The Last Oracle: The White Mage Saga #1 (The Chronicles of Lumineia)

by Ben Hale

  He was actually grateful that his techno magic was just a secondary. If it had been a primary he could have ended up half-crazy like the rest. As it was, his skill was just enough to connect him to the mage net—and spot techno mage traps. The latter skill had been quite useful in his profession. It was also something that no one—not even his parents—knew about. When he was a child he'd been afraid of being teased for the shortcoming. Over time it had become his most valuable secret. Still, he wondered what the oracle's roommate had put on the doors . . .

  —A flash of movement caught his eye.

  Instantly alert, he cast an eyesight charm. Heat, light, and movement were all enhanced, making it possible for him to see quite well in the black of night. His gaze narrowed as the cloaked figures came into view. Floating through the branches, a trio of flyers slowly rotated around the cabin.

  No doubt they were fire and gravity mages, checking for hidden sentries or wandering students. A faint smile crossed the Swordsman's face as they passed him by. Among other things, the shroud obscured his body heat.

  Once the scouts were satisfied the others came. An unnatural stillness filled the trees as the first ones separated themselves from the shadows. Like a wool blanket over a ringing phone, it dampened every sound in the vicinity.

  The Swordsman nodded to himself as he recognized the muffling spell. Whether it was cast by a mage or an enchanted object, it was powerful. A ghost of a smile spread on his face. The implication that they didn't want to be discovered would actually favor him.

  In absolute silence they followed the stairs leading toward the oracle's door. Another group flew through the trees and surrounded the cabin. The Swordsman reached to the hilt at his waist and eased the weapon from the scabbard that extended up to his shoulder. Then he breathed deep . . . and waited.

  The lead Harbinger reached for the front door, purple lines gathering around his hand as he sought to unlock it, but he never succeeded. Light and liquid energy poured into him, causing his whole frame to quake. His hood fell off his head as he shook, revealing his face rigid and his teeth clenched in agony. His scream went unheard.

  The unexpected attack caused the rest of the Harbingers to hesitate—but the Swordsman didn't. Casting an agility spell on himself, he leapt through the shroud and landed on a limb next to his nearest foe. With his magic boosting his reaction time and speed, he swept his sword through his chest and moved on. He'd killed two more before he felt the limb underfoot quiver, indicating the first had fallen. He cast a single glance back to ensure the others were down as well.

  One of the flyers turned to see what had happened, and the Swordsman leaped out to him. The man looked up in time to see his own reflection in the black blade—but not in time to react. The Swordsman rebounded off the man's shoulders even as he whipped the tip of his sword through his neck.

  He leapt into a forward flip as the man began to fall behind him. Catching a limb with his free hand, he swooped toward the next in line. The fire in the man's hands evaporated as the assassin’s blade pierced his heart. As his body slumped the others began to counterattack.

  The Swordsman pulled his feet together and slipped between two limbs, avoiding the fire blasts by inches. Alighting in the shadows of a lower branch, he sheathed his sword and jumped beneath cabin 313. Leaping and swinging, he caught a branch on the opposite side and whipped his body around and up.

  Amplified by his magic, his momentum threw him feet first up the side of the cabin. He rolled his body so his boots touched the wall. Running backward up the side of the cabin shed the last of his speed. After three steps his motion stalled, and he took advantage of the moment to reassess the positions of the enemy.

  Most of the Harbingers had rushed to the opposite side of the cabin, so only two were in sight. One was facing the wrong direction, so the Swordsman leapt toward the second. Yanking his sword free, he jumped into a forward flip and landed in a crouch next to the man. With a quick spin he swept the man’s feet out from under him. The branch quivered as he crashed into it. A quick blow to his chest ended his silent scream.

  Without hesitation the Swordsman leapt to the other, who began shifting when he felt a tremor in his footing. Before he could turn, the assassin raked his blade across the man's back. Then he kicked him off the limb. In silence the Harbinger fell, and in silence he slammed into a lower limb. The Swordsman moved on, but fleetingly wondered if his last victim had yelled on the way down.

