Storm's Apprentice

Eldred Wells, called Master Antonyx by his peers, kept his eyes on the walls as he paced towards the hall of conferences.

Channeling maja to his eyes, he rotated through several different perception aspects. Heat Seeing, Motion Seeing, Air Seeing, Spirit Sight. Each countered a different stealth technique, and he needed all of them to make sure Master Raphas hadn’t planted another death trap on his way to the weekly Masters’ conference.

As far as he could see, there were none. No invisible spirit assassins, no concealed cantogram traps, no transparent Fold gates leading to sub-realms of infinite demons. But he wasn’t reassured. It only meant the attempt would be somewhere else.

Eldred reached the big double doors and bunched his sleeve around his hand. He reached out and turned the handle with the fabric protecting his skin.

Protected from contact poison, and from Master Korphus’s dirty hands.

The door swung open. Inside, the space opened up into a vast room almost at the very top of the tower. Open arches lined every wall, looking out across the mountain and the swamp, letting cold air blow in from the peak. Tapestries and banners hung from the walls, showing scenes from the Reeves’ history, images depicting lines from the Sovereign’s Path, even a few banners with the arms of Antorx for appearances’ sake.

Thirty or so academy Masters stood around a hexagon formed of long wooden tables, each side lined with painful-looking iron stools.

The tables were laden with food and drink; delicacies from across the empire, carted in and stored in magical stasis, and served up weekly both as a sign of status and a lure for Reeves who were otherwise difficult to wrangle.

On one table alone, Eldred spotted whole-roast songbird, elk marrow pate, slices of gray meat from some fleshcrafted beast, unfamiliar purple roots, fresh tomatoes, and a carafe of a rich golden liquid, which had better be ale.

He stared at a dusty bottle of wine with a label so faded he could barely read it. It all looked very inviting.

How much did he want to risk being poisoned? And could the wine possibly be worth it?

He shuffled over to the tables and stepped around one of the black stools.

Just before he sat down, he caught sight of Master Raphas among the crowd.

The younger Reeve turned to look directly at him. He smiled and raised his own glass to Eldred in a silent toast.

Eldred was suddenly second guessing his stool choice. He moved away and picked another one at random, checking it with different aspects of Seeing, and feeling it out for maja, then checking for hidden blades and needles. Finally he sat on it. A minute later he was still alive.

The other masters eventually stopped gossiping and congealed into a seated ring around the tables.

Master Cordaze freed herself from whatever conversation she was having for long enough to bang the carved gavel sphere against the table, bringing the meeting to session.

The doors to the hall opened right on cue, and Grandmaster Korn strode in.

Korn was ancient. His body was fully fleshcrafted by this point, his skin a scarred gray suit, his eyes blue pinrpicks in deep pits of darkness. He had a pair of branching horns growing from his bald head, rumoured to be the result of a failed merger with a demon of his own creation.

He emanated the stench of decay wherever he went, like he was a body someone had dredged up from a bog. His maja presence was even more stifling than his smell, a raging ice storm full of sharp shards and death-dealing winds, and everyone in the room felt it.

No matter how strong they were in their own right, Korn dwarfed them all. He was almost too powerful for the world. No longer human. Barely corporeal. Closer to being a greater spirit himself than even to a Master.

The fact that he still involved himself in the petty beaurocracy of the academy said something import and not particularly flattering about his personality, Eldred thought.

“Has the session been called?” Korn asked.

His voice was disarmingly quiet, more like the voice of a librarian than an ancient near-immortal sorcerer.

Master Cordaze stood up. “It has, Grandmaster.”

“That is well. Then let us proceed with the security report. Master Bulldorus, what is the status of our academy?”

Master Bulldorus was a woman who looked to be in her forties, round-bellied and wavy-haired, with almost no evidence of fleshcrafting on her skin. That was either a sign that a sorcerer stayed out of trouble, of that they were trouble. In Bulldorus’s case it was the latter.

“There’s a mid-tier spirit moving around the north inclines. I’d say it was cresting the fourth peak. in terms of power. I recommend we keep the kiddies away from it, until we can assign a few potentiates to go deal with it.”

