Rotten Magic

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  Devin said nothing, merely shook his head.

  Drusilla had backed him against the wall. She swiveled her hips, pinning him. “Relax, Devin,” she chuckled. “I've only ever had your best interests at heart. Everything I have done, every horrible thing, I've done for you. To free you.”

  He fumbled against wall, trapped between her hips and the lectern. “I don't feel free.” Drusilla drew close and Devin coughed. She didn't smell like pine twigs and herbs anymore. Her hair smelled of smoke and fire.

  She clucked and smiled, reaching to grasp his shoulder with her left hand while she ran her fingers through his hair with the right. “Such thick curls,” she murmured. “I always thought that was unfair, such curls on a boy. But they do a good job of hiding your horns.”

  “What?” Devin cried, twisting his shoulder and breaking contact. He reached up to clutch his head with both hands. He knew he wouldn't find anything, but she had sounded so certain, he could almost feel them sprouting through his scalp.

  Drusilla crossed her arms. “No more lies. No more deceptions. No more tricks or clever words. Not with yourself and certainly not with me. Do you deny it? Can you still refute what you are? Who you are?”

  Devin braced against the wall, but there was no escaping her withering gaze. He made himself stare into the fury of her eyes. “I don't deny it. I'm a mage.”

  16. DEVIN, YEAR 491

  Benson marched to the front of the room and shoved Drusilla aside. “Dragon Boy, a mage?” he sneered. “A mystical criminal terror that stalks the night? Evil lurking in his heart? Fire blazing from his fingertips?” He gestured around the room to the other apprentices. “Why don't you show us some magic, then?”

  Devin took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down as the heat flowed into his hands. I am in control. I am in control. “One more game, wasn't it, Benny?”

  Benson clasped his hands and grinned. “Finally, you're speaking sense again. Yes, sirrah, a final game. A glorious game. I made a new rule just for this occasion.”

  Something flickered in the corner of Devin's eye. The traitor had picked herself up off the floor and was mouthing a silent phrase over Benson's shoulder, her lips moving with exaggerated care. “S . . . e . . .”

  Devin ignored her, pushing Drusilla's treachery from his mind. One enemy at a time. He unclenched his fists lest they started glowing and betray him, too. “Another rule for you to twist around your gauntlet fingers, Benny? How can you keep track of them all?”

  “We are knights,” Benny said, waving his arm around the room before pointing at Devin. “You are a dragon, an animal. Animals don't have mechanical toys. Animals don't wear armor. The Dragon fights with teeth and nails and” Benny snorted, “magic.”

  Devin stared at his hands. “Tooth and nail and magic?”

  Benson smiled.

  “Against all of you like a caged beast?” I'm not a beast . . . am I? Sure, the dragon armor's gone, but there's another dragon lurking inside me, isn't there? And this one's not made of metal.

  Benson nodded. He sauntered to the back of the room where he retrieved a pair of mechanical gauntlets from a large bag.

  “No. I want a concession in return for accepting this new limitation of yours.” Devin held up his hands. “You don't really expect me to . . . bite you? If I'm only fighting with these, then I am fighting The Knight alone. You, Benson. Not your cronies. You and me. Hero and Villain. One on one.”

  Drusilla was still trying to say something. “S . . .e . . .t . . .y . . .”

  Devin turned away from the traitor to focus on Benson.

  The bully swaggered back to the front of the classroom, gauntlets slung over his shoulder. “If that is your sole request, sirrah?” Benson locked a metal glove on his left hand. “That we do battle while all my knights watch in attendance?” He locked a metal glove on his right hand. The gears whined as he flexed his fingers. “Then I . . .”

  “Your knights?” Drusilla screeched. “These women follow me, Sir Benson. We're not your damn lackeys.”

  “Oh no, stay, Drusilla. You had your part to play. You have revealed your loyalties and shown yourself to be a true knight. Stay for the final battle.” Devin walked over to the classroom door. He locked it and turned to face his foes. He pressed his back against the door as if to flee.

