Of Blood and Magic

By Kenneth McDonald

Two years have passed since Keric Olwyhn defeated the demon-summoning sorcerers of the Academy, and the scroll mage has been content to return to his quiet life of a professor at the University of Sacreth. But his radical theories about the nature of magic have created a stir, and the conservative leaders of the Mage Council have decided to send Keric on a diplomatic assignment far from Sacreth. But what the Council doesn’t know is that this mission will place Keric in the path of an adversary of a sort he faced once years before, an adversary eager to finish the job begun in the deadly corridors of the Labyrinth.

Meanwhile, Border Warden Coran Vasey has been serving with some of the other survivors of the Academy mission on the rugged southern frontier of Sacreth, which also seems quiet. But the enemies of Sacreth have been brewing a plot that will unleash another assault upon the Mage Kingdom. Keric and Coran must fight with every weapon they have, spells, swords, and raw determination, as they try to uncover the real nature of the greater threat while foes close in upon them from all directions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth McDonald
• Release date: Sep 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370611911

Kenneth McDonald

I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

Book preview

Prologue

The hospital smelled like death.

General Arrik Gnaeus was familiar with that odor. He’d learned it first in his stint against the Novrenar when he was barely eighteen, and then later on the border provinces along the wild Choroth Desert. It smelled slightly different in each place he’d traveled, but at its core it was the same. Death was the same everywhere, in the final equation.

The surroundings were far nicer here. The hobnails in his boots made a steady clack upon the bare marble floor as he walked through the hallways of the Purgatorium. For a place that dealt with sickness and death it was remarkably clean, and even with the day fading outside he could still almost make out his reflection in the polished tiles.

For all his decades of service he’d never been deeper into this building than the outer ward, but he could find his way by following the steady progression of Imperial Guards that stood at the intersections where the corridor branched off or opened onto spacious, airy chambers. They betrayed no reaction on seeing him, but Gnaeus was content that they did not move to bar his progress.

Finally he heard voices from up ahead, beyond a tall marble arch broad enough to let a wagon and full team pass through without difficulty. Hearing them made him realize just how unnaturally empty the place felt. That was an illusion, of course; the presence of the Guards and what they implied did not mean that there weren’t other people going about the business of healing or dying. But the sheer majesty of this architectural remnant of the Empire’s grander days could let him pretend that it was all here to support the whim of the one man who held the reins.

He strode past another pair of Guards and stepped through the arch. The room beyond looked like a waiting area, with a row of humbler arches along the far wall warded by heavy red curtains. The benches situated around the room were likewise covered in red fabric, a practical choice of upholstery given the types of spills likely in this place.

In addition to another half dozen Guards, there were several others waiting who turned toward the big arch as he entered. Gnaeus’s lips twisted into a slightly feral snarl as he saw the old man. Up until that moment he’d thought that maybe the report he’d heard had just been a rumor, madness given voice by some wild-minded idiot. But even though he’d only seen the old man once before, and that more than a decade past, the general recognized him at once. He was dressed as plainly now as he’d been then, in a drape of gray homespun that fell in loose folds to his ankles. His companion was a boy of maybe thirteen or fourteen years, dressed more practically if no less plainly in a long shirt and trousers. He held a tether that was attached to, of all things, a goat. The animal let out a small bleat that might have been a greeting; neither the boy nor the man said anything.

I’m surprised you had the boldness to show your face here, Hakadah, Gnaeus finally said to shatter the quiet.

The old man inclined his head slightly in a gesture that had nothing of deference in it. I am here at the Emperor’s express request, he said.

The Emperor does not need your foul rites, Gnaeus said.

Oh? And are you the spokesman of His Imperial Highness now? I caution you, General. You may be your father’s son, but you do not have your father’s influence at court.

Gnaeus took a step forward before he could master himself. He realized his hand had drifted to his hip, where his sword would have been. He was not armed, of course; no one could come this close to the Presence with a weapon, not even the commander of the Bright Legion.

The old man allowed only a slight twist of his lips, but Gnaeus had no doubt that he knew exactly what had flashed through his mind.

