Shadow Mage Page 3

  Finn listened with one ear, watching the mages running around him, and turned his gaze up to the clouds. The wind mages stood ready on the battlements, already gently redirecting the clouds away from the Table.

  “Great, great,” Finn said, nodding and patting the kid on the shoulder. “You’re doing great, Martin.”

  He moved to the stage and stood surveying the preparations, fielding questions, but mostly running through again and again in his head exactly what he was going to say. Everything had to be perfect.

  It seemed that barely seconds had passed when Martin was rushing back, breathlessly consulting a small brass watch.

  “It’s almost time, sir.”

  Crowds of mages stood around, their work finished, chattering excitedly. Finn gave a quick nod to Martin and again found it difficult to speak around the lump that had risen in his throat. He took a deep breath and allowed himself a quick grin.

  “All right, Martin. Let everyone know it’s time.”

  Martin waved at the musicians, and a trumpet rang out. An excited tremor went through the crowd, and people began to move to their lines, just like they’d practiced. Finn noticed a dark shape hovering uncertainly at the edge of the crowd, and motioned for Sarai to stand at the back, on the far end of one of the rows. A brief shadow went through his mind, a reminder that he wouldn’t be around to see what he had built for much longer, but he shook it off. He was almost done. That was what was important. It didn’t matter if he saw the outcome, if he got to enjoy what he’d built. What mattered was that he had done what he set out to do.

  Finn’s smile widened as a great blue heron winged over the heads of the mages, pulling into a sharp dive. The creature alighted on the stage next to Finn, growing and stretching, the wings folding in to become slim arms.

  Kel wore her usual blue gown with the long wide sleeves. One hand was a normal hand, the other, though, was something delicate and green, made of vines and twigs, almost skeletal. Her long, light brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her deep brown eyes crinkled warmly at the corners as she smiled.

  “They’re almost here,” she said, hugging him briefly.

  Finn bobbed on the balls of his feet. “How did they look? Did they look… no, no, don’t tell me.” Please, please, don’t let me talk like that when they’re here.

  Kel smiled. A silver haired head popped out the small pocket of her dress and Smoke regarded him with rheumy, still-disdainful eyes. Kel patted the ferret on the head and he withdrew. “They looked fine. It’s going to be fine, Finn.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out, swinging his arms at his sides. “Yep. Yep. Definitely all right. Whew. Where is Isabelle?”

  “In her workshop. She said she had a great idea and she’ll still come if you want her to and she’ll even wear—these are her words—that stupid dress. But she draws the line at the heels.”

  “But—”

  “She says heels are stupid, and if you’re not wearing them, she won’t.”

  “It’s not like she has to walk in them.”

  “Do you want me to tell her that?” Kel asked.

  Finn sighed. He knew better than to interrupt Isabelle when she had one of her ideas, and, really, if she didn’t come, it was much less likely that any of the ambassadors would be catapulted out of windows or have their families insulted.

  “No, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to interrupt her work.” At that moment, a strange tremor went through the air, a ripple of something. “Er, did she say what her work involved?”

  Kel shook her head, running her fingers through her hair and absently plucking a leaf out and dropping it.

  “OK, well, thanks Kel. And thank you for being here.”

  She smiled. “Good luck.” She went to join a group of older mages at the base of the stage. Finn bent, picked up the leaf, and tucked it into his pocket.

  The wind picked up, and a high-pitched vibration sounded, rising in volume. It was the cables overhead, singing as the first of the gondolas approached. Finn readjusted his stance, looked one last time at the mages arrayed in neat lines facing the stage, and turned towards the great glass enclosure, clasping his hands behind his back. A great rumble joined the singing of the wires, and a metal and glass cage with bright red silk sails billowing out on either side of it like gills appeared above the battlements, shooting along the great metal cable.

  The Uplands. That was the cable that ran to the Uplands. A hundred miles away, and the distance had been covered in only a few hours.

