Chapter 2
Wilhelm stared blankly at the transcription, numb with shock. An unusual feeling of anticipation and excitement lit up his face. Eyes sparkling an unearthly green hue, he looked at the delicate-seeming chain. It glinted innocently in the lantern-light, but its countenance masked a hidden power.
He picked up the chain and examined it thoughtfully, letting its links run through his fingers. Platinum and pale metal was woven into an intricate flowing pattern, folding back on itself into individual segments. At the crossing of each segment, a tiny diamond was mounted, flush with the surrounding array yet contrasting with a light twinkle.
Wilhelm gently unclasped the clasp and placed the chain about his neck were it settled, reaching his collarbone. He felt a strange sensation, similar to a soft trickle of water flowing through him, but sluggish, like mud. Gradually it quickened, as if a path had been cleared; Wilhelm finally felt alive. Soft motes of light began to appear on his fingertips and vein-like lines traced their way up his palm and down his forearms.
The weave upon the chain became manifest as red and blue cracks forcefully pushed their way into his eyes and chest. His breathing hitched, not in pain but complete and utter bliss as his Talent embraced him completely for the first time. He fell onto his bed, limbs and eyes unmoving as the magics of the artefact remade his essence.
Blinking owlishly, Wilhelm quickly awakened to full awareness. He felt odd. Getting out of bed and standing, he noted a mental haze had been lifted, as if all his life thus far, he had been suppressed. Quickly dressing, Wilhelm made his way to the library, intent on perusing the manse's meagre collection of arcane texts. Surprisingly, he had not yet acquainted himself with this part of his family's knowledge and was aching to do so.
Wilhelm's insatiable thirst for knowledge grew as it was exposed to a deeper well. His mother seemed to either ignore or completely forget that momentous evening. The odd piece of jewellery passed completely out of her mind.
Wilhelm noticed this and resolved to keep his new calling a secret. He largely succeeded too, the only person who noticed his young charges interest in the mystic arts was Nicolas, his gaze never leaving the library.
Nic was still young and as Wilhelm approached his sixteenth birthday, he decided to tell Wil his secret.
In one of the endless evenings of the summer months, Nicolas approached a dozy and reading Wil.
"Good evening." Nic greeted him placing himself beside his student on the large couch. "Weaves, bindings and the realms of Magic, quite a heavy read for so late in the day, perhaps?"
Wilhelm's eyes shot up warily at Nic's abrupt observation and entrance. He quickly hid the thick tome under a cushion. "What are you talking about?!" he snapped back, slight fear replacing his wariness; fear of discovery.
"You needn't worry Wil. I have already noticed you're seeking of discouraged knowledge; despite your best attempts at concealment; yet I approve." A thoughtful smile adorned Nicolas' face, as if reminiscing something amusing. "You do well to read such material, as did I."
Wilhelm looked up, eyebrows scrunched, "You studied magic? He asked, incredulous.
"I did not just study magic, Wilhelm. I am, or was, a magus. I was apprenticed to a master in the Golden Citadel, yet I was thrown out for some imagined slight against a noble. I had my Talent ripped from me." Nic's eyes showed painful longing in their moonlit depths. Wilhelm's own face held awe and a hint of sorrow for his mentor. "Did it hurt? I mean... I'm sorry, I'll just stop now." He rambled, blushing and looking at his feet.
Nic looked at him kindly "Its fine Wil. That was five years ago. This is now. I will help you learn and direct you to the best books. I still know magic myself; despite my... inability to practice it."
An eager grin lit up Wil's face and he enthusiastically replied. "Good."
Summer turned to autumn and Wilhelm's fervour in learning the Art continued; this time under Nicolas' guidance.
Nic's apprenticeship had lasted from age seven to his twenty-sixth year. He had trained under a Brother of Dawn and majored in body magicks which should have led to a course on Healing. Instead, Nicolas had delved into the forbidden reaches of Blood magic; Body magics centred on destruction or requiring immense sacrifice; such arts were rarely used for healing.
He was thrown out of the Academy for possessing a prohibited book, instead of that petty excuse he had told Wilhelm.
