The Magisteine Principle

The Magisteine Principle

by Kole Taylor

Chapter 1
Rebirth

“Wait for it…”
A middle-aged man held up a battleworn hand.
The men were getting uneasy. Fingers gripped their swords and tightened on bowstrings. When would the call come? When would it be over with?
“Wait for it…”
The man’s hand remained open. It was still, yet time mocked them as it continued… and continued…
“NOW!”
The man’s fingers closed. That was the sign. There was a single sound as the soldiers simultaneously took a breath—maybe their last breath as an army. The sound of bow-fire sounded like a machinegun before its time, twang after twang. At least two hundred bows rang off in a three second period.. The sound was like a soothing hum to Kemelai. Battle was where he belonged. The first rank of opposing troops dropped as nearly every archer hit his mark. A few stray arrows took out some of the second and third rows, and even fewer stuck in the thick grassy moss that clung to the trees.
The enemy was coming from the forest, and Kemelai of Rikande’s army was forced to defend in an open plain, on a large hillside. He had hoped to get there before the Balrooks did, but to no avail. Their plot had been discovered too late. He had no idea how long they had even been there, waiting. It could have been days, maybe even closer to a week. The army was advancing from the forest quickly now, and it was obvious they were not going to let their preparations be in vain. Rows and rows of men with tower shields marched out of the thick wood, followed by a few ranks of archers, clad in brown capes, shielded by the men in front of them. Directly behind the archers two large catapults rolled out of the woods, each manned by four men in black cloaks, and they were all following one man in long tattered cape. He stood tall and gaunt, his cape wavering enough to show the complete lack of meat on his bones. It was these catapults the tall man led that seemed to catch Kemelai’s attention.
“The catapults! Take out those manning the catapults!”
At his command, the music of the archers played again. A cloud of arrows flew through the air, every one of them aim precisely at its mark. If there was anything the Kingdom of Rikande had of renown, it was the skill of their archers. But as the arrows closed in on the men in cloaks, the tall man in lead of the catapult battalion held up his hand, and the arrows burst into flame, ashes scattering in the wind.
“Exuromagus!” Kemelai yelled. “Malador, command the archers! Eliminate the Exuromagus! And extinguish all torches! Quickly!”
“Yes sir!” a voice rang out behind him. Malador, decorated in a golden breastplate and gauntlets, ran over to the archers. He knew how to take out an Exuromagus. This was why Kemelai had chosen him as his General. In the entire kingdom of Rikande, only Kemelai himself rivaled Malador’s battle prowess.
It was imperative that Malador take care of the Exuromagus first, and as quickly as possible. Not only would very few of their arrows make it through the fire of an Exuromagus, but close combat would be nearly impossible with the soldiers aflame. Malador knew not to underestimate even a single Exuromagus, because even one had been known do irreparable damage to an army caught unaware.
Rikande’s troops had learned this lesson at a dear cost during their last battle with the Balrooks, which had been nearly fifteen years past. Rikande had, at that time, the best warriors in the entire land. Having no fear of anything, the Rikandian army had ridden fervently into battle against their first Exuromagus. The battle was a short. Those who were holding torches were immediately engulfed in flame, as were those who dared approach the enemy army for melee battle. A row of Balrook archers drew their bows, and as the Exuromagus raised his hands, the arrows burst into flame. Fiery arrows rained down on Rikande’s army, and they were forced to retreat. Those who were not burned alive were ashamed. The mighty army of Rikande had met its first defeat memorable to the New Generation. That was their first run-in with an Exuromagus. It was also their last, until this day.
Malador commanded the archers: “Men! Shoot at the Exuromagus one-by-one, single file! We have to keep him busy! If he has to burn our arrows, he can’t stop our infantry! Go now!”
