Maksym Pachesiuk
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Warlock's Last Exam - Chapter 5
🕑 Added 2025-01-10 16:02:08 +0000 UTCSally gave me the push I needed, and I spent half the night at Grandpa’s desk, scribbling down every detail I knew, trying to unravel Uncle Bryce’s plans. But despite my efforts, I couldn’t figure out his intentions. I hate relying on intuition, but that’s what it came down to in the end. There was a strong temptation to just follow along with Bryce’s plan – the man was the clan head, after all, and no doubt had the clan’s best interests at heart. But could he sacrifice my gift for the greater good? Absolutely.
Right now, Bremor’s combat division was one of the strongest in the country, with nearly a quarter of it composed of Kinkaids. Bryce might easily decide to prioritize the clan’s strength over my magic – or even my revenge. A living Simon wasn’t ideal for him, but a dead one? That could be a problem Bryce wouldn’t want to deal with. Heads of clans couldn’t afford to be reckless.
And that was where logic and emotion aligned: Simon needed to be dealt with – and fast – before he grew stronger.
I shifted my focus away from clan politics and back to the hunt for Simon. He’d shown two magical tricks so far: a shadow-based veil spell and a silence dome. His shadow trick might be less effective during the day, but I’d still need a way to detect hidden threats.
I got up from the desk and headed to the library. There weren’t any novels in Grandpa’s collection, just books on magic: from ancient spellcraft to precise mathematical approaches. I couldn’t rely on spells myself, so I went straight to the sections on artifact crafting and potion brewing. Grandpa had forced me to read most of these books as a kid. I hadn’t understood much back then – some of the older books were written in archaic terms, and the newer ones were mind-numbingly technical – but Grandpa had insisted they’d come in handy one day. And now, for once, I was glad he had.
I knew exactly which books to pull from the shelves.
For countering veils and invisibility, I found four potential solutions. For the silence spell, I’d need to figure out whether it was a fixed zone or one that moved with Simon as its anchor. Depending on that, the methods of countering it would vary. That led me to five more books.
Then there was Simon’s strange hand gesture during the fight. It had clearly been magical, though I had little to go on. And lastly, there was the matter of his injury – the hole in his buttock. Simon would almost certainly come back with something akin to my stone skin enchantment, and he’d likely enhance his bullets to counter my defenses.
For invisibility, my first thought was a monocle or a pair of glasses – an obvious solution. But without the ability to power them myself, the energy costs would be unreasonable. Potions offered a better alternative, with their long-lasting effects. From the books I’d selected, I found three recipes for infusions, two for potions, one for an elixir, and one for an ointment.
The elixir had the longest-lasting effect, up to several days, but it took almost a week to brew. The ointment, on the other hand, seemed the most practical: the ingredients were readily available, it had a decent shelf life, and it worked for a few hours with just a dab on the lower eyelid.
For detecting hidden threats, I settled on a basic signaling amulet powered by air-element stones. Ether would have been better, but Bremor had no etheric places of power. The three ether stones Grandpa had left in his stash were reserved for something else entirely.
As for the silence dome, a signal-based amulet could help detect it too. Beyond that... could I counteract it? I started sketching some formulas using mathematical runes – two-dimensional projections of etheric ones. With air-element stones, there was a chance I could create a short-lived field to nullify foreign spells.
It could’ve helped back in the chapel. One shot, and within a minute, people would’ve been swarming to my aid. I wasn’t sure what the consequences of that would have been, but at least Simon wouldn’t have gotten away – and his father wouldn’t have dared run for clan head. Or would he?
I revised the formula, splitting it into two separate spells: one to amplify sound and the other to dampen it. I liked this approach better – It gave me both options depending on the situation.
The rest of the night was spent in the basement, brewing the ointment and engraving runes. I had to take a concentration potion to avoid messing up the enchantments, but by morning, the work was done.
I set a large chrysoprase stone into a copper medallion and hung it around my neck as my signaler. A tiny amethyst was welded onto my pistol just below the trigger guard. Combined with the chain-like runes I’d engraved, it looked more like decoration than functionality.
