Regret's Shadow (Sins of Earth Trilogy) Page 2

  The wizard thoughtfully recounted what he’d experienced so far in this town and compared it with what he’d learned before his trip.

  So it was true that the old mage was looking for an apprentice. This seemed to bother the people here some, but he had yet to find out why. He had a hunch however, and considering how things were beginning to shape up in line with the lord mages’ suspicions, he wasn’t looking forward to finding out for sure.

  Shortly after his meal was finished, and the blueberry tarts had been sampled, a young boy approached the wizard at the bar. The lad was no more than eight winters, and sported a sandy bowl cut common to peasant folk. Tugging on Reynolt’s forest cloak, the boy spoke.

  “Pardon, M’lord, but I’m to show you to your room.”

  The wizard pivoted to regard the youngster with a kind smile. The lad half-grinned in nervous response.

  “Excellent, young sir,” he said, winking. “Let me just grab my things.”

  The boy watched patiently as Reynolt hoisted his pack by one strap and retrieved his spear.

  “Lead on.”

  Immediately setting-off toward the stairs on one side of the room, the boy didn’t wait for further prompting. Reynolt nodded to the barkeep as he ascended a few steps behind. The man raised his hand slightly in response before going back to swabbing the bar. As he reached the hallway at the top of the stairs, the young wizard stopped and regarded his diminutive guide.

  The youngster came to a door further down on the left, past three identical portals. He deftly slotted a key into the lock and swung the door inward. He seemed to notice that he was alone and looked back down the hall to Reynolt with a questioning glance. The mage smiled again.

  “Before we go any further,” he said, leaning slightly on the haft of his spear, “I’d like the pleasure of your name, my friend. Mine’s Reynolt.”

  “Puristan, m’lord,” the boy offered in return. The man nodded.

  “Well, Puristan, it’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  The boy turned to face him as he approached. The lad seemed to openly stare at him, for the first time really taking him in. When his gaze met Reynolt’s soft brown eyes, he looked away, and appeared to be considering something. Patiently, the wizard watched.

  At length, the boy returned his look and seemed to summon some courage.

  “You’re a wizard, aren’t you? One from a city far away?” he gasped, becoming animated for the first time since Reynolt had met him. He stepped a bit closer in his excitement, any shyness forgotten.

  “Indeed I am,” Reynolt replied, chuckling softly.

  “Can you show me magic? Tell me about how you got here, on the wings of some spell!” Puristan gasped hopefully.

  At this, Reynolt openly laughed, but not unkindly. He crouched down to regard the lad on an even level, resting his spear against the wall.

  “Well, unfortunately for both you and me, getting here took a bit more than a few words and gestures. I walked,” he held his grin as the boy’s excited face drooped a bit.

  He added with a little disappointment, “I’ve yet to learn how to ahh…ride the wings of some spell, as you put it.”

  Puristan studied the floorboards.

  “Oh,” he said softly.

  “I did come from a city, however. Freehold as a matter of fact,” he said, trying to keep the lad’s interest.

  “Perhaps I can show you a little magic as well.”

  Pale blue eyes snapped up to meet his, if with a touch less enthusiasm. The boy nodded just slightly.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Deciding inwardly that he liked the shy lad, Reynolt reached up to the boy’s ear and came away holding a silver chit. Puristan watched, and after seeing the chit his eyes got big…and then narrowed.

  “That’s not magic, it’s a trick, and one I’ve seen before,” he said sourly.

  “Ah yes,” the wizard replied hurriedly, “but have you seen this?”

  With a brief reddish glow flowing from his eyes, Reynolt tapped the chit and a small mechanical drake replaced it. It raised its tiny head and made a soft mewling sound, releasing a puff of smoke. The boy gasped.

  “Fantastic!” he breathed. “May I touch it?”

  “Sure,” the wizard relied, “but you’ll need to catch him first.”

