Post by Arlyan on Mar 12, 2010 19:44:00 GMT -5
The storm clouds were nearly overhead, just as he had said. The villagers all stood in the marketplace, staring in astonishment, as they had been for several hours now, watching the clouds billow across the plains, and in the distance, the strange sight of the man, several miles out, just a speck, scurrying around, nailing this and tying that. It was a strange and confusing spectacle. And terrifying.
The man had said it would come, for three years now he had been arguing and whispering, trying to convince them. And most of all he was in his study. It was the essence of power, he told them, whenever one had the uncommon chance to happen into the cramped area. They stood staring, awed by the countless books. They weren’t like the books they saw elsewhere. These books had the look of hidden knowledge, and had been collected over the years by this man. He left for months, sometimes years at a time, and would come back, sometimes looking younger than he had when he left, but more often, his eyes would look as though they had seen far too much, and times like those he would often shut himself in his house for days.
And the times he came back looking younger, he was the life of the village. He had presents for all the children, and would entertain them for hours, cheerful and happy.
But no one had seen him happy in years now.
So the storm clouds billowed, strange and purple, not the usual black that came, but those came on the other side of the year, never now, and certainly never purple. There was an evil about them, and the townsfolk huddled together, staring worriedly at the storm, and nervously at the man, all alone, out in the distance, fooling with rope and poles and several books and some papers with notes. They had seen him take several trips out into the plains, but no one offered to help, they stood and watched him, as he whispered calculations to himself.
Three weeks ago he had given up trying to convince the villagers to leave their homes. And that was the last time he had said anything to anyone.
“Fine. Enjoy your last days. We’re all doomed now anyway. Running would only give you a few weeks, maybe a month if you’re lucky. I have given up.”
And for three days no one saw him.
Then he came out of his house, with odds and ends they had never seen before, and walked several miles, several times, out to the middle of the plains, laden with strange and exotic things, nothing any of the villagers could even hope to name.
And then this morning, he had locked the door to his house, muttering something, touching his door as if sad, then walked out to his strange contraption. It was then the villagers started to congregate in the village square, just a few at first, who stopped in the street to watch this strange goodbye to a house, and then, as if entranced, watched the man stride off into the distance.
Then the clouds started to gather.
They looked natural at first, but then the bystanders noticed the clouds started to form over the plains, instead of rolling in like the normal thunderstorms do. It got larger and closer then, and they noticed the strange hue to the clouds. It was then the bystanders called to their friends and family.
The crowd stood, staring at the amazing scene unfolding, stupefied. Not one thought of the warnings the man had given to them, not even a thought crossed their minds. It was unnatural, and impossible to turn from.
The storm began to loom, impossibly large, the edge beginning to cast a shadow over their little town, and suddenly, everything was dark.
The crowd, hushed and terrified, looked around, alarmed, then the flashes of light began. Brilliant streaks of power arced across the sky, but only feinting at the ground. They were akin to lightning, but only as closely related to lighting as lightning is similar to a candle. The pure power emanating from the clouds was terrifying, and the people were trembling.
The bursts of light were becoming more intense, and more frequent, and the noise from the wind and light was deafening, they couldn’t have heard their neighbor scream in their ear if anyone had attempted.
Then, across the plains, came a voice, screaming into the sky, the voice of the man. The words were clear, but alien, none of the villagers could understand them. But the force behind them rivaled the light from the storm.
It was then that there ceased to be single bolts of the pure power, and the whole sky turned to the insane shade of white, and the roar shook the earth.
But the man’s voice could still be heard, miles away, tearing over the storm, and suddenly, the whole storm streaked to his little spot on the plains, ripping the world apart as it went.
Then the sky was clear. Bright and sunny, with a few scattered clouds meandering across the sky. The crowed slowly picked themselves up, and began muttering amongst themselves. Not one could make sense of what had happened, and they all quickly retired to their homes, moving quickly.
All but one.
A boy, looking around carefully, hurried out to where the strange man had been. It took the boy a long time to reach the place, but he was certain it was right. The air shimmered and whined at him as he walked through it, tingling his skin, making him uneasy and worried. But he pressed on, because he saw something strange. Not one bit of the man’s strange equipment remained, the boy had watched the man with fascination as he had brought it out. But there was a paper, fluttering weakly in the breeze, pinned down by something. The boy neared, as he walked, the air parted as if it were a curtain, not insubstantial like usual, and saw a note, speared to the earth on a key. He removed the key and picked up the note, which simply said,
“Prepare.”
He looked around, and thought he saw the man, but not the man, a ghostly image of him, give a smile and a nod, as if approving.
But the boy blinked, and suddenly everything was as it should be, the air no longer thick, but clear and sunny. All was normal, except for the note and key in his hand, and the strange feeling left from walking through the odd air, and the memory of the impossible.
He backed slowly towards his village, tucked the key and the note away, then turned toward his village, walking, and thinking.
The door to Jace’s room opened suddenly, and he quickly turned his hand, hiding the key from view. It was Jace’s younger brother. “Mom says it’s time for dinner now.”
Jace stood and followed his younger brother to the kitchen table. Seated there were his father, who ran the shop, his mother, who ran everything else, and his younger brother, who just had turned seven.
Jace had three uncles, and the each ran farms, each rivaling the other for the largest in the area. Jace’s father bought the fruits of their labor and sold them. It was quite a tidy business, and not very hard, but it wasn’t Jace’s idea of much fun.
He was turning 21 and was learning the ins and outs of running a shop. And he was learning mostly that he didn’t enjoy it.
His mind wandered during dinner usually, and this night was to be no different, until Jace’s mother said, “Did you hear they’re tearing down that old boarded up house down the street?”
It was all he could do to keep himself from bursting. “Oh really? Why’s that?” he asked as calmly as possible.
It was his father who answered, “Oh I heard about that too, something about someone wanting the land and the usefulness of the lumber. And it’s a bit of an eyesore.”
Jace’s mind was whirling. Five years ago he had used the key he found in the plains, the same key he had tucked into a pocket right now, to open the back door of the house and let himself in. There was a trembling in the air as he slid the key into the lock, but as he gripped the knob on the door, it seemed to subside. He twisted the knob, and the door swung into the house, and he quickly walked into the house, closing the door behind him. It had taken him three days to get up enough courage to try to get into the house, for some reason he couldn’t explain to himself, he didn’t want to let anyone know what he had found.
The house was dark, but he found a candle and lit it, then wandered around the house. It wasn’t very big, a small bedroom, a kitchen, and an attic. But the study defied reason. It seemed to be too large for the house. And inside it housed books upon books upon books. The walls were lined with shelves, and the books were double layered upon them, there were three desks, all with four foot high stacks of books. And on the middle desk, there was a little clearing for writing and notes. He walked closer, and noticed that the books on this table were numbered and placed in order. He looked at the desk and saw a note written, nearly as brief as the one in the plains. It read, “Start with one. Work up from there.”
Jace smiled. He looked to the left, and sure enough, on the top of the pile to the direct left, was a book with a one written upon it. He opened it, sat on the chair near the desk, and began to read.
Five years later, he had read a large number of the books, and reread a good portion of those, and still had a staggering amount left to read. He had transcended the numbered books, at the end of a rather large volume, numbered 39, he found a note, which said, “Hope you’ve been practicing. Now in any order you like.”
In the others he had found similar notes from the man, whose name, he learned, was Galor, offering tips and advice, wisdom and ideas.
But the books! At first he took them to be fantastic imaginary tales, they spoke of demons and kingdoms and dragons and magics and all sorts of wonderful fun. Halfway through book one, however, he read a description that chilled his blood. He was reading of a horrible invasion of demons on a castle and village, with heroic knights and powerful wizards defending. The battle looked to be won, but then a storm began to billow. Gigantic and purple, full of intense power and terror, it rolled across the sky, releasing demons and overtaking the village and castle, enslaving the people.
He shuddered, but read on. Eventually a few slaves with extraordinary magical talent banded together and overthrew the demons, casting them away to another dimension. These mages called themselves Adepts, and they became the guardians of the land. Thus ended book one, and book two confirmed his suspicions, it gave specific dates and historical sites, and maps and other detailed descriptions of the incredible tale he just read.
The next few books went into more detail about the way the government was set up, kings and lords over the lands, wild wizards and dangerous witches.
The books said there wasn’t a sure beginning to the demons, but from what Jace gathered, it was a magical experiment gone wrong, opening a portal into their dimension, and the wizards, thinking they had come into a great power, became servants of the demons living in the alternate world, and allowed the demons access to their dimension.
Then the Great Wars came, an inter-dimensional battle that lasted for generations, with humans slowly losing ground. And so the Great Wars ended, and for countless generations the human race was enslaved. But then the Adepts came, and brought peace to the land, and for longer than Jace had ever heard, things have been peaceful.
None of the adults knew of these tales, they all gave him strange looks when he had first asked about them, so he quickly gave up on that.
And the talk of what had happened to Galor ended. For a few days the people whispered about it, but all of a sudden it was as if no one had any remembrance of the events of just a week prior.
But Jace kept reading. He learned so much history his head hurt, and just when he thought he would give up, he opened book five, and learned about the many kinds of demons, their weaknesses and strengths, and their command structure and all sorts of odds and ends, many of which he had guessed from the battles and tales of the first books, but many things novel and interesting, many demons couldn’t stand fire or heat of any kind, most hated sunlight in any fashion, others disliked the cold intensely. And they all wanted to enslave the human world.
