The Mage Trials

by Charles Cackler

  "No,” he finally said, “I am afraid I cannot say for certain just who was responsible for the attack.”

  "Noted…” She scratched in the answer, then paused, “I must ask, some would be badly affected by such an attack. If it troubles you, I would recommend discussing it with someone you can trust.”

  “I will keep that in mind.”

  “Good, that often helps. Now then,” she capped her ink and set down her quill, “your information was greatly appreciated and might aid us in catching those responsible. Should we find ourselves needing your further assistance in the investigation, we will let you know.”

  “Very well…”

  As he stepped into the corridor though, he furrowed his brow. Her words were professional, even kind at times, and yet… the whole interview had a bit of an odd feel to it, perfunctory and rote. She asked the basic questions but did not follow up on them at all.

  He was no investigator himself, his only insight on crimes coming from his discussions on political trickery with his family but surely when you're speaking to the person who was the target...

  He tried to envision it as it might have been seen from the outside. He mentioned a scar, but she didn't ask what sort of scar. He said he didn't know who might be responsible after a long pause, but she didn't press. Those weren't the actions of someone looking to find the answer.

  When he brought it to Soren's attention, the other man's expression was grave.

  "It is as I feared," he said, "The rule is that the Crimson Order, being the king's 'Personal guard’ - supposedly, anyway - has the right to investigate any crime. Were they on our side, we could count on a great deal of aid in bringing the Gazifs to justice. But it seems that at best, they are indifferent to who is at fault. At worst..." His expression darkened.

  "You suspect they might be working with House Gazif?"

  "Possibly - I doubt that the king would care enough about the squabbles of a pair of Noble houses two ranks below the throne to aid one at the expense of the other, but could a couple of warriors of the Crimson Order be bribed or otherwise influenced? Certainly,"

  "Then what do we do?"

  "We continue our investigations, but keep a wary eye out in the meantime. We don't know who we can trust. The other members of the Crimson Order here might be helpful, unhelpful or working with the Gazifs." A mirthless smile grew on his face and he shook his head. “King Iruel would have despaired to see what his brother has done to the Crimson Order. Yet at the same time, we are about to go thank one of them. How strange these times are.”

  “At least we can count on her not to be working with the Gazifs. I would be dead already if she were.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that she is on our side.”

  ***

  The Crimson Order soldiers who’d been assigned to the Royal Academy of Mages had been allotted a barracks on the outskirts of the academy. It was small and sturdily built with a few servants of their own in tunics with a reddish tinge. Each member got their own personal quarters, although there was a common room where several of them relaxed.

  It was surreal to see three of them talking together, their cloaks having been left in their quarters. Without them, they looked like they were normal people, save for how they narrowed their eyes when they spotted him. Still, it had taken only a little asking about before he found a glowering woman who jerked her head at a door in the corner,

  “Just one moment please,” Sachiel called through at his knock. The sound of footsteps followed, and moments later, she stood before him. Rather than her prior shirt and breeches, a cotton dress hung from her shoulders. It was yellow and of a rather conservative cut, with only a small triangle of skin visible underneath her neck. She had been relaxing, apparently.

  She blinked at the sight of him before inclining her head respectfully. “What brings you to my door, your lordship?”

  “There is a matter I wish to discuss with you. It is in regards to the attack. ”

  “More questions?” Before Rian could respond, she shrugged and gestured him in. “I said all I knew but I’ll try to answer what I can.”

  Inside was a dwelling that was almost completely unused; the only sign of the person living there was her cloak and Sacrelith hanging against the wall. No dishes, scrolls or papers were atop the table in the corner, and all the chairs had yet to be moved from their initial spots.

  It made sense, he decided. Someone who was already staying here wouldn’t have needed his help in finding Dalmarn’s chambers. Still, even for a temporary place, there were no books to read or dice to throw. He wondered what Sachiel actually did other than business for the Crimson Order.

  “Now then,” she seated herself smiled expectantly, “your questions?”

  “Actually, my coming has nothing to do with that.” Rian bowed deeply as protocol demanded. “On behalf of House Miel, I would like to personally thank you for your services to the Miel family. As a token of that thanks, I present you with this,” He offered her a thin golden chain with a hound’s head crafted upon each end, his family’s coat of arms. One head had its tongue lolling out in a friendly manner while the other bared its teeth. Their gemstone eyes shimmered in the midday sun’s light. “It is the Band of Valor, the symbol of my family’s appreciation for what you have done. The smiling head represents kindness while the snarling head represents strength. If you ever have need of our help, we promise our aid, whichever of the two forms it may take.”

  She stared at it, her eyes widening with each word like a child receiving something they’d never expected. Running her fingers along the softly-clinking chain links, she murmured, “This is quite the token of gratitude.”

  “Again, you did save my life.”

  “It’s been so long… years since I’ve received something like this.” She beamed at him. “Thank you!”

  The warmth in her smile made him feel as if he were about twenty feet tall, even though it hadn’t truly been his own idea. He could only thank his mother for deciding to do so. Jela had been right. Regardless of what might be happening with the assassin, there was no reason not to demonstrate the nobility of the Miel. “We were happy to give it.”

