The Castrofax (11 page)

He bent his head back and rested it on the
chair so he could look at her. “It seems it matters more to you
than it does me.”

She gave a nervous shrug and put on her
queenly air. “I do not want anything marring your name or hindering
you. I should think when I become Queen and you are free to go, you
will have a grand reputation as the first Class Ten in hundreds of
years and—”

He put up a hand to stall her. “Free to go?
You think I am your captive?”

“No,” she replied, a tinge of fluster to her
voice. “But you have so much power going to waste here.”

He lifted his head and turned to face her,
breaking free of her hands. “I’m here of my own volition because I
care about your safety. My father and I agreed it would be best if
a Class Ten protected you, but I was the one who asked for the
duty.”

She looked abashed. “I always thought you
were here because you had to be.”

He stood and put his hands on her arms,
looking down at her. She had always been petite though she grew
nearly as tall as his chest. “I
wanted
to be with you…as
your protector, and just because you take the throne doesn’t mean I
will leave you. I will be your protector as long as you are in
danger, so get used to me kid. You’re not getting rid of me
soon.”

Her pert lips flattened to a quirky smile,
and she slipped her arms around his waist, embracing him tightly.
The gesture was so foreign he almost pushed her back, but he
welcomed the touch. “And here I thought I was just a hindrance to
you.”

“Only when you don’t feed me,” he replied and
awkwardly hugged her back.

“Oh! It’s passed supper,” she exclaimed and
dashed into the cottage. He snapped his fingers and pushed a flame
into the hearth, illuminating the dark cabin. As she rushed about,
he couldn’t imagine not being her protector. He suspected he would
always stay to protect her once she took the throne. If anyone
asked, he would say he remained for her safety, but he would be
lying. He stayed because he did not want to imagine a day without
her, because he was in love with her and hoped he would someday
work up the courage to tell her.

Nolen sat in his bathtub, submerged to his
chest in murky water. He did not bother glancing towards the main
door when someone knocked. It was probably his insufferable mother
wanting to know more about his trip. He had not been in the palace
more than ten minutes before his mother sent a page for him. He
refused the page and instead drew a bath. Kilkiny Palace had been
fitted with modern plumbing years ago, and he took the liberty of
daily baths to warm him.

The trip back from Jaden had been long on his
tired body. His mind wracked with Ryker Slade and the inevitable
discovery of Ryker’s disappearance.
‘Did anyone recognize me or
Shibaler at Castle Jaden? I made sure to leave my room untouched,
but would someone have a way of knowing I was there? Perhaps a
Water Mage could feel the drain of his bath to find it was not dry.
I should not have bothered with the bath, but I could not have gone
to an Arch Mage smelling like an animal.’

He had his work cut out for him now: Find the
Silex and locate the mysterious Class Ten. Grabbing a goblet from
the side of his bath, he swilled the wine to calm his nerves. The
window inside his bed chamber blew a shrill blast of cold air into
the wash room, and he ducked further under the water.

Nolen tried to remember his conversations
with the man claiming to be the father of the Class Ten. The man
had been quite willing to pass off the information for the right
price.
‘He is called Gabriel. He was named a Class Ten two years
ago. He wields all Elements but Air, and has a brain to match his
Elemental strength. You would be wise to stay out of his way.’
Nolen hadn’t liked that comment too much.
‘You will find him in
Urima Manor outside Hollow Downs. If not there, he would go to
Jacinith or Pately Bridge. He might venture as far east as Sabin or
Rolynston, but he would stay within a day or two ride of Urima
Manor.’

Nolen was curious why the Classing of a Ten
had not been broadcasted through the Mage communities. Surely it
would bring them great joy to hear their bloodlines spat out
something worthwhile.
‘Why not keep him secret? He has what
every man wants: power.’

Sometime earlier Nolen approached Lady
Aisling and asked if she knew anything about a Class Ten. She
carefully brushed the rumor aside saying she heard nothing, and he
could not tell if she was lying.

