The prince shook his head. “No, your place is here for now. You have to learn to master your Gift. Stay with Rexol. Let him keep teaching you in the ways of magic. But don’t become him.”
Vaaler stood up and tossed his pack over his shoulder. Then he crossed the room and reached out, offering his hand. Keegan clasped it in a firm grip.
“You’re a good person, Keegan. Don’t forget that … brother.”
“I won’t, brother,” Keegan replied.
And with that they parted ways, both knowing their divergent paths would likely never cross again.
Chapter 25
“Master, I found something! A passage in one of the manuscripts!”
Keegan’s tone was breathless, though whether it was from his discovery or from running down the long flight of stairs from the library to the lab to share his news was difficult to say.
Rexol pulled his attention away from the assortment of oddly shaped stones he’d been examining. He’d been hoping to find the petrified remains from a griffin or some similar Chaos Spawn in the collection, but so far had come across nothing save mundane rocks shaped by the forces of wind, rain, and time.
“What did the passage say?” he asked his apprentice.
The young man shook his head and rubbed the back of his hand across his sweating brow, smearing the faded outline of the glyphs painted on his skin.
“I … I couldn’t make it out. Not entirely. But there was mention of one of the Talismans.”
Rexol didn’t speak right away. Instead, he studied his apprentice carefully. The young man’s dark eyes were glazed and sunken, his face drawn and tired.
It had been almost a year since Rexol had sent Vaaler away. Since then, Keegan had slowly been learning the spells that would enable him to read the obscure languages of the ancient Danaan texts. And though he worked hard at his studies, he still struggled with the complicated ritual.
His mind is not as quick as Vaaler’s, Rexol reminded himself. The Danaan prince had a unique gift for memory and comprehension; he would have made an excellent mage if only he had been touched by Chaos.
“You’re certain it mentions the Talismans?”
“The Crown,” Keegan insisted. “Something about it being taken or stolen. I thought you would want to see it yourself.”
What Keegan lacked in his craft, he more than made up for with raw potential. Even with imperfect technique, he was strong enough to pull important words or phrases from the texts, which he would mark so that Rexol could review them in more detail. And he had an uncanny knack for finding references to the Talismans among the thousands of Danaan manuscripts—even from the dusty pages of centuries-old books, the Old Magic called to him.
“I will review it tonight,” Rexol assured him.
“Should I keep searching the other texts until then?”
It was impossible not to hear the eagerness in Keegan’s voice. Like Rexol—like all wizards—once he began calling on Chaos it was difficult to stop. But it was obvious he was nearing the physical limit of what he could endure.
Keegan was a valuable tool, but one that had to be employed carefully. His power far outpaced his ability to command and control it. The accumulation of witchroot he’d been taking over the past week would compromise his judgment, make him reckless and overconfident in his abilities. Rexol had to be careful not to push him too fast or too hard.
“Enough studies for today,” the wizard declared. “Rest up, then go into town for supplies. I’ll expect you back in three days.”
Endown was a city of a few thousand inhabitants a day’s ride to the northwest of Rexol’s tower, the closest settlement of any significant size. Keegan had visited regularly every couple of months over the past year to purchase supplies for the manse, though he suspected Rexol was also using the trips as an excuse to force him to take breaks in his training.
He didn’t like putting his studies on hold, but he’d learned to appreciate the brief respites from his grueling apprenticeship. While in town he had no responsibilities: He didn’t have to study, he had no chores, and he didn’t have to make any meals or clean the premises.
And, unlike the empty manse, in Endown there were other people he could talk to. People like Kayla.
“Here you go,” the pretty young barmaid said as she set the flagon down in front of Keegan.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice wooden and dull as his mind struggled to shake off the fatigue of the day’s ride and the last lingering effects of the witchroot.
For almost a week he’d been taking large doses each morning to enable his spells of translation; it would be another day or two before his system was fully cleansed of the drug.
Instead of disappearing back into the tavern crowd, Kayla hesitated. When he realized she was staring at him, Keegan flicked his gaze up from her low-cut blouse to meet her eyes.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I’ve been working too hard,” he answered, his eyes shifting down to the floor.
He hoped she would ask him about what he was doing. He couldn’t tell her his true calling—he had to keep his association with Rexol hidden so the Order wouldn’t find out. But he’d devised a solid backstory in case anyone ever questioned him when he came into town.
If Kayla asked, he would tell her he had come from Parssia, a city three days’ ride away—close enough to be heard of, but far enough away that few in Endown would know much about it in the way of specific details. He’d explain that he was a scribe’s apprentice, an occupation that would suit his slight frame and pale skin. Scribes were rare, they made good money, and sometimes they met with nobility: That would account for his simple but well-made traveling clothes and the courtly style of his dark, shoulder-length hair.
He’d tell her that his recurring visits to Endown were to meet with a wealthy client in the area he wasn’t allowed to mention by name; and since goods in Endown were less expensive than the city, his master had instructed him to purchase supplies before heading home.
It was a good story—simple, and tinged with a hint of mystery. Unfortunately, Kayla didn’t ask.
