July 12 / Hierschtan 20

  Alboim woke to Suzsise hovering over his bed. Her face was out of focus, blurry. Rubbing his eyes, he heard her shout, “Mistress Elspith, he’s waking up!” Someone had changed him into a night robe—he fervently hoped it was Bennit, but dared not ask.

  More lights approached his bed, and he tried to push himself upright. His arms were as floppy as fish. With a groan, he fell back onto the pillows. Aunt Elspith and Moara now stood over him. He could hear Suzsise and Bennit speaking in low tones, but could not make out their words.

  “Did you enjoy the arwa-scorching, you fool?” Her eyes were red, as though she had been crying. Even Moara looked worried. “You’ve slept like the dead for almost two whole days, and after I told you how dangerous it was to learn magecraft, you try to go experiment on your own? What in the icy halls of hell were you even thinking? You could have died, Alboim!”

  Moara put a hand on Elspith’s shoulder and shook her head. “What, exactly were you trying to do, Alboim?” she asked. “There were no talismans in the room or on you, nor was there any residue from one.”

  “Mom’s magic.” he croaked out. “I thought, from reading Dad’s books, that I had figured things out.”

  Moara nodded. “We have no one to guide you there. It would be interesting to see if you can use both methods of magic. Other than the Hero, I have never even heard of other systems. You should learn our ways, where you have someone to guide you and stop you before you burn yourself out. Then, if you decide to experiment, you have some training to fall back on. I would love to observe that. Just think, a dual power wielder.” Her voice picked up as she grew excited at the thought of new experiments.

  “It’s not all about research, damnit, Moara! I could have lost another one!” Elspith snarled.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Those two words ended the brewing argument before it could start. “I’m sorry, Aunt Elspith, that I did not listen to your warning. I listened, but I did not hear. I did not take it to heart or consider how rash I was. Forgive me.” Even that speech tired Alboim out, and he yawned hugely.

  “Well, you woke up, so the worst was avoided. I forgive you.” Elspith said. “Rest now, rest and some nourishment are what you need right now.” She traced a circle on his forehead, a small mark to help him sleep, and kissed him on his forehead. “Sweet dreams, wake well and refreshed.”

  When he woke up next, Suzsise gave him a glass to drink from, with a thin straw made of reed. The taste was horrible, overly sweet and cloying, thick. Like a banana that had gone completely black. He tried to refuse, but the girl looked so dejected that he gave in and drank the foul brew.

  The next day, Harralt sauntered in. “You gave everyone a real scare the other day.” he said, sitting casually on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure you want to go through with learning magic so quickly? I know, almost everyone gets arwa-scorched in their training, but your case was pretty bad. What you want to do in a month or two takes most mages three or four years.”

  “Most mages start before they are seventeen, too.” Alboim shot back, "I don’t have time for the slow and safe approach. Not if what Aunt Elspith is saying is true. I’m not going to try anything on my own again, but I have to push the envelope if I am going to survive here.”

  Harralt nodded. “I think I can help you there. I can mind transfer the basic magical symbology we use, and you can use your time recovering by cementing them in your brain. That way, when you can train with me and Oswalt, we can jump right into the meditation, which your father already gave you the basic foundation, and learn how to connect to your etere core properly.”

  Alboim considered. “OK,” he finally agreed.

  Harralt grinned, and pulled out a small canvas talisman. “I had the feeling you’d agree. Because of your scorching, this may sting a little, but it’s perfectly safe. No lasting damage, I swear by the God of Light.”

  Despite himself, Alboim yelped in pain when it felt like Harralt was driving an ice pick into his temples. He doubled over as the jackhammer dumped years-worth of learning into his brain. Unfortunately, Suzsise heard it from the other room.

  She rushed in. “Please, leave my master alone!” Suzsise berated Harralt. “He needs to recover before he can use magic again.”

  Alboim was shocked at her ability to stand up to another lord. “Go away and let Master rest! Go, or I will tell Mistress Elspith what you have done.” Her ears were laid back on her head, the hairs on her face puffed up, like a cat trying to intimidate a bulldog. Harralt beat a hasty retreat.

  She turned on him. “And you, master, when your aunt tells you no magic, listen to her! I should tell her anyway, but…”

  “I didn’t think it included other people working magic, though. I promise, I did not try to go back on my word to Aunt Elspith. So please, don’t tattle on me.” he begged. The pain was subsiding. “Harralt did warn me it would be painful, and he said there would be no side effects, so no harm, no foul.”

  Her fur began to settle down as she relaxed. “Yes, master. Just be good until you are better. I don’t know what will happen to me and Bennit if you leave us.”

  ~*** *** ***~

  July 16 / Hierschtan 24

  The three mages filed out of the workroom. Oswalt and Harralt were as fresh as a daisy, while Alboim was soaked in sweat, pale, and shaking. “You did very well, Alboim.” Oswalt encouraged him. “From now on, every time you touch your etere, it will be a little easier and quicker. With enough practice, it will be almost instantaneous. The best mages, like Countess Elspith, are so fast that it looks like they don’t meditate at all before channeling.”

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  Alboim ducked into the bedroom to change into dry clothes that Suzsise had helpfully laid out on the bed. Returning, the other lords were relaxing at the table while Bennit supervised a trio of maids with their meals. The blonde one from the cleaning crew winked at him and grinned, flashing white teeth.

  He ignored her as he took his own place. She is not into me, just my status. Don’t give in to the gold-digger. He reminded himself firmly. The meal was grilled river bass of some variety, with a salad. Light meals for lunch were normal; the summer heat and humidity dampened appetites. Heartier meals were reserved for late dinners or early breakfasts, where the heat was not so bad.

