This post is chapter forty-one of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule, which I'm serializing here on Steemit.
The story so far:
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40
Arturo awoke and, as was his custom, checked the Hall of Sorrows before going to breakfast. The sound of a soul chime chased away his appetite. He sent for some of the new servants that staffed the villa and they assisted him in fetching the chime from the hall. Arturo examined it to discover who had crossed the veil. Lord Enrico Conti? The Torzani ambassador to Tarkannan? That was unexpected, but not altogether surprising. He had probably pushed one of his schemes too far, and the wronged party had resolved the dispute with steel instead of a letter of protest. Arturo was put off by his own callous reaction. Had he become so enmeshed in Torzani politics that he would entertain the idea of murder so flippantly? Arturo dispatched a messenger to fetch Lord Ignatio Moretti, Speaker of the Council of Lords, as well as Conti's wife. They would both want to know what happened. He went to bathe himself. He needed to be at his finest to welcome such august guests.
When he returned from his rooms, he saw that the steward had provided a selection of wines and the chef had laid out a platter of fine cheeses. The messenger returned with Speaker Ignatio and Lord Conti's wife a short while later. Ignatio partook of the most expensive of the wines, which would have been a faux pas had they not belonged to him in the first place. Lady Conti took a plate of cheese out of habit, but her appetite was understandably suppressed and she took little more than a few nibbles.
“Are you sure you wish to observe, Lady Conti?” Arturo asked. “Watching a loved one's death can be a difficult experience. Many choose to wait and hear the tale second hand.”
“No,” she said, “I will see if for myself.”
Arturo led them out to his patio, where his viewing bowl had been prepared. He sat them around it and began performing his spell. As the spell took effect Arturo recognized the Tarkannan throne room. He suppressed a shudder of fear. The last time a viewing had shown this place his standing in the world had been elevated. Was his luck about to change for the worse? They watched the scene in the bowl intently. The spell was supposed to provide them a vision of the events that led to Lord Conti's soul being separated from his body, but it seemed unfocused, as if it was providing a viewing for the entire court rather than just Lord Conti. A priest entered the scene. “I don't understand, what does this have to do with Enrico?” asked Lady Conti.
“Patience. All will be revealed,” said Arturo. He hoped this was true. Normally visions like this were far more straightforward.
“I think that's him there,” suggested Ignatio. “See, off to the side?”
“It's so wavy, but you may be right. He does sometimes wear a scarlet cape like that,” she said.
Their speculation was cut short when fire burst from the priest's hands, burning the throne.
“What was that?” Ignatio yelled.
They watched in horror as the priest called forth more and more flame, and as the man in the scarlet cape was caught up in the fire he filled the view. There could be no more doubt. They watched Lord Enrico Conti scream in agony as he was burned alive. It was all the more horrifying that they couldn't hear his screams, only the songbirds that had made a nest in a tree nearby. Lady Conti collapsed into wailing tears, and Ignatio pulled her tight, trying to comfort her, but his eyes were drilling into Arturo, even before the image had faded from the bowl. “I asked you what that was, Arturo.”
“It couldn't be natural flame. It seemed to obey the priest's command. Magic. It's the only explanation, but I don't understand how. Fire magic was lost. It hasn't been practiced for five hundred years. And that much power? That's beyond any wizard of today.”
Lady Conti had settled down to quiet sobs, but she still hid her face in Ignatio's shoulder. “That's not good enough, Arturo. I need answers. If this is a threat to Torzano, I need to know how to counter it.”
Arturo thought. “There are some colleagues I can consult. Perhaps they will know more than I do.”
“I certainly hope so,” Ignatio said with a scowl. He helped Lady Conti to her feet and escorted her out.
Arturo sat in stunned silence, the images he'd seen in the bowl running through his mind over and over. He had seen visions of death many times. Sickness, accident, even violent death in combat. He thought he had become inured to it, but what he had seen today had shaken him to his core. Eventually he called his apprentice and dispatched him to invite the other wizards to join him.
Arturo sat at his small patio table with Orso the Fleshmender. Arturo and Orso had been apprentices at the same time, and their masters had been close friends. Since their apprenticeships had ended Arturo had been the more politically astute and socially aware, and now spent most of his time interacting with the very highest levels of Torzani society. Orso had been an idealist and spent most of his time using his healing powers to tend to the poor. Traveling in different social circles as they did, it was rare for them to have a chance to talk and the two of them reminisced about old times while they waited for Walther Strassa.
