Dance of Destinies (The Galactic Mage Series Book 5) by John Daulton Page B
Authors: John Daulton
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loud, and Pernie didn’t think you were supposed to talk to the Queen that way. Which made her smile as she went out.
Chapter 7
T he trouble with capturing wizards—beyond the fact that they were wizards—was that they tended to be well connected. Even those of lowly ranks and single schools of magic were popular amongst their friends. If they were wealthy, they were connected, and if they were poor and of ranks low enough as to keep them that way, they were still likely to be earning wages by their paltry skills. Snatching a wizard who would not leave a noticeable absence was akin to stealing expensive art. A clever thief had to understand that it would be missed, and there had to be a discreet buyer somewhere waiting to take it forever away. Art, however, did not call for help telepathically.
Black Sander would hardly count his three captives as art. Two were orphans, a local boy of nine years who had just begun manifesting a talent for healing and another boy of fourteen, a D-class enchanter from Solydae. The younger of those two was a lucky find, and Black Sander had spotted him by chance only yesterday. Black Sander had been returning from a visit to the marchioness and had barely gotten into Murdoc Bay when he came upon the lad.
Some reckless teamster had run down a dog on the street, and the boy had found the animal where it had dragged itself off to die in the shadows of an alley. Black Sander heard the boy crying and peered around the rubbish heap to find the filthy lad holding the dog in his lap. As often happens with young sorcerers of that age, the emotions in him triggered his magic, and just like that, the dog was healed. Black Sander counted it a stroke of luck, a blessing from the god of thieves, Sobrei the Swift, and he snatched up the boy and brought him to the tannery.
Black Sander bought the older boy from a crooked orphanage director in Dae, a fellow who was a regular provider of such things for the black market and slave trade. Black Sander promised the man double bounties on any other fledgling magicians he found for the period of ninety days. He just needed them to be without telepathic gifts, or at very least, before they were sent off to be trained in magic and learned how to use their telepathy. A tall order, but quite possible for a man in the position of orphanage director.
The third wizard captive was hardly a wizard at all. Black Sander was almost embarrassed to send her. She was old, and looked far older than her years. Bathilda Hornblower, a sanza-sap addict—when she could afford magical highs—and an opium user when she couldn’t, which was all the more pathetic. She was the only one of the three he was shipping to Earth that he was confident nobody would miss. She lay at the back of the large wooden crate, slumped in the corner like a corpse. Her breathing was a leaky bellows rasp. She was a sad sight, but she was an A-ranked seer, which the marchioness’ diviner had verified. El Segador had explained quite clearly that, at least for now, his employer was interested in anyone with a mythothalamus. Jefe, said employer, was fixated on the organ of magic, which was unique to humans from Prosperion, and it was based on that fixation that Black Sander had suggested they might include a few animals as well. Study was study, after all.
Animal magic was not as refined as human magic, but it worked on the same principles for the most part. And it was the purpose of Jefe’s scientists on Earth to discern the nature of how that organ worked. It had been agreed that animal samples would be welcome as well.
And so it was that the three humans were being pushed toward the back to make room for smaller animals in cages that Black Sander’s doughy henchman, Belor, and the burly sailor Twane were carrying in.
“That’s got it all,” Twane was saying as Black Sander watched. The brawny man set a wire cage with two yellow birds in it on top of a box containing a Zergot’s marmoset. The
Chapter 7
T he trouble with capturing wizards—beyond the fact that they were wizards—was that they tended to be well connected. Even those of lowly ranks and single schools of magic were popular amongst their friends. If they were wealthy, they were connected, and if they were poor and of ranks low enough as to keep them that way, they were still likely to be earning wages by their paltry skills. Snatching a wizard who would not leave a noticeable absence was akin to stealing expensive art. A clever thief had to understand that it would be missed, and there had to be a discreet buyer somewhere waiting to take it forever away. Art, however, did not call for help telepathically.
Black Sander would hardly count his three captives as art. Two were orphans, a local boy of nine years who had just begun manifesting a talent for healing and another boy of fourteen, a D-class enchanter from Solydae. The younger of those two was a lucky find, and Black Sander had spotted him by chance only yesterday. Black Sander had been returning from a visit to the marchioness and had barely gotten into Murdoc Bay when he came upon the lad.
Some reckless teamster had run down a dog on the street, and the boy had found the animal where it had dragged itself off to die in the shadows of an alley. Black Sander heard the boy crying and peered around the rubbish heap to find the filthy lad holding the dog in his lap. As often happens with young sorcerers of that age, the emotions in him triggered his magic, and just like that, the dog was healed. Black Sander counted it a stroke of luck, a blessing from the god of thieves, Sobrei the Swift, and he snatched up the boy and brought him to the tannery.
Black Sander bought the older boy from a crooked orphanage director in Dae, a fellow who was a regular provider of such things for the black market and slave trade. Black Sander promised the man double bounties on any other fledgling magicians he found for the period of ninety days. He just needed them to be without telepathic gifts, or at very least, before they were sent off to be trained in magic and learned how to use their telepathy. A tall order, but quite possible for a man in the position of orphanage director.
The third wizard captive was hardly a wizard at all. Black Sander was almost embarrassed to send her. She was old, and looked far older than her years. Bathilda Hornblower, a sanza-sap addict—when she could afford magical highs—and an opium user when she couldn’t, which was all the more pathetic. She was the only one of the three he was shipping to Earth that he was confident nobody would miss. She lay at the back of the large wooden crate, slumped in the corner like a corpse. Her breathing was a leaky bellows rasp. She was a sad sight, but she was an A-ranked seer, which the marchioness’ diviner had verified. El Segador had explained quite clearly that, at least for now, his employer was interested in anyone with a mythothalamus. Jefe, said employer, was fixated on the organ of magic, which was unique to humans from Prosperion, and it was based on that fixation that Black Sander had suggested they might include a few animals as well. Study was study, after all.
Animal magic was not as refined as human magic, but it worked on the same principles for the most part. And it was the purpose of Jefe’s scientists on Earth to discern the nature of how that organ worked. It had been agreed that animal samples would be welcome as well.
And so it was that the three humans were being pushed toward the back to make room for smaller animals in cages that Black Sander’s doughy henchman, Belor, and the burly sailor Twane were carrying in.
“That’s got it all,” Twane was saying as Black Sander watched. The brawny man set a wire cage with two yellow birds in it on top of a box containing a Zergot’s marmoset. The
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