“His Elements,” Ryker prompted and stopped. The man jumped a little, but he fell silent. Ryker took two strides forward and grabbed him by his shoulders, tilting the chair back. “Which Elements does he wield!” he yelled into the Mage’s bloodied face.
“Please,” Kieran whispered.
Ryker grabbed his other ear and unsheathed his blade violently.
“Air!” Kieran yelled as the blade touched him.
“Ac which others?” Ryker snapped.
“No, Air is the only one he doesn’t wield,” Kieran whimpered, tears starting anew. Ryker’s pushed Kieran back. The chair’s legs buckled, and he fell to his side.
“Void as well?”
Kieran spat blood from his lips. “Void was lost to the Ages when the Library of Karth burned.”
Ryker put a hand on his face that left a smear of blood across his cheek. ‘Quad-wielders were rare even in my days,’ he thought. “Amazing what the bloodlines spit out if mixed correctly,” he muttered and faced the man who was trying to ease the twist in his shoulders. Ryker knew his hibernation left him waned, so he did not chance lifting the man back up. “Tell me more. Why was he kept a secret?”
The Councilman lifted his head from the puddle of blood his ear formed. “It is said he is protecting someone. We know not who.” Kieran’s tone slurred a little. “He wished us to keep him secret so…others would not seek him out and…in turn find his charge.”
“Surely y’ must know who this ward is since y’ are a member of the Mage Council,” Ryker scoffed. “Or is that false as well?”
“We were not told. I doubt the Head Mage knows since the ward is not a Mage herself.”
Ryker shot his eyes to the ceiling. “Herself? And yet y’ do ne know anything.”
Kieran blinked a little, seeming to lose his bearings. “I do not know, but I suspect. I thought it might be the lost Princess of Anatoly.”
“Aye, Kindle Novacula. I have heard of her.”
“No, not her. The daughter-heiress, Robyn Bolt.”
Ryker had not heard much of her. “Explain.”
“Wh-when Queen Rincarel Bolt died, her sister Miranda Novacula took the throne, but there was a plot to kill Bolt’s daughter and secure the…Novacula’s power. Before Her Grace died, the girl vanished.” Kieran coughed and spat out a wad of blood. “Some say she died, some say she was captured, and others say she lives freely.”
“Why has she ne taken the throne?”
“She is not old enough…though she should be before winter arrives.”
‘That explains the Princeling’s timing ac urgency.’ Ryker began his pacing again, stepping over the man’s head. “Where are the rest of mine Castrofax?”
The Councilman’s breathing stopped for a moment. “I do not know.”
“How many does Castle Jaden hold?”
“I’ve never heard it said.”
“Do you know how many I have?” Ryker asked and clicked his cheek. “Two, which means there are four what Jaden may possess. Would y’ like t’ wear one, Councilman? Have y’ ever seen a man wear two Castrofax? I have; it’s quite amusing. A man loses his senses par a time, then begins t’ shrivel ac wane as his body fights against itself. It is quite against nature, but is it ever entertaining.” He gave a mad laugh and for a moment seemed to lose his own senses.
Ryker clicked a cheek and took a knee beside the Councilman’s head. The leather in his new boots creaked loudly. He had always loved the feel and looks of boots and had been rather disappointed when the Third Age fancied short shoes and slippers, but what was old was always new again. He took a fistful of the man’s stringy hair. “I know there is some small part of y’ in there what still bears hope par your rescue or par justice perhaps, but I will tell y’ mine secret before I kill y’. I gave a Castrofax t’ your Princeling, the Nolen boy, ac he is going to put it ‘round the neck of the only man what stands against me. Be glad y’ die today, par the world will be bleak when I rise.”
The Councilman squirmed and tried desperately to pull his hands free. Tears fell freely. “At least let me kiss my babes one last time.”
“I will send y’ in their direction,” Ryker smiled wickedly as he pulled the shiny Excellyon from his doublet. The Councilman knew what the medallion was tried all the harder to pull free. He sobbed, reaching out with his bound hands to feel for any Earth energy he may have missed in his earlier searches.