  —A smaller limb burst free of the shadows next to him. Snapping like a whip, it caught him on the side of the skull. He rolled with it and went right off the branch. Forty feet down, the roof of another cabin was layered with shadows. The Swordsman dropped his agility spell and spiked his strength.

  He landed in a crouch, cushioning his landing by magic and muscle. Then he darted away. Whirling once he was out of sight, he watched a pair of Harbingers follow his path down. One of them flew but the other stood on a limb as it carried him lower. Annoyed at the close hit, he targeted the plant mage first. Sheathing his sword, he pulled a curving, compact object from a holster under his cloak.

  As he raised it to his shoulder, a gray mist blossomed out the front. Expanding fast, it stretched two feet forward before splitting to both sides and arcing back toward him. A moment later a string appeared. The Swordsman levered the handle like a shotgun, raising a short bolt into the ethereal crossbow. Then he fired.

  The plant mage was struck hard and fell off his perch. As he fell, the assassin racked another bolt into position and aimed for the flyer. Apparently seeing his companion fall he dived, causing the bolt to pierce his cloak instead of his neck. The flyer caught his friend and ducked behind another cabin before the Swordsman could fire again.

  The crossbow evaporated into mist as he lowered it. Placing the stock back into its holster, he retreated to the other side of the trunk. With his strength spell still active, he leapt thirty feet to a higher branch. Climbing onto it, he marked the location of visible foes. Then he jumped again. Like a shard of shadow, he rose through the great tree. Once he was at a secure perch, he released his strength spell and reactivated his agility. His arms tingled as he did.

  He crouched in the crook of a giant limb to catch his breath and reassess the situation. With his enhanced vision he spotted nine unhurt Harbingers. Three of them had collected the dead and wounded, two had withdrawn a short way and seemed to be scanning the foliage. The rest seemed to be prowling for him. Then the Swordsman spotted a tenth.

  The Harbinger stood frozen with most of his body hidden in darkness. His stillness triggered alarm bells in the assassin’s mind, so he quickly planned a course of attack. Just as he leapt away the Harbinger pointed in his direction. As he did, the sound blanket lifted enough for his words to be heard.

  "He's there!" The sound was a harsh whisper, but it managed to fill the space. All eyes turned to where he was pointing—and continued to point.

  The Swordsman ducked and weaved as limbs whipped toward him, and then dropped to a lower branch when a strand of ink rope reached for his neck. How do they know? he thought. Furiously ducking and weaving, he recalled a contract in North Korea, where his target had been protected by a sound mage.

  That sound mage had tracked him by the sound of his heartbeat and breathing, stripping the Swordsman of the cloaking shadows. His lips thinned as he realigned his point of attack. His blood pounded in his ears as he flipped, ducked and slid past the balls of fire and striking branches. A moment later he disappeared inside his obscurity shroud. Landing on his platform, he leapt straight up to a higher branch.

  The attacks faltered as the directing sound mage lost track of him. As the Swordsman had hoped, his passage into his hiding place had caused the man to lose him. Rushing through the darkness, he counted the seconds, knowing it was only a matter of time before the sound mage found him again.

  He caught branches, bounced off limbs, and flipped past obstacles. His chest heaving, he landed on the back balcony of cabin 313 and
leapt to the side railing. Then he drew the stock to his crossbow. Snapping it to his shoulder he worked the slide even as the weapon coalesced into shape. Then he sent a bolt to his target, and then another. The Harbinger turned and pointed at him just as the first hit home.

  His eyes widened in shock as the muffling spell disintegrated. Leaves rustled, men moaned in pain, and the Harbingers’ orders burst across the Swordsman's ears. After the muted silence the noises sounded loud, but the assassin’s position was too exposed to pay them mind. Diving into the shadows once more, he searched for a new target.

  The Harbingers withdrew before he could attack again. The Swordsman settled in to watch. In a matter of seconds the Harbingers collected their casualties and departed. A water mage even cleaned up a patch of blood on the stairs. The swordsman frowned at that act, but let them go. To attack them now would feel like hitting them in the back. It was tempting, but he'd done his job.