Before he could muster a response one of the red curtains flashed open and a man came into the room. He was dressed all in black, a tight-fitting suit that couldn’t conceal the bony knobs of his limbs jutting from the thin, almost gaunt lines of his body. The face of Licius Azeral, Personal Secretary to the Emperor, was almost as well-known as that of His Imperial Highness himself. Gnaeus knew him well enough to recognize the slightly disdainful sniff that came from the Secretary as he deigned to take notice of the unexpected presence in the room. But that was all he gave the general before directing his attention to the old man and his companion.

The Emperor will see you now, Azeral said.

Hakadah gave one final nod to Gnaeus before rising from his seat. At a gesture the boy started to follow, giving the tether a tug to get the goat moving.

Gnaeus felt utterly dismissed, an odd feeling for him. He knew that his position here was tenuous, but he couldn’t stop himself from stepping forward, as if to block the progress of the ragged intruders. "You are simply going to allow this heretic to pass, with that… animal in tow?"

Azeral allowed his eyes to flick over in annoyance. It is the Emperor’s will, he said.

The animal is necessary, Hakadah said. He didn’t seem offended by Gnaeus’s outburst; if anything he seemed slightly amused.

What of the doctors? Gnaeus asked. And why is there no mage of the College here to watch this man? He is under dictum, in case you have forgotten, Master Secretary.

The Emperor has the power to revoke any dictum, Azeral said. "If you have complaints, general, you should take them up with the Privy Council.

Men of higher standing than Gnaeus had faltered under that cold stare, but the general didn’t move. His eyes flicked to the Imperial Guards, but none of them had shifted even slightly, their eyes fixed forward. They were there to protect their master, not to interfere in policy.

Azeral noted the soldier’s appeal with a slight smirk. This matter has some urgency, general. If you will excuse me?

Gnaeus hesitated, but before he had to make the inevitable decision a quick sound of footsteps became audible along the corridor behind the half-open curtain. The only warning the general got was a sudden stiffening of the Guards, then the curtain flashed open again and the Emperor strode into the room.

Azeral bent low, his eyes falling at once to the floor. Hakadah and his apprentice dropped to their knees, moving with even more alacrity than Gnaeus, who noted out of the corner of his vision that even the goat seemed subdued in the Imperial Presence, though that might have been due to a quick yank on the tether by the boy.

What is the meaning of this? the Emperor asked.

General Gnaeus had some questions regarding his Highness’s decisions regarding the medical treatment of his wife, Azeral offered.

Gnaeus kept his eyes low, not having been officially recognized by the sovereign, but he could feel the Emperor’s attention shift to him. The Emperor was still a young man, having just turned twenty-six. But he had that quiet authority that his father had lacked for the most part, a raw presence that commanded deference more than all the trappings of his office. Before that silent scrutiny there was nothing Gnaeus could do.

He felt the release of that stare a moment before he heard the scuff of the Emperor’s boot on the floor. Is this the sorcerer? he asked.

Yes, Your Highness, Azeral said.

You can do what you claim? the young Emperor said.

If I fail, I will gladly offer my life in forfeit, Hakadah said.

That’s exactly what you’re offering. Bring him.

Gnaeus started at that, and his head came up to see the Emperor almost back at the curtain. In desperation, he said, Your Highness…

The Emperor turned on him, silencing him with a look. He didn’t leave it at that, tromping over until he was standing almost on top of the kneeling soldier. Don’t presume too much, general, he said. "I know my father allowed your father certain… liberties. But I am my own man. My wife is dying, and with her my son, my firstborn. The doctors tell me they can maybe save her, if they sacrifice the child. Seven chances in ten, they tell me. Seven… in ten! To murder my son!"

The Emperor’s voice had grown wild and shrill, filling the room until Gnaeus was trembling with it. He said nothing, and flinched as he felt a strong young hand seize a fistful of his cloak.

You will leave here, and not return until you are summoned, by me. Do you understand?

Yes, your Highness…

But the Emperor had already released him, and was heading out through the curtain as briskly as he’d arrived. When Gnaeus’s head came up he was already gone. Azeral was holding the curtain back for the old man, his apprentice, and the goat. The last had left behind a small gift on the marble tiles.

