The Castrofax (6 page)

Balien smirked. Nolen would have to catch him
first.

The ax in Gabriel’s hands swung high before
slamming into the fallen trunk. The shock sent vibrations through
his arms, and the sun beat down on his bare shoulders in the copse
where the pines offered little shade. He pried the ax loose and
swung it again, uttering a guttural grunt as the wedge struck home.
The tree was still a little green, and it did not want to yield.
Had Gabriel wanted, he could have split the tree with an Earth
sapling-snap pattern, but there was something rich about doing it
himself.

He had grown into a man since Robyn came to
his manor, standing three inches over six feet with a much broader
torso and legs longer than his father’s. His hair once cut short
grew out in black waves brushing his collar that tightened to
ringlets when wet. His once smooth hands toughened with the work of
commoners, and his muscles honed under the labor of maintaining the
cottage. It was not hard work, but it was never the work he
expected.

Putting a boot on the trunk, he pushed until
the desired piece dislodged. He could not see the cottage he called
home, but he knew the lay of the land well enough to know he was
safe. That, and he had ample trip-wire wards set around if someone
stepped too close. No one ventured up this far from town
though.

He stacked the wood in one arm and wiped the
sweat from his face on his discarded shirt. Autumn was almost on
them, but this far from the Gray Mountains it was not yet cold. He
passed a few trees with changing leaves as he strode, entertained
by the vibrant colors.

The cottage came into sight through the
pines: a handsome little structure with three rooms and a stone
hearth. It was broken down when he found it, but with a few Earth
patterns, he fixed it up snugly. A few chickens and geese pecked in
the ground behind it, and a single goat stood tethered not far
off.

He set the wood on the pile out back and
brushed himself off as he turned to look at the back door.
She
stood waiting for him. She, with her boy-slim figure,
golden mantle of hair, sharp eyes on a heart-shaped face, and pert
lips on a little chin.

Princess Robyn had grown into a lovely woman.
‘If ever there was one,’
he thought. She was as well read as
any scholar, skilled in debate and politics, and smart enough to
know how to read a person from tiny expressions. With a fierce
glance and confident posture, she could silence a room, and with a
laugh and well controlled smile, she could make every eye follow
her. Dancing lessons taught her to be graceful, diction told her
how to speak, experience showed her how to be lovely, but archery
taught her the strength and assurance she could never learn in a
palace.

“How nice of you to greet the day,” he stated
in a smooth tenor and dusted his hands off.

“I have nothing better to do with my
mornings, I might as well sleep through them,” she replied. She
wore her usual garb since leaving Urima Manor: leggings, tall
boots, blouse and tunic, or sometimes a vest. Today it was a green
tunic with no embroidery. They could not afford to look highborn
while on the run.

“I have needs, Robyn.”

She barked a laugh. “You really can’t find
anything to eat by yourself?” She disappeared into the darkness of
the cottage and emerged a moment later. “We have eggs.”

“They aren’t cooked, are they.”

She folded her arms under her breasts—the
part of her slim figure that was anything but boyish—and set him
with a glare. He could not help but grin, and she vanished back
into the house again.

“Why don’t we go into town today?” he posed.
“We’re low on oil and flour and
by the stars
I could use a
good hot meal.” An egg hurled through the door, and Gabriel ducked
in time, knowing from experience it was no good trying to catch it.
“The inn might have a good minstrel playing, and you could find
yourself a gentleman to dance with.”

“There are no gentlemen out here,” she sighed
as he stepped in the cottage. His frame darkened the small room
that sat between two bedrooms. “But perhaps I will be lucky.”

“Let me start the fire for you.”

“Don’t you think it’s time we start making
our way back to Anatoly City?” she asked, having long ago adopted
speaking in contractions. The fire came to life in his hands, and
he set out a pan on the grate above it.

“It’s not safe yet,” he replied. “I really
don’t want you there any sooner than you have to be. You remember
what Lady Mage Aisling wrote.”

“Yes,” Robyn replied. “Kilkiny Palace was
unsafe as ever, though that was nearly two years ago.”