So books five and six passed, then eight, nine and ten were of the wizards and witches and their magic. He finished those, and opened book eleven to learn about the Adepts. Their creator, their magic, their lives, heroic tales, their reign after, adventures of mystic lands and treasures discovered, and tales upon tales of the deed of the Adepts. And so book twenty-four ended, and Jace felt a sense of emptiness at the realization of the loss of the Adepts and the rise of trade and politics.
But his interest hit sky high when he opened and saw the title of the 25th book, How to Use Magic. He was to be disappointed though, as it was a dull lecture, of how to wisely use and not abuse magic, where and when, why and how, and it was obviously outdated, manners in mage duels and when eating at a kings table, to not use magic to move food, but allow the servers to serve you.
Jace had no idea how many times he rolled his eyes during that book, and took a few days off reading for his seventeenth birthday. Once, ages ago, his parents asked where he went. He had just come home from finishing book six, and he had said he took walks through the forest, exploring. That satisfied them easily enough, and it was asked no more.
When he came back, he opened up the twenty-sixth book, and wished he hadn’t taken time off at all. The title, clear and plain for him to see, Beginning Magic, and he could see the authors were some of the famous Adepts he had read about. He turned the page, and began to learn.
That was when he actually began to explore the forest; he had to find a place, the book said, to practice. It HAD to be outdoors, and it HAD to have a stream and a clearing. It was very explicit. That was all to chapter two, so he decided to get right on it. Chapter one had been about how everyone could perform magic, it was simply a matter of patience and practice. And finding the stream in a clearing apparently, Jace had thought to himself.
So he found his clearing with a stream, far into the forests to the north, where there were no trails and he was sure no one would bother him, and opened his book. Chapter three was meditation, and so Jace spent thirty minutes reading how, and the next three hours unsuccessfully meditating. So he went home to dinner, and that night he tried again, and was roused in the morning by his brother, who said, “Jace, mom says breakfast is ready,” then wandered out.
So later that day, after he had finished stocking the shelves of his father’s store, he went to his clearing again. His father had been giving him more time off lately, which was contrary to what Jace was worried about, but he didn’t complain about all the free time, he took advantage of it, and disappeared for hours, to read.
At his clearing, he felt he had got the knack of meditation down, and began his next chapter, meditation with magic. That took several weeks. Finally, he learned to move a pebble with his mind, and that sent him dancing around his clearing, sending birds flying with his cheers and shouts for joy.
He learned to manipulate wind and water, and could gather quite a storm up occasionally with his stream and the air around him.
And so the books progressed, and the progress was much slower than the first twenty six, as he had to work and practice, and wouldn’t settle to move on until he felt he had mastered the task he was on.
So he learned how to create fire without matches, and again his stream came in handy when he caught his clearing on fire. That taught him to use care, and he never used his magic without carefully considering first, which was what book twenty five had told him, he had just never thought it would apply to him.
He stopped in the middle of whirling several stones around his head, holding the stones in the air with his mind. He laughed. “I am doing magic. I, Jace, am a practicing mage. At only eighteen!”
And he whirled the stones faster and faster until he let go, sending them shooting off in different directions, and with several thuds, they landed in the middle of their targets, which he had set up earlier, and were now riddled with stones.
Satisfied, he sat down to the book again, and learned to heal, but didn’t practice, as he wasn’t sick or injured, and didn’t care to inflict it upon himself.
And so he learned much magic, and then closed book number thirty nine after reading the note with a smile. He leaned back in his chair, and looked at the mass of books surrounding him. They were, he had learned by browsing their titles, books of advanced magics, and some of them had volumes of teachings from years of experiments.
And these he browsed, and learned more and more, but never had occasion to practice much of it, for many of the spells had terrible effects, firestorms that would last for minutes, terrible winds, earthquakes, and other such.
But others were much more amazing and useful; such as slowing time and invisibility. And he had read less than one percent of the books there. In the attic he found many magical devices and contraptions, and used them occasionally, the invisibility useful for sneaking the larger ones into the forest, but very tiring.
And so Jace treasured the house, and all the knowledge and wonders it held. There were other books as well, more tales of adventures. And the night before Jace learned the fate of the house he had practically lived in for the past five years, he had stumbled across an amazing volume of books. The journals of Galor.
But the night was late, so Jace went to his bed, and without his meditation, he wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep, his excitement to finally learn of the life of the man who had changed his life five years ago.
So Jace was back to the conversation, saying “How soon are they going to start tearing down the house?”
His father looked at him and, smiling, said, “Oh they’re making it a big festival, day after tomorrow, Saturday. We’ll feast and then tear it down. Whole town is coming out for it.”
Jace smiled back at him and ate his dinner without another word, his mind furiously working through spells and sigils, magics and even battles, in attempt to prevent this disaster from striking his den of treasure.
The next morning he woke early and left, skipping the stocking of the shelves and went straight to the house, under cover of invisibility. He sat in his chair and thought back to the first time he had entered the house, the simple ward he had passed through. It had kept the house safe for five years, the spell Galor cast, almost as an afterthought, but it wasn’t enough to withstand such an effort as was going to take place tomorrow.
Jace shivered, then got to work.
He returned to his bed late that night, under the cover of invisibility, which was flickering embarrassingly, his energy spent. He had begun the day with the most powerful time-slowing spell he knew. In the twelve hours he spent at the house to the rest of the world, he spent two days, not sleeping, not eating, and casting, carefully, but quickly and powerfully, the spells that he hoped would save the house. He had several layers of defense, and hoped that the first would be enough. He knew, however, that over preparing was far better than under preparing. If it came down to it, he knew, he would openly defy those attempting to break the house down, and explain things.
But he desperately didn’t wish to resort to that. The town spoke little of magics, the subject had been avoided before the loss of Galor, fear and superstision clouding reason, but after Galor disappeared, any mention of magic would result in being ignored for days. Jace had learned that early on, telling tales he had read.
And so he woke the next morning, feeling amazed at how well meditated sleep refocused and restored, to the clamor of the festival being prepared. The feast would be at twelve, and then around four the house would begin to be raided.
“Over my dead body,” Jace muttered.
He wished he had known of this sooner, he would have simply moved all the treasures to a safe place. But that would have taken at least a week with magic, and more than a month without. But his hobby, his life, was magic, not town gossip, and so he took the troubles in stride, but was very worried for the future of his house. He had no money to buy the house with, or even the lot with, and though the lot the house was on was Galor’s property, and Galor had given Jace the key, he hardly thought that the town would consider that grounds to give him the house. Especially since he had found the key, instead of it being given to him.
So he joined the rush of people to the benches set out in front of the mystic house, and learned that people feared the house. He heard whispers of it being haunted, Galor’s ghost lived there, people swearing they saw a candle passing windows often, doors closing and exaggerated tales. Jace cursed himself. He had gotten lax over the years, not worrying to much about the secrecy of his activities in the house, and it was probably one of the reasons that the townspeople wanted it gone.
But there was no sense in beating himself up about it, he was determined to have a good time, enjoy the feast, and be ready for whatever needed to happen afterward.
So the feast began, and Jace found himself speaking with the others near his age, and he found them extraordinarily dull, their minds closed to so much, they spoke of who was talking to who and why, and other frivolous things, so much so that Jace wanted to excuse himself and vomit. But he stayed, and ate plate after plate, the food was delicious, all the village women competed with one another to be the best cook, both in quality and quantity.
During his feasting, Jace overheard some of the older men talking of stories from the coast, and decided he liked that subject far more than why Jesse was no longer smiling at Tyler these past weeks. So he performed a small bit of magic, and the irritating voices around him quieted and the older, more patient and thoughtful voices grew louder.
“Yes the trade lines are opening up all over!” “I hear that it looks like the spokes of a wheel, coming out from Aurelia!” “And our little road is due to get a wagon any day I hear!” “Straight from the coast, that’s right.” “Exotic things from the deserts to the south and the snow-lands in the north!” “I’ve been saving my money ever since I heard of such an idea!”
Jace smiled. The politics and trade rise had been hundreds of years before, but outlying towns like his hadn’t seen head nor tail of a wagon with goods in all those centuries. There wasn’t enough for his village to offer, so far from the coast, not on a trade route, and their village was self sufficient anyway. Jace doubted the men’s hope of a trade wagon would be realized, their only hope for goods was to visit one of the major cities, but he was intrigued nonetheless. They began to talk about the city mayors and their practices, and was curious to how they got their information, travelers to their tiny village were few and far between, but there were those, such as the blacksmith, he supposed, who went to Cyreen, the nearest city, to purchase iron and other supplies fairly regularly.
So four came closer, and Jace began to be nervous, and concentrate more on his own problems than what the duke of Cyreen did to his brother. Jace sighed. Apparently aging didn’t change your conversation, it just made the regular people tiresome after decades.
So he looked towards the house, which fairly glowed of power. But only to Jace, who had become accustomed to such things. The rest of the village considered it a menace, and a menace they would remove. If their meal ever ended. Four o’clock came and went, and then five, and Jace began to be confused. Six came around, and Jace couldn’t believe his luck, and then the sun set, and everyone began to go home.
Jace found himself walking home with his father, behind his younger brother, who was dancing around in the street. “I thought the house was going down today?” Jace asked his father.
“Yes that’s what I was told, but I was misinformed, today was the feast, tomorrow is finishing the leftovers and getting the dirty work done. I was wondering, personally, how we were going to tear a whole house down in half a day.”
Jace nodded, disappointed. He had thought the whole thing had been unofficially called off, his discouragement spells, the first of his line of defense, had done the trick. But they hadn’t even been tested yet.