The archers did as they were told. Arrow after arrow, one right after another, flew in the direction of this magical horror in human skin. Malador could not remember a time that he had known of an evil Fire Mage, save for that battle fifteen years ago that mocked Rikande’s defeat. Questions filled his mind. Was this the same man? Was this even a man, or some sort of evil fire demon, taking form as a man? Perhaps even the Underlord himself? Very few were suited to use magic, and even fewer yet were able concentrate as this Exuromagus did. With one hand he set aflame every arrow sent his way, and with the other he was quite obviously giving directions to the team on each catapult behind him. He turned his head to one squad, pointed in one direction, then pointed in another direction for the other. Malador noticed that one squad was directed to shoot the archers.
“Men! We need to split into smaller groups!” Malador had to change his plan, hopefully only momentarily. “Make spaces between every five men, at least ten men wide. Those on the outside: arc forward so you don’t move too far away! Watch the catapults, but continue firing!”
“Sir, we are almost out of arrows!”
“Then slow the arrow fire! Spread now, and fear not! We are Rikande, and we will not be defeated twice by one of these fire-demons!”
“Yes, sir!” Came scattered cries.
The archers spread out from the middle, making large gaps between every five of them. They were now visibly disturbed. At least now they would only be picked off in groups of five, they thought, though not sarcastically, to themselves. They were scared, but they knew what was best to the army. Though frightened, selfish they weren’t. Besides, at most, Kemelai and Malador would make sure only one group was killed. They were good brave men, and had led the army to safety time after time with fewer casualties than most armies could pride themselves upon. Today would be no different.
But now even Malador was getting worried. He was witnessing something he had never seen before: The four men on each catapult stood at the corners of it and angled in, then bowed their heads, as did the Exuromagus. The arm of each catapult slowly began to cock back, seemingly on its own. The face of the Fire Mage was drawn in deep concentration. The bow fire stopped.
“Those men are drawing their power from him! He is weakened! Shoot at them all! Now!”
Once again, all the archers shot at once. The Exuromagus seemed to sense it, and looked up. He held out his hand, and once again, the arrows simultaneously burst into flame and scattered upon the earth. But he broke his concentration, those manning the catapults lost their connection, and the arms sprang back up. However, they had not been drawn back far enough to hurl their missiles – a large rock on each and many smaller red stones. This gave Malador an idea.
“Men, slow your fire, but shoot again one by one!” This was Malador’s last chance.
“Sir! Many of our men have only two or three arrows left!”
“It’s all for show!” Malador defended. “Every man shoot no more than one arrow! Then on my call, shoot at the enemy all at once! Keep your arrows ready for my call!”
As the arrows again sped toward the Exuromagus one after another, he again bowed his head, still holding up one hand to keep the arrows warded off. Right on queue, the lesser mages began to harness his power again, and the catapults began to cock back.
“Now men, shoot at their archers! Save at least one arrow! If you don’t have more than one, do not shoot!”
The Exuromagus looked up as the arrows took out the first rank of archers, yet did not break his concentration this time. He could stand to lose a few of his own so-called archers. After all, they had been brought along only for looks, for a diversion. So far it had worked, and the tall man thought it to be one of his better ideas. The more frightening their army seemed, the better. But in truth, the Balrook archers here weren’t even trained to shoot a bow; they were simply hired soldiers clad in brown capes, the typical garb of their archers.
So far, so good, Malador thought to himself as the catapults grew closer to flinging strength. He calculated the space between the catapults and the enemy army. Just a few more moments… only a few more… now do it…
“Now men! Shoot at the men on the catapults!”
The Archers of Rikande looked at each other for a moment. They were all on their last arrow, and a few were even without arrows. If this didn’t work, they would be forced to retreat. They had always trusted Malador, but dare they now, with such a rash choice?