Hakadah paused in the exit. His head turned back, and for a moment his eyes met the general’s. The old sorcerer’s expression didn’t change, but Gnaeus felt a cold chill pass through him. Then he was gone, the curtain swishing back into place. The commander of the Bright Legion was left alone save for the silent statues of the Guard. He didn’t have to look again to know that he would find no reaction to what had just happened betrayed on those etched faces.

Gnaeus’s limbs felt suddenly heavy as he rose to his feet. He gave the curtain one more look, then turned and headed back the way he had come.

* * * * *

Chapter 1

Magic, Keric Olwyhn said, is a part of our world. It is as natural and essential a thing as the weather, or the plant and animal cycles, or the laws of physical and chemical action. And as such, it is a part of us as well.

Keric placed his hands upon the rails along the sides of the podium. His instinct was to fidget, to move. Sometimes he worked up a sweat during his lectures due to all of the pacing and gesturing he did. But this setting required a bit more formality.

He looked down at the rows of seats that filled the auditorium. Memorial Hall was one of the largest lecture halls at the University of Sacreth, capable of seating three hundred students. It was barely one-quarter filled at the moment, but the majority of those here were professors, with a scattering of mostly-bored students filling out the crowd around the edges of the room. The faculty were more intent on what he was saying, but Keric was all too aware that he was younger than most of them, with more in common with the students than the hallowed doyens of the University.

Magic has always been a part of Sacreth as well, part of our special heritage, he continued. It is a core subject of inquiry at this University, and its practitioners have ruled Sacreth since the days when it was a true monarchy. Our history includes great names in the practice of magic, names that have left a long shadow that extends over us today. Names like Sorulkus, or Joranther, or Dratek.

He paused a moment. Here we go, he thought.

But we should not assume that because of that storied history that we know everything there is to know about our special discipline. You here know that I have particular reason to know this. To know that magic extends beyond the four schools of Sacrethan magic.

These other types of magic have been long forbidden in Sacreth, and for good reason. We who live with the magic know that it is dangerous, that it extracts a heavy price. Thus we use foci to regulate and guide the exercise of its power. The four main types of foci are the determinants of our four schools. Scrolls, my own chosen school. The precious stones of the gem mage. The amulets of the shield mage. The weapons and armor of the steel mage.

Gathered here today are some of the leading theorists of these schools. In some ways, the work being done today represents a peak of our knowledge. But my concern is this: we have become divided by our disciplines, set into our niches. In Joranther’s day magic was not a thing that could be confined to one particular mode of practice. It was a broad thing, a universal truth that mages kept seeking even if each question answered only led to another in an unending progression.

You seek to become the first Archmage in over two centuries, Professor Olwyhn? a heckler from the audience interrupted.

Keric acknowledged him with a slight nod. My aspirations are not so grand, Professor Vistren. He forced a slight chuckle onto the comment, though inwardly he felt a twist in his gut. He knew a truth that the other man did not, that few even on the Council knew, that there had been another Archmage after Sorulkus, one who had almost brought calamity upon the Mage Kingdom. Keric had been instrumental in Seris’s unmasking and defeat, but even now, almost two years later, he felt little satisfaction from that feat.

"What I am suggesting, colleagues, friends, students, is that we cannot stop asking ourselves fundamental questions. We must look back to our forbearers who sought to better understand what magic is."

I have prepared a small demonstration.

Keric took a steadying breath. He noted that he had the full attention of the audience now, even the students in the back having given up their side conversations to listen. He touched the amulet embedded in the top of the podium. It was an extremely simple device, just a disk of layered copper and lead bound with a single rune. But he felt the familiar jolt as he extended his will and activated it, unleashing a small trickle of magical potency. In response the lamps that brightened the room all dimmed to a fraction of their earlier brightness. It was about as basic a spell as you could cast into a permanent focus, but nevertheless it was magic, a physical reminder of what he’d just been talking about.

He deliberately strode away from the podium, almost to the edge of the stage. The spectators were now just shadows, the expressions on their faces concealed in the near-darkness. He was suddenly glad of that as he suppressed a brief flutter of nervousness.

We know the flows of magic surround us, Keric said. They are everywhere where life exists. They are particularly strong here, at the University.

