Chapter 1

As the sewers exploded behind me, I could at least comfort myself saying that this time it wasn’t my fault. I dodged the flaming debris as best as I could, but as I glanced back, I saw a manhole cover rocketing towards a young boy who stood frozen in shock and fear. Too rushed even to curse, I drew the previously stored spell from the copper-lined ring on my hand and, with a quick mental spellweave and the keyed command, “Sproxte!” sent the bluish bolt of pure magical force lancing towards the hundred-pound hunk of metal. The iron screamed in protest as my magic blasted it away before it could smash into the child’s chest.

I hadn’t been thinking clearly when I’d sent my prepared evocation hurtling towards the life threatening shrapnel, and as my spell made contact, I heard the highest bone in my middle finger snap as winds burst into being around me. My ring, as the focus for my magic, jolted back in response to the resistance my force bolt had encountered as it smashed into the manhole cover. Agony surged and blinded me for a moment as my bones pulverized. I gritted my teeth, holding back a scream as my vision returned. Only the windburst enchantment on my ring kept my middle finger attached.

There was no time for me to wallow in the torment of my newly shattered bone, as there were still more explosions and shrapnel due to resume peppering the terrified crowd. Most nearby were intelligent enough to look for cover, but the damned kid, awed by my casual use of magic, had turned to look at me with his jaw hanging wide open. I sprinted towards him as my mind raced to form another force bolt’s mental construct. Without the use of some sort of an arcane focus, the spell would be weakened, but it could be the difference between life or death, and I’d need my hand free to save the frozen kid, so no focus it was. My mind had long been familiarized with the strange, three dimensional constructs that made up all magic, and even in the high-stress situation of being surrounded by exploding sewers and flaming feces that were absolutely not my fault this time, it would only be the task of several seconds’ thought to prepare the construct for my evocation.

“C’mon, kid! Gotta move, move, move, MOVE!” My voice raised to a shrill scream on the last repetition as I felt the rumblings of a secondary detonation underground beginning in earnest. The cobblestones underfoot threatened to fully buckle under the pressure, and I unceremoniously bundled the young boy under my right arm as I resumed my sprint away from the mounting chaos.

As the flaming debris began to set the stalls alight in this minor street market, the little curses in my mind quickly began to shift to wordless panic. While this fire legitimately wasn’t my fault, I was somewhat involved in its origin, and I wasn’t about to let dozens of innocent people lose their livelihoods to a local fire if I could help it. With a brief sigh of relaxation, I let the force bolt’s mental construct fade from my mind and gave myself a second to gather myself and my will as I slowed from my sprint and set the boy down far enough away that I hoped he would be able to keep himself safe. Then, taking a deep breath to gather myself and what little courage I could, I ran back towards the epicenter of the growing explosions and flames as I drew the coburite-handled rod from my vest.

There’s a reason why there are so few Mages in the city, and my pigheaded pride might be about to reduce that number by one. Drawing on the increased focus and amplified will granted by my attuned coburite, I channeled my thoughts into a different, more familiar mental construct, one granting the ability to manipulate flames and would allow me to enforce my will over the conflagration.

In this case, I wouldn’t be able to stop the explosions. They were already happening, and though I was no slouch, I wasn’t one of the old monsters who’d been around for centuries who could, with just a single word, force the world itself to bow to their power. Instead, I focused on what I could change: the movement and growth of flames.

With the assistance of the coburite, my mind cooled and forgot the distracting agony of the splintered bones in my middle finger. I quickly formed the spell construct within my mind, seamlessly skipping steps 2, 7, and 14 before the spell’s formation clicked into place. The calm within my coburite reserves was bottoming out, but now that I’d finished the flame manipulation’s construct, I didn’t need the meditative level of self-discipline the magical alloy provided. Instead, I let the dregs of mental fortitude drain back into my rod and as the shocking pain of my finger jolted back into me, I began to enforce my will over the raging flames with a firm command.

“Iremo!”

The crescendoing pops of people’s livelihoods going up in smoke mocked my efforts as the fire continued consuming and growing, threatening the dozens of wooden stalls here in the Greens. With a snarl, I repeated the command, this time with a shout.

“IREMO!”