  With that, the small dragon zipped into the air, roaring in its miniature tinny voice. Puristan laughed out loud; the rippling laugh of children completely unaware of anything but the object of their joy. It made Reynolt smile again.

  Boy and toy dragon raced through the hall, back and forth, with the little wyrm always just ahead of the boy. Puristan giggled the whole while, until his breath was thinning. Finally, he stopped near the stairs, and spun about with a triumphant grin, holding his hands tightly together.

  “I’ve got him!” he exclaimed. Hurriedly he moved toward the now standing Reynolt, pride mixed with wonder plain on his face.

  “Show me,” said the wizard.

  The boy eagerly held out his hands and opened them. His satisfied smile turned to an expression of confusion, for all that came out of his hands was a tiny wisp of green smoke. Frowning, he pulled his hands close to examine them. After a moment, he regarded the wizard with a petulant look.

  “I lost him,” he moped.

  “I see,” Reynolt said, seriously. Then, with his face brightening he said, “Perhaps you haven’t quite.”

  He knelt again and took the boy by the shoulders and examined him closely. Puristan returned his look wonderingly. After a few moments the wizard tapped the lad on the chin.

  With a look of surprise and bulging cheeks, the boy opened his mouth and spit the tiny drake back into his palm. The mock dragon was still now, curled into a tiny ring of silver.

  “Amazing!” he said, his bright smile returning.

  “You really are a wizard!”

  “Guilty,” Reynolt replied, standing. He moved to pick up his spear once again, “and now I’d like to retire, if you’re sufficiently satisfied, young Master Puristan.”

  The boy didn’t appear to hear him at first, slipping the drake-ring on his middle finger, and finding it fit perfectly. Then, with a start, he glanced back at the wizard and removed the ring.

  “Keep it,” Reynolt said to the lad’s unspoken want, “I think he likes you anyway.”

  Puristan smiled broadly and nodded his thanks. He turned to head down the stairs as the wizard took a step into his room. Remembering something, the lad stopped and called after Reynolt.

  “Yes?” he replied, leaning his head back out the doorway.

  “I forgot to mention, there’s a key for you in the footlocker and breakfast starts at sunup.”

  “I see. Well thank you, young sir.” Reynolt said, ready to close the door.

  “M’lord?”

  “Yes?” he replied, stopping the door’s progress and regarding the lad with just a touch less patience.

  “You going to be a ‘prentice to old Leodyne?” the boy asked with all seriousness.

  Reynolt regarded him and decided to pay very close attention to how the child responded to his reply.

  “I hope to. We’ll see on the ‘morrow,” he offered.

  Puristan looked down and frowned, just slightly. After a moment’s though, he looked back up at the wizard.

  “I don’t like him,” he said. “All the young wizards go to see him and then they never come talk to us anymore.”

  Reynolt frowned.

  “I’m just saying….” the boy said defensively. With that he turned and descended back to the common room.

  The wizard watched him go, waited a few heartbeats and then closed the door.

  His room was small, perhaps no larger than twelve feet by twelve, with a plain cot and reading table. He strode to the little stand and turned up the oil lamp that rested there, throwing more light into the chamber. A little black stove was set against the outside wall, with a small stack of wood to help with warding off the spring chill.
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  Laying his pack in a corner, Reynolt removed the room key from the small but sturdy footlocker and placed it in one of his belt pouches. Removing his cloak and hooking it on the nail in the door, he stepped over to glance out the window.

  His room was located on the western face of the building, affording him a view of the docks and the placid sea beyond. The ‘Cast shored on a wide bay and at that time the tide was turning. Starlight was reflected in the water and just a sliver of the moon shone, like a silver sickle in the sky.

  Periodically the wizard’s light fell across the town and would strobe out into the bay, bouncing off of the large rock formations that loomed in the northern section of the water before completing its circuit. According to rumor, it was out there amongst the rocks that a war vessel had been scuttled, and Leodyne had recovered its magical ARC engine to use as a power source.