“Tomorrow then,” Jace said, and went to bed, wanting to get plenty of rest.
This time Jace woke before dawn, and far before the others in his village, but, following yesterday’s reminder for caution, he went to the house invisible, slipped in through the back, and looked around. He dropped the invisibility with a sigh, and stepped into the study. There was a spell he was wary to try, but the time had come to test it. It took tremendous energy, and there were countless dangers associated with it, but the only way to get the knowledge of the study completely out of harm’s way was to attempt to teleport it. The only place he could think of was his clearing deep in the woods, and it would be safe enough there for the time being while the house stood the test, and he had plenty of wards placed there, both from practicing and for protection. So Jace went to the attic, opened a trunk, and pulled out a small glass ball.
Whispering some words to the ball, the clearing came into view, and he nodded, satisfied it was clear and safe to send the tomes of treasure there. He walked around the room, drawing sigils in the air as he went, sparks flying from his fingers, the glow of magic hovering in the air where his hands had traced.
He checked everything twice, making sure everything was set, and muttered the last few words, and with a rush of air, everything was gone. The study looked bare, and rather smaller than before, without its majestic books crowded all over. And then Jace fell to the floor, exhausted, and blacked out.
He came to with the rising of the sun, and quickly checked his scrying glass, which still showed his clearing, but this time full of books and shelves and three tables, one with an area cleared away for notes, and the chair in which Jace had spent nearly five years in.
He whispered to the ball again, and it showed the village. The streets were still empty, so Jace went to the attic to pack a few things away he particularly wanted. Sending all the books and tables, shelves and chair away had been relatively easy, they were all made from the same thing, wood. Trying to send an attic full of bobbles and bangles of all sorts of magic and mundane creation would be like moving twenty libraries. Swords enough to equip a small army would be easier to teleport than the mix of materials found in the attic. Not that there weren’t swords enough to equip a small army, there were also spears and other weapons as well of the same quantity, all piled nicely in a corner of the house. But Jace felt no real need for those, so he stuck with the more useful; a nice magically strengthened cloak, which protected against the weather beautifully, a sturdy walking stick that fairly glowed with magic, useful in many different sorts of spells, but also handy to hit things with if need be, and Jace had read and practiced with it quite a bit, as many trees surrounding Jace’s clearing would be the first to tell. He took a few more odds and ends, a pack that stored far more than physically possible that was already half full of basic traveling supplies, and walked to his clearing.
He told himself he was simply putting the cloak, staff, and pack there and going back, but he really went to assure Galor’s journals made the journey safely. He smiled at the leather-bound books he had safely put on the main desk, then strode back to town, hoping to mingle with the others and see what was in store for the remainder of the house. He wondered what the villagers would think of the small armory in the attic, then smiled to think that he would be dead if they were in the attic poking through everything, so he wouldn’t get to find out anyway.
There was already a large crowd when he got back to town, and Jace was wondering what was going on so early, he didn’t think much would be getting started as of yet. Then he saw the wagons. He laughed. “So the old men saved their money for a good cause after all,” he said, jogging the rest of the way to see what was going on.
There were three wagons in all, each with just a few dregs of goods left, but the villagers didn’t know that, they were smitten by the fine silk and spices that the wagons were carrying. Everyone was laughing and joking happily, sharing stories with the traders, and Jace moved among them, listening, looking, but not taking part in anything.
Then one of the trader’s wares caught his attention. It wasn’t that they were out of the ordinary, but there was a shimmer about them. Jace looked closer and saw it was a magical ward, and deterred people from reaching towards the items themselves, like people were doing at all the other stalls. Instead the villagers were pointing, and at request, the trader would dip his hands through the magical barrier, pull out an item, and trade with the villagers for it.
Jace looked at the ward. It appeared fairly simply, and no adverse effects would take place if breached, it was just meant to keep people from taking on their own. Jace looked to the trader, a young man roughly Jace’s age, if not older. He was smiling and waving goodbye to some customers, but he was staring at Galor’s house instead of the retreating customers.
Jace looked towards the house, and flinched a bit. If the ward over this man’s simple jewelry was noticeable, then the wards Jace had placed on Galor’s house were a brass band marching down the street to anyone with magical training. He hadn’t worried about it because no one in the town had any kind of magical inclination at all, but he hadn’t given the slightest thought to travelers, let alone a caravan.
Jace cursed himself for the second time in two days. He walked up to the man with the ward over his wares and said, “Nice house isn’t it?”
This brought the trader out of the trance he was in, staring at the house, and after giving Jace a short look, said, “You put those up then? Impressive. You either have dead bodies you don’t want found or half the Duke’s treasure in there. Or both maybe?”
Jace looked at the trader, a bit taken aback. He stuttered. “Well I actually live over there,” he said as he pointed feebly to his own house.
“Sure you do. I’m Triven by the way. Nice to meet you. Where did you learn to do magic like that? Way out here in the middle of nowhere too! Impressive.”
Jace looked around nervously. Triven smiled and slapped Jace on the shoulder. “Not to worry, no one’s listening, and if they were, they couldn’t hear us anyway,” he gestured, and Jace noticed the shimmer of a ward, and, examining it, saw it to keep sound from traveling past it one way. It was nearly identical to the one he had around his clearing. With one major difference. He hadn’t cast it. It looked strange, seeing magic that wasn’t his creation.
Triven laughed. “You still haven’t told me your name. And whether it’s bodies or gold stashed in there.”
Jace finally relented, but didn’t relax. “My name is Jace. And it’s neither, just a place where I have a few things I may need. Where did you learn your magic? And I notice it’s not something you advertise to your companions you traveled here with, why is that?” Jace asked as he watched a young boy wander off with a small toy from another merchant’s display he escaped paying for.
“Aye, I don’t tell my companions, they don’t trust magic as a rule, and I don’t trust one or two of them myself. As for magic, I learned it from my tutor, Cylar. But careful friend, many cities aren’t to be trusting magic nowadays, as not many mayors and dukes get magicians subscribed to their services. So if there’s no way of controlling it… well lets just say they’ve talked of banning magic.”
Jace looked at Triven, stunned, and Triven laughed. “Oh it’s not quite that bad as of yet. Most cities are setting up magic schools even to make their own little force of mages to be reckoned with, criminals better watch twice in their cities! But there is the occasional city that is considering putting a ban on magic. I think they’re just blowing hot air though.”
Jace stood there blinking. He hadn’t actually had a conversation that he cared about in so long he felt out of practice. “So… your companions are from a city with a ban on magic, making them wary of it. Right?”
“Aye, something like that. Either that or they’re too impatient to learn it. It takes real brains to be able to command something so powerful. And by the looks of that house you set up there it looks like you have plenty to spare. How long did that take you anyway? Couple of weeks?”
“Aye, something like that,” Jace said, mimicking the way the trader spoke with half a smile. Triven looked hard at Jace for a few seconds, then broke out into a wide grin.
“You’re all right, you know that? Why are you hanging out here anyway for? There’s so much to do, so much to see! And you’re sitting here? Where’s the fun in that?”
“Well…” Jace stopped. He had been feeling restless lately, and hadn’t realized it until just now. The stories he had read alone made him want to get up and see the world, but the fact that he, Jace, could use magic, was enough to make him want to travel to the edge of the world and back twice, just like those in the past. Finally he took a breath and said, “What are you suggesting?”
Triven’s grin grew even wider. “That’s the spirit. Well you say you have odds and ends, and curiosity alone makes me want to help you out, then there’s the profit too! So here’s the deal. We load your odds into my ends,” he opened up a door into his wagon to reveal a large space, shimmering like the pack Jace had liberated from the attic, “And we sell along the way. We’ll split the profits seventy your way, thirty mine, I get thirty for my smarts and my wagon, and we see the world. How does it sound?”
Jace thought on it. The attic had such an amazing variety of things, and he couldn’t see any reason to keep most of it. And with someone helping him, he could completely empty the house, especially if the town stayed distracted for any length of time. “How long will you stay here?” Jace finally asked.
“I’d say three days by the looks of things. You’ve got a tavern, and we’ve come a long way.”
Jace grinned. That was far better than he could have hoped. “I’m in.”
“That’s the spirit! Now lets mosey on over to that abode of yours so we can see what sorts of profits we’ll be making.”
Jace stopped him. “One thing I want clear first.”
“Oh?” Triven replied, looking worried.
Jace grinned. “Your brains and your wagon equal twenty percent profit. Deal?”
Triven’s worried look evaporated to be replaced by laughter. “Deal,” Triven turned, closed his wagon up, and locked the doors. “Let’s go see what we have to work with.”
Jace and Triven walked casually away, making sure no one was following, then they approached Galor’s house from the back. Triven appeared uneasy to pass the wards, but Jace grabbed him and pulled him through, and Triven shivered as he passed. “Mighty overkill I’d say,” Triven muttered as Jace unlocked the door. Jace was about to reply, but decided he didn’t want to give his life story to a stranger while sneaking around his village.
He led Triven to the attic, and once inside Triven let out a whistle. “Heck I’d take fifteen percent and walk away rich.”
Jace swiftly said, “Deal,” but Triven laughed and replied, “Too late, we’ve already closed the deal. Now the question is, what to take for the max profit and the least amount of problems from the law?”
Jace eyed him. “Can we take a bit less profit and no problems from the law?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Triven responded, already halfway across the attic, digging through trunks and piles. “Now, what’s off limits and what’s on?”
Jace glanced at the weapons piled in a corner, and replied, “Well, that depends on how much of a chance there is of getting arrested.”
