The Mage's Limits: Mages of Martir Book #2 (2 page)

The guards, however, didn't appear as infatuated with his sarcasm as she was, because they were now climbing up the wall to reach the hole. None of the prisoners dared move a muscle, even though this was probably the best opportunity they were going to get to make an escape.

Very soon, the guards reached the hole in the wall and surrounded the Carnagian man. Swords and spears blocked off every conceivable exit the man could make, but despite that, he didn't seem very bothered by it. He simply brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked around at the guards as if unimpressed.

That was when Aorja felt powerful magical energy radiating from the Carnagian man. As a mage, Aorja could sense the magical energy from other mages, but she had never quite sensed the kind of power this man had. While it wasn't as much as the kind of power that the Magical Superior had, it was far more than the average mage had, and she could tell that he wasn't even using his full power yet, if he had a limit to his power at all, because she could not sense one in him.

That was why she wasn't surprised when the Carnagian man held up one hand and an immense fire erupted around him. The fire enveloped the guards, cutting off their cries of shock as abruptly as if they had never been there at all. The flames grew so large that they completely obscured the Carnagian man and the guards and even blocked off the hole in the wall. It kept growing larger and larger, causing Aorja to think for a moment that it was going to consume all of Rock Isle and kill every guard and prisoner on it.

But then the flames rapidly died down, retreating like they were being sucked down a drain, and when they did, they revealed that the Carnagian man still stood where he had been standing before. There was no sign of the guards except for piles of midnight black ash on the ground, but those soon vanished when a wave from the ocean outside crashed through the hole and washed the ashes away. The Carnagian man did not get wet in the slightest, which was probably because of some spell he had cast on himself to repel water off his body.

“There,” said the Carnagian man as smoke rose from his shoulders. “Now, does anyone else wish to fight me or will you do the wise thing and listen to what I have to say?”

None of the prisoners said a word. Indeed, none of the prisoners even seemed to be breathing. They just stared up at the Carnagian man with awe and fear. Aorja, meanwhile, leaned even further over the railing, trying to get a better look at the man.

Even from a distance, Aorja could tell that he was a fine specimen of a man. Large muscles, gold-and-red robes that accentuated his physique rather than take away from it, a strong square jaw that was to die for … he was practically the perfect man, much better than any of the men she had known back in North Academy and infinitely superior to the walking piles of dirt known as the male prisoners of Rock Isle.

Yet there was
something about his appearance that made Aorja feel déjà vu. She was sure that she had never seen this man before, yet at the same time, she thought that she must have. It wasn't just his face, but his skin color, his hair, his whole build, even the hammer in his hands. She only wished that she could remember
where
.

More importantly, how could I ever forget a man like that?
Aorja thought.
He looks a little older in years, but that's fine. Older men are more mature than younger men, more experienced. Definitely make better partners, anyway.

“I see no one has the courage to talk back to me,” said the Carnagian man. “That is a problem I will have to deal with later, after I train all of you to transcend your Limits and rise to new levels of magical power unknown to most mages.”

Still none of the prisoners spoke. No doubt they were all afraid of the man, too afraid even to ask him what he meant by what he just said. After that massive display of power he showed earlier, Aorja didn't fault them for it. She herself felt a little fear mixed with her desire for him after all.

Nonetheless, Aorja began climbing down the stairs to the floor of the prison, wanting to get closer to the Carnagian man to see if she could jog her memory.

“But of course, I am ahead of myself,” said the Carnagian man. He held up his hammer. “Do any of you know what this is? It is a symbol of the god Grinf, the God of Justice, Fire, and Metal, patron god of Carnag, and the Judge of the World. It is a symbol of justice, a sign that all who have committed terrible crimes against humanity and the gods will one day receive the punishment they so richly deserve.”

The passion in his voice as he said that … oh, Aorja
liked
that. It made him look even stronger and manlier; indeed, he appeared almost divine. That just made her walk down the stairs more quickly, listening as the Carnagian man lowered his hammer.

“But do not fear,” said the Carnagian man. “I am not here to harm you or punish you for your crimes. For Grinf is a merciful god as well as judgmental, and I am no different, even though I am not a god myself. Grinf has told me that you prisoners have served your time and that soon—very soon—each and every one of you shall be free from this wretched jail for the rest of your lives.”

Aorja actually stopped when she heard that, even though she hadn't reached the floor of the prison yet. The prisoners began looking around at each other, confused, as if wondering if this was some kind of trick.

“How do we know you're not just going to do to us what you did to those guards?” one of the prisoners shouted. “And you haven't even told us your name, so how can we trust your word?”

“I am not finished speaking yet,” said the Carnagian man. “There is only one condition you must swear by, if you accept my offer to walk free: You must become my servants and train under me to push past the false Limits you have created in your minds, the ones that keep you from achieving your true potential as mages.”

Aorja continued walking down the stairs, reaching the prison yard just as another prisoner yelled, “What, we have to give up one prison in exchange for another? That's an awful deal!”

The rest of the prisoners began shouting in agreement before the Carnagian man glared down at them all, silencing them instantly. Aorja, on the other hand, found herself drawn even more to him when she saw that. She'd serve him even if he hadn't promised to help them push past their 'false Limits,' whatever that meant.

“I don't think you understand,” said the Carnagian man. He pointed behind himself with his gavel. “The outside world is dangerous and hostile towards prisoners like you. If you walk out now, you will likely be recaptured at some point and thrown back in here. If you wish to
stay
free, then follow me and I will teach you how to keep your freedom even if the whole world tries to take it away from you.”

By now, Aorja stood at the back of the crowd of prisoners, ignoring their combined body odor that smelled like sweat, excrement, and dirt mixed together to make a poor perfume. She had to stand on her tiptoes to see over the heads of her fellow prisoners, staring as hard as she could at the Carnagian man looking down on them all like one of the gods.

