Magic Zero (14 page)

Lord Nicodemus called the room the aerie, and Timothy had already decided it was the greatest room he had ever been in. The word “room” was hardly sufficient to describe it. SkyHaven was already a kind of miracle, floating above the ocean. The aerie was the one place in SkyHaven that really took advantage of the beauty inherent in this powerful magic.

It was a meeting hall, and clearly had been constructed for no other reason than for Lord Nicodemus to impress his guests with an example of how powerful he was. Thus the conference table at the center of the aerie was not so much a table as a ring, with chairs for visitors and dignitaries around its circumference, and nothing within that circle.

Nothing at all. No table. No floor. No ground at all. Within the circular space was a hole in the base of SkyHaven that was more than thirty feet wide. Daylight seeped into the room from below, reflected off the rolling blue ocean. All around the room were beams and nooks that had been created to provide perfect roosting places, and dozens of seabirds had shown their appreciation by building nests there. Even as the conversation droned on, Timothy watched the birds fluttering and cooing in their nests, flying across the high ceiling of the chamber, then dipping to glide out through the hole in the base of SkyHaven.

It was beautiful, really, and though Nicodemus could be harsh, the knowledge that the man had built such a chamber in his home gave Timothy hope that the Grandmaster was gentler at heart than he seemed upon the surface. Edgar had accompanied him, but the rook had taken flight only moments after they entered the aerie, disappearing to investigate both the massive chamber and to fly down through the foundation of SkyHaven and soar above the ocean waves. Timothy could not blame him. He wished he could have been anywhere but there. If he could fly, he would have done precisely the same thing as Edgar.

An image appeared in his mind, an image of wings and rotors and gears. Timothy smiled to himself.

His reverie was interrupted as Lord Romulus smashed an enormous gloved fist down upon the ring table. Timothy jumped and stared, wide eyed, at the giant mage who was pointing at him.

“The boy is a blight upon the face of this world!” Romulus snarled, his voice flat and tinny inside his helmet. Yet he was no less terrifying for it. “Why do you think Argus Cade hid him away? He was ashamed, as well he should have been. If an animal is born into your stables lame or filled with the madness, do you not destroy it? Of course you do. And so must this boy be destroyed. You risk the scorn of all the guilds by harboring him, Lord Nicodemus.”

Murmurs of assent whispered around the ring-shaped table. Lord Foxheart was seated beside Mistress Belladonna, almost directly across from Romulus in the circular space. She whispered something to him, and the sharp-toothed little man—whom Timothy now realized reminded him of the hairless cat Alastor—rapped his knuckles lightly on the table to draw attention.

“Beg your pardon, Lord Romulus,” Foxheart said, his voice deep and insinuating, “but the Legion Nocturne is well known for its love and respect of ancient ways. You are to be commended for remaining dedicated to the righteousness of a simpler time. But there must be some progress in the world and in a case such as this, when a boy’s life is in question, there is no place for antique ideas.

“Have you no pity, sir? Is the Legion really so primitive, so barbaric, that you would sentence a child to death for the crime of being different?”

Foxheart kept his gaze firmly on Romulus, with Lord Nicodemus shifting his attention back and forth between them. Belladonna, however, glanced over at Timothy, a sweet smile blossoming upon her ash-red lips. Timothy could not help but smile back, but he regretted it instantly. Lord Romulus had noticed it, and now the gigantic sorcerer leaped to his feet with a speed that belied his massive size and pounded upon the ring table once again.

“I would destroy him myself! With my own hands, had I not vowed there would be no violence in Lord Nicodemus’s home.”

Timothy froze. All of his fascination with the guild masters, and with the aerie and the seabirds who lived within it, was driven from his mind. His mouth was dry and he blinked, staring incredulously at Lord Romulus. The man wanted to kill him. Not to order his execution, but actually to kill Timothy himself, with his own hands.

“Caw! Caw, caw!” came the shrill call of the rook as Edgar soared up through the round hole in the floor and began to circle the ring table. He fluttered to a landing on the back of Timothy’s chair.

“Over my dead body,” the bird declared.

Lord Romulus’s eyes narrowed inside that horned silver helmet and he lowered his head. A snarl came from deep within his chest as he spun on Nicodemus. “What is this, sir,
that you would allow a familiar to speak thus to a grandmaster in your home?”