“Please,” he blubbered as Ryker slipped a string of Spirit through the metal and it into Kieran. Slowly, energy from the man seeped into the medallion. Kieran’s struggles became less forceful, and his head eventually fell back into its puddle. “May the stars fall upon your head,” he cursed with his last breath, and died.
The little energy collected, Ryker brushed his hands and left the room.
After a few preparations, he flipped together a pattern and located Nolen to appear in his tent. The Prince was still awake, picking his teeth with a knife in the dark. He jumped when Ryker appeared, cutting his upper lip.
“Y’ have gone a half-day too far east. Double back north. If y’ reach a town, y’ have gone too far.”
“Jensanisbel?” Nolen asked, grabbing a cloth to stem the bleeding. Ryker did not know or care, so he said nothing and waited for the Prince to confirm his directions. “I will go. Give me time to send for my army to bring him in.”
Ryker thought that was reasonable, and was even a little impressed the Prince had his own army. That was something he would build in time. After all, it was his army of followers in the past that gave him true power. “Send par Spirit Mages. He will most like ne go easily.” Nolen gave him a glare that said he already knew that. ‘Y’ have gumption or foolishness par a brain.’ “Next time I see y’, it better be with a captured Mage—or I will find another neck par the Castrofax.”
Nolen’s glare wavered, and he gave a sharp nod. Ryker vanished without healing the Prince’s wound and returned to his home. Atrox Manor stood for Ages high in the Gray Mountains. He hid it with a large illusion-pattern, and preserved it as the day it was finished. Here, no one could locate him or the pretty things he accumulated. Making his way down into the cellar, he visited one of those pretty things who called herself a Councilwoman.
Chapter 11
Robyn crouched up in a tree perch and watched as the party of riders passed. It was unusual to see men off the road, and Gabriel’s wards sent warnings to him minutes before they trotted close. She kept an arrow notched in her bow. She had been foraging for roots when Gabriel came running and practically boosted her into the nearest tree. He stood not far off in his tiger form, crouched in the darkness of a bush. They found people were far more likely to leave the area alone if they saw a wild animal as massive as he. He flicked the end of his tail like any cat hunting prey would and watched the men ride passed.
‘Twenty two men,’ she counted, ‘twelve packhorses laden enough for a long journey,’ she mused, searching for the leader. She could not decide if it was a hunting party or marauders, for they were surely not settlers or emissaries. Perhaps they were merely travelers. By the direction they took, they skirted around Jensanisbel.
The men passed, and she waited another ten minutes before she sheathed her bow and climbed down, stuffing the arrow into the elk hide quiver Gabriel had made for her years ago. Gabriel walked out to her, and she took a handful of his soft fur between her fingers and stroked down his back. He gave a momentary shiver and sighed, so she continued.
“Should we find something for dinner?” she asked. He rolled an eye to her and blinked a sign for yes. She hopped up on his shoulders and as soon as she was secured, he took off at a gentle trot in the opposite direction of the travelers. A cat moved in a much smoother rolling gait than a horse, and she had become quite accustomed to it over the past two years. She learned how to grip his ribs with her thighs and pull her calves around him but back far enough to avoid his forelegs. Practice let her ride without gripping the scruff of his neck. She could balance quite e
asily on him, becoming one with him.
They trotted to their favorite game trail, and he hid them in the shadows. She slipped to his side, and he eased himself down, always watching the trail with vigilant tiger blue eyes.
“We are nearly a month and a bit out from my twentieth birth anniversary,” she whispered after a while. “When do you think we should return to Anatoly City?”
He looked at her and stuck his tongue out, reminding her he could not speak in tiger form, and she smirked and scratched his head. He returned his eyes to the trail, the toes of his paws moved every now and then as he practiced a pattern she could not see. Human fingers and cat paws were very different, and he trained the paws in a few patterns should he ever need them.
