Falduin worried.

Lera had been silent all morning. Falduin felt that somehow he was responsible. Perhaps he should have admitted to drawing the image even though he wasn’t the culprit. At least then Lera would have had something real to grapple with.

She would be angry, but once he apologised he knew she would forgive him. Then everything would return to normal.

Right now he wasn’t sure she could ever recover from the shock. She was carrying a great weight upon her shoulders, and there was nothing Falduin could think to do to help her.

He didn’t really believe in The Gods. There were so many of them, and they all wanted something from him. Usually money. He had always felt that if there were any genuine all-powerful beings it would be so apparent he wouldn’t have any choice but to acknowledge their existence.

Yet, all the gods that people worshipped, spending untold fortunes trying to placate their every whim, required belief without any proof. They called it faith.

Dragons he could believe in. He had seen the skull of one every morning before instruction. It hung suspended in The Reds Common Room.

Demons he knew were real. One of the old wizards had been dragged out of retirement to show what happens when you summoned a demon. The entire left side of his body had withered, brown and shrivelled like a dried grape. The wizard could still use his left arm and leg (in great never-ending pain), but they were cold to the touch like that of a corpse.

The masters made the apprentices touch and feel the cadaverous appendages, so they could fully understand the risks. They were told the old wizard had gotten off lightly. When it came to Falduin’s turn he thought he could sense the remnants of the fiendish essence, a dark malevolence. He had nightmares for weeks afterwards.

Later, Falduin had endured extensive lessons on how to fight and banish demons. It was exhausting and demanded complete concentration, and a commanding presence. Afterwards, even the masters had to admit he was quite good at it.

No, he could not rely on faith. He did not wish to fall into the same allurement as the masters at the High Tower did. Their study of magic was mostly built upon faith. They did not (could not) understand how it truly worked. Instead they parroted what their own masters had taught them. While sometimes they tinkered, the alterations were almost always entirely cosmetic, changing a effect’s hue or shape. Yet that was not for him.

What he wished to do was understand how spells truly functioned and why. That could never remain an element of faith, it required examination and experimentation. Both were more or less banned in The Tower.

He knew all the basic spells that a wizard needed to know, most of which were designed to dazzle and entertain. He could mend commonplace items, and perform mundane functions like lighting and extinguishing fires. All of which were amazing and all powerful to the common folk, but frightfully boring to him.

He hated the thought that he would eventually be assigned some remote town (or worse, a village), where he would spend the rest of his life mending pots and creating fiery entertainments during festivals. That wasn’t what wizardry was supposed to be about. He had heard things were different at the other towers. He hoped to be able to find out soon.

All the towers had initially remained steadfastly neutral during the War of Liberation. There was even one famous battle fought immediately outside the gates of the Red Tower, and despite desperate pleas the mages there did nothing to interfere, neither hinder or help either side.

Then the Imperials made a mistake. For whatever reason one of their generals ordered the Green Tower to be raided. The mages were caught unawares and the wizards either executed or conscripted. The Green Tower itself was levelled. The White, Red, and Black Towers all chose to support Lord Morgaine from that point forward.

Some of the apprentices, a few years older than Falduin, had been chosen to join the war effort. They underwent The Test, and those that passed (didn’t die) were taught spells designed for war.

Falduin wanted to be like them. Using his magic in momentous ways, but the war ended before he had his chance.

Of course, all but two of those he knew never returned from the war. Even the remaining two were forced to take Potions of Unknowing so that they would forget the battle spells they had been taught.

That’s why Falduin had run away. Minia had hinted that the masters knew about his own tinkering, and were about to force him to forget (or worse). He didn’t entirely trust her. She had a way of remaining threatening using only inference and allusions. However he couldn’t take that chance. He had slipped out, stolen a horse, and was away before anyone knew he was gone. It was surprisingly easy. He felt quite chuffed with himself.

The feeling didn’t last. He sensed The Keepers seeking him. He pushed his mount all the way, until it fell lame just outside Brilgar. He walked through the night, to reach Milardus soon after dawn.

He chuckled as he thought about that mad dash to freedom. He wondered what had happened to The Keepers they had sent after him. He hadn’t sensed them since entering Milardus. Had they given up? Were they still scouring the port? Or had they boarded a ship bound for Tikva? He certainly hadn’t hidden his desire to travel there.