“Have you approached the spirit?” Korn asked.

“I have, Grandmaster. It says its name is Deep Fertile Ground Seeper, but I looked into its shadow and I think it’s actually the spirit we know as Earthrot Sevenfold traveling in disguise. I don’t know why it’s here now, but it’s better we deal with it before it can go off and cause another famine.”

“Agreed, Master Bulldorus. Were there any other issues to speak of?”

“There’s been some friction between our garrison and Count Serrato’s personal guard,” Bulldorus said. “Seems they don’t like giving up control of security, and I think Serrato’s encouraging them on the quiet.”

Korn nodded to himself, while Bulldorus went on.

“There was also an incident in the last batch of initiates. One of the kiddies killed a squad of soldiers trying to stop a harvest.”

“I see,” Korn said. “Does the attack indicate an intractible problem?”

“Time will tell. It’s common enough for the new initiates to flex their power a little at the start. It’s good for them to see what they can do.”

“Who was that initiate?” another of the Masters asked. It was the white haired one that nobody ever remembered the name of, Eldred thought.

“Name of Dorian Tisk,” Bulldorus answered. “Just some village lad from Losiris,”

Eldred frowned. The name seemed familiar. He pounded his memory for the next minute trying to recall where he’d heard it, only to draw a blank.

“Perhaps a corresponding test for his next assignment?” the white-haired master asked.

“That is a matter for the Consignor of Initiates,” Korn said, nodding to Master Cordaze.

The topic moved on from security to logistics, then planning, then the state of the war against Cortiss and the war against De Violas, the state of the empire, and half a dozen other topics. It was enough to make Eldred wish he’d brought a book.

Finally they reached the part of the meeting Eldred actually cared about.

“With matters of the academy seen to, we turn to personal matters. Are there any matters or motions that the esteemed Masters wish to raise?”

“Yes. I do,” Eldred said, lurching to his feet.

Korn looked from Eldred to Master Cordaze. “Does the assembly recognize Master Antonyx?”

“It does,” Cordaze replied.

Korn gestured to Eldred, yielding the floor.

Eldred reached out an pointed at Master Raphas. “I move to strip Master Raphas of his mesitership and expel him from the academy.”

A few of the gathered masters began muttering to their neighbors. Someone laughed. Raphas himself stood up and brushed invisible dust off his robe, prepared to defend himself.

“On what grounds?” Master Korn asked.

“On the grounds of incompetence,” Eldred announced. “Raphas has tried and failed to murder me three times in the past two weeks. The first was when he adjusted a servant to leave a Void Egg in my sleeping chamber. The second when he arranged to have me ambushed by a mid-tier Mercenary spirit beyond the academy grounds. Finally he sent me the design for a cantogram drawn on paper laced with Soul Worm venom.”

Across the room, a grin was spreading across Raphas’s face.

“Don’t smile. It was pathetic,” Eldred shouted. “Three times he’s tried, and three times he’s failed. There’s no excuse for such shoddy work.”

Korn looked from Eldred to Raphas. “What say you, Master Raphas? Did you make these attempts?”

“Yes, Master Korn,” Raphas answered.

“And how do you account for your repeated failures to accomplish a simple assassination?”

“I can make no defense, Master Korn. I only ask for this matter to be deferred until the resolution of my fourth attempt on Master Antonyx’s life.”

“Fourth?” Eldred asked.

Even as he spoke, he felt a sinking feeling in his gut.

The iron chair beneath him was starting to give off the prickling warmth of a maja signature. It started off weak, but quickly grew to that of a third peak spirit.

The sound of iron grating against iron accompanied the appearance of giant black insect limbs around the edges of his vision, and he felt the stool shift as more legs than a rational creature should have unfurled from its underside.

The other masters around him carefully stood and backed away. A couple of people on the far side of the room passed money to a third, who counted it, nodding.

“Very well,” Master Korn said, “We will suspend this meeting for the duration of this latest, final attempt.”

