The Rules Change

By John Bahler

After barely escaping his own city alive, Jaysynn, the last heir to the throne of Kyzer, finds himself eking out a living in a refugee camp outside an enemy city. Falcon Point, the city that rebelled against Jaysynn’s ancestors and declared its independence, now carefully guards and controls its resources in a time of devastation and chaos. Stripped of what little power he had, Jaysynn considers accepting a new life of less responsibility. But a peaceful future of anonymity alongside the peasants, including fellow refugee Kyrie, may not be possible if the leader of Falcon Point, Governor Vac, learns there is a son of Kyzer on his doorstep.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Children of the Wells
• Release date: Nov 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311114181

Book preview

This book is part of an ongoing series. New books are published regularly. Visit www.childrenofthewells.com for the latest news and to get to know the authors.

Bron & Calea

The Select's Bodyguard

The Doctor's Assistant

The Well's Orphan

Jaysynn

The Fall of the House of Kyzer

The Rules Change

New Wells Rising

Call of the Watchman

The Story So Far

This is the second book of Jaysynn Kyzer.

Previously, in The Fall of the House of Kyzer, a Cataclysm ripped through Thyrion, the seat of the Empire, and emptied its canyon-like Well of magic. The entire royal family died except for the youngest prince, 20-year-old Jaysynn, the only one of his family who was non-Select and could never use magic. General Dracon, also non-Select, had taught Jaysynn to rely instead on the Thyrion military art of tracing, parkour-style running and fighting. With this knowledge, Jaysynn had become the Watchman of Thyrion, a hooded figure offering help to the needy and then disappearing into the night.

When the Cataclysm destroyed half the city, General Dracon took Jaysynn, now Emperor, underground to protect him from riots and the rumor of possible war. Jaysynn, however, took to the streets to see if he could discover for himself what was going on. In the Hall of Records, he discovered censored files of information hinting at something called Project: Godfire, something suspiciously having to do with the magic Well and dangerous magic manipulations. When General Dracon discovered him in the files, he pushed the young Emperor out of the window, five stories above the ground. Jaysynn miraculously survived. Jaysynn’s peasant friend Kyrie saw him fall and stayed near his side, where, mysteriously, Dracon’s soldiers could not find him.

Now, an unconscious Jaysynn is being whisked away from Thyrion on a steam-powered bus with Kyrie, her family, and other refugees. 

Chapter 1 - The Brink of Revolution

Grab a knife, said a man in a dark brown cotton jacket. Grab a broomstick, grab a piece of pipe, whatever you’ve got.

The man he was talking to was a little confused. He had just answered a knock at the door, and these words were not what he was expecting. Of course he had already heard the commotion in the streets, and he’d already gotten out of his recliner to look out the window to see what it was all about. But the warlike order from this complete stranger took him very much by surprise. He scratched his head and asked what this was all about.

This is it, said the man in the jacket. The entire city is without work—and for how long? And every man, woman, and child is running low on food. This is the time to make a change. This is the time to save this city, to save your friends and neighbors, and to save yourself.

Is this some kind of a mob? the man who had answered the door asked.

This is no mob. The man in the jacket held his hand across his heart. This is a revolution! If you are suffering in the wake of the Terrible Day, then you are one of us. And if you want to join the cause—if you want to oppose starvation and poverty, rampant crime, and the chaos that has overtaken Falcon Point—then grab whatever weapon you can get your hands on. We are going straight to the Old Fort, straight to the governor, and we will make our voices heard!

So the man grabbed his hat, and he grabbed a sturdy lamp stand which the Cataclysm had rendered obsolete for its intended purpose, and he joined the crowd in their march through the city and toward the Old Fort. He joined not only the man in the dark brown cotton jacket, but also the neighbors who lived on his street, the beggars of the city, the laborers, the businessmen, and even the men who owned the great industries of Falcon Point, the men who had given so much life to Falcon Point before the day the Well was destroyed.

Rich and poor joined together in the fight. Young and old. Saint and sinner. This would be the day the broken world was set aright. This would be a day of glory.

Their march had begun in the rickety clapboard homes on the outskirts of town, where the ex-farmers and ex-miners moved when they grew tired of toiling in the rocky hills and decided to try their hands at urban poverty for a change. Now the mob was in a fine middle-class district. Here the homes were a fashionable rustic variety of log buildings cherished by a wealthier class of mountain man: the merchants, the small business owners.

And soon their march would lead them into the old district at the center of town. The stately stone and brick homes and businesses in that area belonged to families who had been wealthy for generations, passing their rank and authority down from father to son through the passing centuries. These were the ones who owned the mining companies, the factories, and the property.

And these old worthy citizens were just as eager for revolution as were the destitute. Many of them would join the wild and mighty throng in the march on the Old Fort. For over five hundred years, the Old Fort had stood on the rim of the city’s great Well, its massive stone arches testifying to the indomitable spirit of the city of Falcon Point and of the people who dwelt therein.

It was a celebrated structure, a beloved old castle. Fresh cracks had split its ancient mortar, and a tower in its rear had collapsed altogether in the Cataclysm, spilling its rubble across the graveyard. But it still pressed on, like a general, cold and undaunted. Any revolution in Falcon Point would begin at the Old Fort and make its final home in its ancient walls.

Of course, the true heart of the city—as with all the great cities—was not the castle at all, but the Well, which was now charred and empty. The Old Fort, with its stark towers, its elegant balustrades, and its ancient plot of headstones, watched over the now-worthless well. It was a faithful monument, refusing to let down its guard even after the magic had all departed.

Yes, the heart of the city—as with all the great cities—was dead and gone. So it fell to Governor Vac and the men in the Old Fort to keep the lifeblood of the city pumping. They didn’t do it by pushing papers or by debating the contemporary issues. They did it by taking action. Blind, callous action. They pumped the city’s blood by moving like machines now that the heart was dead.

And now, as a rebel militia took form within the city limits, Governor Vac sat at his desk in his office in the castle and heard the word of Coonhil, his Head of Intelligence, and chewed on the butt of a pen. Vac’s cheeks and chin were strong and speckled with black and grey flecks, the stubble of an aging beard that looked like it was made of fine iron filings.

Coonhil, a few unbound papers in his hands, stood straight as a rail in front of the governor’s desk. His voice was tightly wound, slightly high in pitch. His manner was professional and perfectly controlled. He reported, Still no clear leadership emerging in Jalseion. Some figures rise to grab for power, but food is scarce and no one is able to establish a foothold of authority. It’s revolution upon revolution. I could give you the names of some of the leaders, but the power is shifting so quickly that—well, I’m sure a handful of them are already dead as I deliver this report.

Spare me the names, Vac said, the pen bobbing in his lips as he spoke. Are there any Selects in power?

My information is limited of course.

Any of the old prominent citizens? Any of the old Guides?

Not as far as we can tell, said Coonhil. Our spies are working—

Fine, said Vac. And Thyrion? Are they at the point of martial law?

Coonhil took a