ChrisNuttall
Well-known member
Prologue, Five Years Ago
“Are you paying attention?”
John, Son of John, tried not to flinch as Master Yemen bore down on him. Magical Engineering was an interesting class, under other circumstances, but the lecture had been boring and he’d spent most of it staring at Katrina Amador. She was so different from the girls he’d known in the village, in so many ways, that she’d caught his attention without ever trying. He wanted to speak to her and yet he found himself tongue-tied every time he tried.
“Yes, Master,” John lied.
He braced himself, expecting everything from a stern lecture to a punishment that would leave him scarred for life. Master Yemen wasn’t known for being kind to students who didn’t pay attention in his class. The lectures might be long and boring, but they imparted information the students desperately needed when they moved to practical work. John had devised a small charm to help him recall the tutor’s words and yet, for reasons he’d yet to figure out, it wasn’t perfect. The recorded words lacked a certain immediacy.
“I see,” Master Yemen said. “Perhaps you could explain, to the class, the importance of attaching one’s Motivator to one’s Locomotive?”
John silently thanked all the gods he’d read ahead. “The Motivator provides the power for the Locomotive, but the power can spill out in all directions if the connections are not hardwired into the device,” he said. “If that happens, the very best you can expect is the device simply melting or warping under the influx of tainted magic.”
Master Yemen cocked his head, sharply. “And at worst?”
“The device will explode,” John said. He was still hazy on precisely where the magic power came from, before it was channelled into the device, but there were enough horror stories for him to guess the answer. “Or anyone standing nearby will wish it had exploded.”
“A fanciful answer, but technically correct.” Master Yemen turned and walked back to the front of the class. “As you can see, the Motivator is a vitally important piece of modern magic. It provides the clean magic we rely on to run our devices and” – his voice lightened slightly – “it was invented by our very own headmaster.”
John kept his face under tight control. Headmaster Greyshade was a hero. Everyone said as much and, to be fair, he really had done most of the things they said he’d done. He was the sole surviving magician from the old days, before the Cataclysm had shattered the world-spanning civilisation beyond repair and reduced the known world to thirteen kingdoms on the edge of a warped and twisted landscape, and the one who’d first codified the new principles of magic that brought sorcery back into the world, but … John didn’t trust him. He wasn’t sure why, yet his instincts insisted there was something wrong with the headmaster. He smiled too much.
And the way everyone kisses his arse doesn’t help, he reflected. He’d grown up in a village where everyone had to pretend they liked the local landlord, even though they wouldn’t shed a tear if he was brutally murdered by wild wizards or outlaws, but the old bastard hadn’t received even a hundredth of the flattery poured on Greyshade. There were times when it seemed everyone was competing to come up with newer and better ways to crawl in front of him, begging for his favour. Does anyone really know the real him?
Master Yemen continued. “You will be provided with Motivators for your practical work,” he said, his tone returning to normal. “You will be expected, at the end of the year, to produce a working device, one that channels the power into something useful. Something magical. Remember, plain and simple is better than flashy and complex.”
John nodded. The old man was right about that. The more complex the designs, the harder it was to put them into practice and the greater the chance of something going spectacularly wrong. The wreckage of the days of yore, where sorcerers had built castles in the clouds or great flying cities or even compressed giant mansions into simple apartment blocks, stood in mute testament to the folly of relying too much on magic. John had no idea how many of the stories were true, and how many had grown in the telling, but he didn’t have to walk far to see the ruins of bygone days. The older students had dared him to spend a night in the ruins a few months ago. The prefects had put a stop to it before he’d left the school.
Katrina Amador stuck up her hand. Master Yemen barely looked at her. “Yes, Miss Amador?”
“You tell us you’ll be providing us with Motivators,” Katrina said. If she was insulted by his lack of regard, she didn’t show it. “Why don’t you teach us how to make them for ourselves?”
Master Yemen stared at her for a long moment. “If you had read your textbooks, you would have noted that Motivators are extremely complex pieces of magical engineering, requiring a level of skill far beyond fourteen-year-old students. They are generally produced by magicians who have spent years honing their craft, magicians who have been practicing magic longer than you have been alive. I would not expect this class to produce a working Motivator. It would be like expecting a child to take up adult responsibilities before even leaving the crib.”
John saw Katrina flush and felt a hot flash of anger. “Master,” he said before he could think better of it, “why are there no instructions for producing Motivators in the library.”
“Because their design is a state secret,” Master Yemen said, tartly. “The craftsmen who produce them, young man, take oaths of secrecy so intense they literally cannot share the details in any way, shape or form. The secret must not be allowed to get out.”
“Yes, Master,” John said. “But …”
Master Yemen eyed him nastily. “But what?”
John hesitated, trying to put his arguments into words. The hell of it was that he had a pretty good argument, if he was willing to discuss his past. He’d grown up in a village where half the work was done by hand and the rest by animals. Access to even a handful of the wonders he’d seen as a student magician would change the villagers lives for the better, but there was no hope of that as long as the supply of magical devices was so limited. And while the textbooks hadn’t made it explicit, John knew enough to deduce the reason the supply was so limited. There just weren’t enough Motivators to go around.
