“So are you a Class Eight?” she asked Gabriel.
He twisted his lips. “I have to test for my Class before we can speculate, and not until I am twenty.”
“And what until then?”
Gabriel looked at Cordis for approval. “I am leaving middle of next week to begin my training in Castle Jaden. Dagan and my father think it best I start early.”
Robyn’s heart sank. ‘Then who will I have to play with?’ She tried her best to hide her disappointment. “How long will you be gone?”
“As long as it takes to learn what I need. No more than a year.”
“When you return will you know what your Class will be?”
He shook his head. “Training is kept secret. My trainers will not discuss it with others, so when I test for my Class, the Mage Council will not be biased.”
She nodded. “I will miss your companionship.” It was a phrase the tutors had long ingrained in her until it meant nothing but politeness, but this time she meant it.
“This is no time for sadness!” Cordis exclaimed and bounced his thigh to give her a jolt. “I had Derion slaughter a piglet, so we will be having roast pork—and I think Lyesa is wrapping it in bacon, stars love her—and Merina is baking cakes in Parion fashion, the ones with the whipped sugar and cream. I had a cask of cider opened, and tonight we will celebrate Gabriel’s achievement. It will be the first of many, I am certain.”
Supper was as splendid as Cordis claimed, lasting for several hours of courses and drinks. Robyn was even permitted a small mug of cider but decided she preferred the watered wine she received in Kilkiny Palace.
After supper Cordis and Dagan retired to Cordis’s study, leaving the children to fend for themselves. As soon as Robyn was alone with Gabriel, she shot him a dark look and folded her arms. He grimaced. “Your brother has the same look. How have I wronged you?”
“I am displeased you are leaving. Now I shall have no excuse to escape my lessons.”
“I’m sure we can find you something to do,” he said and shook his locks from his eyes. “You can find a hobby that can occupy your time. We’ve horses to ride and books to read or crafts to learn.”
“A girl of my breeding does not learn a craft, Gabriel,” she stated in an accusing tone.
“Then learn a sport.”
“Climbing trees is as much sport as I need.”
Gabriel folded his arms over his chest. “You sound like your tutors. What do you want to do? No, don’t answer for them, answer for yourself.”
Robyn furrowed her brow and realized she did not know what she wanted. She had always been told what was expected of her and what was acceptable and unacceptable, but never had she considered what she wanted.
“I—I am not sure what to think.”
He nodded, seemingly aware of her answer before she was, and grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”
Gabriel had a leggy stride, so she rushed to keep up with him as he moved through the dimly lit halls deep into the manor. She had explored most of everything and soon recognized the storage rooms shut behind locked doors. Gabriel stopped before one she remembered as the armory, a small room with mostly tools and a few old weapons. Mages did not need weapons of man-make, but the few knives used by servants remained sharp and oiled. The room was unlocked, and Gabriel quickly snatched a few things on shelves before returning to the hall with a short recurve bow and a quiver of arrows.
“You are going to learn archery, and when I return, you will show me how good you’ve become.”
“Archery, Gabriel? That is soldier’s work.”
“Thank you, Professor Magin.” That silenced her.
Leading her out into the night, she followed him to a spot behind the stables where the moonlight illuminated the space in silver. The night was heavy with the scent of horses and grass.
“Do you know how to string a bow?” he asked. She gave him a look that likened him to an idiot. Gabriel shrugged with a knowing sigh and showed her how to loop the string on one tip, pull the other tight with his legs, and then loop the other.
“Hold the bow in your left hand, and place the arrow like so, or you’ll sheer off the fletching. Notch it, yes just like that, draw, aim, and shoot.” He took several steps back and motioned her to shoot. “Aim for that tree.”
A primitive feeling seeped through her with the challenge of the mundane task. This was a weapon used by the ill-educated to kill in battle or in hunger, not something princesses thought of. She lowered the bow, yet a new sensation of rebellion surfaced. With a weapon in her knowledge, she would not have to rely on any man to protect her. She raised the bow again.