He slowly raised his arms. His half-robe spread under them like extended wings. But the gesture was more symbolic, as the real effort came from his mind, which reached out into the realm of his special senses, the perceptions that he had trained since that day he had first arrived at the University a little over eight years past. The practice of magic, as his uncle Hule had once told him, was part inbred talent, part training. Scholars disagreed as to the exact percentages, but it sufficed that Keric had enough of both to be able to extend his awareness to see the flows that he had mentioned a moment ago.

They were there, not perhaps as clear as if he had cast a Delving. He wasn’t supposed to be able to see them at all, not without a focus. But he had changed a great deal over the last few years, the culmination of a path taken when he’d been a part of the last Labyrinth competition. That path had eventually led him into the White Mountains and the confrontation with the demon-summoning sorcerers of the Academy. And finally back here, to Seris and the warning he had left behind.

Keric had practiced entering this special state, and could have just stood there watching the flows of natural magical energy. But in that attenuated state he could also feel the auras of his audience, the shifting currents of boredom and unease. He would not have them for much longer.

So he went further, extending himself to interact with the flows of wild magic. He closed his eyes, the better to focus. He did not need his normal senses in any case to witness the currents. He touched them, just barely, altering them with just the slightest tweak.

He knew he’d been successful when he heard the soft collective gasp from the spectators.

He opened his eyes to see the results of his working. The interior of the auditorium was resplendent with a surreal display of light and color. The former came from dozens if not hundreds of tiny threads that hung suspended in the air. Some were barely the length of a man’s finger, while others stretched all the way across the room, vanishing into the opposite-facing walls. They pulsed and twisted as if alive, and as they moved they left swirls of color behind them, swirls in every color Keric could name and a hundred more he could not.

The tendrils were everywhere, almost random in their ignorance of the human-imposed boundaries of the chamber. Some of them passed close to the spectators in the audience. More than a few had recoiled from them, and Keric could feel a few magical reverberations as the professors invoked Wardings against them. He knew that was a useless waste of effort; the only thing that he had changed was to make visible that which had already permeated the space. A few among the younger members of the gallery, he saw, had approached the display differently, reaching out tentatively to touch the drifting threads. That too was useless, since they could not be felt any more than they could be repelled.

Keric let the magic flow through him for a span of time that he counted out at ten heartbeats, then let it fade. The light and colors disappeared at once, banished back into the realm beyond normal perception. Keric took a few moments to collect himself. What he had done was relatively minor compared to the magic of even a simple scroll, but without the steadying effect of the focus it had felt like trying to reroute the course of a waterfall with his bare hands. He could feel tiny droplets of sweat that had sprouted out upon his skin, accompanied by a pulse in the back of his head that promised a full-blown headache later.

Trying to appear casual, he returned to the podium and raised the lights. The faces he saw bore a range of expressions, from wonder to confusion to anger to disgust. About what he’d expected. Some had already gotten up and were heading for the exits.

I will be in my office this afternoon, in case any of you have any questions, Keric said.

He remained at the podium for a moment longer, appreciating its support. A few professors had gathered in the aisle and were coming up to the edge of the stage. Their faces had been among the ones less than pleased with his presentation, but their owners had mastered themselves again and had only stony looks as they came forward. With a sigh, Keric walked over to meet them. It might have been a bit petty, but he avoided the stairs that led down from the stage, remaining where its height gave him a subtle advantage.

The first professor did not wait for his greeting, and if he kept his voice down it was only to avoid drawing the attention of the members of the audience still filtering out of the auditorium. The rules of Sacrethan magic exist for a reason, young man, he said.

His companion, a shield mage that Keric knew only slightly, placed a hand on his friend’s arm. What Professor Kelland means to say, Professor Olwyhn, is that tenured faculty—even ones newly raised to the post—must exercise care in the shaping of young minds.

Kelland’s expression changed just enough to indicate that he did not fully appreciate his companion’s summation. You may be smart, he said to Keric, with two Belker Prizes already under your belt, but that is not a license for irresponsible behavior. Consider this notice that the Deans will hear of this… display.

He headed briskly off. His friend offered a slight shrug then followed him. The room was almost empty now, but Keric could see knots of scholars and students engaged in conversation as they left. No doubt the whole campus would be talking about his display by the end of the day.

He started back toward the stairs when he saw a familiar figure lounging against the doorway at the side of the stage. Keric went over to greet him. Vin, he said. Catch the show?

