Marvel ducked his head even lower at Grandmaster Darius' command. He hoped the Grandmasters saw it as a sign of respect, rather than the desperate attempt to hide his face that it was.
"Tell me exactly how you came tumbling out of Orson Baldrik's portal."
Why in Satis' Seven Paradises did the Grandmasters care about how he'd fallen through the portal?
Was Orson Baldrik so outraged that Marvel had used a portal without permission or payment? Had Baylin reported that it was a miracle Marvel was still alive despite his ruined centre? But why did that matter? The Conclave of Grandmasters surely wouldn't care about an ordinary, powerless maverick, miracle or not.
The only explanation was that they somehow knew what had happened to Marvel before he had come through the portal. The thought made him swallow hard, relieved his face was turned away from the Grandmasters so they couldn't see his expression.
How much did they actually know?
If they were sure his story was connected to Fusion magic in some way, he would have been killed instead of summoned. Why did they need him to tell them what happened when they could simply look into the past? He had heard they could do things like that.
The Conclave could read thoughts off people's minds and see time from every angle. They could know a place's entire history just by stepping into it. They shouldn't need Marvel to tell them anything.
Which meant they had to know something had happened, but not exactly what.
Marvel's stomach eased a little. He kept his eyes on the tips of Grandmaster Darius' boots and the surface of the mirror beneath them.
Either that, or I'm wrong and they're tricking me into a false sense of security. And then, they'll kill me.
"Have you suddenly lost your hearing?" a woman's voice snarled. "Did you not hear the Grandmaster command you to raise your head and answer him?"
Marvel whipped up his head. The woman who spoke was the one who had been pleased with his earlier show of respect. Now, she glared down at him, her jaw taut with anger. She wore the same dull silver robes as Darius, but was taller than him. All the other Grandmasters except Darius were about eight feet tall, but she was a head and a half taller. Her blonde hair gleamed metallic, like gold, and her eyes were the same eerie silver as Darius'.
"Fable." Grandmaster Darius sent her a cautioning look.
Grandmaster Fable's jaw tightened further, but she remained silent. Her icy glance made Marvel want to fall on his face and beg her forgiveness.
Before he could do something foolish, Darius' attention returned to him. His stare was hard as flint. Marvel could tell he was quickly beginning to lose his patience.
How do I handle this?
"Honoured Grandmasters," he began, avoiding Darius' eyes. He was aiming for pathetic now, rather than reverent. "Your lowly servant found himself in grave danger and is only thankful to his god that Sorcerer Orson's portal appeared in time."
"And how exactly did you find yourself in such danger?" asked an older male Grandmaster. This one had a long, snowy white beard draped across his robes and a kindly, wrinkled face that seemed used to smiling. He wasn't smiling now.
"I—" Marvel licked his suddenly dry lips, shifting his feet nervously. "I mean— your servant was only..."
The Grandmasters all watched him expectantly. These godlike giants with eyes like lightning.
He didn't have to fake his gulp. "Uh, your servant... was... running errands for his master..."
"Were you now?" The fourth Grandmaster finally spoke.
She was the shortest of them all, though still much taller than Marvel. The dark skin of her bare arms was covered in strange tattoos that looked more like molten silver dripped over her skin in changing patterns. They gave him the same unsettling feeling the tapestries in the hallways had.
"I—" He shrank back from her unyielding gaze. "I— er—"
"Didn't I say," Darius thundered, "to tell me the truth? Do you want to test what happens when you disobey?"
"Of course not," Marvel hurried to say. "Your servant would never—"
"What. Happened?" Power crackled around Darius, sparking and snapping. The hairs on the back of Marvel's neck stood on end.
He finally raised his eyes to meet Darius'. It was easy to pretend to be cowed into telling the truth. "Your servant is afraid of punishment and begs the Conclave of Grandmasters for mercy—"
"Speak," Darius ordered. "What did you do?"
"Your servant found in his master's tomes—" Marvel looked down at the floor "—an elixir that would grant him a chance at— at—" He feigned hesitation.
"At?" snapped Fable.
He flinched at her venomous tone. "At becoming a mage." Seeing their eyes narrow, he rushed on without pausing, "Your servant was born with a weak centre and finds it difficult to harvest athar. Honoured Master Baylin declared there was no helping him, and shamefully, he stole one of her books to discover a cure of his own."