“I should like to return soon. It is bad enough we’ve made no contact with Lady Aisling in years. She probably thinks us dead.” He made a huff and flexed his whiskers forward, a sign that he disagreed. “It will take time to adjust to palace life and get the subjects to recognize me as the heiress. I will need the backing of the army and my family, not to mention the powerful houses before I can truly be seen as Queen.” She paused as a squirrel chattered and waited for it to come closer. “I would like to return within the week.”
He turned his head and fluffed his whiskers again. She knew he liked the solitude. Once she took the throne, there would be no adventures in the forests or nights by the campfire spitting rabbits, or games of Tiles which she swore he was letting her win at. He said he would stay with her, but it would be terribly doleful for him to be cooped up in a palace all the time with nothing to do but follow her around. As much as she wanted to stay in the quaint cottage, she needed to take the throne. Despite being secluded from news, even she knew Queen Miranda was not adequate, and she would be stepping up to stitch together a fraying kingdom.
“Think of what new adventures we could have,” she said quietly. “Kilkiny Palace has been built upon over the Ages. There are hidden passages and rooms that haven’t been seen in years. When the work is done for the day, we could go exploring.” She realized how infantile it sounded, but part of her yearned for adventure as much as he. She would grow into the role of Queen, but she would always retain her youthfulness that loved the quests.
He stretched a paw out and laid his head on it, keeping one eye on her and one on the trail.
“Will you really stay with me?” she asked. His eyes met hers, and he blinked. As much as she wanted him to remain with her, she knew it would be selfish to keep him for herself. A Mage like him had been unseen in far too long and once knowledge of his existence spread, so would need for him. While Class Five Spirit Mages could mend broken bones and stitch wounds, she had seen him reattach a finger and reform a crushed skull. Everyday people received ghastly wounds and knew there was no hope for them. With his existence known, people could now receive healing for previously impossible things. Perhaps she could make him court physician.
‘That would restrict him too much,’ she thought. ‘I would only be tapping one Element, and I am sure he would grow bored lighting my fires and keeping my baths warm. If he had not been born so strong, we would not have this problem; then again, he would not be here if he was weaker.’
He nudged her with a paw and looked to the trail. A badger wandered into their vision. She waited until it came in line with the angle of her bow and sent an arrow through its brain.
She did not stand to retrieve it, so Gabriel remained where he was. “I think it would be best if you return to Castle Jaden when I take the throne.” He raised his head in alarm, and she put her hand up. “I would be selfishly squandering your power, and it would be unfair for me to keep you to myself when your kind needs you.”
He rolled to his side and flicked his paws. A moment later he returned to his human form, pulling what few fibers there were in the area to form a pair of shorts. She looked him over quickly, surprised he had changed. He was ever appealing with a body honed by labor. He had a strong chest, a flat stomach with the faint outline of muscle underneath, and his arms and legs were powerful. Despite having thick hair atop his head, the rest of him was smooth.
“I am coming with you,” he said with a nervous look in his eyes. “My kind can come find me with you if they are in need.”
“Yes, but you need to be with your kind, so you can find a Mage lady to marry, so you can strengthen—”
“Highness,” he said deeply. It was the word he used when he heard enough, and she knowingly snapped her jaw shut. “I will make my own decisions, and I choose to stay with you.”
“Very well.”
“Anything else you’d like to drop on me while I have a voice?” he asked, and she shook her head. He reached his left hand out and gave her knee a pat. For a moment she saw a faint white scar on the soft underside of his wrist. He nodded and transformed back into a tiger and made his way across to the slain badger. Taking it in his maw he returned to her, and once she freed the arrow she hopped back on his shoulders.
He loped to the cottage to return before the sun set. There was enough time to skin the creature and build a fire outside. Quietly she mixed biscuits inside and watched him cook the meat over the coals. Robyn wondered if he was still mad, but he sat back and stared into the flames like he always did. ‘Men never hold grudges. They’re such strange creatures.’