Eldred stretched out knotted joints and let Enduring aspect maja flow into his limbs.

He had one more job to do, then hopefully he’d be able to get Raphas’s chaotic traditionalist hands off his archives department.

~

Silas Everly, called Master Raphas by the idiots who plagued him daily, watched as the third peak Vanity spirit unfurled itself from its disguise.

It stretched out spear-like limbs like someone was emptying a crate of black needles onto the conference room floor. Disguised, it was no bigger than a normal seat, but now, fully unfurled, it stood more than eight feet tall and six wide.

The spirit, which called itself Death Vision Very Sightly, was vaguely insectile in its physical form. It had elements of centipede, cockroach, and corpse fly in its body, with two long hairy antennae branching out from its head, and a pair of glittering vestigial butterfly wings sprouting from its back.

Raphas had first made contact with Sightly when it was just an infant, barely bigger than a pillbug. He’d engineered an insult from Antonyx to Sightly by placing the spirit in the corner of a corridor which Antonyx had then passed through without paying the proper respects.

The lowborn sot hadn’t even known Sightly was there, but the spirit had never forgotten the slight.

Raphas had raised it, fed it, trained it, and nurtured its hate for ten years, and now it was time for that investment to be realized.

Sightly had started in the perfect position for an ambush. The sot hadn’t seen it coming. By the time he’d even felt its maja signature, it had already had its pincers wrapped around its throat.

Sightly clamped its claw shut, and Antonyx’s black blood sprayed across the room.

Raphas narrowed his eyes. There hadn’t been enough blood. He was still alive, for now.

Antonyx threw out his hands and let out a radial blast of Force maja.

Tables and stools went flying. Orderves and drinks decorated the high ceiling.

The other masters either absorbed or deflected the magic, but Very Sightly was knocked back. The spirit lost its grip on Antonyx, skidding away.

Antonyx immediately started waddling across the room, heading for the open space at the center of the fallen tables.

Raphas watched him go with a smirk. Antonyx wasn’t a Reeve who prioritized combat skills. The sot didn’t even carry a blade. Against any number of mortals, a Reeve was a deadly enemy. Even against a third peak spirit, a Master would usually prevail. But Antonyx spent more time reading history than he did arcane secrets, and against a vicious spirit with a physical focus… well, he would be like a worm in its jaws.

Papers spilled from Antonyx’s robe as he awkwardly ran, scattering across the tiled floor as if he’d just emptied his Fold pouch.

What a buffoon, Raphas thought.

He caught himself a second later. The papers were giving off the feeling of maja; something sharp and biting that smelled to him like a chemist’s workshop.

Every sheet of paper was covered by an active cantogram, all of them spilling Corrosion aspect maja into the air above.

Sightly pursued him in a straight line, right over the path of dropped papers.

The second the spirit stepped over the first one it started wilting, and it didn’t know enough about what was going on to take another route.

“Not over the papers!” Raphas called, but it was too late.

Master Korn turned a disapproving look on him. “This isn’t a duel, Master Raphas. Allow this sincere attempt to run its course.”

Antonyx arrived at the center of the room. He reached into a pocket of his robe and started throwing folded paper darts at the advancing spirit. Each dart unfurled when it hit, revealing another cantogram that immediately blazed to life.

Raphas didn’t even recognize most of them, but their effects on Sightly were dramatic. Some sizzled, others burned, some leeched energy away, forming holes in the spirit’s corporeal body.

Sightly charged on regardless. It had climbed the third peak. It may not have the versatility of a sorcerer, but it had power to spare; a vast well of maja that it could use to repair its body and inflict whatever exotic effects it had learned. And Raphas had taught it a few.

When it was clear the spirit wasn’t going to stop, Antonyx raised his hand and threw another wave of force.

Sightly must have felt it coming. It hunkered down, stabbing needle limbs into the ground and weathering the force like a strong wind.

Antonyx tried again, then again, timing the blast for when the spirit started to move, but Sightly anticipated it every time and wouldn’t be pushed.