But he couldn’t say it. He’d learnt to keep his mouth shut about his origins.
“The shortage of Motivators limits the expansion of our society,” he said, finally. “If we had more, we’d be able to expand faster and develop newer and better ways to make use of magic, instead of relying on cables and …”
Master Yemen cut him off. “You are aware, of course, that the widespread use of magic played a major role in the collapse of the old world? They used magic for everything! They built their homes out of magic, raised great towers out of magic, lifted cities to the skies through magic … and when the laws of magic changed, that society crumbled to dust and died. We dare not risk the loss of our society. If we put the secret out, if we let everyone produce their own Motivators, what will happen to our world?”
Greyshade would no longer be in control, John thought. The headmaster didn’t rule the world, not precisely, but he had enough influence to ensure his suggestions were almost always taken for orders. His control over the new magic was almost absolute. And who knows who’d take his place?
“We might have more healing spells,” he said, instead. It was funny how Motivators made it easier to devise spells and potions, even though they could be cast or brewed without one. “Or newer and better sliders and landships and …”
“We must not repeat the mistakes of the past,” Master Yemen said. “And you can write me an essay on the dangers of allowing uncontrolled magic to fall into unworthy hands, for … I think the end of the week.”
John groaned. A punishment essay. He’d sooner take the manual labour. The aristos might bitch and moan about having to go chores – oh, the horror – but he’d grown up in a village. Chopping firewood was hardly a new thing for him. He’d even earned some money by working for the janitor, doing tasks that were unpleasant but hardly difficult. And yet the aristos made them sound worse than being flogged to death.
He sighed, inwardly, as Master Yemen started assigning partnerships. He had little love for his village’s landlord, nor the greater master above him who served a greater lord in turn. The man wasn’t a complete fool, but … who knew what he’d do if he found himself with unrestricted magic? Or the kings … they might swear blind they could trace their ancestry back thousands of years, yet in truth they were little more than lucky warlords. What would they do, if Greyshade gave them unrestricted access to magic …?
“Hi,” a female voice said. John looked up to see Katrina. “It seems we’ll be working together.”
John blinked, feeling his heart start to race. “We are?”
“Yeah.” Katrina sat beside him and shoved a sheaf of papers under his nose. “And I already have great plans for our project. We’ll get the highest grade in the class.”
And they did.
“Are you paying attention?”
John, Son of John, tried not to flinch as Master Yemen bore down on him. Magical Engineering was an interesting class, under other circumstances, but the lecture had been boring and he’d spent most of it staring at Katrina Amador. She was so different from the girls he’d known in the village, in so many ways, that she’d caught his attention without ever trying. He wanted to speak to her and yet he found himself tongue-tied every time he tried.
“Yes, Master,” John lied.
He braced himself, expecting everything from a stern lecture to a punishment that would leave him scarred for life. Master Yemen wasn’t known for being kind to students who didn’t pay attention in his class. The lectures might be long and boring, but they imparted information the students desperately needed when they moved to practical work. John had devised a small charm to help him recall the tutor’s words and yet, for reasons he’d yet to figure out, it wasn’t perfect. The recorded words lacked a certain immediacy.
“I see,” Master Yemen said. “Perhaps you could explain, to the class, the importance of attaching one’s Motivator to one’s Locomotive?”
John silently thanked all the gods he’d read ahead. “The Motivator provides the power for the Locomotive, but the power can spill out in all directions if the connections are not hardwired into the device,” he said. “If that happens, the very best you can expect is the device simply melting or warping under the influx of tainted magic.”
Master Yemen cocked his head, sharply. “And at worst?”
“The device will explode,” John said. He was still hazy on precisely where the magic power came from, before it was channelled into the device, but there were enough horror stories for him to guess the answer. “Or anyone standing nearby will wish it had exploded.”
“A fanciful answer, but technically correct.” Master Yemen turned and walked back to the front of the class. “As you can see, the Motivator is a vitally important piece of modern magic. It provides the clean magic we rely on to run our devices and” – his voice lightened slightly – “it was invented by our very own headmaster.”
John kept his face under tight control. Headmaster Greyshade was a hero. Everyone said as much and, to be fair, he really had done most of the things they said he’d done. He was the sole surviving magician from the old days, before the Cataclysm had shattered the world-spanning civilisation beyond repair and reduced the known world to thirteen kingdoms on the edge of a warped and twisted landscape, and the one who’d first codified the new principles of magic that brought sorcery back into the world, but … John didn’t trust him. He wasn’t sure why, yet his instincts insisted there was something wrong with the headmaster. He smiled too much.
