Trial by Smoke
The blow hit Brandon hard from behind, and he toppled awkwardly onto the ground. He scrambled to his feet and drew his wand, turning to face whatever had hit him. He certainly didn’t expect what he saw.
It looked as if Laslzo’s magical smoke had come to life. A hulking, four-legged mass faced him, bluish-black and fuzzy around the edges where the smoke bled off into the surrounding air. Its shape vaguely reminded Brandon of a small bear. There were two points of light, bright yellow like the sun, where its eyes should have been. Perhaps most unsettling was the sound, or lack thereof. Such a large being should not be silent.
Brandon glanced at where Plum should have been, but the blow had knocked him far enough away and the smoke was too thick to see her anywhere. Laszlo had also vanished into the haze. Brandon was left alone with the beast of smog.
He hastily began drawing an arcane sigil in the air. The faint, orangish-red glow of his magic traced the afterimage of his runes, and he gritted his teeth at the sloppiness of his handiwork. He closed the circle—again, sloppy— and tried to draw on the surrounding mana.
The mana was gone. The red mana emanating from the grass, the tree, Laszlo and Plum, was out of his reach. His circle was imperfect, yes, but he still should have been able to draw on some mana. He could feel the mana from his body, but hadn’t built the spell to draw on that. The spell simply fizzled out as if it hadn’t even been cast.
The shadowy beast lunged at Brandon. He tried to dodge, but couldn’t quite move fast enough. The beast slammed into him again with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. Brandon went tumbling backwards, and he felt his skull crack against what felt like a solid wall. His wand went spiralling out of his hands and skittered away into the cloud of smog.
He turned and pawed at the wall behind him. It turned out that it wasn’t a wall, but the smoke itself. It had hardened, just like the beast, creating a wall of smoke. Brandon’s fingers scrabbled over the glassy surface, trying to find purchase or a gap he could squeeze through, but he found nothing. He was trapped in here.
He turned back to face the shadow beast. It reared up on its hind legs as if it were a bear preparing to swipe. Brandon prepared to try and dodge, but the thing moved faster than he could. The beast’s forelimb was headed directly for his gut as if to eviscerate him, and Brandon prepared for the inevitable pain.
It never came. Instead, he felt a familiar but somehow still foreign feeling blossoming within him. It reminded him of the power he used ritually every morning to change his body, but this time it was somehow different, instinctual. He felt the power course through his body and then, for the first time, outward. A shimmering, glassy orange aura erupted from his body and formed a perfect sphere around him. The shadowy beast’s giant clawed hand bounced off harmlessly.
Brandon stood, openmouthed, as the shadowy beast slammed at the aura again and again, each time the blows deflected harmlessly to the side. The aura was hovering a few inches above Brandon’s skin. Experimentally, he raised his arm, and the aura moved with him. He took a step backward, and the aura followed. Brandon backed away from the shadowy beast towards the smoke that had become a wall, and where the aura met the wall there was a crackle and spark of mana as they collided. But Brandon’s strange aura broke through, and he was able to slide through the wall and out and away from the shadowy beast.
Brandon staggered through the smoke, still blind beyond a few feet, towards where he thought Plum would be, calling her name. The smoke began to disperse and fizzle away, and Brandon saw Plum and Laszlo.
The first thing Brandon noticed was the blood. The second was the blade Plum had pointed at Laszlo’s throat.
Plum was dripping blood down her arm from new rends in her flesh. Where the blood should have dripped to the ground, it instead crackled into tendrils of magic, arcing upwards behind her and into two large blades, formed from the blood itself. The point of the blades followed the tip of her wand, which was pointed directly at Laszlo’s neck. This was Plum’s combat magic—she opened gashes in her body, and used rose magic to command the resulting burst of red mana to create blood constructs that she fought with. Brandon had always found it somehow both terrifying and exhilarating to watch. Meeks was next to her feet, his hackles raised at Laszlo’s raven, who was at his feet seemingly just as unbothered as its master by the looming threat to its life.