Now it was Nicodemus who stood, cocking his head slightly to one side and regarding Romulus with a warning glare. “You’ve threatened his master. How would you have him react?”

All of the guild masters muttered in amazement, some actually letting out epithets of surprise.

“You cannot be serious,” said Lord Foxheart, staring at the rook.

Lord Romulus sneered across the gulf, the reflected sunlight gleaming up to glisten upon his helmet. “The boy is not a mage, yet he has a familiar?”

Edgar cawed loudly. “Hukk! Yep! And I’ll tear your eyeballs out if you get anywhere near my boy.”

“I’m not sure I believe any of this,” Foxheart said. He shot Romulus a look. “My esteemed friend of the Legion Nocturne, the Grandmaster of the Malleus Guild asks you to put aside your ire for a moment so that we may ask what ought, perhaps, to have been our first question.” The little man bared his rows of needle teeth. “How do we know this boy truly is an un-magician?”

Timothy was tired and afraid and saddened. None of this was accomplishing anything. It was all bluster and posturing. If it was true he could not even gauge his allies and enemies by the behavior of these people—the few guild masters who had even answered Nicodemus’s summons—then what purpose did any of it serve? He wanted it to be over.

“Try me,” he said.

All of the mages around the ring table turned to stare at him. Behind his head he heard Edgar chuckle softly as the bird settled more comfortably onto the back of the chair.

“Timothy—,” Nicodemus warned.

But the boy would not be deterred. He stood and looked defiantly at Foxheart and then at Nicodemus. “Try me,” he said again. “I invite you to use your magic on me. Attack me. Transform me. Levitate me. Silence me. Whatever you like. Try.”

Mistress Belladonna stared at him. “Young Master Cade, do you really think this is wise?”

Foxheart grunted. “I don’t think this is appropriate at all,” he said, and he glanced up at Nicodemus. They were all staring at the Grandmaster of the Order of Alhazred, waiting to see what his response would be.

“All right. Do your worst, my friends.”

Timothy’s heart fluttered like rook’s wings in his chest, but it was too late to take the words back. Still, only one of the guild masters seemed inclined to take him up on his challenge, even with the consent of Lord Nicodemus.

“Very well,” Romulus agreed. “Thus my concerns are dealt with far more swiftly than I anticipated.” He glared at Timothy. “You are an accident, boy. An unnatural thing. It is no fault of your own, but you cannot be allowed to pollute the magical fabric of this world.”

Timothy sighed and rolled his eyes. He was afraid, but he was also tired of the gigantic mage’s raving.

“Go on,” he urged.

Lord Romulus opened his mouth wide and spewed an arcing stream of fire across the chamber. It scorched the ring table and burned the air above the opening in the floor. Edgar squawked loudly and took flight, darting into the air and up into the eaves of the aerie. The magical flames washed over Timothy, engulfing his upper body and his face.

They did not even feel warm.

When Lord Romulus clacked his jaws closed and the fiery blast subsided, the Aerie was silent save for the cooing of seabirds and the gentle lull of the ocean waves far below.

Nicodemus stood, arms crossed upon his chest. He inclined his head in a ritual gesture of respect. “And now that your questions are answered, my friends, let it be known that Timothy Cade is a member of the Order of Alhazred and remains under the protection of the order, and my personal protection as well. This is to honor the memory of his father, but also in sympathy with a bright, unique child who wants nothing more than to learn about a world that he has been deprived of his entire life.

“Timothy Cade has come home,” Lord Nicodemus said, and the Grandmaster’s eyes seemed to burn with grim warning. “And he will be left in peace. Or I shall be very displeased.”

The Grandmaster took a last look around, then glanced at Timothy. The boy could not hold back the smile that bloomed upon his features then. Much as he might be humorless and set in his ways, Lord Nicodemus was a true friend.

“And now,” Nicodemus said, glancing at the others, “I thank you all for coming. Safe journey home.”

*  *  *

The bright sun shone warmly down upon SkyHaven and her banners flapped and waved in the ocean breeze. The water was a deep, rolling green and the sky a pale blue that seemed to hint of clouds yet to come. If there was a storm to come, however, there was no sign of it on the horizon.

