True Mastery, Part 1: The Taker of Children

By Jason Kahn

Eryl of Firudag eagerly awaits the day he will leave his dull village for a life of adventure and wizardry. He has always known he was mage-born, but for years has kept that knowledge secret from all others save his childhood friend Dari. Eager to escape the dull routines of his small village, Eryl leaps at the chance to learn at the prestigious College of Masters. But once there, Eryl discovers hints that evil is afoot, as he sees a vision of the College wizards all marked by some foul taint, while outside the College, something dark stalks the city, kidnapping children. An evil power nurtured by the Masters themselves threatens the lives of Eryl and his classmates and it falls to Eryl and his fellow apprentices to foil the schemes of their own teachers, or die trying.

Evil beyond imagining. And the only hope against it is a boy yet untrained as a Wizard, but already filled with the passion of a Hero. From author Jason Kahn comes the first of two action-packed fantasy adventures.

True Mastery, Part 1: The Taker of Children! From Pro Se Productions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Feb 6, 2016

Book preview

TRUE MASTERY:

Part I: The Taker of Children

by Jason Kahn

Published by Pro Se Press

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

Copyright © 2015 Jason Kahn

All rights reserved.

Contents

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

About the Author

Dedication

—

For Jason,

from your loving family who miss you so

and for Elaine

Prologue

—

In the small hours past midnight barely a whisper disturbed the dark twisting lane behind the fish market and the tannery in the Poor Quarter of Trevalen. From a patch of gloom behind crates and piled refuse, a small pair of eyes peered out into the still darkness. Breem calmed his fluttering heart, searching patiently among the shadows of the dimly illuminated street. He should have been back at the Den an hour ago. The job had gone off without a hitch. A late-night tryst between a noble and a whore from the House of Silk and Jade in a supposedly secret location near the Poor Quarter, where no one would know. Except the Thieves Guild always knew, and so Breem waited under the bed until the sweating started, and then lightened the noble of a sizeable pouch of gold with delicate fingers.

Breem suppressed the urge to pat the pouch beneath his shirt. After giving the whore her cut, instead of making straight for his lair, Breem had taken a far more circuitous route. He was being followed. By what, he wasn’t sure. It was more of a feeling, a movement in the corner of his eye, a whisper just out of hearing. Of one thing he was certain: something was out this night, stalking the Poor Quarter.

The young thief had already dodged and hid in two other secret places trying to elude whatever it was that tracked him, and now he waited, using all the patience his profession demanded. Breem flexed his muscles slowly, one by one, to avoid cramping. He judged it had been about half an hour. Still no movement in the alley. He peered intently with eyes used to picking out the smallest detail, watching for anything that betrayed movement. Satisfied he had lost his erstwhile pursuer, the eleven-year-old glided noiselessly from his hiding place.

Breem used all of his skill, melting into the shadows, moving with practiced ease. He left the alley and traversed several more mazelike passages of the Poor Quarter, passing run-down tenements and lean-to shacks. All remained quiet under a half-moon obscured by dark clouds. Perfect traveling weather for a thief.

Breem was about to relax when he felt it again. Only someone with a thief’s perception could sense pursuit like that, tickling at the edge of his awareness. But he could see it when he turned his head, a deeper darkness within the night shadows. It then occurred to him that this thing had been playing with him the whole time: he had never lost it.

Breem quickened his step. He had to get back, the Den Mother would know what to do. He was practically a shadow himself. Breem took several turns in rapid succession, dodging behind false walls and taking routes known only to him. He emerged in another deserted street, pausing for a second. The darkness was behind at the edge of the street, just peeking around the corner. Breem cursed to himself. He panted from both exertion and growing fear. He decided to work his way toward an inn friendly to the Thieves Guild. Perhaps his follower would not be so bold with a larger company around.

The young thief set off again, moving swiftly, seeking to outdistance his hunter. He flew over shattered carts, around ruined buildings, through deserted warehouses. Still the shadow followed him, coming ever closer. Sweat dripped from his brow as Breem jogged through the dim twilight. Just a few more alleys and he would reach the inn and the safety of other thieves.

But any reassurance Breem felt was short lived, for another turn and he was brought up short by the towering blackness that reared up in front of him. He fell back, hands over his face in terror as the nightmare shade ended its game of cat and mouse. A shadowy hand reached out for Breem, and as he felt his soul ebb away, the last thing he saw in the darkness was a pair of burning red eyes. Unbeknownst to him or anyone else that night, the Taker of Children had returned to Trevalen.

