The Castrofax (8 page)

He did not look so dangerous standing there
peacefully, but Nolen knew better. He looked as though he stepped
out of a painting, dressed in the old fashioned clothing with its
garish colors. Even the panes of his face looked touched with a
painter’s flattering hand, for Ryker had no wrinkles.

Around the Mage’s neck hung a diamond-shaped
silver medallion set with four large sapphires. Nolen knew in an
instant the object was the legendary Excellyon. Of the five that
had been made, this was the only one reported to still exist. The
only thing that kept Ryker in his hibernated state was the
Excellyon fueling a pattern lost to the Ages. The pattern kept
Ryker protected from death after all these countless years.

Rumors in codices said the room was a mirage;
it was not what it appeared and had patterns built into the stones
to befuddle the captive. It looked safe to Nolen, though he thought
it seemed a little larger than a room should be. Tomes and books
said many things about Ryker, but he searched for what they
omitted. Nolen had spent countless hours in Madison Library of
Jaden studying the Excellyon. Rumor said Head Mage Casimir had an
Excellyon, whispers said one was hidden somewhere in Castle Jaden,
but everyone suspected the rest were lost to history. The
well-educated of Jaden knew that the Arch Mages hibernated many
times, skipping across generations; however, the codices omitted
the way to stop the hibernation.

Ryker was protected by the Excellyon and
could not be killed or woken while wearing it. Mages throughout the
years sought to wake and kill him, but the mere idea of such a feat
was so chilling that few people had tried. Some tried drowning him,
but the water evaporated; others tried fire but it wove around him
and vanished with a glow. When an Air Mage tried to draw the oxygen
from the room, the room broke free a stone to draw air in
elsewhere. Nolen saw the gaping black space in the wall where a
triangular stone should have been.

There was precious little information on
attempts to wake Ryker, and Nolen suspected the information he
sought resided in the Head Mage’s private library if it existed at
all. One man tried to superheat the metal chain to break it.
Another Mage tried to slip it over his head to find the chain too
short. Someone padded the metal so it would not make physical
contact with Ryker. Another tried to unclasp the chain, but she was
shocked with such energy it removed her senses and left her unable
to perform any task.

But Nolen had the Medallion of Unwind, and he
would not be so foolish to come this far without a plan. If his
reasoning was accurate, the medallion would bend back the
Excellyon’s protection and allow him to unclasp the chain. That, or
it would shock him and leave him dying on the floor.

He stepped forward until he was nearly
pressed up against the man, hoping the medallion was working. He
reached a hand out, knowing he had one last chance to change his
mind. He laced his hands around the chain and ran it through his
fingers feeling for the clasp. Pieces of lace flaked from Ryker’s
clothes. The clasp secured, Nolen slid a thumbnail into the catch
and snapped it loose with a pinched look.

Whatever wards protected the Excellyon bended
around the Medallion of Unwind, and it unsnapped silently, leaving
Nolen unharmed. He exhaled with a tight, choked sound bordering on
a relieved laugh.

At first there was only silence, and Nolen
strained in the dim light to hear any sign of life.
‘Was there a
chance Ryker had died years ago and the Excellyon kept him
standing?’
Just when Nolen began to fear the worst, Ryker took
in a breath.

“My lord, you have awoken,” Nolen said softly
as to not startle the man.

Ryker’s eyes popped open and met Nolen’s
instantly. They were dark, and the skin around them crinkled as he
frowned.

“Y’,” Ryker whispered, his voice hoarse and
dry. “Y’ better have a good reason par waking me.” He spoke with a
strange smooth accent using a dialect lost to the Ages.

“I am Mage Prince Nolen Novacula, and I am
here to free you.”

Ryker looked around and gave his shoulders a
little roll.

“T’ what end?” he finally asked. As his
tongue loosened, his words became more fluid.

“What end do we all want?”

“Power, I imagine,” Ryker’s voice gained some
strength. “Answer mine question.”

“I need your help securing the throne of
Anatoly.”

Ryker gave him a suspicious look and made a
clicking sound with the inside of his cheek. “Par yourself?”

Nolen nodded.

“What year is this? Have the Queens of
Anatoly fallen?”

