The Castrofax (29 page)

One woman in the front of the group stood out
as the leader. She was old enough to be their mother, but she was
still beautiful with few wrinkles around her eyes and little gray
hair in her auburn locks. She was garbed in a sturdy dress of pale
gray with accents of cream, and wore a stiff lace circle around the
back of her head to give her a haloed look. A mountain of emeralds
hung around her neck and wrists, and even more dripped from her
ears. She and the Queen were speaking quietly as they entered.

“
That
is the Breaker of Stars,” a
woman close enough to him whispered in Arconian and tittered.

Arconia was a Kingdom far off to the east
across the ocean. It was a mass of islands with one main land, four
sisters, and hundred smaller islands. The land bore rich soil
excellent for farming and cattle rearing. Some of the finest wool
and red wine came from the Hundred Isles. The lands were also
riddled with gem mines from ancient volcanoes, making it a rich
kingdom ruled under King Victor. It was a solid two, possibly
three-week journey, but the women did not look tired.

Gabriel chewed the inside of his lip as he
tried to figure out their purpose.

“Queen Cathlyn, it is my honor to welcome you
to our City,” Miranda announced, and Gabriel stopped chewing and
looked again at the woman.
‘Why is she here?’
He did not
hazard a glance at Nolen, feeling the faint energy the man gave off
knowing he was pleased. Gabriel swallowed and clasped his hands
behind his back to keep from fidgeting.

The Arconian Queen gave a bow that her ladies
mimicked. Gabriel looked them over again and saw matching cloak
pins of burnished metal and fat gems in the middle. As he looked
closer he saw rubies, emeralds, sapphires, pearls, and a gray stone
he did not recognize. The breath slipped from him suddenly as he
realized the women were Mages. Unlike Anatolian Mages who wore
black Mage cloaks to signify their status, Arconians wore cloak
pins and brooches. Most wore copper pins signifying a Class Five,
but there were several with the black tungsten of a Class Six.
‘This will not end well.’

“My son tells me you are here on his
bidding,” Miranda stated with little emotion, and Gabriel knew she
was uncertain.
‘Since when did a Prince do something without his
Queen’s permission or knowledge?’
“Please enlighten the
court.”

“Your welcome is most appreciated,” Queen
Cathlyn replied with a nod of her head and a lilt to her accent.
Arconian was a beautifully flowing language structured the same as
Gabriel’s mother tongue, and as expected of well-educated youth, he
had studied it in depth with Robyn’s tutors. “Your son is an
admirable young man, and we have enjoyed his time in our
court.”

Miranda and Aisling looked at Nolen for an
answer, but the Prince gave none.

Queen Cathlyn continued. “Your son has struck
a bargain with us to fiscally support your kingdom and strengthen
our alliance. He told us much about this Class Ten you have in your
possession, and we look forward to working with him.”

Miranda gave a fleeting smile. “And what is
this bargain?”

“A hundred soldiers, a ship of the finest red
Dastanian wine, and a chest of uncut jewels for every child the
Class Ten fathers.”

Cold crept up Gabriel’s neck. He did not know
if he should continue looking at the foreign Queen, or turn his icy
eyes on Nolen. He felt eyes on him and knew his next words could
damn him deeper. In the span of a heartbeat, Gabriel’s hands fell
from behind his back, and his right snapped up pointing at Queen
Cathlyn.

“I am
not
an animal!” he shouted, and
the room fell silent but echoes of his voice. The ladies stared up
at him, some smirking in disagreement, others in surprise. It took
him a moment to realize he had spoken in Arconian and had been well
understood by the newcomers.

Queen Cathlyn did not turn her cool gaze from
him. There were a hundred thoughts in her cold expression. She was
a powerful woman, one used to getting her way, bent to sating her
will by any means. “Dear boy, you do not have a say in the
matter.”

Miranda looked as alarmed as Gabriel, but
when she gazed at Nolen, her retort died. She instead gave Gabriel
a reply. “As much as it displeases you, you are property of the
kingdom.”

“I must object,” Aisling shot in, grappling
for power. “That is something the throne has no say in.”

Miranda put a hand up. “Actually, my word is
law, and you should think twice before disagreeing with me in my
own hall,” she snapped without looking at Aisling. “Queen Cathlyn,
what are your terms?”

