Apprentice Swordceror

by Chris Hollaway

  Unwilling to devote his attention to scribing while on watch, Kevon surveyed the surrounding landscape as the evening deepened. The sun had set behind the mountains that Kevon and Waine were headed for in the west. The light reflected from some of the higher clouds and the hills to the east would keep the area illuminated for some time yet.

  Kevon gathered his notes and some nearby branches to start a fire. He smiled as the papers burned, feeling that things might finally start to work out. He sat and watched, relaxed, nearly forgetting to wake Waine at full dark.

  When he finally rose to wake Waine, the Seeker spoke before Kevon had a chance.

  “Someone’s out there,” Waine murmured softly, opening his eyes to narrow slits. “Horseback, headed this way.”

  “Call me Kalron,” Kevon whispered, straightening his robe sleeves.

  Waine nodded and sat up as Kevon crouched by the fire to warm his hands, symbols dancing in his mind, ready to cast at a moment’s notice.

  “Ho, there!” Waine called as the hoof-beats drew near. They slowed and quieted as a red-cloaked rider entered the flickering firelight.

  “Good evening!” a cheery voice called.

  “Identify yourself!” Waine challenged.

  “Pholos Magus,” the rider answered, pushing back his hood to reveal short blonde hair and features that put him at Kevon’s age, or younger. He saw Kevon and corrected himself. “Pholos ’ap Tarska, to be exact.”

  Kevon stood. “Kalron ’ap Holten,” he announced. “And my escort, Willem.” Kevon ignored Waine’s upraised eyebrow and continued. “What brings you down the road at this hour?”

  “Overconfidence,” the Mage called. “I pushed for a place I know to spend the night, and it’s still miles distant. May I share your fire?”

  “Willem?” Kevon asked.

  “It’s your choice, Kalron,” Waine replied, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice.

  Kevon shot him a reproachful glance and the Seeker nodded.

  “Of course, join us,” Kevon answered. “Willem, will you take his horse and put it with ours?”

  “Certainly,” Waine said with a half-bow, embracing the role. He took the offered reins as the Mage rode closer and dismounted.

  Pholos approached the fire, ruffling his cloak and shuddering. He knelt and rubbed his hands together before spreading his palms out to catch the heat. The young Mage sighed in exasperation. “I really should have traveled farther tonight. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it back to the tower tomorrow, now.”

  “Tower?” Kevon remarked. “We’re headed to a tower near here.”

  “You have business with Master Gurlin?” Pholos asked, peering at Kevon. “There are no other towers anywhere near here.”

  “Yes,” Kevon answered. “I bear a message from-”

  “Holten!” Pholos exclaimed. “I knew I recognized the name! Master Gurlin has mentioned him several times.” The Mage’s searching gaze turned to something more like admiration. “You apprenticed under Holten… Our meeting is fortunate, indeed. We’ll be at the tower in a day and a half, at most.”

  “A day and a half?” Waine asked, returning from unloading the Mage’s horse. “What’s in a day and a half?”

  “We’ll all reach Gurlin’s tower,” Kevon answered quickly. “Pholos studies there, correct?”

  “Yes,” Pholos beamed. “I was fortunate enough to apprentice under Tarska Magus in Navlia, and have been studying with Gurlin and the others for about a year.”

  Kevon saw Waine’s eyes widen at the word ‘others’. “I’ve only studied with Master Holten, as his only Apprentice,” he began. “What’s it like with… how many others are there?”

  “Myself and four others,” Pholos answered. “Two other Journeymen, and two full Mages, though Mirsa will test for Master very soon.” The young Mage seemed aquiver with excitement. “Are you going to be staying to study?” he blurted.

  “I think I would enjoy that, Pholos,” Kevon answered, smiling. I’d probably enjoy it more than killing you and your friends, but some things can’t be helped.

  “You two had better get some sleep,” Waine said. “This talking isn’t getting us to that tower.”

  “Oh! …Willem, is it?” Pholos asked. “You’ll be able to sleep too. I can take care of the watch tonight, and tomorrow.”

  “How’s that?” Waine asked cautiously.