“I’ll come back and check on you in a few minutes, Keegan,” she promised, giving him a warm smile before turning to deal with the other customers.
Keegan thought he sensed something more than simple friendliness in her smile. He felt an actual connection with her, something he hadn’t felt in a long time—not since Vaaler had left. And she’d actually remembered his name from the last time he was here; obviously he’d made some kind of impression on her as well.
It was almost twenty minutes before she returned; the tavern seemed unusually busy this evening. Instead of another flagon of ale, however, she dropped a sweet-smelling cup of what appeared to be green tea on the table in front of him.
“If you’re tired, this will perk you up,” she explained.
Keegan took a tentative sip, then curled his lip at the unexpected bitterness of the drink.
Kayla laughed. “Small sips,” she told him. “Trust me.
“Can’t have you slipping off to bed early tonight,” she added. “You’ll miss the show.”
“What show?”
“We’ve got a wizard in town!” she gushed, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
Keegan’s heart skipped a beat before he realized she wasn’t talking about him.
“A wizard?”
“He rode in yesterday,” she said, speaking quickly. “I wasn’t here last night, but they say he did some magic right here in the tavern!”
“You mean a magician,” Keegan said, suddenly understanding. “Not a wizard.”
Keegan didn’t like magicians. Sleight of hand and flashy effects were often used to simulate the effects of Chaos by hucksters and charlatans. Some used their art only to entertain, but the less scrupulous were not above portraying themselves as actual mages to reap adulations and privileges they didn’t deserve. He had seen the terrible power of true Chaos unleashed, and whenever he witness
ed parlor tricks passed off as magic it left a foul taste in his mouth.
“What’s the difference?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
“It’s—never mind,” he said, cutting himself off mid-sentence. Explaining the difference between a magician and a real wizard could draw the kind of attention Rexol wouldn’t approve of.
“He’s over there,” Kayla said, tilting her head toward the center of the room and speaking in an excited whisper. “I’m hoping he gives us another show tonight!”
“I’d be shocked if he didn’t,” Keegan muttered. “What wizard could resist showing his awesome power for the chance to get free drinks?”
The young barmaid gave him a curious look before turning away and heading back into the crowd. Keegan let his eye follow her swaying hips as she made her rounds, while at the same time trying to get a glimpse of the so-called wizard in their midst. A small crowd of patrons had gathered around the large table in the center of the tavern, but they were pressed in too tightly for Keegan to see the trickster who had beguiled them.
“Kayla, come here and watch this,” one of the men at the table called out, frantically motioning with his arm.
The waitress scurried over quickly, eager to see what was going on. She stood unnaturally straight and tall at first, keeping herself slightly withdrawn from the rest of the huddled crowd, her body tense with nervous anticipation. As the hidden wonder unfolded she slowly bent in closer and closer to watch.
A few seconds later there was a sudden burst of light and a sharp crack, and everyone jumped back with a start. Kayla gave a squeal of surprise then laughed in delight. A small puff of red smoke curled up from the center of the table. When it cleared Keegan finally got a look at the portly charlatan who had conjured the effect.
At first glance he actually did have the look of one who possessed the Gift. His hair was braided in the style of mages, though it was much more orderly than most. A few basic, but accurate, warding symbols had been painted onto his face, though the ink was faint and fading, as if it had been done many days ago. His heavy cloak and thick robes were finely tailored and dyed in rich hues—nothing like the coarse but serviceable clothing Keegan or his master typically wore, though that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Rexol preferred to dress in a way that accented the wild, untamed appearance of a Chaos mage for the effect it had on more civilized folk. But a lord’s mage often dressed in more cultured and refined fashions to blend into the noble courts where he served. To complete the picture several strings of animal teeth and bones hung from the man’s neck.
But even from across the room Keegan could sense that the necklaces were nothing more than bits of ordinary teeth and bone taken from some mundane creature. Relics of the Chaos Spawn tingled with power; an invisible but unmistakable aura surrounded them: the buzz and hum of stored energy waiting to be unleashed. The strings dangling from this man’s neck were dead and lifeless, a sham prop to fool his gullible audience.
The audience applauded heartily for several seconds before most of them wandered away, still chuckling over the performance. Four of the more curious spectators pulled up chairs at the table, joining the man who had performed the show with hopes that a steady stream of ale might pry loose some dark and wondrous magician’s secret.
“Did you see the show?” Kayla asked when she circled by Keegan’s table again.
The young man shook his head. “Too crowded.”
He was feeling more alert than before, sharper. Whatever concoction she had given him had done the trick.
“He might do some more magic later,” Kayla said. “I bet nobody would mind if you squeezed in at the table to watch.”
“I’ll pass,” Keegan said glumly.
“Come on,” she pressed. “It’s not every day we get a wizard here in Endown.”
“He’s no wizard,” Keegan snapped. “Colored smoke and flash powder are only good for amusing the ignorant masses!”
Kayla took a step back, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Well,” she said coldly as she regained her composure, “I happen to enjoy magic, thank you very much!”
