Shattered Dreams: A Pursuing Victory Novella
M.M. Brownlow
Copyright 2016 M.M. Brownlow
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Author’s Note
The Pursuing Victory trilogy tells the story of Aislynn and Eryk from the other side, the antagonists’ points of view. There are three books in the series, which detail the stories of Callum – King of Madelia, Avalon – Commander of the Black Scorpions, and Rhys – Emperor of Gundalar and the mastermind behind the plotting.
There is another player working for Rhys, and that is Henry. He is the son of Cynthia and Reginald, heir to the throne of Mythesti, and Aislynn’s brother-in-law. This is his story.
Chapter 1
Henry rushed down the corridor, mindless of which turn or stairway he took. His goal was to lose his pursuers, and it wouldn't do him any good if they managed to pluck his location from his mind. Better for him to be lost in the maze that was the lower levels of the large building. He knew not to look behind him as he ran - that cost him precious seconds - so instead Henry concentrated on simply moving as fast as he could.
He had no idea how long he ran before his pounding heart and ragged breathing finally drove him to search for somewhere to hide. He didn't hear anybody behind him, but he wasn't sure how long that would last. Ducking into room after room, Henry scanned the spaces and rejected them one by one. He didn't know what he was looking for until he found it, a small room with a padded bench and battered table in the middle and no other furnishings. Shutting the door behind him, he flipped the lock and breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the room's shielding click into place. This workroom would allow his magic out but no magic in, effectively hiding him from all but the most thorough and persistent search.
Brushing his sweaty brown hair back from his forehead, Henry collapsed onto the bench and placed his apprentice staff on the table. Folding his arms beside his staff, he laid his head on his arms and took deep, restorative breaths. Slowly his heart returned to a normal rhythm and he felt a little less fatigued, and when he felt ready, the boy picked up his staff once again.
Henry caressed the smooth wood of the staff, which was about the length of his forearm. The pale wood showed very little grain, and each of the magical symbols he'd learned so far showed clearly where he'd painstakingly etched and painted them along the wooden length, one rune for each spell he'd mastered in his nearly five years of training. The end of the staff held a large emerald, the wood curving around the focus stone almost lovingly. Henry was an apprentice Earth mage, and the staff was the symbol of his craft. He needed it to focus his energies for all but the most basic spells, and as he found and traced the rune he needed now, Henry could feel the wood warm beneath his hands like it was a living thing.
Closing his blue eyes, Henry began to see a map of the building painted across the darkness by the spell he was casting. Slowly he watched walls take shape in his mind, marking out rooms and hallways, and as he continued to weave his spell, the layout of others floors appeared in his mind as well. Soon he knew exactly where he was, as well as where his tormentors were. They were searching for him still, and Henry sighed as he let the spell go. He shifted his weight on the bench, trying to make himself more comfortable. It looked like he was going to be here for a while.
Henry remembered the very first time he'd run afoul of his special torturers, a group of three boys who seemed hell bent and determined to make his life miserable. It had been his second day as an apprentice mage, and he'd been trying to find his way from the dining hall to his first class. Only six years old, he'd felt lost, confused and somewhat abandoned by his parents, and trying to look in five different directions at once had caused him to walk right into another student, a tall, older boy named Jerome. Jerome had immediately spun around to confront him, the boy's swinging staff slamming into Henry's arm with enough force to bruise right down to the bone. Henry had fallen to the ground, much to the amusement of Jerome and the two boys who'd been standing with him.
"Watch where you're going, imbecile," Jerome had growled.
Scowling, Henry had pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dust from his clothing. "Show some respect," he'd answered. "Don't you know who I am?"
Jerome's answer had been another blow from his staff, knocking Henry back down. "Of course I know who you are, your Highness. Who could have missed the fanfare yesterday? Well guess what? I don't care about your prophecy or who your parents are... You're no better than anybody else here, princeling. Might as well get used to it."
Jerome and his cronies had left it at that, the first time, but the truth of Jerome's words was evident when Henry had complained to the masters and been told that he should be more careful in the halls. From that point forward, whenever Jerome caught Henry alone, Jerome always made sure the prince knew where his place was – on the floor – and no amount of telling or complaining had helped. When the punishments Jerome inflicted on Henry for the apparent sin of being born who he was got worse, Henry took to running away instead of getting beat up. He was the prince of this kingdom, that was true, but that held no weight in this place, and he couldn't ever seem to defend himself against the older boy. No matter what he tried, Jerome was always a step ahead of him.