"And you left on a journey to gather ingredients?" asked the grandfatherly Magus.
Marvel paused, letting silence reveal his guilt. "Your servant should not have been greedy, should have been satisfied with his place. But he was accosted by two Second Circle golems. Sorcerer Baldrik's portal appeared, and your servant recognized the craftsmanship and jumped in to escape."
Satis, let them believe me. He had forged a lie that would make him look bad enough to be believable. Stealing from a Higher Mage and attempting to use elixirs to become a Mage were grave crimes that could earn him time in the dungeons. No sane person would admit that to the Grandmasters. But the dungeons were a far better option than death.
"I rather think," Fable said, sounding oddly delighted, "little boy, that you are under the impression a mere maverick can lie to the Conclave of Grandmasters."
Marvel's whole body went cold. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He sank onto his backside, moving back. "I— your servant did not mean—"
Darius' palm struck his sternum with such force that Marvel was certain his ribs shattered under it. The rest of his sentence, and what felt like his soul, was knocked out of him.
Unfortunately, Marvel was spared the agony of actually feeling his chest implode under the force of Darius' blow. No. He was watching it happen, floating above his body like a ghost. Panicked, Marvel glanced down at his hands. All he saw was air where they should be. No, he didn't have hands, didn't have eyes.
What the fu—
Darius abruptly withdrew his palm and Marvel felt himself being pulled back into his body. He cried out as his ribs snapped back into place, his lungs and heart inflating once more.
Tears stung his eyes. Did I just fucking die again?
"Do you think this is a joke, Marvel Satis?" Darius stood over him, eyes blazing with silvery flames. "I have just killed you, and I have brought you back to life without so much as a strained breath. Do I seem like someone you are allowed to lie to?"
Marvel felt his lungs lock up with the same terror he had felt waking in the cave. He had just died. Again. Fucking again.
"You left with a contingent of mages that it seems the entire Academy has forgotten," Darius said. "You are the only one to return despite having no power. Your centre is gone and you are somehow alive. And the place where Orson Baldrik sent his portal seems to have never existed. It seems you are at the heart of this, and you will tell me why. You will tell me..."
Marvel couldn't focus on the Grandmaster's words anymore. His mind slipped away from the conversation, numb with shock. Shaking, he pushed himself to his hands and knees and stared at the floor. Was this to be his lot in life? Killed by a golem, a warlock, or a mage? Killed, because he couldn't do anything about it?
Even as a child, he had known how powerful mages were l. They needed fear nothing because they could do anything. The thought of having that power had driven him for eight years. Despite his weak centre, despite the obvious fact that he would probably never be a mage, he had been desperate for it. All the humiliation and violence he had suffered had seemed worth it if he could just reach what he wanted.
But now he understood what power truly was.
Darius had killed him with a single strike of his palm, and brought him back to life immediately after.
And that was what power was, wasn't it? To hold a person's life in your hands, to toy with it like a child would with a doll. With no consequence, no regard for anything, no limitations.
To be without that power—to be the doll—wasn't a life worth living, was it?
He now understood that dying was only an acknowledgment of the power he didn't wield yet. A weakness.
In his fight with the golems, he had sworn never to die again. There was no point in living on without the power to ensure his own survival.
An unshakable resolve formed within him, hardening like rock: either he would gain that power, or he would die. There was no other option.
And if he ever achieved such an impossible dream, he was coming for Darius Hagan first.
A coolness washed over him, draining his fear. The Grandmasters could kill him if they thought he was dangerous or lying. He could become a snivelling worm at their feet. Or, he could leverage this to gain an advantage. What he needed to do was to calm down and think.
How did they remember Marvel's friends when Baylin and Aisling and presumably everyone had forgotten?
"Clever little liar, isn't he?" the grandfatherly Grandmaster asked, drawing Marvel's attention back to the conversation. "Framing himself for a crime he didn't commit just so he won't have to tell the truth. One only wonders what terrible thing he must be covering up."
"He'll speak if he doesn't know what's good for him. Any luck breaking in his mind?" asked Fable.
"It's all a jumble," said the tattooed Magus. "You should not have killed him, Darius. Now we can hardly make sense of his thoughts."
