not from ritual?”
“Essentially. Nearly limitless energy permeates the universe
and a properly trained arcanist can channel this energy and bend it to his
will. But our own personality, minds, and expectations shape that energy. While
there are differing theories on the origins and mechanics of magic, this is the
school of thought I prescribe to.”
“So words aren’t necessary—just a knowledge of this energy
and how to manipulate it?”
Padraic sighed. “The only absolute in magic, son, is that
there are no absolutes. We all shape the magic we use in our own way. If you
believe you need to speak in tongues to perform magic, than you will. For
example, many arcanists use geometry and geometric spell forms to channel
magic, believing it helps harness and focus magical energy. In short, it is the
power of our thoughts and will that give magic life.”
“Huh,” said Elias, perhaps more confused than he was before.
“Don’t worry, son,” Padraic said around a smile, “some have
dedicated their entire lives to understanding the fundamental nature of magic
and have come no closer than you and I.”
With that said, Padraic Duana leaned back in his chair and
closed his eyes. He dwelt briefly on the past, remembering when he, younger
than Elias was now, went to Peidra seeking adventure among the sweeping marble
arches and wide cobblestone avenues. “Well, Elias, I suppose it best we hit the
hay. We have an early start tomorrow.”
Recognizing a dismissal when he saw one, Elias rose. He
turned as he approached the hallway leading to his bedroom. “She knew that he
used magic. The Tax Bursar, Lady Denar.”
“How’s that?”
“She as much called Cormik out. She said that she was
trained in the basic Arcanum, and so saw his treachery at once, which is why
she was first on the scene. I’m not sure if the others picked up what she was
putting down, but I can tell you the Macallisters did.”
Padraic’s expression grew thoughtful. “Perhaps there is more
to our Deputy Tax Bursar than we had imagined. If so, she has tipped her hand,
but to what purpose? In any case, a man could have worse allies than a cousin
to the queen.”
As Elias drifted off to sleep that night he found himself
thinking of the woman in the red dress.
Chapter 4
Waylaid
Elias sighed, content, as the midday sun loosened his
sore muscles. He hadn’t slept well the night before, and fatigue gave his
morning a dreamy, airy feeling. He knew he was in good hands, though, with his
father behind the reins, while Asa and Danica sat in the back of the open
carriage, taking turns telling him stories and catching him up on the latest gossip.
His eyelids fluttered open and he looked toward the horizon.
They would be at the old Mayfair Manor in minutes. After selling the Knoll
barrels to Slade it wouldn’t be far to Doctor Phinneas’s estate, where they
could visit with their father’s old friend and see to Elias’s injuries. As he
sat forward to stretch and muster some much needed energy the haft of his
father’s walking cane dug into his side.
He hadn’t noticed it before, although it didn’t surprise
him. Padraic Duana often brought the thick stave with him on solitary travels, though
the hale distiller certainly did not need it to walk. Rather, his father, who
eschewed carrying steel, brought the stave as a precaution on the road in case
he ran into trouble. Elias smiled to himself. He found it reassuring that even
if trouble did find his father he required only a stick and not a real sword.
They turned a bend, clearing a copse of trees, and the
Mayfair Manor came into view. It sat atop a hillock, in parody of a castle atop
a mountain. A white limestone façade covered the exterior of the house, and
white columns spanned a wrap-around porch, the only reprieve from the severe
angles that comprised the helm and pavilion roofs. The manor showed a lack of
care, as lichen and moss had claimed the bottom portion of the columns, and
mottled
“Essentially. Nearly limitless energy permeates the universe
and a properly trained arcanist can channel this energy and bend it to his
will. But our own personality, minds, and expectations shape that energy. While
there are differing theories on the origins and mechanics of magic, this is the
school of thought I prescribe to.”
“So words aren’t necessary—just a knowledge of this energy
and how to manipulate it?”
Padraic sighed. “The only absolute in magic, son, is that
there are no absolutes. We all shape the magic we use in our own way. If you
believe you need to speak in tongues to perform magic, than you will. For
example, many arcanists use geometry and geometric spell forms to channel
magic, believing it helps harness and focus magical energy. In short, it is the
power of our thoughts and will that give magic life.”
“Huh,” said Elias, perhaps more confused than he was before.
“Don’t worry, son,” Padraic said around a smile, “some have
dedicated their entire lives to understanding the fundamental nature of magic
and have come no closer than you and I.”
With that said, Padraic Duana leaned back in his chair and
closed his eyes. He dwelt briefly on the past, remembering when he, younger
than Elias was now, went to Peidra seeking adventure among the sweeping marble
arches and wide cobblestone avenues. “Well, Elias, I suppose it best we hit the
hay. We have an early start tomorrow.”
Recognizing a dismissal when he saw one, Elias rose. He
turned as he approached the hallway leading to his bedroom. “She knew that he
used magic. The Tax Bursar, Lady Denar.”
“How’s that?”
“She as much called Cormik out. She said that she was
trained in the basic Arcanum, and so saw his treachery at once, which is why
she was first on the scene. I’m not sure if the others picked up what she was
putting down, but I can tell you the Macallisters did.”
Padraic’s expression grew thoughtful. “Perhaps there is more
to our Deputy Tax Bursar than we had imagined. If so, she has tipped her hand,
but to what purpose? In any case, a man could have worse allies than a cousin
to the queen.”
As Elias drifted off to sleep that night he found himself
thinking of the woman in the red dress.
Chapter 4
Waylaid
Elias sighed, content, as the midday sun loosened his
sore muscles. He hadn’t slept well the night before, and fatigue gave his
morning a dreamy, airy feeling. He knew he was in good hands, though, with his
father behind the reins, while Asa and Danica sat in the back of the open
carriage, taking turns telling him stories and catching him up on the latest gossip.
His eyelids fluttered open and he looked toward the horizon.
They would be at the old Mayfair Manor in minutes. After selling the Knoll
barrels to Slade it wouldn’t be far to Doctor Phinneas’s estate, where they
could visit with their father’s old friend and see to Elias’s injuries. As he
sat forward to stretch and muster some much needed energy the haft of his
father’s walking cane dug into his side.
He hadn’t noticed it before, although it didn’t surprise
him. Padraic Duana often brought the thick stave with him on solitary travels, though
the hale distiller certainly did not need it to walk. Rather, his father, who
eschewed carrying steel, brought the stave as a precaution on the road in case
he ran into trouble. Elias smiled to himself. He found it reassuring that even
if trouble did find his father he required only a stick and not a real sword.
They turned a bend, clearing a copse of trees, and the
Mayfair Manor came into view. It sat atop a hillock, in parody of a castle atop
a mountain. A white limestone façade covered the exterior of the house, and
white columns spanned a wrap-around porch, the only reprieve from the severe
angles that comprised the helm and pavilion roofs. The manor showed a lack of
care, as lichen and moss had claimed the bottom portion of the columns, and
mottled
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