They did so, trusting Malador once more, and hoping they wouldn’t regret it. One more volley of arrows raced toward the Exuromagus and those manning the catapults. The evil Fire Mage could stand to lose some archers (he was hoping they would do well enough to divert the arrow fire from himself, but this proved to be wrong), but he would not lose his own life, or those controlling the catapult. What would King Bashaphan think if his trainees died on their first field test? And what would he do if he were hit? He didn’t think an arrow wound could kill him, but what if it wounded him enough to have his Firestone taken from him? Then what? Besides, this entire mission was merely a test for the Lesser-Mages. But now his life was in danger if he didn’t divert his attention. He hoped his Lesser-Mages could keep the catapults held on their own.
He hoped wrong. As the Exuromagus changed his focus to the incoming arrows, the catapults suddenly stopped moving for a moment. The faces of the Lesser Mages were drawn horribly in pain and deep thought. Blood trickled from the ears of one, and from the eyes of another. Then—in less than the time it took for the Exuromagus to incinerate his enemy’s arrows—six of the mages suddenly collapsed, two dead, and four unconscious. The other two had simply given up. The Fire Mage looked back just in time to see the catapults launch their projectiles. But they didn’t launch them far enough; the two huge stones landed directly into the middle of the Balrook army, making two separate soft crunches and muffling the short cries of those they hit. Then came the rain of fire. As each of the smaller red stones hit the ground, they erupted in flame, consuming nearly all of the Balrook army, save those on the few rows inside the very edge of their formation. Those on the outside would have survived had they not been trampled by those behind them, driven by the death cries of their burning comrades. Even the Rikandians took a step back at the screaming of hundreds of burning soldiers. The breeze picked up from the east, bringing to the soldiers the smell of freshly bloomed lilacs and the smell of burning flesh; the scent of summer war was in the air.
Even Malador hadn’t counted on the Fire Stones aiding him. He had seen nothing like these exploding rocks in his life. But now was not the time to think about this. He was too busy shouting praise, accompanied by the rest of Rikande’s army. They all watched and cheered as what was left of the Balrook army fled back into the forest. But not one man laughed at what they next saw: The Exuromagus was standing over the two of his mages that had given up holding the catapult down. He had a hand held toward each one of them, and they were rolling about on the ground. The stomach of one of them had been melted open, and a white-hot fire could be seen within. The Fire Mage held up his arms, and the area about him was engulfed in flames. He then walked out the side of the fire and back into the forest, disappearing into the trees.
A man set his hand on Malador’s shoulder. “He may be a master of fire, but inside is a heart of ice.” It was Kemelai. “Nice call on the catapults, my friend.”
This did muster a smile out of Malador. “I knew that you too had thought of it.”
“Ah, that I did. Which is why I had also known you would do it. I fear someday you may take my job, Malador!”
“Do not say such things, friend! For you know that I will only replace you when you are no longer here, and I dare not mention such things.”
“A joke, a joke. But if the time shall ever come—“
“Come, let us not talk of this. This was a good battle. We shall not taint today with talk of death.”
“You’re right, young one.” Malador frowned at this. “Let us depart, now. The king will gladly hear news of our victory.”
Kemelai and Malador led the way back, followed by hundreds and hundreds of men laughing and cheering for Rikande. The best soldiers in the land at last had a chance to prove their dominance over the Balrooks. But more than one were disturbed by the presence of an Exuromagus. Magic had long been thought to be dead, and only the eldest could remember anything remotely magic-related. Even in the three years since their last meeting of an Exuromagus, many in the army had begun to believe that it never really happened, that something else must have deluded them. After all, if an army believed magic was in use, they would most likely flee. So it was all chalked up as a trick, and not told to the Kingdom, for fear of panic. But the soldiers who were at there that day now knew what they believed. Most of all, Kemelai knew what he must tell the king. And though they had won the battle, the news was not all good.
Magic lived. And not necessarily in their favor.