“How about this. I make a pile of what I think will be the most profitable, and you can ask me about the legalities as I make it. Ok?”
Jace nodded, and they cleared some space for the pile. It grew slowly at first, but more quickly as Jace began to understand the sorts Triven was looking for, and they quickly had a large stack of items to sell.
“So how do we get these to your wagon without anyone seeing us then?” Jace asked, as they stood back to admire their handiwork.
“Err… we can’t just carry it? Or back my wagon up to the house?”
Jace shook his head. “No. These people don’t even know I can get into this house, let alone the fact that I have an enormous amount of exotic items while they’ve been waiting for a caravan like yours for years. Oh and they also don’t know that I’m leaving.”
“Hmm… Plan thwarted eh? Well I suppose we could wait for night, but that would take a couple of trips back and forth, might even take two of the three nights for us to get these out of here. But! All in the name of profit!”
With that, Triven turned and climbed down the stairs, and Jace followed him, wondering what he was getting himself into.
Jace and Triven spent the remainder of the day speaking with the townsfolk and the traders, there wasn’t much more buying and selling going on, and Jace worried that the traders might decide to pack up and leave before the day was through, let alone three days from now.
Night fell, and Triven and Jace went between the attic, loading the wagon with the goods they had sorted.
The next morning, Jace’s fears were confirmed, the caravan had decided to move out. Jace told his parents that morning about his intentions, and promised to visit when he could, and later that day, the villagers stood in the village square, watching the caravan move out, taking with it the young man who, the villagers realized, they didn’t know very much about. Had anyone not shunned Galor from their minds, they would have thought how similar they were, though they wouldn’t be able to put their finger on why.
So the caravan traveled that day at a brisk pace, heading towards the closest city, Cyreen, and towards the capital city, Aurelia. Jace and Triven didn’t speak much, they sat in silence, Triven guiding the oxen along the road, the rest of the caravan following behind.
Eventually, night fell, and the caravan pulled off the road to make camp. They shared a small meal, and the question came around, as Triven had warned Jace that it would, why Jace decided to join them. Jace looked up from his stew and said, “I’ve long wanted to travel the lands, and this seemed like the only chance I’d get. Triven here learned of my interest and decided to let me tag along.” The two of them had gone over the answer before, although it was hardly needed; it was the truth, after all.
The remainder of the caravan decided that this answer suited them, and sat in silence for a bit. It was then Jace asked the question he had been wondering since he saw the caravan pull into his little town. “Why is your caravan so small? And why did you come all the way out to our area? Surely there’s more profit in other lands?”
And at this, the members of the caravan looked to one another, and the leader of the small group, a tall lanky fellow whose name was Hacor, spoke.
“We began our journey out of the capital city of Aurelia.
Jace lay awake long into the night, worrying about the books he had left behind. After loading the wagon, Jace and Triven separated, but instead of going right home, Jace went to his grove one last time, loading some supplies that he would need. He also took Galor’s journals with him, and set up a few more safety wards around his clearing, sealing it from the weather, charms to keep people and animals from wandering in, and other small charms to keep the area hidden from magical discovery.
Satisfied that the books were safe, he walked back to his house, carrying his pack, laden with supplies. He looked back only once, to see that his spells were holding and hidden, this time there was no magical glare from the power of his wards, everything looked natural and at peace. He nodded in satisfaction, and made it home just as dawn was creeping over the horizon.
Deciding that sleep was not going to come to him soon, Jace got up and wandered out into the forest. The trees here were different from the once back home, even with just a day’s journey. They seemed less welcoming and darker. Jace took some breaths, feeling the air around him. It was one of his favorite ways to calm himself; he felt the waves of the air, reading their paths and relaxing into them. He toyed with the breeze a bit, stirring up a light twister just in front of him. he let it expand, lightly whipping through the trees, outward, as far as he could keep the twister going, and let it slip away as it became to large, the trees dissipating the wind too much. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped backwards, stifling a yell.
It was Triven. “What are you doing out here!” Jace hissed angrily.
“I could ask you the same thing! Are you trying to cause trouble or are you just stupid!”
“What are you going on about? I just couldn’t sleep, so I came out for a walk. That’s all.”
Triven laughed and waved his hand. “Oh, that’s all? And I suppose that insane windstorm was natural? You can’t be doing magic like that around here Jace! I told you about our fellow mates, they’re wary and a half about magic. And it’s more wary than I can explain. I’ve tried asking them about it, but they don’t give a straight answer. You’re just lucky it was my watch and not one of the others! For all I know they would have gutted you if they had seen that display of power.”
Jace cursed himself inwardly. He had forgotten that they set up watches at night. His was just before dawn. “Alright. It won’t happen again. You say you don’t know why they’re so wary of magic?”
Triven shook his head, “I joined their little group just recently, we haven’t really had much of a chance to get to know one another. We actually met up in Cyreen, and I decided to join them up to your little town. My guess is they had a bad run-in with a mage somewhere in their past, so I’ve kept my magic hidden from them. You need to be more careful and do the same. Aye?”
Jace sighed. “Aye. It’s a shame though, not using magic for so long, how do you handle it?”
Triven grinned. “Well if I had to guess, I would say that magic is slightly different for you than for me. Me, it’s something confusing, unwieldy, and almost more trouble than it’s worth. But from what I’ve seen, magic for you is like breathing. Am I close?”
Jace laughed. “I never said magic was easy!”
Triven shook his head. “Well if you do that crazy windstuff to relax, I say that’s as good as you saying it was easy. Something like that would probably kill me from the effort. I could never handle it.”
Jace looked at Triven. He had never realized that a magic wielder couldn’t become as powerful as they wanted, all the stories he had read of magic users, they had vast command of it. Far more so than he. But then again, he rationalized, the stories of swordsmen and archers seemed to have almost mystical power with their weapon, and the few tries Jace had with said weapons would be classified in all circles as disaster. It was then Jace first really noticed the sword Triven had sheathed on his belt. It had been there the whole time, but Jace hadn’t really seen it until now, Triven had acted so casual about it. But now Jace wondered if Triven’s swordsmanship rivaled his magical abilities.
The two headed back to the camp, and Triven roused another of the caravan for the watch, and Jace slipped into a deep magical sleep.
WHERE DO THEY PUT THEIR WAGON AND GOODS?
So the next morning the caravan moved out, and at midday the city of Cyreen appeared on the horizon. They rolled past the gates without a hitch, and parted ways with the others. Triven said they were heading to his master’s house.
It was a dingy old shop, his master had been an alchemist, making potions for the wealthy and cheap, and as they walked into the shop, Jace remarked how cluttered the shop looked.
Triven nodded, looking around, a worried look on his face. “It’s usually cluttered, but this is a disaster. I’ve never seen his shop like this.”
Triven hurried to the backroom, and Jace heard a gasp. He followed behind a saw a man lying dead on the floor, his blood still wet around him, with Triven kneeling by him. Jace shook his head.
“He’s dead. Illenar is dead. Why? Who would do this?” Triven muttered in despair.
Jace then noticed something on the bed. He walked over, picking up the piece of paper.
“Triven, come look at this.”
Triven stood and looked over Jace’s shoulder at the words on the parchment. “And so begins the fall of the Adepts, and the rise of the ???name of evil organization???”
They stood there silently for a moment, then Jace took his friend’s shoulder and walked him out of the house. They kept walking till they got to a quiet tavern, and sat down in a secluded booth. The barmaid came over, and Jace ordered them some ???type of drink???, and Triven began to pull himself together.
“He never did anything to hurt anyone. How could this happen?” Triven asked Jace.
Jace shrugged, and said “I don’t have any idea, but I do believe that this note key. When you’re ready we’ll need to go back and look for more clues.”
Triven just stared into his drink. Jace sighed and let his own thoughts wander. He had never seen anyone dead before, but seeing Triven’s old teacher didn’t faze him for some reason. He thought to the note, and suddenly sat up.
“Triven,” he said, waiting for his friend to look up. When he didn’t, Jace continued on anyway. “This note that was left, it makes it seem like your teacher was an Adept, doesn’t it?”
Triven looked up. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It means that the Adepts still exist! If we can find them, we can join their ranks! We can help the world!”
Triven looked at Jace for a few seconds, then said, “I knew the Adepts existed. Illenar introduced me to them a few times.”
Jace sat staring at Triven. Ever since reading the histories, he had wanted to meet the Adepts and join their cause, if they still existed. And here was Triven, telling him that they not only existed, but he knew some of them! Jace didn’t know what to say.
And so he sat there, mouth half open, with Triven still wallowing in his grief, when the waitress came back, sunny and cheerful, dropping off their drinks.
Jace waited until the waitress was gone, then said, “Triven, we have to find the Adepts! If Galor is linked to them, I must make contact with them!”
Triven looked up without enthusiasm. “Oh?” He said, with his voice leaving every sign he didn’t want to utter the syllable.
“Yes. Come on, we’re leaving.”
Triven stood up, annoyed. “We do not need to see the Adepts. All they are is a bunch of old fools who talk of things that have past. They do nothing. We would be wasting our time. I’m going back to take care of Illenar’s body.” Triven dropped some coins onto the table, far more than needed for their two drinks, but Jace said nothing.
They walked quietly back to Illenar’s house, through the now-empty streets. Finally rounding the last corner, they see a young man banging furiously on Illenar’s door, looking behind him as if frightened. Triven, already in a strange mood, snapped. “What are you doing!” he yelled at the door-banger.
Startled, the young man jumped and turned. Seeing Triven and Jace seemed to relieve him, and he grew cocky. “What business of it is yours?” he said, his voice dripping contempt.