  “I’ll show you,” Pholos answered cheerfully. “Kalron, would you put the fire out?”

  Kevon hesitated a moment, saw the half-shrug that Waine gave, and with a short burst of power snuffed the flames into muted embers.

  After a moment, Kevon felt a deepening of the darkness. He could feel only faintly the workings of magic by Pholos, but what he did feel turned his stomach.

  Gradually, a spot in midair between Kevon and Pholos began to darken even further. Kevon found he could not tear his eyes away from the darkness. It deepened farther than he thought possible, darker than nothingness. The patch of blackness continued to darken, becoming increasingly difficult to bear looking at, but impossible to ignore. The bad taste in Kevon’s mouth became acrid, sulfurous. Just when he felt he could not take any more, unsure if he would scream in terror, or spit from revulsion, Pholos sprang forward, thrusting his arms into the nightmarish nothingness.

  The young Mage lurched backwards, holding his prize at arm’s length. Kevon heard hissing, screeching, and a wild flapping for the first few moments. Then, the unnatural darkness seemed to collapse in on itself before diffusing into the night. The oppressive feeling that had weighed down on Kevon lifted abruptly, and the commotion stopped.

  “Kalron, the fire, please?” Pholos asked, voice strained.

  Eager to banish the remaining darkness, Kevon brought the flames back to their previous levels instantly, causing an intense wash of heat and a loud ‘woof’.

  Waine reacted instantly, jumping back from the fire pit and drawing his sword. “Demon!” he cried, rushing toward Pholos.

  “No!” shouted the young Mage, turning to shield the creature he’d pulled from the darkness.

  “Willem!” Kevon barked, and the Seeker stopped short, but kept his blade at the ready, and started to circle Pholos.

  As Pholos turned again to keep himself interposed between the creature and Waine, Kevon got his first good look at it.

  Kevon could see right away why Waine had charged at the creature. If his disguise had not forbidden it, he would have drawn steel himself. Kevon wondered if the creature truly was a demon. It had a small, bulbous body and long spindly limbs. Its skin was dull black, leathery, and hung in folds on its body, but stretched taut over the arms and legs that seemed to have no defined muscles. The three claws on each limb were tipped with sickly looking yellow talons roughly twice as long as human fingernails. The creature’s wings were at least as long as its arms, shaped somewhat like bat wings. In the firelight Kevon could see the orange tint in the dark translucent wing material, and red fingerlike veins spread through them.

  “You’re scaring him, Willem!” Pholos cried. “It’s just an imp! Back off and let me work or I’ll lose control of it!”

  Kevon could see the dark spell and his efforts at Control were wearing on Pholos. He made up his mind, waved Waine back, and formed the Aid rune in his mind.

  As Kevon let the first bit of power flow through the symbol, Pholos relaxed visibly as he used the offered magic. The Mage put his summoned imp down on the ground, where it sat crouched, motionless as a statue. Pholos reached into a cloak pocket and drew out a coil of braided rope with a section on one end wrapped in leather. He wrapped the leathered end around the imp’s leg near its foot, taking care not to touch the rope itself to the creature. He tied the other end firmly to a protruding loop of an exposed tree root, yanked on it hard a few times to test it. He then moved to the other side of the fire, well out of the rope’s three foot length. After looking to see that Kevon and Waine were far enough away as well, he whispered. “Don’t panic,” and droppe
d the Control spell.

  The imp launched itself forward at Pholos. For a split second, Kevon saw the fire reflected in its eyes, far too large for its face, looking for the world like two polished obsidian spheres. The creature reached the end of its rope and barely missed landing in the fire by contorting its body as it fell. It howled, turning to slash at the rope that bound it. The howl changed to a shriek as it contacted the rope. It drew its hand back and cradled it as if it had been burnt.

  Pholos snapped his fingers and the imp’s head whipped around to fix directly on him. The Mage raised his arms menacingly and the flames in the fire curved toward the imp. The imp cringed, hissing. Pholos lowered his arms and the fire resumed burning normally. He turned his back on the creature and sat down, making himself comfortable.

  “You should both threaten it and then act bored,” he commented. “It settles them down quicker.”