_________

Over a pass of mountains far to the east, bordering the Edge of the Knownlands, a man in a long multi-colored robe and nearly as long white hair addresses his students, those of the Academy Di H’li:

“For many, this will be the last week you experience in Di H’li. For that reason I congratulate you on making it this far. However, as is well known to you all, only five can carry on the tradition of Di H’li as we know it. Next week the Five will be chosen for that purpose. Sadly, the rest of you must leave the Knownlands, stripped of your magics, and must fend on your own. You’ve all been excellent students, and I wish you all well. I must make my farewells now, for I care not to see the looks of those damned to exile, after watching them grow all these years. How the faces of the past haunt me still… A hard teacher I may be, but I am not a cold man. You have all been my sons and brothers, and I will miss all but five of you greatly.”
There was a murmur of silent astonishment from the class of twenty-seven (which was one of the largest Di H’li had ever seen, by at least double). Master Kehlen had never so much as expressed a single emotion (except for when his wife of sixty-eight years died), and the students were taken back. For a moment there was silence as Kehlen reached under his table for his book of Final Magics. Near the back row, a brown haired teenager dressed in the traditional blue garb of the student apprentices stood up.
“Master, should I not make it to be one of the Five, it has all been worthwhile as your student. You have taught us well, master. I finish this week a proud student of Master Kehlen.”
Another voice piped up. “I also will roam with pride as your pupil, master, if it be Teohl’s will that I am not chosen!”
“As will I!”
“And I, master!”
The room filled with more scattered cheers, and finally applause. The noise attracted the Head Scholar from across the stony hall, and even the serving wenches from the kitchen. They observed the class with little more than slight surprise—they had always respected their master and loved him dearly even when he was rough on them, though he had shown no similar relationship. Their real surprise was at Master Kehlen himself, more specifically the single tear making its trek down his cheek, following the trails worn long ago by age. The only tear Kehlen had been known to shed fell to the floor in a silent earthshaking splash.
“Out, ye wenches! And Haled, I respectfully ask you the same. I have much to teach of the Final Magics, and no more than five days to do it.”
They stood in awe for a moment longer, time gripping them in His clutches, not allowing them to move. Finally they slowly filtered out, the skinny wench in a white apron leaving last, but not without one last look back. Her eyes too were beginning to fill with tears.
“Now—“ Master Kehlen cleared his throat. “Now class, today is our last lesson on the Magisteine Principle. The difference today is that this class will be a discussion by all of you. This is a week of input, and of learning for us all—including myself. Now, someone carry out the simple task of stating the Magisteine Principle.”
The room was silent. From the moment Kehlen’s tear touched the ground, it became apparent to the twenty-eight that it was over—this was their last week. Something they had all looked forward to in the past was now an overwhelming dread. Each person had greater than an eighty percent chance of complete banishment from the world they had known the entire sixteen years of their life. It had finally registered. The young mages had something to fear. And for the first time, it was real fear.
Finally one stood. “Master, the Magisteine Principle is a term used to describe the phenomenon when magic takes physical or spatial form in an object or place, allowing those who posses the object or occupy the space a direct control of the magic, if they know how to use it.”
“Good, good. Now, where does it come from?”
“Master, the first discovery of the Principle had been observed in certain stones. They had been known to give the person who wielded them a power of magic. They were named the Magisteine, and those being the only known example of the Principle at the time, it was named the Magisteine Principle.”
“Yes, yes, that would be correct, if I had asked for the name, foolish boy, but what causes it? Where do they get their power? Where does the Principle come from?”
The student sat, trying in vain not to show his embarrassment. A few moments later another stood.
“No one knows, master. It remains a mystery.”
“Ah yes, but what are some theories? What do some of you think?”
“Well, master, some say they are things Teohl has touched, or places He has blessed. Others believe there are spirits encased in the area or object. Some say they have always been, and will always be; born with the world, they are. Only the Magisteine Areas change, due to disturbance in the Planar Field.”
“But what of certain objects, other than the Magisteine Stones?”
“Master, it’s very rare, but certain objects such as old man-made formations, and some bones have been found to range from mildly to extremely Magisteine, but are still no comparison of the Stones of Old, which give the user immense power. And if used, the source depletes until it no longer has any power.”
“Indeed, yes. Magic is born, and magic can die, be it Teohl’s will. What does this tell you of those remnants of Magic?”
The question was greeted with silence. Just when Master Kehlen was about to reprimand them and explain the most prominent theory, the tall blonde boy in the back corner slowly stood up, his long, blonde hair hanging in his eyes. Still, he remained silent. He had always bee a very gifted student, but never outgoing.
“You have a thought?” the master asked. Then mild mockery: “Perhaps two even?”
“Yes. The bones were those of men who had possessed magic. Once they can no longer focus on magic, it leaves their body, and the area around it—such as the formations Alex spoke of—absorbs what is released. Of course not all will leave the body. Some clings to it forever, or until used by an outside force.”
“Very good Exanthal, anyone else?” The truth was, it was an exceptional answer. Not one other in the class had the insight Exanthal had. Sometimes it worried Master Kehlen that his best student had no friends, and little social interaction at all.
Another student stood.
“But it would require use of the Magisteine Stones, and at the point the bones were determined to exist in a live man, all stones were accounted for. That was, of course, before all were lost in the Mithidian War.”
Exanthal himself responded to this statement, but did more so in a statement to his master, than to his peers. “Yes, but magic is born and magic dies.” He paused. “It can be born in an object or a place, and can be harnessed. But… could magic be born… in a person?”
Master Kehlen simply replied “Perhaps.” Exanthal had brought up the question few wondered, and even fewer cared to know. It was true that certain men of proper mind could learn magic permanently, but only when that man had been taught it, or experienced it through a Magisteine object. And even those were becoming more and more rare, increasingly so over the last few years. Due to the Magical Conservation Theory, the magic must be going somewhere; it can’t just disappear.
What if that somewhere was a person? Or people even?