The man had said it would come, for three years now he had been arguing and whispering, trying to convince them. And most of all he was in his study. It was the essence of power, he told them, whenever one had the uncommon chance to happen into the cramped area. They stood staring, awed by the countless books. They weren’t like the books they saw elsewhere. These books had the look of hidden knowledge, and had been collected over the years by this man. He left for months, sometimes years at a time, and would come back, sometimes looking younger than he had when he left, but more often, his eyes would look as though they had seen far too much, and times like those he would often shut himself in his house for days.
And the times he came back looking younger, he was the life of the village. He had presents for all the children, and would entertain them for hours, cheerful and happy.
But no one had seen him happy in years now.
So the storm clouds billowed, strange and purple, not the usual black that came, but those came on the other side of the year, never now, and certainly never purple. There was an evil about them, and the townsfolk huddled together, staring worriedly at the storm, and nervously at the man, all alone, out in the distance, fooling with rope and poles and several books and some papers with notes. They had seen him take several trips out into the plains, but no one offered to help, they stood and watched him, as he whispered calculations to himself.
Three weeks ago he had given up trying to convince the villagers to leave their homes. And that was the last time he had said anything to anyone.
“Fine. Enjoy your last days. We’re all doomed now anyway. Running would only give you a few weeks, maybe a month if you’re lucky. I have given up.”
And for three days no one saw him.
Then he came out of his house, with odds and ends they had never seen before, and walked several miles, several times, out to the middle of the plains, laden with strange and exotic things, nothing any of the villagers could even hope to name.
And then this morning, he had locked the door to his house, muttering something, touching his door as if sad, then walked out to his strange contraption. It was then the villagers started to congregate in the village square, just a few at first, who stopped in the street to watch this strange goodbye to a house, and then, as if entranced, watched the man stride off into the distance.
Then the clouds started to gather.
They looked natural at first, but then the bystanders noticed the clouds started to form over the plains, instead of rolling in like the normal thunderstorms do. It got larger and closer then, and they noticed the strange hue to the clouds. It was then the bystanders called to their friends and family.
The crowd stood, staring at the amazing scene unfolding, stupefied. Not one thought of the warnings the man had given to them, not even a thought crossed their minds. It was unnatural, and impossible to turn from.
The storm began to loom, impossibly large, the edge beginning to cast a shadow over their little town, and suddenly, everything was dark.
The crowd, hushed and terrified, looked around, alarmed, then the flashes of light began. Brilliant streaks of power arced across the sky, but only feinting at the ground. They were akin to lightning, but only as closely related to lighting as lightning is similar to a candle. The pure power emanating from the clouds was terrifying, and the people were trembling.
The bursts of light were becoming more intense, and more frequent, and the noise from the wind and light was deafening, they couldn’t have heard their neighbor scream in their ear if anyone had attempted.
Then, across the plains, came a voice, screaming into the sky, the voice of the man. The words were clear, but alien, none of the villagers could understand them. But the force behind them rivaled the light from the storm.
It was then that there ceased to be single bolts of the pure power, and the whole sky turned to the insane shade of white, and the roar shook the earth.
But the man’s voice could still be heard, miles away, tearing over the storm, and suddenly, the whole storm streaked to his little spot on the plains, ripping the world apart as it went.
Then the sky was clear. Bright and sunny, with a few scattered clouds meandering across the sky. The crowed slowly picked themselves up, and began muttering amongst themselves. Not one could make sense of what had happened, and they all quickly retired to their homes, moving quickly.
All but one.
A boy, looking around carefully, hurried out to where the strange man had been. It took the boy a long time to reach the place, but he was certain it was right. The air shimmered and whined at him as he walked through it, tingling his skin, making him uneasy and worried. But he pressed on, because he saw something strange. Not one bit of the man’s strange equipment remained, the boy had watched the man with fascination as he had brought it out. But there was a paper, fluttering weakly in the breeze, pinned down by something. The boy neared, as he walked, the air parted as if it were a curtain, not insubstantial like usual, and saw a note, speared to the earth on a key. He removed the key and picked up the note, which simply said,
“Prepare.”
He looked around, and thought he saw the man, but not the man, a ghostly image of him, give a smile and a nod, as if approving.
But the boy blinked, and suddenly everything was as it should be, the air no longer thick, but clear and sunny. All was normal, except for the note and key in his hand, and the strange feeling left from walking through the odd air, and the memory of the impossible.
He backed slowly towards his village, tucked the key and the note away, then turned toward his village, walking, and thinking.
The door to Jace’s room opened suddenly, and he quickly turned his hand, hiding the key from view. It was Jace’s younger brother. “Mom says it’s time for dinner now.”
Jace stood and followed his younger brother to the kitchen table. Seated there were his father, who ran the shop, his mother, who ran everything else, and his younger brother, who just had turned seven.
Jace had three uncles, and the each ran farms, each rivaling the other for the largest in the area. Jace’s father bought the fruits of their labor and sold them. It was quite a tidy business, and not very hard, but it wasn’t Jace’s idea of much fun.
He was turning 21 and was learning the ins and outs of running a shop. And he was learning mostly that he didn’t enjoy it.
His mind wandered during dinner usually, and this night was to be no different, until Jace’s mother said, “Did you hear they’re tearing down that old boarded up house down the street?”
It was all he could do to keep himself from bursting. “Oh really? Why’s that?” he asked as calmly as possible.
It was his father who answered, “Oh I heard about that too, something about someone wanting the land and the usefulness of the lumber. And it’s a bit of an eyesore.”
Jace’s mind was whirling. Five years ago he had used the key he found in the plains, the same key he had tucked into a pocket right now, to open the back door of the house and let himself in. There was a trembling in the air as he slid the key into the lock, but as he gripped the knob on the door, it seemed to subside. He twisted the knob, and the door swung into the house, and he quickly walked into the house, closing the door behind him. It had taken him three days to get up enough courage to try to get into the house, for some reason he couldn’t explain to himself, he didn’t want to let anyone know what he had found.
The house was dark, but he found a candle and lit it, then wandered around the house. It wasn’t very big, a small bedroom, a kitchen, and an attic. But the study defied reason. It seemed to be too large for the house. And inside it housed books upon books upon books. The walls were lined with shelves, and the books were double layered upon them, there were three desks, all with four foot high stacks of books. And on the middle desk, there was a little clearing for writing and notes. He walked closer, and noticed that the books on this table were numbered and placed in order. He looked at the desk and saw a note written, nearly as brief as the one in the plains. It read, “Start with one. Work up from there.”
Jace smiled. He looked to the left, and sure enough, on the top of the pile to the direct left, was a book with a one written upon it. He opened it, sat on the chair near the desk, and began to read.
Five years later, he had read a large number of the books, and reread a good portion of those, and still had a staggering amount left to read. He had transcended the numbered books, at the end of a rather large volume, numbered 39, he found a note, which said, “Hope you’ve been practicing. Now in any order you like.”
In the others he had found similar notes from the man, whose name, he learned, was Galor, offering tips and advice, wisdom and ideas.
But the books! At first he took them to be fantastic imaginary tales, they spoke of demons and kingdoms and dragons and magics and all sorts of wonderful fun. Halfway through book one, however, he read a description that chilled his blood. He was reading of a horrible invasion of demons on a castle and village, with heroic knights and powerful wizards defending. The battle looked to be won, but then a storm began to billow. Gigantic and purple, full of intense power and terror, it rolled across the sky, releasing demons and overtaking the village and castle, enslaving the people.
He shuddered, but read on. Eventually a few slaves with extraordinary magical talent banded together and overthrew the demons, casting them away to another dimension. These mages called themselves Adepts, and they became the guardians of the land. Thus ended book one, and book two confirmed his suspicions, it gave specific dates and historical sites, and maps and other detailed descriptions of the incredible tale he just read.
The next few books went into more detail about the way the government was set up, kings and lords over the lands, wild wizards and dangerous witches.
The books said there wasn’t a sure beginning to the demons, but from what Jace gathered, it was a magical experiment gone wrong, opening a portal into their dimension, and the wizards, thinking they had come into a great power, became servants of the demons living in the alternate world, and allowed the demons access to their dimension.
Then the Great Wars came, an inter-dimensional battle that lasted for generations, with humans slowly losing ground. And so the Great Wars ended, and for countless generations the human race was enslaved. But then the Adepts came, and brought peace to the land, and for longer than Jace had ever heard, things have been peaceful.
None of the adults knew of these tales, they all gave him strange looks when he had first asked about them, so he quickly gave up on that.
And the talk of what had happened to Galor ended. For a few days the people whispered about it, but all of a sudden it was as if no one had any remembrance of the events of just a week prior.
But Jace kept reading. He learned so much history his head hurt, and just when he thought he would give up, he opened book five, and learned about the many kinds of demons, their weaknesses and strengths, and their command structure and all sorts of odds and ends, many of which he had guessed from the battles and tales of the first books, but many things novel and interesting, many demons couldn’t stand fire or heat of any kind, most hated sunlight in any fashion, others disliked the cold intensely. And they all wanted to enslave the human world.
So books five and six passed, then eight, nine and ten were of the wizards and witches and their magic. He finished those, and opened book eleven to learn about the Adepts. Their creator, their magic, their lives, heroic tales, their reign after, adventures of mystic lands and treasures discovered, and tales upon tales of the deed of the Adepts. And so book twenty-four ended, and Jace felt a sense of emptiness at the realization of the loss of the Adepts and the rise of trade and politics.
