Prologue – The Catalyst

It’s not a proper funeral. Ryan has no rituals performed for him, no flowers laid at his tombstone and no grieving relatives to reminisce about his past and mourn his lack of future. Just William and Dexter, saying farewell the best way we know how. It feels unworthy of him.

We are alone. Far from the nearest village, Will and I dig Ryan’s grave by hand. Summoning magic seems wrong and not just due to the circumstances of his death. It’s more real to do it ourselves. Hours of relentless work pass, and I can’t think of anything to say to Will. The elements fight against us; with hard earth, frigid air and a dense white fog obscuring the land. We fight back.

In my place, someone else might be praying to the gods. I won’t because I don’t believe any being could be bastard enough to create this messed up world and if they did, I see no reason to play nice. If some higher entity dared to decide the deaths of my friends, I would find that ‘higher entity’ and beat the crap out of it.

However, there are no gods and I know exactly who to blame for his death.

After carving out his grave we stand unmoving for hours. I don’t know what to do, but I can’t leave either. Not able to bear the tension any longer, I stoop to lift my friend into his grave. When he realises what I am doing, William turns on me wildly. Desperately. His fists are clenched and he may actually punch me.

I back off. Shaking, he kneels by his lover’s body and stares into his dead, grey eyes. Tenderly, Will wipes the blood off Ryan’s face. It is a hollow parody of the light and love that once shined from their entwined hands and I feel my heart ache in longing.

Will’s face twists and he wrenches away. It’s not Ryan lying there. The empty corpse on the ground holds nothing of his strength, sweetness or wit. I want to believe it hadn’t been him earlier, when he was barely alive and somehow conscious, the panic and terror contorting his familiar face to the point where it was unrecognisable. However, I know I will never forget.

I grip Will’s hand and he tenses, but doesn’t resist. “We’ll get that bitch,” I promise him.

He trembles. “I don’t know… I-I don’t know if I can, without h-him.”

There’s nothing I can say to that. So, I hold his hand in silence as the sun falls and the night grows colder.

Faint fingers of light wake me to warm blankets carefully tucked around me and no recollection of falling asleep. William is nowhere to be seen. Ryan’s grave is filled in, unmarked. Rage seethes inside me. How could Will bury my best friend without me?

I find him beneath a tree gazing soullessly into the sky. Irrationally, I’m terrified that he has died too. His face is blank of any emotion, and when I call him he looks past me without recognition. Giving up my anger, I lie down beside him.

“Don’t ever leave me?” His voice cracks, and I want to tell him I’ll be with him always, but I can’t make myself lie to him. “Then, help me avenge him?”

At his words, the image of Spydir stabs into my mind. Unwillingly, I am drawn into my memory of yesterday.

Smile stretching wide, Spydir Rae is unfazed by the blood splatters that cover her head to toe. Her magically enhanced appearance of sweetness and beauty is nightmarishly displaced. The tone of her voice: calm and logical. “The King bids you to know that this event is a physical manifestation of his displeasure at the Ambassador’s escape. It’s not personal. We are simply discouraging future failures of a similar nature.”

Spydir tries to put a hand on my shoulder but I am fast enough to avoid her sickening touch. She attempts empathetic. “Honestly, Dexter, you had orders to capture all the traitors. Is that so hard?”

I couldn’t give a damn about King Isaac’s orders and I don’t have time to play politics. His paranoia about a Warlock rebellion drives him to keep us on an ever shortening leash and we never know which crazed ‘precaution’ he will take next. “What event? What are you talking about?!” I demand. Lightning crackles between my fingertips as I hold my hand back to throw.

The King’s pet Warlock absently watches blood run in rivulets down her arm and form in droplets at the tips of her fingers. “Don’t bother with the theatrics, Dexter. I know your secret. The famous Warlock’s Apprentice has about as much magic as a rock.”

I let go of Will’s charm. It’s over. I’m busted. The lightning disappears; there wouldn’t have been enough to throw anyway. Her satisfaction is acidic to me. “I don’t need to be a Warlock to make you talk. What have you done with Ryan?”My voice is dark, and it’s true. I have other abilities.

“The official position is that the warrior Ryan Winterson was killed by the former Ambassador for Canarkland in an unsuccessful attempt to stop him fleeing... blah blah blah. What I’m really interested in is your admission that you’re not a Warlock. What are you Dexter Lightguard?”

My heart is paralysed by her first sentence and I don’t feel the magical lasso tugging at my wrist. I am too late to stop it flying into her hand; the thin strip of dragon hide with the gold symbol Will had spent so long on to protect me. To hide me. I cannot magically feel the absence of the glamour, but I feel naked and vulnerable just by the knowledge of its absence.

Spydir smiles, and then falters. Whatever she expected to see, the real me is not it. Her jaw falls open. “H-how?” she stutters, in furious bewilderment.

I take the opportunity to run, hoping to find Ryan. Hoping it’s not too late.

Dodging through the thick trees I find a trail of blood. I have no choice but to follow it, even though I know where it will lead. There’s too much blood for there to be anything alive at the end of the trail. I see Ryan… and immediately wished I hadn’t. Somehow, he is still alive.

“Dex? Dex!” he screams, but the words are muffled and gurgled by blood…

“Dex?” William’s brown eyes seek mine, rescuing me from internal torment. He’s always been the one to rescue me. Apart from Ryan, he’s the only one who’s ever understood me.

“I’ll avenge him. We’ll make her pay,” I vow, although I do not believe anything could equal our loss.

He shakes his head. “I don’t mean Spydir. I mean everyone who contributed this. I mean every person who authorised an execution, looked the other way as one of us was abused or helped spread the King’s anti-warlock propaganda. I mean those damn people that are so scared of what magic might do that no matter the cost they find ways control the power!”

Will stares deep into my eyes and I can see the damage, perhaps permanent.

Holding a hand to his heart, he says: “I want the Empire to feel this.”

So I fixed this up. I am developing the rest of the story. I went in the wrong direction to start with, but I'm happy with it now.