Ectomancer's Torment: Book VII of 'The Magician's Brother' Series, page 1
Ectomancer’s Torment
Book VII of The Magician's Brother Series
HDA Roberts
Copyright © 2022 HDA Roberts
All rights reserved.
Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is unintentional.
Cover by Warren Design
Contents
Ectomancer’s Torment
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 1
So... I was in a bit of a pickle.
Through a series of unfortunate events—that were only partly my fault—I’d ended up facing off against one of the most powerful Magicians who’d ever lived; a Magician made all the more dangerous because he’d been driven to the edge of insanity (that might also have been partly my fault...).
Anyway, said evil Magician’s insanity nearly got my home city eaten, and I’d been forced to do something stupid in order to stop him, resulting in my current predicament. My Well, the source of my powers, had been badly damaged. This was causing my Magic, Soul and Aura to mix in a way that they were just not supposed to. I couldn’t completely understand the physics behind what it was actually doing to me, but, in effect, it manifested rather like slow radiation poisoning coupled with an intermittent ‘cooking’ effect that fried bits and pieces of my person every now and then, seemingly at random.
Suffice to say, it was rather unpleasant, and it would eventually become lethal if I didn’t fix it, which brings us neatly to the worst of the side-effects:
No Magic.
Because the very fabric of my Well was so badly damaged, any further use of my powers would almost certainly destroy it entirely, killing me on the spot, along with anyone else within a goodly distance.
That lack of Magic, at least, was a problem I could circumvent (if not fix), though it was taking forever (and a truly stupid amount of money) to get everything I needed to do so. For the moment, I had a very limited workaround which gave me a little Magic to play with. Compared to what I had before, it was a tiny drop in a very large bucket, but it was infinitely better than nothing.
Now, you’d think that two pretty serious problems would be enough on my plate, wouldn’t you? Impending death and almost no agency with which to fix it... but wait, there was more.
Because I must have called the Universe fat in a previous life, or something, and now it hates me.
Anyway, the artefact that had started all this, the Gods’ Blade, the weapon that transferred Myrddin’s (the evil, insane, overpowered Magician) colossal powers to me in the first place, seemed to have decided that my twin-brother, Desmond, was to be the next person to use it, which was simply terrifying.
That weapon was beyond mankind’s understanding, beyond even Magic as human Magicians could perceive it. It was an instrument of Fate. It didn’t pick its users lightly and it didn’t pick them because they were due for a tussle with the local bicycle gang.
To be Chosen by the Blade meant that Desmond was on a path that had him needing it, and I wanted him off that path before he got hurt; or worse. He’d already been through quite enough pain for one lifetime, and I was going to stop him suffering any more if it was the last thing I did (which it might well be, at this rate. I really was having a bit of a time...).
It was that quest (or perhaps folly, seeing as how I was literally trying to subvert Fate) which had my brother and I in a small office about two miles from Blackhold, our home, sitting across from what was, frankly, something of a last resort. I’d only come to him because all the useful contacts I normally turned to had come up dry.
His name was Luis Vera. Of South American descent, he was tall and thin, with pinched features, dressed in a threadbare tweed suit with leather patches over the elbows. He was a self-described ‘scholar and collector of ancient artefacts’, which was a polite way of saying grave-robber. He was a Magician, if not a powerful one, with a notable skill at Scrying (the Magic of discovering things). It was this, coupled with his academic credentials, which had brought us to him.
The office was small, but warm and comfortable. Much of the space was taken up by a wide desk and a set of leather-covered chairs; the rest was covered in reference materials. Shelves groaned under the weight of books and scholarly papers, filing cabinets were full to bursting with yet more of both and there were small, glass-and-wood cases dotted around the room, full of small objects from all around the world.
It was a space that made its occupant look scholarly and well-travelled, but, even so, I didn’t have the highest expectations of Mr Vera. Certainly, I didn’t think he could solve Des’ problem outright. The best I could hope for was that he might point me in the right direction; maybe provide a clue or an insight that I lacked.
It was a hope that was fading with each moment I spent staring at the so-called scholar’s increasingly dumbfounded face.
He'd been peering at the Gods' Blade for the better part of half an hour by this point, occasionally scratching his bald head, not saying a word. His frown had steadily deepened with every failed attempt to Scry the thing.
At long last, he stopped, his Magic fizzling away. He met my eyes, embarrassment crossing his features.
It didn’t take a Scryer to know what he was going to say; it was written all over his face.
He was stumped.