  “What is it doing in our camp?” Waine growled, keeping the Mage and his pet both squarely in view, still brandishing his sword.

  “It’s going to keep watch for us. Imps are quite good at it if you know how to handle them,” Pholos remarked. “It’s fascinating, really. The plane I Summoned it from? They’re as common as birds, and flock like them, too. A single imp will attack if confused, but on the whole they’re cowards and…”

  “I don’t like it.” Waine leapt toward the creature and took a swing that would have connected if the imp hadn’t jumped back. The Seeker snorted, stepped closer, and spat at the wide-eyed, hissing prisoner. He sheathed his sword and walked over to Kevon.

  Despite his revulsion at the casting of the spell, and the considerable discomfort at having the creature nearby at all, Kevon couldn’t help but wonder why the imp was held so easily by the rope. “When it tried the rope, it looked like the rope hurt it,” Kevon observed. “How does that work?”

  “Ahh…” Pholos sat up, eager to have another Mage to converse with. “The rope is Enchanted with strength, normal rope could not hold up if it were only that thick. The other Enchantment is Light. Since imps are from the Dark realm, they can’t stand light. They see in the dark and have great hearing. It makes them ideal for this. He’s afraid of us, but figures we’re not interested in killing him. Anything else that could pose a threat would have to be pretty sneaky to even get within bowshot of us.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Waine grumbled, hand still on his sword hilt. “I don’t know if I can sleep with it here.”

  “It’ll be hours before I have the strength to send it back. Less if Kalron helps…” Pholos paused. “Maybe much less. You’re the easiest Mage I’ve ever drawn Aid from.” He began to ramble on the tangent. “Borrowed power is always easier to use because the effort is shared, but you’re either very practiced at Aiding, or have a huge amount of raw magic.”

  Kevon shrugged. “The excitement, maybe. I’m not all that powerful. My best Art is Illusion.”

  Pholos frowned. “The way you handled the fire, I assumed you were a Pyromancer. Illusion is your primary Art? What can you do with it?”

  Kevon had more than enough magical reserve left to pull off a decent Illusion. Tonight had been the first time he’d made an Illusion of a person, so he thought he’d expand on that. He formed the Illusion rune, and the Enhancement rune alongside it. He hoped the combination would sustain multiple manifestations of his spell. Concentrating deeply on the details, he let the power flow into the runes, and stepped off to the right. Twin images of himself stepped off to the left, and stood still. He made a show of looking around at both of the other images as he forced them to do the same.

  “Who”

  “Is”

  “The”

  “Real”

  “Me?”

  The voices came from his throat and the directions of the false images in turn.

  “Amazing.” Pholos grinned after looking from one to another for a few moments. “I can’t tell.”

  “That one,” Waine grumbled, pointing at Kevon. “Dust swirled when you stepped.”

  “I’ll have to remember that for next time,” Kevon said, dropping the spell and watching the Mage-smoke from the illusory copies disappear into the night. “Although that was difficult by itself. I don’t know if I could do more than that.”

  “That was the first time you’ve ever done that?” Pholos asked, eyes wide.

  Kevon nodded, and staggered, feigning weakness. He’d forgotten what effort it used to take to cast even simpler spells. He didn’t want to raise suspicion now.

  Waine stepped forward to steady Kevon, but was waved away.

  “I’ll be fine; I just need to get some rest.” Kevon said, standing straighter and taking a deep breath. “You’re sure that … thing is safe?”

  “Never had a problem with one,” Pholos reassured Kevon. “They’re better than roosters too, they start howling before first light. Afraid of the sun. Then…”

  “The less I know about these demon-spawn, the better,” Waine interrupted. “You two get some sleep. I’m going to stay up a while.”

  “Demons, hmph.” Pholos muttered under his breath.

  Kevon and Pholos arranged bedrolls in comfortable spots near the fire, across from the imp. Both were soon sleeping soundly.

  Waine sat some distance away, watching the surrounding area. After two hours of watching its all black, lidless eyes flicker over the camp, to the horses, then to him, and watching he imp’s head whirl around at the slightest natural noise Waine would simply ignore, he gave up.