  The boat slowed as it approached the great glass enclosure. Isabelle had wanted some sort of immediate ejection system, maybe involving spinning. Thank god she mentioned that first. And that we checked later to make sure she hadn’t done it anyway.

  Another ripple went through the air. Did someone just say something? He turned around but heard not a whisper. The faces of the mages behind him were tense, serious. Some looked excited, a few bored, but no one moved.

  The doors above clicked and opened smoothly, and a man stepped out. The ambassador from the Uplands. Finn was unable to suppress his grin this time as the man was escorted down the glass stairs, emerging onto the stage.

  He was several inches taller than Finn, and muscular, but a large belly sagged over his belt, straining his leather vest trimmed in fur. He looked around, open-mouthed, at the mages, his eyes travelling over their clothes, then over the lush gardens beyond.

  Finn stepped forward, his hand extended.

  “Welcome, Ambassador Glaisein, to the King’s Table. I am Finn Vogt, High Mage and the founder of the Academy here.” Is High Mage a good title? No, it sounds stupid. Crap. I should have thought of something else. He tried to shake off the thought.

  “Arthur Glaisein, but you can call me Art,” the tall man said, stepping forward and crushing Finn’s hand in his own. “What a crazy place you’ve got here.” He looked around again, still shaking Finn’s hand forcefully.

  He’s impressed. Good.

  Art shook himself, released Finn’s hand, and hitched his belt up. The cables overhead started singing again.

  “Art, welcome.” You already said that. Urgh. “It sounds like the next ambassador is about to arrive. If you’ll just sit over here…” Finn gestured to one of four chairs on the stage.

  Art ambled over, still gaping. He stopped, staring at something; Finn followed his gaze. Kel’s hand. Kel didn’t move, only smiled politely at Art, who shook his head. “What happened to your hand, girl?”

  Some of the mages shifted uncomfortably.

  “Sir, if you could just take your seat—”

  Art continued to stare at Kel as he took his seat.

  Finn shook off the uncomfortable thought that the man was here more out of curiosity than anything else. No. He’s here to listen to what you have to say, Finn.

  The second gondola, this with silver sails, docked, and a tall, elegant woman in purple robes with short, spiky white hair descended.

  She, too, was several inches taller than Finn, and her eyes swept the crowd before coming to rest on him.

  This time Finn bowed; he couldn’t help himself. It just seemed like the natural reaction.

  “Ambassador Armina Delacroix, welcome to the King’s Table. Thank you for coming.”

  “Finn Vogt,” she said, shaking her head so the glowing orange stones dangling from her ears swung back and forth. “The mage who nearly started a second wave of mage executions.”

  Finn straightened. Did you come just to insult me? “We are grateful to have you here, and to learn from the example you set at Lake Iori.”

  The woman looked disdainfully out over the rows of mages. She looked like she was about to say something, but Finn waved at the musicians and they started up a triumphant, celebratory fanfare.

  “Welcome to the Table,” he said, forcing a smile. She glared at him and hissed.

  “I am here only to see that you abandon this foolishness. You are going to incite a war. A war.”

  “I’m g
oing to rebuild the greatest country this world has ever seen.”

  “You are playing with powers you do not understand.”

  “And maybe if you’d taken in a single one of the mages grouped outside your walls, desperate, having been tortured and cast out by the people who were supposed to love them, maybe if you’d helped those people instead of turning a blind eye, I wouldn’t have been necessary in the first place.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm the fire raging in his chest.

  Armina’s eyes narrowed at him, her face sharp. “Look at you. You’re supposed to be leading these people and yet your powers are barely contained. We tried, child. Your bloodline isn’t strong enough. We cannot teach those who are incapable. You are a danger to yourself and others. Everyone here is. And when you have killed enough innocents, the mobs will come. The vigilantes, the farmers with their pitchforks. And they won’t come for just you.”

  Finn sucked in a furious breath, but he realized the music had stopped and everyone was staring at them as they whisper-fought on stage. He drew himself up.

  “It’s wonderful to have you here.” He forced another smile and gestured for her to take the second chair.

  She settled into it, crossing her legs and folding her slim hands in her lap.

