Will I kill another cape today?
Aldeheid leaned against the windowsill and looked down at his hands. They were no different than any other magician's. Ten fingers, like everyone else. Lines running through his palms, like everyone else. But his hands killed capes.
Unlike everyone else.
"Ready?" Berard's voice cut through his idle pondering. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone in the hall. His friend stood before him like an angel of death sent to whisk him to the other side. If only that were the case. Berard was to escort Aldeheid to the Etheria Bastion's heart, where he'd meet his potential cape. Or potential victim.
"No." Aldeheid started down the hall anyway. As they walked, his feet itched with the temptation to turn and run away. More than once, he gave a longing look back down the corridor, like a puppy who'd been thrown out into the cold. His time would be better spent pouring over tomes and scrolls until he figured out what was wrong with him. But defiance was not in his nature.
"Being nervous about it won't help you," Berard said. "Try to relax."
"I suppose." Aldeheid's face twisted into a scowl. Everyone seemed to think they had the solution to his problem.
It's because you're nervous, they said.
It's because you say the spell a certain way, they said.
Just keep trying, you'll get there, they said.
He didn't need any more useless advice.
His eyes scanned the hall, looking for the usual distractions to veer his attention from what was about to happen. He'd walked this way so many times that he knew the walls and floors better than the person who'd built them. He knew that the windows sat at three meter intervals, on one side of the hall, and sconces were in two meter intervals on the other. He knew that there were exactly thirty-seven mundane paintings and two alcoves, and of the 3,836 variegated stone tiles on the floor, exactly nine hundred were a darker shade of grey than the others.
But most importantly, he knew it did nothing to calm his racing heart.
They stopped in front of the polished wood doors of the antechamber. Voices drifted in from another set of doors further down, carrying the hushed urgency of child-like anticipation.
Berard clapped Aldeheid on the shoulder. "May the gods favour you, my friend."
May the gods do everyone a favour and strike me dead. He opened the door to the antechamber and slammed it with enough force to rattle the windows, as though the wooden barrier could shut out all his problems.
The room's lone occupant jumped and swiveled her head around, her glossy black tresses swaying with the motion. She stared at him with wide, green eyes, one hand over her heart and the other clutching a dagger.
Excellent work, Aldeheid, he thought to himself. Such a stellar first impression. "My apologies," he said, stepping around the stuffy furnishings with care. He approached her slowly, like she was a deer that would bolt at the slightest hint of danger. "I'm Aldeheid." He extended his marked hand, palm up, as was customary.
"Gwen." She placed her pale, dainty hand in his. The elegant swirling lines of her mark were a stark contrast to the sharp jagged nature of his.
Aldeheid felt the magic pulsing through her. Magic he may be free to use if he didn't ruin their trial. Magic another magician would use as a source of their power when he ruined their trial.
He couldn't help but notice how small she was. Granted, everyone was small compared to him, but she was only a head above his waist. That, coupled with her delicate bone structure and lithe form, made her a beauty. And made him feel worse about what was going to happen to her.
Aldeheid found himself hoping that she would stab him. Hate him. Something. Anything to mitigate the guilt burning through his chest. The thought of her as a corpse at his feet made his stomach sour, and while he'd never killed any capes at the Etheria Bastion, he'd killed quite a few in his old home. Which meant Gwen dying by his hands was still a very real, very frightening possibility.
Perhaps they could stay in the antechamber. Talk. They could get to know each other a little better, exchange niceties. He could convince her that this trial was a bad idea. That she'd regret this day.
"Nice earring," she said, pulling him from his thoughts. She tip-toed to flick the gaudy bauble dangling from his ear and looped an arm around his. "Shall we?"
"Did anyone tell you about me?" He bit his tongue. That wasn't meant to be said out loud.
Gwen laughed, a gentle sound that reminded him of wind chimes, and pulled him towards the door. "I was told, but I do like a challenge."
Aldeheid suppressed a groan. "I'm not the kind of challenge you want."