Pulling himself from painful memories of beatings past, Henry hung his head in his hands and closed his eyes once more. Until he'd come to this place, nobody had ever laid a hand on him; he'd had a whipping boy at home to take his punishments for him. His whipping boy, a peasant about his own age, had been named Lewis. The idea was that if Henry needed to be punished, instead of laying a hand on the heir to the kingdom of Mythesti, Lewis would take the punishment instead. Since Lewis was innocent of any wrongdoing, Henry was supposed to feel bad about having the boy take his beatings, thereby encouraging Henry to better behaviour. Lewis' family was well compensated for their son's service, something that went a long way in Mythesti's poor economy, and Lewis himself was educated, housed, dressed and fed like a noble. Henry had always thought that Lewis was getting a good deal until he'd had to start taking his own beatings.
Henry stayed in the workroom he'd chosen for a sanctuary until his legs were numb from sitting in one position for so long and his stomach was rumbling with hunger. Pushing himself up, he kicked his legs and walked around the room a few times to restore circulation before finally approaching the locked door. He knew that as soon as he opened the door the shield would open and he'd be detectable once more. In addition to Jerome and his friends, there were two other apprentices, three journeymen and two masters who called this building home. The master mages were a husband and wife team, and this building was the closest thing Mythesti had to a mage school, making Henry's apprenticeship here something that his parents had been very happy about.
After his magical abilities had been discovered shortly after his sixth birthday, Henry was heralded not only as the heir to the throne, but also as possibly the prophesied saviour of the poor, failing kingdom, a mage of royal birth who would turn the kingdom's fortunes around. Most master mages picked up apprentices as they found them, and there was a lot of moving around involved in a mage's training, with the associated security and safety concerns. The king and queen liked the idea that their son would be stationary, at least until his j
ourneyman years, but right now Henry wished that he were alone with his master instead of living here. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
Henry crept along the dimly lit corridor slowly, trying to keep all of his senses alert so that he wouldn't be caught unaware by Jerome. When he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder a few moments later, he shrieked and turned around so abruptly that he stumbled and nearly fell.
"Take it easy there."
He felt another hand on his shoulder, this time to steady him. Henry looked up and met the crooked grin and sparkling green eyes of Master Rylan's journeyman, Cedric. He breathed a sigh of relief. Cedric was five or six years older than he was, and the older boy was someone Henry admired a lot. Cedric had actually rescued him from Jerome a time or two, and Henry loved the classes he had that were taught by the journeyman. Cedric never looked down on him for his royal birth, though he did expect Henry to pull his own weight when it came to both chores and lessons.
"I've been looking all over for you," Cedric scolded with a smile. "You've missed dinner and your evening chores."
Henry groaned, making the older boy laugh. "Don't worry. Maddie covered for you, but you owe her the next two mornings of kitchen duty in exchange."
Henry smiled and nodded his agreement. An extra shift of chores was a small price to pay to avoid a beating from his master for shirking his responsibilities. He made a mental note to thank Maddie as well, one of his master's younger apprentices, a girl only two years into her own training.
"Come on then," Cedric prodded, giving Henry a gentle push to get him moving. "I'll take you up to the kitchen for something quick to eat, and then see you safely to your room. You really need to learn to stand up to him, you know."
Henry sighed. "I tried, I really did, but he always seemed to know what I was going to do before I did!"
"No, he knew what you were going to do when you did," the older boy corrected him. "Jerome is a Spirit mage, remember? He likely uses a telepathy spell when he picks on you, which would let him read your thoughts. You need to keep your shields up."
Henry sighed again, louder this time. "I thought I was keeping them up. I guess I'm still not very good at splitting my concentration."
As promised, Cedric took Henry to the kitchen where the cook put together a sandwich for him and gave him an apple to take back to his room. After the journeyman escorted Henry to the dormitory and his small sleeping chamber, Henry locked the door and threw himself onto his tiny, hard bed. As he ate his makeshift dinner, he contemplated Cedric's words of advice. If only he could finally stand up to his bully, maybe the next five years wouldn't be as bad as the first five.