  At least there would be one friendly face, Finn thought, looking up at the next gondola coming in. Green sails.

  The man who stepped out was only slightly taller than Finn. He had dark hair and a handsome, rugged face. He stepped out of the enclosure and grasped Finn’s hand warmly, shaking it, and Finn instantly found his optimism returning.

  “Nate.”

  “Hey, kid.” Nate surveyed the Table, hands on hips. “This place gets more and more amazing every time I see it.”

  Finn’s smile became genuine, and the knots in his stomach loosened. This is going to work. They’ll come around. And if they don’t, I’ll find others who will. At least they came.

  Nate waved, and Kel smiled, waving back. Smoke poked his head out and gave what looked like an approving nod to the man. Finn sighed. Ten years. What did he have to do for that animal to approve of him?

  “Our farms have tripled in capacity,” Nate said. “Those two mages you sent made quite the team. The things they’re doing…” He shook his head admiringly. Finn clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing once in gratitude. You hear that, Armina? He shot her a look, but she glared stonily back.

  A blue-sailed boat glided over the heads of the onlookers, its shadow passing across the gathered guests, and Nate gave Finn’s arm a squeeze and slipped into his seat.

  The man that descended the steps was smiling, his teeth perfectly white and even, his long black hair in a braid down his back. He was tan and wore an immaculately kept wool sweater with a collar that reached nearly to his ears, and he was quite possibly the handsomest man Finn had ever seen.

  Still smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach his perfectly symmetrical eyes, the man gave a short bow when he reached Finn.

  Finn recovered himself, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. How could someone this… symmetrical… even become an ambassador? Not that it should matter, really, but…

  “Frewin Redwood?” Finn asked, and the man nodded. Dazzled by the smile, Finn looked down at their clasped hands and noticed that each of the man’s fingers was ringed by a different, intricate tattoo, except the middle finger of his left hand, which was bare. Finn’s stomach gave a jolt. This man had completed eight of the nine sacrifices, a huge achievement for the Macai, and almost unheard of. He was trying to remember which finger corresponded to which sacrifice when Frewin spoke.

  “Finn Vogt,” Frewin said, his smile widening, still forced. “The Macai people send their greetings.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, I am sure—”

  A rumble overhead cut him off, and both he and Frewin looked up to see yet another green-sailed gondola gliding in. Finn’s eyebrows knitted together, and he released Frewin’s hand. He glanced instinctively at Nate, who leaned forward in his chair, his eyes narrowed, his hand on his sword hilt.

  The gondola swung to a halt, the doors hissed open, and a tall, elegantly dressed man with a slight paunch stepped out. Nate was on his feet, but his hands dropped to his side.

  “Baron Gilcalm,” he said, coming to meet the man, attempting to steer him off to the side. “Finn, I apologize, I—”

  The Baron, unsmiling, glided around Nate, waving him off, and made straight for Finn.

  “Ah, Finn Vogt, in the flesh I see.” He grasped Finn’s hand in both his own and shook warmly. His hands were damp. “Baron Reginald Gilcalm.”

  “Reg,” Nate said, coming up behind him. “I told you you could schedule a visit another time. We had a vote—”

  “The trade union disagrees,” the Baron said smoothly, still clasping Finn’s hands. “We feel you would be unable to represent us effectively.” He finally released Finn’s hands, and Finn resisted the urge to wipe them on his pants. I’m a dignitary. A dignitary.

  “Well,” the Baron said, his eyes sweeping the courtyard, taking in the assembled mages, the stately trees, the clouds of butterflies and bees, the towering metal and stone statues. “You didn’t do it justice, Nate.”

  His eyes locked on Finn’s. “I represent the merchants and traders of Westwend. We are very interested in finding… mutually beneficial arrangements between your people and ours.”

  Finn glanced at Nate. Nate made a resigned gesture with one hand, the closest thing to an eyeroll that the polite man ever made.