  Again, Drusilla intruded, filling his vision with pine-scented hair. Their eyes met and she smiled, mouthing the words again as Benny stormed forward, arms raised to strike. Devin dodged this clumsy attack and walked calmly to the door, preparing to bolt the latch lest some officious journeyman try and disturb them. Finally, he turned and faced Drusilla. He quirked one eyebrow and cupped a hand to one ear, wiggling it.

  Drusilla laughed and stomped her foot. “Set yourself free, you ass.”

  Yes, set the dragon free. What use is . . . control? the mage hissed.

  Devin shivered as the inner fires raged. He crossed his arms and smiled. “Do you accept my conditions, Benny Pink Piss?”

  “Yes.” The bully ground the word between his teeth, gears whirring as he clenched his metal fists.

  Devin laughed. “Good. Because you're right. A dragon fights with tooth and claw and magic. I should thank you for destroying that fake, metal shell. You think stripping away all my metal toys will defeat me, Benny? You've never met the real Dragon. Well this is the real me.” He reached out one hand while snaking the other behind his back and grabbing the door latch. He sent a trickle of anger into the latch and melted the parts together. Devin rattled the thick, oak door. It held.

  “What do you mean, the real you?” Benny asked, spitting.

  “You've been fighting Devin the Apprentice. You've been up against mere craftsmanship. But now that's all gone, thanks to you. No more apprentice. Now you face another Devin.” He clenched his fists and pushed all the roiling despair and the anger and the rage down into his fingers. His fists slowly began to glow. He grinned. “Don't you know that dragons, true dragons, fight with magic?”

  All the apprentices except Benny backed away. A few screamed.

  “What foolishness is this?” Benny laughed, but a brittle edge of nerves wavered on the edge of it.

  “Didn't you want a demonstration?”

  “It's a trick. You've got another fire gadget hidden up your sleeves.”

  “No trick. No illusion. No secret gadget.” Devin smiled and rolled up sleeves, singeing the fabric as he bared his arms as he advanced on his nemesis. More images flickered in the corner of his eyes and he heard frantic wooden pounding. Some of the apprentices were trying to break down the door. “May the five gods bless your luck with that,” Devin murmured.

  Devin slowly advanced as Benson retreated, steering the bully between the corner desk and the wall where Drusilla had trapped him.

  Little flames began to lick the tips of Devin's finger nails. The ex artificer extended one flaming hand, palm open. “Oh, and I'm not Devin. I'm The Dragon. Pleased to meet you.” He patted the desk and the dry wood burst into flame, trapping Benson behind a small inferno.

  Apprentices screamed and wailed, crashing through the room. Several seemed to be arguing or praying. Tables overturned. Chairs scraped against the walls and smashed into windows. But through the cacophony, the clearest sound that rose above the rest on dragon wings was Drusilla's loud, raucous laughter.

  Devin extended his burning hand toward the bully. “We agreed to the fifth rule. Let's shake on it.”

  “You really are a . . . a mage.”

  “Yes,” Devin said, “I'm really a mage. And every awful story you've ever heard about us, every nasty fairy tale, is true.”

  Benson's face paled as he backed away, but the desk and the dragon had him boxed. His eyes pleaded with the other apprentices through the crackling sheet of flames, those few who remained to watch the fight. Several of his braver knight lieutenants raised their fists and moved to help the bully.

  Drusilla stood and slapped her desk, screaming to be heard above the rising p
anic behind her. “Anyone moves to assist either one of them and I will smash you to the floor myself. One on one. Those were the rules, Benny. So important, obeying the rules,” she crooned. “So what if Devin is more of a dragon than you ever gave him credit for? He's not evil.”

  “You're not frightened, Drusilla?” Devin laughed from behind the rising flames. “Magic is the boogeyman. Magic is an evil fairytale.”

  “You don't have a wicked heart, Devin,” she sighed, “even if you are a mage. But that was a vile, evil thing you created.”

  “My poor machine? That collection of steel and lamp parts was evil?” Devin asked.

