“I am not an animal!” he shouted, and the room fell silent but echoes of his voice. The ladies stared up at him, some smirking in disagreement, others in surprise. It took him a moment to realize he had spoken in Arconian and had been well understood by the newcomers.
Queen Cathlyn did not turn her cool gaze from him. There were a hundred thoughts in her cold expression. She was a powerful woman, one used to getting her way, bent to sating her will by any means. “Dear boy, you do not have a say in the matter.”
Miranda looked as alarmed as Gabriel, but when she gazed at Nolen, her retort died. She instead gave Gabriel a reply. “As much as it displeases you, you are property of the kingdom.”
“I must object,” Aisling shot in, grappling for power. “That is something the throne has no say in.”
Miranda put a hand up. “Actually, my word is law, and you should think twice before disagreeing with me in my own hall,” she snapped without looking at Aisling. “Queen Cathlyn, what are your terms?”
“Impregnation of nine-tenths of my Mages,” Cathlyn answered with a little nod.
Gabriel seethed. They could not make him. “I will have no part in this!” He yelled and clenched his fists. The Mages looked on him again. ‘Stars above, there has to be forty of them.’ “I am a Mage, and under the laws of Jaden, I answer first to the Head Mage and second to the throne of Anatoly.”
“Then by all means let him speak,” Miranda replied and cast a hand across the hall. “Oh, pity he could not be here to defend you.”
“You will take nothing else from me,” he replied as darkly as he could, and Nolen cuffed him across the back of his skull.
“In case it escaped your reasoning, you belong to me now,” Nolen hissed in Gabriel’s ear. “You will bed these women and strengthen the Mage population.”
Gabriel pulled loose and stormed off, but got no more than four steps before a solid Air pattern wrapped around his legs. He rotated his torso and drew from his chest strings of Spirit before he remembered a fueled pattern would harm him more than Nolen, and the threads slipped back in. He turned his gaze to the pattern around his calves and tried to pull loose.
“He would fain do this for you,” Nolen replied, and when Gabriel opened his mouth to object, Nolen tightened another Air pattern around his vocal chords.
“Excellent,” Queen Cathlyn replied and fixed Gabriel with a triumphant smirk that said she always won. Gabriel shot her a murderous look before gazing over the eyes locked on his. Some women smiled, others blushed, and a few had twisted grins and narrow eyes, devouring him. One woman stood in a relaxed fashion, a finger on her lips, and she slowly looked him up, undressing him with her eyes. He gave her a particularly sharp glare as her narrowed eyes met his, and she smirked slyly.
“Please stay as long as it takes,” Miranda said and stood. “I have rooms ready in the northern wing, and I hope you want for nothing in your stay. Please, join me in the King’s Hall for supper.”
“Gladly,” Cathlyn bowed slightly.
At a motion from Miranda, guards pulled the doors open and serving women in red tunics swept in to herd the women who all move as one graceful cloud.
Once the doors closed shut, Nolen released Gabriel for a moment but quickly put the pattern back up as Gabriel reeled around with his fists clenched.
“I will not,” Gabriel shouted as Aisling added her own voice, yelling, “You have no right.” Miranda slunk back into her throne and put a hand on her forehead.
“I cannot be made to do this,” Gabriel announced, shaking his head and balling his fists. “And no matter of torture or pain will bend my will.”
“Head Mage Casimir will hear of this and issue a pardon,” Aisling announced.
“He will not, because I will have every bird shot from the sky should you send a note,” Nolen replied smoothly and looked at Gabriel. “You will.”
“Your Grace, can you not see your son is pulling the strings of your throne?” Aisling beseeched.
“As you have done for years?” Miranda replied and stood. “I am afraid your rule is at an end.”
Aisling did not seem worried. Instead she folded her hands neatly. “You should know Princess Robyn has been found, then,” she stated and the room fell silent. “In fact, she is here in the City gathering support for her claim, and on the tenth of this month, she will present her claim to you and take the throne. So, in truth, it is your rule that has come to an end. How satisfying for you that this will be your last action.” Her cold words visibly cut Miranda, but the Queen said nothing.