But his interest hit sky high when he opened and saw the title of the 25th book, How to Use Magic. He was to be disappointed though, as it was a dull lecture, of how to wisely use and not abuse magic, where and when, why and how, and it was obviously outdated, manners in mage duels and when eating at a kings table, to not use magic to move food, but allow the servers to serve you.
Jace had no idea how many times he rolled his eyes during that book, and took a few days off reading for his seventeenth birthday. Once, ages ago, his parents asked where he went. He had just come home from finishing book six, and he had said he took walks through the forest, exploring. That satisfied them easily enough, and it was asked no more.
When he came back, he opened up the twenty-sixth book, and wished he hadn’t taken time off at all. The title, clear and plain for him to see, Beginning Magic, and he could see the authors were some of the famous Adepts he had read about. He turned the page, and began to learn.
That was when he actually began to explore the forest; he had to find a place, the book said, to practice. It HAD to be outdoors, and it HAD to have a stream and a clearing. It was very explicit. That was all to chapter two, so he decided to get right on it. Chapter one had been about how everyone could perform magic, it was simply a matter of patience and practice. And finding the stream in a clearing apparently, Jace had thought to himself.
So he found his clearing with a stream, far into the forests to the north, where there were no trails and he was sure no one would bother him, and opened his book. Chapter three was meditation, and so Jace spent thirty minutes reading how, and the next three hours unsuccessfully meditating. So he went home to dinner, and that night he tried again, and was roused in the morning by his brother, who said, “Jace, mom says breakfast is ready,” then wandered out.
So later that day, after he had finished stocking the shelves of his father’s store, he went to his clearing again. His father had been giving him more time off lately, which was contrary to what Jace was worried about, but he didn’t complain about all the free time, he took advantage of it, and disappeared for hours, to read.
At his clearing, he felt he had got the knack of meditation down, and began his next chapter, meditation with magic. That took several weeks. Finally, he learned to move a pebble with his mind, and that sent him dancing around his clearing, sending birds flying with his cheers and shouts for joy.
He learned to manipulate wind and water, and could gather quite a storm up occasionally with his stream and the air around him.
And so the books progressed, and the progress was much slower than the first twenty six, as he had to work and practice, and wouldn’t settle to move on until he felt he had mastered the task he was on.
So he learned how to create fire without matches, and again his stream came in handy when he caught his clearing on fire. That taught him to use care, and he never used his magic without carefully considering first, which was what book twenty five had told him, he had just never thought it would apply to him.
He stopped in the middle of whirling several stones around his head, holding the stones in the air with his mind. He laughed. “I am doing magic. I, Jace, am a practicing mage. At only eighteen!”
And he whirled the stones faster and faster until he let go, sending them shooting off in different directions, and with several thuds, they landed in the middle of their targets, which he had set up earlier, and were now riddled with stones.
Satisfied, he sat down to the book again, and learned to heal, but didn’t practice, as he wasn’t sick or injured, and didn’t care to inflict it upon himself.
And so he learned much magic, and then closed book number thirty nine after reading the note with a smile. He leaned back in his chair, and looked at the mass of books surrounding him. They were, he had learned by browsing their titles, books of advanced magics, and some of them had volumes of teachings from years of experiments.
And these he browsed, and learned more and more, but never had occasion to practice much of it, for many of the spells had terrible effects, firestorms that would last for minutes, terrible winds, earthquakes, and other such.
But others were much more amazing and useful; such as slowing time and invisibility. And he had read less than one percent of the books there. In the attic he found many magical devices and contraptions, and used them occasionally, the invisibility useful for sneaking the larger ones into the forest, but very tiring.
And so Jace treasured the house, and all the knowledge and wonders it held. There were other books as well, more tales of adventures. And the night before Jace learned the fate of the house he had practically lived in for the past five years, he had stumbled across an amazing volume of books. The journals of Galor.
But the night was late, so Jace went to his bed, and without his meditation, he wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep, his excitement to finally learn of the life of the man who had changed his life five years ago.
So Jace was back to the conversation, saying “How soon are they going to start tearing down the house?”
His father looked at him and, smiling, said, “Oh they’re making it a big festival, day after tomorrow, Saturday. We’ll feast and then tear it down. Whole town is coming out for it.”
Jace smiled back at him and ate his dinner without another word, his mind furiously working through spells and sigils, magics and even battles, in attempt to prevent this disaster from striking his den of treasure.
The next morning he woke early and left, skipping the stocking of the shelves and went straight to the house, under cover of invisibility. He sat in his chair and thought back to the first time he had entered the house, the simple ward he had passed through. It had kept the house safe for five years, the spell Galor cast, almost as an afterthought, but it wasn’t enough to withstand such an effort as was going to take place tomorrow.
Jace shivered, then got to work.
He returned to his bed late that night, under the cover of invisibility, which was flickering embarrassingly, his energy spent. He had begun the day with the most powerful time-slowing spell he knew. In the twelve hours he spent at the house to the rest of the world, he spent two days, not sleeping, not eating, and casting, carefully, but quickly and powerfully, the spells that he hoped would save the house. He had several layers of defense, and hoped that the first would be enough. He knew, however, that over preparing was far better than under preparing. If it came down to it, he knew, he would openly defy those attempting to break the house down, and explain things.
But he desperately didn’t wish to resort to that. The town spoke little of magics, the subject had been avoided before the loss of Galor, fear and superstision clouding reason, but after Galor disappeared, any mention of magic would result in being ignored for days. Jace had learned that early on, telling tales he had read.
And so he woke the next morning, feeling amazed at how well meditated sleep refocused and restored, to the clamor of the festival being prepared. The feast would be at twelve, and then around four the house would begin to be raided.
“Over my dead body,” Jace muttered.
He wished he had known of this sooner, he would have simply moved all the treasures to a safe place. But that would have taken at least a week with magic, and more than a month without. But his hobby, his life, was magic, not town gossip, and so he took the troubles in stride, but was very worried for the future of his house. He had no money to buy the house with, or even the lot with, and though the lot the house was on was Galor’s property, and Galor had given Jace the key, he hardly thought that the town would consider that grounds to give him the house. Especially since he had found the key, instead of it being given to him.
So he joined the rush of people to the benches set out in front of the mystic house, and learned that people feared the house. He heard whispers of it being haunted, Galor’s ghost lived there, people swearing they saw a candle passing windows often, doors closing and exaggerated tales. Jace cursed himself. He had gotten lax over the years, not worrying to much about the secrecy of his activities in the house, and it was probably one of the reasons that the townspeople wanted it gone.
But there was no sense in beating himself up about it, he was determined to have a good time, enjoy the feast, and be ready for whatever needed to happen afterward.
So the feast began, and Jace found himself speaking with the others near his age, and he found them extraordinarily dull, their minds closed to so much, they spoke of who was talking to who and why, and other frivolous things, so much so that Jace wanted to excuse himself and vomit. But he stayed, and ate plate after plate, the food was delicious, all the village women competed with one another to be the best cook, both in quality and quantity.
During his feasting, Jace overheard some of the older men talking of stories from the coast, and decided he liked that subject far more than why Jesse was no longer smiling at Tyler these past weeks. So he performed a small bit of magic, and the irritating voices around him quieted and the older, more patient and thoughtful voices grew louder.
“Yes the trade lines are opening up all over!” “I hear that it looks like the spokes of a wheel, coming out from Aurelia!” “And our little road is due to get a wagon any day I hear!” “Straight from the coast, that’s right.” “Exotic things from the deserts to the south and the snow-lands in the north!” “I’ve been saving my money ever since I heard of such an idea!”
Jace smiled. The politics and trade rise had been hundreds of years before, but outlying towns like his hadn’t seen head nor tail of a wagon with goods in all those centuries. There wasn’t enough for his village to offer, so far from the coast, not on a trade route, and their village was self sufficient anyway. Jace doubted the men’s hope of a trade wagon would be realized, their only hope for goods was to visit one of the major cities, but he was intrigued nonetheless. They began to talk about the city mayors and their practices, and was curious to how they got their information, travelers to their tiny village were few and far between, but there were those, such as the blacksmith, he supposed, who went to Cyreen, the nearest city, to purchase iron and other supplies fairly regularly.
So four came closer, and Jace began to be nervous, and concentrate more on his own problems than what the duke of Cyreen did to his brother. Jace sighed. Apparently aging didn’t change your conversation, it just made the regular people tiresome after decades.
So he looked towards the house, which fairly glowed of power. But only to Jace, who had become accustomed to such things. The rest of the village considered it a menace, and a menace they would remove. If their meal ever ended. Four o’clock came and went, and then five, and Jace began to be confused. Six came around, and Jace couldn’t believe his luck, and then the sun set, and everyone began to go home.
Jace found himself walking home with his father, behind his younger brother, who was dancing around in the street. “I thought the house was going down today?” Jace asked his father.
“Yes that’s what I was told, but I was misinformed, today was the feast, tomorrow is finishing the leftovers and getting the dirty work done. I was wondering, personally, how we were going to tear a whole house down in half a day.”
Jace nodded, disappointed. He had thought the whole thing had been unofficially called off, his discouragement spells, the first of his line of defense, had done the trick. But they hadn’t even been tested yet.
“Tomorrow then,” Jace said, and went to bed, wanting to get plenty of rest.
