The Chimera Coup, page 1
The Chimera Coup
Book One of
The Heirs of Cataclysm
Christopher G. Nuttall
New Mythology Press
Coinjock, NC
Copyright © 2022 by Christopher G. Nuttall
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Chris Kennedy/New Mythology Press
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover Art and Design by Laércio Messias
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The Chimera Coup/Christopher G. Nuttall -- 1st ed.
ISBN: 978-1648554995
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License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Dedication
To Aisha, Who Believed In Me
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Contents
The Chimera Coup
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
About the Author
Excerpt from Khyven the Unkillable
Excerpt from A Reluctant Druid
Excerpt from Burnt
Excerpt from Responsibility of the Crown
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Prologue
The sun was barely glimmering above the distant mountains on Mourning Day when John, son of John, made his way to the Seeker Guildhouse and took his place in the line. The two people who’d arrived ahead of him—both young women, hoping for a chance to better themselves through magic—nodded politely, then turned away.
John didn’t take offense. The town was a very small place. A reputation could be destroyed by a single careless glance, let alone something more intimate. The girls might hope to leave the town far behind, and perhaps never return, but they couldn’t rely on passing the tests. If they had to stay in town…
He took a breath as the day slowly grew brighter, the town coming to life around them. Mourning Day, in which the present day remembered the Cataclysm, was honored right across the known world, and was supposed to be a day of rest. However, the townsfolk couldn’t afford to take more than an hour or two off. John had had to bargain hard with his father, to convince the older man to allow him to attend the trials. He knew he’d pass. He had to pass. If he failed…
The thought was unbearable. He loved his parents, really he did, but he couldn’t stay in the town for the rest of his days.
Once, if the older folk were to be believed, a person could cross the entire world in a second. Now, getting to the nearest city was a trial. His world was small and confining, limited to the nameless town and the surrounding fields.
Magic was his only hope of escape, unless he set out to the Frontier, or even the Wildlands. And who knew what would happen if he went west? For everyone who returned rich or found a place to settle, there were ten who were never heard from again.
He took a long breath as the line grew longer, nineteen youngsters between eight and fifteen waiting for their chance to face the magicians. No one knew if the magicians had a quota they had to fill, although everyone agreed they sometimes closed the guildhouse without seeing everyone waiting for them. John had risen early to make sure he was one of the first few through the doors.
“Hey, buddy,” a voice said. “Let me get in.”
John looked up. Bruno, a lout two years older than he was, was trying to push his way into the line. John gritted his teeth, then shook his head. Bruno was too dumb to count past ten without taking off his shoes—or his pants—but he was strong enough to beat the crap out of anyone who dared stand up to him. What was he doing in line? Everyone agreed one needed intelligence to be a magician.
“Let me in,” Bruno said. His dark eyes glinted at John.
“No,” John said. It might mean a beating—anywhere else, it would—but he was damned if he was giving up his spot to the older boy. “Go to the back of the line.”
Bruno drew back his fists, then stopped and darted backward as the door rattled and opened with a crash. John turned to stare inside the guildhouse. It was normally closed and locked—the village was too small for a permanent Mage Guild presence—but now he could see a pair of tables inside manned by magicians in fine robes. They looked as gaudily dressed as the distant landlord, the man whose father had preserved order after the Cataclysm.
“There’s a wand on the table,” a magician said. He was dressed as finely as the others, but there was something in his voice that suggested he’d been born a commoner. “When I order you forward, pick up the wand, point it at the red circle on the wall, and channel your magic through it. If it works, you’ll have a place amongst us. If it doesn’t, return to your homes. You can try again in a year and enjoy the rest of your day.”
A rustle ran down the line as they called the first girl forward.
John kept his face under control. The magician had been joking, surely. It was rare for anyone to return and try again the following year. One either had magic, or one didn’t.
The girl groaned, put the wand down, and walked away, her dreams shattering around her. John told himself grimly that he wouldn’t fail. He couldn’t.
The second girl made her way to the table, picked up the wand, and jabbed it at something John couldn’t see. The wand glowed, a beam of light darting from the tip to brush against the wall. The girl dropped the wand as though it was a poisonous snake, the light vanishing the moment she let go. A female magician walked out of a side door, took the girl in hand, and led her into the next chamber.
