The Dreaming Hunt (8 page)

Aurelius frowned. “Your father was a fair pyromancer, I'll give him that. But even I do not have the skill to do what you say he did to this weapon. Unless…” He asked abruptly, startling Will, “Do you know this wood?”

Will stared at the blond shaft whose grain was shot through with reddish brown and faint hints of gray. “It's hickory.”

Aurelius snorted. “If I'm right, that's not the half of it, boy.”

“And the other half?” he asked when his teacher did not continue. Elves did have an annoying way of taking their time making a point. Mayhap it had to do with their exceedingly long life spans. They were in no rush to do much of anything.

“Oh, it is hickory, all right,” Aurelius finally replied. “From Stormcaller himself, if I do not miss my guess. He is the grandfather of all hickories in Waelan.”

At hearing the name “Stormcaller,” something fierce stirred in recognition deep in Will's gut, even as he was certain in his mind that he'd never heard the name before.

Aurelius continued, “This wood is copper infused. See the glint of it in the sunlight if you turn it just so? Leave it to your father to give you a weapon perfectly suited to your talents.”

Waelan? Where was that? And copper infused? What did that mean? And why did he know the name Stormcaller without ever having heard it?

Aurelius glanced up, one eyebrow cocked as if he expected a barrage of questions from his notoriously impatient apprentice. Stubbornly, Will held his tongue. As the silence stretched into a contest of wills between them, amusement glinted in the elf's golden gaze.

“So much like him,” Aurelius finally muttered in disgust.

Will took the remark as a great compliment. At one time, his father, Sir Tiberius De'Vir, had been the premier battle caster in the entire colony of Dupree and a dragon of the Celestial Order of the Dragon in Dupree. At least he had been before Tiberius, Aurelius, the landsgrave of Hyland, and a nulvari assassin called Selea Rouge had infuriated Anton Constantine by trying to find the Sleeping King. Before Tiberius had taken the fall for them all, been sentenced to annihilation by Constantine, and been forced into hiding with his wife and infant son.

Aurelius continued, a note of resignation in his voice. “Tree Lord Stormcaller and his hickory grow in Shandril, which lies within the kingdom of Waelan. On Koth.”

Another tree lord? Like Bloodroot? Will's gaze shot to his staff as the rest of Aurelius's words registered. His weapon hailed from Koth itself? The distant continent, home of the Kothite Empire, loomed mysterious and sinister in his mind. And he possessed a tiny sliver of it?

Aurelius took on a lecturing tone. “Stormcaller is said to have been infused with copper by giants. Infusion is a magical process whereby two unlike substances are bonded together at the most fundamental level. The resulting substance retains properties of both original elements. In this case, the copper within the wood conducts energy with great efficiency. Ty must have suspected that you inherited his talent for channeling magic.”

“Channeling?” Will frowned.

“Casting magic through yon staff. Like a lightning rod in reverse.”

Understanding burst through him. He had spontaneously sent blasts of magic through the staff toward foes when his life was in mortal danger, but without really knowing how he'd done it. “Can you teach me to do that on command?”

A sardonic smile curved one corner of the elf's mouth. “Now that you fall under the auspices of the Mage's Guild, I can teach you anything the guild has control over. Which encompasses the entirety of magic, excepting healing, Will Cobb.”

Eagerness flashed through him, along with caution. The use of his assumed name was a sharp reminder from Aurelius that he could never claim to be his father's son, never use the name De'Vir within the Empire, no matter what talents he might have inherited from his father.

The guildmaster looked up at him gravely. “What is this weapon's name?”

Will frowned. “Why would a glorified stick have a name?”

“Because this
stick
is well on its way to becoming an artifact. Discover its name and you will command its special powers.”

“What kind of special powers?”

Aurelius shrugged. “I have no idea. This weapon is not listed in any inventory of artifacts that I have ever seen. I could not begin to guess what abilities the staff's original maker imbued into it. It is possible, of course, to enchant items after the fact of their creation, but it is difficult, expensive, and usually temporary. This one appears to have been gifted at the time of its making. Given where that wood comes from, and who has handled it over the years, there is no telling what it will do when fully woken.”