Arm in arm, they walked into the heart of the Bastion. They entered the circular chamber through its heavy wooden double doors. Every magician and cape present at the Bastion was gathered on the upper circle except for Berard and his cape, Anha, who stood near a stone pillar. They gave Aldeheid encouraging nods as he stepped inside.
Morning sunshine streamed through the skylight high above their heads, illuminating the stone pedestal at the room's center. Five empty cauldrons formed a semicircle around it, each with a different symbol etched on its surface.
Under the scrutiny of a hundred gazes, Aldeheid and Gwen stood on either side of the pedestal - the instrument that would allow him to use Gwen's magic without them being bonded. Of course no one would want to miss this. One would think that after so many failures, it would've gotten old. But no, even those who'd been out and about during the wee hours had dragged themselves out of bed to witness his inevitable embarrassment.
Among them were the Bastion's King, Gallitel. He stood with one hand on the banister, his rings winking in the sunlight as he drummed his fingertips on the stone surface. Claudia, his magician, partner, and the Bastion's Queen stood beside him, a scowl plastered on her face and her eyes burning with the fury of a hundred suns. The medics stood to their left, near the stairs, ready for the impending disaster.
Gallitel cleared his throat and the room fell into silence. For a moment, he peered down at the pair, his grey eyes betraying nothing.
"Berard, the spell, please," Gallitel said.
Berard took Anha's hand and a glow settled in her chest. It spread through her body, down her limbs until she was obscured by it. Finally, she morphed into an elegant, silk cape the colour of red wine, and Berard secured her upon his shoulders with a gold clasp. The transition took only a few seconds, and he went straight into reciting a spell.
Aldeheid watched the shimmering barrier form around him and Gwen, stretching up to where the spectators were gathered. Envy burned deep within his gut, and he ground his teeth together to quell his annoyance. That could've been him with a cape on his shoulders, casting magic, were he not such a worthless magician.
"You may begin," Gallitel announced.
Aldeheid placed his marked hand on the pedestal, and Gwen placed hers atop it, giving him a small smile. Please... stop being nice to me. He did his best to return her smile before facing his nemesis.
The cape trial. It was simple, really. All he had to do was light the damn cauldrons with one simple spell. Even a half-witted child could do it. Aldeheid had been through this song and dance so many times that he knew every note, inflection, step and twirl. Yet his execution was always off.
Well, by one definition of the word.
He sucked in a breath and aimed his free hand at the cauldrons. The lilting words of his home language flowed from his lips as he recited the spell. The pedestal grew warm as magic flowed from Gwen, to it, and finally to him. He looked over to make sure she fared well, and she gave him a nod. A sliver of hope wormed its way into his heart as a small flame came to life in each cauldron. But that hope withered and died when the last words of the spell were uttered.
Magic bloomed in the air, thick and heavy, making every breath an agonizing struggle. The cauldrons shook, and the fire within them erupted into a hellish fury. Soft, sweet clinks echoed through the chamber as a spider's web of cracks formed on Berard's barrier.
Aldeheid grabbed hold of Gwen, tucking her small form into his. He ran from the pedestal, ducking behind a pillar just as the air ignited in a fiery maelstrom. Heat enveloped him, licking at his clothes. They grew warm but didn't catch due to the enchantment weaved into the fabric. The fire roared through the room drowning out the shouts from the upper circle
It culminated in a loud bang that shook the Bastion to its core. What followed was a quiet that felt out of place after such commotion. Pebbles and dust rained down, and acrid smoke clouded the air.
Aldeheid coughed and blinked as his lungs burned and his eyes watered. He unfolded his body from Gwen's. She was limp and unmoving in his arms, her skin pale as porcelain and eyes half closed and glassy.
"No..." His heart slammed frantically against his ribs as he felt for her pulse with a shaking hand. "Please, please, please."
Footfalls filled the chamber as Gallitel and Claudia came down from the upper circle along with several other magicians and capes. The former assessed the damage done to the chamber while the latter marched towards Aldeheid in a blaze of fury.