  The young wizard spared a glance at the tower once more before closing the small shutters on the window to keep the light from bothering him.

  Sketching a quick rune in the air over the door, he set up a minor warning spell, should someone attempt to disturb him. Having done so, he began to strip off his traveling clothes and trade them for the soft woolen robe he kept in his pack.

  Donning the navy garment, he visibly relaxed and took a seat on the edge of the cot. He closed his eyes and began to breathe in a deep and steady pattern, entering his nightly meditations.

  From within this trance-like state, Reynolt reconnected with the energy from which all the mages derived their power - the Arcane. An ambient radiation field, which was a gift from Valia’s star, constantly washed the planet and could be tapped into by those with the proper knowledge and talent.

  Many humans, including Reynolt, had some latent inborn power gifted to them from the sun. Developing usually around puberty, these powers varied widely from individual.

  From enhanced night vision, to illusion projection, to farseeing, these abilities were a side effect of the radiation’s presence. While some of these abilities were powerful in their own right, none approached the sheer mastery that a learned mage could develop.

  Finding that power now, Reynolt fell deeper into his trance. Using training developed at the Academy in Freehold, he began to align himself with the Arcane, bending it, coaxing it just slightly to allow him to store some of it for later use.

  As this process went on, the young wizard devoted some of his attention to feeling out the energy, casting his will outward to get a sense of his surroundings and how they were affected by the power.

  He could sense, below him in the inn, several forms still awake, talking and drinking, and he could sense their inborn energy. One small form in particular pulsed with a barely contained light. The boy.

  The wizard’s placid face cracked into a grin as he thought of what the Arcane had in store for the boy in just a few years time. Perhaps he would bear further watching.

  Widening his vision, his replenishments now complete, Reynolt sensed more townsfolk outside and in neighboring buildings. Each of these also had their own unique signatures, but Reynolt expended no more energy to focus on them.

  He felt the slight brush of the eldritch lighthouse. He knew that if he wanted to expend the energy he could further focus on that tower and perhaps learn more about what was going on there.

  The risk, however might be greater than the gain, he decided. Not only could he accidentally stumble upon an experimental process and be affected by it, but he might also risk the wrath of a powerful wizard who could be on the lookout for any magical probes.

  It was best not to play too much of his hand before his first encounter. No doubt by now, Leodyne had sensed his presence in the village, but hopefully he’d merely believe it was a new hopeful apprentice.

  Withdrawing his consciousness, Reynolt fell deeper into his trance. He sought a more restful stage and began his quiet contemplations of the Arcane and sought to apply his knowledge to them.

  Time passed. Within his meditation, Reynolt was only vaguely aware of the material world and sat that way for several hours, confident in his ward on the door. He did become aware, at some point, of a faint vibration in the Arcane. Coming out of his contemplations for a moment, he attempted to feel out this new pattern. Cautious as always, he took his time, making sure not to open himself up too much to what he may find.

  The tremor was located outside the town, but felt as if it were moving closer. There was an odd tint to it, as if the tremor were something that went against the grain of the Arcane’s energy. Fearing that he might alert whatever presence was approaching, Reynolt pulled back and went through a quick mental process to come out of his deep meditations.

  Blinking rapidly, he slowly stood up. Everything in the room was exactly how he’d left it, although he was sure time had passed.

  The lamp burned steadily and he felt the power of his door spell. Periodically the mage-light seeped softly through the shutters. The young wizard moved to the window and opened the shutters slightly, scanning the night.

  At first, he saw nothing unusual. No one was about at this time; most people catching up on sleep before the long, hard day ahead. Lights were off and even the street lanterns had been snuffed. Unlike earlier in the evening, clouds had taken up residence over the bay and the moon and stars disappeared. There was a low fog, creeping like a wispy grey wolf through the streets.

