The Castrofax (12 page)

“Thank you, General,” Aisling smiled and bade
him goodnight.

Balien turned to face her. “What will you
have me do?”

She tapped a finger on her cup again. “We
will have to wait and see. I will send for you if I hear helpful
word. Let us plan on this being one of Nolen’s trips where he
returns home without any harm done.”

“That we know of,” Balien retorted.

“Until the pigeons start arriving, try and
behave.”

He gave a lavish bow at the waist. “As my
Lady commands.”

Prince Nolen set out from Anatoly City with
twenty men; soldiers mostly and a few mercenaries for hire. He was
surprised to see General Calsifer ride out from the stables on his
black destrier Araybiatt to join them. Nolen politely commanded the
General to leave, but Calsifer insisted he would rather ride with
them on his journey south to visit relatives.

“We are heading west,” Nolen argued.

“Oh, no, I spoke with all my officers in the
other hunting parties, and they said you were the party heading
south. Am I mistaken?” Calsifer did not receive a response. They
were
heading south, but Nolen made sure to take them on the
western-most road as to not appear a liar.

The Prince could see his mother’s workings in
Calsifer’s appearance. She still believed after nearly twenty-eight
years Nolen could not care for himself. His mother irked him
sorely.

He sent four other parties in different
directions armed with what information he knew and instructions for
communication. If by the end of the month the Mage had not been
found, they were to regroup in Anatoly City to exchange
knowledge.

It took Nolen’s party three days to reach
their destination, a little town at the foothills of the Gray
Mountains called Hollow Downs. It was a pretty town despite being
so far from a major city, but they rode through after stopping for
a pint and directions.

Despite being without a lord, Urima Manor was
kept well and had not fallen into disrepair. Nolen told his men to
make camp for the evening across the road while he went to speak
with the remaining inhabitants of the Manor. The servants offered
no help, even when bribed with gold squares or threatened with
pain, save for one man. When faced with losing a hand, he pointed
south and vowed he had seen his young lord go in that direction,
confirming his name to be Gabriel. Nolen knew the man spoke truth
by the disgusted look the servants gave him.

To the south was Pately Bridge, but if this
Gabriel was as quick-witted as his father claimed, he would not
stay there. Nolen could not eke out a timeframe from the servants
as none of them seemed to know, aside for one woman who mentioned
‘two summers’. He left the manor moody but made his way back to
camp with a proud strut befitting a Prince.

The soldiers had been instructed to treat
Nolen like one of them, not bowing or using his honorific, but he
made sure someone set up his tent every night. It was ready when he
arrived. The soldiers brushed their horses down, and a few of the
mercenaries started a raucous drinking song around the fire. Nolen
joined them for a while as they ate, listening to their stories of
battles and bevies. He boasted to have had half the women in the
palace, and each one had a rousing story to accompany her. General
Calsifer kept to himself and his destrier on the outskirts of the
camp.

Well after the sun sank and Nolen’s belly
full, he retired to his tent. A mat had been unrolled for him, and
after shucking off his boots, he crawled under the blankets. The
nights grew colder, and he was forever reminded of his thin skin.
He piled on another blanket and wrapped up. So far his intestinal
discomfort had not been quite as bad as usual, though it often
lessened when he left the bad air of the City. He wondered at times
if the discomfort was because of something else, but Lady Aisling
had laid delving patterns into his body to seek out problems and
came up with nothing.

He was asleep for only a moment when he was
jarred awake by a hand on his shoulder. His eyes flew open to see a
dark figure above him, and as he opened his mouth to cry out, the
figure put a hand over his face.

“Do ne be foolish,” the voice hissed. “Meet
me outside in the eastern grove.” With the last whisper, the man
simply
vanished
.

Nolen bolted into a seated position and
grabbed his boots, regretting he could not take his warm blankets
with. He grabbed a long cloak instead and stepped out of his tent.
The camp was quiet but for the watchman who raised his head as
Nolen appeared. He hurried off east into a little thicket with a
few patches of apple trees.

Ryker stepped from behind a patch of trees.
He was draped in a long black cloak and pulled back its hood as
Nolen stepped up.

