Broken Rule | Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule. It seems like Steemit might be a good place to release content of this type, so I'm posting the first chapter here to see what kind of response it gets. If there's an audience for the book I can serialize the entire 56 chapter story, probably one chapter per post.

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Master Wizard Jonas Terra had risen as high as was likely in Tarkannan society. Taking a position in a duke's household had certainly been a step up from his previous position with old Count Salamon, who had fallen on hard times of late. The feasts had grown more and more meager, the wines less and less fine. That should all change here with Duke Gavril. Everyone seemed to agree that his star was on the rise, and there was certainly no doubt that he was rich.

A servant boy led Jonas into the visitors' parlor of the keep and ran off to announce him. Jonas ran his hand over his head to smooth back his hair, a nervous habit he had when he was trying to make a good impression. He was dismayed at how much ground his forehead seemed to be gaining against his hair. He was also dismayed about how hard the buttons of his shirt struggled against his gut. The price for high living, he supposed. He'd need to make sure to ask the duke for access to a tailor. He adjusted his long coat. It was far too hot to be wearing something so heavy, but sometimes wizards had to make sacrifices, and his coat was his most prized possession. He felt it gave him an air of authority, the look of a man about serious business. The servant boy returned, but the duke wasn't with him, only the duchess.

“My lord husband is away,” said the duchess, “so I shall explain your duties to you.” Jonas's mood began to sour. The air of superiority that most nobles carried around with them rubbed his nerves raw. But wasn't being near rank and privilege exactly why he was here? “Primarily, you will be responsible for educating our sons. History, geography, all of those sorts of things. I insist that our sons become proper gentlemen as well as fighting men.” Jonas began to wonder now, had the duke sent the solicitations to join his household merely to appease his wife? Were children educated by a wizard some symbol of status that she could crow about to other noblewomen? The games of status and position played by the women of the realm were just as complex as the politics of counts and barons, but usually more subtle and vicious. “Of course, you will be expected use your magic to assist in the defense of the castle, but I'm sure you know more about that than I,” the duchess continued.

“I certainly hope so,” said Jonas, and he attempted a friendly smile. At the duchess's furrowed brow he added, “Your Grace.” She returned to her previous expression, which was sour, but not angry.

“You'll dine with us at the lord's table at all feasts, and the kitchen has been ordered to accommodate any request you make on other days. I've had a room prepared for you at the top of the east tower. I understand that wizards like to have a nice view.” Jonas was tempted to tell her that what he really liked was a comfortable bed and lots of room, but he didn't want to risk antagonizing her again. “I see no reason you can't begin teaching lessons today. You'll find the boys in the practice yard, training at swordplay. The elder is Cyril, and the younger is Rurik.”

Jonas could think of quite a few reasons not to start today, not least of which was that he was tired from the long journey he had taken to Castle Thornwood. He sensed that the duchess didn't want to discuss it. “Yes, Your Grace.” She nodded approval and glided off into the keep, looking like she was ready at any moment to explain someone else's duties to them.

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Jonas made his way to the practice yard. The master-at-arms was still conducting his drills, so Jonas sat on a bench and waited, taking the opportunity to watch the proceedings. The younger boy, Rurik, was nine years old, and was moving through different forms with a wooden sword, presumably some training exercise. He didn't seem particularly graceful.

Two older boys, twelve or thirteen, were sparring with real swords and breastplates. One of them must be Cyril, but Jonas had no idea who the other could be. They were both far more proficient with the blade, and Jonas suspected that Rurik would need a lot of practice before he could graduate to steel. As Jonas sat and watched he eventually picked up on one of the boy's resemblance to Rurik. That must be Cyril, then. He was the more cautious fighter, rarely providing openings, but willing to pounce when his opponent showed a weakness in his defense. The other boy was far more dynamic and flashy, but didn't seem to land any more blows.

The master-at-arms called an end to the practice, and Jonas stepped forward to introduce himself. “I am Master Jonas Terra, and Her Grace has asked me to teach a lesson in history to her sons.”

“Don't interrupt our training at the sword, Terra,” said the boy Jonas hadn't identified. “This is important.”

Jonas felt his anger rising. He had been prepared to accept this attitude from his patron's wife, but from a boy it was too much to bear. He had worked for years to gain his knowledge, to cultivate his power, and this boy expected deference because he was somebody's son. “And who are you to give orders to me?” he demanded.

