The Conjuring Man, page 2
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “It’s clear she thought she’d need a nexus point for some of her spells.”
He smiled to himself. It had taken weeks to bring the runic tiles from a paper concept to something actually workable, and there was still a great deal of research and experimentation to do, but the results were undeniable. He’d cast spells without magic of his own. They’d had to adapt the spells to work with the tiles and circuits – a difficult task, even for a trained sorcerer – and not every spell had worked perfectly, but they’d worked. The world had changed and he’d been the one who’d changed it and ... his lips quirked into a smile. He thought he knew, now, how Lady Emily had felt when her innovations had taken off. And yet part of him wanted to keep the whole concept to himself.
Too late now, he told himself. We need the runic tiles to survive.
The thought haunted him. The university had been lucky to survive the siege. The enemy army might have been destroyed by the firestorm – the handful of survivors had fled into the desert before the university’s defenders could give chase – but King Ephialtes was unlikely to give up so easily. His sister was still in the university, still trying to promote herself as an alternative monarch for their kingdom. Adam had no idea how it would work itself out, but he’d met enough aristos in the last few months to know they were stubborn, stiff-necked and reluctant to concede defeat until they were battered into submission. They were just too entitled, too convinced of their own right to rule ...
He pushed the thought out of his mind as he returned to the spell circuits and started to carve out a new set of runic tiles. The basic concept had been worked out weeks ago – first on paper and then in the workshops – but the craftsmen needed it as refined as possible before they put them to work. Adam was thrilled to be part of the airship project and yet ... he shook his head. He didn’t need the glory of flying the airship for the first time. He’d already flown a hot air balloon over enemy lines, evading their sentries with causal ease. He could fly on the airship later, when the kinks had been worked out.
And if these runes don’t work properly, the airship won’t survive its first flight, he thought, pushing the next set of carvings into place. A lone sorcerer will blow it out of the sky with a single fireball.
“Everything has to be flat,” Lilith muttered, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Why doesn’t it work in three dimensions?”
Adam nodded in understanding. Lady Emily had drawn on a nexus point. She’d had enough raw power to force her spellwork into existence, then keep it in place. They didn’t. There was a nexus point below their feet, a pulsing source of magic that powered the wards running through the university, but they dared not become dependent on it. Their spell circuits wouldn’t work outside the walls, if they did. It was possible to draw on the nexus point through a pair of interlinked chat parchments, but even that had its limits. Adam wanted – needed – his runic structures to be as independent as possible.
“She probably intended to streamline the concept, once she had the spellwork worked out,” Adam said. The first printing presses had been crude, to say the least, but the later versions had been much more elegant – and reliable. “She just never had the chance.”
There was a tap on the door. Adam looked up, sharply. There was no one who should be disturbing them. The university staff had too much else to do, while Taffy – the third of their trio – was working with her fellow craftsmen, trying to get the airship ready for flight before something else happened. Or working on newer and better weapons. The university’s sole advantage was the simple fact it was a hotbed of innovation, with magicians and craftsmen constantly looking for newer and better ways to do things. Adam had no illusions about what would happen if the flow of innovations came to a stop. The kingdoms and other reactionaries would crush the university through sheer weight of numbers. It would be the end of everything.
Lilith scowled, her lips thinning. “Come in!”
The door opened. Jasper stepped in. Adam gritted his teeth, feeling a twinge of unease that threatened to unman him. Jasper was slight, by Beneficence’s standards – he looked more like a scribe or an accountant than a docksman – but he had magic. He had more power in his little finger than Adam had in his entire body, power enough to stop Adam in his tracks or strip him of his free will or even turn him into a toad – or worse. Adam glanced down at the spell circuits, hastily plotting how to use them to defend himself. It would be chancy, but the only alternative was letting Lilith defend him. And that would make him a laughingstock.
But I did punch Jasper in the nose, after depowering him, Adam recalled. I’m not as helpless as he thinks.
