Interlude 4
Caliburn
Prince-Magician Caliburn Citrine was having a bad day, the latest in a very long string of bad days.
He’d been betrayed by his closest confidant, placed on house arrest by his father, and then only yesterday had been forced to flee his home under the cover of night. He now found himself in this hole of a hideout with a gang of idiotic would-be revolutionaries and not a servant in sight.
And, to top it all off, that dimmed Vermillion had beaten him to it.
Caliburn stomped through the halls of the hideout like a thundercloud. It was a good thing there were no servants, to be honest, because he’d surely have had the first of them to get in his way assigned to latrine duty.
How had he ended up here? It had been a string of unfortunate circumstances. He’d tried his dimmedest to avoid something like this, and yet, here he was.
And then to be saved by Vermillion of all people? How did he fall so low as to be saved by him?
No, her, Caliburn thought. Just because he hated her didn’t mean he had to be indecent.
His entire life, his father had held Vermillion up as the standard that Caliburn wasn’t living up to. Whether it was her “princely regalia” or “diplomatic acumen” or her dimmed “friends and loved ones,” Caliburn had been fed up with it by the time he’d seen eight winters. The constant comparison had given him motivation to be better, at least.
Not that it mattered. He’d still needed to be saved by her. And she was a dyadic magician? AND she’d had the courage to do something as incredible as what she’d just done, in front of the entire Fifth Law?
It was just… infuriating. She was infuriating. How could Caliburn ever learn to work with her?
He stalked back to the chamber he’d been so graciously given by the Fifth Law and slammed the door behind him. He began pacing back and forth across the room, fiddling with the citrine-studded ring that was his talisman. He replayed the words from his conversation with Adelaide in his head, over and over again.
We are not alone, Caliburn, she’d said.
Caliburn scoffed and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He twisted his talisman around his finger and stared at a nondescript spot on the floor.
He found his thoughts drifting to Alonzo. The man had betrayed him, lied to him, and had always been at the Hold under false pretenses. But even so…
Caliburn lurched to his feet. If this organization used the Rite of Erasure, while allegedly standing for such a noble cause, they would surely care for their victims, yes?
He must be here somewhere, Caliburn thought, and made for the door.
It only took a few brief questions to find out where the Law was keeping Alonzo. Caliburn made his way past the meeting chamber and studies to a small collection of rooms at the far end of the Law’s hideout. He stepped up to the door, raised his hand to knock, and then hesitated.
Caliburn took a sharp breath and then rapped on the door. There was a rustle from the other side, and a few moments later, the door opened.
The matronly woman who ran the shop upstairs stood on the other side. She looked Caliburn up and down, and then gave him a warm smile.
“Ah, young Master Caliburn!” she exclaimed. “What can I do you for today?”
“Hello, Miss Provident,” Caliburn replied. “I…” he hesitated again. “This is where you keep victims of the Rite, yes?”
Minerva’s smile faded. “Yes,” she replied simply. She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Your Highness?”
“Your Grace,” Caliburn corrected. “And yes, Miss Provident, I know what I am doing.” He practically spat the last words.
Minerva frowned, but nodded. “Very well. Come in, I shall prepare him for your visit.”
Caliburn stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind him. The room was staged as a small sitting room, with a half-circle of soft chairs, a coffee table, and dim, comfortable lighting from a row of flameless lanterns. A row of doors at the far side presumably led to private chambers for the erased. Caliburn seated himself in one of the chairs and spun his ring around and around.
A few minutes later, Minerva stepped back into the room.
“He shall be out in a moment.” She paused, still frowning, and regarded Caliburn. “I should warn you,” she began. “‘Tis only been a few days. He has yet to make much progress.”
Caliburn nodded wordlessly and bit his thumbnail—a nervous habit he just couldn’t shake. Minerva quietly stepped outside, leaving Caliburn alone to wait.
After another few minutes, one of the doors in the row opened slowly. Alonzo hesitantly stepped out a moment later.
Caliburn’s breath caught in his throat. Alonzo’s familiar dark hair had been cut shorter than he’d kept it. He wore a simple tunic and trousers, which looked comfortable, if a bit plain. They were a touch too dun for Alonzo’s skin tone, Caliburn noticed, but fashion probably wasn’t the point.
“Hello,” Alonzo said. “Your name is Caliburn?”
He said each word slowly and deliberately, like he had to think about each word before he said it. But still, the timbre of his voice was so familiar to Caliburn. He took a sharp breath inward.
“I- yes,” Caliburn answered. “‘Tis me, Alonzo.”
Alonzo nodded. His amber eyes peered back at Caliburn, and he noticed that Alonzo seemed to have a hard time focusing with his eyes.
“Minerva said,” Alonzo began. It sounded like his mouth was filled with cotton. “That we were close?”
Caliburn nodded brusquely. Unwittingly, he felt his eyes grow wet with tears.
Dim it all, he swore internally. He’d wanted to be angry, to come in here with righteous fury and tell Alonzo off for what he’d done. He’d wanted to blame him for all that had gone wrong, and he’d fully intended to.
But now, with the man in front of him, he only felt heartbroken.
“I know that you do not remember me,” Caliburn said eventually. “I just… I do not even know why I am here,” he admitted. “I suppose I just… wanted to see you.”
Alonzo ran a hand through his much shorter hair. It was a gesture that Caliburn had seen him perform so many times. Alonzo did it with such ease and striking familiarity that Caliburn could almost, just for a moment, fool himself into thinking that they were back at the Hold, before everything had gone to dark.
Caliburn sniffed and stood quickly.
“Thank you, Alonzo,” he said. “For your time.” He hurriedly turned and left the room without another word.
