The One-Legged Mage
Spitting blood seemed to have eased him. Felix rubbed his chest with the flat of his hand and spoke.
"Raising a fireball, holding it, steering it—none of that is simple work. I'm drained dry. I've got no strength left to fight. You win."
"Awfully relaxed for a man who just lost. Got one more trick tucked away?"
"No hidden trick."
Felix's hand went into his robe and came back out.
"What I do have is something that will keep me alive."
A sphere rested in his palm, shaped like a communication orb and a little larger.
"What is that?"
"An Explosion Orb."
"An Explosion Orb?"
"Ever seen an Archmage's mana bomb?"
"I have."
"This is that, made over as a magic tool."
"Mana bombs are impressive. Dodge one, though, and that's the end of it."
"Explosion Orbs cost a fortune. The blast is three times what a lesser Archmage throws."
"I still think I could dodge it."
"I've got a few more."
"You do?"
"Yeah."
"Nothing for it, then."
Chris let out a breath and went on.
"Go."
"Smart."
The moment Felix moved to slip the orb back into his robe, Chris charged. He had never meant to let him leave. Even if it cost him, he meant to end it here.
His fist struck—or tried to. Some force caught the blow halfway, and it never landed. The sphere in Felix's hand shattered. The very thing he had called an Explosion Orb.
"So it wasn't an Explosion Orb. A defensive tool."
Chris's voice was flat with accusation.
"Liar."
"Sorry."
Felix apologized and thrust out his staff in the same breath. Something ugly bled from the tip. Chris sprang clear.
The staff blew apart, and mana scythed through the air like blades. Chris threw up a barrier and curled in on himself, and that was enough to ride out the storm without a scratch. In that span Felix opened the distance.
He rose into the empty air and drew another sphere from his robe.
"Eat this."
It looked identical to the defensive tool he had shown first. Chris did not dismiss it. The anticipation in Felix's eyes, and the malice cut into the line of his mouth, said plainly that this was nothing ordinary.
Chris backpedaled hard.
The sphere struck earth and detonated with a roar. The blast caught Chris and flung him. He hit, and rolled across the ground like refuse.
He was up before he had drawn a breath. Fury stood his hair on end. Nothing would settle it but killing that man.
Felix had no interest in a fight. While Chris tumbled through the explosion, he widened the gap still further.
Chris kicked off into a charge and lurched. The blast had shattered his prosthetic and blown it away. He barely caught his balance and started after him, and Felix's eyes went wide.
"One leg!"
He shouted it. Chris rose on flight magic.
"Never seen a one-legged mage before?"
Felix fled on his own flight spell, yelling as he went.
"Got you!"
"Got me? You're the one running. What exactly have you caught?"
Felix yanked a communication orb from his robe and shouted into it.
"I found him. I found the Forbidden Mage!"
Chris's face went grave.
The Forbidden Mage? Is that meant for me?
The way of it said yes.
A moment later a voice came through the orb.
"You found him?"
"Yes. I'm fighting a Body Mage who overwhelms the Sikbae realm, and the bastard has no left foot."
"Where?"
Felix turned the orb toward Chris. While the mage inside studied him, Chris studied the inside of the orb. Stan's face flashed across it.
"So it is you!"
Chris understood, at last, why Stan had been so sure he could catch him.
He was looking for a one-legged mage.
Irritation gathered like weather.
He sent a wind blade shrieking at Felix. Just as the man had claimed, his mana seemed spent. He could not stop the blade with a spell, so he threw the famously expensive communication orb into its path. The orb shattered.
Felix took a pill from his breast, chased it with a potion from a glass vial, restored his mana, and put on speed.
A potion.
He had heard plenty about them. Seeing one was another matter.
"You're not getting away."
Chris snarled and accelerated. Even so, Felix had the better hand at flight magic. Chris had more mana; Felix was faster. Little by little the gap widened.
I'm going to lose him.
Chris ground his teeth and forced more speed. Felix drank whenever he pleased, recovering stamina and topping up his mana. Watching the man pour costly medicine down his throat like water, Chris could only click his tongue.
Rich little bastard.
If his body had been whole he would have dropped to the ground and run him down. He was faster on his feet than in the air, and the odds of a catch would have been better—but without the prosthetic he could not run properly. At the one moment it mattered, an unfinished body had caught him by the ankle.
The distance had grown wide enough that he was ready to quit when Felix's speed dropped.
He's out of potions.
Chris flew on, crowing inwardly. He had closed a fair stretch and was just beginning to enjoy it when the man produced yet another potion and drank.
Who does this bastard think he's toying with?
Stung, he wrenched at his Thought Space harder than was wise. The gap closed again. Felix drank again. Potions kept coming out of that robe without end.
Fine. Go on, then. Get out of here, you son of a bitch.
Chris abandoned the chase and eased off. That was when Felix coughed blood.
There it is. Drink all the potions you like—a wound like that doesn't finish healing in a few minutes.
Glad of it, he moved to take up the pursuit again, then stopped at a cold prickle of instinct. Whenever he meant to quit, Felix slowed. Whenever he nearly caught up, Felix drank and stretched the gap. Once he thought about it, the pattern had repeated several times.