Nolen’s face was a thundercloud. The news was foreign to him. “This changes nothing. She has no forces to object me, and I still control the strongest Mage alive.”
“Hardly,” Gabriel snapped, feeling his will rise. For a moment he was not a captured Mage, he was simply a man with his own volition.
“You are not the person she is objecting,” Aisling reminded. “You have no claim to the throne.”
Nolen snapped his finger at her. “Be silent.” He turned back to Gabriel. “We are going to the dungeons.”
“Gladly,” Gabriel replied and unbuttoned his coat.
“The Head Mage has already given his pardon, and Mage Gabriel can no longer be tortured,” Aisling said in a shrill voice.
Gabriel left his coat unbuttoned but kept it on. It was such a handsome thing; it would be terrible to ruin. The tight pattern around his legs loosened as Nolen turned to the side doors.
“To the dungeons with you,” he said softly. “You will see how much leverage I still have over you yet.”
Chapter 24
Ryker shifted to just outside Castle Jaden on the well-traveled winding switchback road. This time of night, the castle wall was illuminated with burning torches with each bastion set every 500 yards. Ryker walked up the switchback, pulling his black Mage cloak tight around his shoulders. His original Mage cloak had been lost to the years, but a little Earth Mage had made him a new one, beautifully embroidering the star of Spirit over his breast but leaving Void off to avoid causing a stir. Wind blew up from the flatlands below, catching up his cloak and swirling around his coat.
Castle Jaden was well renowned for her defensive wards, and one of them prevented him from shifting or sidestepping in. He had to walk in like all others. Some rings were made back in his day that allowed a man to bend the anti-shifting pattern, but Ryker had none.
After a few switchbacks he turned to face the great gate, topped with two bastion towers, a stone bridge over top, and crenellations for protection. Men heralded to ask his business, to which he replied he sought sanctuary. One door of the great gate opened, and three Mages spilled out to search him and ask further questions. Where did he come from, why did he flee, where were his possessions, were there others following, who was he? He had perfectly crafted answers. He wove a sad story of his farm set to arson and with such a weak grasp of Spirit he had no choice but to turn to the safety of Jaden.
The men welcomed him in once they were satisfied, convinced his accent was northern, and pointed down one of the starburst streets that spilled from the main courtyard. Ryker thanked him kindly and followed the street. He cut in between the little alleys of shops and wound his way back towards the Head Mages’ Tower. Certain no one would know his face, he lowered his hood and smiled politely as he passed people.
He buckled the doors of the Tower inward and shook the cold from his clothes, grateful for the Lodge’s warm fire. Little had changed in an Age, but there were new banners with Elemental insignias, new carpets, and the banisters had been stripped of their black paint revealing the polished brown wood beneath. He wound his way up the stairs, pausing every now and then to listen for voices. He entered the Head Mage’s chambers; they were vacant. In his day the Head Mage rarely left his quarters, taking his meals and entertaining in them, so if he was not here, there were only a few other places he could be. Ryker checked the Secondhand’s dorm as well to find them vacant. That narrowed his choices.
He went to the testing room where Mage-Selects were given their Class, and he took another flight of stairs up to the Council Hall. He could feel the energy the people inside gave. He found what he was looking for.
Two guards in white tunics stood outside. They were easy to dispose of, falling to the ground silently with pinch-patterns sent into their brains. Ryker threw the doors open with a crackling electricity pattern that shot blue tendrils of energy through the room for show.
The people inside jumped to their feet, some throwing patterns, but Ryker had experience at his fingertips and dodged all attacks. He threw his own patterns, wrapping the men and women in cords of Spirit that pinned their arms to their sides, throwing them to their backs. A white-clothed man at the end of the table was already on his feet, but Ryker threw him back into his chair and wrapped his hands to the armrests. For a Head Mage, the man was weak at what must have been a pathetic excuse for a Class Six. In moments the entire Council had been disarmed, and Ryker suffered only one cut to his thigh that someone snuck through his defenses.