  He climbed to a comfortable vantage point and watched them fly away. The frown on his face deepened. He may have had surprise and tactics on his side, but the Harbingers had outnumbered him—and had been skilled. The Swordsman had expected them to go after him with a vengeance. A single light mage could have lit the expanse of tree like it was day. It should have been their first move. He'd even been prepared for it.

  So why had they chosen to fight in the darkness? They had responded like they were comfortable with the dark, but the Swordsman owned it. For them to fight that way had only served to give him an edge.

  Then a thought crossed his mind, causing him to throw a sharp look at the oracle's cabin. From the muffling spell, to the removing evidence of their attack, the Harbingers did not want their presence to be known. That much was obvious. What was more disturbing was what that implied.

  Their secrecy was more important to them than their goals. The tactic suggested that the Harbingers were not acting out of desperation or fanaticism. Their moves were too coordinated for that. The speed of their withdrawal supported that theory, for only with advance preparation could they have acted so quickly.

  The Swordsman considered the ramifications of that until he felt a wetness trickling down his cheek. He touched it, and it came away bloody. That plant mage had hit him harder than he'd thought.

  On cautious feet he returned to his hide, and then released all of his body spells. With practiced fingers he used a healing salve on the wound under his scalp. His lips tightened as the sting faded. Next he withdrew his crossbow stock and touched a pattern of runes on it. They glowed purple, and a moment later four bolts floated within reach.

  He cleaned the blood off the three successful ones and then returned them to their chamber. Then he sheathed the weapon. After that he methodically cleaned his sword and checked its edge. Once done, he sent a brief message to Hawk before settling back in.

  In the dark, the Swordsman smiled.

  Chapter 19: Excursion

  Tess and Iris joined the milling group of students as they gathered in the World Room. As Iris talked into thin air, Tess looked at the statue of Siarra. Hawk had once mentioned that she was her ancestor, but little else. Looking at her with the lightning on her arm and the sword in her hand, Tess thought she had a fair idea of the woman's caliber.

  Rox stepped to her side. "She's stunning, isn't she?”

  Hoping for more information, Tess feigned ignorance. "What do you know about her?"

  "She was born shortly before the Second Draeken War," Rox said. "And was the Oracle when Draeken's minions invaded. Half the races of the world perished in a matter of weeks, yet Siarra guided them to victory. She's also credited with the discovery of gravity magic, and the establishment of our very own Tryton’s Academy. Prior to her time there were autonomous mage guilds instead of a united school."

  "What about the lightning?" Tess asked. She gestured to the glowing mark on the statue’s right arm.

  "In the final hours of the battle she fought a million fiends—by herself. Some say that's what happens from using too much power. I believe she carried it for the rest of her life."

  "She sounds powerful."

  Iris poked her head between them. "Of course she was. Without her no one would have lived beyond the invasion."

  "Next year is the 10,000-year anniversary of the fiend's defeat," Rox said, "so I'm sure we will study the war in History of Magic."

  She shuddered, wondering why the comment bothered her. The reference to the length of time stuck in her head like a cold needle. It felt important, but she could not think why. She mulled it over for a while, but didn't get the chance to consider it further.

  "Students," a voice called, and all three of them turned to see Director Grayson himself standing on the other side of the room. Once the gathering had quieted, he began, "I'm sure you are all excited for today's excursion. Please remain together as we travel to Sentre. An invitation to visit the High Council chambers is uncommon, and I expect you all to be on your best behavior. Now follow me." He turned on his heel and swept from the room.

  Tess and her two friends joined the procession. Once they were outside Tess felt inclined to take to the air, but suspected Director Grayson would not consider that the best of behavior. With a sigh she remained on the ground. It felt like the journey would take an eternity.

  "Are you guys ready to get out?" Rox asked.

  Tess nodded while Iris waved distractedly. The note on Tess's schedule marked the first change in five weeks, and she was curious at the prospect of exploring Auroraq further. Although brief, the note had been clear.