Indeed, and the aftermath. You have a talent for pissing people off, don’t you?

Well, it’ll start a conversation, at least.

It’ll start… Neva’s grace, Keric, have you ever heard of newly-minted faculty keeping a low profile? I mean, you’ve got tenure, and well ahead of poor suffering Vingarion Sym, thank you very much, but you still have to go through your third-year review board, right? Or have you ceased caring about your career?

Keric had the grace to look abashed. I’ve got the support of the Deans.

They live in a political world, in case you haven’t noticed. And that’s why I’m here. There’s a Council Mage looking for you. He’s in your office. Be grateful I didn’t send him here directly, or he might have caught your little light-show.

Keric flinched. A Council Mage? What does he want?

Forgive me for not thinking to interrogate him. He didn’t seem like the sort to be kept waiting, though.

Yeah, thanks.

Vin left, shaking his head. Keric found himself alone in the auditorium. His lecture had been scheduled late enough in the day that there wouldn’t be any more classes here until tomorrow morning. His stomach rumbled, but he had the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t be eating anytime soon.

With a sigh, he gathered his satchel and went off to find out what the Council wanted with him this time.

* * *

Keric’s office wasn’t much bigger than the one he’d had as an assistant professor, just a narrow sliver of space crowded with a desk, two chairs, a bookshelf, and a filing cabinet. The one amenity he’d earned through his ascendance to a tenured position was a window, offering a bucolic view of the not-so-distant Roe River as it wound its slow course around the campus of the University.

As he came in the shutters on the window were mostly closed, letting in narrow slats of golden sunlight that sparkled slightly on the dust in the air. They drifted over the robed figure sitting in the comfortable chair at his desk, casually paging through one of Keric’s course books. If he was embarrassed at being discovered he didn’t show it, turning slowly to cast a languid look at the office’s owner.

Iskanderon, Keric said. Or should I say, ‘Councilor Carron?’

We were always on a first-name basis before, Keric. Unless you prefer ‘Professor Olwyhn.’ Congratulations on earning tenure, by the way.

I’d offer the same, though you always did say you’d earn a Council seat by the time you were thirty.

Made it with a few years to spare.

So is this a friendly visit?

That depends. Are we still friends?

We were hardly friends before.

That’s right, you don’t have any friends.

Keric’s eyes hardened, but after a moment Iskanderon laughed. Come now, sit down. It’s your office, after all.

Keric’s expression didn’t soften, but he did come in and shut the door behind him. The second chair was not what he’d call comfortable, but he didn’t want to further sidetrack this meeting by asking the Councilor to yield his. He’d suffered students to sit in this chair often enough, he could stand a stint of mild discomfort. And it might be preferable not to get too comfortable with the mage who’d come to see him.

You’re not still holding a grudge, are you? Iskanderon asked.

About what?

You know what.

The Labyrinth was a long time ago.

I heard they’ve got it locked up in the Vault.

You would know more about that than I. Or could find out if you wanted to. So what’s this visit about, Iskanderon?

The Council mage ran his fingertips along the edge of the desk. I heard you caused quite a stir today in your lecture.

How did you… So, the Council’s monitoring me again.

My dear Keric, they never stopped. You’ve brought this all on yourself, you know.

I’ve never sought notoriety, you know that. As I recall, I didn’t volunteer for either of the events that created it.

But you haven’t shied away from provocation, either. The submission that won you your second Belker, for instance.

Keric didn’t respond, so the other mage continued, You altered formulae that hadn’t been modified in over a century. And not in trivial ways, either. There are some who say that just the work you’ve published in the last two years is going to change the way we look at magic for centuries to come.

Everything I’ve published has been peer-reviewed and produced according to the letter of the rules of the academic ethics code…

Oh, come on, Keric. You play the stuffy professor well, you did even when we were students together. But I know that you know that the real world exists, and you even have some inkling of how it works. I didn’t come here to give you a lecture in the politics of the Mage Council, anyway.

"So does that mean you are finally ready to tell me why you did come here?"

Iskanderon watched him for a few long seconds. Keric didn’t shrink or fidget under that scrutiny. It was a trick he’d used himself with recalcitrant students, now and again.