When she filled the pan with rolled dough, she stepped outside and set it in the coals. He continued to stare into the fire, lost to the flames. She set some potatoes on the edge of the coals and sat back across from him. Behind him the chickens milled about chattering.
They had the sort of relationship where everything that needed to be said already had, and anything else could be communicated without words. It was a quiet and peaceful atmosphere. She knew him well enough to know he preferred silence and would only speak if it was important. She knew his routine, moods, and facial expressions better than anyone, yet it still felt as though he held her at arm’s length and would not fully let her into his comfort. As if on cue, he looked up with an expectant and hungry expression.
“Give it a few more minutes,” she smirked.
She watched him for a while, remembering the hardships they had been through. When her handlers took too much of her identity to make the prefect heiress, he bore her into the countryside ever cognizant of her mood. In turn she learned to read his tiniest expressions, and when he needed her most, she was there.
Back when he was nineteen, after his three year stint in Jaden, Robyn broke through his defenses and saw him for the vulnerable boy he was. That night they became more than house companions. She had ventured to his rooms looking for a book of hers. She knocked, and no one answered, so she let herself in. That’s when she saw him. Daylight was still upon them and cast a yellow tint to his washroom. Gabriel sat on the floor, slumped with his arms over the marble bath built into the wall. When she called him, he did not respond.
Running to him she discovered he had slit his left wrist solidly a quarter of the way down his forearm. Blood dripped from his wound into the tub, and by the looks of it, he had been bleeding for awhile. A short silver knife lay in the tub mingling with the ruby blood.
He was unconscious and pale. She grabbed his wrist and laid him down on his back, propping his boots on the tub. She bound the wound after inspecting the cut. It was not enough to damage his tendons. She remembered sitting on the floor with him, stroking his black hair that looked so much darker against his pale skin.
His eyes fluttered open and his pale lips parted. He tried to reach out with his left hand, but she kept it securely against her chest. It was then he saw her. She asked for no explanation, and he closed his eyes, covering them with his free hand in shame.
“You’re not allowed in my rooms,” he finally said, his voice void of its usual energy. She knew that was true. She desperately wanted to know why he tried to kill himself, but she did not press for fear of losing control of the situation.
“I did not know you wished for death,”
she whispered. He tried to pull his hand free, but she held tightly. “What is so terrible you would wish to leave your good life?”
He fixed his blue eyes on her, his lips ready with a retort, but he saw the sincerity on her face. “There is so much…energy everywhere,” he replied. “The Elements pull at me from every direction. The power is so great it weighs me down. No Mages understand because they have so little power, and no one knows how high-Classed Mages handled it.”
“Are you so much more powerful than they are?” she asked, unaware.
He looked at her to see if she was mocking him. He snapped the fingers of his right hand, and a flame appeared on his thumb. “The Elements can only be used if the energy source is available. I should not be able to do this.” He let the flame die. “I don’t know how to handle this power, and no one knows how to help me. I can’t take it.”
She knew he could not heal himself, and with no Spirit Mage around, there was no one trained to mend the wound. She sent for the seamstress, paid for her silence, and had the woman stitch him up. Together they hid the wound and found ways to hide the scar. It had faded to nearly blend in with his skin, being misconstrued as a shadow of a tendon.
While memories of that day still made her sad, the event strengthened their relationship. After seeing how vulnerable he truly was, she was able to understand him. As the years passed, she kept his secret and strengthened their friendship. He grew to trust her. She did not know if he was still so burdened, but he seemed to have a better handle of his power. If he was ever pushed to the edge of suicide, he did not show it.
“You are burning my biscuits,” his voice said and snapped her from her thoughts. He had already stood and pulled the pan from the coals.
“Let us come to a compromise,” he said after a while. “These animals won’t fetch much at market, so let us butcher them, and when they are gone, we will head back to Anatoly City.”
The Castrofax (Book 1) Page 10