CHAPTER 1, HIS LAST NAME Releasing Jan 20, 2025
Kitable crossed off the charcoal writing, discouraged. The code line broke the flow of the spell and would sour it beyond use. He would have to start again.
He tossed the useless vellum onto the stack that had formed on the table before him, burying the various broken or half-finished enchanted trinkets. Somewhere near the other edge of the table, a cup of tea was getting cold.
Shimmer was reading yet another ancient book in the other room, seeking a reference to focuses. It seemed a waste; her energy would be better put toward honing her skills and reducing the words of a spell as he was doing. Although much of their magic was arranged in pre-casted hovering spells, efficiently casting a spell from scratch was invaluable under duress. Shortening one word out of a dozen could save time and, possibly, their lives.
He had put distance between them deliberately. Something about Shimmer seemed off this morning, and he did not want her apparent distraction throwing off his work. She was still determined to find the secret behind the focus, claiming it could be a vital tool in defensive situations, but her efforts lead to constant dead-ends, and he was too discouraged to keep at it. All he knew about a focus was that it was not something made of wizard magic. That made it uninteresting.
There was a knock on his door, and preoccupied, Kitable did not even consider his response. “Go away!” he snapped.
“Tough,” the deep voice replied from the other side of the door. “You have to open the door for me, Kit.”
Had he failed to recognize the voice, Kitable would have known the speaker by the nickname. Only one man alive called him “Kit.”
Leaving his work, Kitable opened the door to admit King Tohmas.
“Unexpected visit, my King,” he said. He saw Prime Protector Carsh in the hallway but gave the tough Rydan a look that prompted him to stay outside. Kitable closed the door quickly. Carsh hated magic anyway. He’d be glad for the excuse to stay in the hallway.
“Being unexpected,” the king replied, “is why my enemies hate me.”
Although the King of Espar visited about every mooncycle, he always paused within the entrance to Kitable’s chambers, claiming to be checking if anything had changed. The chambers, although spacious, were sparsely decorated and jumbled. Bookcases filled with either magical trinkets or books lined all walls but one, and their contents varied depending on the research whims of Kitable and Shimmer’s recent projects. The smooth white wizard-stone of the ceiling was marred by various stains, splatters, and two curious green lines that had appeared after a confrontation with an old curse; they had faded to a blue lately. The one bare wall bore windows that looked over an elaborate garden in late summer. He’d adjusted that enchantment last quartercycle to better bring in the light during the afternoon. The chambers were underground in truth, but it would be hard to tell.
Finishing his assessment, the king found a seat at the cluttered table. King Tohmas had instigated the custom of offering drinks during meetings, making it expected for Kitable to immediately offer his patron the only beverage he had available: the tea Shimmer had made that morning. He quickly dug out the tea cup and topped it off from the ever-warm tea pot. The king accepted it as smoothly as any drink, although the small cup looked like a toy in his large, rough hands.
Shimmer stuck her head into the room to investigate. She should have been able to guess the identity of their visitor. King Tohmas was the only person Kitable could be convinced to let in.
Her face brightened to see their patron sitting his bulk on a rickety chair. She had been pestering him to get the seat fixed, or at least reinforce it magically, for almost a year. Her grin now suggested she wondered if it would collapse under the king and prove her right.
But then, Shimmer was always smiling. Kitable could scarcely remember half a dozen moments lacking her grin since he had met her three years ago. Since becoming his apprentice, Shimmer had shed her colorful clothing and jewelry. Now, she was typically found in plain ankle-length dresses and shawls, her crimson hair tucked away under cowls and wimples. She looked nothing like the performer and apothecary who had traveled Espar, except for her persistent apothecary bag. He spotted it over her shoulder even now.
“So,” the king said, “how are you and Shimmer getting along?”
Every mooncycle, Kitable would be accosted to provide an update for his patron. It had never been so direct before, but assuming the king’s purpose was the same, Kitable asked Shimmer to clean the world’s mobile.
“It’s not dirty,” she replied.
“You are assuming I want you to clean it because it is dirty.”
Her smile grew, warning him he would not like her next sentence. “No, I’m pointing out I know you are not asking me to clean it because it’s dirty.” She skipped back into the side room, allowing Kitable to sit across from his patron in temporary peace.
“You two doing all right?” the king asked.
“She is disobedient, headstrong, and useless,” Kitable said. After letting the words settle, he added, “She’s also eavesdropping.”
“Oie!” Shimmer’s voice came from the side room.
“Eavesdropping is unbecoming of a lady!” he shouted.
“Whoever said I was a lady?” she shouted back.
Instead of getting into yet another debate, Kitable said a single word. One of the many pre-casted spells hovering around him answered by sealing the side room with a Wind Barrier.
“That will hold her for a short while,” Kitable explained. “Not long.” He’d spent the last two years cultivating her talent in magic. He could not be upset by her adeptness.
“So, how is she really doing?” the king asked.
With his apprentice no doubt already working through the spell’s defenses, Kitable did not have time to be ambiguous. “She is brilliant,” he admitted. “She has the most critical, beautiful way of thinking. These days, our work has us both making discoveries. I am not sure there is anything else I can teach her.” The admission caught him by surprise. If he had nothing left to teach her, Shimmer’s apprenticeship was ending. He did not like the thought.
“Are you two available?”
His response was as reflexive as his earlier dismissal of the knock. “I hate missions.”
The king chuckled into his cup. “No, you like missions. They give you something to work on. You hate missions that make you leave your room.” With a mischievous smile, he added, “You are not going to like this one.”
