Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2)

by Foster, Brian W.

  Justav stepped into his line of sight and grinned. “By order of the Three Kingdoms, I place you under arrest for violation of the Prohibition of Magic Decree.”

  8.

  Xan instantly regretted opening his eyes. Bright light shot through a narrow slit high above him and pierced his brain. His head pounded, and his ribs ached.

  Where was he?

  Stone walls surrounded him. Rough straw provided little padding against the hard floor and poked through his clothes.

  “Xan!” Master Rae glared at him through an iron-grated door.

  Indistinct memories assaulted Xan—being yanked out of the dream and large men draping him over a horse for a semi-conscious ride.

  “Are the charges true?” Master Rae said. “Quickly. Captain Reed has bought me little time.”

  “They arrested me!” Xan tried to rise but only gained his knees before the pain stopped him.

  “Focus, lad. Answer the question!”

  Xan barely remembered what happened. Some absurd accusation about using magic. “That peacock had me thrown in here to get back at me for interfering with his men yesterday.”

  “Highly improbable.” Master Rae fidgeted, a sure sign of impatience. “I’ll have to test you.”

  “For what?”

  “Pay attention! Magic.”

  Huh? Xan finally made it to his feet and staggered to the cell door.

  “Can you remember something happening just because you wanted it to?” Master Rae said. “A rock moving? A patient healing? Anything like that.”

  How could Master Rae take the accusations seriously? Catchers made up charges all the time. Xan expected nothing less from their ilk. “Why?”

  “Tarnation, lad, there’s no time for questions.” Master Rae threw up his hands. “Answer me!”

  A recollection passed through Xan’s mind.

  “What is it?” Master Rae said.

  Xan’s heart thudded. “It was nothing. Really.”

  “Out with it!”

  If the accusations were false, why did Xan feel like he was signing his own death warrant? “About a month ago, I finished a book. I was warm and comfortable under the covers. The lantern was all the way across the room.” He cast his eyes at the stone floor. “The fire just went out. The window was open. It was the wind.”

  Master Rae spat. “Laziness! You Surged due to blasted laziness!”

  “Surged?”

  Muttering about teenagers, Master Rae glanced over his shoulder and stalked from Xan’s sight. He returned with a lit lamp and grabbed Xan’s hand. “Lose yourself in the fire, lad.”

  Xan squelched the questions burning through his mind and concentrated on the dancing tongues of flame. Minutes stretched.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve done that,” Master Rae finally said, “but I felt a connection. You’re a mage.”

  No. It couldn’t be.

  “Test again. Please.” Xan felt like he watched himself from a great distance—a frail figure begging for his master to be wrong.

  The apothecary squeezed Xan’s fingers. “I’m sorry, lad, but you’re an alchemist. There is no doubt.”

  Xan’s knees buckled, and he clutched at the grate for support. “You can’t let them kill me.”

  Master Rae turned away. “The catcher even now argues with the town council. Once he wins that fight—and don’t doubt that he will—your life is forfeit. The mayor can stall for a day, two at the most.”

  “There’s got to be something we can do. What about the magic? Would it help me escape? Can you teach me?”

  “I don’t have the knowledge.”

  But Master Rae taught that all problems have a solution. Why was he just giving up?

  “Can’t you at least try?” Xan said.

  Master Rae shook his head. “Even if we had time, I simply don’t know how. With my small ability, I was never taught.”

  What? He had used magic?

  “How did the catcher find your house?” Master Rae said. “What were you doing when he arrested you?”

  Xan leapt to his feet. “I was asleep, dreaming. Why?”

  “I told you not to ask …” Master Rae’s face softened. “It’s important I learn all the information I need. Once I finish, I’ll provide you with what explanation I can.”

  “Sorry, master.” Xan swallowed hard and, except for the bits about the seeds and the potions, told his mentor the whole story.

  Master Rae frowned. “Your fatigue. I shouldn’t have waited so long for you to come to me on your own.”

  Xan banged his head lightly against the door in frustration. He was such a complete moron. “The dream.”