“Impregnation of nine-tenths of my Mages,”
Cathlyn answered with a little nod.

Gabriel seethed. They could not make him. “I
will have no part in this!” He yelled and clenched his fists. The
Mages looked on him again.
‘Stars above, there has to be forty
of them.’
“I am a Mage, and under the laws of Jaden, I answer
first
to the Head Mage and
second
to the throne of
Anatoly.”

“Then by all means let him speak,” Miranda
replied and cast a hand across the hall. “Oh, pity he could not be
here to defend you.”

“You will take
nothing else
from me,”
he replied as darkly as he could, and Nolen cuffed him across the
back of his skull.

“In case it escaped your reasoning, you
belong to me now,” Nolen hissed in Gabriel’s ear. “You
will
bed these women and strengthen the Mage population.”

Gabriel pulled loose and stormed off, but got
no more than four steps before a solid Air pattern wrapped around
his legs. He rotated his torso and drew from his chest strings of
Spirit before he remembered a fueled pattern would harm him more
than Nolen, and the threads slipped back in. He turned his gaze to
the pattern around his calves and tried to pull loose.

“He would fain do this for you,” Nolen
replied, and when Gabriel opened his mouth to object, Nolen
tightened another Air pattern around his vocal chords.

“Excellent,” Queen Cathlyn replied and fixed
Gabriel with a triumphant smirk that said she always won. Gabriel
shot her a murderous look before gazing over the eyes locked on
his. Some women smiled, others blushed, and a few had twisted grins
and narrow eyes, devouring him. One woman stood in a relaxed
fashion, a finger on her lips, and she slowly looked him up,
undressing him with her eyes. He gave her a particularly sharp
glare as her narrowed eyes met his, and she smirked slyly.

“Please stay as long as it takes,” Miranda
said and stood. “I have rooms ready in the northern wing, and I
hope you want for nothing in your stay. Please, join me in the
King’s Hall for supper.”

“Gladly,” Cathlyn bowed slightly.

At a motion from Miranda, guards pulled the
doors open and serving women in red tunics swept in to herd the
women who all move as one graceful cloud.

Once the doors closed shut, Nolen released
Gabriel for a moment but quickly put the pattern back up as Gabriel
reeled around with his fists clenched.

“I
will not
,” Gabriel shouted as
Aisling added her own voice, yelling, “You have no right.” Miranda
slunk back into her throne and put a hand on her forehead.

“I cannot be made to do this,” Gabriel
announced, shaking his head and balling his fists. “And no matter
of torture or pain will bend my will.”

“Head Mage Casimir will hear of this and
issue a pardon,” Aisling announced.

“He will not, because I will have every bird
shot from the sky should you send a note,” Nolen replied smoothly
and looked at Gabriel. “You
will
.”

“Your Grace, can you not see your son is
pulling the strings of your throne?” Aisling beseeched.

“As you have done for years?” Miranda replied
and stood. “I am afraid your rule is at an end.”

Aisling did not seem worried. Instead she
folded her hands neatly. “You should know Princess Robyn has been
found, then,” she stated and the room fell silent. “In fact, she is
here in the City gathering support for her claim, and on the tenth
of this month, she will present her claim to you and take the
throne. So, in truth, it is
your
rule that has come to an
end. How satisfying for you that this will be your last action.”
Her cold words visibly cut Miranda, but the Queen said nothing.

Nolen’s face was a thundercloud. The news was
foreign to him. “This changes nothing. She has no forces to object
me, and I still control the strongest Mage alive.”

“Hardly,” Gabriel snapped, feeling his will
rise. For a moment he was not a captured Mage, he was simply a man
with his own volition.

“You are not the person she is objecting,”
Aisling reminded. “
You
have no claim to the throne.”

Nolen snapped his finger at her. “Be silent.”
He turned back to Gabriel. “We are going to the dungeons.”

“Gladly,” Gabriel replied and unbuttoned his
coat.

“The Head Mage has already given his pardon,
and Mage Gabriel can no longer be tortured,” Aisling said in a
shrill voice.

Gabriel left his coat unbuttoned but kept it
on. It was such a handsome thing; it would be terrible to ruin. The
tight pattern around his legs loosened as Nolen turned to the side
doors.