  “You would have put that ugly machine, placed the power of the mages, into anyone's hands,” Drusilla protested. “How many would take the ability to shoot fire from their fingers and abuse it? You might scare Benny, but he deserves whatever else he gets.” She shrugged waved her hands. “Magic is too dangerous for such a machine to exist.”

  “But, it wasn't magic,” Devin whispered. “None of it was magic except a little cheat at the end. But it would have worked. The machine should have worked. I can show you my notes.” Then he remembered he had burned his notes.

  Drusilla hopped up and perched on a table, legs dangling. She smiled sadly. “A machine, yeah? Well, Master Huron always said you had a touch of brilliance. Just tell me one thing, Devin. How much of it was sorcery? Not the machine. You.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Your skills, your inspirations, your luck, your . . . everything. How much was genuine craftsmanship and how much was magic? How much did you cheat? Were you just pretending to be a skilled artificer the whole time with little tricks and spells, 'genius'?” Her voice rose through the litany and the windows reverberated with every thunderous accusation.

  Devin snorted, clenching his fist as his entire arm burst into flames. “You sure don't know much about magic. If anything, the damn thing's a distraction. It's crude. It's unwieldy. I can't even do that much with it, yet.” He waved his flaming arm while Benson cowered before him.

  “You did enough,” Drusilla said quietly. “Master Huron claimed you unlocked the puzzle box with your magic.”

  “Yes, I made the box sing. I accomplished what every true and genuine artificer failed to do for generations. But it only sang for me because I was a flawed apprentice.”

  “Those flames are certainly genuine.” Drusilla shielded her face with one arm. “Can't you control them?”

  “I prefer to lose control right now. My freedom requires a loss of control.” Devin shrugged, raised his hand, and the flames shot towards the ceiling.

  The screaming cacophony of the apprentices rose with the flames. They were fluttering chaos in motion, crawling, wheeling, and darting like birds trapped in a cage. Birds trapped with a dragon, Devin thought, then frowned. But I didn't come here to kill birds . . . did I?

  “Devin, watch the fire,” Drusilla cried.

  Devin felt the air move as she hopped off her desk, but didn't turn to look as he refocused on the bully and the fire. He was dimly aware of the other apprentices flailing in the background, but he hardly noticed them now. How long had he dreamed of this moment?

  Magic shall make your dreams come true, the mage whispered.

  “This isn't who . . . this isn't what you are. ” Drusilla pleaded, breaking through his trance. “They're humbled and singed. Isn't that what you wanted?”

  Who knows what I am anymore? What I want anymore? “You best hop out a window if you can. Help the others, won't you? I . . . I may have melted the door latch a little. My future burned to ashes last night. I just don't care right now.”

  “Oh?” Drusilla asked, spreading her arms. “Do all these people deserve to suffer for your mistake? Die for your pride?”

  “Take the other apprentices with you,” he choked. “I don't want to kill them. I want them all to have the long fruitful lives that I denied myself. But leave Benson. We're going to have a little chat.”

  “Please don't kill him.”

  “No, not that. But he needs to pink his britches a little bit.”

  “I guess some part of you does care,” Drusilla smiled as she cracked a window and pushed the first gibbering apprentice through it. The rest shoved themselves toward freedom as the fires burned hotter behind them, wreathing Devin in flames.

  Behind the flames, Devin was only dimly aware of all that. Smiling with anticipation, he reached toward his tormentor with cruel, slow precision. He extended a single burning finger.

  “No . . . please . . .” Benny's eyes crossed following the flaming hand reaching towards his shirt. Devin pressed a fingertip against one of the buttons, which began to blacken and melt. Benny screamed. A wet patch spread across the front of his trousers.

  “How many apprentices pleaded while you stood over them? Begged you to stop pummeling them? Where's your bravado now, Benny? A few magic flames and you fall apart? Hold still,” Devin crowed. “I'm going to teach you the only rule that matters: The dragon always wins.”