Keegan tried to think up a quick apology, something to thaw the sudden chill. But before he could come up with anything the serving girl had turned her back on him and stamped off to tend to the other patrons in the bar.
For the next hour Keegan watched the magician holding court in the center of the tavern. The tricks were simple: coins appearing and disappearing; mugs levitating or dancing across the table at the magician’s command; illusions punctuated by flash powder and colored incense to give them the false trappings of true power.
Every time Kayla brought the man a drink he would perform a caper for her amusement. A tiny flower would unfold in his hand; a glittering cloud of dust would shower down over the table. And each time Kayla giggled in delight and paused in her rounds to talk with the man, smiling and laughing at everything he said.
Occasionally she would head in Keegan’s direction and drop another flagon of ale on the table. He tried to make small talk, but she brushed him off, still smarting from the remark he had made earlier. Each time she came by, Keegan guzzled down his drink and quickly signaled for another, knowing it was the only way to keep her from ignoring him completely. It wasn’t long before the alcohol combined with the traces of witchroot in his system to wrap him in a comfortable warm glow.
You’re drunk, he thought. Better go sleep it off before you do something stupid.
He motioned for Kayla to come over so he could settle his tab.
“That fellow’s not just some magician, you know,” she hissed at him when she got close. “He just got a posting as a lord’s mage in one of the Free Cities on the border of the North Forest.”
In his inebriated state Keegan could only refute the ridiculous claims by snorting out a derisive laugh.
Ignoring him, she added, “His name’s Khamin Ankha. He says he studied under the most powerful wizard in all the Southlands: a man named Rexol!”
Keegan didn’t recognize the name, but he had seen enough from the charlatan to know the pompous ass had never studied under his master. He’d probably heard Rexol’s name somewhere and was using it to attract attention; Rexol’s reputation was well known among the rulers of the Southlands. Dropping Rexol’s name was probably how he’d conned some low-ranking noble into give him an official posting.
“I haven’t seen any true magic from that trickster yet tonight,” he declared with a bravado born of too many ales. “Khamin Ankha is nothing but a fraud. You can tell him that from me.”
Kayla gave him an angry glare, then locked her jaw in determination. She spun away and marched directly over to the portly magician. He greeted her with a smile and a laugh but his expression changed as she spoke to him in a hurried whisper too faint for Keegan to hear across the room.
When she finished the magician peered into the corner, but Keegan knew he wouldn’t see anything other than a silhouetted figure sitting alone in the shadows. The man pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. Keegan half suspected his rival would come over to confront him but instead the man climbed on top of the table, drawing amused gasps from the other patrons.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the man called out, “it seems a challenge has been put forth. Apparently there are some in this bar who doubt my power. There are some who think I am nothing but a charlatan.”
High atop the table he was clearly illuminated in the light of the tavern’s central fire, and every eye in the building had focused on the man, including Keegan’s own. If nothing else, he knew how to work a crowd.
“Gather around, friends,” the man continued, “and I will give you a demonstration of true Chaos shaping the likes of which you have never seen.”
At the invitation the crowd quickly formed a circle around the magician, eager to get a glimpse of his next performance. Even Keegan got up and approached, though he kept himself on the fringes of the crowd. He had studied the man all night; he had
examined and analyzed him thoroughly. He had detected none of the faint glimmer of Chaos clinging to the man and knew him for a fraud. And now he was about to expose him.
The man probably suspected Keegan was nothing but a jealous local who didn’t like Kayla paying attention to the newly arrived stranger. Perhaps he thought he would give a demonstration of false Chaos shaping that would cow his rival into silence and win an evening of pleasure with the pretty barmaid in one fell swoop. If so, he was in for a cruel surprise.
“Look closely,” the man instructed, drawing a small pouch from within his robes. He opened the leather bag and withdrew a bundle of cloth. Knowing the audience was enraptured with his every move he slowly unwrapped the material to reveal a small glass vial. He held it up for everyone to see.
“Witchroot,” he proclaimed, his voice suddenly somber and serious. “The essence of the mage’s power,” he added, his tone hinting at the dangerous secrets trapped within as he gently removing the stopper from the bottle.
Maybe he’s not all smoke and flash, Keegan thought. Maybe he actually does have some small touch of the Gift.
The man tipped the vial to his lips and let three small drops spill onto his tongue, then carefully stoppered the vial and placed it back beneath his cloak.
“Until now I have entertained you with minor conjurations and simple spells,” the magician said. “But now I must ask for complete silence, for I am about to summon dark and powerful forces!”
There was an apprehensive murmur from the crowd. Keegan knew the magician was stalling, giving time for the witchroot to enter his system. The magician held up his hand to quell the whispers, and then his face twisted into a mask of intense concentration. In a soft voice he began a slow, rhythmic chant—words Keegan recognized from one of the earliest incantations Rexol had taught him. A spell not to destroy, but to mislead.
Slowly, Keegan felt the power of Chaos beginning to gather. But though the magician was reaching out to the Sea of Fire, what came through was a mere trickle. The young wizard held a hand up to his mouth to stifle a giggle at the pathetic display, aware that the rest of the crowd was enraptured by what was unfolding.