She missed, and failure sank through her; a new sensation. Angry, she grabbed another arrow, set it just right, and shot it into the darkness. It missed again, but she was learning the feel of the bow. Gabriel stepped forward to help, but Robyn interjected. “No, stay there. I can do this without assistance.”
“Shoot a little higher than your intended target. Arrows have a habit of arching in long flight.”
She took his advice, and this time shot in the intended direction. The pull of the bow was strenuous on her little figure, but with each draw she understood more.
“Go get more arrows,” she finally stated, her quiver exhausted.
He pointed to the dark trees. “You have to go find them.”
Anger flared in her eyes. “I cannot possibly—”
“If I’m someday to be your protector, there is one thing we must get straight: I am not a servant. We fend for ourselves in the world outside the palace, which is where you are now. I don’t take orders.”
She sunk the end of the bow into the loam, her mind searching for a cutting riposte but finding an impasse. “Would you help me then?”
“I would be glad to,” he said with a bow of his head and sauntered off into the trees. She went in the other direction. Her pupils widened as they searched for the red-tipped fletching. They returned with all but one.
“I am finished for the evening.”
He chuckled and shouldered the quiver. “You aren’t used to picking up after yourself.”
“Next time I will shoot into the stable wall,” she said with a snide grin. “That way the arrows cannot go far.”
“It’s a good thing my father is fond of you, then,” Gabriel shrugged.
“I would like to speak with him about the Mage Wars.”
“I can tell you about them,” Gabriel replied and slowed his stride. “What do you want to know?”
“It seems the destruction of your race began with them,” she said, and Gabriel stopped her with a hard look. “Can I put it more gently? Why were they started?”
“What are all battles fought over?” he asked to the night sky.
“Love, money, power,” Robyn answered quickly.
He gave her a surprised look. “That is…your tutors are doing a good job. The Mage Wars started with Arch Mage Ryker Slade. He wished to marry a non-Mage, but the law back then said Mages could only marry Mages in order to keep the bloodlines pure. Many people sided with Ryker Slade, and Castle Jaden divided, and the war began.” He resumed his languorous walk, stepping into the garden that was better lit.
“It just began? That sounds hasty.”
“It is said Ryker was a mastermind with a slick tongue that drew peoples’ attention like a thunderclap. As a gifted speaker he wound up the masses to his cause and made them believe his problems were theirs. The war lasted four years, and by the end the Mages realized what Ryker was really after.”
“Power?” Robyn posed.
“Yes. The Head Mage Seat, the most powerful position known. Are you familiar with the Arch Mages?” She shook her head. “There were four Class Ten Mages that Ryker worked with who were instrumental in starting the war: a Creator, a manipulator, a torturer and a destroyer.” Gabriel and Robyn sat down on a stone bench. “In Mage terms a Creator is someone who can fabricate new patterns. Pike Bronwen was Ryker’s Creator. It is said Ryker was t
he brains behind everything Pike made, and together the men created objects that helped their side win the war.”
Robyn stuck the end of the bow in the soil trying to unstring it. Gabriel reached to help, but she pushed his hand aside. After several attempts she succeeded and received a solid thump on the shoulder from the recoiling bow. “What kind of objects did they make?”
Gabriel grimaced. “Controlling devices that when touched to skin could alter the will or composition of a Mage.”
“Composition?”
“Like, one could paralyze a person, and another could create illusions, so the wearer would think everything was fine. But each one prevented the Mage from using his Elements and allowed another to control them. You could take a Class Ten Mage that controlled four or five Elements and turn them into a non-Mage in a moment.”
“Just by touching these objects?”
“No, the objects were kind of like shackles, a neckpiece and two wristlets that would not come off unless the imprisoned Mage stopped fueling the patterns with their energy.”
Robyn raised her brows.