John burned with envy even as he was ordered forward himself. She’d made it. Her future was assured, and all it had cost her was leaving her friend behind.
His heart raced as he stopped in front of the table and picked up the wand. It felt warm against his palm, magic crackling under his skin. A wave of excitement shot through him as he raised the wand and pointed it at the red circle, then jabbed it forward. The magic rose, pressed against his skin… and went no further.
He felt a flicker of panic. The magic was trapped inside him. He could feel it.
“Put the wand down,” the bored-looking magician said. “Good luck with your life.”
John felt his cheeks burn as he jabbed the wand again and again. The magic boiled under his skin, but refused to come into the light. It was there. He knew it was there.
A strong hand caught hold of his shoulder and swung him about, its owner taking the wand out of John’s hand and pushing him to the door. The magic was still crackling under John’s skin, but—
“Hah,” Bruno jeered. “I knew you’d fail.”
“Be quiet,” the magician ordered. “You could fail, too.”
John barely heard him. The magic was growing stronger, boiling under his skin. He was overheating, the power pulsing violently as it tried to find a way out. Bruno’s giggles—he didn’t even have the decency to laugh like an adult—were getting to him, fueling his anger and desperation. He was caught in a storm. The power demanded escape.
He jabbed a finger at Bruno. The power blazed into the light. He heard someone swear behind him as a mighty wind picked the lout up and threw him right across the street. Bruno screamed, then fell silent as he hit the ground.
John felt his legs wobble, the world glowing brighter as he was suddenly aware—very aware—of the magic all around him. He could barely stay on his feet. He was a magician, and yet they’d thought he wasn’t.
A magician took his arm, steadying him. “Very well done,” he said. It was the same one who’d dismissed him only a moment ago. “Come with us. There’s a place for you at the school.”
John nodded, stumbling after the magician into the next room. He felt tired, so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. The girl who’d passed the test looked up and nodded to him, seemingly relieved she wouldn’t be amongst strangers. John sat down and tried to muster his thoughts. He’d passed. He’d barely passed. And if Bruno hadn’t taunted him…
The magicians don’t know everything, he thought numbly. He was too tired to care about Bruno. They would have let me go if I hadn’t shown my magic.
The thought haunted him as he drifted off to sleep. They really don’t know everything.
* * * * *
Chapter One
“Your theory seems sound,” Katrina Amador said, as she sat on John’s bed, “but are you sure it’s actually practical?”
John smiled. It was hard to believe, at times, that a girl like Katrina could be interested in him. They came from very different worlds, even though they’d spent the last five years attending the same school.
The College of Wizards—affectionately known as Greyshade School, after the founder and current headmaster—worked hard to ensure all students were treated equally, but some were more equal than others.
John might be a natural magician—one who could cast magic without a proper focus—yet he was still only a blacksmith’s son. Katrina was the daughter of a proud merchant aristocrat, one who claimed his bloodline stretched back for thousands of years. And yet, somehow, they’d clicked.
He studied her, drinking in the sight. They were a study in contrasts. Katrina was tall and willowy, with curly black hair, and a pale, heart-shaped face; she wore her student robes as though they were a formal gown. John was short and stubby, his skin slightly darker than hers, and his robes hanging from him as if they’d been designed for someone of a very different build. He’d always considered the robes impractical and made sure to wear a shirt and trousers under the outer layer, but Katrina had never bothered. That had surprised him the night they’d made love for the first time.
“Well?” Katrina smirked at him. “Are you sure it can be made to work?”
“Yes,” John said. He wasn’t fazed by her question. Magicians were taught to question everything, as part of a long-term project to understand the changes to magic after the Cataclysm. Katrina would have been failing in her duty if she hadn’t asked him to explain himself. “We channel magic through focuses, right?”
“Most of us do,” Katrina agreed. There weren’t many exceptions, even amongst the older and more well-practiced students. It was just easier to use a focus, particularly one you’d carved yourself. “It certainly makes it easier to cast precise spells.”