Minerva waited just outside. She jumped as Caliburn opened the door.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “That was quick.”
Caliburn nodded. “Thank you, Miss Provident. That will be all.” Minerva opened her mouth to reply, but Caliburn whirled and stormed through the halls once more before she could. He headed in the direction of the meeting room and the studies.
He had a few words in mind for Laszlo Tolemas.
Caliburn thundered up to the door to Laszlo’s study. He tried to turn the handle, but found it locked. He scoffed and knocked three times, hard and close together.
“Later, please,” came a call from inside.
Caliburn snarled and drew his wand. He whipped it out into second position and began quickly scribing a spell. The mana in front of him visualized as a pure, shimmering gold.
As Caliburn drew in ambient yellow mana, the air around him chilled, and he briefly felt as though he were pushing his arms through molasses. He forced the mana through his wand, and with a sound like a clap of thunder, it exploded outward.
The door to Laszlo’s study splintered inward. Caliburn stepped through, his wand still drawn, ready to throw up a ward if necessary.
Inside, Laszlo sat calmly behind his large wooden desk. The room was dim, and the lightning crackle scar across his face seemed to dance in the flickering light. Tapestries hung from the walls, still fluttering from the shockwave of Caliburn’s spell, but he paid them no mind. The off-putting gloam magician that was Laszlo’s second sat opposite him, equally nonplussed by the intrusion.
Caliburn pointed his wand at Adamas.
“Out,” he demanded. “I need a word with Tolemas.”
Adamas looked to Laszlo, a bemused look on his face. Laszlo tilted his head almost imperceptibly, and Adamas stood. He left the room wordlessly, but gave Caliburn an approving look up and down as he went. Caliburn was left alone in the room with Laszlo.
“Hello, young master Caliburn,” Laszlo said, his moustache quirked upwards in an infuriating smile. “What can I do for you?”
Caliburn stared at Laszlo, fuming. His fingers clenched around his wand tight enough that his knuckles turned white. After a moment, he huffed, re-sheathed his wand, and smoothed out his tunic. With effort, he calmed himself, and sat in the chair across from Laszlo.
“The Rite,” he forced himself to say. “Why?”
Laszlo’s smile did not falter. “I had little choice,” he answered smoothly. “Alonzo knew far too much and had shown that he cared not for the Law or the cause.” His familiar, the raven, cawed from somewhere up above them. Caliburn glanced upwards, but did not see it anywhere.
“Would you have preferred I killed him?” Laszlo asked softly.
Caliburn did not reply.
“As I see it,” Laszlo continued. “I showed him a little mercy. With help, he shall recover, and be able to live a full life for the rest of his days.” Laszlo leaned forward, steepling his fingers.
“One that is missing who he used to be.”
Laszlo nodded. “A sad necessity. I could not risk leaving his memories intact.”
Caliburn looked down.
“Do you understand what is at risk, Your Grace?” Laszlo asked. “We are striving to make a better world: one where all can be healthy and safe. One where decisions like mine will never have to be made again.”
“And this is what you will do to get there?”
“Yes,” Laszlo answered simply. “What we work for can not be achieved without loss and grief.”
“Why do you get to decide?” Caliburn demanded. “What gives you the right to decide?”
“I have the right because I have the will, Prince-Magician,” Laszlo replied. “Aught must change, Caliburn, and for it to change, someone must make it change.”
“And I am sure you will give up that power once the work is done.”
“Of course,” Laszlo answered. That infuriating smile was still stretched across his face. “I have never grasped at power for power’s sake.”
“And yet you find yourself with it. You take away choices, you force people into corners, you give us no choice but to follow you!”
Laszlo’s smile turned to a smirk.
“Ah,” he sighed, leaning back into his chair. “So that is what this is about.”
“You forced me into this, Tolemas,” Caliburn snapped. “You gave me no choice.”
“Did I not?” Laszlo asked. “I did not kidnap you or force you to come. I did not place you under house arrest or make Alonzo betray you. I was not even the one who convinced you to come here.”
“I had no other option!”
“And that is hardly my fault. I simply gave you an out.”
Caliburn scoffed. “I’d have been a fool not to take it.”
“Again, that is hardly my fault,” Laszlo answered, still maddeningly calm. “I merely saw a situation and used it to the advantage of my cause.”
“And not to your advantage, of course.”
“My advantage is the cause’s advantage.”
“Convienent.”
“Quite.” Laszlo smirked again.
“I have met plenty of men of your type, Tolemas,” Caliburn spat. “‘Tis easy to preach a noble cause while lining your own pockets with power and coin.”
Laszlo laughed. “You think any of this is easy, Prince-Magician? If I were truly after power, I would be an Archmagister by now.”
“If only ‘twere so simple.”
Laszlo did not immediately reply. He simply raised an eyebrow, and regarded Caliburn coolly. Caliburn shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.
“You have great passion within you, Caliburn,” Laszlo said eventually. “And I will trust the words of my comrades who tell me that you have noble intentions behind that passion.”
“And if my passion clashes with yours?”
“I shall hope they do not.” He leaned forward. “For the sake of more than just yourself.” Caliburn almost felt the room grow colder under his gaze.
Caliburn let out a frustrated grunt and shoved himself up and away. He stormed out of the room, stepping haphazardly over broken fragments of wood and metal. Adamas leaned against the wall in the hallway, close enough that he’d surely heard everything. Caliburn barely gave him a second glance as he made his way towards whatever passed for a wine cellar in this wretched hole. Surely these insurgents possessed something passable enough that Caliburn could use to drink himself into the oblivion of sleep.
END OF PART TWO
Cambria's Corner 
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