Leander Maddox stood upon the battlements of the fortress, the wind whipping at his hair and ruffling his bushy beard. The view to either side—the spires of Arcanum or the vast ocean—was breathtaking, yet his focus was entirely upon the activity in the courtyard below. A flock of seven or eight fanquail paraded about, digging grubs from the lawn, their rainbow plumage spread behind them. Songbirds fluttered in among the leaves of the trees on the far side of the courtyard, where a horticulture mage wrung rain from the air above his gardens with a flourish of his fingers, using the sorcery that was unique to his specialty.

Leander paid little attention to the wildlife or the hortimage. His attention was occupied by the graceful violence unfolding below him. As several lower-caste Alhazred mages looked on, arms folded within their robes, Timothy sparred with Ivar. From the way the boy moved, fluidly and yet with a firmness and confidence that seemed out of place for someone so small and lithe, it would have been obvious to any observer that the Asura had trained him. There was a synchronicity between them, a familiarity that
made the sight of their combat one of elegance.

Ivar’s flesh was the color of the grass. It was difficult at times to keep track of his movements from above. Timothy seemed not to have a problem doing so, but by now he must have been used to the chameleon qualities of the Asura. Against an opponent unfamiliar with his tribe, Ivar would have an immediate advantage. Leander was glad they were allies.

With a feint that even the Asura warrior believed, Timothy tricked Ivar into lunging for him, then dodged out of the way. He tapped his mentor in the back of the skull with a closed fist, then danced swiftly aside before Ivar could respond.

The Asura smiled and bowed, then stepped aside and gestured toward the four Alhazred mages who had gathered. Leander could not hear what was being said from this height but when the mages removed their cloaks, one by one, he realized what was happening. Timothy was going to spar with Nicodemus’s followers. The boy seemed vulnerable in the blue breeches and loose white shirt Nicodemus had provided for him. In the uniforms of their rank within the order, the mages were imposing. Four full-grown men against one teenaged boy.

Leander blinked with surprise and felt a tremor of alarm go through him. It was uncommon for Alhazred mages to be trained in hand-to-hand combat, but not unheard of. If they had been trained, however, he was certain there was reason for it, that Nicodemus would have ordered it to
enhance their capacity as security operatives at SkyHaven. Their training would have been completely different, however, from Timothy’s. As the boy’s self-appointed guardian, Leander feared for him. He was, after all, still a child in so many ways.

As the four mages began to encircle the young un-magician, Leander decided he must put a stop to this exercise. He spun on his heel, searching his memory for the fastest route of descent from battlement to courtyard, and an animal yowl filled the air as he nearly stepped on Alastor.

Nicodemus stood perhaps twenty feet away, his hair and long mustache blowing in the breeze, hands hidden inside the sleeves of his robes. In the bright sunlight he was pale as a corpse and his pink eyes now seemed nearly as white as a blind man’s. Leander was taken aback by his appearance and startled by his mere presence. He had not heard the Grandmaster arrive and had thought himself alone upon the fortress wall. They gazed at each other in silence for a long moment, there atop the battlement, high above SkyHaven.

“You worry for Timothy.” The Grandmaster strode to the edge of the battlement and looked down on the courtyard. “You should not.”

Leander stepped up beside him, hesitant and anxious, worried for Timothy, ever aware that with Argus Cade dead, Leander was responsible for the boy’s well-being. But when he glanced into the courtyard again he gave a sharp intake of breath and blinked several times as if doubting what he
saw. Two of the Alhazred mages were on the grass, one of them cradling an injured arm, while a third wisely retreated. Even as Leander watched, Timothy darted toward the fourth and final opponent. The mage struck out at him, but Timothy sidestepped the blow as though the man were moving at half speed, hooked a foot around the man’s ankle, and gave a firm shove, knocking him onto the grass.

Those mages already on the ground laughed good-naturedly at how easily their last hope had been bested. Off to one side, blending almost completely into the landscape, Ivar watched with an air of approval, but not a trace of surprise.

“You see,” Nicodemus said. “Nothing to be concerned about. There is danger, certainly, but the order will do whatever is necessary to protect him, even as we discover how prepared he is to protect himself.”