The Castrofax (4 page)

“Do you know how to string a bow?” he asked.
She gave him a look that likened him to an idiot. Gabriel shrugged
with a knowing sigh and showed her how to loop the string on one
tip, pull the other tight with his legs, and then loop the
other.

“Hold the bow in your left hand, and place
the arrow like so, or you’ll sheer off the fletching. Notch it, yes
just like that, draw, aim, and shoot.” He took several steps back
and motioned her to shoot. “Aim for that tree.”

A primitive feeling seeped through her with
the challenge of the mundane task. This was a weapon used by the
ill-educated to kill in battle or in hunger, not something
princesses thought of. She lowered the bow, yet a new sensation of
rebellion surfaced. With a weapon in her knowledge, she would not
have to rely on any man to protect her. She raised the bow
again.

She missed, and failure sank through her; a
new sensation. Angry, she grabbed another arrow, set it just right,
and shot it into the darkness. It missed again, but she was
learning the feel of the bow. Gabriel stepped forward to help, but
Robyn interjected. “No, stay there. I can do this without
assistance.”

“Shoot a little higher than your intended
target. Arrows have a habit of arching in long flight.”

She took his advice, and this time shot in
the intended direction. The pull of the bow was strenuous on her
little figure, but with each draw she understood more.

“Go get more arrows,” she finally stated, her
quiver exhausted.

He pointed to the dark trees. “You have to go
find them.”

Anger flared in her eyes. “I cannot
possibly—”

“If I’m someday to be your protector, there
is one thing we must get straight: I am not a servant. We fend for
ourselves in the world outside the palace, which is where you are
now. I don’t take orders.”

She sunk the end of the bow into the loam,
her mind searching for a cutting riposte but finding an impasse.
“Would you help me then?”

“I would be glad to,” he said with a bow of
his head and sauntered off into the trees. She went in the other
direction. Her pupils widened as they searched for the red-tipped
fletching. They returned with all but one.

“I am finished for the evening.”

He chuckled and shouldered the quiver. “You
aren’t used to picking up after yourself.”

“Next time I will shoot into the stable
wall,” she said with a snide grin. “That way the arrows cannot go
far.”

“It’s a good thing my father is fond of you,
then,” Gabriel shrugged.

“I would like to speak with him about the
Mage Wars.”

“I can tell you about them,” Gabriel replied
and slowed his stride. “What do you want to know?”

“It seems the destruction of your race began
with them,” she said, and Gabriel stopped her with a hard look.
“Can I put it more gently? Why were they started?”

“What are all battles fought over?” he asked
to the night sky.

“Love, money, power,” Robyn answered
quickly.

He gave her a surprised look. “That is…your
tutors are doing a good job. The Mage Wars started with Arch Mage
Ryker Slade. He wished to marry a non-Mage, but the law back then
said Mages could only marry Mages in order to keep the bloodlines
pure. Many people sided with Ryker Slade, and Castle Jaden divided,
and the war began.” He resumed his languorous walk, stepping into
the garden that was better lit.

“It just
began
? That sounds
hasty.”

“It is said Ryker was a mastermind with a
slick tongue that drew peoples’ attention like a thunderclap. As a
gifted speaker he wound up the masses to his cause and made them
believe his problems were theirs. The war lasted four years, and by
the end the Mages realized what Ryker was really after.”

“Power?” Robyn posed.

“Yes. The Head Mage Seat, the most powerful
position known. Are you familiar with the Arch Mages?” She shook
her head. “There were four Class Ten Mages that Ryker worked with
who were instrumental in starting the war: a Creator, a
manipulator, a torturer and a destroyer.” Gabriel and Robyn sat
down on a stone bench. “In Mage terms a Creator is someone who can
fabricate new patterns. Pike Bronwen was Ryker’s Creator. It is
said Ryker was the brains behind everything Pike made, and together
the men created objects that helped their side win the war.”

Robyn stuck the end of the bow in the soil
trying to unstring it. Gabriel reached to help, but she pushed his
hand aside. After several attempts she succeeded and received a
solid thump on the shoulder from the recoiling bow. “What kind of
objects did they make?”