“Why?” Plum asked Laszlo simply. His moustache was still quirked with a grin, and his hands were raised in the universal symbol of surrender. His wand was back at his hip. Brandon was reminded of his own wand, and found it with a glance. He picked it up and held it tightly in third position, at the ready.
“That is why,” he said, pointing one finger at Plum’s blood blades and the other at Brandon. Plum glanced at Brandon and he saw one eyebrow raise as she saw his aura. He shrugged.
“You, madam,” Laszlo said, pointing at Plum, “should not have been able to cast magic. And you, Prince-Adept,” he flicked his eyes towards Brandon, “are further doing something that should not be possible.” His grin widened. “Would you like to learn more?”
Brandon and Plum looked at each other sidelong. Brandon gave a small nod, and Plum’s eyes darted back to Laszlo.
“Talk,” she commanded. “You have thirty seconds to convince me before I cut you down.”
Laszlo chucked. “You would do it, too,” he said bemusedly. “Very well! May I put my arms down, Madam?”
“No.”
He laughed this time, that clear crashing sound like cracking ice filling the still air of the courtyard. “Very well,” he said again. “I shall do my best to elucidate.
“You are both, as it turns out, capable of utilizing magic in a way that is supposed to be impossible. You are capable of manipulating mana in a way that defies all four Laws of Magic, but especially the Third. The spells you both are using—and yes, they are spells—have been created using the combination of two different colors of mana.”
“‘Tis impossible,” Brandon said automatically. “The Magisterium-”
“-is either lying or mistaken,” Laszlo interrupted. “And I know which I prefer to believe. The proof is inches from both your skin and mine, my dear boy.”
“How do you know?” Plum asked.
“An excellent question, madam,” Laszlo nodded, and dramatically held up two fingers. “Two reasons. First, my spell cut off mana draw for both of you. You should have been unable to draw on any red mana whatsoever. And yet, you were both able to cast.”
“I was unable to cast with a sigil,” Brandon said, and Laszlo nodded again.
“Ah, but you were able to cast your secondary color magic. Prince-Adept, it seems as though you converted your own body’s red mana into yellow—which already should not be possible—, and are expelling that yellow mana from your body, reshaping it into that field around you. Shaping mana like that should also be impossible, for as you know magic can only urge mana to create or destroy. Speaking of, I would recommend cutting off that flow, ‘tis going to exhaust you rather quickly. Be ready to catch him, Madam Plumeria.”
Plum began tracing a sigil in the air as Brandon floundered for a moment. He remembered how it felt when he did his daily ritual, and stanched the flow of mana out of his body. As he did, a wave of exhaustion broke over his body, and he would have collapsed had Plum not conjured vines from the ground to catch him and ease him onto the ground.
“As for you, madam,” Laszlo gestured to Plum. “You cut open that lovely skin of yours to create a red mana burst and use rose magic to shape the blood into weapons, yes?” Plum gave a slight nod. “No, you do not.” Plum raised an eyebrow, and Laszlo’s moustache danced again. “You do something rather similar to the Prince-Adept, in that you convert mana without realizing it. You are converting much of your red mana to blue, then reshaping that gloam mana—the combination of red and blue—into your visceral weaponry. The Prince-Adept’s magic would be called dawn magic, red and yellow.”
“How do you know all this?” Plum asked pointedly.
“Because I am just like you,” he answered with a sage nod. “May I show you?”
Plum glanced at Brandon again. “Fine,” she said. “But one wrong move and this blade goes through your throat.”
“Naturally!” Laszlo sounded as if Plum had offered him a cup of tea, not threatened to kill him. He lowered his hands, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Brandon felt that strange static fizzle again coming from somewhere inside his head, and he flinched as Laszlo conjured a brilliant yellow light at the point of his finger.