  “The girl must be untrained if she didn’t remember more than her name,” Master Rae said.

  Untrained? Remember? That implied a real person. Ashley was real?

  “It’s a wonder you’re not dead already,” Master Rae said.

  “What?”

  “Remember what happens when you sleep?”

  “Our souls step away from the world of the living into a void where our life energy is restored.” Xan felt like a child reciting lessons.

  “Exactly,” Master Rae said. “When you dream communicate, your essence is transported to the magic source instead. Since neither of you know what the blast you’re doing, you’re spending all night there and not giving yourselves a chance to recharge.”

  Great. Something more to worry about if he managed to live past the next couple of days. “If I did figure out how to use magic, could I use it to escape?”

  “In my day, a potential mage spent a week under hard instruction in order to coerce him into Surging. The more powerful the prospect, the easier he attained his connection.” Master Rae pursed his lips. “You removed the blockage by wishing for a lantern to extinguish.”

  That gave Xan a sliver of hope, at least.

  The door behind Master Rae creaked open, and one of the militiamen, Wilfred, stepped inside. “Sorry, sir. The catcher’s men are on the way.”

  Master Rae flashed Xan an encouraging smile. “I make no promises but have heart. The rope is not yet tight around your neck.”

  He and Wilfred left quickly, and one of the guardsmen entered to sit in a foyer just at the edge of Xan’s view.

  Xan lay back on the straw. “Ashley is real.” The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen was real—and liked him. He frowned. It couldn’t be true. No matter that Master Rae believed it.

  But Master Rae was almost never wrong. Could it be true?

  He inhaled deeply and let out a long, slow breath. Despite his friends thinking he would never find a girlfriend, perhaps he, somehow, could end up with Ashley?

  But not if he didn’t get out of the cell. Master Rae had to find a way to bust Xan out or he had to learn magic. Then, he’d have to get away from the guardsmen.

  Xan slapped his forehead. If Justav had found him because of the dreams, a catcher could find her. Would find her. Xan had to warn her.

  He closed his eyes, and the next thing he knew, a guardsman roused him for lunch. No dream. Did Justav have a way to block him from contacting her? Had being pulled so abruptly from the dream severed the connection? Had something happened to her?

  How could he warn her if he couldn’t talk to her? His arms and legs quivered. He rose to pace. What if he never saw her again?

  After dozens of frustrating laps, he cursed himself as an idiot. “If she’s not asleep, there is no dream.” It should have been obvious. On Mondays, after sleeping the entire weekend, he always felt better.

  “Stop,” he muttered. “Look at this from all sides.”

  He had two important objectives—stop Ashley from dreaming and get himself away from Justav. The first of those would have to wait until that night.

  As to the second …

  The iron grate wouldn’t yield. Xan kicked the frame. Ouch! He hoped he hadn’t broken his toe, and the door hadn’t budged.

  The guardsman appeared with his sword drawn. “Settle dow
n in there!”

  Xan glared at him, and the man stepped back. He was afraid of Xan. Afraid of his power. No one—especially not a trained soldier—had ever been afraid of him.

  Xan didn’t know what to think, but he felt … good. He’d never have to worry about the likes of Dirc or Keller again.

  As soon as the man returned to the foyer, Xan examined every square inch of the room. Strong mortar held the stone walls together. Even if he had tools, he doubted he could pry a block free. Heavy wood beams rested firmly on the top of the walls leaving not a finger’s width between them and the roof. He couldn’t reach or fit through the window opening. The door’s hinges hung outside the room. Even the heavy flagstone floor stymied him.

  The lack of an obvious escape method left Xan with only one option—figure out how to use his ability. From Master Rae’s test, it had to have something to do with fire. Maybe he could burn his way out—ignite the wood around the grate, bust the door open, and send the guardsman running from him in terror.

  Xan stared at the frame. Burn. He willed it to catch fire. Burn! He craved escape. Burn, blast it!

  For the rest of the afternoon, he commanded the door to burst into flame with every bit of his being. Nothing happened, not even a spark.