"You animal!" Claudia screeched, and smacked him over the head. The black smudges of soot dirtying her face and her chestnut hair made her look more deranged than she was. "Get away from her!" She snatched Gwen from his arms, passing her off to a medic before pushing Aldeheid to the soot-blackened ground.
Less than a second later, she was on top of him. His head cracked against the stone as her hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard. Her gaze was wild and fiery like a crazed animal's, and her lips curled into a snarl.
He tried to pry her hands away, but her grip was strong, and his vision was darkening. It took the combined strength of Gallitel and Berard to pull her off him.
"Get him out of here," the Bastion's King ordered.
Berard helped Aldeheid up and guided him towards the door. Shards of cauldron crunched under their feet, while ashes fluttered down like dying birds. The podium was split in two, and soot covered the ground and walls, nearly reaching the skylight.
His friend seemed no worse for the wear. His breathing was a little ragged, and sweat dripped down his face, making streaks of his olive skin appear behind the soot that covered it. With Anha in cape form, she wouldn't have felt anything, thankfully.
"Go for a walk," Berard said, neither his voice nor his face holding any malice. They held something worse instead - pity. The kind of pity that one gave a small, injured animal. It fell over Aldeheid like cold rain, chilling him to the bone.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Aldeheid struck the nearest wall, the pain radiating through his hand. Why am I such an idiot? And Gwen... poor Gwen. He wanted to convince himself she was fine. That she would be fine. But he hadn't felt a pulse, or any sign of life.
He sank to the floor and leaned his forehead against the wall. History was repeating itself. A history he thought he'd wanted so badly to be just that. History. His cape-killing curse was supposed to remain in his old home, in Magika, to be forgotten.
Aldeheid swallowed the bile that was salting his tongue. But it did nothing to calm the churning contents of his stomach. He needed to get out. To get away. To breathe some fresh air.
His feet took him down the hall, long strides moving him further and further from the Bastion's heart. For the umpteenth time he'd failed another cape trial. Aldeheid was convinced that he was doomed to remain a capeless magician for all eternity. And perhaps it was better that way.
He looked down at his hands, the cursed hands that had destroyed so many capes before. The cursed hands that couldn't even light the damn cauldrons. Every trial had been the same thing. When he recited his spells, they ignited with a ferocity that capes couldn't handle.
Nicks and burns covered his hands, and the dominant one was swollen from punching the wall. His left cheek was burning, and he rubbed it to make sure it was still smooth. He deserved so much worse.
Aldeheid wandered the halls until he reached the east balcony. The autumn breeze ruffled his clothes as he stepped outside, carrying with it the scent of ripe fruit. Etheria Valley was awash in reds, yellows and oranges as the harvest season reached its peak.
The humans in the village below were going about their daily duties. They were like ants from Aldeheid's vantage point, moving in and out of their stone houses. Children were chasing each other through the streets while adults harvested crops from their personal gardens.
Their lives were so short and yet so simple. No one judged them for their shortcomings. Mistakes were expected and acknowledged and learned from. They made the most of their lot, though it was a hard one. And they looked happy.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there watching them, but eventually he was joined on the balcony by Gallitel. The Bastion's King stood shorter than him - like everyone else - and had delicate features that were offset by his cropped, healthy beard.
"Gwen?" Aldeheid asked.
Gallitel only shook his head, but he may as well had punched Aldeheid in the gut.
He planted his elbows on the banister and buried his face in his hands. His heart shriveled up in his chest. I killed her. The King's next words only reached him subconsciously.
"Listen, I know Mellidius saw promise in you. But we can't keep doing this. You have three days to get out." He turned away, but stopped by the door and looked back. "And please stay away from Claudia. She right cross with you, as am I."
Aldeheid couldn't even be mad, getting kicked out was a light-handed punishment considering what he'd done. But the problem was, he had nowhere to go.
***
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