Avondale (5 page)

Tiberius had heard of people occasionally leaving Avondale and venturing down the mountain. Most were criminals banished to the wastelands. None ever returned, and the mystery grew, but it didn’t make sense that magic meant for good could do such irreparable harm. He turned back to the ancient text.

The Second Order is Defensive Magic, or Sepio Magus. It focuses on levitation and shielding spells which require a much greater mental focus than healing. It also requires more physical stamina, as defending oneself or others can sometimes transfer kinetic energy directly from the attack to the wizard. Learning to contain your opponent’s magic, without absorbing its destructive energy, is a prerequisite to moving to the Third Order.

Tiberius groaned a little at the idea of needing physical stamina. He was strong enough in short doses, but he’d never had much endurance. Once again he realized that magic was more than just chanting mysterious spells. It took a force of will and physical strength to master powerful magic, but Tiberius was intent on becoming a wizard, so he told himself he would do whatever it took.

Then, the realization struck him—he was going to be a wizard. He was going to learn magic. Thinking such simple, yet profound thoughts rocked his world. He’d never been happy in the roll he was expected to play as the third son of an Earl, but at the same time he realized he’d never really considered what following his own path really meant. He’d dreamed of magic for so long, and now it was at his fingertips. Yet he knew that if he really became a wizard, he couldn’t hide it. And once his secret was known, he wouldn’t be allowed to remain in Avondale. He would be killed or exiled. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was really worth it. At least as a Paladin, he could savor a few of life’s simple pleasures, even if he was miserable most of the time. Once more, he contemplated destroying the ancient book, but he knew he couldn’t do it. He was set on a path now; there was no going back. He’d go insane knowing he’d given up his dreams just to avoid the hardships that came with it.

But he didn’t want to be exiled either. He loved Avondale; it was his home. He loved the city, the people, the beautiful lake that sat nestled in the forest like a well placed gem in a ring of pure gold. Still, he couldn’t stay, at least not in the city, if he was going to become a wizard. And if his family found out, they would hunt him down mercilessly. He would need to make his plans and then sneak away, perhaps find himself a small cottage in the forest, away from the game trails and narrow roads that led to the lake. He could live in solitude—at least he thought he could—but he would need to start making preparations now so that when he broke away from his family he wouldn’t be left destitute.

The Third Order, Immutatio Magus, is known in laymen’s terms as transmutation. It involves, among other things, changing one object to another. It begins with moving an object from one related state to the next, for instance changing milk into butter and cream. As a wizard’s mastery of the Third Order grows, more substantive transmutations become possible. At its highest form, a Grand Wizard of the Third Order can transform lead into gold, although such feats have only been documented in a few rare cases and the time and effort involved is substantial.

Tiberius could hardly keep reading. He’d never heard of the word transmutation, but suddenly the world seemed full of possibilities. He hadn’t imagined being able to transform objects, or turn lead into gold. He felt giddy; the excitement was nearly overwhelming, but he kept reading.

The Fourth Order, Nativus Magicus, is the most arduous of magic, and should only be attempted after mastering the other levels. It involves controlling nature itself. The will of the wizard delves into the very heart of matter, taking control of the building blocks of creation. Magic of the Fourth Order has created wonders that defy explanation and stand as the greatest magical achievements known to man.

The essence of magic is the study of the divine, and therefore the greatest of the mental disciplines. True wizardry taps into the very power of the gods, and by its nature aligns the practitioner with not only the wizards who have come before, but with the immortals, whose power and practices make up the essence of magic. It is not for the weak, nor for those with malice in their hearts. For while magic requires self-control and force of will, it also reveals the desires of one’s heart. Many have fallen into the Dark Orders because they rushed ahead, delving into magic that was too powerful for them to control. In those instances, the magic that was meant for good—to heal the sick, defend the helpless, and make the world a better place for all mankind—gets twisted into something destructive. Like a child wielding his father’s sword, wizards who do not dedicate themselves to mastering each order before moving to the next often wreak more havoc than they ever imagined. And many weak-hearted wizards have fallen under the spell of immeasurable power, despite the fact that they cannot control that power.

Therefore, this book is a wizard’s guide. It was written eons ago by wizards of the Fourth Order so that those wishing to learn the magical arts will not blunder along aimlessly, or delve into magic that is outside one’s control, but follow the prescribed orders and master the divine arts as a boon to all mankind. In the pages that follow, a more thorough exposition of each of the Four Orders is offered in an effort to illuminate the reader. There are also spells, with instructions for casting them, as well as detailed explanations of what the spell should accomplish, so that at each stage a wizard will know without question that he has correctly cast and controlled the desired spell.

Tiberius leaned back in his chair, tilting the wooden seat back and expertly balancing on the two rear legs. He thought about what he’d read, then read it all again. He wanted to savor everything he was learning. It was the first time in his life that he really felt excited about studying. There was more to the book, but his candles were burning low. He returned the book to his trunk, even placing some of his other keepsakes on top of the ancient manuscript so that it wasn’t the first thing a person saw when they opened the box.

Then he blew out all of the candles except one. He crawled into his bed and watched the flame flickering in the darkness. It seemed so small and weak, the darkness of his room crowded in on every side, the flame wavering as it burned. He felt like he was the candle. The world was dark without magic, but the book he’d discovered was kindling a flame inside him. He would nurture it and make it grow, until the goodness of his magic filled the world with light.

