Magician Prince (34 page)

The room was still burning and Janus ordered
that Byrn be dragged out of the cabin. Two men grabbed the magician
and did as they were commanded. Even as they were exiting, sailors
were making their way into the cabin and extinguishing the fire
before it could get out of control. Janus order the magicians on
deck to use water magic to help quell the flames and they had no
choice except to do his bidding and in this way the fire was put
out.

While this was going on Byrn was focusing his
magic internally and repairing the minor cuts that he had received.
However, he was still weak from the fight and did not have the
energy for a full recovery.

Janus turned his attention to Byrn. “Take him
up to the main deck and assemble the other magicians at once.”

“Yes, sir,” said one of the guards and left
to collect the rest of the collared magicians.

Byrn was taken up to the main deck and the
glowing blades held in front of him prevented his magic from
recovering any further. It only took a few minutes for all of the
magicians to be brought together. They looked at Byrn on his knees
as Janus and the guards stood over him.

“This man would be your savior,” Janus
addressed the crowd, “Only moments ago, he tried to kill me.” Then
he drew out a knife. It was a fine blade of exceptional
craftsmanship. The hilt was golden with ornate designs including
the Aurel crest of a raven against the setting sun where the sun
was a ruby. He grabbed Byrn by the hair so that his face was raised
up. They locked eyes for a moment and then Janus drew the blade
across Byrn’s throat. When he let go of Byrn’s hair, the sorcerer
fell to the deck and blood spurted out onto the king’s leather
boots. “This is what happens to those that defy me!”

The crowd stood transfixed on the dying
sorcerer, unable to do a thing to help him. The tears in some of
their eyes or the cries of disbelief were lost on Byrn as he lied
there dying. He clutched at his throat and attempted to mend the
wound, but he could not summon forth any magic. His vision was
growing dimmer. The taste of blood in his mouth was strong and he
felt like he was drowning even though he was still onboard the
ship.

“He is bleeding on my boots and making a mess
of the deck,” Janus told one of his men callously. “Toss him
overboard and then get someone over here to clean up.”

Then Byrn felt his body being raised up
although most of the world had grown black around. He fell for a
second before the hard smack of water engulfed him and he was dimly
aware of the
Kingdom’s Key
sailing away. Smoke still
billowed from it where Byrn had started the fire in the cabin.

Away from the effects of the Kenzai, his
magic was slowly regenerating, even as the blood left his body. He
drifted there and tried to focus enough to heal his neck, but it
was too difficult to think. He had to live! The thought jolted him
awake for a moment and the sorcerer focused on first closing the
wound. It would have been simpler to cauterize the slash across his
neck, but he was too wet for that to work now. Instead he focused
on healing energies and passed them through his throat. Tendons and
flesh stitched together and Byrn coughed out a mouthful of blood
into the sea.

Soon the magic he had been able to regenerate
was spent and darkness crept at the edges of his vision once again.
He hoped that he had done enough to save his own life, because he
could muster no more strength.

The ships were long gone as he drifted in the
sea. His eyes closed inevitably even as the sight of a giant red
creature flew overhead.
A dragon.

Only the crackling warmth of a campfire drove
the cold of night away from the sorcerer’s old bones. Byrn slowly
opened his eyes to see the dance of flames play out before him. At
first, he did not think to wonder who had made this fire or how he
had gotten to dry land. He only laid and enjoyed the heat as it
soaked into him. Then, in a panic he reached at his throat,
remembering Janus slashing a blade across it.

“You’re alright,” said a voice soothingly. It
was a familiar voice. One that was well weathered and
knowledgeable. “You have been through quite an ordeal, but your
wounds have been healed. Honestly, it is a wonder that you are
alive.”

“There is no wonder to it. His will to
survive is strong. However, he was fortunate that we were so
close.” This voice belonged to a young woman, but it was cold,
lacking any of the natural compassion that most women carried as
they spoke.