Chapter I

—

The sun shone dully through gray cloud cover on the hot, hazy morning that the wandering mage Palandrios was due in the eastern village of Firudag. Eryl was up early. He had planned his attire long in advance, choosing his finest white linen shirt, tan breeches, and boots of the softest deer hide. Sixteen years old, he was beginning to look more man than boy. Unlike his father, Jovar, a mountain of a man in both appearance and bearing, Eryl was lean and average height. His brown hair had grown long, nearly touching his shoulders, and framed a fair complexion, large brown eyes and straight nose.

Eryl’s mother, Piala, noticed her handsome son’s finery at breakfast. Why so dressed up today?

Eryl put down his spoon. Palandrios is coming.

So? Eryl’s father sat across from him at the table. Do you have a personal appointment with the wandering mage?

No. Eryl shrugged. I just thought it would be appropriate. He lowered his eyes into his bowl and concentrated on eating, cutting off further conversation.

Well, his mother said at length. He won’t be here for a few hours, so don’t get yourself dirtied up before then.

Eryl smiled and said he wouldn’t, and politely declined his father’s invitation to help build a new mantle for the hearth of one of Firudag’s elders. All right then, I’ll be back in time to greet our visiting mage. Jovar gave his son’s hair a tussle as he walked toward the door. Eryl wiled away the time cleaning around the house, scrubbing dishes and doing other chores. Piala wondered at her son’s sudden helpfulness, but did not comment, welcoming the aid and assuming it was some phase Eryl would soon outgrow.

At length, Jovar returned, his beard dusted with woodchips and his hands stained with varnish. Well, shall we go to the square? There’s quite a crowd building.

His wife and son in tow, the big carpenter led the way out the door. They walked the few streets to the square, soon coming upon the open market in the village’s center. Jovar had spoken truthfully; almost the entire village was assembled in a wide arc, leaving open the side facing Firudag’s main tavern, Dalvern’s. The people were abuzz with mutterings and hushed conversation. Villagers made way as Jovar approached, wary of his size and standing, and he soon led his wife and son near the front of the crowd. It was apparent all were waiting for someone to come out from the tavern and address them.

It was the first overcast day in weeks, and presaged the first heavy rains of the season. Folk shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable in the heat of midday. Jovar joked with other men standing about, while Piala made small talk with the women. Eryl stood perfectly still, arms crossed, waiting, his eyes locked on the tavern doors. He had already seen Palandrios’ horse tethered to a post outside Dalvern’s. The big chocolate-brown mare swished her tail and stamped a foot, impatient for her master. Eryl scanned the crowd briefly, looking for his best friend Dari, but he could not find her. He quickly returned his attention to the door, lest he miss a crucial moment.

Finally, two figures emerged. The first was well-known to Eryl: Benavor, head councilman of Firudag, an old wisp of a man with bushy white eyebrows and a gruff temperament. Behind him walked the mage Palandrios. He was solidly built, shorter than Eryl’s father, with a face as ageless as it was unreadable. He paced with an oaken staff as tall as he. Palandrios was dressed for riding, with leather breeches and a sleeveless vest and shirt, revealing well-toned arms.

The two reached the center of the gathering, and as the crowd hushed, Benavor spoke, his voice like cracking parchment. You all know why our friend has come. It’s the time of the Contest, and the College of Masters at Trevalen is looking for students. Palandrios has ridden long and far and will continue after he’s done here, so let’s not waste any of his time. Anyone with any inkling of bein’ a mage step forward now.

Palandrios then spoke in a gentle voice that nevertheless carried through the crowd. Do not fear. If there is anyone who wishes to learn if they carry the breath of wizardry within them, please come forth. You will not be harmed.

Eryl gulped. He looked around nervously, steeling himself to take that first step. Before he could, a murmuring and rustling to his right drew his attention. A young woman, Eviana, with her four-year-old daughter Kiri clutched in her arms, emerged from the crowd to stand before Palandrios. And then, from the other side of the gathering, a young man three years Eryl’s elder stepped forth to take his place before the mage. The crowd quieted down, and Eryl knew it was his turn. He took a silent breath and started forward. A big hand on his shoulder stopped him. What are you doing, boy? Jovar’s brow knit together in consternation. This is no time for playing games.

Eryl turned to his father, his expression earnest. I’m not. It’s all right.