That book was only one of several he had been perusing, a number of written in languages so old even the Academy's central library held no information on them. His education had been relatively short-lived; only nineteen years; yet surprisingly prolific.
Before his expulsion, Nic had been as enthusiastic as Wilhelm himself. The massive archives had supplied his sharp mind with many tantalising treats that he would share with Wilhelm.
As expected, Wilhelm swallowed every nuance of the Art that could be taught by description or illustration. Again, Nic could not 'show' him anything because of the breaking of his conduit, but his mind remained intact, gloriously so.
And so, the Magus-that-was-not apprenticed the Boy-who-thought. It was an un-official apprenticeship, to be sure, but a fruitful one. That autumn was spent mostly in the library, or atheist the reading room.
Nicolas had managed to bring a small number of books on his short travels after the year of his expulsion and had picked up a few more during. Only three were illegal; banned by the treaties governing the five Academies of the Dawn. Two were on the darker applications of healing and the other was his most prized possession. It was an iron bound book sheathed in what appeared to be soft vellum with inked runes on the front branded and tattooed into the leather.
The grimoire was a book on multiple arts, not all of them dark but most. Its teachings ranged from the most potent if dangerous of the healing arts to the most blood-curdling agonies one could inflict upon a man. Characteristically, the shining vellum was actually human skin and the ink, blood. Inversely, the 'donor' of the blood and skin was the writer himself. Coincidentally, said writer was a very distant ancestor of both Nic and Wilhelm. Japeth Noran Bloodsinger; the greatest Blood magus since the Archon himself; was an artist. He had perfected many methods of flesh destruction, preservation and life energy manipulation; not just magical energy but life itself; the very essence of blood magic.
Nicolas did not know it, but he owned one of the most valuable books on the Half-Continent. Those three books remained out of Wilhelm's reach, but other did not. Nic's two-score rare but legal tomes were enough to keep his student busy for a relatively long time.
Sadly, Wil could not spend all of his time in Nicolas' presence. Other tutors demanded measures of his time. He rushed these lessons impatiently, but with only slight true detraction from his usual rate of learning.
The winter passed and Wilhelm's sixteenth birthday approached. The new dawn of spring bought a vibrant hope to the frost-ridden landscape surrounding the manse and warmth began to return.
Wilhelm's birthday feast was a relatively small affair; compared with his family's wealth and the fact that its heir apparent had come of age; and a gathering of family and closed family friends ensued.
Due to their known mentorship; even if the extent was not known; Nicolas was invited. Wilhelm's lord father arrived, for once, mainly because his only son had reached the age of majority.
Count Haemich Mica was not a viceful man, merely a busy one. He was Count Palatine of one of the more important and independent fiefs of the Imperium, thusly many matters, administrative and political, took up his time.
A note on geography: The Half-Continent of Lasaedro is a large landmass dominated by the Imperium. The Imperium itself is an empire in name but is more readily compared to a confederation of semi-independent city-states and principalities. Only three fifths of its supposed territory swear fealty directly to a suzerain under the Emperor. The core of the Half Continent, as it is oft referred, is native land that has been ignored by temporal rulers. The landmass itself is a large but curved piece of land, its concave eastern edge facing Midcyru, which lies to the slight northeast.
Count Mica greeted his son, as a son, this time embracing him and showing some affection out of a usually cold exterior. Paternal aspects did not hold themselves to the Count, but on this occasion he displayed them. His gift to his son was a finely crafted sword, your typical coming-of-age present, an heirloom too.
The surprising part of the proceedings was the absence of a gift from Nicolas. Instead Nic had whispered into his ear; Wilhelm nodded, smiled and gestured for everyone to eating and talking.
Wilhelm enjoyed the food and conversation and his flashing teeth frequently widened in an entertained grin. Conversations flowed from the content of his studies, excepting magic of course, his father's affairs and the intricacies of the Imperial Diet.
The meal and socialising wound down and Nicolas and Wilhelm adjourned to the library. Again.
Sitting down on the now familiar couch, Nic reached underneath a nearby table and pulled out a large iron-bound wooden chest. Handing Wilhelm a key, he gestured. "Your present, Wil."
Impatient and eager, Wil quickly opened the chest.