  She laughed, the sound as bright as her grin. “I will treasure it, I promise. I did have a question myself though. How are you handling things after the attack?”

  It was a warm summer’s day, but her words brought a chill with them. I’m afraid that every door I open will have a dagger on the other side. He cleared his throat. “Truthfully, it is a struggle.”

  She met his gaze, understanding and sympathy in her expression. “I’m not surprised. It often is. Some spend the rest of their lives in fear,” she said quietly, before pausing. “Would you like to have something to drink? I have some mead if it would suit you.”

  ‘Would you like to discuss what happened?’ was the true message, and they both knew it. He hesitated. Nayla had suggested in passing that it might be helpful for him to talk to someone about it. Certainly, she might be working for the Gazifs, but that did not mean her suggestion was wrong.

  For a long moment, the only sound was that of someone passing in the hallway. Sachiel tilted her head questioningly.

  Finally, he shook his head. “A tempting offer, but it would be best to abstain from drinks for now,” Rian said, deliberately choosing to focus on her offer of a beverage. She might be doing it out of kindness but he wasn’t ready and if there was anyone he wanted to talk to, it would be Soren. “Besides, the Third Trial is tomorrow and I need to do some preparations.”

  She looked as if she wanted to say something else but nodded. “May fortune favor you tomorrow then.”

  He nodded and made to leave, but halfway out the door, he paused and looked back.

  After bidding him farewell, Sachiel’s gaze had returned to the reward he’d given. She held it as gently as she might a newborn child. Not noticing his observance, she held it against her neck, allowing the gold to contrast with her tanned skin b
efore stowing it inside her cloak.

  He couldn’t help smiling at the sight. As she’d said herself, receiving a gift of that sort was terribly rare… but it made sense. She was a member of the Crimson Order.

  The thought troubled him. Either she had been a part of the Crimson Order before its fall and stayed regardless, or she had joined afterward, knowing of its crimes. What does that say about her?

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “Miss Licourt?”

  She glanced back up, coloring a little as she realized his presence. “Yes, your lordship?”

  “I find that I do have a question of my own, as it turns out.” He smiled, to try to show he meant no offense. “I have only known you for a short while but from what I have seen you are a good person and your skill in battle is unquestionable. Yet you are a member of the Crimson Order. Why is that?”

  In spite of his attempts to keep inoffensive, the tightening around her eyes made it clear that it didn’t quite work. “The Crimson Order consists of the knights who serve the king directly,” she said quietly. “Every member is only allowed in at his discretion. There is no greater honor.”

  He snorted before he could stop himself and her expression flattened.

  “My apologies,” he quickly said, “but while that is not false, we both know it is not the whole truth. Only the members who King Zeruel approves are allowed to join, yes, but he permits anyone to join, even the basest knave. Where once the order was a small band of only the most elite warriors, now it numbers in the thousands, some being pure scum, yet each given the king’s authority to use,” and abuse, he added silently, thinking of Graff, Aribeth and Nayla.

  Sachiel’s expression was neutral but the way her breath came out in a hiss belied it. “Your gift was given with a good heart, so I will honor that. I am grateful for your thanks, but I’m afraid that you don’t have the slightest understanding of what you are talking about.” She motioned toward the door. “I suggest you leave, boy.”

  At the same words Graff had used, Rian’s temper burned. He swallowed it back down though with some difficulty, reminding himself that he had come to show his gratitude, not shout at her. “Very well,” he said, voice clipped, “I will do so. Thank you for your time, Miss Licourt.”

  She slammed the door shut behind him and he sighed. That could have gone far better.

  His stomach rumbled and he glanced out the window to see the sun high and bright. He’d surely missed lunch between the search for the assassin, the interview with Nayla and his argument with Sachiel. He’d told Soren he’d head back to their rooms, but instead made a left - if he went back to there, it would be easily another hour until the servants could get something ready for him. From what he’d heard that morning though, the feasting hall was always open during the trials.

  He’d made it halfway when there was a patter of footsteps behind him and racing closer.

  Reaching for his Spellstone, he prepared to face… Maleth coming in for a tackle?

  His confusion slowed him but did not halt the boy’s momentum, and Maleth slammed into him with enough force to knock him to the floor. The boy barely seemed affected by the change from vertical to horizontal, however, instead chattering away, inches from his face with his words blurring together from how fast he spoke. “Where have you been? Are you okay? Why haven’t you come to see me?”

  “Excuse me?” The a few of the others walking the halls tittered at the sight, much to his embarrassment.

  “I imagine that Maleth has been wondering where his new friend has gone,” Alensia said, her sandaled feet coming into view. “He’s been talking so much about you and when we heard someone had attacked you, well, he insisted on making sure you were alright.” She paused, turning to her son. “You can let him up. I doubt he’ll be getting away any time soon.”

  Maleth’s sigh showed what he thought of that, but he allowed Rian to get back to his feet.