Walther was a journeyman wizard who had arrived in Torzano not a month before. In his own land it was customary for journeymen to travel around to different cities after their apprenticeships, honing their craft. Walther had a more fanciful interpretation of that tradition than most and had seen ten lands in the past two years. He was a kinetomancer, a specialist in the magic of motion. Using his ability to shift heavy materials without a crane made him quite useful in construction projects and, as the latest trend among the Torzani elite was to build ever more grand and elaborate villas, his talents were in great demand. He was young, brash, and cocky, and by all reports was making quite a splash among the idle rich. Any party which omitted him from the guest list was not the sort of party that anyone would want to attend, and social fortunes rose or fell based on which invitations he accepted.
Arturo's apprentice led Walther out to the patio, and Arturo motioned for him to sit down. Walther was chewing some noxious foreign weed that stained his teeth brown and produced a juice which he would periodically spit onto the ground. Arturo found the habit disgusting, but it seemed to be rising in popularity among those who chased the trends. Arturo had to wonder for a moment what they would do when the trend had passed but the brown teeth remained. Once Walther was seated Arturo recounted what he had seen in the bowl.
“Are you sure it was a true vision?” Walther asked.
Questioning his magic? Was the man being purposefully rude? When Arturo had worked his way up through Torzani society, courtesy had been the highest virtue. Now some of the young people thumbed their noses at the old traditions. Had Walther joined in, or was this simply his natural temperament? “It's impossible for the spell to fail. The moment of death is fixed when the soul crosses the veil. The chime merely provides a link to the soul and the water releases it. Unless you're suggesting the Veil of Death itself is warped, the vision was as true as if I had been there myself.”
“But how could it be?” asked Orso. “The last of the fire mages died hundreds of years ago without taking an apprentice. And even then, they couldn't do anything like you describe. You'd have to go back even longer for a wizard with that kind of power. Back to the War of Despair.”
Would Orso waste time questioning the provenance of Arturo's information as well? “If I understood it I wouldn't need to ask for your insight, would I?”
“I'm sorry, Arturo. I don't mean to doubt you, but I don't see how what you're saying is possible.”
“If the vision is true,” said Walther, “then the belief that there are no more fire mages must be false. Perhaps they have existed in hiding all these years.”
“And never shown themselves?” asked Arturo. “To what purpose? And if they were hiding, why reveal themselves now, in Tarkannan of all places?”
They all sat quietly for a moment, pondering. “Perhaps,” suggested Walther, “it wasn't mages in hiding. Perhaps it was the magic. In the old days, spells were written down. It's easier to hide books than to hide men.”
“But Good King Nicholas burned all the books,” protested Orso.
“That's what we've always believed,” said Walther. “But we've also believed that there were no fire mages in the world, and that's now proven false. Maybe our belief in the destruction of the books is false.”
“It's a troubling prospect,” Arturo conceded, “but it does seem possible.”
“If there are books of fire magic, perhaps there are other books as well,” suggested Walther.
A shiver ran down Arturo's spine. The old magic. The magic that had nearly destroyed the world. Good King Nicholas had tried to destroy it, and now it seemed that he may have failed. And Arturo was reluctant to admit it, but there was another thought as well. All the magic he knew had been taught to him by a forgetful old man. Could just anyone become a greater wizard than Arturo by merely reading a book of spirit magic? The tales of the old times suggested that even the humblest students were capable of greater magical feats than he was. “If what you suppose is true, something needs to be done about it.”
“Yes,” agreed Walther. “If there are books out there, I wouldn't want anyone else to be reading them.”
That was a strange way to say it. Anyone else? Before he could ponder too deeply, Orso spoke up. “This is just idle speculation. How can we know for sure?”
Walther had an answer for this as well. “I intend to travel to Tarkannan to find out. The two of you are welcome to join me, if you like.”
Again, was his rudeness calculated or simply innate? As if he would dictate to two masters. Still, what other choice was there? Orso was right, there was nothing to be done here but idle speculation. Arturo needed to go, needed to see for himself. “Going to Tarkannan does seem to be the only way to continue the investigation. I suppose I must go as well.”
Orso looked between both of them. Arturo recognized the expression, having seen it many times before. Orso knew they were right, but didn't want them to be. In their youth Arturo would have tried to argue with him and talk him into it, but that would have simply given Orso more time to indulge his obstinance. Arturo was wiser now, so he simply remained silent, and Orso eventually gave up hope and convinced himself. “I suppose I must go, too.”