“I hesitate putting your life in unnecessary
danger—are we really out of bacon?” he asked, rifling through a few
clay crocks.

“I told you we had eggs. I included nothing
else in my inventory.”

“Woman, you’ll kill me before I can get you
on the throne. I hope that satisfies you.”

She chuckled. “Calm down. There are a few
biscuits and some dried fish in those pots.”

“If I wasn’t sworn to protect you…” he
trailed off shaking his head and grabbed a handful of biscuits.

She cracked the eggs over the pan, listening
to the sizzle. “I’d like to stay here,” she said quietly.

Gabriel leaned against the river-rock hearth.
“We would be safer if we kept on the road.”

She straightened, and her eyes flared for a
moment. There was much of the self-entitled Princess left in her,
though years outside of the palace had killed some of it. “What
dangers are there out here?” she asked, doing her best to keep her
voice stemmed. “What exists that you cannot fight?”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “It’s not me I
worry about.” He brushed the crumbs of his biscuit into the fire.
“People knew you were at Urima.”

“You have no proof,” she corrected. “Cordis
could have disappeared for any reason. For all we know, he could be
back in Urima waiting for us.”

Gabriel stared off into the flames, and for
an instant they gave a little jump. “He isn’t.”

She did not wish to argue, so she gave a
small nod of respect and left him to his fire.

“We can stay,” he replied after a while. She
smiled broadly with twinkling eyes. “We’ve only a month or two
before you need to return to Anatoly City anyway.”

“I’ve not forgotten,” she pulled the eggs
from the pan and looked at him. “These were supposed to go on those
biscuits you just ate.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’m too full,” he replied,
putting a hand on his stomach as he made for the back door.

“My first declaration as Queen will have you
publically flogged.”

“You’ll have to catch me first,” he called
from outside before dunking his head in their rain barrel.

He knew his father was not waiting for them
at Urima Manor. Cordis had set out on his yearly trip to Anatoly
City in late spring, but a month later Gabriel received a note from
Lady Mage Aisling saying Cordis never arrived and suspected foul
play. She advised them to leave Urima and seek shelter elsewhere,
so Gabriel gathered Robyn and supplies and left the next morning.
No word had been heard from his father since.

They lived off the land since then, finding
abandoned cottages and masquerading as cousins, brother and sister,
or lovers wherever they went. They changed their appearance in
every stay. This time, Gabriel wore his hair long, and she dyed
hers brown. No one ever got the full story from them, so no one
could trace their origins.

He pulled his head out to see Robyn standing
beside him. He slicked his hair back. “Yes?”

“Will I be riding into town?”

“Sure, if you want,” he replied. “If you can
find a horse,” and he dunked his head back under. She kicked him in
the back of his thigh, and he splashed her but missed.

When Cordis went missing, Gabriel vowed to be
Robyn’s sole protector, and while there were other things he could
be doing, like studying at Castle Jaden, he would not have traded
this life for another. He watched over her since she arrived at his
manor and saw himself as her protector for quite a while, yet never
put a name to it. There was a certain peace having no worries or
pressures other than the heiress’ safety. It wasn’t like she
couldn’t protect herself either. She was dangerously accurate with
a bow.

He pulled his head out again and swung his
hair back and forth until it was mildly dry.

“I drink out of that,” Robyn sighed as she
walked passed, toting a few items for trade at the market.

“I’m flavoring it.”

Gathering clothes nice enough for an evening
at the inn, which was the most excitement they got nowadays,
Gabriel shoved them in her satchel along with a pair of cleaner
boots. She emerged from her room rubbing brown dye into her hair,
dressed in a long green dress divided for riding. He flicked a hand
in her direction, latching onto the earthen foxroot dye with a
green Earth pattern, and pulled it through her hair much like a
comb. He preferred the natural color of her dark gold hair, but her
safety was more important than his preferences.

