A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) (14 page)

“Never! There's a thief outside!”

“THAT'S THE NEWEST MEMBER OF OUR GUILD!” Eric plugged his
ears. Retis's voice was a wave of power that shook the walls. “DO I HAVE TO
BEAT MANNERS INTO YOU LIKE LAST TIME?”
Retis fought an old man?

“LAST TIME?” Aaloon shrieked. “WHO BEAT MANNERS INTO
WHOM
LAST TIME!?”
And . . .lost? Is this a regular occurrence?
” Arrogant
youngster . . .”

“Fine, then! I'll just burn the door down! AND ALL YOUR
PRECIOUS SCROLLS WITH IT!”

“YOU WOULDN'T
DARE
!”

“Crimson fire . . .” Retis chanted and fire appeared. “Grant
my desire!” The ball of flame swelled with each word and was now the size of a
basketball. “FIRE—”
“FINE!” Countless locks unlocked and the door opened.

“That wasn't so hard now was it?” Retis said, his voice soft
again. Aaloon glared. Retis put his hands on Eric's shoulders and the novice
felt a vague shield-like feeling as the young man put him between himself and
Aaloon.

 “This is Eric Watley, a brand new novice,” Retis said. “He
needs to be assigned to a squad. Afterward, you can go back to your all-important
scrolls.” Aaloon turned his glare on Eric and was meekly handed the red paper.
He snatched it away and looked over it closely. Then he rolled it up and tucked
it under his cloak.

“Very well.” Aaloon's staff glowed and he lightly touched
Eric's head with it. Images from his past shot to and from his sight. Someone swam
through his mind, probing its depths. Deeper and deeper; more and more; it
reached his soul! He was about to scream when the force retreated and the
feeling eased. Aaloon removed his staff from Eric's head.

“Yes, a Threan is hardly fit for Squad One . . .” he said to
the piece of wood. “No, we can't put him in Squad Two either because of Hasina.
She'd have him on the examining table quicker than you can say 'scroll thief' .
. .” Eric blushed. “True, such people do deserve such fates . . .” Eric
swallowed hard. “But Dragon Girl would be angry . . .hmm, he wouldn't do for
Squad Four, not cut out . . .but Squad Three . . . He might do well there. Yes,
a lot of work will be needed, but you can't deny it fits.”

“Is he talking to himself?” Eric asked Retis.

“No, his staff. The two have grown close over the
millennium.”

“Millennium!?” Eric screeched. “Are you saying he's a
thousand years old!?”

“
Three
thousand,” Retis said. “He's older than this
mountain.”

“But . . .but how
?
”

“He's
very
dedicated to his work.”

“Yes, that will do,” Aaloon said to his staff. “Thief, you
will be in Squad Three, the one for battle mages. The office for Squad Three is
in the east wing. Now go and introduce yourself to Captain Quando.” Without as
much as a goodbye, he withdrew. The door slammed and the locks clicked.

Eric looked to Retis, but the vice-guildhead was talking
into his headset. “The spoon?
Again?
Okay, I'll be right there.” Ending
the call, he said, “I'm sorry, Eric, but I can't guide you. There's an
emergency in the kitchen. But I can give you directions.”

Again, Eric walked alone with only spoken directions as a
guide. The strangeness of this place was getting to him. First, a guild called “The
Dragon's Lair” is housed in a real cave, the receptionist pulls objects out of
nowhere, the record keeper's a lunatic, and the vice-guildhead's bipolar.
Further unnerving him were the guild's hallways: they were spooky. Bathed in
the green light of overhead crystals, shadows in every corner, and the rustle
of stray pebbles under his feet; he could never tell what was right around the
corner, or—

“BOGABOGABOGA!”

“AHHHH!” Eric shouted and jumped. Floating before him was a
bona fide ghost. The specter cackled maniacally before sinking back into the
floor.
What the abyss was that!?

A girl rushed by, skidded to a stop, turned on her heels,
and ran back. “Did you see a ghost?” Eric pointed at the floor. The girl bowed.
“Thank you, and I apologize if the captain scared you.” She disappeared into
the shadows.

What kind of a guild did I join!?
Eric thought, his
heart pounding.
Oh well . . .beggars can't be choosers
. . .With that
thought in mind, he stood up.