“It is 4152, and no, the Queens still rule
the Eagle Throne.” Ryker said nothing, and Nolen realized he had
not fully answered the first question. “All I ask is for your help
with the throne, and in turn I will ally Anatoly to your
cause.”

“Mine cause,” Ryker repeated and gave a small
smirk. “Tell me boy, who sits the Head Mage Seat?”

“Class Six Mage Casimir Brynmore, a Spirit
Mage.”

Ryker’s cool face brightened as his eyebrows
rose. “A Class Six? Are y’ having a laugh? Aye, what luck I’ve
found mineself in. So boy, t’ what end will the throne take
y’?”

“I want it for power.”

“Aye, I realized. But why do y’ want power?
Every man wants power par a reason. Y’ best be truthful with me.”
He had a commanding voice, and with his frequent use of eye contact
Nolen could tell why people were drawn to him. He could not help
but want to answer.

“My sister,” Nolen replied, the truth
spilling from lips. He once swore to himself he would tell no one
why he thirsted for power, but the man had a hold over him. “My
twin whom I love dearly was sent away years ago, and I have no
answers why. With power we could be reunited.”

“The royals still take kin t’ marriage
then?”

Nolen frowned. “No, that was done away with
long ago.”

Ryker regarded him with a calculating look.
“Tell me of the Mages.”

Nolen looked somber. “Class Ten, Nine, Eight
and Sevens are extinct. We hardly hold onto Class Sixes. It is rare
to wield more than one Element, and we have lost much pattern
knowledge as we grow weaker.”

Ryker nodded thoughtfully and looked at the
difference in their clothes before grimacing. “Y’ have gumption
waking me, but as y’ did it in a good Age I shan’t kill y’.” He
made another clicking sound with his cheek and sized Nolen up.
“Right, boy, here are mine terms. I want something of Ages past,
and if y’ get it for me I will fetch y’ the Anatolian throne.” He
paused and brushed a cobweb from the back of his hair. “I want the
Silex. It was taken from me long ago, ac if y’ truly want your
throne, y’ will find it par me.”

“The Silex fell out of knowledge Ages ago.”
Nolen knew little of the fabled object, and each story did not
quite match the next. Some say Ryker created it, others said it
existed long before they did. Nolen believed it was an object that
bestowed Class Ten powers in every Element to anyone it
touched.

“Aye, it was taken from me, but it is ne an
object what goes missing without someone knowing its location. Y’
find that par me. I warrant it will be protected, so take the
strongest Mage y’ have t’ dispel the wards ‘round it…. How did y’
get down here? Is this place ne warded?”

Nolen reached behind his trouser hem and
pulled out the Medallion of Unwind. He tossed it to Ryker with a
flick of his thumb. He recognized it instantly, playing his finger
in and out of the center hole through the patterns within, and his
dark eyes flicked up. “How far away is the exit?”

Nolen looked behind him as if it would help
answer the question. “It took me several minutes to arrive,” he
replied.

“Unwind has a limit on her. We best
hurry.”

Nolen turned to the door and stopped
abruptly. It was gone. His mouth worked silently for a breath and
sent a bewildered look to Ryker.

“Do ne be alarmed,” the man stated, taking a
wobbly but dignified step forward. “It’s an old Void illusion
pattern what keeps the door hid.”

The fear of being trapped underground swelled
in Nolen, but he maintained his calm long enough to brace both
hands on the wall. He ran them back and forth looking for what his
eyes would not see.

“Ack! Ne, it’s something else. Ruddy Earth
Mages meddling with what ought ne be meddled.” He made a clicking
noise in his cheek and paced the room. It took him precious little
time to cross it, and Nolen realized to his horror that the room
shrank
. No longer was it a vast cavern but now a common
dungeon cell.

“Y’ betray your feelings, Princeling,” Ryker
murmured as talking to himself. Nolen put a hand against his chest
to still his breathing, his heart racing within. He stooped and ran
his hand against the wall-and-floor joint and found the triangular
void where the rock popped loose hundreds of years before. The
stone still lay at Ryker’s feet.

Ryker gave Nolen a curious look, as if he
debated something, then his face smoothed and he nearly shrugged.
“Come,” he stated and extended a soft hand. Nolen was drawn to it
and seized it. Behind them the candle sputtered and casted haunting
shadows across the small room.