He walked up to the end of the rectangular table and stopped, putting his hands on the creamy marble. “Hullo, I am Mage Ryker Slade. It was so kind of your men t’ let me in the gates with naught but a few questions.”
A man in a hat tried to rise from where he had fallen over his chair and narrowly succeeded in kicking Ryker. Ryker twirled his fingers and set a Spirit pattern deep in the man’s chest, constricting the lungs. The Head Mage said nothing but stared Ryker down with a loathsome look.
“Why are you here?” The Head Mage asked.
“Can I ne visit mine old home? The faces have changed but most of the structures are the same. Tell me, are the tunnels t’ Tintagaelsing still open, or have y’ stopped trade?” The Head Mage made no reply, looking almost befuddled for a moment. “Ah, but you’ve lost so much over the years.” He twirled his fingers again and lifted the pattern from the Councilman’s chest to hear the man gasp. “I am here t’ offer a peace treaty.”
“We will have no peace from you,” the Head Mage replied.
“In a sort. Y’ have something I want, ac I have something y’ want.” He paused for effect. “I will trade y’ the Silex par the Class Ten in the Castrofax.”
“Ludicrous!” an older woman with short white hair yelled. He raised a brow at her, and she averted her eyes wisely.
“You propose an unfair trade,” the Head Mage replied. “Mage Gabriel can never be free.”
Ryker raised a finger and smiled, chuckling for a moment mirthlessly. “Won’t he now? Y’ tell me where the Silex is, ac I will free your Class Ten.”
“You cannot open a Castrofax,” a blond-haired, green-coated man replied from the floor.
Ryker chuckled again and made a sucking noise with his cheek. “I certainly can.”
The room fell silent as he expected it would. Revelations of such a statement undid years of legends, but he had built a failsafe in them upon creation in case one of his Arch Mages fell victim to the Castrofax. He never told anyone but his chosen four, and revealing such information would set him back in leverage.
“No one knows where the Silex is,” a man in gray coat growled, his head pinned against the table.
“Ne even the Head Mage?” Ryker asked. “Surely the Head Mage knows where all the relics are. Tell me, where is Pike’s Ring of Rebirth, hum? What of Maxine’s Excellyon? I know y’ have Evony’s, so y’ must have others, including the remaining Castrofax. So, let me ask one more time, where is the Silex?”
The Head Mage tightened his lips. “It was hidden long ago. Why tell a Head Mage its location when it is meant to be secret?” He frowned with a sudden realization, “And you do not have the Class Ten.”
Ryker waggled a finger and clicked his cheek. “But I control the strings.”
“Traitor!” a pretty Fire Mage with a thick braid yelled. “I knew Nolen was not working alone!”
Ryker regarded the white-haired man across from him and searched his face for a lie. He had never been good at discerning emotions, relying on his power to browbeat the information instead. His Arch Mage Maxine had been very talented at reading the truth. The Head Mage seemed to be weighing something.
“Why do you want the Silex?” he asked.
“Y’ do ne know?” Ryker smirked.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I know. I want to hear it from your mouth.”
“Y’ don’t really know.” Ryker chuckled. “Then I shant tell y’.”
The older man put on a challenging face. “You want it to raise your Arch Mages from the spirit world, to complete what you began two Ages ago. You may as well kill me now and take what you came here for.”
The hall fell silent as the Council looked at their Head Mage. Ryker was surprised the Head Mage was so well informed. It unnerved him a touch.
“I am here t’ negotiate a trade, but seeing as y’ don’t know where mine Silex be, I have no reason t’ stay.”
Ryker’s eyes and hair became white, and the people gasped as he slowly pulled black threads from his chest. He almost stopped at their exclamations of surprise, astonished they did not know, and laughed. The Mages had fallen so far they did not even know the Void Element; a skill difficult to attain but vital for power succession. He carried on for a while, leaving them befuddled. “Know this, your Councilwoman Selene knew far more than she should have about the Silex, so if y’ think I won’t find it, y’ best be preparing yourself elsewise.” Jaden’s wards prevented anyone from shifting or sidestepping in, but anyone could leave by the same means—a foolish flaw. He laid a shift-pattern and left them with his echoing laughter.