"He's afraid," Fable scoffed. "What else would he be thinking of?"
Darius didn't participate in the conversation.
Rising to his knees, Marvel met the Grandmaster's gaze. Something must have shown in his eyes. Whatever it was, it had Darius' brow furrowing, crinkling in fury.
"Honoured Grandmasters," Marvel said. He could feel their lightning gazes whip his way. "I apologise for my deception. I was afraid that the truth would earn me a more grievous punishment."
"And what would that truth be, boy?" asked the Grandfather.
Taking a breath to think, Marvel pushed any emotion out of his voice as he began to speak. "There was a group of mages assigned to a village six miles north of Ayre to deal with the threat of some First and Second Circle golems that were terrorising farmers. I knew of it because—" He felt his breath hitch, the grief he was trying to avoid crawling up his throat. "Some friends of mine—Novices—had been assigned. I decided to join them on their assignment—"
"To do what?" Fable made a sound of disgust. "What would a maverick do against golems except get killed?"
"I wanted to prove myself." His voice cracked under the weight of the truth. "To become a mage, all I had to do was kill one golem, right? Just one. Then I'd be a Novice. After the night before, I thought I had nothing to lose anymore. I thought…" Gripping his knees, Marvel gnawed on the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. "I was wrong. I barely survived the battle. And after that…"
Darius' voice was all restrained impatience. "And after that?"
"My friends—the other mages wanted to go to a tavern to celebrate. And then the ambush came."
Marvel remembered the dawning horror on Flynn's dark face as he turned around to face the sudden arrival of the horde of Fourth and higher Circle golems. Beside him, Adia had begun muttering a prayer of protection. Pidge had cursed bitterly.
"Adept Quinn Killian ordered a retreat and sent a fire call to Sorcerer Orson Baldrik," Marvel continued, though his mouth suddenly tasted of ash. "The others were beholden to obey him. I—was not."
And that was how his friends died because he'd been foolish. Because he had been so, so foolish.
"You attacked." The tattooed Grandmaster didn't make it sound like a question.
"My pride was hurt," Marvel said. "I was hopeless. I thought it would be better to die since I couldn't have what I wanted. They didn't let me go alone. Quinn—Adept Quinn ordered the entire band to hold off for as long as possible until the portal came. I saw—" He allowed his voice to tremble, allowed the grief to muffle his words. "I saw my friends fall right as the portal came."
And that, Marvel thought, was enough truth for one day.
"A warlock appeared." He poured the remembered fear of the warlock in the cave into his story. "During the battle. She was so powerful. She melted Quinn into nothing with only a look. And she did something to the time. Everything slowed down. I thought it was only the battle that made it feel that way, but things were slowing down, speeding up. It was—" He shook his head. Time manipulation spells didn't work that way. He was counting on the Grandmaster's lack of knowledge of warlock magic to fill in the blanks.
"Yes, yes, and then what else did she do?" Fable snapped.
"She cast this spell that hit everyone. It shattered my centre. I could feel it." The Grandmasters suddenly wore thoughtful looks, as if they were trying to figure out the spell. All except for Darius, whose unwavering gaze didn't falter. "It killed a lot of the mages. Should have killed me, maybe, but Quinn jumped in front of me so only some of it hit me. And then he pushed me into the portal."
Silence blanketed the hall.
"Why didn't he come through?" asked the oldest Grandmaster.
"I don't know, Honoured One," Marvel said. "He was dutiful. Maybe he wanted to make sure she didn't get through? I don't know."
"He should have," muttered Fable. "He might have been more useful."
"Did the warlock tell you her name?" inquired the tattooed Grandmaster. "What did she look like?"
"I don't know." Marvel shook his head again. "I was knocked out during the battle and don't remember much. I don't think she gave a name, but I think the golems may have been hers."
"Why would she attack a group of Lesser Mages?" Fable asked.
"I don't kn—"
"Oh, for Lenora's sake, do you know anything at all?" she boomed, furious.
This time, Marvel's heart didn't quake. He pretended the motions of terror though, pressing his forehead against the floor.
"He barely saw anything," the oldest Grandmaster said, dismissively. "Can't you see what he's thinking? He led the group to their deaths and hid while they perished."
"Like a coward."