  Devin startled as Drusilla came from behind, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him away. Her breath was hot on his neck.

  Devin's flames faltered as Drusilla squeezed and pulled him away from the bully. The fires lowered until just his hands burned. “You've won,” she said, turning him around so they could talk face to face. “Let him stew in your victory for awhile. Benson isn't important right now.”

  “But, the fight . . .”

  “The fight was over the moment Benson pissed himself.” She chuckled and gestured to where the last of the apprentices was clambering out the open windows. “I'd suggest you escape, but that's not the plan, yeah?” She patted his shoulders and eased him toward the door. “You have one more enemy to face, don't you?”

  Devin nodded, not even looking at the puddle of a wretch crying on the floor. “I can't leave yet. The Black Guards are coming. And I'm done cowering. I'm not going to fear them anymore.”

  Drusilla smiled at the distant pounding of mechanical greaves echoing faintly beyond the door. She wrapped him in a tighter embrace. As he patted her back, the fabric between her shoulders began to singe.

  “Your shirt,” he cried, trying to extinguish his hands and failing. He broke their embrace by awkwardly flexing his elbows.

  She laughed. “There's the Devin I remember. Knew you were in there somewhere. They're coming for you, yeah? Go show the Black Guards why they should fear you, my mighty dragon.”

  The floor began to reverberate with the pounding of mechanized armor. Devin clenched his fists. Come, Black Guards. We shall transform this temple of gears and patterned metal into a swirling battle of chaos and flames. He glared at the door. Evict me, will they?

  Devin walked to the massive, wooden door. Benson had been a distraction, practice. This was the confrontation he had been seeking. The world shimmered. The blistering heat from the flames climbing up the walls became warm and inviting. He rolled his shoulders and unfurled his giant bat-like wings. He glanced at the melted door handle. This might have perplexed a mere youth, but now the dragon smiled at the opportunity to send flaming wooden shards and hot brass spewing into his foes.

  Remember the last time you caused an explosion? the artificer murmured. There's still time to flee.

  My mighty dragon. Her words echoed in his mind. Now I can vanquish my foes and save the princess, yet remain true to myself.

  Drusilla still perched on the desk. She flicked an errant hair behind her ear as the guards approached. “Door troubles? I've got some experience with that. Why not attack the hinges with those fiery fingers? Warp the wood and peel the whole thing off the frame.”

  Devin nodded absently, his mind reaching past the door as tingling vibrations worked up through the soles of his feet. The Black Guards were almost upon him.

  Set them ablaze, the mage cried. Melt their wretched armor. Torch these miserable walls. Make everything burn.

  Yes, Devin thought. The dragon is unleashed at last. Sh
ould I flame the door or batter it down with my horns? The stomping grew louder. The walls trembled. The floor shivered with anticipation. The enemy was here.

  The dragon smiled and braced his scaly knuckles against the door, gathering the heat into his claws for a giant, explosive surge. He turned to say his goodbyes to the princess, but when he looked over his shoulder, Drusilla had vanished.

  ~ THE END ~

  If you enjoyed this story and can't wait to finish the series, then please take a quick moment to leave a review. The author has several ongoing series competing for his time and energy. The number and rating of their books' reviews helps prioritize which series he finishes first.

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  AUTHOR'S NOTES

  Dear Reader,

  You currently hold the final iteration of this story. I do not speak about mere sundry drafts, but of a true metamorphoses. I must confess sometimes I feel this book has undergone more iterations than a motion-captured butterfly life cycle playing on an endless loop.

  Like any butterfly, it has three primary stages. The first is the larval short story, crawling around, chewing the scenery, and dreaming of becoming bigger. The second stage is the novella in which the story builds a solid chrysalis and makes something of itself, but from a distance still looks like a glazed caterpillar glued to a tree branch. The third and final iteration is the novel in which the mature story breaks free of its humble beginnings as an earth crawler, stretches its wings, and flies. Having taken flight, the butterfly transformed yet again from an idea nurtured in the garden of one man to a vibrant creature of the world.