Byrn felt for the scar that should be going
across his throat, but found none. “This is a complete healing,” he
croaked. His throat was dry, but he suffered no undue injury.

“He needs drink,” observed the woman and came
into his field of vision carrying a small wooden cup. She was fair
skinned with fiery red hair that flowed wildly and she wore a
simple red dress of a similar hue. She cradled Byrn’s head in her
lap and held the cup to his mouth that allowed the water to trickle
down his throat.

“Not too much,” cautioned the familiar voice.
“Humans must drink slowly when they are in a condition such as
Byrn’s or they will choke.”

“I have read about human physiology,” said
the woman in red. She spoke dispassionately. Her words did not
sound like a rebuke, but as a statement meant only to inform.

When she took the cup away Byrn tried to
swivel his head to see whom the familiar voice belonged to, but
found that his neck and joints were too stiff to allow him a full
range of motion. His mind was still half asleep, preventing him
from being able to focus enough to recall who was speaking.

“He wants to see you,” observed the woman,
dryly.

A shadow moved across the campfire and was
soon followed by a body dressed in a green cloak and brown
traveling gear. His hands were bony, indicating his age, but
otherwise he moved like a man in his middle years of life. When the
man went to one knee Byrn recognized his savior immediately.
“Sane?” he asked in surprise. His voice hoarsely cracked, but was
already much looser thanks to the water.

Sane smiled. “It is good to see you still
live. I feared the worst. No, do not try to get up. You still need
to rest. Southernstar is very powerful by our standards, but even
she has her limits and you still need to rest.”

The woman called Southernstar had moved away
and was no longer visible from where Byrn laid. He wanted to ask
about her. From their conversation Sane seemed to indicate that she
was something other than human and Byrn wanted to find out more
about her, but another thought jumped to the forefront of his mind.
“You called me Byrn. Then you know what Xander did.”

Sane gave a short nod and he suddenly wore a
look of worry at the mention of the grand necromancer. “We had a
run in.”

“He tried to kill us,” added
Southernstar.

“As powerful as Xander was before, he has
grown so much beyond that now. He can cast dark magics unlike
anything I have ever seen before. Worse, he can still kill.” Sane
looked to Southernstar regretfully for a moment before
continuing.

Byrn sat up with Sane’s assistance. “And as
strong as he has become I have grown that weak. Xander’s body is
failing. Much of his strength came from others that he fed from
like a vampyre in one of my mother’s bedtime stories. However, if
they were victims or willing donors, I could not guess. Regardless,
my magic is still potent by most standards, but without tapping
into that kind of power I cannot rival him.”

“A dragon’s strength is not measured by the
beat of her wings or the sharpness of her claws. It comes from her
spirit,” said Southernstar. She had wandered back into Byrn’s
vision and sat down by the fire.

Seeing Byrn’s confusion at the woman’s words,
Sane told him of his meeting with Wise and his subsequent trip up
to the Dragon’s Peak. He told him of the majestic dragons and how
he met Southernstar in her true dragon form. His voice grew stiff
and Southernstar began to roughly poke at the fire as Sane spoke of
his last confrontation with Xander that nearly resulted in his
death. “Xander took the grimoire from me and burned it to ashes
before my eyes. His black energy spell was about to erupt and I was
right next to it when he fled. It was Southernstar who leapt to my
aid. She created a magical dome around us to protect us from the
blast.”

“My spell would not have been enough to save
us at such close range if Sane had not thought to add his strength
to mine,” Southernstar volunteered. She would not look away from
the fire. “Others of my kind died that day, but we were the
fortunate ones.” Then she added, “The library was destroyed too. So
many ancient works were lost in a single moment of time. Centuries
old knowledge was lost in the blink of an eye that can never be
recovered.”

“We did manage to save this,” Sane pulled a
few pages of paper from his pack and handed them to Byrn. “Before
Xander attacked I had already found the spell in the book and
marked its place. We were preparing to leave when Xander caught up
to us, and I ripped out those pages when he first attacked, fearing
he would overpower us.”