“I have used the blue mana your minds created and converted it to yellow, which I then used to convert the ambient heat around me into a light.” Sure enough, Brandon could feel that the air temperature had fallen slightly. “I am capable of the magic of the dusk, blue and yellow. Those illusions that you fought were dusk magic constructs: blue mana for the visuals, yellow for the physicality.”
“Neat trick,” Brandon said from his spot on the ground, admittedly very impressed.
“I thank you, Prince-Adept, but the aptitude you two show for dawn and gloam magic is frankly astonishing. I haven’t seen such prodigies in decades.”
“What do you want?” Plum demanded. Her blood blades were still pointed at Laszlo, and a quick glance at her face told Brandon that she was ready to use them.
“What,” Laszlo answered bemusedly. “Can I not just be imparting my wisdom to the next generation?” Plum’s eyes narrowed, and Laszlo shook his head. “No, I suppose not. Well then, I shall be up front. My real motive—for being here at all, and for offering to teach you—is that I wish to recruit you to my organization.”
“‘Organization’?” Plum’s eyes narrowed further. “Care to be a bit more specific, Sir Magician?”
“I am here on behalf of a group of interested magicians known as the Fifth Law. We research the truest extents of magic and work to secure a better world.”
“Do you always begin your recruitment pitches by attacking prospective recruits?” Brandon could practically taste the derision dripping from Plum’s voice.
“Did it work?”
Plum, for once, had no response.
“What do you mean by ‘a better world?’” Brandon asked, staggering to his feet.
“Ah,” Laszlo said with a grin. “Now that, Prince-Adept, is the much larger question.” He glanced back at the tip of Plum’s wand and raised an eyebrow.
Plum looked to Brandon, who nodded slowly. Plum lowered her wand, and with a gesture let her constructs falter. The blood re-liquefied and flowed back into her arm with a squelch and a noise like rushing water. Plum winced, and drew a new spell to stitch together the wounds and stop the bleeding.
In spite of his demeanor, Brandon noticed Laszlo relax a fraction. “I thank you, madam,” he said, adjusting his tie and sash.
“I am afraid that I can not simply tell you the answer to your question, Prince-Adept. It is far too large to explain with words; and besides, I do not yet know if you are worthy of my full trust.” His moustache danced again as he smiled. “But, if you shall both indulge me a while longer, I can show you.”
“Do we have a choice?” Plum asked, her wand still at the ready.
“Of course!” Laszlo exclaimed, with genuine surprise. “Far be it from me to take away any magician’s choice for the path of their own life.” He hesitated. “Though of course, if you did refuse, you would never even remember I was here.”
“You would remove our memories?” Brandon asked, aghast.
“You would not survive the attempt,” Plum responded darkly.
Laszlo laughed that ice-crack laugh again. “My dear Adepts,” he said with uncharacteristic softness. “Do you think I would have started this fight if I was not absolutely certain I could finish it?”
Plum’s eyes narrowed again, and Brandon put a hand on her good arm as she moved to raise her wand again.
“May we have a moment, Sir Magician?,” Brandon said.
“By all means,” Laszlo replied with a swift bow.
Brandon pulled Plum a few feet away and leaned his head close to hers.
“I do not like this, love,” Plum worried, her voice barely a whisper.
“I know,” Brandon replied, equally soft. “But should we not hear him out?” Plum looked uncertain, so Brandon continued. “He can tell us more about our strange magics. And I have to admit I am curious. He is an intriguing man.”
“I suppose at worst I can find a better chance to kill him.”
Brandon grimaced slightly at that, but nodded begrudgingly. “I suppose so.”
Plum rolled her tongue in her mouth. “Fine,” she said at last. “But one wrong move from him and I remove his mustachioed head from his shoulders.”
Brandon grinned and straightened. “Very well, Sir Magician,” he said. “Show us what you will.”
Laszlo grinned even wider. “I was hoping you would say that. Come!” He spun on his heel and left the courtyard through the same arch Brandon and Plum had entered through. He didn’t bother to turn back to see that they were both following.