Kitable crossed off the charcoal writing, discouraged. The code line broke the flow of the spell and would sour it beyond use. He would have to start again.
He tossed the useless vellum onto the stack that had formed on the table before him, burying the various broken or half-finished enchanted trinkets. Somewhere near the other edge of the table, a cup of tea was getting cold.
Shimmer was reading yet another ancient book in the other room, seeking a reference to focuses. It seemed a waste; her energy would be better put toward honing her skills and reducing the words of a spell as he was doing. Although much of their magic was arranged in pre-casted hovering spells, efficiently casting a spell from scratch was invaluable under duress. Shortening one word out of a dozen could save time and, possibly, their lives.
He had put distance between them deliberately. Something about Shimmer seemed off this morning, and he did not want her apparent distraction throwing off his work. She was still determined to find the secret behind the focus, claiming it could be a vital tool in defensive situations, but her efforts lead to constant dead-ends, and he was too discouraged to keep at it. All he knew about a focus was that it was not something made of wizard magic. That made it uninteresting.
There was a knock on his door, and preoccupied, Kitable did not even consider his response. “Go away!” he snapped.
“Tough,” the deep voice replied from the other side of the door. “You have to open the door for me, Kit.”
Had he failed to recognize the voice, Kitable would have known the speaker by the nickname. Only one man alive called him “Kit.”
Leaving his work, Kitable opened the door to admit King Tohmas.
“Unexpected visit, my King,” he said. He saw Prime Protector Carsh in the hallway but gave the tough Rydan a look that prompted him to stay outside. Kitable closed the door quickly. Carsh hated magic anyway. He’d be glad for the excuse to stay in the hallway.
“Being unexpected,” the king replied, “is why my enemies hate me.”
Although the King of Espar visited about every mooncycle, he always paused within the entrance to Kitable’s chambers, claiming to be checking if anything had changed. The chambers, although spacious, were sparsely decorated and jumbled. Bookcases filled with either magical trinkets or books lined all walls but one, and their contents varied depending on the research whims of Kitable and Shimmer’s recent projects. The smooth white wizard-stone of the ceiling was marred by various stains, splatters, and two curious green lines that had appeared after a confrontation with an old curse; they had faded to a blue lately. The one bare wall bore windows that looked over an elaborate garden in late summer. He’d adjusted that enchantment last quartercycle to better bring in the light during the afternoon. The chambers were underground in truth, but it would be hard to tell.
Finishing his assessment, the king found a seat at the cluttered table. King Tohmas had instigated the custom of offering drinks during meetings, making it expected for Kitable to immediately offer his patron the only beverage he had available: the tea Shimmer had made that morning. He quickly dug out the tea cup and topped it off from the ever-warm tea pot. The king accepted it as smoothly as any drink, although the small cup looked like a toy in his large, rough hands.
Shimmer stuck her head into the room to investigate. She should have been able to guess the identity of their visitor. King Tohmas was the only person Kitable could be convinced to let in.
Her face brightened to see their patron sitting his bulk on a rickety chair. She had been pestering him to get the seat fixed, or at least reinforce it magically, for almost a year. Her grin now suggested she wondered if it would collapse under the king and prove her right.
But then, Shimmer was always smiling. Kitable could scarcely remember half a dozen moments lacking her grin since he had met her three years ago. Since becoming his apprentice, Shimmer had shed her colorful clothing and jewelry. Now, she was typically found in plain ankle-length dresses and shawls, her crimson hair tucked away under cowls and wimples. She looked nothing like the performer and apothecary who had traveled Espar, except for her persistent apothecary bag. He spotted it over her shoulder even now.
“So,” the king said, “how are you and Shimmer getting along?”
Every mooncycle, Kitable would be accosted to provide an update for his patron. It had never been so direct before, but assuming the king’s purpose was the same, Kitable asked Shimmer to clean the world’s mobile.
“It’s not dirty,” she replied.
“You are assuming I want you to clean it because it is dirty.”
Her smile grew, warning him he would not like her next sentence. “No, I’m pointing out I know you are not asking me to clean it because it’s dirty.” She skipped back into the side room, allowing Kitable to sit across from his patron in temporary peace.
“You two doing all right?” the king asked.
“She is disobedient, headstrong, and useless,” Kitable said. After letting the words settle, he added, “She’s also eavesdropping.”
“Oie!” Shimmer’s voice came from the side room.
“Eavesdropping is unbecoming of a lady!” he shouted.
“Whoever said I was a lady?” she shouted back.
Instead of getting into yet another debate, Kitable said a single word. One of the many pre-casted spells hovering around him answered by sealing the side room with a Wind Barrier.
“That will hold her for a short while,” Kitable explained. “Not long.” He’d spent the last two years cultivating her talent in magic. He could not be upset by her adeptness.
“So, how is she really doing?” the king asked.
With his apprentice no doubt already working through the spell’s defenses, Kitable did not have time to be ambiguous. “She is brilliant,” he admitted. “She has the most critical, beautiful way of thinking. These days, our work has us both making discoveries. I am not sure there is anything else I can teach her.” The admission caught him by surprise. If he had nothing left to teach her, Shimmer’s apprenticeship was ending. He did not like the thought.
“Are you two available?”
His response was as reflexive as his earlier dismissal of the knock. “I hate missions.”
The king chuckled into his cup. “No, you like missions. They give you something to work on. You hate missions that make you leave your room.” With a mischievous smile, he added, “You are not going to like this one.”
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