” One of the guards yelled back, getting another round of laughs.
“No sympathy,” Bren said with an exaggerated sigh.
Halfway to crushers, Bren‘s legs began to cramp and he was regretting not waiting until the following day to visit his old friend. “If you put it off, then you will never get it done,” Bren told himself as he let his hand drift to the hilt of his father’s sword. As his fingers brushed the tip of the crescent moon, Bren’s face took on a determined look and his pace quickened.
The farther they moved into the non-human side of town, the worse the building looked. “It still looks like a poor farm town,” Bren said, more to himself.
“Did you think that it would change overnight?” Cass said with a light smile. “It will take time for the money to start flowing, and it will take even longer for those affected to understand that things are changing. You can make all the laws you want, but you cannot force the feelings in people’s hearts to change.”
Bren tried not to think about the sad state of the non-human district, and instead focused on the people around him…his people. The elves, dwarves and other people of the magical races looked at him and smiled. Those smiles made all the hardships that he had forced his way through over the past year worth the pain.
Crusher’s blacksmith was located near the center of the small section of the city where the dwarves had taken up residence. Bren had found it odd that the different magical races had separated themselves by race. He had thought that humans and the other races would mingle and mix, but that had not been the case. Crusher had explained it as people simply wanting to be around those they found familiar in an unfamiliar place. For years, the magical races had been hunted by the Brotherhood and even though they no longer had to hide in fear, there was still a sense of uneasiness being in human lands.
They found Crusher working on a wagon axle outside of his shop. Before Bren had a chance to greet his friend, a large grey blur ran past him and jumped on the sturdy dwarf, bearing him to the ground.
Silver Mage (Book 2) Page 1