Fear closed Gabriel’s throat with each deliberate step through the dungeons. His fists clenched so tightly the nails dug into his palms. His eyes flitted to every shifting shadow ever wary of Nolen’s allies who could easily abduct him in such a vulnerable place. The Prince strode ahead him with a quick pace, his own fists bunched in anger. Their boots echoed through the natural caves and mixed with the voices of men in cells.
A jailor led the way with a set of keys hung around his thick neck. He was a broad man and stood inches taller than Gabriel. Though he walked with a limp, it was obvious from the scars on his hands that he was a face that knew battle.
The air was still and stale, thick with moisture and the occasional whiff of urine. It grew colder as they wound their way through the rock. Darkness pressed all around them save only the lantern in the jailor’s fist.
Gabriel wondered who or what Nolen stashed in the darkness that would give him reason to surrender. Robyn was safe, he was sure of it, and unless by some chance the Prince had her down here, there was nothing alive that could persuade him.
The jailor stopped before a large, iron banded wooden door set into the stone. Around the door were old tan bricks, an unusual sight in the gray dungeon. The door unlocked and gave with a shriek, buckling open. A faint flickering came from within the room, along with the aroma of unwashed skin.
Nolen took the torch and stepped in without hesitation, walking to the center of the small room. Gabriel stepped up slowly to the threshold and kept one eye on the jailor in case the man closed the door on him. Nolen saw Gabriel did not follow and snapped his fingers pointing at the floor before him. Gabriel took another step in and stopped abruptly.
What small trace of Elements still lingered in his senses vanished like a blown out candle. He made a guttural sound and tried to step back, but the jailor closed the door behind him. His heart raced, and sweat prickled his brow. Every palace and castle had an incanted room to hold Mage prisoners, which meant only one thing….
A scraping sound came from his left, and Gabriel surveyed the room. It had four small cells in it with barred fronts that opened to the center. A few candles lit the cells, and Gabriel saw a slender, ragged man with a brown beard stand putting his wan hands on the bars.
“Got yourself a Lord this time?” the man asked in an Aidenmarian accent. His voice was thin and parche
d, his skin much the same, and he looked withered under what was once a fine coat and breeches.
“Be silent,” Nolen snapped and looked at Gabriel with a satisfied smile. “Every worthy establishment has a room where Mages can be kept without risk of using their Elements. You have never been in a room like this before I wager.”
Gabriel swallowed and pressed his fingers against the door, trying to feel for any gap that would allow him access to the outside. The door held.
Nolen chuckled. “If you like, you can stay a fortnight or two in here.”
“Boy, I am Mage Malain Whitestone. You mus’ get word t’ my family I am alive.”
Gabriel looked at the Aidenmarian and saw the pleading in his gaunt face. “Does the Queen know these men are here, or is this your doing?”
“You learn quickly,” Nolen quipped, “But do you remember?” He beckoned with a hand, and Gabriel slowly pried himself off the door. The cell to his right was empty, but to his far left another man with white hair blinked in the circle of light. He looked cleaner and a little plump still, but his face was pale, and his eyes held a sense of hopelessness.
“I think you might know this man,” Nolen said and held the torch to Gabriel’s far right. “If not, then he knows you.”
Gabriel took another step forward, passed a stone wall that divided the cells, and warily peered around it. His heart caught in his throat.
“Father?” he exclaimed and flew the last few steps to him, grasping his hands through the bars. Cordis’s face was thin, and his eyes blinked rapidly in the light of the torch, but they welled up with tears when they saw his son. Gabriel gripped his shoulders, feeling wasted muscle and bone.
“I knew you would come,” Cordis whispered, and a tear slid down his face into his beard. His once-black hair had grayed years ago speckled heavily with white. “I told them all you would come.”
“Yes, he said a lot of things,” Nolen agreed. “Like where you were, where you would go, what form you would take. It was easy to find you in the end.”
The Castrofax (Book 1) Page 22