Of those present, almost half had mage mist. But besides Jinaro, only one other seated Mage had magic, and to Timo it looked thin and weak. It was the younger Mages and Journeymen, the ones leaning against the wall, who had what looked like their full powers. Timo smiled. The council members didn’t trust each other—they’d decided to bring along their own sources of magic. He studied the ones still with power. He could change that, just like Kara had changed it on Founders Day.
He clenched his hands at his side and slowly called the magic in the room to him. He was surprised when the mage mist actually started flowing to him. At first the strands were thin, but after a few moments, mist as thick as his wrist was streaming from every single active Mage in the room. When the mist reached him he simply absorbed it. He could feel himself growing stronger with every wisp of power that flowed into him. His shoulder pain vanished, and he could see out of his eye.
Buoyed by the absence of aches and pains he automatically started to straighten up, and then caught himself. He didn’t want to alert them yet—not until he’d drained every single Mage in the room of all of their power—so he remained slouched beside the guard.
He glanced down at his fists. Mage mist circled them so densely that he couldn’t see his hands, and the hairs on his arms stood straight up. The guard behind him grunted in surprise and his hand dropped from Timo’s shoulder. He chanced a glance backward. The guard lifted a single eyebrow, and Timo blinked once, quickly.
“Council members,” Inigo said. “Master Mages and Journeymen. I apologize for the last minute request to convene, but it is a matter of urgency.” Inigo paused. “And Justice. We are here to pass judgement on this Apprentice.”
Timo looked up and met Inigo’s gaze. The Mage’s face was calm, his eyes clear.
“Timo Valendi is accused of killing our Primus—his own mentor—Rorik.”
Voices buzzed around the room, and Jinaro reclined in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face.
“As well, Master Mage Faron, one of our fellow council members, is dead,” Inigo continued. “We suspect that this Apprentice was complicit in that death as well!”
None of the Mages would meet Timo’s eyes. His glance fell on Hestor, and the Mage looked away, a flush spreading across his face.
“Hestor knows I didn’t kill Faron,” Timo said. “And Inigo boasted about killing Rorik a few minutes ago in front of both Hestor and Jinaro.”
“Be quiet!” Inigo bellowed. “I will not tolerate your insolence.”
“Am I not permitted to answer the charges against me?” Timo asked.
A few heads around the room nodded, but most of the Mages simply looked on in silence.
“You will be quiet or I will be forced to gag you!”
“How do you plan on doing that?” Timo asked. He took a step away from the guard, towards Inigo. “By asking the guard behind me to cover my mouth? The man you would have happily let die on the way here as long as it meant
I died
?” Timo turned to face the rest of the council. “Two traps were sprung along the corridor.” He turned to Inigo. “Did you think I wouldn’t see them? I’ve spent the better part of the last two years avoiding traps like those—and worse. You’ll have to do better than that if you want me dead.”
“Guard, seize him,” Inigo shouted.
“No,” the guard replied. “What the boy says is the truth. There were two traps. The first one would have sliced us in two. The second was triggered by the skinny Mage called Hestor.”
“I did not,” Hestor protested. “And you’d do well to not accuse your betters.”
“I may not have magic but I’m full Mage Guild same as you,” the guard said. “And my eyesight is just fine. You triggered the second trap.”
“Enough,” Inigo said. “You are not a Mage—you have no right to speak in council.”
“I’m Mage Guild,” the guard replied.
“But not a Mage!” Inigo yelled. “You will be silent.”
Timo looked around the room, but the Mages and Journeymen lining the walls refused to meet his eyes. They would let Inigo get away with this. Only a few still had trickles of mage mist draining from them, the rest, including Hestor, showed no traces of magic. Timo felt power still building—his skin prickled with it.
“What of the guard’s charge?” Jinaro asked. “That a trap was triggered in the hallway?”
“If there was a trap, there should be proof,” Inigo said. “You, near the door. Backtrack down the hallway and check for any traps.”
A small man sprinted out the door and into the hallway. Timo didn’t even have to wait the few minutes it took the man to return to know there would be no proof. Inigo and Hestor would have made sure of it.
“Nothing in the hallway, Master Mage,” the man said when he returned, slightly out of breath. “No traps, nothing that might slice a man in two.”
“They were there,” the guard protested. “I swear to Gyda, they were there.”
“And yet no evidence,” Inigo said. He looked around the room. “I think this Apprentice has made some sort of deal with the guard. He’s shown himself to be devious and untrustworthy.” Inigo paused. “We have no choice,” he continued. “He is guilty of crimes against both Mage Guild and Guildsmen and must be put to death immediately.” Inigo looked directly at Timo, his lips spread into a triumphant smile.
Timo clenched his fists even tighter, fighting to hold onto the magic that threatened to spill from him in anger. “Where’s your proof?” he asked. He turned to face the crowded table and back wall. “If I need to show proof of my accusations, why doesn’t Inigo need to show proof of his?”
“We have an eyewitness,” Inigo said. “Both Hestor and I saw the man who killed Faron. Your accomplice—a man you helped escape us earlier.”
“That doesn’t prove I had anything to do with it.”
“You are found guilty by association,” Inigo said. He turned to the Mages. “This Apprentice is guilty of these crimes, and he is sentenced to death. If any council members disagree with these findings, speak now.”
Timo peered around the room. Hestor’s smirk slipped when he met Timo’s eyes, but Jinaro shrugged and settled his hands across his belly.
“Stay behind me,” Timo whispered to the guard. Then louder, he said, “I was there when Rorik died.”
“You see,” Inigo said. “He admits to his crime!”
“I played a part in the Primus’ death,” Timo agreed. “But it was Inigo’s curse that killed the Primus. Rorik died when I tried to remove it.”