“Oh, sometimes I forget you do not understand energy like we do. I meant, the imprisoned Mage had to die. All moving entities give off energy, which is what Spirit Mages feed on—kinetic energy.”
“What do you…feed on?”
He held his hand out to the plants before him. “I can feel the earth growing around me. The energy gives me the capability of using my Earth Element. Without a source of life around me, I am as useless as a non-Mage. Fire Mages feed off a living flame, Water Mages off a moving water source, and Air Mages off blowing wind.”
“So these objects acted as though you were far away from your Element.”
“In other words, yes.”
“Did they have a name, or do we just call them objects now?” Robyn asked, lowering her voice as if it were a joke.
“Of course they had a name, but I don’t like to speak it.”
Robyn leaned in. “Tell me anyway.”
He fidgeted with the folds of his trousers and grimaced. “They are called the Castrofax.”
“How many are there?”
“Six.”
“And where are they?”
“If anyone knows, no one says. Most of us think Head Mage Casimir has a few in Castle Jaden, but no one knows for certain.”
“Then why do you fear them? The Arch Mages are long dead.”
He slowly looked up and his blue eyes met hers. “Not all.”
The seriousness in his tone seemed to make the air still around them and Robyn felt her breath hold in her chest. “Explain,” she finally whispered.
“Not all the Arch Mages died in the war. Ryker Slade still exists. See, the Arch Mages were capable of skipping over years by hibernating with an object Pike made called an Excellyon that stored kinetic energy. They skipped so many years, we’re not sure where or when they originated. All attempts to kill him were thwarted by his Excellyon, and he hibernated when he realized the Head Mage Seat could not be his. He could not be moved so they built Castle Jaden around him and set a multitude of wards to keep him there. We fear he could rise again and imprison us. That is why we fear the Castrofax.”
Robyn’s brow furrowed as he spoke. “I feel like I should have been told this long ago.”
“Robyn, you are ten years of age—nearly eleven, I know—but there are many things you will not find out until you are older. Do not hate me for it.” He shook his hair from his eyes and gave a sympathetic smile.
“How old is he really? How long has he been hibernating through the Ages?”
“No one knows. There have been many terrible occurrences through history we attribute to him or one of his Arch Mages, but I think they go back to the Second Age, and that just sounds too fantastic.”
“Four Ages old,” Robyn breathed. “So you really do have something to fear.”
He put a hand on her shoulder just like her big brother used to. “Jaden is unbreachable, and I like to think it’s inescapable too.”
Robyn stared at the ground before her. “What else did Ryker make?”
He shrugged and pushed a curly lock out of his eyes, only to watch it fall back in place. “Rings that could control a person’s will, a crown that projected illusions, necklaces that could hold off wounds sustained in battle,” he drifted off and lazily flicked his wrist to suggest there were others. “Who knows for certain?”
“He sounds terrible.” Robyn replied and wrinkled her nose.
Gabriel stood up swiftly, towering over her. “Come, we have happier moments to think of, and it’s not too late to sneak a cake from the kitchens.”
Gabriel woke with the sun as was his custom, rising with the light. His skin tingled this morning with unusual tenacity. He shook his hands and rubbed his forearms as the manor masseuse would to loosen the muscles. With the voracity he used his arms in pattern-laying, it was paramount to have a resident masseuse to loosen the body.
Lacing his short black boots, he suddenly stopped as a wave of energy coursed over him, standing the hair on the back of his neck. It was as if a specter appeared to scare him senseless, or a great rush of adrenaline coursed through his body to leave him calm but on the edge of fright. The feeling moved faintly from left to right before vanishing a few seconds later. He slowly looked about the room searching for the source of energy but finding only his reflection in the long mirror which gave him another fright.
He gathered his wits making his way down the stairs, and listened to the faint sounds of the house waking up. This early in the morning he could hear servants in the kitchen, clinking dishes, clanking pots, doors creaking and shutting, and the crackle of hearths. Somewhere down the hall he heard the familiar scrape of Cordis’ study door open, and he set his feet in that direction.