Finally Iskanderon sighed and reached into his robe. It wasn’t quite the full ceremonial garment that Councilors wore during official functions, but it was still longer and more bulky than the half-robes that were the unofficial uniforms at the University. From it he produced a leather folio that bore the Council stamp. He unfastened it and tossed it across the desk toward Keric.

Keric picked it up. The folio contained a piece of parchment covered in seals and various markings that proclaimed it to be an official document. It took Keric a few moments to sift through that for the actual content.

Iskanderon didn’t wait. The Council has decided that it might be a good idea for you to spend some time away from Sacreth, he said.

Keric blinked at him, then looked down at the paper. This…

Let me be the first to congratulate the new Deputy to our Ambassador in Kal Tiroth, Iskanderon said.

But… Keric trailed off as he stared at the other mage. Me, a diplomat? After all you just finished saying…

Oh, it’s not uncommon for University professors to be called to a term of service like this. It’ll look good on your resume when your tenure review comes up in a few years. I suppose it could even be considered an honor.

That’s not what I meant.

Still. If it’s any consolation, I wasn’t involved in the decision. I have about as much influence on the Council as you have on the University.

The mention of his job flashed new thoughts through Keric’s mind. But… my courses… I have responsibilities here…

I’ve already spoken with the Deans. Iskanderon sat back in the chair, allowing some satisfaction to creep into his expression. He’d never been a spiteful man, but he’d always had a gift for manipulation, and no doubt was feeling satisfaction over a trap neatly laid.

Keric glanced down at the parchment. No doubt Iskanderon thought he was overwhelmed, and he was. But his mind was already racing down other channels. In particular, he was thinking of his last meeting with Bale Unwin. The last time he’d seen her had been in Gulath, in the aftermath of the battle at the Academy. She’d said she would likely head for the coast, and in the north there was no place better to hide than in Kal Tiroth.

Keric abruptly looked up and met the other mage’s stare. I suppose I have no choice in the matter, he said.

Iskanderon got up, made a show of adjusting his robe. There’s always a choice, Keric. This isn’t a dictatorship. But I’d think about it carefully. This is one of those decisions that can have a lot of cascading effects down the line.

He walked past Keric, clapping him on the shoulder briefly as he passed. He opened the door but paused there, looking back at the newly-minted diplomat. "There’s a ship heading downriver in two days, the Windspirit. You can pick up briefing materials and the usual diplomatic package at the Quartermaster’s Office. They’re expecting you."

Keric didn’t have a response, and after a moment the Council mage shrugged and left without a goodbye, swinging the door shut behind him.

* * * * *

Chapter 2

Coran Vasey blinked as he came up over the crest of Theros Ridge and the fading rays of the late afternoon sun shone in his face. A sharp breeze tugged at his coat and promised a cold evening ahead, but both the wind and the pains of his body were forgotten as he took in the view.

The spur of the White Mountains that he stood in was not especially tall or rugged, but he was high enough up that he could see the glorious green expanse of the Danalb spread out before him. From here the Danalb River was clearly visible, though the settlements along its banks were mere specks. Bel Darinder wasn’t visible from his vantage, but he knew where it was hidden behind the foothills that were covered in a dense carpet of trees in their full spring bloom.

The sounds of his patrol coming up the rise behind him drew his attention back around. He took a small pleasure in the looks of hard effort on their faces. There had been a few quiet comments that morning about the old man leading this patrol, and while he knew that his body would be a landscape of sore muscles tomorrow, he’d been more than up to the pace.

He had only just turned thirty-four, but Coran knew that such things were usually relative. They all looked so young, his warriors. Most were Service recruits, doing their mandatory year in the Border Wardens instead of the more placid duties of the Reserve Corps. No doubt they came here seeking adventure, or new experiences beyond the confines of the village or town of their birth. Out here on the frontier things were still unsettled enough to offer the promise of excitement. And the young men and women they sent him were green enough to be eager for it. He suppressed a smile. He could remember being that young himself.

Coran scanned the mountains, his eyes lingering briefly on a few of the bare granite peaks that surrounded them. Many of them were like Theros Ridge, with names that reflected the sacrifices made by previous generations of Sacrethans. There was Mount Darsen, and looming in its shadow was