  Waine shrugged down into his blanket. “Demons…” The Seeker sighed and shook his head, then relaxed and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 27

  The imp’s frantic howling woke them as the first hint of light became visible over the mountains to the east. Pholos was the first up, having slept more soundly due to his complete confidence in the captive imp. Kevon rose slower, pretending pain and stiffness in his right leg to legitimize the limp he needed to conceal the knife.

  “Are you all right?” Pholos asked, genuinely concerned. “There are plenty of potions at the tower that would heal that, I’m sure.”

  “It’s an old wound, beyond healing,” Kevon reassured him. “It helps me focus on the magical, rather than the physical, and reminds me what carelessness can cost.” He felt a wave of revulsion towards himself when he saw the spark of admiration in the young Mage’s eyes. I sincerely hope I don’t have to kill you, Pholos. Kevon sighed. “Should we dismiss our guardian?”

  Pholos nodded. “How is your Control?” he asked. “If you can Control the imp to stillness, I can unbind it and open the portal. But the Control is essential… they’re poisonous.”

  “Not so good,” Kevon admitted.

  “I can do it myself if I hurry before the sun comes up any further,” the young Mage explained. “The darker it is, the easier it is to open a portal to there. “ He paused for a moment. “It would be easier with help.”

  “I could help.” Waine half-drew his sword.

  “That, Warrior, would be like me striking your horse down with a bolt of lightning,” Pholos said, voice hard, glaring at Waine. “I brought it here against its will, it served its purpose, and I will send it back, unharmed.”

  “Get on with it then, before it panics the horses.” Waine growled and stalked away from camp.

  Pholos glared until Waine disappeared from sight in the distance. “Shall we begin?” he asked, turning to Kevon.

  Kevon nodded and formed the Aid rune in his mind. He felt Pholos take control of the power, and saw the Control rune the younger Mage was using. With that image in his mind to guide him, Kevon superimposed his own Control rune over Pholos’s, and let the power flow.

  Pholos approached the immobilized imp and untied it, leaving the rope lying on the ground, and backed away.

  Kevon saw another rune form alongside the Control rune, and felt the extra drain on his reserves as the air near the imp became noticeably darker. The feeling of wrongness that he’d gotten from
watching the spell the night before returned tenfold now that he was assisting in the casting.

  The opening portal wrenched at his senses, contrasting more than it had last night now in the pre-dawn light. Kevon knew he could not bear to form the Dark rune to help steady the spell; he struggled to keep himself from vomiting as he felt his reserves flowing into it.

  The Control rune shattered and Kevon felt Pholos refocusing the energy to the Dark magic. A chill ran down Kevon’s spine as the imp shrieked in triumph and launched itself into the blackness and vanished.

  As one, the Mages released the magic. The darkness turned in on itself and collapsed with a soft thump.

  Pholos wiped his brow with a cloth fished out from one of his robe pockets, and took a swig of water from a skin only to spit it out after a few moments. “It gets easier, with practice,” he told Kevon. “Not many have the stomach to wield such power.”

  Kevon shuddered and nodded. “I’d rather keep watch, myself.”

  Pholos snickered. “You’ll learn. The Dark rune is the first that all of Gurlin’s students are required to master.”

  Kevon nodded mechanically, mind racing. A Master wizard, two full wizards, one nearly a Master herself, and three Journeymen, all of whom were trained to use this vile rune. Kevon wondered what they were like, how using magic that even tasted evil for so long had changed them. Kevon wondered if the teaching of the Dark rune was a focal point of the plan Gurlin and Holten were a part of, something larger that required Dark magic. Something sinister enough that it would merit killing someone just because they might not be interested in helping.

  The guilt that had been nagging at Kevon over the possibility of the use of deadly force to deal with the threat that Gurlin represented suddenly vanished. The steely glare that Waine gave him as Kevon glanced at the Warrior almost made him smile. Kevon knew that if there was any way that Waine could get in on the impending action at the tower, he would be sure to make it happen. Even though his friend had not felt the taint of the magic himself, Kevon sensed that Waine knew it was wrong beyond any explanation.