“To the dungeons with you,” he said softly.
“You will see how much leverage I still have over you yet.”

Ryker shifted to just outside Castle Jaden on
the well-traveled winding switchback road. This time of night, the
castle wall was illuminated with burning torches with each bastion
set every 500 yards. Ryker walked up the switchback, pulling his
black Mage cloak tight around his shoulders. His original Mage
cloak had been lost to the years, but a little Earth Mage had made
him a new one, beautifully embroidering the star of Spirit over his
breast but leaving Void off to avoid causing a stir. Wind blew up
from the flatlands below, catching up his cloak and swirling around
his coat.

Castle Jaden was well renowned for her
defensive wards, and one of them prevented him from shifting or
sidestepping in. He had to walk in like all others. Some rings were
made back in his day that allowed a man to bend the anti-shifting
pattern, but Ryker had none.

After a few switchbacks he turned to face the
great gate, topped with two bastion towers, a stone bridge over
top, and crenellations for protection. Men heralded to ask his
business, to which he replied he sought sanctuary. One door of the
great gate opened, and three Mages spilled out to search him and
ask further questions. Where did he come from, why did he flee,
where were his possessions, were there others following, who was
he? He had perfectly crafted answers. He wove a sad story of his
farm set to arson and with such a weak grasp of Spirit he had no
choice but to turn to the safety of Jaden.

The men welcomed him in once they were
satisfied, convinced his accent was northern, and pointed down one
of the starburst streets that spilled from the main courtyard.
Ryker thanked him kindly and followed the street. He cut in between
the little alleys of shops and wound his way back towards the Head
Mages’ Tower. Certain no one would know his face, he lowered his
hood and smiled politely as he passed people.

He buckled the doors of the Tower inward and
shook the cold from his clothes, grateful for the Lodge’s warm
fire. Little had changed in an Age, but there were new banners with
Elemental insignias, new carpets, and the banisters had been
stripped of their black paint revealing the polished brown wood
beneath. He wound his way up the stairs, pausing every now and then
to listen for voices. He entered the Head Mage’s chambers; they
were vacant. In his day the Head Mage rarely left his quarters,
taking his meals and entertaining in them, so if he was not here,
there were only a few other places he could be. Ryker checked the
Secondhand’s dorm as well to find them vacant. That narrowed his
choices.

He went to the testing room where
Mage-Selects were given their Class, and he took another flight of
stairs up to the Council Hall. He could feel the energy the people
inside gave. He found what he was looking for.

Two guards in white tunics stood outside.
They were easy to dispose of, falling to the ground silently with
pinch-patterns sent into their brains. Ryker threw the doors open
with a crackling electricity pattern that shot blue tendrils of
energy through the room for show.

The people inside jumped to their feet, some
throwing patterns, but Ryker had experience at his fingertips and
dodged all attacks. He threw his own patterns, wrapping the men and
women in cords of Spirit that pinned their arms to their sides,
throwing them to their backs. A white-clothed man at the end of the
table was already on his feet, but Ryker threw him back into his
chair and wrapped his hands to the armrests. For a Head Mage, the
man was weak at what must have been a pathetic excuse for a Class
Six. In moments the entire Council had been disarmed, and Ryker
suffered only one cut to his thigh that someone snuck through his
defenses.

He walked up to the end of the rectangular
table and stopped, putting his hands on the creamy marble. “Hullo,
I am Mage Ryker Slade. It was so kind of your men t’ let me in the
gates with naught but a few questions.”

A man in a hat tried to rise from where he
had fallen over his chair and narrowly succeeded in kicking Ryker.
Ryker twirled his fingers and set a Spirit pattern deep in the
man’s chest, constricting the lungs. The Head Mage said nothing but
stared Ryker down with a loathsome look.

“Why are you here?” The Head Mage asked.

“Can I ne visit mine old home? The faces have
changed but most of the structures are the same. Tell me, are the
tunnels t’ Tintagaelsing still open, or have y’ stopped trade?” The
Head Mage made no reply, looking almost befuddled for a moment.
“Ah, but you’ve lost so much over the years.” He twirled his
fingers again and lifted the pattern from the Councilman’s chest to
hear the man gasp. “I am here t’ offer a peace treaty.”