Ryker clicked his cheek as he pulled off one
glove slowly. “Where are y’ heading?”

Nolen pointed. “South. It is the only
direction I have.”

Ryker looked in the direction, then took
Nolen’s arm and pulled it south-east. “Go by that bearing.”

Nolen’s mind worked quickly, and his brows
rose. “You know where he is?”

“I do.”

“Why not go after him yourself?”

Ryker fixed the Prince with a disdainful
look. “Because y’ need t’ prove t’ me y’ are worthy of the Eagle
Throne. I’ll ne gladly hand it off t’ the first soul what lays
claim, ne if I want success.”

“How do you know where he is?”

Ryker clicked his cheek. “Same way I find
you.” He looked in the direction of the manor. “The servants were
not quite as thorough in cleaning his rooms as they thought.”

Nolen did not pry further, though the man
left more questions unanswered. “How far south-east?”

“I will redirect y’ if y’ steer off course in
a few days. Until then, I have something y’ might fancy.” He
reached behind the flaps of his cloak and pulled glittering pieces
of metal free. Holding them out to Nolen, the Prince accepted
them.

Nolen looked at the four objects in his hands
that were cold against his skin. They were in the shape of unlocked
manacles, no broader than a thumb and as thin as a coin with two
small ridges set below the edges. They were made of burnished
copper that gave off the faintest yellow glow between the ridges.
One was the size of small dinner plate, two were the size of actual
manacles, and the last was made of three conjoined rings. It took
Nolen a moment to realize what he held as he turned them over in
his hands. The larger one looked as though it could fit around his
neck, while the other two….

They fell from his hands, and he took several
steps back, feeling as though his supper might come back up. He
gripped his stomach and turned away for a moment before facing
Ryker. “A Castrofax.”

“I judge by your reaction y’ are familiar.
Pick them up.”

Nolen unsteadily approached the objects like
he would a rabid ferret, eyeing them as if they might jump at him.
Stooping, he collected them carefully in both hands. The largest
one swung open from an unseen hinge, and he gagged.

Any Mage would choose death over the binds of
a Castrofax. Made to be clamped around the neck and wrists, once
locked a Castrofax could never be opened, except in death. The
connected rings was undoubtedly the control piece. The real fear
behind the Castrofax was not the idea of lifelong imprisonment, but
the Castrofax’s true purpose. Any Mage who wore the control piece
had full access to the bound Mage’s powers, be they Class Ten or
Two. The bound Mage had
no
access, rendering them as useless
as a non-Mage.

It was then Nolen realized what Ryker meant
when he said he would help Nolen keep the Class Ten. Any man knew a
Mage could be restrained if their hands were bound, for a Mage’s
true power lay in their fingers. This object brought a whole new
darkness into the bargain. In the span of a heartbeat Nolen found
himself at a pivotal crossroad. He could refuse the Castrofax and
lose all that Ryker promised, or he could accept them and deny any
goodness he had left. Could he really condemn a man to the cold
death of a Castrofax to gain power? He knew before he started on
this quest that sacrifices would have to be made.

He clenched his fists around the cold copper
pieces. “South-east, you say?” Ryker gave a slow approving smile.
His skin was not so drawn and pale as before, but he still had a
slightly ghoulish appearance about his face. “Which of the six is
this?”

Ryker folded his arms and took a proud
stance. “It is called Overturn, or just Copper if y’ fancy.”

Nolen looked again at the pieces, knowing the
stories of the six forged Castrofax. Each had a name, and each
performed a different action. The Glittering made of glass
paralyzed a man, one named Eraser killed the descending bloodline
of the captured Mage. Lady Misery made of silver caused spasms of
pain. Nolen believed the other three were lost to the Ages where
only legends whispered of titanium, marble and copper. If legend
proved truth, this Castrofax was the last forged and the most
used.

“Does it reverse patterns like the stories
say?” Nolen asked.

“It does. Some of the Castrofax block the
bearer from feeling the Elements, but ne only does this one allow
it, it also lets him
use
his Elements.” Ryker explained with
pride as if he was talking about his child. “Yet, if he fuels a
pattern it will reverse in some way. It will quickly teach him t’
ne use,” he chuckled. “Get that on him, ac I will show y’ how t’
handle him ac his power.”