Woken?
“Will it be … sentient?” Will asked in dismay. He already had one sentient being within him to deal with.

“Not in the way you mean.” Aurelius surprised Will by gathering a fair bit of magic between his golden fingertips and murmuring an incant Will had never heard before.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Hush. Watch and learn.” Aurelius concentrated intently upon the weapon and began to feed the mass of magic he'd gathered carefully into the staff. The precision of the solinari's control of the twisting, writhing energy dancing on his fingertips was impressive. Will didn't have anywhere near that degree of surgical precision. At the moment, he could mostly gather up great gobs of energy and heave them at broad targets. He could generally hit something human-sized or larger. But Aurelius was wielding his magic as delicately as an artist painting a fine work of art.

Lines began to appear on the surface of the staff. They were dark brown as if they'd been burned into the wood. But whether Aurelius was creating the lines or merely revealing them, Will could not tell. Glowing, intricately woven lines began to appear on the copper cladding of the staff's tip.

At long last, Aurelius sat back. Will was shocked to see a droplet of sweat course down his grandfather's golden brow. His staff was now covered in beautiful, interweaving lines that reminded him of vines and stylized leaves. But the geometric forms were so intricate that his gaze could not follow a single line within the pattern for any length of time without losing its way.

“What did you do to it?” he asked.

“I revealed its true nature. Mind you, I have not fully woken it. You will need its name to do that.”

“How do I find its name?”

“Were you the philosophical type, I would tell you that its name will reveal itself to you when the time is right—”

Will snorted.

Aurelius continued blandly, ignoring Will's interruption, “But you are too much like your father to accept such an answer. Hence, I shall tell you merely to search for its name until you find it.”

“Where?”

“Your mother and Adrick hailed from Waelan as did the wood in the spear shaft. I might start by uttering Waelanian names to it. Mayhap it will respond.”

“Whoa. Wait. My mother came from
Koth
?”

“She never told you?”

“No!”

“Ahh. Then you did not know Adrick introduced your mother and father to one another and was, perhaps, their oldest and dearest friend? He found Hickory Hollow for them to … retire to, I believe.”

To hide in, more like
. Will's shoulder blades slammed against the back of his chair. Well,
that
certainly explained a lot. No wonder his parents had always been so generous to the woodsman and had tacitly let Adrick teach Will forestry, tracking, and combat skills. It also explained how Adrick had always seemed to materialize when trouble came to call in Hickory Hollow. Like the night Adrick had been killed—the same night the Boki had come to kill their old enemy, Tiberius De'Vir.

“Magic can, in fact, spontaneously attach itself to an item,” Aurelius said in a lecturing tone.

Will's attention snapped back to his teacher. “How?”

“Great deeds draw great power to them. Likewise, a magic item involved in great deeds draws magical energy to itself. Over time, the magic of a weapon or piece of armor or an enchanted item can gradually expand and multiply through use. Once changed enough, such items are classed as artifacts. They earn—or are given—a name, and often, their magics become permanent within them.”

“So if I kill a dragon with it, my staff will gain power?” Will asked incredulously.

Aurelius laughed. “Most definitely.”

“Has anyone ever killed a dragon?”

“Of course.”

“Anyone living today?”

Aurelius abruptly waxed sober. Grim, even. “Yes. Our most resplendent Emperor has.”

Will's jaw sagged. A
dragon
? The Emperor? How on Urth could any rebellion by normal mortals defeat a being powerful enough to kill a dragon? Was the dream of freedom from Koth utterly ridiculous, after all?

“Enough of this dangerous talk. I summoned you here for a lesson.”

Will sighed. Back to memorization and endless, dull exercises summoning pea-sized balls of magic and doing nothing with them.

“Today we shall consider the source of magic,” Aurelius intoned.