Antonyx raised his hands and threw fire, which rolled off Sightly’s shell. He threw a jet of maja that put an icy bite in the air, then a rolling ball of Corrosion, visible as a slow moving green sphere. Only the last had any effect, sizzling into the spirit’s skin and causing shell plates to fall off its body.

Apparently unhappy with the barrage, Sightly changed tactics. It stopped, bowed down, and spread the vestigial wings on its back.

The patterns on its wings began to glow as they flapped slowly back and forth, the colors shifting and melting. A wave of exotic apected maja flowed off it.

Raphas only recognized the aspect because he’d been the one to teach it to the spirit. Delirium aspect.

It was hard to learn without the right substances, or a fever so bad it was life threatening. There was also a risk in using it directly against a sorcerer. Only a few aspects could be picked up from exposure alone, usually limited to those simple forces that inflicted the understanding they required, but with an experienced Reeve there was always a chance.

The wave of Delerium washed outward from Sightly, catching even some of the spectating masters in its effect.

When it reached Antonyx he froze. His pupils grew large, his eyes fixed on something distant that only he could see.

He was whispering something to himself.

Raphas had to strain his ears and flush them with Flinch aspect just to make them out.

“No,” he whispered. “It was all true. All true.”

Raphas straigtened up. It was foolish to think he would let something important slip at the end. The man was just lost in his own private delusion.

Very Sightly approached more casually now that Antonyx was incapacitated.

The spirit stopped in front of him and wrapped both claws around his neck. It embraced him with its many legs, becoming an iron maiden of spear-sharp limbs, all pointing at his vital organs.

Decapitation was usually final, even for a Reeve, and no amount of body reinforcement would stop a this third peak spirit from taking his head and making a pincushion of his body.

With its victory assured, Sightly pulled its maja back, letting Antonyx’s head clear.

The man blinked as whatever dream he was locked into faded, and he found himself back in the conference room.

He looked around, blinking tiredly. When he realized where he was, he began to laugh.

“It was just a delusion,” he said. He sounded grateful.

“You’re about to die, you imbecile. Stop laughing,” Raphas shouted.

Very Sightly seemed more confused than put off. It flexed its claws, prickling his body with its legs. A wave of blood ran down Antonyx’s body, soaking through his robes.

Antonyx turned his eyes up to look at Sightly’s head.

“You. I remember you, your maja,” he said quietly. “Years ago. You were hiding in the passageway. A lost little thing.”

Sightly hissed, rattling its shell in an insect rebuke.

“But I ignored you back then, didn’t I. I thought you were just a pest. I never thought you’d turn into this. I don’t know if it means much now, but I’m sorry about that. If I’d known what you’d turn into, I’d have picked you up myself.”

Sightly hissed again, but this time it relaxed its claws.

“What are you doing?” Raphas shouted at it. “He’s not really sorry!”

“Some spirits are more powerful than me and I’m okay with that. You’re what, third peak? And you still bested me. That speaks to your skill, your speed, and your violence,” Antonyx said. “And that hallucination trick was unique. I was ready for Thought and Dream when I saw those wings, but that was something else.”

Sightly buzzed quietly, a noise that was closer to a purr than anything an insect would normally make. It slowly removed one of its claws from Antonyx’s throat.

“You useless worm! We’ve prepared for this moment a hundred times! Kill him already.”

Sightly turned its head and hissed again, this time at Raphas.

Antonyx twisted to look at him, their eyes meeting over the field of scattered chairs.

There was a pulse of maja from Antonyx, not enough to be an attack, but it had Raphas flooding his body with defensive magics anyway.

None of then stopped Antonyx’s words bubbling into his head.

Antonyx was projecting his thoughts with the Thought aspect. Raphas never did pick that one up. Damn Lectuous and his pretentious riddles.

“Maybe not, but their grudges are legendary!” Raphas shouted back.

Another pulse of thought came from Antonyx.

Antonyx turned back to the spirit.

“I don’t know how he’s been treating you, but I know it hasn’t been half as well as you deserve. Why don’t you come with me? I’ll pay you the honor you’re due.”