  After dinner, he laid down sure he would find himself in the meadow. He drifted off, and the familiar surrounds of the idyllic, tree-lined field replaced the harsh reality of his cell. As always, Ashley waited for him in the distance.

  There wasn’t much time before Justav sensed the magic use. Xan took a single lurching step toward her before shouting. “You have to stop this.”

  “Stop what?”

  Xan initiated the disconcerting motion thrice more, stopping only briefly after each one to steady his swimming head. “The dream. A catcher will find you.”

  “What?”

  Finally reaching her, Xan gestured around them. “This is a dream. You’re pulling us here, and you’re in danger because of it.”

  Her eyes were blank of comprehension.

  Xan took her hand. Despite the urgency, he marveled at both his boldness and at the softness of her skin. “I know it’s hard, but try to remember what it’s like when you’re not here.”

  Ashley nodded her head but appeared completely baffled.

  “Where are you?” He needed to know.

  “Right here.”

  He wasn’t getting through to her. There was no time. Xan cupped her hand with both of his. “On my sacred honor, I will protect you from harm. I swear it.”

  She smiled and jutted her mouth slightly toward him, tilting her head.

  Xan’s heart pounded. She, a real girl, actually wanted him to kiss her. He leaned in and closed his eyes.

  His guts turned to mush, and his eyes popped open. A savage force yanked him from the dream. Colors swirled into nauseating shades.

  Justav and Keller stood over Xan. His side throbbed with fierce intensity, and to his shame, he whimpered and curled into a fetal position.

  “There will be no more of that,” Justav said to the guard outside the cell. “If he falls asleep again, I’ll whip you five times for each lash I give him.”

  The pain in Xan’s side made each breath labored, and his head pounded ferociously. Ignoring those distractions, he kept trying to burn the door. He had to learn magic. He had to escape. He had to find Ashley before a catcher did.

  9.

  Brant swung the sword.

  The blade hit the practice dummy with a thwack, passing through layers of straw to strike the wood frame below. Brant’s arm vibrated. The sword, cheaply made to begin with and bent by years of use, warped.

  He struck again. And again.

  A full day had passed since Xan’s arrest.

  He continued swinging. Sweat rolled down his face. His clothes grew damp. The wood cracked. He hit it again. The dummy’s torso splintered, its upper half falling.

  Brant threw the sword, and it clanged angrily against the ground. He needed more of a challenge. Something that hit back.

  In one of three rings in the center of the militia’s training barn, Wilfred and one of the newer recruits—Robb?—sparred in padded armor. Brant stormed to his cubby to grab a waster. Not bothering to put on protective gear, he raced into the ring.

  “Face me,” Brant said.

  The two raised their practice swords in salute.

  “Begin.”

  Wilfred rushed him. Brant sidestepped a thrust and dealt a hard blow to the back of Wilfred’s leg, sending him sprawling to the ground.

  “Keep control of yourself!” Brant spun to parry a lunge from Robb.

  The force of the counter drove his enemy off balance. Robb, too, ended up eating dust.

  Brant watched them from a ready stance. “You disgust me. Up! Now!”

  The two men rose slowly, groaning. They took their positions and saluted once again. Instead of rushing Brant, they moved to opposite sides of him.

  “Good. Work together.”

  Wilfred gave Robb a nod, and they both advanced. Brant grinned. He darted at Wilfred and feinted a thrust that froze his enemy.

  Brant put his weight behind a swing. His wood blade hit with a loud thud. Though the blow struck thick padding, Wilfred fell and clutched at his side.

  Twirling the tip of his waster, Brant turned and dashed at Robb. The recruit retreated until becoming trapped against the ring. Brant feinted low, and Robb moved to block. Spinning, Brant swung his weapon fast and hard at his opponent’s helmet.

  “That’s enough!”

  The blade halted inches from its target.

  “Get cleaned up and find Dylan,” Captain Reed said. “Master Rae wants to speak with the two of you.”

  Brant faced his dad. “I’d be better off at the cells.”

  The captain’s face clouded. “I’ve heard enough of that.”