_________

Somewhere in the town of Mishan in a time since passed, near the edge of the Bilaki Desert, a baby boy gave his first cry to a brand new world. His mother named him Deluth, and raised him as well as a lower-class desert woman could. She died when he was four years old, and it took him merely two more years to hone his unnatural skills as a thief. By the time he was sixteen, he was greatly known in the city underground as one of the best thieves Mishan had ever seen.
Those who knew him would swear the kid was so quick, you’d think he could actually bend time itself.

Chapter 2
Help heads West

Malador and Kemelai strode across the great white-marble hall, slowly approaching the king’s throne. Guards stood at each pillar, saluting the two as they walked past. Banners flapped at windows, and a cool summer breeze filled the throne room, bringing with it the scent of the sweet Lallafin plant. In high doses, the pollen of the plant was known to cause unconsciousness, but when on the breeze, it made a good day even more relaxing. Yes, today would be a beautiful day, had it not been for recent discoveries.
The king rose from his throne to greet two of his most loyal servants. They both bowed, and lay their swords at his feet.
“Rise, Malador. Rise Kemelai. What news do you bring?” the king asked, solemnly. The two knew that the king already heard what had happened from a messenger, but chose not to fully believe it until he heard it from them.
“Your Highness,” Kemelai began as he stood, “we battled the unexpected… an Exuromagus.”
“So the claims were true, then. Fifteen years ago…”
“Yes, Highness.”
“Oh, come Kemelai, you mustn’t address me such. How long have we known each other?”
“Since the age of five, Highness.”
“Come now, stop that! We are friends, you and I, and I wish not to have any sort of hierarchy to our friendship! How many times must we have this talk? And you also, Malador. You are nearly a son to me. It is time we cut the formalities.”
It was true, the king of Rikande was forty years old—nearly twenty years senior to Malador. Ever since the age of ten, when Malador was allowed early entry into armed training, the king had been watching out for him.
“Yes. Whatever you wish, Luthek.”
Kemelai gave Malador a startled glance.
“No, he is right, Kemelai. I just wish you would follow his example. I tire of seeing you two as friends to me, but not being seen only as a friend in return. I do not wish to be king of you two, but I have no choice.”
“Then let it be so, Luthek.” Kemelai said, forming a smile. Then stepping forward, he gripped Luthek’s hand. It had been long since he and his childhood friend had been separated by monarchal responsibilities. “Let it be so.”
“Ah, old friend. So what news do you bring, then? It was for sure and Exuromagus you fought?”
“As certain as nightfall, it was an Exuromagus.”
Luthek gave a long sigh. “So it’s true, then. That was so long ago…”
“Yes. It was an Exuromagus. Perhaps not the same, but an Exuromagus no less.”
“Then my father was right in his suspicions. The Magisteine must be finding their way back to the human race.”
“Magisteine?” Malador asked.
“Magic Stones.” Kemelai clarified. “They were known to grant the holder immense magical powers. There were originally eight of them, but they all disappeared in the time around the Mithidian war.”
“But I thought that was all legend. The magic stones were real?”
“Well, my father suspected them to be,” Luthek took over. “But he had always been known as a bit of a dreamer. The incident with the supposed ‘Exuromagus’ fifteen years ago was chalked up as a trick by all but my father. He truly believed that the Stone of fire had been found.”
“But we know magic exists. There are those who can perform feats, and we know for a fact that it is essential to life. What is the importance of these Stones?”