“I am Tony Greenhouse, son of Baron Rance Greenhouse, and squire to His Grace Duke Gavril. And you'll keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“You're one to talk of civility. You have no title of your own, and expect deference because of your father, but do not respect my title, fairly earned? You may address me as Master Jonas.”
“I expect deference from a commoner, yes,” Tony said. He raised the sword he had been using to practice. “Perhaps I ought to teach you some respect.”

This was far more than Jonas was prepared to tolerate. “Perhaps you ought to wonder what I am a master of,” he said. He concentrated on the boy's sword and spoke the words of a magic spell. Instantly spots of rust appeared on the sword, and began to spread, creating pits and holes all along the blade. The boy watched for a moment, eyes wide with horror, and then threw the rusting blade to the ground. Apparently he hadn't realized that he could still do considerable damage to an unarmed man, even with a rusty sword.

Jonas concentrated on keeping his breath steady. His show of power would be far less effective if the boy knew he was straining to his limits to accomplish what he'd just done. Still, he'd had years of practice at putting forward an impression of authority, and all the boy had practiced was empty bluster without ever learning how to gracefully back down. Spilling with anger, Tony said, “I'd not sully myself by touching the foul stuff in your veins, even using a blade.”

Jonas snorted in amusement. “If you ever truly use that sword of yours in anger I think you'll learn that blood is blood. You think the stuff in my veins is foul, and you wish me to debase myself because of what you think you have in yours? No. You will respect me, and you will respect my power.”

“Power? I'd not have congress with demons to get the kind of black power you have. One day I'll be a baron and lord of Tanga Valley like my father, that's as much power as a man should aspire to.”

Jonas snorted again. “You would insult these boys' father? A barony was not enough power for him. He craved a duchy, and won it. Do you say he's more ambitious than suits a man?”

“I said no such thing! Duke Gavril is a great man!”

“Indeed he is. Many say he's has the foremost military mind on the continent, and I agree. His victories in the war were most impressive. You, on the other hand, have not impressed me at all, so I show you exactly the respect you deserve. Perhaps in the future you will show better judgment than to draw steel on a man you don't know. Although having now seen you attempting to use your wits, I can see why they are not your first choice.”

Tony's anger had consumed him now. He clenched his fists and his whole body shook. Apparently he was too angry for words, since he finally just turned and stomped away from the practice yard. Cyril hesitated a moment, looking back and forth between the wizard and his father's squire, before running off to join Tony.

Jonas turned to Rurik, who had been watching the entire exchange with wide eyes. “Don't you wish to join them, boy? Make a big show of defending honor and nobility?”

“No, Master Jonas. I want to hear the lesson you came to teach. And besides, what you did to Tony was funny. I wish I knew how to do something that could shut him up.”

Jonas smiled. It was easy to think that every noble had more arrogance than sense, and it was nice to be reminded that it wasn't true. “Then there's hope for you. Let's find somewhere we can sit down and get started.”

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Jonas had decided that the dining room would be the ideal place to teach the lesson. And, since they were there anyway, he summoned a serving boy to fetch him a roasted quail from the kitchen. Of course, he would need the proper wine to accompany it, so he talked with the duke's steward for a while, selecting the perfect vintage for the man to fetch from the cellar. By the time that was finished the boy had returned with his quail, and there was no sense letting it sit there to get cold while he taught the lesson, so he ate it before beginning.

Selecting a history lesson for Rurik had been easy. The first lesson he had been taught in his wizard training had been a history lesson, and it would do nicely. “What do you know about the War of Despair?” he asked Rurik.

“Not much. It has something to do with Good King Nicholas, I think.”

“Yes, it does.” Jonas began reciting the story, one he'd both heard and told many times. “Centuries ago, wizards ruled the world. The dynasties of the Magi had such great power that none could stand against them except other wizards. For many of them, power over normal men wasn't enough, so the wizards made war on each other. And as they battled, new spells of attack were invented to overcome magical defenses, and for each new attack a new spell of defense was dreamed up. Back and forth, back and forth, the spells they used became greater and greater. Waves of water a mile high crashed over impenetrable stone walls. Gouts of flame boiled away the oceans so that no more waves could come. Noxious vapors were conjured to extinguish the flames."

