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	Chapter 8
	Chapter 8 ---------- The escape had been a narrow one. The human coast guard had closed in on The Eagle, even as the fleeing party rushed to board the vessel, all the while as they were hounded by newly emerged soldiers. It was only Tyrius who had saved them in the end. With Gwynia unconscious and in a critical state, there was no shield available to them, so Tyrius struggled valiantly to keep the arrows off of them by pushing them back individual with the power of his magic. Fane couldn’t work out if he was using wind or ‘the unseen hand’, but either way it helped. The party boarded The Grey Eagle and the ship was off, skirting the docked vessels and sailing fast away from the city of Midport. But then the two coast guard vessels engaged them, faster than they were, and already launching catapulted spikes of burning stakes at the Seeker ship. Tyrius couldn’t deflect these, and two of them tore large holes in the side of the hull, igniting rigging and decking with pitch-fuelled fire. Muirayn’s song summoned a shield of grey fog at this point by the power of his song, and somehow they were able to slip out of the harbour and past the human ships. But as the smog dispersed, The Eagle could still be seen on the horizon, and now three coast-guard vessels were on their trail. Fane, bewildered and beaten by his painful ordeal, watched on with dream-like fascination. Muirayn’ voice could no longer hold a spell in place, and so it seemed that they would be caught. But somehow Fane no longer really cared; he stared out at the dispersing Human territory as if it was a mirage – a blurry visage of his mind’s eye. Truth be known, he was in shock, and would be for quite some time. Under his clothing his body shivered involuntarily, and frequently. But then something quite unexpected happened. Kern was there, his slim chiselled face cold and proud under his mop of scraggly hair. In his daze, Fane noticed that the rest of the crew were as shocked as he at what happened next. Closing his eyes the small man clasped his hands together, his breathing slowed, his face took on an expression of peaceful concentration; a vessel who’s pilot had left its body to find its peaceful place, leaving flesh and blood behind, leaving danger behind. Although this was no cowardly act of meditation in the face of danger. It was not five minutes later when the human vessels veered off west for no apparent reason, chasing ghosts. Kern remained tranquil for some time before finally collapsing amid a ring of confused sailors. The Humans were gone, no longer in sight, no longer on their trail. Tyrius came to Kern’s side and looked at him with a puzzled expression. ‘Don’t be surprised, old man.’ Kern said exhaustedly, ‘There’s only one thing I hate more than you, and that’s Humans.’ ‘An illusion?’ Tyrius asked him. Kern nodded, ‘They chase a ghost ship, which looks remarkably similar to our own. It’ll have faded by now, but it’s too late for them to find us.’ Fane blinked and sat on the floor, his face pale and stricken. --- The dark mage slipped into an alleyway, narrowly avoiding the guards as they came to check their dead and wounded companions by the docks. Rubbing furiously at his face he wiped aside sweat and blood, flicking it against the angle of the dark street. It spattered in a neat trail down the wall. How long had it been since somebody had dared make him bleed? Too long. They would pay. Ducking through the chaotic streets, he forced his way into an empty warehouse which was poorly lit and cluttered clumsily with crates and barrels. There was a musty scent in here; like old, damp books and cobwebs and mothballs. Fumbling through his attire, he clasped his fingers around the crystal and pulled it free to gaze upon its reflective opaque surface. It took a few moments, and then flared to life, spilling light out through the shadows, casting strange shapes and silhouettes on the walls and wooden crates. The dark mage stared into the light, forcing his eyes to remain open. A voice came: ‘Well?’ ‘Lord, they escaped.’ The mage said. His black hair shone nearly grey in the bright light. ‘There were three mages this time, and they carried two charges. A boy with strong telepathic skills, and a girl I assumed to be the killer.’ ‘They escaped.’ It wasn’t a question. And it was calm, almost monotone. There was a thick, guttural accent there, gruff and heavy in sound but eerily composed in an odd way, like the lazy roar of a yawning lion. The dark mage nodded, and then realised that he couldn’t be seen, ‘Yes.’ He said. ‘What of the pirates you hired?’ ‘All missing. There vessel was found yesterday, but she was empty.’ The voice murmured, humming in heavy deliberation. ‘Return home, Lionelli.’ It said at last. ‘The Seekers will likely take this route south, anyway. We will spring a trap for them as they stop for supplies.’ The Furalian mage, Lionelli was uneasy, fearing a sudden outburst that never came. And it never did. The master’s voice was always soft, always calming, with the illusion of reasonable amicability, but with something uneasy which lurked just beyond each pacifying note. Outburst never came; all that would come was your untimely death upon failure or betrayal. He considered for a moment not returning home, but then the hunger clawed at the pit of his stomach, reminding him that he would never be free of it, and that his master was ‘The Master’ for that very reason. --- Night fell, and nobody came to them. Fane sat in the corner of the room, not saying much at all. His face remained the same. It was the face of somebody innocent who had seen too much, too quickly, and it was the face of a coward who had almost met his maker. Sec had tried to talk to him, but Fane didn’t have much to respond with. He hugged a blanket and shivered continuously. Kern had been chained to the wall again, but this time bedding had been set up for him on the floor so that the weakened thief would not go uncomfortable. He lay with his left arm raised slightly in the chains while he slept. After some time, Fane’s shivering subsided slightly. He looked down at his empty wrists and breathed a sigh of relief at the absence of the amulet that had very nearly killed him. ‘He saved you again didn’t he?’ Sec asked. Fane knew who he was talking about. He nodded. ‘Don’t forget that if it wasn’t for him, we would be in no danger anyway. There’d be no lives to save if he hadn’t put us in harms way to begin with.’ Fane looked at his friend, his eyes moist and wide with fear. ‘I helped kill a man, Sec.’ His voice was as ashen as his face. It quavered with regret and fear. ‘One of the soldiers?’ ‘No. The pirate.’ Sec blinked a couple of times, ‘But we were defending ourselves Fane. We had the right.’ Fane looked down at the lower part of the curtain and reached out for it, thumbing it gently, caressing its fibres. He considered its life; he considered who had tailored it and who had hung it. It was a nice curtain, he decided. Finally he looked up once more, ‘I don’t think we did.’ There were tears in his eyes. Sec came to sit on the floor next to his best friend. Lovingly he placed a hand on Fane’s shoulder and squeezed it. ‘What happened?’ Fane looked into space and smiled with a wide eyed look of irony and a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Everything. What didn’t happen? From the moment we were taken, to now. What hasn’t happened? Can it get any worse?’ Sec glared, ‘You’re usually the optimist, Fane. Snap out of it. We’ll be okay!’ Fane clenched his jaw, pursing his lips in the struggle to stop the tears from falling in front of his friend. He took a deep breath and nodded, still staring at nothing. ‘I’m a coward, Sec.’ He said finally. Sec squinted and tilted his head. ‘A coward? No, Son of Vale, you’re not. You remember the time I was in trouble? In that fight, when the stone struck my head? You were the one who helped me that day. You were. A coward wouldn’t have done that.’ Fane shook his head, ‘My life wasn’t in danger then. I wasn’t against Zard, or magic, or armies of pirates. It was just a few boys in an odd scrap.’ Sec looked dismayed, just for a moment, ‘Fane … don’t do this. You are supposed to be the strong one, don’t you see? You’re Fane, with the smile! Fane Vale, the joker, the romantic.’ ‘Fane Vale the coward.’ ‘When?’ ‘Always!’ Fane blurted out angrily, raising his voice more than he should have done, ‘Whenever Fate has her chance to test my bravery, I always fail. Always. You don’t know me!’ he hissed, ‘You don’t see it! I froze in fear when the Zard cut down my pup! I could not reach out and take the hand of Muirayn as he struggled to save the life of the First Mate! Sec, I – I nearly let you die when the pirates were upon you! I nearly let you die!’ His mouth twitched involuntarily as he spoke the last, the expression of a man bravely fighting against the sobbing that welled forth and struggled to break free. ‘But you didn’t let me die!’ Sec responded, his voice raised, but kindly of tone still, ‘You saved me!’ Sec sighed and looked down at the floor. He wasn’t good with emotional interaction, so no further comfort came from him. Fane thought that he was probably uncomfortable more than anything else. Kern stirred, ‘Could ye two keep it down. I’m tryin’t sleep.’ He muttered under his breath calling them a few names as he shifted his blanket up around his neck. Sec stared in Kern’s direction and ground his teeth, apparently resisting the urge to attack the small man again. With a heavy unsteady inhale, Fane glanced up at Sec, whose agitation was as easy to read as words on a page. And then he was laughing. For some reason he found the small Dreyhood illusionist terribly funny at that moment, and laughter came to him in sputtered, ironic chirps. Sec looked at his friend quizzically, and then smiled. Finally he too laughed, happy at least to see Fane’s mood shift slightly. Kern turned around fully, staring at both of them in the dim lighting of the single lamp burning on the table. ‘My, aren’t we emotionally charged tonight.’ He said with a mock Dreyhood accent, ‘Perhaps both of you ladies would care for a turn about the room while you laugh and cry and perhaps later you can sing each other to sleep.’ Kern said sarcastically, even bitterly. Sec curled his lip involuntarily, almost snarling at the older man, ‘Shut your mouth, Kern, or I’ll shut it for you.’ Kern snorted slightly with sly smirk, ‘Careful, kid. I may be weak and chained to the wall, but I could still kill you with one hand if I wanted to.’ For some reason, Fane believed him. Again he was reminded of the hidden danger in this man, something barely masked but frightening. It wasn’t that Kern was physically frightening, or even that his powers posed any real mortal danger to them. Instead, the danger came from Kern’s mind, his personality, and Fane could see this. There was a fiery temper there, more vicious and carnal than Sec’s temper, and more cold … more calculating. Kern, Fane guessed, was more brutal than Sec, and in the end, that sometimes counted for more. Behind the guise of a scruffy, unwashed thief, there was a story behind exactly who he was and why he was, and Fane decided that soon he would have to learn more about it. Fane placed a hand on Sec’s chest and held him back. ‘Leave it, Sec. Go to sleep.’ Sec held his temper in check and slowly calmed himself, looking to his friend and nodding slowly with a clenched jaw. --- ‘I want to see her.’ Tyrius ruffled his red beard, which was becoming bushier as the days went on. They were in the dining room, if you could call it that. It was a room held under the poop deck, decorated with a few tables and chairs, lined with the odd painting or three which had been nailed to the walls by all corners each to stop them falling down. ‘The girl I mean,’ Fane explained, ‘I want to visit her.’ His face sported a large purple bruise across the left of his upper forehead, It had grown somewhat overnight and now encroached even upon his eye, swelling it closed. Tyrius shook his head negative, ‘I’m sorry Fane, but she’s too dangerous. She’s kept under sedation now, at least until Gwynia recovers.’ There was a hint of doubt as he said it, ‘When she recovers, Gwynia can erect some barriers to stop the girl breaking out or hurting anyone.’ Fane nodded, looking off into the distance out of the window, squinting to shield his eyes from the sun’s reflection as it spread over the width of the ocean. ‘How is Gwynia?’ He asked, somewhat afraid of the answer. ‘She’s not good. Even with Corp’s healing …’ Muirayn replied, who was sitting at the table just behind Tyrius, currently enjoying his first meal in over a day. ‘It’s as if she came too close to death, and now even healing her body can’t bring her back.’ He took another mouthful of bread, ripping it away from the loaf with a quick jerk of his head. He ate with ferocity that seemed exaggerated. A manly feasting used to negate more sensitive emotions as they welled up within, perhaps. ‘Why?’ Sec asked. ‘Sometimes nature takes over,’ Tyrius folded his arms, resting his bulk on an empty table by his side. ‘And the mind – as well as the spirit – gives up. It’s not over … we could reach her, but …’ He fell silent, trailing off. ‘Let me help.’ Fane said. Sec gave him a sideways look of astonishment. ‘Help?’ Muirayn sputtered. ‘How would you do that, Fane?’ Tyrius said calmly. ‘I could reach her!’ He declared excitedly, ‘I could talk to her through my gift and …’ Muirayn snorted, ‘And alert the entire Human army of our location as you did before? You’re too untrained for that! We don’t even know how you did it last time, so how do you expect us to let you carry on doing it? You could finish her off for all we know.’ Fane made a decision, ‘Then show me how to control it.’ He looked at Tyrius with sincerity, ‘Show me how to use my gift without harming her, or sending the message to anyone else. Unless either of you can do it… can you?’ Tyrius stood still as a statue, his eyes resting on empty air. Then he shook his head, meaning to indicate that neither he nor Marcus were trained at to use the power of Telepathy with any real accuracy. Muirayn groaned, ‘What do you take us for, idiots!?’ He growled, spitting un-swallowed food as he ranted. ‘No sooner we show you how to control it; you’d use it to send a message to a passing ship to come to your rescue, and our demise.’ His usually pleasant demeanour had been replaced by that of a man harrowed by worry and pressure, and this was reflected in his disagreeable mood. ‘So you’re going to let her die?’ Fane asked provocatively. Tyrius held up a hand, ‘What makes you think you could reach her, when we cannot?’ Fane sighed, ‘I just want to help.’ There was a long silence. Sec sat himself by a portcullis and gazed out at the rising sun. Fane just stood there, looking downcast and tired. Muirayn placed his cutlery down and sighed, ‘Tyrius … he might have a point.’ he said, his tone softer, apologetic, ‘Neither of us specialise in mind communication, but this boy seems to have a gift for it … somehow. You’ve tried to no avail, so, maybe we should let him try. He could send a message to passing ships anyway, even if we didn’t teach him how to control it, and I for one am not willing to let Gwynia just fade away or stay in a coma all her life.’ Finally Tyrius moved, wetting his lips while taking a heavy inhale. He looked directly at Fane and appraised him for a moment, studying him as if really seeing him for the first time. ‘Although I do not believe you are ready, Fane, I will begin your training, at least in part. It is a good gesture that you would wish to save the life of somebody who aided in your capture, which speaks volumes about your character. Please do not disappoint me in any form of betrayal.’ --- ‘You idiot! You pathetic fool! You’re truly being led by your groin and not your brain!’ Fane raised an eyebrow, ‘Aye, or by my heart.’ Sec sighed, ‘You fall too easily, Fane, or you mistake lust for love.’ He looked disappointed in his friend once more. Perhaps his reaction was even being transferred from his disappointment at Fane’s cowardice from the night before. He walked by Fane’s side as they trailed the length of the underbelly of the ship searching for the storage bays where they had been told to meet with Tyrius. Fane shook his head, ‘I mean my conscience. She was hurt because of me. Because I couldn’t control my power.’ ‘She is the enemy!’ Fane stopped in his tracks, frowning in frustration, even slight anger. ‘I’m no killer, Sec. For me not to help would be like killing her myself. I would be guilty just as the dark mage is guilty.’ Sec wheeled around, running a hand over his short hair as he searched for the correct words. ‘We are all guilty, somewhere down the line, Fane. We are all killers, whether it’s taking the food out of the mouths of the poor to feed our own children, or by hunting animals; we all kill, but it’s what we kill for that matters, at the end of the day.’ Fane disagreed, and he made sure this was shown on his expression. Killing was never right, no matter what the “cause”. ‘I’m going to help her, and that’s the end of it.’ He said to the smaller man, mustering some measure of authority. ‘Besides anything else, Tyrius is going to teach me how to control my gift, and that could be used to our advantage.’ Sec paused for a moment and then continued walking, ‘Okay, what ever you want. Just be honest to yourself, if not to me. You’re doing it because you find her attractive.’ Fane denied this in his own mind and followed his friend. Yet deep down he knew it was probably true. --- The room was filled with crates. Crates upon crates, everywhere he looked, filled with rations and ale, wine and rum. In the corners, behind the hastily stacked crates, was spare rigging, sheets, wood, even a spare anchor. But enough time at sea (and thus consumption of stored foods) ensured that there was also plenty of floor space for Tyrius to teach the boy a certain few things, or so Fane had been told earlier. The big man was waiting for him as he entered, sitting down on an empty crate cross-legged with his eyes closed and face serine. ‘What are you doing?’ Fane asked. There was silence for a long time. Fane considered the idea that the large mage might be sleeping, but then re-considered it. He was in meditation, he realised. Seating himself on the floor he waited patiently for Tyrius to finish his meditation. It took only a further few minutes, and then the large Human opened his eyes, allowing his massive legs to slip over the side of the wooden box so he was sitting casually as if on a stool. ‘Meditation?’ Fane asked. ‘A form of it.’ Tyrius replied, ‘I learned it from a Meunos man once, as well as a few other tricks. Meditation, practiced in a certain way, can have great advantages to magic users - especially those schooled in the arts of Chi.’ ‘Chi?’ ‘A form of magic which is primarily used for the strengthening of one’s own body. It’s a Meunos word. In the Northern Tongue, we call it “Dimpiri”, which is actually an Ackai-Odis word meaning powerful.’ Fane nodded, rapt in his curiosity even in something as mundane as language. Tyrius had a charisma about him that transfixed and calmed. Fane stayed sitting on the dusty floor like an eager, wide-eyed school child, staring up at his teacher. ‘But that’s not what I’m here to teach you today, young Fane. Perhaps one day, at your request, I might teach you such things. But for now, let us concentrate on the task ahead. Now, pay attention, and tell me if I’m going to fast for you.’ Fane nodded once more, allowing Tyrius to continue with his explanation. ‘The word “magic”, you must understand, is a word used to describe the unknown. It is a word often used in primitive cultures as an excuse more than anything else; a science that they do not yet understand. They see an eclipse, and they call it magic, just as a thunderstorm, or even snow, but as we know, these are naturally occurring things. Real magic, that is, magic that is beyond normal scientific explanation, comes from the invisible force that binds the universe together, gives life to us, energy … to fires, even the thoughts in our minds. These are the basis of magic, yet the act of magic is the control of such unseen forces used for some practical purpose.’ Fane frowned, ‘So is magic defined as unseen forces or the act itself?’ ‘The act. Without the act of manipulation, these energies are merely inexplicable energies.’ ‘So how can we use these invisible energies? How are we able toperform magic?’ Tyrius held up a hand, ‘I’m getting to that. ‘There are three ways that we know of. The first is The Song, also sometimes referred to as The Voice of The Gods. This is the magic that you see Muirayn using sometimes, and it is also the magic we know least about. It is the commanding of nature, thought to be the language of the gods themselves, the language which was used to create Sheol, the stars, the moons … the universe. How we came to learn some of it is still fairly unknown. It was unlocked over a period of one thousand years, compiled together and recorded in a library of books - of which The Order of Inato has many.’ ‘How did you come in possession of them?’ ‘We took them, mostly, or found them. The tomes are scattered across the globe by the people who wrote them. We don’t even know much about the people who wrote them; only that in the end, after they had unlocked too many secrets of the ancient language, they decided that the knowledge was too dangerous to be in any one place. They subsequently scattered the books around Sheol, hiding them in sometimes fiendishly dangerous or cryptic places. Those that we have managed to gather have given us a small idea of the complicated language, and how it works. It cannot be spoken, only sung, and as such, only those with naturally brilliant voices can control The Song. Each note represents a different word, a different command, and because of this, The Song can take many years to learn a single command. A single note which is sung off-key, or a single word mispronounced can do nothing at all, or it can command nature to perform something entirely different.’ Fane shifted his weight to one leg and stretched out slightly, ‘So anyone can use The Song, with enough training?’ Tyrius shook his head, ‘No. Even with a magnificent voice, only a mage can command the elements by using The Song. We don’t really know why. There is a science to magic, which is deep and complex, and much of it is still mysterious to us. Ultimately though, The Song can only be used as a command to nature, and not as a command to living, sentient beings, or to strengthen or heal a person. It can be used to grow plants, to summon winds, even to change elements from one type to another, such as wood to steel. So long as you know the correct commands, it can be used for many powerful things. ‘Understand; it is important for you to know this so that you can grasp the nature of magic – as well as your limitations. It would take far too long for me to describe, in detail, the science behind magic, so we shall leave that for another time. Instead, I hope to teach you the basics, so that you come to know what it is you are dealing with.’ ‘And what am I dealing with?’ Tyrius folded his arms, ‘Can you sing?’ Fane smiled slightly, ‘Not really … I can carry a tune but –’ ‘Then I can tell you that you’re not dealing with The Song. Without an exceptional voice, you couldn’t hope to command nature. Your gift lies elsewhere, and we’ll get to that. ‘Second, is the power of Essence. This is the power I am blessed with. Within this gift there are three schools; Healing, Chi and Power. All of which, I am a well versed in. Essence is the power from within. It is used to perform magics of the body or from direct contact. It cannot reach out in the way The Song can, it can only summon power at your own hand, or strengthen your own body. It’s like a fire. It can be fuelled by stoking and feeding in the correct way in order to make it more powerful, or it can be used to burn by direct contact. Sometimes it can also be used to heal by direct contact.’ Fane picked at his nails absent-mindedly as he listened to Tyrius, using his thumb to scrape away trapped dirt from underneath each claw. ‘How does it work?’ Fane asked. ‘A good question. Imagine your entire body flowing with a river of power, of energies, of the breath of life itself. Living beings are the most potent source for these unseen energies, more potent even than nature itself. Because of this, we are able to reach down into our own power sources and direct them. Imagine you could control the flow of this river. By putting up dams, you can direct the energies to specific areas, or in some cases, for specific causes. For example, you could summon your life-force, direct it into your hand, and then slowly build up power within that area, concentrating profusely on the welling of power, the flow of the inner-river until much of your strength is summoned. Then you could turn that energy into a ball of fire, and then launch that ball of fire at an enemy. ‘You might ask how this is possible, but I do not have the time to explain it fully. Suffice it to say that with learning and practice, a mage can transform energies of one type into a completely different type all-together. The same energy that could make a deadly fire, could instead make a healing glow that wipes away bruises or cuts. The principle is the same, but the practice is entirely different. Manipulating these energies will quickly tire the user - and more so if he is inexperienced. With the power of Essence it is possible, however, to replenish your own energies by drawing on the energies of nature itself … though this is a complicated and difficult process, not to mention dangerous. The trick in all things to do with Essence, is understanding. You must understand how a fire works in order to create one.’ Fane said, ‘So Essence is one of the powers that the Gods gave to us?’ Tyrius laughed, ‘So the stories say. The gods apparently gifted some with the mark of The Sorcerer, which is but fable now. Some believe that The Sorcerers never existed. The history books say they did, but there is no proof, even to us magic users, who exist mostly in secret. All we know is that mages were more powerful in the past, but also more rare. Nowadays there are many more of us, but the power we each wield is less … as if magic has been diluted somehow. In truth, we do not know why some of us are given the power of being a mage. It could be the difference between somebody blessed with musical talent, and one blessed with no musical talent at all. It seems like a similar thing … a gift, you could call it, if I may use such a cumbersome term. Perhaps a gift from the gods, or perhaps a gift of nature, it’s hard to say.’ ‘Lastly, there is your own gift. The power of The Unseen Hand. It may be that The Hand is your only gift, or it might be true that you are gifted in Essence also. It does happen, and often The Hand and Essence are married in an effort to create more complicated spells. All three disciplines are, at times, used in conjunction with one another. Gwynia, for example, uses The Song as well as some small measure of The Hand, but most mages do, at different levels. ‘Now, The Hand is different from Essence because it can affect things that one is not in direct contact with. It is different to The Song because it can affect living beings as well as nature. But, it is by far the hardest gift to use, and the most energy-consuming. Why? Because effectively you not only need to manipulate energies, but stretch out those energies using a hidden muscle in your brain. We call it The Unseen Hand because that is exactly what it is. It is a muscle of energies, used to reach out and indirectly manipulate, change, or interact with the energies around us, such as with people, and sometimes objects. Nobody can use The Hand at any level of greatness … it is too hard to control, and too much concentration is needed. Because of this, the most we can hope to do with The Hand is influence the energies within a person’s mind, such as emotions, sight, sound. Those with exceptional gift in The Unseen Hand can lift objects and move them around with nothing but their mind. We call this telekenisis. ‘Within The Unseen Hand we have two main schools, which are: Influence and Illusion; the former being your own current gift, and the latter being the school in which Kern is proficient. However, there is also the rudimentary skill of telekenisis, which often manifests itself as the first sign of great power in an individual such as our latest friend, the dark haired girl we picked up yesterday. She is remarkably gifted in it; more so than many young mages I have encountered so far.’ Fane held up a hand, ‘Wait, you said my gift is in Influence … yet I don’t influence, I communicate, do I not?’ Tyrius nodded, impressed by the question, ‘It is a similar thing. You insert emotions into the minds of animals, and, more recently, people too. You are also able to extract basic emotions from these creatures, as you draw on their energies and interpret them. The power of telepathy – your power – is common in young mages discovering their power. However, it is usually impossible for a mage to learn complicated telepathy until they have been trained and instructed as to how it is done. How you managed to communicate with people using words, even images … it is a mystery to me. It is no wonder you couldn’t control it, but you shouldn’t have been able to do it.’ Fane had his eyebrows raised in an expression of bewilderment. ‘So … is telepathy the only school I am ever likely to master?’ ‘Telepathy isn’t a school, just a magic. It comes under the school of Influence, as I said. You may, perhaps, one day be able to learn how to influence the thoughts of people, as it is along the same lines of power.’ Fane stood up, seemingly excited by the prospect, but for totally a-moral reasons. He paced the room, his hands tucked in his pockets, as he considered Tyrius’ words carefully. ‘What about Kern’s power? You said his and mine were alike?’ Tyrius grunted, ‘We are getting off track, and time is limited. Suffice it to say that Kern has been trained in his power. He thinks we don’t know, but we do. He is a very talented Illusionist, but that is his natural gift. He developed the skill as a thief on the streets of a Human city, always trying to hide, always stealing. But anyway, my point is that your natural gift seems to be Influence, which is as far removed from Illusion as painting is from sculpture. They work on the same principles, but take different natural talents. ‘Most mages only ever learn one school. If they are lucky they master that one school. If they are very talented, they might learn the basics of two schools, such as Gwynia has done. But Gwynia isn’t particularly skilled in any one area.’ Fane cut in, ‘And yet you’ve mastered three schools?’ Tyrius shook his head, ‘I’ve had a long time to learn. And I still haven’t achieved the level of master in the school of healing. Anyway, enough questions, it’s time for your first lesson.’ ‘I thought that was my first lesson…’ Fane muttered.
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