ZENGHI – AGE 9 - MARAGON’S TOWER, HAVIK, TRASTONIA

4TH CARLINGSHAE, EARLY SPRING, 835 PBM

“Stay calm and concentrate, as I have taught you. Feel the energy within the candle and channel it,” instructed Maragon calmly. Maragon passed him a simple candle, its wick burning strongly and casting a pale light. Zenghi was eager.

It is about time Maragon let me cast my own magick. I have been doing this for months when he is not around.

“How are you feeling?” asked Maragon

“I’m ready,” Zenghi replied, “and I have been for some time! You need to stop holding me back.”

“Contractions!” rebuked Maragon. “Short cuts in speech are a shortcut in thought. Magick does not tolerate shortcuts. The path you are on has been walked by countless mages. Many less talented than you, but some that were more so. The Archeron know well the risks of a young mage moving too quickly. Magick is about having a structured mind and process. We do not cut corners in anything. You must be ready both physically and mentally before moving onto each new stage.”

This was Zenghi’s life for as long as he could remember. Maragon instructing him in how to live, and filling his day with tasks to complete and challenges to overcome. There was an enforced period for play, socialising and fun, but mostly there were constant rules and barriers preventing him from learning at the pace he knew he was capable of.

Thankfully Maragon left often, for extended periods. That is when Zenghi really progressed, unhindered in his efforts to become the greatest Mage the world had ever known.

“Channelling is all about …” Maragon was continuing his instruction, but Zenghi tuned him out to focus on his casting. He was good at focusing. So good, that he could barely even hear a faint murmuring sound as Maragon continued to talk.

‘Feel the power within the candle. Feel its life energy being spent in the flame. That wound is how you tap into its power. Draw it in and bend it to your will.’

“The magickal energy in each object is different…” continued Maragon, not fully aware of how little his mentor was listening to him.

‘I can feel the power being drawn into me. I have enough for the light spell, but why do that when I can do more. I will show Maragon how good I am.’

“I want you to draw its energy to you and create an orb of light which lights up the room much more brightly than the candle does now,” Maragon instructed.

“Be careful how quickly you channel the energy,” Maragon warned. “Draw only what you can use. Channelling energy is tiring. A good wizard will always try to preserve his energy. And ideally reduce the amount of his own precious reserves he consumes with each spell by using components that synergise with his spell.”

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“Try to find a balance. Remember, the more of the spell you let the candle power, the less exhausting it will be. Take a little and the candle will still burn. Take a lot and the flame will be snuffed out. Take it all and the candle will be consumed entirely. You will not need enough energy to take it all, and in fact drawing in that much energy could be dangerous at your level of control.”

‘You do not realise how good I am, Maragon. I will take it all and I will make the lights dance. It will be so bright in here, you will think we are standing in the midday sun.

Zenghi continued to pull energy. He could feel the flame was already going out, but it didn’t matter. He had now followed the trail of the flame into the energy stored in the candle, and now he was channelling from that thread of power too.

‘I can feel the power growing. I can feel the heat building up inside of me like a power waiting to be used.’

Maragon watched intently. He had his Sense Channelling enchantment running, and he could feel the reckless amount of energy his young apprentice was drawing in. Zenghi was such a dangerous apprentice to take on. His talent with magick was remarkable, the heritage of power in his ancestry was incredible, but his lust for power and knowledge was insatiable. That was a very dangerous combination in a young wizard.

Maragon hoped discipline would provide a necessary brake on Zenghi’s ambitions, but it was still very early in that process. It was important the boy learned his lessons, so he watched, knowing he could intercede and shut the spell down if necessary, but resolute that he would not interfere unless he had to.

Zenghi commenced the gestures and incantations for the dancing lights spell, a more powerful and difficult version of the simple light spell he was supposed to cast. And it was going really well.

‘See my power! I have channelled even more power than I need. I am going to create true Flame and bend it to my will.’

The Create Flame spell was considerably more powerful than the simple light spell, and even more difficult than the Dazzling Lights spell Zenghi had intended to cast. This spell was something that apprentice mages who had completed their training would struggle to cast consistently. And they would generally be 10 years Zenghi’s senior.

The energy shaping around his young and frail body intensified, going from a shimmer of light to a fiery wave, the heat from his casting heating his body and being felt all across the room. Zenghi frantically gestured and incanted to control the relative maelstrom of magickal energy he had birthed. A look of both intense concentration and a slightly manic glee was apparent on his face.

As he brought the spell to near its completion, he grinned. From atop his hand a small ball of fire was slowly blossoming into a small bonfire. He could feel the heat trying to punch through the wall of magick and scorch even its creator.

‘This will be the first of my many victories.’

He glanced at Maragon, expecting to see shock and awe. Instead he saw what looked like mirth.

‘What? How can he look like that. What I am doing is incredible!’

Distracted by Maragon’s reaction, and with his emotions rising, this was when Zenghi lost control of his spell.

The Flame he had birthed was hungry. It punched through the wall of magick he was using to both cast and control it, scorching his hand. Zenghi yelped in pain. And then his concentration broke completely, and the spell failed completely. The fiery energy from his spell that had been swirling around him, and resting in his hand, now flew in all directions uncontrollably.

The last thing he remembered was the flames engulfing him, the mat he was kneeling on, his clothes catching alight, his screams of terror, and everything going black.