A Clash of Magics by Guy Antibes (read this if txt) 📕

window. He was sure his nose had left an imprint in the glass. The old magician waved his hand in front of his face.

“I’ve never gotten used to the smell. They say it is the seaweed in the bay. Out on the open water, the smell isn’t so bad.” The little man showed a quick smile before he became serious. “Sit and give me your application.”

Trevor sat on a plain chair, but the magician sat in the only other chair in the room, an overstuffed affair with cushions that had seen better days.

“No offensive spells,” the man said, pursing his lips. “That is like walking around with no arms. What else do you have to offer?”

“I use a sword for offense.”

The magician shook his head. “I’m passing on you.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“One, only. I’m a busy man,” the magician said.

“What do spy cabals do? I come from the mountains, and we don’t have cabals.”

The magician smiled. “None that you know about, and that is the beauty of it all. We roam around Maskum, checking up on our enemies without them knowing. When the moment arrives, we can take care of any threats, but my cabal doesn’t trust those who use weapons.” The man stood. “Frankly, I’m not sure that you will find a place in the enclave. We often accept defective magicians to turn into projects, but spy cabals generally don’t bother.” He gave Trevor a hint of a bow and left.

About a quarter-hour later, another magician entered. This one was even older, with wispy hair on a balding skull. He put out his hand for Trevor’s application without a greeting of any kind. Perhaps the old man was constipated or just incredibly arrogant.

“Boxster.” The man said as he began to read. “I have heard the name from somewhere. It isn’t traditionally Maskumite. Are you a defensive specialist? I haven’t seen many come through here who have made it through Arum Danzul. What makes you think you can be a spy?”

“I don’t,” Trevor said. “I was assigned to talk to you.”

“And I was assigned to talk to you,” the old magician said. “Come up with something,” the man asked with exasperation plainly in his voice.

“I spent some time as a scout. It doesn’t show because I wasn’t in the regular army. I know woodcraft and know how to hunt.”

“Hunt,” the old man said. “You would be doing the hunting, all right. Our cabal has many enemies.”

Trevor blathered on about understanding army movements. “Do you lend members of your cabal to the army?”

The old man blinked slowly. “The army lends us men when we need to fight battles.”

“I wasn’t ever close to the officers. You mean you run the army?”

“Run isn’t the right word. We direct some of the armies. No cabal is allowed to have complete control,” the man said.

The way the old man said it, Trevor had wished he had Lissa by his side because he didn’t think the old magician spoke the truth. The door opened again, and a magician slipped in. Trevor immediately turned his eyes back to the old man. Gareeze Plissaki had just entered the room. Trevor had just learned more than he wanted to know.

The old man told him about a few exploits of his cabal, but none of them included international espionage. Plissaki fiddled with his hands and stepped up by the interviewer.

“You don’t look impressed that a magician has appeared virtually out of thin air?” the old man said.

“He wouldn’t be,” Plissaki said, narrowing his eyes. “It appears the fly has been caught in the spider’s web.”

The old magician turned to Plissaki. “What do you mean?”

“I know this Boxster. He is actually Prince Trevor Arcwin, whom we believe to have recently become a tool of the Dryden Seers.”

The old man stood up. “This is the one who saw through your spell?”

Plissaki nodded. “He is, and now he is going to die.”

A bolt of white lightning splashed against Trevor’s chest. He truly was caught in a trap of his own making. He didn’t think he could fight his way out of the enclave. He had gone through too many doors and down too many corridors to remember what he tried to memorize. He glanced out the window as he drew his sword.

He had one way out and he hoped the diving outfit would allow him to swim. The old man was already at the door crying for help. Trevor plunged his sword in the old man’s back and was ready to do the same to Plissaki when it appeared the old man’s alarm attracted lots of magicians. He lunged at Worto’s former counselor, not knowing how deeply he had wounded Plissaki before throwing open the window and jumping into the briny water too many feet below him.

Chapter Seventeen

~

T revor stifled a scream and held tightly onto his sword as he plummeted toward the water. He hoped he had jumped out far enough to avoid the rocks below. Jumping had been incredibly risky, but as bolts of lightning began to rain down around him, he admitted he’d be out of it much quicker.

When Trevor hit the water, he gasped. Everything was suddenly cold, and Trevor breathed in water. The diving suit didn’t stop his sinking as he had hoped, probably because he still wore the cuirass underneath the diver’s outfit. He almost dropped his sword but managed to jam most of it into its scabbard as he began swimming sideways and then upward. The water in his lungs hurt with every move until he broke the surface of the water. Trevor fought for breath and coughed. Saltwater came up through his nose and began to sting his eyes. Panic took hold of him, and Trevor ceased to be aware of his actions.

Hands grabbed him, tossing him