  Please join the rest of the first quads in the World Room. The council has invited you all for a tour of the Spirus. You will be excused from your morning's classes.

  She asked, "Ever been inside it?"

  Rox shook her head. "Not beyond the first two floors. I can't believe we get to meet the high council today. You rarely see them outside of their chambers."

  "So why do we get to visit them?"

  Iris turned to face them. "All I have been able to find out is that some of the council members wanted to meet the newest quad. That's all that was in the message to the school."

  "Do you normally read the director’s private messages?" Rox asked.

  "Of course." Iris said it like it would be stupid not to.

  Rox raised an eyebrow at Tess and they smothered laughs. Tess felt a flash of gratitude that the two girls got along. When they'd first met, Rox had frequently been annoyed by the techno mage's behavior. Iris had been oblivious to the irritation she had caused.

  The animosity had come to a head two weeks after the Tempest tryouts. While the three of them had been studying, Iris had interrupted to inform Rox about her boyfriend—who she said was kissing a healer girl. Rox had been livid at the accusation, but Iris had merely pointed to the painting on the wall. Its memory had been replaced with an image of Rox's boyfriend—kissing a girl with a healer's knot.

  Rox had stomped from the room without a word. Two days later she'd returned and apologized to Iris, who didn't seem to be aware of her at all. She'd been too involved with a thousand-person digital game to notice. But the two had been friends ever since, and Rox had subsequently joined them at meals.

  Not for the first time Tess wondered how Iris had managed to get the video. When she'd asked Derek about it he'd simply shrugged.

  "It's Iris," he'd said, as if that answered the question.

  However she'd done it, Tess was glad that she had. She wasn't inclined to give up either one of them as friends. And Rox was planning on teaching Tess how to surf over the holiday in a few days. Between now and then Tess just had to get through the mid-quad exams.

  "Are you thinking of exams or surfing?" Rox asked shrewdly.

  "Both," Tess said with a laugh. "It's probably the first time I have ever felt prepared for a test."

  "Didn't like calculus, huh?"

  "I never made it past trig," Tess replied ruefully.

  "Then don't take Advanced Magical Construction, The A
pplication of Theoretical Mechanics and Mathematics," Iris said. "Derek has to take it next year."

  "Ouch," Tess and Rox said at the same time, and then laughed in unison.

  "Let's just think about surfing, shall we?" Rox asked, and Tess agreed.

  The water mage launched into another description of what it was like to surf with nothing but your shoes, but Tess only gave half of her attention. It wasn't the first time Rox had talked about her favorite topic, and Tess was preoccupied with the environment.

  When Tess had arrived with Hawk on the Terminous, they had turned immediately toward the school. She'd glimpsed Sentre from the air, but this was the first time she got to walk underneath the Tryton’s arch and enter it.

  In a mass of chattering students, Tess stepped from Southpoint and onto Sentre. As they entered the streets, Tess's gaze was drawn to the trees. Grown into graceful, twisting shapes, they supported an abundance of pathways, terraces, and high-level overlooks.

  Bridges looped like Christmas decorations through the enormous limbs, and joined the tree rooms, platforms, and offices. The treeways, as Director Grayson described for the newcomers, connected seamlessly with the buildings of Sentre. Branches from the greater trees fused into the sides of structures. Doorways thirty feet off the ground led to the treeways at multiple levels. The result was a vast, multi-tiered network that exuded grace and beauty.

  For their part, the buildings were fashioned from sparkling white stone and glass. Each displayed smooth lines and flawless architecture. Although there were many, they seemed to hide in the background of the lush gardens.

  Waterways laced the paths, their sweet melody adding to the atmosphere. Winding in twisting arcs, they gurgled their way under and through great, arching bridges, small hills, and rocky beds. On occasion they rose into the air and formed bridges or artwork made from flowing water. At one point a stream defied gravity and lifted out of the ground in a smooth arch. Clear and smooth, it cascaded over their path before reconnecting with the riverbed on the opposite side.