At the East Wing's entrance, he met a tall balding man with
a strange odor who asked if he was hungry. Eric's stomach answered before his
mouth could. The man shoved a sandwich into his hands and insisted he have it.
Eric relented and took a bite. Instantly, he felt dizzy. He swallowed on reflex
and the world went black.

“I swear . . .” a voice said as Eric regained consciousness.
“If it's not the captain, it's you, Noisop.”

“Oh, come on, Lieutenant.” The voice was familiar . . .
The
sandwich!
“I have to try out my new recipes to see if they work. If I don't
know that I—”

“--can't rely on them in the field.” This voice was Jemas,
the lieutenant of Squad Two. “At least the captain gets consent for her
experiments.”

“No one would consent to try out poisons!” Noisop protested.
I wonder why?

“Oh, there you are, Otherworlder,” said a familiar female
voice.

Eric suddenly feared for his life.

“I had nothing to do with it, lieutenant, honest!” Noisop
protested.

“You haven't been honest a day in your life,” Jemas replied.

“Hey! Don't compare me to Tsilaer! I'm an honest hard
worker.”

Eric snorted. He opened his eyes and saw a lamp crystal
above his head. Spread across the room were more couches, some chairs, and a
great many wooden perches. At one end, a seventy-inch flat-screen Crystal
Vision was being watched by three creatures and two were fighting over the
remote.

 “Ah! He's up!” Noisop said. “That means the powder wasn't
deadly . . . excellent!”

“That powder could have been lethal!?” Jemas demanded.

Noisop shrugged. “It wasn't supposed to be, but who knows
what will happen in the field?”

“Thus the need for experimentation,” Hasina said proudly. “Don't
forget the follow up.”

“Of course, the follow up is most important.” Noisop turned
to Eric with a pen in one hand and paper in the other. “Now tell me Otherworlder—”

“Eric Watley,” Jemas interrupted.

“--how do you feel?” Noisop finished. “Dizzy? Tired? . . .Agreeable?”
Oito and Revas were right; the Dragon's Lair
IS full of nutjobs and
weirdos.
“This is for future research; please tell me . . .Eric, I really
have to know.” Eric looked to Jemas, who shrugged.

“I feel hungry.”

Noisop hmmed as he wrote that down. “Anything else?”

“Not really.” Noisop walked away, muttering to himself.

“Mr. Watley, you were on your way to meet Captain Quando, am
I right?” Jemas asked and Eric nodded. “Then allow me to escort you in case
something else happens.”

Eric sighed. “That would be great.”

Before they could leave the Squad Two Lounge, every healer
present insisted on meeting the novice. Most stopped with introductions, but
others asked him questions. When the questions became medically oriented, Jemas
steered him away. With his help, the remaining journey to the Squad Three
lounge was uneventful.

“Here we are, Mr. Watley,” Jemas said. “I doubt you'll have
any trouble now.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant.”

“My pleasure.” He bowed and returned the way he came.

The door to the lounge of Squad Three was marked by a pair
of crossed black staves. Inside, moss grew on the walls and some of the mages
were talking with it. Tusks and horns and skins acted as decoration and soda
fountains. A Crystal Vision played a soap opera and a bipedal dog shared a box
of tissues with a humanoid tree.

“Uh . . .I'm new . . .where's the captain?” They all pointed
to the back of the room. “Thanks.”

 Eric expected them to ignore him, but all stopped what they
were doing to introduce themselves. Only when they shook his hand and heard his
name would they return to their business. Some even hugged him; after the first,
he got over the shock.  

It was dark in the captain's office. All he could see was a
silhouette of a man facing the rear window. On his head and shoulders sat a
trio of puppets. The door closed and they began to sing.

The puppet on his right shoulder said, “Hello.”

The puppet on his left shoulder said,  “Hello.”

The puppet on his head did likewise, still higher.

Finally, the man himself turned around and sang in a lower
note. “We are Captain Quando of Squad Three,” they chorused. All four of them
extended their hands. “Pleased to meet you.”

Eric stared.
All of them . . . are the captain?

“Doe, you were off key!” the left puppet said. “He's
speechless with your poor performance!”

“No, I wasn't, Rei!” the right puppet said. “He's speechless
with my perfect performance!”

“Both of you could be better,” the head puppet said. “Not
just with vocals, but timing.”

They're . . .arguing with each other.

“Shut up, Mi!” Doe and Rei shouted. The two shoulder puppets
tackled the head puppet to the floor and began a three-way brawl.
They're  .
. .fighting with each other . . .