The bastard is leading me.
He remembered that Felix had reached Stan through the communication orb. Chris had never used one, so he had no sense of how fast a connection formed or how quickly an image traveled. He could not judge, from the pace of the call, how far away Stan stood.
Stan belonged to Hermann Magic Tower, so Chris had vaguely assumed he was in the Grant Kingdom, and that there was time. That assumption had just turned over.
Paron of the Children of the Mask, and Felix, Stan's own man, had both been nearby. Which meant Stan himself might already be inside the Britan Kingdom.
His mind raced.
What if Stan is after the treasure? What if he sent his people out with all five convoys and is directing them from behind?
Then Stan might be closer than anyone would expect.
Chris turned and drew away from Felix. Felix hung in the air a moment, bit his lower lip with his upper teeth, shook his head, and flew off the other way.
That was all the confirmation Chris needed.
He was baiting me.
Chase him to the end and I'd have run straight into Stan and lost my head.
Chris let out a breath, returned to where the fight had started, turned the earth, and cut down a stretch of trees. He laid a break so the wildfire could not run, gathered moisture by moving water mana, and followed the flames, dumping water as he went.
Even after the fire died he did not stop. He was tired enough to drop where he stood, but the thought of Stan made him set his jaw.
A short while later he dug up Paron's robe, staff, and spatial pouch from where he had buried them and headed south. In the first city he came to he bought three horses and rode them by turns, pushing south without rest.
The outskirts of Benzam, a border city of Britan.
Beneath a country manor rumored to house a noble gone home from court, Dafuno Magic Tower had installed a teleportation circle. It was a secret array the upper ranks of every kingdom's towers used when a matter turned urgent—so secret that not even the king knew it existed.
The old mage of Dafuno who kept the circle was biting his upper lip with his lower teeth, plainly displeased. As time passed his mood soured further, and those upper teeth crept higher and higher until they had swallowed his philtrum entire.
"You're here for the treasure, aren't you?"
The old mage's question was blunt.
Stan sighed.
"How many times do I have to say it before it sinks in? I'm here to catch a traitor to the tower and kill him."
"There's word your man struck a Senfo Company shipment. What of that?"
"I'll be plain. Yes, I came for the treasure. The people arriving now did not."
"Hard to believe..."
"Believe it or don't. I've already settled matters with Dafuno's elders. Activate the circle."
The old mage looked at the written order in his hand, clicked his tongue, and opened the circle he ordinarily kept sealed. A moment later a hum rose, and light flashed.
Perez and Daryl, elders of Mickclonia Magic Tower, appeared with Tower Master Hal and William in their train. The old mage of Dafuno saw the weight of who had come, and his mouth fell open.
"The treasure was worth all this?"
Stan shook his head.
"I told you it isn't the treasure!"
Nor was that the end of it. Shortly after, the circle spat out Shay, elder of Rafunian Magic Tower, and two of his disciples.
The old mage's eyes went round.
"Another Archmage!"
He had another shock a moment later. Julien, elder of Touleno Magic Tower, revealed himself. Unlike the others he came alone, his face pale as a man in the grip of a grave illness. Julien spoke.
"Where is he?"
Perez smiled and produced a blackened foot. The foot Chris had left behind at the ruins.
"You'll know soon enough."
Fangs sharp as a carnivore's glinted.
Chapter Two: The Auction
1. A Stop at the Black Hand Guild
Five days later Chris entered Header, the largest port city in the Britan Kingdom. On the way he had done two things. One was to carve himself a prosthetic out of wood. The other was to change his face.
Header had grown fat on trade. Whether the endless traffic had simply made the guards tired of caring, or the city meant to encourage commerce, the inspection was surprisingly light. The official toll, plus a few coins more, and they let him in.
He walked straight through the gate. A leg he had made himself was never going to match a craftsman's work. It did not seat cleanly against the stump, so his stride was uneven—but he would not limp. He would not be seen as a man with one leg.
Touts swarmed him, shouting for him to follow. He nearly drove them off, then saw how young they were, gave them two coins apiece, and turned into the back alleys.
The streets grew empty. He made for a darker stretch where the walls stood high, and rough men blocked his way—the sort who wore at least one scar on the face the way other people wore a medal.
Chris flicked them a silver coin.
"Guide me to the Black Hand Guild."
A fat man shot out a hand, snatched the coin, and grinned. His front teeth were rotten black.
"I'll take you."
Chris followed and asked,
"Why the disappointed face?"
"Can't rob a guest of the Black Hand."
"A shame?"
"It is. First whale I've seen in a long while."
"A whale?"
"Catch one, and there's a lot to eat."
"Do that and you'll be crushed to death."
"Poke a man you can't handle and pay for it, and there's nothing to be done. Dying that empty is just how a back-alley life ends."
They wound through a tangle of lanes and stopped before a house so far gone that it was reasonable to worry a ghost might walk out of it.
"Here."
The fat man smiled, showing the rotten teeth.
"Can't guarantee you'll be safe."
Chris tipped his head and stepped through the open iron gate.