Fallen Magician (The Magician Rebellion) Read online

  For a moment the old sorcerer softened, but it was only a moment. He leveled his staff at Bertran and held him to the wall with it. “The time for regret has passed. I won’t try to pretty this up by claiming that I am doing this for justice. I seek vengeance for Avelice- nothing more.”

  Sane pointed his open palm at the assassin and thick shards of ice grew in the air before his hand into large sickles in the span of a second before bursting forth and impaling Bertran so that his lifeless body was pinned to the inn’s wall. Marian screamed involuntarily and San glowered at her.

  “We should leave,” he said calmly as he walked out the door. “It won’t take those on the floor below us very long to figure out what just happened here and we still have to find Byrn.”

  Chapter 6

  Byrn woke with a start. The echoes of death at the magic school still held him in their grip and it took him a minute to shake the sense of loss that overwhelmed him. Vague thoughts of Ashura’s fields came to mind, but he pushed them away.

  He should be dead now. Kassani had come for him. She held him in her arms and ushered him to the underworld, but he was not dead and that sudden epiphany left him feeling guilty. Why did he live when everyone else died? It was not fair that he should have to carry on alone!

  “What makes me so special?” he asked the empty room sarcastically.

  For the first time, Byrn began to take in his surroundings. The room was a bright gray color lit by the midday sun against the stone walls and Byrn sat up on the pallet he had been laying on. His back was sore and began to throb at the light exertion forcing Byrn to lie down again for a while longer before he attempted to rise at a more cautious pace.

  Byrn sat up once more; this time more slowly and he pushed the thin, white sheet off of his legs to find that his clothes had been removed and replaced by a pair of brown trousers. His chest was bare, but a black tunic was draped over a chair beside the pallet. Byrn managed to get to his feet placing his weight against the back of the wooden chair and found his legs were a bit wobbly, but felt his strength quickly returning. He put on the black tunic. It felt a little too tight around his chest as if it was the hand-down from a smaller man. Surveying the room, Byrn realized that his clothes along with his staff and grimoire were nowhere to be found. Only his red cloak remained although it was partially destroyed and heavily tattered. It had the blackened look of a thick blanket that had been tossed on top of a campfire to douse a fire before it grew out of control.

  He held the remnants of the cloak in his hands. He had done this. Byrn watched his friends die before his eyes and when Turshyn passed in his arms, Byrn lost control or to be more accurate he gave up control and let the magic manifest as it would. He would have destroyed everything around him, he would have destroyed the whole world, at that moment without a thought or a care, but Kassani appeared before him and claimed his soul.

  A small breeze came from the open window and Byrn looked out to see that he was in a tower. Below him was the base of the castle he was undoubtedly in looking out over a small city as its citizens went about their daily lives. If the death goddess had fulfilled her bargain with Ashura, then why was he here?

  Byrn tested the door and found it opened readily. “At least I am not held prisoner again,” Byrn told himself reassuringly.

  “We do not take prisoners,” a voice said amicably and Byrn noticed a young man of fifteen or sixteen years sitting in a chair not far down the hall. His feet were stretched out and his body slouched indicating that he had been waiting for some time. The teen absentmindedly plucked at his lute, testing the sound and adjusting the strings with each pluck. “The lady of the castle does not deal in half measures. If you are judged an enemy, then you will die. If not, then she will probably offer you a place to stay.”

  Seeing the look on Byrn’s face, the young man unsuccessfully tried to suppress a smirk. He hopped up from his seat and crossed the hall in a few brisk strides to Byrn extending his hand in greeting, “I am Tomlin the Bard- man about town and, it seems, your guide and babysitter.”

  Byrn shook the bard's hand and wondered where he had heard that name before. “I am Byrn Lightfoot,” then asked, “Where am I?”

  “I think it is the place of the lady of the manor to determine what you know and when you know it. No offense, Byrn, but you have not been judged to be a friend just yet.”