  Despite not feeling hungry, Alboim dug in. He’d need the calories and nutrients after the workout he’d had. Instead of tea, pitchers of switchel were presented. Alboim had become partial to the vinegar, ginger, and sorghum syrup-based drink.

  “Once you learn to touch etere well enough, we can move on to writing out talismans.” Oswalt continued their interrupted conversation.

  “Harralt gave me the symbology the other day, and I have been practicing them.”

  “Yes,” Oswalt chortled. “And got chased out by your cat girl. She’s a good little slave. It takes real courage to stand up to a lord, even in defense of your own master. She’s defenseless before one of us. Little more than a newborn babe.”

  “She’s a good person.” Alboim stated firmly.

  Oswalt started, a bit confused. “You remember the world he grew up on.” Harralt chided his friend. “No slaves, everyone equal before the law, and you think Alboim’s worldview would not extend to constructeds? Frankly, I am surprised he hasn’t tried to free everyone in the castle, like that fool we read about. Jack Brown?”

  “John Brown.” Alboim corrected. “He was overeager to start the revolution, but he was absolutely right that slavery is wrong.” and a big reason why I don’t want to stay here. I’d either become him, or become a monster.

  “I apologize, Alboim. I did not mean to give offence.” Oswalt gave a formal seated bow, which Alboim returned.

  “You are forgiven. Thank you for understanding.”

  “Getting back to your training,” Harralt ended the silence, “I am reasonably confident now that you will be able to use talismans fairly quickly, so probably within the week we should shift focus to writing the spell circles.”

  “Even if you can draw on your core, that is only half way to being a mage.” Oswalt stated, a bite of fish on his fork. He popped it into his mouth. “But being a talisman-dependent mage is better than the other way around.”

  A low keening growl interrupted the talk, and all eyes turned to Suzsise who was huddled in a corner of the room. As they watched, she slid down into a cowering crouch. Bennit rushed into the bedroom, then back out again. “A storm is coming, lords, and it looks like it may be a major one. We should prepare.”

  The two lords jumped into action. “Harralt, let's set up the wards here, then you go left, and I’ll go right along this ring.” Oswalt ordered. “Bennit, can you inform the mistress that we are taking care of the third floor?”

  “At once, Lord Oswalt.” He turned to Suzsise. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad.” she whispered, “Really bad, I think.”

  “Cat people are sensitive to thunderstorms. Otherwise, the damage they cause would be much worse.” Bennit explained. “But they rarely do well with them.”

  “Suzsise, can you stay with Lord Alboim?” she nodded, curled up in a ball in the corner. From his looks, he was more concerned with her than his titular master.

  I will stay with her. He silently promised Bennit. “Go and do what you must. We’ll stay here out of the way.”

  The rains started, heavy, lashing out at the stone walls of the Heart. The shutters had been shut, and the room was noticeably dimmer, despite the abundance of mage-lights. Occasional thunderbolts brought the receiving room into bright, crystal-clear brilliance for a moment despite the heavy wooden shutters over the windows. One Mississippi, Two Mississippi… He got to seven before the thunder peeled. “Good, seven miles away.” he reassured Suzsise.

  He pulled her out of the corner and guided the terrified girl over to the couch in the middle of the room and sat next to her. Agatha was like this in the middle of thunderstorms. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and she clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder. Another flash, he only counted to five this time.

  “It will be OK,” he crooned to her, stroking her back. ‘The lightning can’t hurt us inside, and the thunder is just noise. “We will be fine.” The lightning was coming now, too frequent to track the distance. Again and again, light poured from the gaps in the shutters, almost like a disco. Thunder rolled almost continually, and the terrified girl clung to him more and more tightly.

  A particularly loud boom made him start. “That sounded like it hit something close.” he said. “And I really need to use the bathroom. Can you let go of me? I will only be a minute.” The chamber pot was in the bedroom; there was no way he was going to leave her alone long enough to make his way to the latrine several doors away. He had serious misgivings about medieval plumbing.

  He put his hand on the metal handle of the door to his bedroom when it happened. His hair stood on the back of his hands, a split second of dreadful tension in the air. Through the edges of the door, a blinding flash that made his eyes water, and through the doorknob, a jolt of electricity that threw him backwards twenty feet, crashing into the dining table and the remains of lunch abandoned in the crisis.

  He lay there, dazed, as dozens of servants rushed in. Alboim was bleeding from a myriad of cuts among the shattered china; his hand was blackened and blistering already. He tried to stand but collapsed as his right ankle would not bear his weight.

  “It hit the Heir’s Suite!” The team began to assess the damage and helped Alboim to the couch.

  A few minutes later, Aunt Elspith and Moara entered the room. She spared one glance at Alboim then they disappeared into the ruined bedroom. Whatever magic they worked, worked. “The damage is comparatively light, a few cracks, looks like the tower above the rooms was severely damaged.” Moara told the workers. “No blown out walls this time, thank the light. Nothing we can tell that really caught fire. All things considered.”

  Elspith came over and kneeled beside him, searching through a satchel and selecting a talisman, which she placed on his burned hand and activated. The pain subsided to a background feeling, like he’d had a shot of morphine. It even numbed the ankle.

  “Did your lightning rods fail?” Alboim asked.

  “Pardon, Alboim?” Elspith stopped dead in her tracks. “What is a ‘lightning rods’?”

  “They redirect lightning.”

  “You can redirect lightning?” Moara asked. “That is impossible.”

  “It is.” Alboim replied. “When the storm is over, I’ll prove it to you.”