  Arguing would get Brant nothing beyond added chores, so he dropped it. But it wasn’t fair. How could everybody let that catcher arrest Xan?

  As he oiled, cleaned, and stowed his gear, he couldn’t get rid of the image of a deserter he’d seen hanged. The fear on the boy’s face before. Lifeless eyes after.

  Xan couldn’t end up swinging from a rope. Brant had to do something. Fight the guardsmen. Challenge the catcher to a duel. Anything.

  Instead, he was stuck running a fool errand to see a crazy old man. There was no help for it, though. After sponging the sweat from his body, he changed out of his sparring clothes and began the long walk to find Dylan.

  Much of Eagleton consisted of sturdy stone buildings that weren’t too fancy or colorful. Not so for Merchant Street. The homes, shops, and offices lining the way assaulted the eyes. Each trade house stood as a fortress with stone walls, iron gates, and liveried guards.

  The prize for the showiest easily went to the spice merchant. A sparkling gold-tile roof topped bright purple plaster framed with emerald green wood trim. Ten-foot marble statues of the Eagle and his lieutenants guarded each corner of the building in an over-the-top display of wealth.

  The trade house of Dylan’s father, the dye merchant, looked simple in comparison. Half the size of the buildings on either side, its pale blue plaster, white trim, and shingled roof stood as an island of class in a sea of ugliness.

  Brant strode through the gate with a curt nod to the guard and marched inside without knocking. He breezed through an inner door to find Dylan seated at a desk piled high with paper and ledgers.

  “Master Rae sent for us,” Brant said.

  Dylan nodded. “Just let me tell Father.”

  Before he had taken more than a step toward the storeroom in back, Master d’Adreci called, “Go on. It’s not like you’re getting anything done anyway.”

  Brant turned and left, setting a rapid pace. Neither of them spoke the entire way to the apothecary’s house.

  Master Rae led them to seats at the kitchen table. “It’s a terrible thing about that apprentice of mine. No help for it but that he’s going to be
executed, and after I put so much work into training him.” He eyed each of them. “Neither of you are looking to learn to be an apothecary are you?”

  What the rads? He’d summoned them for recruitment? Brant clenched the hilt of his sword.

  “No? Pity. I have a new mixture I need tested.” Master Rae laid a wood tube and ten items that looked like fishing flies on the table. “This is a blowgun, popular with the tribes. They treat the tips of these darts with poison.”

  Brant had never seen the like. It wouldn’t help much in battle, but if it was as quiet as it looked …

  Master Rae stuffed a dart into the end of the tube. “Simply blow in one end.” He lifted the tube to his mouth and puffed his cheeks. The dart flew across the room and quivered where it stuck out of a wood cabinet.

  The apothecary turned to Brant. “If it breaks the skin, it kills the target. It’s silent and deadly, but it has faults. It’s only accurate to about fifty feet, and the darts won’t penetrate armor. Sometimes even a heavy cloak stops it. But if a man, say someone standing guard” —he winked— “didn’t expect an attack, it could take him out quickly and quietly.”

  “But—” Brant said.

  “Of course, poison causes such a mess, perhaps creating more problems than it solves. Dead bodies lying around and bloating.” Master Rae wrinkled his nose before taking a small glass bottle filled with a goopy yellow liquid from a shelf. “This is my creation. It will put a man to sleep for about a day. Drop him right fast, too. I think anyway. If only I could find someone to test it for me.”

  Brant opened his mouth, but Dylan interrupted. “I have experience with a blowgun from my dealings with the tribes. We can help you.”

  Master Rae pulled a leather saddlebag from underneath the table, his frail arms straining. “I’d also appreciate it if you store this for me. Mind you don’t open it, though. Only a real apprentice apothecary should see what’s inside.”

  Dylan took the bag and nodded.

  “I’m glad we were able to come to an understanding,” the apothecary said. “You are authorized to purchase anything you need at the market and put it on my account. Captain Reed granted permission to draw horses from the militia’s stable as well. If there’s anything else, the mayor will help.”