  Tomlin led Byrn down the hall leading to a staircase that let out into a much larger hall where they were greeted by a plump old man with a hook nose and a receding hairline, but a long, white mane going down his back. He wore a green robe that was reminiscent of an Ashura priest, but had a different make and simpler quality. “How is our guest?” he asked briskly, appraising Byrn with a critical eye.

  Tomlin looked to Byrn with a questioning expression. “I am fine... if somewhat sore and confused as to what I am doing here,” Byrn told the priest.

  The green robed man circled behind Byrn and lifted his tunic with the assuredness of a smith looking over a forged piece of steel. “Your wound looks completely healed although I can see you are going to have a small scar where the arrow stuck in your back. A bit of luck, that was, that the bolt happened to glance off bone stopping it from going completely through you. Still, you are up and about in only a few days and considering that you were nearly dead when Tomlin brought me to you I am pleased with the results,” he smirked in satisfaction at his work.

  “Praise the goddess! For her blessings and healing gifts are without equal,” Tomlin said, clapping his hands together as in prayer and looking skyward. His tone was mocking rather than referential.

  “Your humor is not appreciated,” the old man huffed, “Give credit where it is due, boy, or the next time you seek the healing grace of Old Father Skynryd maybe I will leave you to the tender mercies of the goddess and see if she is truly willing to aid a vagabond like you.”

  Tomlin leaned to Byrn and whispered, “He is 'Old Father Skynryd,'” as if to clarify.

  “I assumed,” Byrn nodded to the humorous bard with a wink.

  Skynryd threw his arms up in supplication and stormed off. “Wonderful! I was just saying the other day that one Tomlin was not nearly enough!” he shouted as he hurried down the large hall startling a pair of magicians in brown cloaks. A second later he turned a corner disappearing from sight.

  “I did not get to thank him,” Byrn said, surprised, “He is more hot-headed than most priests I have met.” The brown-cloaked magicians resumed their conversation before the loud crash of a nearby door slamming made the pair jump again.

  Tomlin started walking down the same hall without looking to see if Byrn was following him. “Old Skynryd is an excellent healer, but he hates sharing the credit with Ashura for his healing talents. He says that healing is its own school of magic and does not require the aid of Ashura except if one is absolutely trying to defy death itself.” Byrn hurried after Tomlin until he was back in step with his lute-carrying guide. The idea that Ashura would answer an invocation on his behalf seemed odd to Byrn given her attitude towards him the last time they met.

  “Did Skynryd invoke the goddess to save me?” Byrn asked sounding surprised.

  “Skynryd? I think he would have let you die before seeking her aid.” Tomlin spun around and grinned like a fox even as he kept walking down the hall. The teen’s smile was oddly ingratiating and gave an unspoken promise that the bard could be trusted. “No offense to you, of course. That has more to do with Skynryd’s views on the goddess’ teachings than anything to do with you. She probably would not answer his call anyway.”

  Byrn tried to gauge the bard. “You are nonchalant for someone who just minutes ago said I might be a prisoner.”

  The bard did not falter in his steps. “I told you we do not take prisoners. You came to us under unusual circumstances, but Alia believes you to be an ally to our cause. If she truly thought you otherwise, then she never would have brought you here or wasted Skynryd’s time saving you. Of course we have to know f
or sure.”

  Byrn was about to ask what that meant, but Tomlin turned down another passage and before he could ask, Tomlin stopped at one of the doors.

  “Ready to face your destiny?” Tomlin smiled incorrigibly and opened the door revealing a small room filled with books along the walls. In the center of the room was an oak desk and at the desk sat a beautiful woman with hair as dark as night and eyes bluer than the sky. For an instant Byrn thought that this “lady of the house” was Kassani, but once his heart settled he remembered her. This was the woman who had saved him when he thought all was lost and turned those Kenzai assassins against each other. She was Avelice’s daughter.