I couldn’t really blame him for that. The Blade even defied something as basic as categorisation. It wasn’t even really a physical object, as far as I knew, more like pure, concentrated Magic and energy given something resembling physical form. All I really knew was that it was the ultimate weapon. It could penetrate any known defence, take the powers of any creature it struck and transfer them to the knife's wielder. Eldritch Horror or squirrel, it didn’t matter. That thing so much as grazed you and you lost big. If it struck a mortal wound, it would take everything, right down to your life force.
When a potential wielder touched it, it changed shape to accommodate him or her. For me, it had been black and pointed, a little bit curved, made of a black, onyx-like stone. For Desmond, it appeared as a spike of sharpened bone, the blade about thirty centimetres long and ten at the base, bleached white like it had been out in the sun for a long time. The handle was covered in faded, black leather and the pommel had the bulbous shape of a hip-joint's ball.
"I'm sorry, Mister Graves,” Vera said. “I don't think I'm going to be able to help you."
"That's disappointing, Mister Vera," I replied in a rasp.
He swallowed hard at my tone. I had something of a reputation.
I wasn’t trying to menace the man, it was just that the lining of my throat had chosen that morning to shed, and I was having trouble talking without the feeling of razor blades sliding up and down my oesophagus.
Magic-poisoning was a pain, let me tell you...
"It's not that I don't want to," he tried to assure me, "it's just that this... item resists even my most powerful Spells. And while I may be able to give you some information about using it, I can’t get anything about breaking the artefact’s link to Fate or its future user. That's what the change of shape is, you see, a warning of what is to come."
I sighed, which only seemed to frighten him further. I wanted to reassure him, but talking...
"It's alright, Mister Vera," my brother said, smiling at the man, for which I was grateful. He had always been better with people.
Vera seemed to calm down a bit.
"Just because I'm destined to stick someone with the nasty thing doesn't mean that anyone has to die. Right, Matty?"
That was the main source of his worry (and mine). Des didn't want to hurt anyone, not now that his eggs had been unscrambled, anyway. He was happy to fight in the duelling ring, but that was sport, not battle.
"Of course not," I said, smiling as best I could. "But if that knif
He smiled warmly at me, patting my shoulder. "You can't keep me wrapped up in cotton wool forever, little brother."
"I can bloody try!"
He laughed, standing up. He put the knife back in its box, and then into his satchel. It was his knife now, I couldn't justify keeping it from him. I mean, I wanted to, don’t get me wrong, but it was as I’d just said. If he needed it, he likely really needed it, and if I’d confiscated it...
Stupid fate-manipulating knives.
I stood as well, having to lean heavily on a cane to do so (some nerves in my left leg had died two days earlier; they still hadn't healed, leaving me with a limp).
"I am sorry I was unable to help, gentlemen," Vera said, standing as I did.
"It was a long shot, Mister Vera," I said, shaking the man's hand before depositing an envelope on the table.
"Please, I haven't earned that," he said, though it clearly pained him to try and refuse. Historians without a teaching post didn't tend to have a very stable income stream, after all.
"I trust you'll view it as a down-payment," I said. "Keep looking for any lore on the Blade. If you find anything I can use, I will happily pay for it."
He nodded, practically snatching up the envelope.
I nodded to him and led my brother out of the office.
Cassandra Vallaincourt was waiting in the corridor just outside, leaning up against the wall. Her arms were crossed; hands close to the weapons concealed in her jacket. She seemed relaxed, but I knew her to be constantly on alert against any potential threat. She was tall and lithe, with a gymnast's physique; all toned muscle, but with just enough curve to remain feminine. She was classically beautiful, with high cheekbones, long black hair and dark eyes that frequently danced with mischief.
She was my Warden Commander (head bodyguard), and the big sister I'd never had. She kept me grounded, honest and sane.
She lifted an eyebrow. I shook my head, to which she returned a shrug before falling in behind us as we walked out of the building and into the December sunshine.
The day was cool, but not too cold, with a crisp breeze blowing down the streets. It was just after lunch, so the city was a little quieter, not so many cars on the road or people milling.
We set off towards nearby Aliston Park, where there was normally an abundance of taxis.
That part of Stonebridge was relatively new, a commercial district of offices and small businesses. The buildings were of steel, concrete and glass, many painted in bright colours that made the place quite cheerful, even if urban smog was starting to make a dent in the varnish.
Normally, I would have Portalled us home, but the only Magic available to me was contained in the three Damascus Stones about my person and that wasn’t enough to poke a hole through space-time. The Stones were natural reservoirs of Magic, one of the few ways of storing the stuff in any useful fashion. Having an external source meant that I didn't have to reach into my mangled Well to cast a Spell. Two were sown into my belt, the third mounted in the handle of my cane.