This time Jace woke before dawn, and far before the others in his village, but, following yesterday’s reminder for caution, he went to the house invisible, slipped in through the back, and looked around. He dropped the invisibility with a sigh, and stepped into the study. There was a spell he was wary to try, but the time had come to test it. It took tremendous energy, and there were countless dangers associated with it, but the only way to get the knowledge of the study completely out of harm’s way was to attempt to teleport it. The only place he could think of was his clearing deep in the woods, and it would be safe enough there for the time being while the house stood the test, and he had plenty of wards placed there, both from practicing and for protection. So Jace went to the attic, opened a trunk, and pulled out a small glass ball.
Whispering some words to the ball, the clearing came into view, and he nodded, satisfied it was clear and safe to send the tomes of treasure there. He walked around the room, drawing sigils in the air as he went, sparks flying from his fingers, the glow of magic hovering in the air where his hands had traced.
He checked everything twice, making sure everything was set, and muttered the last few words, and with a rush of air, everything was gone. The study looked bare, and rather smaller than before, without its majestic books crowded all over. And then Jace fell to the floor, exhausted, and blacked out.
He came to with the rising of the sun, and quickly checked his scrying glass, which still showed his clearing, but this time full of books and shelves and three tables, one with an area cleared away for notes, and the chair in which Jace had spent nearly five years in.
He whispered to the ball again, and it showed the village. The streets were still empty, so Jace went to the attic to pack a few things away he particularly wanted. Sending all the books and tables, shelves and chair away had been relatively easy, they were all made from the same thing, wood. Trying to send an attic full of bobbles and bangles of all sorts of magic and mundane creation would be like moving twenty libraries. Swords enough to equip a small army would be easier to teleport than the mix of materials found in the attic. Not that there weren’t swords enough to equip a small army, there were also spears and other weapons as well of the same quantity, all piled nicely in a corner of the house. But Jace felt no real need for those, so he stuck with the more useful; a nice magically strengthened cloak, which protected against the weather beautifully, a sturdy walking stick that fairly glowed with magic, useful in many different sorts of spells, but also handy to hit things with if need be, and Jace had read and practiced with it quite a bit, as many trees surrounding Jace’s clearing would be the first to tell. He took a few more odds and ends, a pack that stored far more than physically possible that was already half full of basic traveling supplies, and walked to his clearing.
He told himself he was simply putting the cloak, staff, and pack there and going back, but he really went to assure Galor’s journals made the journey safely. He smiled at the leather-bound books he had safely put on the main desk, then strode back to town, hoping to mingle with the others and see what was in store for the remainder of the house. He wondered what the villagers would think of the small armory in the attic, then smiled to think that he would be dead if they were in the attic poking through everything, so he wouldn’t get to find out anyway.
There was already a large crowd when he got back to town, and Jace was wondering what was going on so early, he didn’t think much would be getting started as of yet. Then he saw the wagons. He laughed. “So the old men saved their money for a good cause after all,” he said, jogging the rest of the way to see what was going on.
There were three wagons in all, each with just a few dregs of goods left, but the villagers didn’t know that, they were smitten by the fine silk and spices that the wagons were carrying. Everyone was laughing and joking happily, sharing stories with the traders, and Jace moved among them, listening, looking, but not taking part in anything.
Then one of the trader’s wares caught his attention. It wasn’t that they were out of the ordinary, but there was a shimmer about them. Jace looked closer and saw it was a magical ward, and deterred people from reaching towards the items themselves, like people were doing at all the other stalls. Instead the villagers were pointing, and at request, the trader would dip his hands through the magical barrier, pull out an item, and trade with the villagers for it.
Jace looked at the ward. It appeared fairly simply, and no adverse effects would take place if breached, it was just meant to keep people from taking on their own. Jace looked to the trader, a young man roughly Jace’s age, if not older. He was smiling and waving goodbye to some customers, but he was staring at Galor’s house instead of the retreating customers.
Jace looked towards the house, and flinched a bit. If the ward over this man’s simple jewelry was noticeable, then the wards Jace had placed on Galor’s house were a brass band marching down the street to anyone with magical training. He hadn’t worried about it because no one in the town had any kind of magical inclination at all, but he hadn’t given the slightest thought to travelers, let alone a caravan.
Jace cursed himself for the second time in two days. He walked up to the man with the ward over his wares and said, “Nice house isn’t it?”
This brought the trader out of the trance he was in, staring at the house, and after giving Jace a short look, said, “You put those up then? Impressive. You either have dead bodies you don’t want found or half the Duke’s treasure in there. Or both maybe?”
Jace looked at the trader, a bit taken aback. He stuttered. “Well I actually live over there,” he said as he pointed feebly to his own house.
“Sure you do. I’m Triven by the way. Nice to meet you. Where did you learn to do magic like that? Way out here in the middle of nowhere too! Impressive.”
Jace looked around nervously. Triven smiled and slapped Jace on the shoulder. “Not to worry, no one’s listening, and if they were, they couldn’t hear us anyway,” he gestured, and Jace noticed the shimmer of a ward, and, examining it, saw it to keep sound from traveling past it one way. It was nearly identical to the one he had around his clearing. With one major difference. He hadn’t cast it. It looked strange, seeing magic that wasn’t his creation.
Triven laughed. “You still haven’t told me your name. And whether it’s bodies or gold stashed in there.”
Jace finally relented, but didn’t relax. “My name is Jace. And it’s neither, just a place where I have a few things I may need. Where did you learn your magic? And I notice it’s not something you advertise to your companions you traveled here with, why is that?” Jace asked as he watched a young boy wander off with a small toy from another merchant’s display he escaped paying for.
“Aye, I don’t tell my companions, they don’t trust magic as a rule, and I don’t trust one or two of them myself. As for magic, I learned it from my tutor, Cylar. But careful friend, many cities aren’t to be trusting magic nowadays, as not many mayors and dukes get magicians subscribed to their services. So if there’s no way of controlling it… well lets just say they’ve talked of banning magic.”
Jace looked at Triven, stunned, and Triven laughed. “Oh it’s not quite that bad as of yet. Most cities are setting up magic schools even to make their own little force of mages to be reckoned with, criminals better watch twice in their cities! But there is the occasional city that is considering putting a ban on magic. I think they’re just blowing hot air though.”
Jace stood there blinking. He hadn’t actually had a conversation that he cared about in so long he felt out of practice. “So… your companions are from a city with a ban on magic, making them wary of it. Right?”
“Aye, something like that. Either that or they’re too impatient to learn it. It takes real brains to be able to command something so powerful. And by the looks of that house you set up there it looks like you have plenty to spare. How long did that take you anyway? Couple of weeks?”
“Aye, something like that,” Jace said, mimicking the way the trader spoke with half a smile. Triven looked hard at Jace for a few seconds, then broke out into a wide grin.
“You’re all right, you know that? Why are you hanging out here anyway for? There’s so much to do, so much to see! And you’re sitting here? Where’s the fun in that?”
“Well…” Jace stopped. He had been feeling restless lately, and hadn’t realized it until just now. The stories he had read alone made him want to get up and see the world, but the fact that he, Jace, could use magic, was enough to make him want to travel to the edge of the world and back twice, just like those in the past. Finally he took a breath and said, “What are you suggesting?”
Triven’s grin grew even wider. “That’s the spirit. Well you say you have odds and ends, and curiosity alone makes me want to help you out, then there’s the profit too! So here’s the deal. We load your odds into my ends,” he opened up a door into his wagon to reveal a large space, shimmering like the pack Jace had liberated from the attic, “And we sell along the way. We’ll split the profits seventy your way, thirty mine, I get thirty for my smarts and my wagon, and we see the world. How does it sound?”
Jace thought on it. The attic had such an amazing variety of things, and he couldn’t see any reason to keep most of it. And with someone helping him, he could completely empty the house, especially if the town stayed distracted for any length of time. “How long will you stay here?” Jace finally asked.
“I’d say three days by the looks of things. You’ve got a tavern, and we’ve come a long way.”
Jace grinned. That was far better than he could have hoped. “I’m in.”
“That’s the spirit! Now lets mosey on over to that abode of yours so we can see what sorts of profits we’ll be making.”
Jace stopped him. “One thing I want clear first.”
“Oh?” Triven replied, looking worried.
Jace grinned. “Your brains and your wagon equal twenty percent profit. Deal?”
Triven’s worried look evaporated to be replaced by laughter. “Deal,” Triven turned, closed his wagon up, and locked the doors. “Let’s go see what we have to work with.”
Jace and Triven walked casually away, making sure no one was following, then they approached Galor’s house from the back. Triven appeared uneasy to pass the wards, but Jace grabbed him and pulled him through, and Triven shivered as he passed. “Mighty overkill I’d say,” Triven muttered as Jace unlocked the door. Jace was about to reply, but decided he didn’t want to give his life story to a stranger while sneaking around his village.
He led Triven to the attic, and once inside Triven let out a whistle. “Heck I’d take fifteen percent and walk away rich.”
Jace swiftly said, “Deal,” but Triven laughed and replied, “Too late, we’ve already closed the deal. Now the question is, what to take for the max profit and the least amount of problems from the law?”
Jace eyed him. “Can we take a bit less profit and no problems from the law?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Triven responded, already halfway across the attic, digging through trunks and piles. “Now, what’s off limits and what’s on?”
Jace glanced at the weapons piled in a corner, and replied, “Well, that depends on how much of a chance there is of getting arrested.”
“How about this. I make a pile of what I think will be the most profitable, and you can ask me about the legalities as I make it. Ok?”
Jace nodded, and they cleared some space for the pile. It grew slowly at first, but more quickly as Jace began to understand the sorts Triven was looking for, and they quickly had a large stack of items to sell.
“So how do we get these to your wagon without anyone seeing us then?” Jace asked, as they stood back to admire their handiwork.