The spirit began a low, contemplative hiss. It wasn’t clear that it’d accept. Raphas doubted it that it would, but it was clear the grudge of ten years was no longer ample to ensure the man’s death.

Raphas flexed his hand and released a glimmering mercury needle from his Fold pouch. With a flick, he sent the missile hurtling towards Antonyx’s still immobilized head. Apologize to this.

Korn was suddenly standing in the path of the weapon. It reached the point where it would have touched him, and simply vanished. Raphas had the vague impression of something vast and dragonlike opening its mouth and swallowing it.

“It seems as though your fourth attempt was also a failure,” Master Korn said. He looked around at the other Masters, seeking a silent consensus. When nobody objected, he went on. “We find that Master Antonyx’s charge has merit. You do not in truth possess the competence required of a Master at Windshriek Academy. We hereby strip you of your title of Master and dismiss you from your position at the Academy. Leave now, or stand in violation of my mandate.”

Raphas looked around at the crowd of sorcerers.

Some were smirking at him, others staring with open glee, some were even ignoring him.

He shot Antonyx a final glare, who was also ignoring him, before he turned and marched out of the room.

~

Private Raven Seawine, called Bendy by the other soldiers in her unit, grabbed the mop and bucket from the storage shed and set off down the mountain.

It’d happened again. Another teenage psychopath had been given the power of a god and decided to use it to mash her comrades to paste. Raven would be the first to admit they needed the sorcerers against the horrors De Violas could field, and they saved more soldiers on the battlefield than they cost off it, but the gods knew they were a sword without a hilt.

She ran into Private Sommar on the way down the slopes towards the barracks.

“See you’re on wheelbarrow duty,” she said.

Sommar was pushing a wooden wheelbarrow, the shaft of a broad, flat snow shovel sticking out the top.

“I’m to bring the bodies to Master Sectus,” Sommar said. “Don’t know what he wants with ’em and I’m sharp fearful to speculate.”

“Could be anything,” Raven said. “Magic monsters. Magic potions. Could be he likes them in a soup.”

“I said I was sharp fearful. I don’t want to think on it. Rough enough to sleep with what I’ve seen. Don’t need imaginings on top of it.”

“Well, this is going to be a rough one, I hear. This little shit took out a whole unit.”

“I heard. Captain Trenton. I heard he was all right.”

“I didn’t like him,” Raven said. “Not that he deserved, well…”

They continued down the mountain, past the infirmary and prisoner washhouse, to the fresh intake barracks.

Raven knew something was wrong as soon as she opened the door.

“Where are the bodies?” she muttered.

The only sign of violence left in the central hall was the red-black bloodstains covering the walls, floor, and ceiling.

There were no bodies, no body parts, not even a severed finger. Just blood, and only that blood that had already soaked into the stone.

The hall was empty except for one prisoner, a new intake initiate in a light gray robe. He had wild black hair, stuck up like it had been frozen in the middle of a gale. He glared out at them with crazed, bloodshot gray eyes, his mouth locked into a furious snarl.

“Hello there,” she tried, keeping the nerves out her voice. “You’re the one that did this, are you? Me and Sommar are just going to come in and clean up a bit. You’re not going to splatter us, right?”

The kid didn’t reply. He didn’t even move. Not a muscle. She looked into his eyes for some kind of response, but she couldn’t see anything there but hate.

Weirdo.

She stepped inside, filled the bucket from the water barrel, and dropped a handful of caustics into it.

With nothing to do, Sommar stood nearby, watching the kid for any homicidal moves while she mopped at the soaked-in blood.

It took them most of the morning, and the crazy kid didn’t move the whole time. He just stood there, staring his hateful stare straight at the door. He was still there when they left.

“Look on his face was worse than the blood, I think,” Sommar said as he lead them away.

“You had it lucky. No bodies…” Raven said, trailing off. “Look, we’ll have to report that there were no bodies there. That’s not normal.”

“I’m havin’ to believe it was something innocent, like some other crew cleaned it.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sommar,” Raven said.