  Feeling slightly uneasy due to the strange nature of the emanations he’d experienced, Reynolt turned down the lantern so that he’d be able to observe the landscape without giving away his position. He pulled the footlocker to the window and sat upon it, settling in to keep a watch. Although it was in the late hours of the night, he felt rested, mostly due to his meditations.

  After a few moments of patience, he thought he saw someone moving about down by the docks. Squinting, he tried to focus more on the figure or figures, but the distance was too great. Shortly, the figures - yes there were more than one - began to move down the main road, towards the inn. Reynolt noticed that there was something odd about their gait, a sort of staggering or shambling.

  Seeing the figures coming closer and his sense of disquiet growing, the young wizard pulled the shutters almost closed, to the point of allowing him just an inch wide crack with which to spy. He angled slightly for a better view and reached out to touch the haft of his spear for reassurance.

  The figures continued their midnight strolls. There were four of them, he could see, and not dressed like villagers at all. They wore heavy robes, not unlike the one that Reynolt himself now sported. They were also clad in dark cloaks with the hoods donned.

  The young wizard also noticed that they must be spell casters, as their eyes glowed with soft hues, depending on the individual’s eye color, denoting the use of magic, probably a night-vision dweomer.

  This made Reynolt start slightly. He’d heard that old Falkshire had put forth the call for an apprentice, but to have four? This seemed highly unusual. The study of the Arcane was an intense and often personal experience, and it was rare for a mage to take two apprentices at once. Three was unheard of.

  Yet here he could count four, and considering that once a mage had made his selection, his hospitality was at an end, it seemed unlikely that these four were just staying in the tower, unsure of where to go. There were other mages in the realm looking for students and all had put in their queries with the lord mages.

  Perhaps they had arrived only recently, he thought to himself, and having been refused by Leodyne they were returning to the inn. It seemed plausible. In fact, it might have been enough to convince the young wizard to turn in without a further thought. But something about the way they moved bothered him, and that, coupled with the bizarre emanations he’d experienced moments ago kept him peering out the window.

  They had slowed their pace. Grouping up, they cast about the street, seemingly searching for something. Reynolt frowned, waiting for them to play their hand.

  One of the wizards, apparently the
leader of the small group, began mumbling to the others, and pointing off in different directions. The others moved away as he pointed, like soldiers following commands. Again Reynolt wondered what was going on.

  A thought occurred to him that made him start. Perhaps they were searching for him? According to what he’d been told by the Lord Mages, this might be entirely possible, but for the old man to use these men that’d already come through town looking for apprenticeship seemed a bold move. Fearing that the theory of the lord mages was perhaps accurate and these men were indeed searching for the newest magical talent in Mord’s Casting, Reynolt gathered his pouches and spear.

  He quickly dispelled the ward on his door, along with any reservations he might have had about confronting these men, and stepped out into the hallway.

  It was dark, and the grey half-light only added to the atmosphere of danger. Summoning a bit of the Arcane, he enacted the same spell that the strangers were using, casting a soft reddish glow from his eyes, and greatly enhancing his night vision. Feeling the reassuring bulk of his spear in hand, he descended into the common room and looked about.

  All was quiet. Apparently everyone had gone home for the evening. No sound or light crept out from behind the closed kitchen doors and only small glowing embers remained of the hearth fire. A shadow paced by a window at the front of the room.

  Reynolt took a deep breath to steady himself, and then made for the door. He could hear the receding steps of one of them as it rounded the building. The young wizard opened the door smoothly and stepped into the street.

  Immediately he was set upon by two of the roving mages. Silent as death, they grasped an arm each and held tight, the one on the left relieving him of his spear. Reynolt let it go without too much struggle, hoping to learn more about these men before any kind of combat might begin.

  The two holding him were of average height and build, their hoods concealing most of their features. All that was visible to Reynolt were severely shadowed features and blue radiances where the eyes should be. The clothing they wore appeared to be of fine make, and they matched in their crimson robes. The third and fourth of the group, similarly outfitted, came down the road toward them.