“Good morning, Gabriel,” Dagan’s voice carried from high above him. Gabriel glanced up the stair case to see the green-clad Mage descending from his room on the third level. He wore a long green tunic over a white blouse. “Shall we learn how to grow tree roots this afternoon?”
“I should think so,” Gabriel replied before he slipped out of Dagan’s vision. In truth, he was going to make the most of his last few days in the manor and steal away with Robyn. The past few days of archery had improved her aim, though she complained fiercely about her sore shoulder.
Gabriel let himself into his father’s study and found Cordis within, a scroll over his lap as he took his morning tea. The familiar tingling sensation returned, very faint but lingering as Gabriel entered and poured himself a mug of black tea.
“Word from Anatoly City says it is in revolt against the Novaculas ascension to the throne,” Cordis said as Gabriel poured milk into his tea. Cordis tapped the scroll. “The power houses claim the Novaculas murdered the heiress, while the merchants are siding with Balien Bolt in his declaration that Miranda Novacula is heir by right. It seems your dear friend is caught in a tight place.”
“Does he know where she is?” Gabriel asked as he stepped up to the bay window, looking out on the fresh morning.
“No one knows. Not even he. Especially not he.” Cordis took a sip of tea, and the faint tingle jumped across Gabriel’s skin, causing him to turn. “He would be the first to come looking for her.” Cordis gazed up at Gabriel’s intense stare. “What’s wrong?”
“S-stop moving,” Gabriel whispered, the strength leaving his voice. He took in a shaky breath, tense with an excitement he could not place.
Footsteps outside the door announced Dagan, and as the Mage pushed the door open, Gabriel felt the same energy surge. “Halt!” he stated before Dagan could step into the room. Dagan’s eyes went to Cordis and back to Gabriel as he tried to make sense of the situation.
“Should I leave?” Dagan asked after a long pause. He took a step back, and Gabriel gasped clutching his chest.
Cordis launched out of his seat, and Dagan rushed into the room as Gabriel dropped his mug, sloshing tea in a hot spiral. The men grabbe
d Gabriel’s arms before his knees gave way and eased him back into the window seat. Gabriel shut his eyes as soon as the men started moving, feeling the rush of an energy he could not place race over his skin and beat within his chest. He grit his teeth against it and did not realize he was sitting until the men stopped moving.
“What is the matter?” Dagan asked over Cordis who was muttering, “Are you injured? Did you hurt yourself?” As if remembering Gabriel’s initial request, both men stopped moving when Gabriel made no reply.
“The energy,” Gabriel whispered, holding his palms open on his knees as he felt it move.
“What energy?” Cordis asked.
“Oh, sweet stars,” Dagan breathed, his eyes widening.
Gabriel bolted up from the seat and turned to the men, a look of tight resolve on his face. His body was tense like a coiled spring.
Cordis’s face became bright. “Kinetic energy,” he whispered. “You can feel us moving.” His voice took on new strength. He took a step back, and Gabriel winced as his body responded to the movement. “Stars above, you do take after your mother.”
Chapter 3
Nine Years Later
Prince Balien watched in an embarrassed but amused silence as his cousin, Mage Prince Nolen Novacula, had yet another screaming match with his mother, Queen of Anatoly. The long windows of the sitting room let in the rising sun, and checkered rooftops of Anatoly City spread out around them. He was thankful the panes were closed, for the people in the courtyard outside would likely hear them.
His cousin had once been tolerable, or so Balien convinced himself, but once his mother took the throne, he became drunk with the power of commanding her armies. Nolen was used to getting what he wanted. He wore the finest brocades, drank the best vintages, and wooed—or coerced when necessary—the loveliest ladies to his bed. It was often too necessary. Balien took a draught of his wine to wash the thought away. The Prince had a sadistic reputation, and Balien had seen many maids leave his rooms with bruises or worse.
The Castrofax (Book 1) Page 3