“Err… we can’t just carry it? Or back my wagon up to the house?”
Jace shook his head. “No. These people don’t even know I can get into this house, let alone the fact that I have an enormous amount of exotic items while they’ve been waiting for a caravan like yours for years. Oh and they also don’t know that I’m leaving.”
“Hmm… Plan thwarted eh? Well I suppose we could wait for night, but that would take a couple of trips back and forth, might even take two of the three nights for us to get these out of here. But! All in the name of profit!”
With that, Triven turned and climbed down the stairs, and Jace followed him, wondering what he was getting himself into.
Jace and Triven spent the remainder of the day speaking with the townsfolk and the traders, there wasn’t much more buying and selling going on, and Jace worried that the traders might decide to pack up and leave before the day was through, let alone three days from now.
Night fell, and Triven and Jace went between the attic, loading the wagon with the goods they had sorted.
The next morning, Jace’s fears were confirmed, the caravan had decided to move out. Jace told his parents that morning about his intentions, and promised to visit when he could, and later that day, the villagers stood in the village square, watching the caravan move out, taking with it the young man who, the villagers realized, they didn’t know very much about. Had anyone not shunned Galor from their minds, they would have thought how similar they were, though they wouldn’t be able to put their finger on why.
So the caravan traveled that day at a brisk pace, heading towards the closest city, Cyreen, and towards the capital city, Aurelia. Jace and Triven didn’t speak much, they sat in silence, Triven guiding the oxen along the road, the rest of the caravan following behind.
Eventually, night fell, and the caravan pulled off the road to make camp. They shared a small meal, and the question came around, as Triven had warned Jace that it would, why Jace decided to join them. Jace looked up from his stew and said, “I’ve long wanted to travel the lands, and this seemed like the only chance I’d get. Triven here learned of my interest and decided to let me tag along.” The two of them had gone over the answer before, although it was hardly needed; it was the truth, after all.
The remainder of the caravan decided that this answer suited them, and sat in silence for a bit. It was then Jace asked the question he had been wondering since he saw the caravan pull into his little town. “Why is your caravan so small? And why did you come all the way out to our area? Surely there’s more profit in other lands?”
And at this, the members of the caravan looked to one another, and the leader of the small group, a tall lanky fellow whose name was Hacor, spoke.
“We began our journey out of the capital city of Aurelia.
Jace lay awake long into the night, worrying about the books he had left behind. After loading the wagon, Jace and Triven separated, but instead of going right home, Jace went to his grove one last time, loading some supplies that he would need. He also took Galor’s journals with him, and set up a few more safety wards around his clearing, sealing it from the weather, charms to keep people and animals from wandering in, and other small charms to keep the area hidden from magical discovery.
Satisfied that the books were safe, he walked back to his house, carrying his pack, laden with supplies. He looked back only once, to see that his spells were holding and hidden, this time there was no magical glare from the power of his wards, everything looked natural and at peace. He nodded in satisfaction, and made it home just as dawn was creeping over the horizon.
Deciding that sleep was not going to come to him soon, Jace got up and wandered out into the forest. The trees here were different from the once back home, even with just a day’s journey. They seemed less welcoming and darker. Jace took some breaths, feeling the air around him. It was one of his favorite ways to calm himself; he felt the waves of the air, reading their paths and relaxing into them. He toyed with the breeze a bit, stirring up a light twister just in front of him. he let it expand, lightly whipping through the trees, outward, as far as he could keep the twister going, and let it slip away as it became to large, the trees dissipating the wind too much. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped backwards, stifling a yell.
It was Triven. “What are you doing out here!” Jace hissed angrily.
“I could ask you the same thing! Are you trying to cause trouble or are you just stupid!”
“What are you going on about? I just couldn’t sleep, so I came out for a walk. That’s all.”
Triven laughed and waved his hand. “Oh, that’s all? And I suppose that insane windstorm was natural? You can’t be doing magic like that around here Jace! I told you about our fellow mates, they’re wary and a half about magic. And it’s more wary than I can explain. I’ve tried asking them about it, but they don’t give a straight answer. You’re just lucky it was my watch and not one of the others! For all I know they would have gutted you if they had seen that display of power.”
Jace cursed himself inwardly. He had forgotten that they set up watches at night. His was just before dawn. “Alright. It won’t happen again. You say you don’t know why they’re so wary of magic?”
Triven shook his head, “I joined their little group just recently, we haven’t really had much of a chance to get to know one another. We actually met up in Cyreen, and I decided to join them up to your little town. My guess is they had a bad run-in with a mage somewhere in their past, so I’ve kept my magic hidden from them. You need to be more careful and do the same. Aye?”
Jace sighed. “Aye. It’s a shame though, not using magic for so long, how do you handle it?”
Triven grinned. “Well if I had to guess, I would say that magic is slightly different for you than for me. Me, it’s something confusing, unwieldy, and almost more trouble than it’s worth. But from what I’ve seen, magic for you is like breathing. Am I close?”
Jace laughed. “I never said magic was easy!”
Triven shook his head. “Well if you do that crazy windstuff to relax, I say that’s as good as you saying it was easy. Something like that would probably kill me from the effort. I could never handle it.”
Jace looked at Triven. He had never realized that a magic wielder couldn’t become as powerful as they wanted, all the stories he had read of magic users, they had vast command of it. Far more so than he. But then again, he rationalized, the stories of swordsmen and archers seemed to have almost mystical power with their weapon, and the few tries Jace had with said weapons would be classified in all circles as disaster. It was then Jace first really noticed the sword Triven had sheathed on his belt. It had been there the whole time, but Jace hadn’t really seen it until now, Triven had acted so casual about it. But now Jace wondered if Triven’s swordsmanship rivaled his magical abilities.
The two headed back to the camp, and Triven roused another of the caravan for the watch, and Jace slipped into a deep magical sleep.
WHERE DO THEY PUT THEIR WAGON AND GOODS?
So the next morning the caravan moved out, and at midday the city of Cyreen appeared on the horizon. They rolled past the gates without a hitch, and parted ways with the others. Triven said they were heading to his master’s house.
It was a dingy old shop, his master had been an alchemist, making potions for the wealthy and cheap, and as they walked into the shop, Jace remarked how cluttered the shop looked.
Triven nodded, looking around, a worried look on his face. “It’s usually cluttered, but this is a disaster. I’ve never seen his shop like this.”
Triven hurried to the backroom, and Jace heard a gasp. He followed behind a saw a man lying dead on the floor, his blood still wet around him, with Triven kneeling by him. Jace shook his head.
“He’s dead. Illenar is dead. Why? Who would do this?” Triven muttered in despair.
Jace then noticed something on the bed. He walked over, picking up the piece of paper.
“Triven, come look at this.”
Triven stood and looked over Jace’s shoulder at the words on the parchment. “And so begins the fall of the Adepts, and the rise of the ???name of evil organization???”
They stood there silently for a moment, then Jace took his friend’s shoulder and walked him out of the house. They kept walking till they got to a quiet tavern, and sat down in a secluded booth. The barmaid came over, and Jace ordered them some ???type of drink???, and Triven began to pull himself together.
“He never did anything to hurt anyone. How could this happen?” Triven asked Jace.
Jace shrugged, and said “I don’t have any idea, but I do believe that this note key. When you’re ready we’ll need to go back and look for more clues.”
Triven just stared into his drink. Jace sighed and let his own thoughts wander. He had never seen anyone dead before, but seeing Triven’s old teacher didn’t faze him for some reason. He thought to the note, and suddenly sat up.
“Triven,” he said, waiting for his friend to look up. When he didn’t, Jace continued on anyway. “This note that was left, it makes it seem like your teacher was an Adept, doesn’t it?”
Triven looked up. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It means that the Adepts still exist! If we can find them, we can join their ranks! We can help the world!”
Triven looked at Jace for a few seconds, then said, “I knew the Adepts existed. Illenar introduced me to them a few times.”
Jace sat staring at Triven. Ever since reading the histories, he had wanted to meet the Adepts and join their cause, if they still existed. And here was Triven, telling him that they not only existed, but he knew some of them! Jace didn’t know what to say.
And so he sat there, mouth half open, with Triven still wallowing in his grief, when the waitress came back, sunny and cheerful, dropping off their drinks.
Jace waited until the waitress was gone, then said, “Triven, we have to find the Adepts! If Galor is linked to them, I must make contact with them!”
Triven looked up without enthusiasm. “Oh?” He said, with his voice leaving every sign he didn’t want to utter the syllable.
“Yes. Come on, we’re leaving.”
Triven stood up, annoyed. “We do not need to see the Adepts. All they are is a bunch of old fools who talk of things that have past. They do nothing. We would be wasting our time. I’m going back to take care of Illenar’s body.” Triven dropped some coins onto the table, far more than needed for their two drinks, but Jace said nothing.
They walked quietly back to Illenar’s house, through the now-empty streets. Finally rounding the last corner, they see a young man banging furiously on Illenar’s door, looking behind him as if frightened. Triven, already in a strange mood, snapped. “What are you doing!” he yelled at the door-banger.
Startled, the young man jumped and turned. Seeing Triven and Jace seemed to relieve him, and he grew cocky. “What business of it is yours?” he said, his voice dripping contempt.
.
I didn't really understand why Jace would trust Trivan right off like he did, or Trivan him, so much so that they'd make some type of fiscal partnership? Or why, when Jace came across the dead body where Trivan was, there was like... not so much as a blink? A "dude, what the hell?!?!" moment? There were a few such scenes where, honestly, you lost me at the believability.