Gabriel grimaced. “Controlling devices that
when touched to skin could alter the will or composition of a
Mage.”

“Composition?”

“Like, one could paralyze a person, and
another could create illusions, so the wearer would think
everything was fine. But each one prevented the Mage from using his
Elements and allowed another to control them. You could take a
Class Ten Mage that controlled four or five Elements and turn them
into a non-Mage in a moment.”

“Just by touching these objects?”

“No, the objects were kind of like shackles,
a neckpiece and two wristlets that would not come off unless the
imprisoned Mage stopped fueling the patterns with their
energy.”

Robyn raised her brows.

“Oh, sometimes I forget you do not understand
energy like we do. I meant, the imprisoned Mage had to die. All
moving entities give off energy, which is what Spirit Mages feed
on—kinetic energy.”

“What do you…
feed
on?”

He held his hand out to the plants before
him. “I can feel the earth growing around me. The energy gives me
the capability of using my Earth Element. Without a source of life
around me, I am as useless as a non-Mage. Fire Mages feed off a
living flame, Water Mages off a moving water source, and Air Mages
off blowing wind.”

“So these
objects
acted as though you
were far away from your Element.”

“In other words, yes.”

“Did they have a name, or do we just call
them
objects
now?” Robyn asked, lowering her voice as if it
were a joke.

“Of course they had a name, but I don’t like
to speak it.”

Robyn leaned in. “Tell me anyway.”

He fidgeted with the folds of his trousers
and grimaced. “They are called the Castrofax.”

“How many are there?”

“Six.”

“And where are they?”

“If anyone knows, no one says. Most of us
think Head Mage Casimir has a few in Castle Jaden, but no one knows
for certain.”

“Then why do you fear them? The Arch Mages
are long dead.”

He slowly looked up and his blue eyes met
hers. “Not all.”

The seriousness in his tone seemed to make
the air still around them and Robyn felt her breath hold in her
chest. “Explain,” she finally whispered.

“Not all the Arch Mages died in the war.
Ryker Slade still exists. See, the Arch Mages were capable of
skipping over years by hibernating with an object Pike made called
an Excellyon that stored kinetic energy. They skipped so many
years, we’re not sure where or
when
they originated. All
attempts to kill him were thwarted by his Excellyon, and he
hibernated when he realized the Head Mage Seat could not be his. He
could not be moved so they built Castle Jaden around him and set a
multitude of wards to keep him there. We fear he could rise again
and imprison us.
That
is why we fear the Castrofax.”

Robyn’s brow furrowed as he spoke. “I feel
like I should have been told this long ago.”

“Robyn, you are ten years of age—nearly
eleven, I know—but there are many things you will not find out
until you are older. Do not hate me for it.” He shook his hair from
his eyes and gave a sympathetic smile.

“How old is he really? How long has he been
hibernating through the Ages?”

“No one knows. There have been many terrible
occurrences through history we attribute to him or one of his Arch
Mages, but I think they go back to the Second Age, and that just
sounds too fantastic.”

“Four Ages old,” Robyn breathed. “So you
really do have something to fear.”

He put a hand on her shoulder just like her
big brother used to. “Jaden is unbreachable, and I like to think
it’s inescapable too.”

Robyn stared at the ground before her. “What
else did Ryker make?”

He shrugged and pushed a curly lock out of
his eyes, only to watch it fall back in place. “Rings that could
control a person’s will, a crown that projected illusions,
necklaces that could hold off wounds sustained in battle,” he
drifted off and lazily flicked his wrist to suggest there were
others. “Who knows for certain?”

“He sounds terrible.” Robyn replied and
wrinkled her nose.

Gabriel stood up swiftly, towering over her.
“Come, we have happier moments to think of, and it’s not too late
to sneak a cake from the kitchens.”

Gabriel woke with the sun as was his custom,
rising with the light. His skin tingled this morning with unusual
tenacity. He shook his hands and rubbed his forearms as the manor
masseuse would to loosen the muscles. With the voracity he used his
arms in pattern-laying, it was paramount to have a resident
masseuse to loosen the body.