“How could you know he was cursed?” a council member said.
“Like my sister,” Timo said. “I
see
magic.”
He smiled when Inigo paled. “And I can tell who cast the spell. Inigo cursed Rorik with a spell that worsened when tampered with. I hastened his death by a few hours, maybe a day at most.”
“You cannot be like her,” Inigo said. “You’ve been tested.”
“You mean all the traps Hestor set for me over the past two years? I fooled you,” Timo said. He glanced at Hestor and smiled at the look of horror on the Mage’s face. “
All
of you.”
“
We forced the truth from your mother
!” Inigo screamed.
“Ah, my mother,” Timo said calmly. “
She
fooled you too. Despite the truth spells you used on her—the spells
you
convinced the council to use on the
Mage Guild Secundus—
she was so good at lying to herself that lying to you was easy. About me, about my father.” He shrugged. “Did you know that my father caused Santos Nimali’s madness? The great Valerio Valendi cursed his own mentor.” He lifted his hand up. “None of you can see it, but I have amassed a great amount of magic.” Timo smiled. “
Your magic
. You see, I’m like my sister in another way. I have drawn out every trace of magic from everyone in this room. But I can use this myself.”
“Guard, restrain him!” Inigo yelled.
Timo met the guard’s calm gaze. The man stepped back a pace and crossed his arms across his chest.
“I hadn’t made a deal with him,” the guard said and motioned his head towards Timo. “At least not until now. You capture him yourself.”
“Council Mages!” Inigo called. “Restrain this prisoner.”
A few Mages and Journeymen tried casting spells but when nothing happened—no magic came forth—they looked around in confusion.
“They can’t,” Timo said. “At least not with magic.” He lifted his left hand, and a ball of light flew up to the ceiling and hovered there. “I’m the only one in this room with magic.”
“Hestor, Journeymen,” Inigo called again. “If anyone of you has hopes of becoming a member of this council, you’ll kill Timo Valendi.”
A few Journeymen started forward. Hestor hung back, but after glancing at Inigo’s furious face, he joined the others as they started towards the front of the room and Timo.
“Stop,” Timo said.
He raised both hands, and a wave of multi-coloured mage mist flew out. He reached his arms out, and the mist fanned, growing denser as magic streamed into the spell.
The mist reached the table and slammed into the wood. The table screeched along the floor as the desk was pushed. Mages who were sitting were shoved backwards—men and chairs tumbling into the Mages and Journeymen behind them. There were screams of pain as the spell pressed the table back and pinned them against the wall.
Horrified, Timo dropped his hands, hoping to stop the rush of the spell. No new power was added but the wave of mist continued to push people and furniture against two of the walls in the room. But he couldn’t stop the power from draining from his hands. Without direction or intent, it pooled on the floor in the centre of the room—a multi-hued rainbow of mist that continued to grow.
“Stop it!” Inigo screamed at him. He still stood behind another table that had slid partway to the back wall.
“I can’t,” Timo said.
He could barely hear himself over the cries and screams. He reached a hand out, hoping to draw the magic away. There was a pause and then an audible sucking sound as the magic reversed direction.
Released from the spell’s grip, Mages and Journeymen dropped to the ground, some broken and bloody.
When Timo took a step back, he bumped into the guard. The spell was coming towards him, gaining speed.
“Take it easy,” the guard said, his hands on Timo’s shoulders, steadying him.
“But it’s coming,” Timo whispered. Would it kill them? Kill
him
? Panicked, he willed the magic towards the floor in front of him. The heaving mass grew bigger. Timo slashed one arm down, and the mage mist started to spin. The spell picked up speed, spinning faster and faster, sucking all the magic in the room into it. Timo felt drained and when he looked at his hands, only his own mauve mage mist still flowed from them. Carefully, he stemmed the flow of magic, slumping in relief when it thinned out and stopped.
But the magic in the room continued to spin, flashes and sparks now illuminating it from within.
“Move back,” Timo said to the guard behind him, to the Mages and Journeymen, to Inigo—to himself.
He regretted his boast from earlier—that he could drain their magic and use it.
It
was using
him
now. What could he do with it? How could he disperse so much power? Frantically he scanned the room. Everyone had their eyes fixed on the spell, and Timo realized that though they couldn’t see the mage mist, they could feel the power and see the sparks.
He squared his shoulders. It wasn’t going to simply go away so he’d have to
send
it away. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and concentrated on the mage mist, on slowing it down, on getting control over it. The parts of the spell that were made up of his magic responded, but the rest fought him—much like the Mages who’d bled their power into him were fighting him.
He opened his eyes. A thick band of mauve mage mist surrounded a swirling mass of multi-hued mist. With his right hand, he directed his spell down. The flagstone floor seemed to bend beneath a great weight and then, in a burst of shattered stone, the floor gave way and the magic dropped through it.
Moments later there was another crash as the spell ruptured the floor below. The sea was next, Timo thought as he hurried over to the edge of the hole. He peered down, praying to Gyda that no one had been in the corridor below when the spell had burst through the floor.
The floor just below him was shattered and cracked, and far below that, past another jagged hole of twisted and melted stone, he could see light—mage mist—glinting off water. The sea glowed for a moment and then it went dark. Timo sighed in relief. It was gone. The spell—the wild mass of magic that he’d unthinkingly accumulated—was gone.
He shivered. He’d warned that Kara could destroy Mage Guild Island but now he
knew
that he could too.
“We have to go,” the guard whispered at his side.
Timo looked up. The guard crouched beside him, and he looked worried, and a little afraid. Of him. Timo couldn’t blame him. He’d lost control of magic and put them all at risk.
“Now,” the guard said. “Before they regain their wits.”