The main batch of ointment went into a small tin container, while a single-use portion was tucked into a ring with a hidden compartment. I’d crafted a wide leather bracelet with pockets and runes burned into it for extra protection, though I hadn’t yet added the stones to power it. There was still more gear to prepare and test, but I suspected Bryce had someone watching me. So instead of heading to the Ancient Stones or seeing Evan off, I collapsed into bed.
It was late in the afternoon when Logan shook me awake.
“Seriously? You’ve been sleeping this whole time?” Logan’s voice jolted me awake. He stood at the edge of my bed, arms crossed, his face a mixture of annoyance and concern. “We were starting to worry about you.”
“We? You mean Bryce?” I asked, sitting up.
“Can’t you believe I’d come here out of my own free will?”
“I think your will just happens to align with someone else’s.”
“Well, maybe it does,” Logan admitted. “Duncan, we’re worried about you.”
“No need, brother. I’m fine.”
“Fine? Great! Then come over to our place. Mom made blueberry pie.”
“Now that’s how you should’ve started,” I said with a grin.
Aunt Mary’s pies were legendary, and I wasn’t about to miss out. Besides, it was a good chance to say goodbye – indirectly, of course. No need to involve her in Bryce’s plans.
By the time I got back home full of pies, it was too late to head to the Ancient Stones, so I stopped by Uncle Gordon’s workshop and borrowed three charged corundum stones. He was preparing a batch for sale, and I doubted he’d miss them.
Once home, I opened Grandpa’s safe. Inside, I found a handful of expensive magical trinkets and a thick folder of documents. There wasn’t time to go through them, so I focused on what mattered – cash. The safe held £3,000 in paper notes, £1,000 in gold coins, and £500 in silver. Enough to live a farmer’s life of comfort, but I wasn’t a farmer. My expenses were higher.
I pocketed a few gold and silver coins but left most of the metal – It was too heavy. The notes, however, I took in their entirety. Memories of losing all my money and a pocket watch to pickpockets at the fair came flooding back. To avoid a repeat, I spent the next hour sewing crude hidden pockets into my undershirt, distributing the notes evenly. By the end, I had eight hidden compartments stitched across my clothing.
My largest suitcase was filled with old clothes and a few heavy stones for weight. My real belongings went into a hiking backpack, a satchel, and a small travel bag. The satchel held ammunition, gun-cleaning supplies, potions, a dozen charged stones, and a token Grandpa had finished crafting shortly before his death. We’d even managed to test it. The token’s formula suppressed my hunter’s mark. It would reappear within five minutes, fueled by my life force, so using the token repeatedly wasn’t advisable, but it was undeniably useful.
Into the travel bag, I packed one of my travel outfits – clothes sturdy, comfortable, and yet expensive enough not to raise unnecessary questions on the train. Along with the clothes, I added my favorite boots and a newsboy cap I’d found in Grandpa’s wardrobe, though I had no idea where it had come from. The travel bag and the satchel fit snugly into the backpack, with old clothes stuffed around to disguise the real contents.
After double-checking everything, I called a cab and dressed in my best suit. If the cabbie got stopped at the edge of the clan enclave, I wanted to make the right impression. This was my first test – if Bryce really wanted me gone, the car would pass without issue.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was Bryce.
“Hello, Uncle,” I said, opening the door. A black cab idled behind him, the mustached driver smoking a cigarette and showing no signs of impatience.
Bryce glanced me over, noting my formal attire and the luggage behind me.
“Can I come in?” he asked. “Or shall we chat on the doorstep?”
“The cab’s waiting,” I said.
“The waiting’s paid for,” he replied.
Reluctantly, I stepped aside and let him into the sitting room. His sharp eyes swept over my suitcase and backpack.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
“Thinking of heading to the coast,” I said. “They say Drammock’s beautiful this time of year.”
Bryce froze, his expression turning to stone. Then, after a moment, he gave a slow nod.
“And what about your meditations? Doesn’t it bother you to interrupt your training?”
“I’m not going forever. I’ll be back in a month or two.”