Lilith scowled. “Jasper,” she said, stiffly. “What do you want?”
“Your father requests your urgent presence,” Jasper said, sardonically. “Yesterday, really.”
“And he sent you with the message?” Lilith didn’t sound impressed. “Why?”
Jasper’s face darkened. “I was waiting outside the council chambers,” he said. “He volunteered me for the job.”
Adam tried not to smile. Jasper’s position was a little vague – too many of the older magicians were working to defend the university, rather than tutoring their students and apprentices – but it still had to gall him that he’d been turned into a messenger boy. It was strange to reflect that Jasper was actually a weak magician, one who’d only come to the university because it was the only real option he had. And yet ... Adam shivered, recalling how Jasper had taken his resentment out on him. Adam was no brawler, no apprentice who delighted in assembling his friends and picking fights with other apprentices, but breaking Jasper’s nose had felt so good. The magician had needed to be knocked down a peg or two.
Lilith stood. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, sourly. Her relationship with her father was tense, particularly after she’d started dating Adam. Adam didn’t pretend to understand why Master Dagon had approved of their relationship, then changed his mind shortly afterwards. “If you finish the tiles before I come back, take them down to the airship.”
Adam nodded, trying not to stare as she hurried out the door. Her dress clung to her in all the right places ... he calmed himself with an effort, reminding himself he wasn’t alone. Jasper wasn’t making any move to leave ... Adam gritted his teeth, bracing himself for trouble. He had, in theory, the authority to order Jasper to go. But in practice, giving an order he couldn’t enforce was asking for trouble ...
Jasper eyed Adam, thoughtfully. Adam thought he saw uncertainty in the other boy’s eyes. When they’d first met, Adam had been nothing more than a powerless mundane with delusions he could become a magician. A great deal had changed since then, from magic-draining potion to runic tiles a mundane could use to cast spells. Jasper had to be just a little unsure of himself, Adam reasoned. He knew what a normal magician could do, and mundanes were powerless against him, but Adam ...? Who knew what Adam could do?
“I don’t know what she sees in you,” Jasper said, finally. “Why does she want you when she could have anyone she wants?”
Adam kept his face under tight control. The question baffled him too, sometimes, but he was damned if he was discussing it with Jasper. Or anyone, really.
He kept his voice calm. “What do you want?”
“I’m curious,” Jasper said, his voice artfully innocent. “What does she see in you?”
Adam felt a twinge of irritation. “What possible business is it of yours?”
“A magician has the obligation to look out for other magicians, particularly when they are on the verge of making mistakes that will drag their reputation through the mire,” Jasper said. “As a son of House Karut ...”
“You’re not a son of anything,” Adam charged. He wasn’t sure that was true, but Jasper was getting on his nerves. “You’re a newborn magician.”
Jasper’s face darkened. “How dare you?”
“Easily.” Adam met Jasper’s eyes, silently daring him to throw the first hex. It would be the last – Adam was effectively defenceless – but Jasper didn’t know it. His uncertainty might keep him from testing the waters. “I have to get back to work. Say your piece and get out.”
“You have no magic of your own,” Jasper said, waving a hand at the tiles on the workbench. “You’re just playing with toys.”
“They’re not toys,” Adam snapped, stung. “And Lilith understands that better than anyone.”
Jasper leaned forward. “Toys,” he repeated. “You’re little better than a conjurer.”
Adam felt a hot flash of anger. Conjurer was not a compliment. Conjurers were the lowest form of magician, barely equal to hedge witches and a great deal less useful. They had limited magic, so limited that half of their spellcasting was little more than sleight of hand and con artistry – and couldn’t do anything with their lives, beyond showing off their talents on the streets. To compare him to a conjurer ...
“These toys, as you call them, have already changed the world,” he snarled. “Or have you forgotten how I broke your nose?”