The feast was finally over and Rafe sat in the corner, nursing a goblet of wine. He’d watched his friend Tiberius leave the feasting hall and had wanted to retire with him, but Rafe was called over to where a group of soldiers were reveling. They’d won another victory, keeping the city safe yet again. They were drinking and laughing, letting the tension of placing themselves in danger melt away. Rafe didn’t feel like celebrating. Despite his growing skills and reputation among the Earl’s war band, he felt trapped. All he could think about was Lady Olyva, even though he knew there was no way he could ever be with her. Their romance was treason, and he silently cursed himself for ever giving in to his desire for her.

His attraction to Lady Olyva had been strong, right from the moment he’d first seen her. She wasn’t like most of the ladies of the Earl’s court. She wasn’t skinny or weak like the women he was used to seeing in the palace, nor was she pudgy and soft like the women in the city. She had strong arms, and thick well-muscled legs. Her waist was broad, but not fat. She had bright eyes in a round comely face, and her hair was dark but streaked through with ribbons of color from long hours spent in the bright sunshine of Hamill Keep. Her skin was a dusky olive color, not pasty white like the girls Rafe had known all his life.

He wanted her, but it was more than just lust. He wanted to know everything about her, wanted to share his accomplishments with her, wanted to give her things and make her happy. But of course she was promised to Brutas, who Rafe despised. Brutas was a bully of the worse sort, always pointing out the mistakes of others to cover up his own incompetence. Rafe could someday hope to be the Earl’s champion, but Brutas would lead the war band from Avondale. And not because the Earl’s second son had earned that right, or because Rafe would fail to be the most able and accomplished of the Earl’s men at arms. No, Brutas would become Leonosis’ general simply because they were brothers. And in the same fashion, he would marry Lady Olyva, not because he’d won her heart, but because his father wanted a closer alliance with Hamill Keep.

Rafe had learned long ago not to question why things happened with the Earl’s family the way they did. It wasn’t fair, and sometimes it was downright unjust, but there was no remedy. Even his father, unarguably the best swordsman in Avondale, couldn’t make things right. The Earl had unlimited power within the city, and only the King in Sparlan Citadel had the authority to act against the Earl. Yet, Rafe had foolishly rushed into a romance with Lady Olyva with no hope of winning her hand.

At first they had merely flirted, but when Rafe had been asked to show Lady Olyva the battlements around the city, he had given in to his passion and kissed her. The tour had turned into a long walk that only stoked his feelings for her. Since then, he had slipped secretly into her room, or waited for her in the shadowy corridors of the palace for a stolen kiss or a passionate embrace. They could not consummate their love; Rafe would not even consider marring Olvya’s honor, nor did they have the time or the freedom to make love. Theirs was a secret romance, and one that Rafe knew would haunt him the rest of his life. Yet declaring their love and insisting on being together was not just foolish, but dangerous. If someone discovered their feelings, there would be no mercy. Nor would anyone believe that their relationship was innocent. The best Rafe could hope for would be conscription into the King’s forces in Sparlan Citadel. For Lady Olyva, the consequences would be much more dire and Rafe couldn’t stand to dwell on that possibility, but neither could he stand not seeing Olyva. He lived for her touch, and thought of her day and night.

In the feasting hall, the soldiers had finally wandered drunkenly back to their barracks. The fire in the hearths had died down to embers, the food and empty platters had been cleared away, but Rafe still sat brooding. Not even joking around with his best friend Tiberius had eased his pain. He feared that he would be discovered, and the guilt of his passion for Lady Olyva battled with his anger for the injustice of their lives until he felt like a bloodied field of war.

Eventually, he finished his goblet of wine and began to wander the halls of the palace. It was late and the broad marble-floored hallways were deserted. A small contingent of the Earl’s personal guard stood watch at strategic points around the palace, keeping lit a few of the ornate lamps that lined the wide walkways and porticoes. The dark hallways felt comforting to Rafe. He’d played in the long corridors as a child with Tiberius. Rafe’s father, Grentz, as the Earl’s Champion and Sword Master of Avondale, had a small apartment in the palace, but Rafe slept in the barracks with the other soldiers. His future was uncertain; unlike the Earl’s sons, Rafe needed to earn his place as champion.

He walked along, slowly and aimlessly, meandering through the dark hallways in the general direction of the barracks that were located outside the Earl’s palace. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Olyva, and he didn’t notice he had made his way to her rooms until he was standing outside her door. He knew he should leave, he needed to break off the foolish tryst before it was too late and someone discovered their affair. But he couldn’t leave without seeing her. She was probably sleeping, but he knocked quietly, using the rhythmic tap they had worked out in secret so Lady Olyva would know it was Rafe.

A moment later the door opened and Olyva stepped out into the dark hallway.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her arms wrapping around his thick chest.

“I had to see you; I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Olyva said, laying her head on his chest. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Did I wake your maid?”

“No, she’s snoring so loudly I hardly heard your knock.”

“Are we insane?” he asked.

“Yes, but I don’t care. My time with you has been the happiest of my life.”

“And mine, but I’m dying inside.”

“Kiss me,” she said.

They kissed, the heat between them rising until Rafe had to pull away. Every fiber of his being ached to make her his, but he knew he couldn’t.

“I have to go,” he said. “This is goodbye.”

“No,” she said. “It can’t be. I’ll die.”

“If we’re caught—”

“We won’t be.”

“I’m not coming back,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve made up my mind.”

“And I have no say in the matter?”

“You know I’m right. We both knew this couldn’t last.”