And the way everyone kisses his arse doesn’t help, he reflected. He’d grown up in a village where everyone had to pretend they liked the local landlord, even though they wouldn’t shed a tear if he was brutally murdered by wild wizards or outlaws, but the old bastard hadn’t received even a hundredth of the flattery poured on Greyshade. There were times when it seemed everyone was competing to come up with newer and better ways to crawl in front of him, begging for his favour. Does anyone really know the real him?
Master Yemen continued. “You will be provided with Motivators for your practical work,” he said, his tone returning to normal. “You will be expected, at the end of the year, to produce a working device, one that channels the power into something useful. Something magical. Remember, plain and simple is better than flashy and complex.”
John nodded. The old man was right about that. The more complex the designs, the harder it was to put them into practice and the greater the chance of something going spectacularly wrong. The wreckage of the days of yore, where sorcerers had built castles in the clouds or great flying cities or even compressed giant mansions into simple apartment blocks, stood in mute testament to the folly of relying too much on magic. John had no idea how many of the stories were true, and how many had grown in the telling, but he didn’t have to walk far to see the ruins of bygone days. The older students had dared him to spend a night in the ruins a few months ago. The prefects had put a stop to it before he’d left the school.
Katrina Amador stuck up her hand. Master Yemen barely looked at her. “Yes, Miss Amador?”
“You tell us you’ll be providing us with Motivators,” Katrina said. If she was insulted by his lack of regard, she didn’t show it. “Why don’t you teach us how to make them for ourselves?”
Master Yemen stared at her for a long moment. “If you had read your textbooks, you would have noted that Motivators are extremely complex pieces of magical engineering, requiring a level of skill far beyond fourteen-year-old students. They are generally produced by magicians who have spent years honing their craft, magicians who have been practicing magic longer than you have been alive. I would not expect this class to produce a working Motivator. It would be like expecting a child to take up adult responsibilities before even leaving the crib.”
John saw Katrina flush and felt a hot flash of anger. “Master,” he said before he could think better of it, “why are there no instructions for producing Motivators in the library.”
“Because their design is a state secret,” Master Yemen said, tartly. “The craftsmen who produce them, young man, take oaths of secrecy so intense they literally cannot share the details in any way, shape or form. The secret must not be allowed to get out.”
“Yes, Master,” John said. “But …”
Master Yemen eyed him nastily. “But what?”
John hesitated, trying to put his arguments into words. The hell of it was that he had a pretty good argument, if he was willing to discuss his past. He’d grown up in a village where half the work was done by hand and the rest by animals. Access to even a handful of the wonders he’d seen as a student magician would change the villagers lives for the better, but there was no hope of that as long as the supply of magical devices was so limited. And while the textbooks hadn’t made it explicit, John knew enough to deduce the reason the supply was so limited. There just weren’t enough Motivators to go around.
But he couldn’t say it. He’d learnt to keep his mouth shut about his origins.
“The shortage of Motivators limits the expansion of our society,” he said, finally. “If we had more, we’d be able to expand faster and develop newer and better ways to make use of magic, instead of relying on cables and …”
Master Yemen cut him off. “You are aware, of course, that the widespread use of magic played a major role in the collapse of the old world? They used magic for everything! They built their homes out of magic, raised great towers out of magic, lifted cities to the skies through magic … and when the laws of magic changed, that society crumbled to dust and died. We dare not risk the loss of our society. If we put the secret out, if we let everyone produce their own Motivators, what will happen to our world?”
Greyshade would no longer be in control, John thought. The headmaster didn’t rule the world, not precisely, but he had enough influence to ensure his suggestions were almost always taken for orders. His control over the new magic was almost absolute. And who knows who’d take his place?
“We might have more healing spells,” he said, instead. It was funny how Motivators made it easier to devise spells and potions, even though they could be cast or brewed without one. “Or newer and better sliders and landships and …”
“We must not repeat the mistakes of the past,” Master Yemen said. “And you can write me an essay on the dangers of allowing uncontrolled magic to fall into unworthy hands, for … I think the end of the week.”
John groaned. A punishment essay. He’d sooner take the manual labour. The aristos might bitch and moan about having to go chores – oh, the horror – but he’d grown up in a village. Chopping firewood was hardly a new thing for him. He’d even earned some money by working for the janitor, doing tasks that were unpleasant but hardly difficult. And yet the aristos made them sound worse than being flogged to death.
He sighed, inwardly, as Master Yemen started assigning partnerships. He had little love for his village’s landlord, nor the greater master above him who served a greater lord in turn. The man wasn’t a complete fool, but … who knew what he’d do if he found himself with unrestricted magic? Or the kings … they might swear blind they could trace their ancestry back thousands of years, yet in truth they were little more than lucky warlords. What would they do, if Greyshade gave them unrestricted access to magic …?
“Hi,” a female voice said. John looked up to see Katrina. “It seems we’ll be working together.”
John blinked, feeling his heart start to race. “We are?”
“Yeah.” Katrina sat beside him and shoved a sheaf of papers under his nose. “And I already have great plans for our project. We’ll get the highest grade in the class.”
And they did.