“Trickery.” Jasper’s lips twisted into a fake smile. “I can counter your gas” – he snickered loudly – “easily, now that I know what to expect. That trick won’t work twice.”
“I have other tricks,” Adam said. He forced as much confidence into his voice as he could. “Do you want to find out what they are?”
Jasper shrugged. “Do you think your tricks make you my equal?”
Adam knew better, but he couldn’t resist. “I think I would have to fall a long way before I became your equal.”
“We’ll see.” Jasper leaned forward, resting his hands on the workbench. Adam stood his ground. “Would you like to place a bet on it?”
“No,” Adam said, curtly.
“Really?” Jasper smirked. “Here’s the bet. We duel, you and I. Winner gets Lilith’s hand.”
Adam blinked. “What?”
“If you win, I won’t say another word about your relationship,” Jasper said. “I’ll even shut down the magicians who are gossiping about you and her, suggesting there’s something ... unnatural about your relationship. You know they’re talking about you. And her. Someone is going to do something dumb soon, unless it gets nipped in the bud. You need me on your side.”
He smiled, nastily. “And if I win, you ditch her so I can make suit for her hand. How does that sound?”
Adam had to fight to keep his emotions under tight control. He knew boys had fought for girls on the streets of Beneficence, but it had never happened to him. He’d never had a girl, let alone one someone else wanted. He wasn’t even sure if the winner got the girl. Here ... he found himself utterly unsure of where he stood. Did magicians fight for girls? He didn’t know. He wanted to tell Jasper to get lost, to take his challenge and stick it where the sun didn’t shine, but his stubborn pride refused to let him. He couldn’t back down. He just couldn’t.
“Charming,” he said, with heavy sarcasm. He reached for the runic tiles and pushed them into place. “Do your worst.”
Jasper darted back – clearly expecting Adam to punch him in the nose, again – and raised his hand to cast a spell. Eldritch light shimmered around his fingertips, flashed out at Adam ... and disintegrated into a shower of sparks when it reached the spell circuits. Jasper gasped, then cast another spell. It failed just as quickly as the first.
“Toys, you say?” Adam kept a wary eye on the runic tiles. The magic was supposed to be absorbed into the spellwork, or dispelled into the surrounding air if it was too great to subsume without overloading the tiles, but the concept hadn’t been tested in an enclosed space. The magic might contaminate everything in the workroom. “Your magic is useless now, and all because of my toys!”
Jasper paled. “Impossible.”
“You saw it happen. Twice.” Adam came around the table, careful not to step too far from the tiles. “The duel is over. You lost.”
“You didn’t best me,” Jasper snarled. “You just ... cheated.”
Adam felt a hot flash of disgust. “And what do you call it when you use magic to overpower a mundane, who can no more defend himself against you than a mouse can fight a hawk?”
“That’s different,” Jasper protested.
“Is it?” Adam clenched his fists. “At least a real duellist would offer his opponent a choice of weapons, so they fight on equal terms. You didn’t even have the nerve to do that, you ...”
He bit off his words before he accused Jasper of being a coward. Jasper would never forgive him for that. He had no idea if the tiles would be able to cope, if Jasper started hurling spell after spell, or if he’d have the sense to use magic to throw something solid at Adam instead ...
“I won,” he said. “Keep your word.”
“She doesn’t really like you,” Jasper snarled. “And you cheated. You ...”
He shrank, his head and body morphing into a brown furry mass. Adam barely had a second to realise what was happening before his own vision twisted, the floor coming up towards him at terrifying speed. His body was changing ... he caught a glimpse of fur sprouting on his hands before he squeezed his eyes shut, all too aware someone had cast a spell on him ... on both of them. It should have been impossible, unless ...
His eyes snapped open. The room was suddenly huge, the workbenches and chairs towering over him like apartment blocks looming over the streets. A rat – another rat – quivered on the floor, right in front of him. Jasper, part of Adam’s mind noted. And behind him ... he knew, even before he turned his head, who stood in the doorway. They’d been so wrapped up in their argument that they hadn’t realised someone had opened the door.