He laughed out loud. He just realised where he was. The Keepers were out chasing their own tails, and he was barely ten leagues away from The Tower. It was somewhere to the north, perhaps north-west. That was why he didn’t want to go to Tarburh. He just couldn’t remember why until now. He knew The Conclave sometimes visited the village, especially on market day.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

He wondered if the witch was a member of the Tower. She might not be a Renegade at all and had been purposely sent after him. That would explain much. Yet, why hadn’t she called in The Keepers? He would need to talk with Ganthe to see if he could extract more information about what she looked like.

“Have you found something amusing back there?” Lera asked him.

They were nearing a gorge. It cut across their path like a giant wound, the low hills they were following ended sharply as though they had been sliced by a knife.

“I just realised something,” he said.

They continued downhill for a time before Lera prompted him, “And are you going to share your revelation? I’m certain we could all do with a good laugh.”

“It wouldn’t be funny to anyone here.”

“You don’t know until you try.”

“I watched you last night,” he said, “when you were tending to Ganthe. And again this morning.”

Ganthe hadn’t slowed them up as much as Falduin had feared. He remained as their rearguard, ensuring they were neither followed or surprised from behind, but he was still clearly injured. Every now and again Falduin had seen him wince, and once offer a low groan of pain.

“Watched?” Lera asked.

“Perved,” Ifonsa muttered under her breath just loud enough for them to hear.

“Observed,” Falduin clarified. “It tires you. Your power.”

Lera laughed. There was an edge to it. “Everything tires me. I feel as weak as a kitten.”

That confused him. “Kittens aren’t weak. They’re vicious.”

“So am I,” Lera smirked at him.

“But I am correct, aren’t I? That it tires you.”

“Of course. Does yours not?”

“Yes, but you draw from yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“The source. The power. You use your own... I guess you would say your soul powers your magic.”

Lera stopped, She turned to face Falduin. “I have no magic,” she poked Falduin in the chest as she said, “My powers are channelled through me by Úlæ himself.”

The poke hurt, but Falduin didn’t let it show. “But imagine,” he continued. “what you could do if you could access an external source. Other than your god, I mean.”

“Sacrilege!” Lera said, before continuing after Ifonsa.

“I could teach you,” he offered, hurrying to catch up.

Lera walked silently ahead of him. Falduin realised he had messed up again. He needed to be more circumspect.

Ifonsa led them along the edge of the gorge. Falduin could see a narrow river winding its way through. It wasn’t very broad and there were fords and cascades along its entire length. Tall grey-barked trees grew throughout the canyon, and blue-green brush with yellow stalks stretching up as much as a pace above.

The edges of the gorge were cliff-like, and Falduin wondered how they would get down. Then as if an answer to his query, Ifonsa pushed aside the thick shrubs right at the edge, revealing a series of well-worn steps cut into the cliff wall.

Lera stopped so suddenly Falduin almost ran into her. “How long would it take me?” she asked.

“It depends on how keen and clever you are.”

Lera laughed. “I’m clearly not very clever,” she said, then descended after Ifonsa. “I’m here aren’t I?”

“I just tap into the source and I can use it?” Lera asked.

Events had improved considerably over the course of the day. They had even managed to spear some trout in the narrow river. They cooked it on the banks for their luncheon. It had slowed them, but Heric didn’t seem to mind. They had climbed out of the gorge about an hour before and were now heading across rolling hills scattered with woodland. Heric walked up front with Ifonsa, while Ganthe trailed behind.

“Yes, and no.” Falduin said.

“Which is it? Yes or no?”

“You must limit the amount you take, using only just enough or it will consume you.”

“Consume me?”

“Quite literally sometimes, but mostly metaphorically. Imagine if you dammed a river and then you poked a pipe at the bottom of the dam with a tap. What would happen if you fully opened the tap?”

“Water would gush out, I expect.”

“And what if you were drinking from the tap?”

“Ah,” Lera said, understanding. “So you must only open the tap just enough?”

“Yes,” he said, surprised at how quickly she had understood the concept. It sometimes took novices weeks to grasp that basic analogy.

Heric came back to them. “We need to be careful from hereon,” he said. “We’re only a few leagues from Harnsey. They’re likely already there and watching out for us.”

“Then why don’t we bypass it?” Falduin asked.

Heric regarded Falduin, almost like he was a stupid child. Then he listed the reasons, counting them off on his fingers. “Firstly we need food and supplies, Secondly, I don’t fancy walking all the way to Wombourne. Do you? Thirdly, I miss my horse.”

“Just how do you plan to retrieve your horse without getting us all killed?”

Heric smiled. “I have a plan.”