  “Of course, any agreements will be made through the ambassador,” Finn said, gesturing to Nate, and the Baron frowned. “But we are happy to have you here. Maybe you would like to start with a tour of the workshops?”

  The man’s eyes lit up. “Ah. Yes. That would be wonderful. I would also like individual meetings with every one of your students.”

  “Er,” Finn tried again to suppress his surprise. “We’ll see what we can do.” Finn turned to the four assembled dignitaries. “All right, how about lunch?”

  “Excellent,” Artair said, rising immediately and hitching up his belt.

  As he watched the ambassadors being led from the stage towards the dining hall, Finn realized he’d forgotten the whole speech he’d had prepared.

  The dining room. I’ll just do it in the dining room. It’ll be fine.

  The Baron appeared at Finn’s side as they walked, the mages filing behind them.

  “So… Baron,” Finn said. “Is that an old family title? From before the Fall?” Were there barons then?

  “Oh, no, no. It’s a title I picked up in Montvale, actually.” He craned his neck to stare up at a twenty-foot high fountain, its sprays forming delicate swirls and patterns as they fell.

  “I didn’t realize the Montvans gave titles to foreigners.”

  “Oh, they don’t, they don’t. I just liked it.”

  You just started calling yourself that? “I see.”

  “Seemed fitting. I’ve heard from Nate that some of your wind mages can levitate objects long distances. What’s the weight capacity of that?”

  “Er…”

  The Baron waved his hand. “Sorry, sorry, shop talk. I suppose now is the time for niceties, isn’t it?”

  Up ahead, Frewin leaned in and whispered something to Armina who nodded curtly.

  They entered the dining hall and Finn thought the guests looked suitably impressed, especially Artair.

  Another chair was brought for the Baron, another setting placed at the high table, and the guests took their seats.

  Finn stood in the center of the room as the mages took their seats at the long tables. He gave the speech he’d meant to earlier, said all the things he’d planned about reforming the old country, about mages and non-mages working together to build a safe and abundant world, but in all the times he’d practiced, he’d imagined giving this speech to smiling faces, to people nodding along, excitement for the future glowing in their faces. He ha
dn’t imagined speaking to the disapproving scowl of Armina, the wandering eyes of Art, looking hopefully towards the kitchen doors where the food would soon emerge, the handsome but cold face of Frewin. The mages themselves were just bored, having heard versions of the speech every time Finn addressed them as a group. Or even individually.

  He found Kel’s face, and she smiled encouragingly.

  He swallowed hard and wrapped up before he’d said all he’d meant to say, gesturing to the doors, where Samuel emerged, levitating ten different platters of appetizers.

  Those, at least, everyone seemed to feel positively about.

  3

  Kel

  The line was longer than Kel had ever seen it before. It snaked all the way around the base of the Table to the main gates and down the long central, tree-lined road that cut through the forest.

  “Who’s first?” Kel asked, scanning the waiting area. A woman raised one hand. Her other hand clasped that of the boy, almost a man, who sat next to her. “Right this way,” Kel said, gesturing towards the back room.

  The woman held the boy close to her skirts as they came in, trailed by what looked like the boy’s father, several aunts and uncles, and assorted cousins.

  The room was large, with several comfortable chairs, and an examination table in the middle. The walls were filled floor to ceiling with shelves laden with clay jars and vials. Dried herbs and flowers hung in bundles from the rafters overhead.

  Smoke was curled up in his basket in the corner of the room nearest the fire, snoring softly.

  They were all looking at her expectantly, but no one said anything. They wore light clothing, even for this time of year. Brightly colored silks that left their arms bare. The woman had several shawls wrapped around her thin shoulders, and Kel could see the goosebumps standing up along her arms.

  “Would you like to sit closer to the fire?” Kel asked, but the group looked at her blankly. She gestured to the chairs nearer the fireplace, moving that way herself and beckoning, and the family followed her. The woman never let go of the boy’s hand, and Kel noticed that his gaze was blank. His head moved here and there, but his eyes never fixed on anything in particular. Her stomach sank. It was unlikely she could do anything for that.