“Tell me,” Laszlo said conversationally as he strolled through the halls of the Vermillion Keep. “Do you often speak to the servants employed by your household?”
Plum snorted. “Precious little speaking is involved,” she said under her breath, and Brandon found his thoughts wandering unbidden to the servant girl in the halls on their way to meet Laszlo.
“I try to,” Brandon responded, trying to ignore Plum, but then hesitated. “‘Tis hard to feel close to them,” he said eventually.
“Why is that, I wonder,” Laszlo mused.
Brandon’s thoughts drifted to his precious secret. “I have always felt it strange how much reliance the Great Houses put on their servants,” he said instead, truthfully.
“Indeed,” Laszlo nodded solemnly. “Many in the peerage treat their servant class as chattel, or as a symbol of their status to show at a ball or gala.” Brandon grimaced. He could not deny that there was a point to Laszlo’s words.
A pair of maids emerged from a chamber at the end of the hall, and the older of the two quickly hushed the younger as the three magicians approached. The younger girl stopped and curtsied clumsily as the older woman stepped into a practiced, formal bow. Brandon inclined his head towards them as they passed, and he heard them chattering behind them as they turned the corner.
“You see how they treat you, yes?” Laszlo asked. “With a sort of… cautious reverence. Remember that.”
They passed by several more servants on the way to wherever Laszlo was taking them. Each time, the servants stopped what they were doing, fell into a cautious silence, and gave a courteous bow or curtsy.
“You are right, Sir Magician,” Brandon said after the fourth batch of servants. “They seem… uncomfortable.”
“Indeed,” Laszlo replied with a nod. “Why might that be?” he mused again. “Will you both allow me to conduct an experiment, of sorts?”
“What sort of ‘experiment?’” Plum asked, eyebrow quirked.
“I would like for you to see how they treat their peers. To that end, I will cast an illusion over you as a disguise, should you allow it.”
Plum shrugged. “Do as you will.”
Laszlo grinned and drew his wand, quickly drawing a sigil in the air. Brandon felt that buzzing in his skull before a shimmer passed in front of his vision. It reminded him of the heat rising off the stone of the courtyards on a hot day.
He glanced over to Laszlo and Plum and was surprised to see two other people looking back at him. Where Plum had been was a middle-aged woman dressed as a laundress, with silver hair and dark skin wrinkling at the edges of her eyes and lips. Laszlo had become a woman perhaps a few years younger, with light skin and dark hair, dressed as a scullion girl. Brandon was about to say something about the change in his gender, but stopped short when he saw his own reflection in a nearby window pane.
Brandon examined his reflection and was shocked to see a young woman peering back at him. Laszlo’s spell had disguised him as a young chambermaid, with poofy dark hair and a small, mousy face. When he looked at Laszlo, wide-eyed, the Magician shrugged.
“No illusion is perfect,” he explained, in a voice only slightly more feminine than his usual one. “And we want others to pay us little mind. A small group of unassuming women tend to attract less attention among servants than when men are involved. We ought to count ourselves fortunate that your mother goes through servants like a drunkard through wine.”
Plum’s brow was furrowed with concern as she looked at Brandon, but he shook his head. “If that is the intent,” she began, in a voice that, to Brandon, sounded nothing like hers. “Should we not also have pseudonyms?”
Laszlo grinned. It was strange to see that same grin on a different face that wasn’t half-covered by his moustache.
“I love pseudonyms,” he said, and the delight in his voice was palpable. “I shall call myself Loretta. I am a new hire to work in the kitchens. And you,” he said, turning to Brandon. “Shall be-”
“Addie,” Brandon interrupted, and then flushed. Plum snickered from across the hall.
“Addie the chambermaid it is, then. And Madam Plumeria shall be…”
“Peach,” Plum decided. “Peach the laundress.” She grinned, and it was Plum’s smile that came through.
“Well then, Addie the chambermaid and Peach the laundress,” said Loretta the scullion worker. “Shall we?”
Cambria's Corner 
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