In total, the Stones contained about the strength of a strong Acolyte, not much in the grand scheme of things, but hopefully enough help me survive a fight long enough for Cassandra to end it. I had others at home, but they were empty as filling them with Magic wasn't easy (I hadn’t had any trouble back when I was capable of doing so, but apparently that was unusual). It had taken Cassandra and Demise (another Warden, and friend) hours (and a not inconsiderable amount of grumbling) just to fill the ones I had on me.
I had an appointment later on with Vanessa Kron, the Archon of Time, to start making proper use of my stock of Stones, but this was what I had at the moment, and it wasn't enough to open a Portal.
Cassandra could have, but she'd decided that I was to get as much exercise and fresh air as I could manage, in the belief that it would help stave off the inevitable result of my condition, if only by a little while. She was right, of course (she usually was); exercise meant better health, better health meant a more robust physiology... but that didn't stop me complaining about it.
"How's the throat?" she asked as I limped along, not cutting an especially dashing figure, especially when compared to Des. He was my twin, and yet he was several inches taller, more when you took into account the slight hunch I'd developed (yes, form an orderly queue, ladies. The hunchbacked, limping, croaking, scarred Shadowborn will be with you in a moment). His eyes, one blue, one brown (compared to my one red, one blue) sparkled with life and something resembling intelligence, his blond hair was bright and golden, reflecting the sun, whereas mine had gone dark and flat (both eyes and hair, I'm sorry to say).
"Fine," I replied.
"Liar," she said, handing me a pair of pills from her pocket. I swallowed them (ouch) with the aid of some water from my satchel.
"Thanks," I said with a smile. She patted my shoulder, smiling sadly. She knew what was wrong with me and what that likely meant for my future. Thankfully Desmond didn't; he thought I had the flu and a twisted ankle.
I didn't want him to worry about me; he was still putting his life back together, though that was coming along nicely. He'd just won a place in Stonebridge’s regional duelling team and was in training five days a week for his first professional match. It had given him a focus that impressed me; I wasn't going to ruin that for him by dragging him into my problems.
Unfortunately, those problems didn't seem to have gotten the memo...
Cassandra saved my life, as she often did.
Our trio had just passed into Aliston Park. It was a nice, little rectangle of grass and trees, surrounded by a chest-high, black, iron fence. It was mostly empty on account of the weather and the time of day; only a few daring joggers and dog-walkers. The road beyond the fence was just as quiet, with only the odd car passing by and a single cab at the rank we were heading for. With my luck lately, it would be pinched before we got to it, and then goodness only knew how far the sadist would make me walk to find another one.
Three men stepped out from behind trees as we came through the park’s south-east gate and onto the grass. I barely noticed them; I was busy contemplating how much my bad leg was going to ache by the time I'd hauled it all the way across the square.
Both Cassandra and I sensed the attack coming at the same time, but I was too sick and powerless to take advantage of that warning, and the half-dead leg made for poor dodging in any event. Thankfully, my Warden was more than able to make up for that. She had darted ahead of me and put a Will shield in place before I'd even had the chance to think, her construct blocking two fireballs and a bolt of lightning that would have easily killed me in my diminished state.
I got over the shock quickly and reached into my hidden Stones for a whisper of Magic. I knew that I wasn’t going to be much use in a fight, but I drew enough energy to cast Mage Sight so that I could at least see what we were up against.
Two Wizards, both low-to-middle range, and a below-average Sorcerer. At full strength, hell, even at quarter strength, I could have wiped the floor with them and barely noticed I'd done it.
Now... they could kill me.
Well, if Cassandra hadn’t been there, anyway. She was an over-protective nightmare for people like them at the best of times.
When I was actually vulnerable, though...
To liken her to a mama-bear protecting her cub would be to vastly understate how vicious she was willing to be when my life was on the line.
Her guns were out faster than she'd raised her Will shield and a trio of shots snapped at each of the two Wizards over the course of a second. One was quick; he jumped out of the line of fire, resulting in no more than a slight graze to his side. The other was shorter, heavier and much slower. He took all three shots centre mass and died before he hit the ground.
The Sorcerer gestured, and the ground in front of him surged up, blocking Cassandra's next volley, which was aimed square at his head. With Mage Sight engaged, I was able to see him layer up overlapping shields packed full of gravitational energy. They were heavy and would certainly be effective; growing more so with every moment. He’d already produced half a dozen powerful layers before Cassandra had even shifted her aim back to the man she'd mostly missed earlier.
The remaining Wizard threw more lightning, but I intercepted it with a simple Grounding Spell, which sunk all that electricity harmlessly into the earth.