He downed another goblet of wine as he
planned his next move. He would need a band of men to go to these
towns and look for any man with his descriptions. The so-called
father said he would be tall with black hair and blue eyes, were he
in his usual form. When Nolen asked what other form he would take,
the man refused to answer and stopped speaking outright. So he was
looking for a man that was not always a man, in one of five
possible locations, and that was only if the father’s words were
correct.

Nolen stood and toweled off, abandoning his
usual way of air-drying to the warmer embrace of fabric. Stronger
Air Mages could actually change the temperature of Air, but Nolen
could hardly manage a few degrees in room-temperature direction.
Years of intestinal discomfort had left him lean and hardened. It
was hard for him to keep fat on, so he often dressed warm. Anatoly
City sat on a hilly plane that was warm in summer and chilly in
winter, but never as bitterly cold as Jaden got in winter.

The fire in his bed chamber had already been
lit and blazed. He sat before it with his legs outstretched. The
wind blew sharply heralding autumn, and with a complex Air pattern
he pinched two fingers to minimize the air between the window and
pane.

In order to find the Mage in a timely manner,
he would have to depart immediately with a band, sending another
four to each of the named cities. While he was slowly losing power
over the army to his cousin Balien, his Air Guard would always
remain loyal to him, and there was plenty of trackers and hunters
in the faction. He selected names from his memory as he waited for
food to be brought up.

A pretty girl with red hair and freckles
brought his supper, but he was in no mood for dessert and let her
leave without a word. The savory smells of buck stew and fresh
bread tickled his senses, and he happily obliged when the door
closed. He continued to plan the next days’ activities until
everything was laid out.

Donning a pair of boots and a nice coat, he
left his rooms to find the necessary people to accomplish his
tasks. He recruited four officers in his Air Guard and gave them
instructions to find thirty men each for the hunting parties. Then
he made sure Shibaler and proper horses would be ready by morning
and sent several pages to pack food and supplies.

His work now set in motion he made his way
back to his quarters. The royal quarters were in the northern-most
wing. Standing twelve stories high, it was the tallest and grandest
of the wings. They were lined with flickering lanterns, tapestries,
and paintings, and each doorway was etched with gilt and carvings.
Nolen lived on the fifth floor, a whole floor away from his mother
and her lackey Aisling, but unfortunately on the same level as
Balien.

He rarely saw his cousin, which was good
because the man irritated him. They played different games, and
Nolen could never figure Balien’s out. Balien had his own set of
allies that Nolen could never locate, and the man was deft with his
manipulation skills which often kept Nolen on his toes. For the
most part his cousin stayed out of his personal life and kept the
berating to the training field and dinner table. Sadly for Nolen,
today was not one of those days.

Balien rounded the corner just as Nolen
reached the landing from the stairs. Balien slowed his walk to meet
up with his cousin. Nolen attempted to speed away, but Balien
caught him.

“Word is you are forming a hunting party,” he
stated as he matched Nolen’s leggy stride. “To what end, might I
ask?”

Nolen shot his cousin a sharp look,
remembering Ryker had used the same phrase, but there was no way
Balien could have known. “To hunt the best game.”

Balien gave a knowing nod, having spent most
of his time around soldiers. “Men.”

“Hardly a man at all.”

Balien’s dark gold eyebrows rose. “Woman?
Nolen,
really
.”

“I do not see why it matters. You are not
accompanying us.”

“Oh cousin, what are you after now?” Balien
sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. “Would you really leave
the palace in my hands for another week?”

Nolen had no reply to his cousin’s jesting.
When they were younger Nolen had been able to get away with his
Element as a weapon, compressing air to slap his cousin from a
distance or shooting jets at him when he tried to eat, but Lady
Aisling could see his patterns and put a stop to it. Still….

“Good night, Balien,” Nolen stated, giving a
small wave of his hand. The gray pattern woven across his fingers
made a sharp
snap
as it struck Balien across the back of his
head. “Enjoy your run of the palace.”