Lilith’s voice was cold, very cold. “I am not a prize to be won.”
Chapter Two
Jasper ran for the door.
Adam watched him flee, his ratty form moving so fast it was almost a streak of brown lightning. It wasn’t fast enough. Lilith caught him with a spell, yanked him into the air and dangled him in front of her, his paws frantically struggling against the unseen force holding him firmly in place. Jasper was panicking, Adam realised; he was too shocked to think straight, to try to counter the spell ... the spell that shouldn’t have been cast at all. Adam shivered. The runic tiles were on the tabletop, out of sight and out of reach, but they should have dispelled the spell before it took effect. That it hadn’t ...
“I am not a prize to be won,” Lilith repeated. “And you are not going to duel for my hand.”
Her lips thinned until they were almost invisible. Jasper shrank into himself, as if he were trying to hide from her gaze. His paws stilled ... Lilith leaned closer, until she was looming over him. Adam fought to stay still, despite all his instincts telling him to run. He’d been a fool. He might have let Jasper ruin his relationship with Lilith, once and for all. If he had ...
“You’re pathetic,” Lilith said to Jasper. “You only came here, to the university, because you couldn’t get an apprenticeship anywhere else. You could have worked with the other magicians here, to improve yourself to the point someone might give you a chance, but instead you lashed out at everyone below you. You let Arnold pull the wool over your eyes because you refused to grant a mundane might actually be intelligent and dangerous, and then you let Matt do the same. And now you’re thinking I’d actually go with you if you won a duel ... a duel you lost, because you picked a fight in your victim’s place of power!”
She snorted. “You’re not held back unfairly; you’re held back because you refuse to put your head down and work to accomplish something. You could have made something of yourself if you’d worked at it, but instead ... you’re no better than a mundy aristocrat who thinks birth trumps merit because birth is all he has. And ...”
Lilith flicked her hand. Jasper flew through the air and out the door, which slammed closed after him. Adam swallowed hard, feeling a conflicting blur of emotions he didn’t care to look at too closely. Lilith had knocked Jasper down hard and ... the spell would probably wear off sooner or later, Adam was sure, but the shock of being overwhelmed so easily would linger long after the magic was gone. Adam hoped Jasper would remember her words and take them to heart, but he feared he wouldn’t. He’d known one young man, back home, who’d been so thoroughly emasculated by a girl that he’d picked a fight he couldn’t win rather than come to terms with his shame or even move elsewhere, to a place no one had ever heard of him. And ... he shuddered, feeling his own paws twitch as she looked at him. Hadn’t she promised never to transfigure him again?
“Adam ...” Lilith took a breath, then started again. “Adam., you’re being silly.”
Adam felt his body start to twist and hastily closed his eyes. It felt ... disconcerting, as always, to have his body changed, even if he was returning to human form rather than becoming an animal or an object or something utterly beyond his comprehension. Everything snapped into place ... he opened his eyes to discover he was sitting on the floor, his legs spread out as if he’d been shoved down by an unseen force. It was almost a relief. His legs felt unsteady, as if they couldn’t take his weight a moment longer. He hadn’t felt so bad since he’d had a fever, a few years ago.
Lilith sighed, heavily. “You shouldn’t let him bait you like that,” she said, crossly. “What were you thinking?”
Adam shook his head, unsure how to answer. It was difficult to put his feelings into words. He felt ... he felt as if it was just a matter of time before Lilith grew tired of him and left him for someone a little more suitable, for someone with magic and bloodline and everything else a good little magician was supposed to look for in a mate. Jasper might be only one step above a mundane, as far as the rest of the magical community was concerned, but that step was an impassable gulf. His children would have magic. It wasn’t clear if Adam’s children would share his infused blood, let alone have magic of their own ...