“Well, those that can perform magical feats are few, and even then their powers are general; they have no specific focus. Usually they know not how to control their abilities. What they want to happen simply happens, but usually only when fueled by an extreme emotional imbalance. The Stones allow the holder a focus on his own personal powers, plus they grant their own specific abilities to the holder.”
“But then how could a Fire Mage move a catapult the way he did? And how did the less important mages get that power?” Malador asked Kemelai.
“What is he talking about?” Luthek asked.
“There were eight mages other than the Exuromagus. They all seemed to be controlling a catapult by magic.”
“They must have simply been training. Field testing, perhaps, to see how well the mages could perform in a real battle.”
“But Malador raises a valid point: how can an Exuromagus control space? That is not a fire-related ability. And how were all of the lesser mages able to do the same?”
Malador jumped in. “Well, perhaps the man had the inherent ability to control aspects of space before he became an Exuromagus. Luthek said that the Magisteine allow the holder to focus on his own abilities also… perhaps this power was heightened?
“Perhaps.” Luthek said. “But how could the lesser mages perform the same feat?”
“We have too many questions and not nearly enough answers,” Luthek stated solemnly. “I fear I may have to call for outside assistance.”
“And who should we call, Highn… er, Luthek?” Kemelai asked. “There are no experts in the field that I have heard of.”
“None that are commonly known of.”
Malador and Kemelai exchanged glances.
“My father had an old friend from the Eastern Lands that he seemed to look up to. He told me they often discussed things such as magic…” He paused. “As for now, I can think of no one to turn to but him.”
“Then we must do so!” Malador said. “We must consult him at once, lest we be taken unprepared!”
Luthek remained silent.
“What is it Luthek? Pardon my impatience, but this is no time for inaction.”
“You are quite right to wish immediate action, Malador, and your drive is one of those qualities that makes you a fine leader. But be not too hasty, or you will trip over the smallest of bumps.”
“Yes, sir…”
“My problem is that I have no idea how to reach this man… this scholar. I know he teaches at an academy in the mountains, but that is all that my father told me. I believe the academy was supposed to be a secret.”
“A secret academy far to the east?” Kemelai questioned. “It sounds like a Bandok hunt.”
A Bandok hunt was a ceremony in which a father took his son into the woods, gave him only a knife, and told him that he was in Bandok territory and that he must defend himself from the aggressive creatures. All the while the child thought that he was alone, the father would be standing just out of his son’s line of sight. Of course, there were no such things as Bandoks, but the test showed the bravery and discipline in the son, and determined his manhood.
“The Edge of the Knownlands! That must be where he is,” Malador exclaimed. “The point where the (1) mountains meet the (2) mountains. It’s as far east as you can go and still remain in the Knownlands.”
“And how do you know this?” Luthek asked.
“It’s… it’s a feeling.” He bowed his head. “One of my hunches.”
“Is it then?”
Malador nodded.
“Well, then. I have learned to trust your hunches, Malador. Seldom are they wrong, and if so, only by misinterpretation. I shall have you look into this.”
Malador instantly perked up.
“I shall have you leave first thing tomorrow.”
“But highness! Luthek!” Kemelai argued. “We can’t leave this place for such a journey! The army needs our leadership…”
“That is why only Malador is going.”
“Sir…”
“No, it is one of his hunches, and I will put my faith in that. If his hunch is right, only he will really know where to look. I put Malador in charge of this one.”
“Yes, sir.” Kemelai bowed his head.
“Now, there is no reason to be despondent. I feel it is for the best of the people, and I hope you trust my decision.”
“Of course, Luthek. If it be your wish, I shall trust it.”
“Then it is settled. Malador will leave tomorrow.”