Balien gave him a murderous look and slipped
out of his vision. Nolen ducked into his room. He spent an hour
packing, looking for clothes that would be considered somewhat
common but not peasant. He did not want to look like a Prince, but
a lower Lord would suit him. Regardless of his appearance, he would
be riding Shibaler, and anyone who knew their horseflesh would know
he was a well-bred Aidenmarian destrier. His bags packed and his
affairs in order, he managed a few hours of sleep.

“No, I am serious, he has his fingers in
something,” Balien said as he took a defensive stance. Lady Aisling
regarded him with a thoughtful eye as he stood in her solar. Night
had already fallen, and the fire burned low. He was as handsome as
his father, with his mother’s dark gold hair and wit.

“Can I offer you some tea, Balien?” she
asked, gesturing to the pot warming by the fire.

“Thank you, Lady, no,” he replied, but
noticed her cup was low and fetched the pot to top her off.

“Look at this, a Prince serving an advisor,”
Aisling tittered before taking a sip. “Should it not be
opposite?”

“Hardly, Lady,” Balien smiled as he returned
the pot. He was one of Aisling’s fondest companions in the palace;
a man of stalwart heart and values. As excellent as he was at
manipulation, she was better, so they allied long ago. She
considered him a friend, almost a son since his mother was taken
from him when he was only thirteen.

“Yes,” she said, steering back into their
conversation. “I am hearing whispers of a trip Nolen is planning. I
want someone I trust to accompany him.”

Balien’s arms fell from their folded position
over his chest. “
Please
do not send me thus.”

“Hardly. I need you here with me to keep her
Grace from exerting herself. I am sending General Calsifer. He
should be arriving momentarily to discuss plans.”

“Have you heard who Nolen is after?” Balien
asked, and Aisling shook her head.

A knock sounded on the door, and Balien
opened it. General Calsifer stepped in, giving them proper nods and
salutations. Calsifer was well into his fifties with a
short-cropped head of salt-and-pepper hair, but by his straight
stance one could not properly guess his age. He stood with his
knees at a slight bend to take the pressure off his joints, and
Aisling knew him well enough to offer him a seat. He gladly obliged
and pulled his sword across his lap. He dressed in a handsome black
coat with an eagle stitched over his heart, heralding him as a
General. Calsifer had served under Queen Rincarel Bolt who awarded
him his eagle. He was loyal only to the Bolts, but would never
verbalize such a statement.

“Do you know what Nolen is planning?” Aisling
asked after offering him tea which he accepted.

“It should not give you cause to worry, my
Lady,” he replied, his voice deep and gravelly. “The Prince never
stirs up too much trouble.” He sipped his tea. “From what I can
gather, he is searching for a man, and likely a Mage.”

“There are thousands of those,” Balien
stated.

“Yes,” Aisling agreed, “But I am loathe
letting Nolen out of my sight for too long, especially with an
impending coronation.”

Balien gave her a pinched look.

“Has there been word from Princess Robyn?”
Calsifer asked eagerly, but Aisling shook her head. “What would you
like me to do while on this trip? The Prince will be displeased
with my addition.”

“I am aware, but you will say you are on the
Queen’s errand to whatever town his destination is. Make up
something convincing, and if he balks tell him you outrank him and
could command his soldiers away.” Aisling clinked her cup with a
nail. Mages were very high ranking in societies, even those with
low Classes, but a Class Five did not outrank a General. “While
with him I want you to observe and report back what information you
can glean. At every town send me a pigeon. I want to know who he is
hunting, why, and for what purposes. See if you cannot turn him
into a decent person while you are at it.”

Balien snorted, while Calsifer simply nodded
and replied, “I would need more time. Do you want me to steer him
lost, or prevent him from finding this man?”

“Please,
please
get him lost,” Balien
muttered.

Aisling gave him a disapproving look. “Tell
me which town you are heading to in your notes, and if I have
instructions, I will send a pigeon to the rookery. Right now I just
want an eye on him.”

“As you wish,” Calsifer replied and gave a
polite bow of his head.