The pages were aged, but still well
preserved. Byrn instantly recognized the drawing that Xander had
made on the floor of the tower when he stole Byrn’s body. “It is
good that some things have gone our way,” said Byrn, “but how did
you find me?”

“It took some time for us to recover from
Xander Necros’ attack.” It was Southernstar that answered. “Even
so, Sane was still adamant about finding you. He was sure that you
still lived, though his future-sight had not yet advanced enough to
prove him right. He wanted to bring those pages to you and Eldar
agreed on the condition that I guard them and bring them back once
you are done with them.”

“It was fortunate that Southernstar came with
me,” continued Sane, “In the weeks since our confrontation with
Xander she has been teaching me how to control and focus my visions
so that they can more directly serve me and there is no better
means of travel than by a dragon’s wing.

“We went to Wolfsbane, thinking you might
still be there, but all we found was a skeleton crew of soldiers
left behind to clean up after the battle. We followed after the
foot army, but my visions kept pointing to water and we took a more
northeasterly course hoping to catch up to the naval ships. Just as
they came into view I had a vision of Kellen. He was wearing the
black armor that I now see him in.”

“You view him as a turncoat,” clarified
Southernstar, “causing your mind to create the dark imagery of
him.”

Sane agreed and to Byrn said, “For seers, our
minds tend to interpret the visions in ways that make sense to us
through our own perspectives. There is also a matter of detail
related to how far in the future events are supposed to occur and
the accuracy of the images. Visions for events that are about to
happen tend to be very clear, but those far in the future are more
abstract.

“Nevertheless, I saw Kellen taking you, not
you as you are, but you in your true body, before Janus. He held
you while Janus slashed your throat open.”

“That is not quite what happened, but close
enough,” admitted Byrn, “I was foolish enough to reveal my true
identity to Kellen and he told Janus, thinking we could ally
against Xander. Janus used that trust to try to collar me, but
Kellen stopped him at the last moment. However, it was not enough
to save me. That was when Janus slashed my throat and threw me
overboard.” Byrn again rubbed at his throat where Janus had cut him
and marveled at the lack of any type of injury.

“Is this Kellen a friend or foe?” asked
Southernstar.

The sorcerers looked at each other, but
neither was sure of the answer.

Soon Byrn fell back asleep and had a restful
night despite the cold ground he was forced to sleep on. When he
was roused the next day, he used the morning’s light to read over
the pages that Sane gave him thoroughly. They detailed the aptly
named spell, Soul Transference that Xander had used and the magical
devices needed consisting of a man sized binding rune to contain
the effects of the spell and several “Atmari” crystals that were
only found in the deepest of dwarven mines and needed to be
properly attuned in order to allow the magical energy to grasp a
living soul and extract it from the body. To make matters more
difficult once the crystals were used once, they could never be
reused. The spell would link the souls of the caster and target for
a moment while they are simultaneously ripped from their own bodies
and deposited in the other person’s form. This was a spell of such
complication that only the most experienced of necromancers should
ever attempt it. The results of failure could result in the painful
death of the caster as well as the target. The souls could become
displaced and unable to attach to any body. They could become
permanently combined so that the result is an amalgam of the two
original souls. In the best-case failure scenario the souls would
simply return to their original bodies. Byrn’s stomach turned as he
read and reread the spell. He did not have the experience to cast
Soul Transference, but still would have been willing to risk it to
get his rightful body back. However, lacking any of the crystals,
it would be impossible for him to even attempt the transference.
Would his dwarven friends across the sea in Ghant be able to get
him some of these crystals? Byrn suspected that they would, but it
could take six months to cross the sea and get back. By that time
Xander would surely have made his move against the kingdom and
solidified his base of power.

To the far west past Lord Nightwind’s domain
sat the Mainor Mountains and beneath those ranges lived cities of
dwarves. There was surely someone there that could get them the
crystals he needed. “Southernstar, how long would it take to get us
to the Mainor Mountains?”