Jovar was about to tell his son to cease his foolishness, but Eryl’s eyes shown with serious intent, and Jovar thought better of it. Reluctantly, he lifted his hand, allowing Eryl to continue. He turned from his father and took another step out from the crowd, aware of the eyes of the entire village upon him. Glancing about, Eryl at last saw Dari off to the left, almost lost amongst several taller people. He saw her face for an instant, full of fear and concern. Then he turned toward the waiting mage, stepping forward and taking his place with the other two. Behind him, Eryl’s mother came to Jovar’s side, frowning at her husband as he tightly grasped her hand.

These three shall be tested, Palandrios said after no one else came forward. So be it. The crowd hushed to dead silence, intent upon the sorcerer and the three candidates. Palandrios smiled and stepped toward Eviana. Do you feel the spark of wizardry burning within you, sister? he asked.

Eviana frowned and shook her head. No, it’s my Kiri. She says strange things, and knows when things are going to happen. She held her tot before the mage. Little Kiri regarded him with a serious expression on her chubby face beneath a mop of red hair.

It would be most unusual for such a gift to reveal itself this early, but we shall see. The mage’s smile deepened as he focused on the child. Hello, little one. Will you be a good girl and look into my eyes? That’s right, everything’s all right His voice lulled her like the patter of light rain, and she stared blank-faced at the mage. After a few moments, Palandrios blinked, and the spell was broken. Kiri sniffled and yawned. The mage looked at Eviana. The child possesses exceptional intelligence for her age, but there is no mark of sorcery as yet. If there are further signs in five years’ time, I shall look again. Eviana clutched her child to her and turned away, walking back into the crowd, hiding her disappointment.

And now to you, young man. Palandrios turned to the person to Eryl’s right. His name was Driego, and he had boasted many times how his ancestors were powerful wizards. Eryl suspected he was just doing this to impress the young ladies of Firudag. Are the forces of the universe bound within your soul?

They are, Driego proclaimed boldly.

Palandrios smiled evenly. We shall see. Now look into my eyes. Driego did so and soon wore the same expression as Kiri. Long moments passed until the mage broke the contact and Driego blinked, rubbing his eyes. Palandrios’ expression betrayed a hint of weariness. I am sorry, but the mark is not upon you. Eryl heard a few high-pitched titters in the background, and watched as Driego turned to make a hasty exit, red-faced with embarrassment.

Now there was just Eryl and the mage, with the entire village watching. Eryl took a nervous breath, suddenly aware of the heat and his sweat making his best shirt stick to his back. Palandrios turned to him. And now the last. He took a breath. Does the power of the wind and sky thunder in your heart? Eryl’s voice caught in his throat. Unable to speak, he simply nodded. The mage smiled. Very well. Now look into my eyes.

Eryl did so, staring at them, studying their deep green color. Soon, they were all Eryl saw. He could not have shifted his gaze had he chosen to. The eyes surrounded him, enveloped him, and then they were inside him. Eryl was frightened for a moment, feeling the intrusion of another presence inside his mind, but reassuring emotions washed over him, sent from the other presence, calming him. He felt the eyes, unblinking, peering deep within his being, searching. Eryl saw random images flash before him, almost too fast to interpret, memories, him and Dari, his parents, the village, the first time he had tried to use his power. There. He felt Palandrios stop, studying the memory, of Eryl boasting of his power to Dari, of her daring him to use it. He relived the moment as he watched his younger self try to levitate a large rock from a stream in the forest, saw the surprise on his and Dari’s faces as it lifted out of the water. But then Eryl lost control. The rock began to wobble and shake, and in another moment it exploded in a hundred fragments, sending shards everywhere and scoring Eryl and Dari as they dove for cover. The two children vowed never to tell anyone what happened, and Eryl swore that he would not use his power again until he could receive the proper training, lest he cause serious injury.

The eyes moved on, toward the center of Eryl’s mind and the source of the whispering noises that had been with Eryl for as long as he could remember, that had first made him realize he was mageborn. The sound grew louder and louder until it blew like a full-force gale. At the very center of Eryl’s consciousness it came into focus, mighty and terrible. It appeared as a whirlwind of dreadful force, tinged with alternating shades of color. It pulsed with immense, unbridled power that crackled through every fiber of Eryl’s being. The eyes watched, observing the storm, judging every aspect of it.

Then they withdrew, and Eryl returned from his trance-like state. He blinked, refocusing on the mage in front of him, and saw that