As I forced my will and power through my mental construct, I could feel the rage and power and heat leach from the inferno. The price I had to pay made itself immediately apparent as I felt my body’s temperature surge upward. The sweat coating my body began to steam off me as I felt my organs immediately fail, but before even a second could pass, I mentally tapped the reserves within the braided copper and silver bracelet on my right wrist. The deluge of cold that washed through my body fought against the fires of the flames I was forcing down, and I could feel myself shiver even as my magic fought to cook my insides.

Before a minute had passed, I could feel the reserves of cold in my bracelet dwindling to nothing, but I had done enough–the inferno’s rage had weakened enough not to continue devouring the block, and a fire brigade had arrived and begun using their petty magics to douse the flames and kill the embers. I dropped the mental construct of my flame manipulation and allowed my bracelet’s soothing cool to fade to nothing, and only then did I realize that I was panting feverishly. I fought to catch my breath, my chest pushing against the constricting tailored vest with each inhale. The exertions of my sprinting escape from the sewers combined with the stresses of my magical workings had done quite a number on my body, and, deciding that trying to stay on my feet was an additional exercise in prideful stupidity, I leaned against a nearby brick wall and sank to my butt.

I bowed my head as I tried to recover, and my sweat-slicked hair fell into my face. Too tired to flick my head or use my physical hand, I willed my spectral hand to push back the wet hair from stinging my eyes. I was even too tired to go through the motions of the hand being connected to my arm’s stump, the hand floating out of my sleeve to push my hair and head back. I kept my head up as well as I could to watch the fire brigade do their work.

Compared to true capital M Mages, the people in the fire brigade were only barely magical enough to be considered citizens, and people of their prowess were often pressed into dangerous jobs such as firefighting, street sweeping, and garden tending. The sacrifices and efforts the petty mages of the city made every day inspired me and made them heroes in my eyes. They did much more for Kormos and its people than all of us “true” Mages’ grand gestures and posturing could hope to. Their limited magics and training didn’t keep them from putting forward their best efforts and fighting to contain the blaze. Dozens of limited streams of water flooded into the three stalls that had been fully ignited, and I felt a pang of remorse as I saw the workplaces’ state. I could feel my lips chap as the moisture was sucked from all the surrounding air to continue fuelling the water magics.

Five or so minutes later, I had recovered enough to rise to my feet and return to looking at my surroundings. The stalls filling this street in the Greens mostly sold foodstuffs and daily necessities, so I found some solace in the fact that the three stalls whose products had been completely incinerated would probably be able to recover. Though the other dozens of shops had been scorched and threatened by the flames, it didn’t look like they’d sustained any serious damages.

With the flames contained and nearly entirely extinguished, the streets returned to their usual austere blue light under the presence of the wardlamps. The concrete base of the wardlamp closest to the sewer I’d escaped from was cracked, and the pole had begun to tilt over, the even blue light that the lamp was supposed to emanate was instead flickering unevenly.

“Smoke and ashes.” I cursed under my breath as I realized the public damages sustained on the road. There was a brief moment of instinctual fear that surged within me as I saw the gap in the wardlamps’ protective aura, and I looked up, terrified I’d see a Corrupted that had somehow been prepared for this weakness. There was no movement from the permanently black sky, though I did see a brief hint of light coloring the impenetrable clouds that made the omnipresent darkness.

Now that I had stood and begun to move, the frightened crowd began to press closer to me, their questions quickly growing in size and volume.

“Are you a Photomancer?”

“Did the Academy send you?”

“You a member of the Magisterium?”

“Did you blow that up?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Thanks for saving us!”

The burgeoning words suddenly went quiet, and then a happy voice called out, “It’s the Blues!” As the happy cheers filled and echoed throughout the street, I instead began swearing under my breath as I tried to tactfully extract myself from the press of excited people. I stepped forward into the crowd, not looking behind me as I hunched my shoulders and walked away, hoping to avoid notice. A firm hand clapped onto my shoulder, the fingers digging painfully into my flesh.

“Krollas!” the schadenfreude-filled voice called me by name. Ashes. I turned and looked Silvara right in his stupid, blotchy face. “If it isn’t my favorite Unbound Mage!”