"Like a maverick." This was from Darius, who was now staring at Marvel curiously. "He took the wisest course of action in the circumstances."
"Your servant apologises that he cannot be of more assistance," Marvel said, pushing down his anger. Thank Satis, they can't read my thoughts. I would be dead by now.
"That is no matter," the elderly-looking Grandmaster said, smiling softly. "You have been more help than you know. We must request, however, that you do not repeat this information to anyone else."
"I have already put a geas on him," Fable said. Her mouth formed a cruel curve. "Should he speak of it to anyone, his tongue will melt in his head."
And I didn't even feel it. Marvel brimmed with fury that begged to be released. She didn't even warn me. How would she like it if I did the same to her?
The shadows were thrilled at the prospect. They thought it a marvellous idea.
That, more than his common sense or logic, stopped his anger cold. He recalled the shadows, erasing the mountain around him with their touch. No, no, no.
The shadows were not pleased with his lack of resolve.
"And what shall we do with you then?"
Darius peered at him with those flashing silver eyes. "You led mages to their death because of a selfish, impossible desire. Yet, you haven't broken any of ours or the King's Laws. You must, of course, be banished from the Academy."
Marvel felt cold shock pour through him. Banished from the Academy? No. No, no, no, no.
"A reward," the elderly Grandmaster said. "He will have to be banished, yes, but surely we can give him something."
Fable spun around to protest.
"He has survived a great ordeal," the elderly Grandmaster continued before she could voice her dissent. "And has brought us valuable information—"
"—after lying to us first—"
"—and he has promised to keep his adventure a secret."
"If he speaks of it, his skull will shatter," Fable said, not without a little glee.
Will my skull shatter or will my tongue melt? Marvel wondered mutinously. Which is it?
"Surely, we can think of something to thank him, can we not, Darius?" The older-looking Magus beamed at their leader, who still regarded Marvel with an unreadable look.
For a long moment, he was silent. Marvel silently prayed to Satis harder than he had ever prayed in his life. I will offer you a sacrifice every month. Please, let him agree.
"Do you think you deserve a reward, boy?" Darius asked. "After what you caused? After attempting to deceive your betters?"
"Your servant would dare not speak of a reward beyond your Honoured self's forgiveness for his actions," Marvel said.
"But surely he can hope," said Darius darkly.
"He will ask for gold," the tattooed Grandmaster said. "Mavericks are obsessed with that sort of thing. Give him a sack of lucre and he'll be on his way, far from us, and more importantly, His Majesty by the time the Ascension Ceremony rolls around."
The air in the room changed after that. Marvel perked up at the mention of the annual ceremony. It was interesting how they didn't want his story anywhere near the King. Perhaps he could use that.
Suddenly all their eyes pierced him again, dark with apprehension.
"I say kill him and be done with it," Fable suggested. "You already did it before."
"And have Baylin Pelen's fury kindled against us?" Darius tightened his jaw gravely. "It would earn us more problems than we already have."
Marvel's heart raced almost painfully. "A month."
"What?" The Magus' wrinkled face crinkled further in bemusement.
"I want to join the Novice class for a month," Marvel said. That would give him enough time to come up with a plan. "After that is over, then I will leave the Academy for good, as you request."
"You don't want gold?" asked the perplexed, tattooed Grandmaster.
"Why?" asked Fable, more curious than spiteful this time.
"It was my dream to become a mage," he said. "To become one of you. Now that can't possibly happen, I just want one single month just to know what it would have been like, had I succeeded before—" Marvel swallowed. "Before I leave for good."
"This child." Fable cooed in amusement. "He forgets that one must be a mage to be admitted. Tell me, child, have you killed a golem before?"
Marvel hung his head. Not one he could admit to killing anyway. But he had, hadn't he? An idea struck him, and he glanced hopefully at his sleeve.
Fable's voice distracted him. "Therefore, you cannot—"
"Alright." Darius' voice stunned her into silence.
Marvel's chest lightened with hope and filled with fear all at the same time. Did Darius just—had he just—
"Darius," Fable said slowly, disbelief plastered across her face. "You cannot be seri—"
"If that is all you request," Darius boomed, the authority in his voice so final even Fable didn't dare to interrupt again, "then so be it. Marvel Satis, the Conclave of Grandmasters hereby admits you into the Academy of Mages."