“You may be wondering how this is possible.” The man flashed
a smile. “No, it's not animation. It is, in fact, the incredibly rare super
skill, known as . . . FAMILIAR CREATION!”

Spotlights shined and trumpets blared. Eric shut his eyes
and plugged his ears against the onslaught. “So what do you think? Impressive,
aren't we? You've never seen anything like us, am I right?” The music died
abruptly and the lights faded as quickly as they came.

 A young woman entered, rubbing her forehead. “Captain,
please, stop showing off.”

“You're always ruining our fun,” the captain whined while
his trio of puppets rolled behind him like a thrashing tumbleweed.

 “I apologize for my captain's stupidity. I am Esoli Sideed,
the Lieutenant of Squad Three.”

 She resembled the archetypal librarian; rigid posture,
nonsense tone, thick-rimmed glasses, except she was only a year older than Eric
was. Quando resembled a movie star; the kind that saved the world and got the
girl. Without the lights, he saw the man had gold-brown hair, pointed ears, and
a white cloak similar to Hasina's.

“Eric, I assume Mia gave you your guild badge?” Esoli asked
and he nodded. “Good, she can be a little scatter-brained.” She stared at the
puppets. They were pulled apart by an invisible force and
dropped on the
captain.

“Hey, Eric.” The novice turned to see Basilard at the door. “I
thought I'd find you here.”

“Daylra, you knew I'd be in Squad Three?”

“I had a hunch,” Basilard said, “Why do you think I spent so
much time on mana bolts? By your leave, Lieutenant.” She nodded and Basilard
beckoned Eric to the door.

“Um . . .Daylra . . . are all the guild captains . . ..insane?”

Basilard put a hand to his chin. “I guess they're a little
eccentric, now that you mention it.”

Eccentric, he says
.
One is a multi-armed sword juggler,
another is a ghost who gets their kicks scaring people, the third is a large
ham with talking puppets, and the fourth wants to
DISSECT me!

Basilard led him out of the lounge and into the tunnel
system. After walking through enough passageways to get an intruder hopelessly
lost, they stopped at a steel door. On its surface was a plaque of a cave
bursting with odds and ends.

“Here we are: Storage/Armory/Misc.”

He pushed the door open to reveal a small room. Opposite the
door was a desk and beyond was a hole leading to a larger chamber.
Is that
the dragon's horde?
Also behind the desk was a man with reptilian scales, slitted
eyes, and a leathery tail.
A dragon!?

“Hello, Basilard. May I presume this is your battle mage in
training?”

“He is,” Basilard said and nudged Eric.

“Oh! Hi, I-I'm Eric Watley. Pleased to meet you.”

“Thomas Gentowa Harrar; the pleasure is mine. Go on in.”

Storage was a huge hollow chamber with racks upon racks of
equipment for the use of the Dragon's Lair mercenaries. Everything from weapons
to armor to survival gear to food was stacked and organized and in perfect
condition. Basilard guided Eric to the section reserved for staves.

A rack held them all upright as if at permanent attention.
Some were small enough to be held in one hand, some were a head shorter than
he, and others as the tall as the room itself. All were made of wood with
little ornamentation.

“Ummm . . .which one should I pick?”

“Don't worry; the staff will do the picking,” Basilard said,
“They're alive just like us.”

Despite his growing acceptance of magic and the
supernatural, Eric was still skeptical of living staves, so Basilard explained.
All staves were made from trees and Tariatlan trees were sapient. When a branch
was cut off, it retained part of the tree's persona. This fragment would
normally fade like an unplugged light bulb, but a branch made into a staff
would remain sentient.

“Got it? Now reach out and say 'come to me'. The staff that
wants to be your partner will react.”

 Eric took a deep breath, held out his hand and said, “Come
to me.”

Immediately, one of the staves shook. He could hardly wait
to hold it. Having his own staff would make him a real mage. Real magic! The
thought made him giddy. Just as he undid one of the latches, the staff bonked
him. He yelped. Instead of impatience, the shaking was laughter.

Basilard chuckled. “They do that sometimes. Close your eyes.
Reach out and connect.”

All he could hear was the sound of his own breath and
heartbeat. No matter how he tried, the voices of the staves eluded him. He
couldn't hear them! His heartbeat quickened. Would failing disqualify him as a
mage? Would he be expelled from the guild?
Come on, staves! Talk to me!
Nothing but silence and he fell into greater despair.