Nolen tucked the cold bands in the folds of
his cloak. “I look forward to it.”

“Read up on this,” Ryker said and threw him
an old book. “Find out what Elements he wields ac study a few
patterns. I will need y’ prepared t’ find mine Silex.”

“I will,” Nolen nodded, wrapping the book up.
Ryker gave him a dark smile and motioned him to return to camp. As
soon as Nolen turned away, Ryker vanished again in a whisper of
fabric.

“Prepare yourself Class Ten.” Nolen whispered
as he made his way back to camp.
‘You stand between me and
glory.’

The plush chair Aisling sat in was inviting,
but she was not solaced by comfort. She twirled a small scroll in
her fingers. A pigeon delivered it from Hollow Downs, written in
fine boxy script by General Calsifer. It seemed Nolen was after a
Mage who still bore no name. She knew in an instant which Mages
lived in Hollow Downs; however, she had more disquieting matters on
her mind.

She received a bird from the Head Mage a day
before asking about the illusive Class Ten from Hollow Downs. She
was certain the incidents were not coincidence.
‘What would the
Prince and Head Mage want with Gabriel Lenis? How did Nolen
discover the well-kept secret?’
The only people who knew
Gabriel’s Class were the Council and perhaps a handful of others.
The Council had been required to keep Gabriel’s Class and location
secret.

She rose and strode to her writing desk to
pen a letter back to the Head Mage.
‘All I know is Prince Nolen
searches for him as well,’
she wrote detailing Nolen’s
movements and suspected motives. She rolled the parchment into a
scroll when a hurried knock sounded on her door. She quickly opened
it to reveal a tired, travel-worn man in a dusty cloak bearing the
insignia of Castle Jaden; two conjoined towers with a double black
flame between them.

“Word from Jaden?” she asked.

“Councilwoman,” the man greeted, breathing
hard. He did not allow himself time to find his voice, and instead
offered a folded letter with the Head Mage’s stamp in wax. “It’s
urgent.”

She unfolded the letter with rushed fingers
as her adrenaline spiked. It took her a moment to read, and the
contents swept her legs out under her. The messenger swooped in and
eased her to the closest chair as she read the letter again.

“Slade is awake,” she breathed, but if the
man heard her, he paid no mind.
‘That is why Casimir wants
Gabriel. Is Nolen searching for him by Casimir’s bidding?’
“Help me up.” He guided her back to her writing desk, but she shook
so hard she could not hold the pen steady. “Are you returning to
Jaden?”

“With your reply, yes.”

“Then you will write this for me.”

“Gladly,” he nodded and grabbed the paper,
smudging it with dust. She began to dictate but did not get far,
for a page boy appeared in her doorway. He offered her another note
delivered by bird, and she took it with shaky hands. The tiny wax
seal marked the Head Mage’s stamp again. It read:

Councilwoman Selene and Councilman Kieran are
missing. As the only other Council Member living outside Jaden
besides Queen Challis, I advise you return here immediately for
your safety.

Her mind spun. She could not leave Anatoly
City, not when Queen Miranda needed constant watching; not with
Nolen’s suspicious actions and Robyn’s hopeful arrival.

“Pen these words,” she began, knowing they
could be the words that sealed her fate.

Ryker Slade slowly paced the small dark room
in a circle, keeping his movements predictable and unchanging.
Changing them would give him leverage, and at the moment he wanted
an even playing field. Steadily he circled the man in the center of
the room, tied to a chair.

The man’s receding red hair hung wet and
limply in front of his downturned face, but his eyes followed
Ryker. He bled from the gaping wound where his right ear should be
and from his lips where he had been struck. The rest of the damage
was internal where it would hurt the most. He breathed in ragged
gasps, and Ryker was sure he finally reached his breaking point.
All men had one, and Class Fives were much easier to break than the
Class Tens of old. His favorite tact was to threaten the removal of
a body part. Men were far easier to submit when threatened with
castration. Women were much harder, but he had many other skills to
break them too.