"Why didn't they just use their magic to make the waves stop?" interrupted Rurik. "Wouldn't that be simpler than boiling away the oceans?"

"For a Water Wizard, yes," conceded Jonas. "But using magic requires the mind to be trained in a specific way, toward a specific kind of magic. For anyone but a Water Wizard, magic like that is simply impossible. You couldn't expect a Fire Wizard to control the waters any more than you would expect a fish to fly in the sky or a bird to swim in the sea. Each wizard's mind can only be trained to one type of magic. In the War, different types of wizards sometimes banded together to complement each others' powers, but it was rare for two practitioners of the same type of magic to face each other across the battlefield."

"What about a cormorant?" asked Rurik.

"A cormorant?" asked Jonas, puzzled.

"That's a bird, but it dives into the sea."

Jonas sighed. "That's not the point. Different types of wizards must practice different types of magic. Now shall I continue the lesson or not?" Rurik settled in to listen to more of the story. "Now where was I? Ah, yes, the terrible magics." Jonas returned to his rote recitation. "Plagues of insects blotted out the sun. The Stone Man, who stood a hundred feet tall, laid waste to cities. The entire world became their battlefield. Cities were reduced to ruins, crops burned into deserts of ash and soot, and the people knew despair, such that we now call it the War of Despair.

“And that despair was the wizards undoing. The people could imagine no hell worse than what the wizards had wrought upon the land, and this led many of them to no longer fear death. They threw themselves against the wizards, and died by the thousands. Burned in wizard's fire, crushed by moving mountains of earth, drowned in waves come alive from the sea, their very life's breath pulled from their lungs. But the wizards were few, and their new enemies many. One by one the old wizards fell to arrows in their eyes or knives in their backs.

“Good King Nicholas was the leader of these men, and a fearsome foe on the battlefield. He led men to victory over the wizards, and broke the dynasties of the Magi. He made sure that wizards could never again rule, and established the nobility. Many of the kings today can trace their lines to Good King Nicholas, in some way or other.”

Rurik had listened to the story in wide-eyed wonder. Jonas realized that it was exactly the sort of story that would appeal to a boy: noble old kings fighting against hundred foot men. What could be better? “Can you do things like the wizards in the story? Like make a Stone Man?”

“No, the spells to make a Stone Man went to the grave with Xanatar the Strength of the World. But I know spells that can make stone strong. Or weak.”

“That doesn't sound nearly as good.”

Jonas chuckled. “Well, good is a matter of perspective. Those that were crushed beneath the feet of the Stone Man probably didn't think it was good at all.”

“That's not what I meant,” protested Rurik.

“I know. But we wizards must always be mindful of the lessons of the War of Despair. We have to make sure that our ambitions to power are tempered by wisdom. But my stone strengthening spell isn't nearly as useless as you suppose. Surely you've heard of Redwater Fortress.”

Rurik brightened. “My father told me about that. It guards the mouth of the Redwater River. Its walls were never breached, despite a hundred attacks by the barbarians from the sea in the War in the South.”

“I suspect that a hundred attacks is an exaggeration, but the walls were never breached.”

Realization dawned on Rurik. “Your magic. You kept the walls strong.”

“Indeed,” Jonas said. “The War in the South may have gone quite differently had the barbarians been able to sail up the Redwater River. But Redwater Fortress held strong, and the barbarians could never get past unmolested. It may not be as exciting as a Stone Man to smite the enemy, but my magic did its part to give us victory in the war.”

“And the spell you used on Tony, to rust his sword. Did you use that in the war, too?”

“No. I never got that close to the fighting, thank the Most Holy.”

Jonas could see Rurik's interest waning, so he pulled a large round river rock from the pocket of his coat. “Shall we try my spells on some different stones, and then ask your blacksmith to smash them with a hammer?”

Rurik's eyes brightened again. Jonas suspected he would grow to like Rurik. If he was to be forced to teach history and geography it was at least pleasant to have a student that wanted to learn.

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Is there an audience for this story on Steemit? I hope so! Also, if you have suggestions for how you'd like to see something like this serialized please let me know. Whenever I have a chance to get a chapter up? Once a week? Multiple times per week?