Lacing his short black boots, he suddenly
stopped as a wave of energy coursed over him, standing the hair on
the back of his neck. It was as if a specter appeared to scare him
senseless, or a great rush of adrenaline coursed through his body
to leave him calm but on the edge of fright. The feeling moved
faintly from left to right before vanishing a few seconds later. He
slowly looked about the room searching for the source of energy but
finding only his reflection in the long mirror which gave him
another fright.

He gathered his wits making his way down the
stairs, and listened to the faint sounds of the house waking up.
This early in the morning he could hear servants in the kitchen,
clinking dishes, clanking pots, doors creaking and shutting, and
the crackle of hearths. Somewhere down the hall he heard the
familiar scrape of Cordis’ study door open, and he set his feet in
that direction.

“Good morning, Gabriel,” Dagan’s voice
carried from high above him. Gabriel glanced up the stair case to
see the green-clad Mage descending from his room on the third
level. He wore a long green tunic over a white blouse. “Shall we
learn how to grow tree roots this afternoon?”

“I should think so,” Gabriel replied before
he slipped out of Dagan’s vision. In truth, he was going to make
the most of his last few days in the manor and steal away with
Robyn. The past few days of archery had improved her aim, though
she complained fiercely about her sore shoulder.

Gabriel let himself into his father’s study
and found Cordis within, a scroll over his lap as he took his
morning tea. The familiar tingling sensation returned, very faint
but lingering as Gabriel entered and poured himself a mug of black
tea.

“Word from Anatoly City says it is in revolt
against the Novaculas ascension to the throne,” Cordis said as
Gabriel poured milk into his tea. Cordis tapped the scroll. “The
power houses claim the Novaculas murdered the heiress, while the
merchants are siding with Balien Bolt in his declaration that
Miranda Novacula is heir by right. It seems your dear friend is
caught in a tight place.”

“Does he know where she is?” Gabriel asked as
he stepped up to the bay window, looking out on the fresh
morning.

“No one knows. Not even he. Especially not
he.” Cordis took a sip of tea, and the faint tingle jumped across
Gabriel’s skin, causing him to turn. “He would be the first to come
looking for her.” Cordis gazed up at Gabriel’s intense stare.
“What’s wrong?”

“S-stop moving,” Gabriel whispered, the
strength leaving his voice. He took in a shaky breath, tense with
an excitement he could not place.

Footsteps outside the door announced Dagan,
and as the Mage pushed the door open, Gabriel felt the same energy
surge. “Halt!” he stated before Dagan could step into the room.
Dagan’s eyes went to Cordis and back to Gabriel as he tried to make
sense of the situation.

“Should I leave?” Dagan asked after a long
pause. He took a step back, and Gabriel gasped clutching his
chest.

Cordis launched out of his seat, and Dagan
rushed into the room as Gabriel dropped his mug, sloshing tea in a
hot spiral. The men grabbed Gabriel’s arms before his knees gave
way and eased him back into the window seat. Gabriel shut his eyes
as soon as the men started moving, feeling the rush of an energy he
could not place race over his skin and beat within his chest. He
grit his teeth against it and did not realize he was sitting until
the men stopped moving.

“What is the matter?” Dagan asked over Cordis
who was muttering, “Are you injured? Did you hurt yourself?” As if
remembering Gabriel’s initial request, both men stopped moving when
Gabriel made no reply.

“The energy,” Gabriel whispered, holding his
palms open on his knees as he felt it move.

“What energy?” Cordis asked.

“Oh, sweet stars,” Dagan breathed, his eyes
widening.

Gabriel bolted up from the seat and turned to
the men, a look of tight resolve on his face. His body was tense
like a coiled spring.

Cordis’s face became bright. “Kinetic
energy,” he whispered. “You can feel us moving.” His voice took on
new strength. He took a step back, and Gabriel winced as his body
responded to the movement. “Stars above, you
do
take after
your mother.”

Nine Years Later

Prince Balien watched in an embarrassed but
amused silence as his cousin, Mage Prince Nolen Novacula, had yet
another screaming match with his mother, Queen of Anatoly. The long
windows of the sitting room let in the rising sun, and checkered
rooftops of Anatoly City spread out around them. He was thankful
the panes were closed, for the people in the courtyard outside
would likely hear them.