Will sat up a little straighter. He'd long wondered where it came from, even since before he knew he possessed a talent for it.

“The Decirum teaches us that magic is inherent to every living thing.”

“Meaning what?” Will asked blankly.

“Meaning that magic exists naturally within in every living object. It is all around us. In us. Infusing the entire world we live in and everything in it.”

“And this Decirum is … what?”

“It is ancient knowledge, passed down through the ages. Think of it as the fundamental theory of magic. All we know of magic and its use comes from this body of information.”

“Is it written down? Can I read it?”

“It is written in our flesh and bones. In instinct. Our purpose in the Mage's Guild is to teach acolytes how to access this deep understanding.”

It all sounded like smoke and mirrors to him. But if pretending to understand it meant that Aurelius would teach him how to channel magic through his staff, he would nod and smile like this Decirum thing made perfect sense.

Aurelius lectured, “Because magic is imbued with life energy, it does not act like, say, a rock. When you throw a rock, it travels straight, without thought or intent, in whatever direction you toss it. But when you cast magic, you must take into account that it moves with intent of its own.”

Will had experienced this. Casting magic was like tossing water from a spinning bucket. The magic writhed and wobbled and refused to travel straight. Only the will and mental power of the caster marshaled its chaotic movement into orderly flight toward a target. Of course, shapes, colors, and signs helped pull in magic, and physical objects like wands, rods, and staffs helped channel the outward flow of it.

Aurelius continued, “Even the air that magic moves through influences it with its own innate magical energy—”

The office door opened without warning, and Will and Aurelius looked up together, startled. Drake Bruin, who had served under Will's father in the Celestial Order of the Sun, stood in the doorway. “My apology for the interruption, but Selea Rouge sends word that you are needed at Landsgrave Hyland's house.”

“What is the reason?” Aurelius asked quickly.

“His message did not say.”

“When do Leland and Selea need me?”

“Now.”

Aurelius stood with an alacrity that conveyed the depth of his alarm at this summons from Selea personally. “Are you coming?” the solinari asked Will a shade sharply.

“Uhh, yes. Of course.” Will leaped up from his chair as his grandfather swept from the room. Bruin followed them down the stairs and held out Aurelius's cloak in silence. Unspoken was the offer of the drake's sword, as well, should his guildmaster have need of it.

“You are a good man, Bruin,” Aurelius murmured as he took the garment and swung it around his shoulders. “But you are needed here. Guard the guild in my absence.”

Bruin executed a short bow of obedience.

Will grabbed his own cloak from a hook by the door. An unseasonably cold, wet spell had descended upon Dupree overnight. He hurried after Aurelius, who had not waited for him and now strode across the broad Mage's Guild Square. Luckily, he'd attained his father's height and more in the past few months, and his long stride carried him to his grandfather's heels quickly.

Something bad had happened. He could feel it in his bones. And obviously, Aurelius felt it, too.

 

CHAPTER

7

Anton batted away the hand creeping up his arm seductively. He'd been forced to use a precious love potion on his prisoner as the most expeditious means of transporting her in secrecy to their final destination. The jann girl, Marikeen, was far too powerful a magic caster to leave with her free will intact while he transported her. And the cost of the silence poisons it would take to keep her from casting magic at him for the several-day journey was prohibitive.

He was not likely to have access to either an alchemy lab or supplies to make more love potions for a long time to come, which made it doubly a shame to have to burn one on this recalcitrant young woman. Particularly since, as much as he would relish the sweet revenge of bedding a young, beautiful female attached to the household of his greatest enemy, she was more valuable untouched as currency in the purchase of favors and power.

Anton tripped and stumbled. He righted himself, cursing, and paid closer attention to his footing. He hated skulking around in the woods like a common criminal. Yet another grievance to lay at the feet of his enemies. They would all pay for this. Although, if all had gone according to plan last night, his greatest enemy was dead. His triumph at having finally destroyed Leland Hyland assuaged his irritation at least a little.