Ryker tightened his hand and pushed it as far
into the hole as he could. Quickly a look of rapture smoothed his
creased features. In the blink of an eye, Ryker’s hair became stark
white and rose as if lifted in an unseen wind. When he moved his
eyes to Nolen’s face, the Prince saw they too were as white as new
cotton. The image nearly made him release his grip and jump back,
certain the man was a specter returned from the dead, but something
kept his grip fast.

In a moment the dark room suddenly became
white where it should have been black, and dark where the candle
rested its light. Non-Mages were often wary and sometimes
frightened by the unusual power Mages bore, and for a moment Nolen
knew their fright. He blinked at the afterimage and snapped his
head back and forth, all semblance of control lost. The room
vanished swiftly and replaced by a white hall that rushed about
them, making Nolen loosen his grip on Ryker’s hand. Faint figures
moved in the corners of his vision while the landscape seemed
blurred and unfocused. As soon as he gathered his bearings, they
moved, or he moved; it was uncertain. This form of transportation
was power unknown, and he suspected that if he never studied or
heard of it, it could not be safe.

Ryker tightened his grip. “Y’ don’t want t’
be doing that.” The trip through the afterimage world lasted
seconds, and as quickly as it began, it was over.

Nolen blinked as the world became black
again. Wherever they were now, it was void of light. “That felt
good,” Ryker whispered and snapped his fingers around a collection
of white strings, creating a ball of light above his fingertips.
The light grew to illuminate the hallway Nolen had come down,
chasing the darkness back.

“Make your way, Princeling.” Ryker nodded to
the hall. Nolen searched the mortar and stones for recognition
unsure where Ryker moved them, but he would be damned if he seemed
uncertain in front of an Arch Mage. The man’s title made Nolen
smile as he stepped out.
‘An Arch Mage, alive in my
time.’

“Who is the strongest Mage the world has?”
Ryker asked as he followed.

Nolen shook his head a little. “Arconia has a
few more Class Sixes than we do.” He wiped a hand across his brow.
“Though, someone once told me there was a rogue Class Ten out
there.”

Ryker made the clicking noise in his cheek.
“Y’ might’a mentioned that before. How do y’ come by this
information?”

“A man claiming to be his father told me,”
Nolen replied. “But there is no evidence.”

Nolen stopped short when a crippling pain
shot up his leg, through his spine, and into the base of his skull.
He crumpled to the stones with a gasp, searching for an
explanation. An attack from the Arch Mage was logical, and he
remembered he no longer held the Medallion of Unwind.

“Damn wards,” Ryker muttered above him. “We
didn’t shift far enough. That’ll sound the alarm.” He gripped a
rough hand to the small of Nolen’s back and made a twisting motion
that drew a shuttering gasp of pain from Nolen. As soon as the man
pulled back, the sudden pain vanished.

Nolen staggered to his feet before Ryker took
a fistful of his coat. “Listen, Princeling, I hibernated t’ avoid
the Class Tens, ac if one still exists, he is your problem, ac one
you’ll need t’ remove.” His grip loosened, and he looked away.
“Though, if y’ get your hands on him, it would save me the trouble
of fetching the Silex.” He met Nolen’s alarmed eyes. “Y’ find him,
ac I will help y’ keep him, then y’ bring me mine Silex, aye?”

“Aye,” Nolen replied, his stony, princely
training taking over his emotions. “Yes.”

“Good. Does anyone know you’re here? Did y’
bring a horse what can be recognized?”

“Yes.”

Far down the hall, the faint sound of running
boots met their ears.

“Is the livery unchanged?” Ryker asked and
grabbed Nolen’s arm. His eyes and hair became white again. Nolen
shut his lids this time as Ryker moved them without moving. The
bootfalls vanished, and the unscented still air suddenly changed to
the aroma of hot horse and hay. His ears filled with the familiar
sounds of a stable as horses ground meal and shifted in their
stalls. Nolen’s eyes flew open as Ryker released him, and he found
himself in the livery. Somehow, Arch Mage Ryker moved them from
Westerly Motte, across the courtyard, and into the stables in the
span of a breath.
‘How far a distance can one travel this
way?’

Ryker maintained the frightening look of
white hair and eyes, his hair wafting in an unseen wind around the
loose ends.

“You must explain how you do that.” Nolen
whispered, his racing heart smoothing its rhythm.