John nodded, although he’d never been sure of how true that actually was. He could cast magic without a focus. In hindsight, he suspected his attempt to use a wand—five years ago—had been doomed from the start. He’d grown used to focuses in the years he’d spent at Greyshade, but he’d never allowed himself to grow dependent on them.
Katrina was one of the most capable students he’d met, with an intellect that dwarfed his own, yet if she lost her focus, she’d be nearly helpless. That was one of the reasons he’d helped her forge a ring-focus as well as an elaborate wand. Anyone who wanted to kidnap her would take the wand—unless they were complete idiots—but they might overlook the ring, and then she’d be able to escape with ease.
“A focus is really just a channel for magic,” John said. “The magic bubbles through it and out into the world. It doesn’t have to be anything special.”
“Your spells are less focused—” she smiled at the play on words “—without a focus,” Katrina pointed out. “And it’s even easier if it’s a focus you made yourself.”
John nodded. It wasn’t easy to shape the magic in his head, rather than channeling it through a focus. Basic spells were easy enough—he’d practiced until his nose bled, mastering the art of channeling without a focus—but more advanced spells were impossible. He wasn’t sure why. In theory, he should have been able to cast any spell he liked. In practice…
Maybe I’m trying to do too many things at once, he thought crossly. He’d learnt the importance of keeping his mind on the task while watching his father, but unfocused magic relied upon the caster being able to do two things at the same time. And yet, it should still be possible.
“If we can use a wand or a ring or something along those lines to cast spells,” he asked rhetorically, “why can’t we use our skin?”
Katrina made a face. They’d debated the question time and time again. Why couldn’t they use their skin, or their bones, as focuses?
They had yet to come up with a good answer, although—John had to admit—the thought of accidentally overcharging and exploding their bones was terrifying. He’d exploded more than a few wands himself, back during his primary education. He knew he’d been lucky. A couple of students had lost their hands.
“It should work,” John said. The debates had gone on and on without any clear answer. “We need to know.”
“If this goes wrong…”
Katrina’s voice trailed off, but John understood. Greyshade expected the students to practice their skills outside class, encouraging them to cast spells on each other, yet there were limits. They were brushing against the rules, to the point they really should speak to their housemaster before taking the experiments any further.
Yet he knew what might happen if they shared their theories. The person they told might steal the credit or share the idea so they could no longer claim it as theirs. It had happened before, and he was sure it would happen again.
Katrina would be fine, whatever happened. Her family would take care of her, but John’s family had effectively disowned him after he’d accidentally crippled Bruno. They’d had no choice—and they would’ve lost contact with him pretty quickly after his magic had been discovered, anyway—but it still hurt.
What would become of him after he graduated? He wanted to be something more than a guildsman or a courtly mage, or even a Grey Man. He wanted to do something with his life, something so significant, Katrina’s family could hardly object to his suit. If he made a magical breakthrough, they couldn’t turn him down if he asked for her hand.
Then we could really make something of ourselves, he thought. Katrina wasn’t her father’s heir, but her family would help her set up a spellhouse if they thought she could make a go of it. Who knows how far this could go?
He reached for the tattoo pen and held it up, then pressed it against his right palm. It hurt, a stabbing pain that made him wince. He’d felt worse, but this… he bit his lip to focus as the pain grew, drawing out the rune on his bare skin. Katrina watched, her eyes grim. He’d been tempted to ask her to do the tattoo, or perhaps to secure him first to ensure not a single stroke was out of place, but it was important that he do it himself. It would be his focus.
And she might balk at inflicting pain, he reflected as he drew the final line. She wouldn’t want to hurt me, even though it needs to be done.
He smiled at the thought. He’d met a number of well-born girls—from powerful families, even if their family trees were fanciful—and they’d all sneered at the common-born students.
Katrina wasn’t like that. Her family might be rich, but they’d made their money through trade and knew better than to offend their customers. She’d never talked down to anyone, even the younger students she’d supervised when she’d been their dorm mistress.
John had to admit, that made her a better person than him. He’d done his best, but it had been hard to keep his irritation under control. It was difficult to believe he’d been just as annoying when he was twelve.