  “Alia, wasn’t it?” Byrn forced himself to smile, but seeing her vividly brought back the still raw memory of his friends' deaths along with a pang of guilt that he failed to save them.

  Alia motioned for Byrn to enter and have a seat across from her. Once he did so he felt a pair of hands at his throat and the snap of a clasp as a cold metal choker came to rest around his throat. Byrn grabbed at it and pulled it until he could see that it was a loose fitting golden collar. He looked behind him to see Tomlin standing behind him who shrugged unapologetically as if to say, “No hard feelings. I’m just doing my job.”

  “And you are Byrn,” Alia said redirecting his attention back to her. “I apologize for the collar, but it is only a precaution until I am sure of your intentions. It has taken me nearly four years to assemble the magicians here and I would not see that threatened by one of our own who may,” she struggled for a moment trying to find the best phrasing before continuing, “put his own personal interests above those of his brothers and sisters as a whole.” She produced a small golden rod from her desk and held it towards Byrn. “You are to sit in that chair and take no action until I say otherwise. You may speak freely, but you may not lie to me. Is that understood?”

  Byrn nodded, cautious not to betray any emotion. Melani was briefly held by a group of Kenzai warriors with one of these collars a few months ago. From the story she told, the collar made her completely defenseless and forced her to do whatever they told her. His position suddenly became very precarious. If Alia did not like what he had to say, then he could now be easily disposed of.

  “Good,” Alia said. Then she dismissed Tomlin with a nod leaving the pair alone in the study. “Do you know what that is around your neck?”

  Byrn tried to stand and found he could not. “It is a control collar like the one Turshyn spoke of with his dying breath. That was the reason that he and everyone else at the school were killed.” Then a thought occurred to him. Melani had said that she was rescued by a young bard- Tomlin! “This is the same collar that the Kenzai were looking for! My friends died for this and now you’re using it as a weapon!”

  His anger was evident, but was quickly out shined by Alia's own. “Be careful whom you hurl accusations at!” she warned him, standing up and leaning forward across the desk. “My mother died that night too! I grew up alongside Melani and Minnie! We learned magic together! They were like sisters to me and I never would have done anything to harm them! In truth, I did everything I could to keep them out of this fight. For years we have been fighting in the shadows while my mother's students like you,” Alia pointed the rod squarely at Byrn, “have remained blissfully unaware of the dangers we faced!

  “The Kenzai grow drunk with power and become more brutal in their attempts to cleanse the land of our kind. If you place blame anywhere, then place it at their feet, or at your own for joining them, Sir Byrn.”

  For a long time they sat in silence as Byrn considered the new revelation and wondered just how much this woman knew about him. Alia’s back was to him and she stared out a picturesque window refusing to look at him.

  “We have both suffered,” Byrn offered, hoping to smooth things over, “We both lost loved ones that night. The pain is still fresh. Avelice was more than a mentor to me. She was a good friend and a caring woman. She took me in when I had no place to turn and gave me a home.”

  Alia relented and returned to her seat behind the desk, her anger spent for the moment. She looked at her battered desk refusing to make eye contact. “If I had gotten there earlier...” A tear ran down her face, but she refused to drop her guard any more than that.

  “Or if I had never left them,” Byrn interrupted, “they might still be alive. They would still be alive.” The weight of his own words bore down on him and again he felt guilty.

  Alia wiped away the solitary tear that somehow managed to escape in remembrance of those she had lost and looked at Byrn. “Perhaps we are both being too hard on ourselves.” She managed a weak smile, and then produced a piece of paper folded in thirds and blackened along the edges from her desk. “This is the letter that you wrote to my mother and your friend. I found it on your body when our healer was tending to you.” That was how she knew that he was knighted, but then that also meant that she knew about- “Is it true?” she interrupted his thoughts, “You cannot kill without forfeiting your own life?”

  Again Byrn nodded, compelled by the collar to answer truthfully. “You are the only living person to learn my secret. I hope that you will keep it.”

  “Why did you return to help your friends knowing that you would likely die?”