“And I offer this for free,” said the Carnagian man, holding out one hand. “You will be under no obligation to serve me once you have learned all you need to learn. Once I have taught you how to beat your Limits, you may go and do whatever you wish with your new freedom. How does that sound?”

“Too good to be true,” said one of the prisoners near the front. “You still haven't told us your name, dark-skin. We'd be more likely to take your offer seriously if maybe you had properly introduced yourself first.”

The Carnagian man stroked his chin, as if considering that request, and then nodded. “Very well. I should get this out of the way now so we can continue the negotiations on more personal terms. You may call me Jakuuth Grinfborn, a Limitless mage … and the one and only son of the great god Grinf.”

Chapter Two

Two months later …

D
arek Takren walked around the huge, thick block of ice that he had just conjured from the air. Its surface was smooth, without any sort of ridges or cuts to disturb it. The ice was so clear that he could almost see straight through it, aside from the thick white patches here and there. Cold air radiated from the ice, but whereas most people would step back from it to retain their warmth, Darek drew closer to it, as he found the cold air calming.

And calmness is exactly what I need in this situation,
Darek thought.
I haven't been this stressed out since Uron's attack last year.

Darek stole a quick glance over his shoulder when he passed the front of the ice block. The lobby of the Arcanium was completely full, as every student had gathered to watch him carve this ice block into the shape of Xocion, the God of Ice and the god he had pledged his life to. The teachers, all two dozen of them, stood in the back, including the Magical Superior, who sat on a stone chair in the center of the group, and Darek's mom, Jenur Takren, who stood to the Magical Superior's left.

Everyone was quiet, as Darek had asked them to be in order that he could think more clearly. Plus, it was tradition for the teachers and students to remain silent during the graduation ceremony. It was considered respectful to keep one's mouth shut until the ceremony was over. It also allowed the graduates the space they needed to concentrate on what they were going to do.

Darek returned his attention back to the ice block, which he stopped in front of, but he wasn't really looking at the block. His eyes darted up to the Wall of Mastery behind the ice block, which featured dozens of paintings, preserved by magic, of past graduates, the best of the best who even today were still honored and revered by the other students for their mastery over magic.

None of Darek's graduating class were getting on the Wall this year, not even Darek. That didn't disappoint him much. Very few students were ever worthy of getting their own painting on the Wall. Still, seeing all of the faces on those paintings 'looking' down on him made Darek feel anxious, more so than ever before. Bifor Kamon's painting in particular made him nervous, largely due to Kamon's thick scar and haughty eyes, as if the painting was somehow judging him.

All his life, Darek had been looking forward to the day of his graduation. He had lived in North Academy for years before becoming an official student and then spent the last ten years training vigorously under the tutelage of some of the best mages in the world. During that time, Darek had seen many graduations, but until he had stepped up here in front of everyone else, he had not truly realized just how nerve-wracking the whole experience could be.

It didn't help that Darek had decided to make this time the moment when he would break through the ceiling. Not the actual, physical ceiling of the Arcanium, of course, but rather the uppermost limits of his magical power, which was called 'the ceiling' by most mages.

Darek tried not to think too much about it, however, because thinking always slowed him down. And if the teachers even caught a whiff of what he was trying to do, they would undoubtedly put a stop to this demonstration right away.

That's why I have to act quickly,
Darek thought, pointing his wand at the ice block.
If I can do it fast enough, then I should be able to break through the ceiling before any of them even realize what I'm trying to do.

Most mages considered breaking through the ceiling highly dangerous, even lethal. Darek had always been taught that every mage had certain limits to his or her own powers. Because every mage was different, this limit varied from individual to individual; nonetheless, it was a very real and very dangerous thing to attempt to break through, as mages who tried to break through the ceiling usually fell into comas or even died. It was similar to pushing the limits of your physical body; at a certain point, you could not go any further and had to stop or shut down.

Indeed, under ordinary circumstances, Darek would have never even thought about breaking through the ceiling. The Magical Superior, his mother, the other teachers, and his books had always said the same thing: Do not break through the ceiling. No matter what.

Cracks began forming in the ice block, but so slowly and subtly that Darek doubted anyone could see them except for himself. This was a delicate procedure, as ice carving always was, although using magic was still superior to carving using actual ice carving tools, such as the kind he had been told that non-magical humans used outside of North Academy.

Despite how much of his attention that this action required, Darek was still too nervous about breaking through the ceiling to concentrate as deeply as he should. He knew he should have tried this in private, but it was difficult to find privacy in North Academy, and in all honesty, if he fell into a coma as a result of his efforts, he wanted to make sure that there were as many people to save his life nearby as possible.

I just hope the teachers don't get too angry with me,
Darek thought with a gulp.
Although their anger would be preferable to falling into a coma and dying in my sleep.

More cracks began forming in the ice, looking a little bit like the forks of a lightning bolt. They were bigger, more easily seen than the smaller ones, so Darek thought the students in the front row probably saw them by now. He carefully moved his wand to the right, chipping off corners here and there, but it still looked nothing like Lord Xocion yet.

But when it does, it will be superior to every other statue I have ever made,
Darek thought.
Because I will have broken through the ceiling and have upped the limits of my power. If I am going to deal with Uron, then I'll need all the extra power I can get.

That was the whole reason Darek was doing this in the first place. Last year, a powerful and evil being known as Uron had risen from the school's graveyard, where he had clashed with Skimif, the God of Martir, before vanishing after being blasted by an airship containing some of Skimif's power. Darek had not heard anything about Uron since then, nor did he know what the gods were doing about him.