For a moment he saw her gaze flick over him,
lingering on his torso, but she averted her eyes quickly and she
braided up her hair. He smiled inwardly.
‘Oh, did you finally
notice me?’
he wondered. She affixed a full quiver and unstrung
bow to the top of the pack before slinging it around her
shoulders.

“Ready,” she smiled and fixed him with
waiting eyes.

He gave a nod and laid the complicated
patterns. Thin white threads pulled from the center of his chest,
and he speedily crossed some while intertwining others and twisted
a few to bind the whole pattern together. The cloth-pattern was
simple and manipulated fibers in a fabric to break and refasten.
The second pattern was far more complex and impossible for a
low-Classed Mage.

He fueled the two patterns and reached his
hands out to fall to them. Before he hit the ground, his entire
body transformed to a massive tiger. It was painless though a
little uncomfortable as his knees bent the wrong way, and a tail
wrenched from him. But he spent so much time in the form that it
seemed as normal as human skin. Not quite as tall as a horse but
just as long, he liked the form, for it was imposing. He looked up
at her as he sauntered out, the bright blue of his eyes the only
part that remained the same. His shoulders came up to her chest,
and she had long ago learned how to vault herself up on them and
sit properly. She became so skilled at riding a large cat that she
nearly forgot how to ride a horse.

Any educated person knew tigers were not
indigenous to Anatoly, and he stood out as an anomaly. Years ago he
manipulated the pattern to change the colorings. Research in the
great Madison Library of Jaden showed him there were many kinds of
tigers, from tawny to white to deep red. His favorite was the
golden tiger. Its orange coloring muted, dark gold replaced the
black stripes, and it had more ivory to its legs, belly, and chest.
It was the largest of the tigers ever reported, but Gabriel’s
transformation was larger than a stout pony. By changing the
colorings, a man would think him to be a mountain cat indigenous to
Anatoly unless he got close enough to see the faded stripes.

Gabriel stretched forward in one swift motion
as only cats are capable. Robyn took the opportunity to sling a leg
over his shoulders. He discovered the ancient body-manipulation
pattern when he trained with the Mages in Jaden before his
Classing. While he said there were a few other animal patterns, his
favorite was the tiger, and he learned no other manipulation.

It was one of the many perks of a Spirit
Mage.

Mage Prince Nolen spurred his mount into a
canter and sat up on Shibaler’s shoulders. The dapple gray destrier
lathered at the mouth and under the saddle, but he would carry
Nolen until he dropped if his master asked. The three day journey
had taxed the steed to his limit, but Shibaler kept his pace though
each step sent a jolt of pain up Nolen’s backside. The sun had
almost set over the Gray Mountains, but they would arrive before it
vanished completely. He told his mother he was heading to the sea
in the east, but he was far from the ocean here in the foothills of
the west.

Nolen did not think himself a bad person,
just a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. Getting his
way was something he excelled at; something his father taught him.
For the better part of four years Nolen had been trying to take the
throne from his mother. He knew he could rule better, but at each
turn her vigilant lackey Aisling rebuffed him. She knew the law
better than he. Only Queens ruled, and though their husbands were
given the title King, it was simply a title. He could claim the
throne only if there was no female heir. However, if he was able to
force his mother off with a terrible display of power and fear, he
could usurp her and change the laws. If it meant the throne, he
would do whatever it took. So far it had taken him on the path to
Castle Jaden.

Castle Jaden sat above him in the cleft of
two mountains, honed from the dark gray rock and half-built into
it. She was constructed nearly 3,500 years ago, back in the Second
Age. She had every modern amenity one could think of from
self-replenishing oil lanterns to plumbing.

Jaden was a self-sufficient city set behind
an unbreachable wall, home to thousands of Mages. Should the castle
ever be besieged, she had everything she needed to survive
indefinitely.

For several hundred miles east laid their
farm lands tended by Earth Mages and farmers, making Jaden a
separate kingdom. She bought her freedom from Anatoly Ages ago and
was ruled by the Head Mage alongside his Secondhand to make a rich
cultured kingdom. Jaden had everything from her own vineyard to a
small reservoir and was known for her rich soil and lack of
poverty.