  Rian brushed his tunic down and cleared his throat before saying, “Well, I am fine, all things considered.” He shot Maleth a pointed look, which did absolutely nothing to remove the boy’s smirk. “I just need to find the assassin before he finds me. Have you heard of him?”

  He briefly described what he’d seen of the man, but even before he finished, Alensia was shaking her head. “

  “Can’t say I have. Assassins aren’t something I need much for and -” She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together before she nodded slowly. “That said, while I have never heard of him myself, I know someone who might have. He’s an old friend of mine and has a few contacts with what one might consider the seedier side of things. Come with me and I’ll introduce you.”

  She started to lead… but after a moment she noticed he wasn’t following. “Rian?”

  It was a good idea, he had to admit. While he and Soren had few contacts in the area, she had no such limits. There was just one problem.

  “The assassin was ready to kill someone just because she happened to be in the way to me. If you help me, he might come after you too.” He tried to convey how important this was through his gaze. “I cannot bear the thought of him coming after a friend of mine. Tell me the name of this contact of yours and I will go find him, but I will not let you get thrown in harm’s way.”

  She sighed, but the look in her eyes made it clear she understood his reasons… understood and disagreed. “His name is Pelric and he manages a bar over on the eastern side of Sirala… but if you’re going without me, you’re wasting your time. He is an old, ornery man and slow to trust others, nobles especially. You could be at it a week without so much as a kind word from him. If you want to have any luck, I need to be there, so let me come. Besides, surely the assassin isn’t going to strike in broad daylight with all of Sirala to witness him.”

  “We don’t know that! And what about your son? What if something happens to one of you? You could both die helping me.”

  Alensia narrowed her eyes. “Rian, I have no intention of being foolish but I would never leave a friend in danger. I know the risks and accept them, so come with me.” She offered her hand. “Don’t worry. If there’s the slightest threat, we’ll make a run for it.”

  He wanted to say no - it might even be the right thing to say no - but if he didn’t find this assassin… all he could see of his future was a life spent hiding in a castle. Finally, he swallowed and took her hand. “Alright, bring me to Pelric’s. And Alensia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Royal Academy was nestled in the center of Sirala, the city having clustered around it long ago until its towers now resembled the five fingers of a silver hand desperately reaching out from a quicksand that had almost dragged it down completely.

  Away from the academy, the streets were thin and any paved stone had been buried by decades of grime, leaving a spidery web of pathways that spun about and doubled-back. The common folk who lived here could navigate them just fine, following paths that seemed almost nonsensical yet got them to exactly where they wanted to be.

  Rian couldn’t say the same. Without Alensia beside him, he would have been lost within minutes.

  In spite of his worries, the path to Pelric’s was devoid of any sign of the assassin and even Graff didn’t seem to notice their passing - another guard had let them through this time, the additional security offering certain side benefits that he was happy to take.

  Another reason for the lack of trouble might have been the threadbare peasant attire he bore. Alensia had pointed out that him going about in his normal fine silks would be tantamount to waving a sign over his head saying ‘Please kill me, Mr. Assassin’. He would have been too noticeable, so she’d given him some of her husband’s old clothes instead: a dark shirt that had started to tear along its side and a pair of threadbare breeches that only made it a little past his knees.

  When asked why she kept such rags for so long, she’d replied that when you don’t have much, everything is worth keeping.


  Either way, they were useful indeed. As Rian Miel, he wouldn’t have been able to leave the academy without notice, but cloaked in such common garb, peoples’ gazes slid right past him. Amongst the countless members of the common class who had tried and perhaps failed the trials, he was downright invisible.

  As he and Alensia shuffled through the streets though, a familiar face passed them by: Mage Ambrose’s apprentice, Sideb.

  Fearful of being spotted in turn, he was careful not to meet Sideb’s eyes as the young mage strode past one of the local temples to Cornos, his blue robes glinting in the sun’s light. Luckily, with the crowd crushing around Rian and his two companions, there was no way the mage-in-training would notice him. Still, he observed the man who had achieved what he so desired with passing interest until he noticed something rather odd.

  Unlike the rest of the crowd, Sideb was given a wide berth, with many smiling as they passed him, and one elderly gentleman even bowed deeply as he drew close. A few of the crowd looked less pleased but even they gave the young mage a sullen nod.

  A strange feeling overcame Rian and he glanced about to see if perhaps there was some heavily-armed guard there forcing the crowd back but there wasn’t. Sideb was alone, not daring to meet a single person’s eyes as he awkwardly shuffled past the crowd, yet they didn’t mind, bunching up to let him pass and make his way deeper into Sirala.

  He turned to Alensia. “I do not recall them being quite so… impressed when Soren and I came in.”

  She looked at him in momentary confusion before understanding came over her face. “He’s a mage,” she said. “It might be different for nobles, but for the common folk? Most don’t know much of the details of magic but we understand that the local mage can harden plows, heal the sick and a multitude of other useful things. One person doing that earns respect. When it’s been done by countless magi for generations? That earns respect for anyone wearing the robes.”