  “For years they were my family. I could not turn my back on them. Of course, I did not want to die, but if it meant my life to protect them, then so be it.” Alia's gaze made Byrn feel uncomfortable and his cheeks suddenly felt flush. “I was with the school for three years. How is it that you never came to visit?” His voice remained calm. Byrn wanted to convince his interviewer that he was merely curious and did not want to seem demanding. Although the power was clearly on her side, he felt Alia might be willing to volunteer some information if she truly thought he might be an ally.

  “We both wanted to help our fellow magicians, but mother chose a path of nonviolence while I understood that the only way our people would be free from oppression was if we carved out our own place in the world and protected it with every weapon at our disposal.” Her eyes studied Byrn's expression closely looking for any hint of defiance, but found him difficult to read. “Knowing what I intend to do, you are honor bound as a knight of the kingdom to try and stop me. Will you do so?”

  Byrn thought for a moment, “After what happened I cannot turn my back on my fellow magicians again. I thought I could help them from a position of power as a member of the nobility, but now I know better. The Kenzai have always been united against us and we must be ready to do the same to challenge them.”

  Alia smiled. This time it was genuine and warm. “Spoken like a true leader. We could use more magicians like you around here. Except for the masters, most of the magicians here are younger like at my mother’s school and are still learning.

  “If you wish, you will be returned to Lion's Landing or you may use one of your few surviving transportation runes to go wherever you wish, but if you desire to make a difference for your brother-and-sister-magicians and avenge those that have been lost, then I hope you will choose to stay and fight alongside us as a member of the Collective.”

  Alia rose from her seat once more and came to stand before Byrn without waiting for an answer. She reached down and unfastened the collar removing it from Byrn's neck. “I will not lie to you. It will be dangerous and you, more than any other magician, would be putting your life at risk given your... situation, but you have a taste of what the kingdom could do with those collars and your friend, Turshyn, understood the extent of our peril well. We are on the verge of a great war and the lives of every woman, man, and child with magic in their blood depends upon us.”

  Four years had passed since Byrn first learned that magic literally flowed through his veins. In that time he was a prisoner, a fugitive, and a knight. Now he had a life far grander than he ever imagined possible as an apprentice courier. He was a land holding noble, or at least his mother was, and one of the most powerful magicians in all of Aurelia. For the firs
t time in years he had his entire life ahead of him. Was he really willing to give all of that up?

  The master of fire stood so that he was eye to eye with the enchantress. Her eyes were the deep blue of the ocean and as he looked into them he found himself getting lost in those eyes. He was suddenly keenly aware of her closeness and the heavy beating in his chest.

  Alia stepped back and Byrn suddenly felt the connection, whatever it was, broken. “You may stay in the castle for one day. Look around; talk with the other magicians here before making a decision,” she told Byrn without turning to face him. She felt it too. Alia opened the door to her office revealing an eavesdropping Tomlin who fell into the room landing at the lady's feet.

  Byrn stepped over the prone Tomlin and exited the room, but turned to speak to the enchantress once more. “I never thanked you for saving my life.”

  “Maybe you can return the favor someday, if you decide to stay.”

  Tomlin got up from the floor as adeptly as he could; hoping the two master magicians would ignore his nosiness mere moments earlier. “That sounds like a ‘yes’ to me,” he said extending his hand to Byrn who awkwardly took it, “Come! Let me show you around the castle. In addition to Old Father Skynryd, the Collective boasts a wide variety of obnoxious people you just have to meet to believe.”

  Tomlin dragged Byrn off almost before he knew what was happening. He looked to Alia wanting to say something more, but could not find the words. Instead she waved him off and bid him good day as the men left her office.

  “You know I was just kidding about that whole ‘take no prisoners, we might kill you’ thing, right?” Tomlin nudged Byrn in the ribs with his elbow.

  “Tomlin!” shouted a stunned Alia who was out of view as they turned a corner a moment later.