“Duncan...” Bryce hesitated. “Are you sure you’ve read the situation correctly?”
“You’ll be surprised how much I’ve figured out,” I said, unable to resist a touch of sarcasm.
Bryce grimaced. The look was surprisingly genuine, and for the first time, doubt crept into my resolve.
“Trust me,” he said quietly. “It’s better if you stay.”
Something shifted in the air between us. For the first time, it felt like Bryce wasn’t trying to push me out of Avoc – he was trying to misdirect me.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t think so.”
Bryce let out a heavy sigh and handed me a gold signet ring engraved with an oak leaf and crossed swords behind it.
"Take it, Lord Loxlin."
"Uh..." was all I managed to say, but my uncle wasn’t finished yet.
"Here are the confirmation papers, and here’s your new passport with the title marked."
He had truly gone all out to protect me. Being a gentleman from a respected family was one thing – even regular constables wouldn’t think twice about roughing one up if necessary. But a baron? That spelled trouble for any overzealous officials.
"This’ll cause you problems," I said.
"And why would that be?"
"The title’s meant for your great-grandson!"
"That’s for me to decide," Bryce replied. "Besides, Berke hasn’t managed to have anyone yet."
"Thanks, Uncle," I said, overcome with emotion. Before I could stop myself, I hugged him. Family, after all, did look out for each other.
"Maybe you’ll stay?" he tried one last time, throwing the question out like a fisherman’s line.
"I can’t," I replied.
"Well, then go with God," he said, resigned. "Let’s go. I’ll see you off."
Bryce still thought he was in control of the situation. He even supervised as I bought my train ticket at the station. I couldn’t tell if my assigned seat had been arranged in advance, but my sole companion was a lean man of about forty with an impressive mustache.
The chrysoprase amulet I wore tingled, the magic reacting to something about the man, pricking my skin like needles. I resisted the urge to apply the ointment I’d brewed the night before. As we made our way through the train car, the amulet reacted three more times.
Not that it mattered – most warlocks and shifters didn’t need to see me to sense the hunter’s mark I carried. But this seatmate was not part of my plans. As the train whistle blew, Bryce and I exchanged one last hug. He stepped off the train, waited for it to start moving, and waved from the platform.
"Well, young gentleman, shall we get acquainted?" my seatmate asked, smiling warmly.
"Duncan Kinkaid," I replied, extending a polite nod. "Sorry, sir, but I’ve got a friend traveling in this train, and I need to find him."
"And why didn’t you sit with him in the first place?" the man, who introduced himself as Fred O'Shaughnessy, asked with a raised brow.
"My uncle didn’t approve of our acquaintance," I said, feigning an embarrassed smile. "Apologies again."
"Is this friend of yours perhaps of the fairer sex?" Fred asked with a sly wink.
I gave him a knowing smile in return. "Mind keeping an eye on my things?"
"By all means, go ahead, Duncan," he said cheerfully.
Of course, there was no "friend" on this train. What I needed was the conductor, whose compartment I quickly located and knocked on.
"Good day, sir. Could you help me with something?" I asked, slipping a folded one-pound note between my fingers.
"Helping passengers is our duty," the conductor said eagerly.
"I’d like a private compartment all the way to Drammock. And the best tea and biscuits for me and my former seatmate," I added with a smile.
My ticket had cost £1.23 at the station. Renting out an entire compartment would set me back around £5, and I figured another 50 pence would cover the tea. I showed the conductor a £5 note and a smaller £2 one. With such an incentive, I knew he’d be highly motivated to find me a compartment, even if it meant rearranging passengers.
"One moment, sir!" he said, his eyes lighting up as he reached for the money. I quickly tucked it back into my pocket.
He got the message. "One moment!" he repeated, this time more energetically, and hurried off down the corridor.
The conductor’s strategy became clear when he left his compartment door ajar. I could hear him profusely apologizing to another passenger as he cleared out a compartment. Judging by the tone of his voice, he’d simply relocated someone else to free up space for me.
It took less than a minute for him to finish shifting their luggage, and when he returned, he was practically glowing with pride.
"All ready, sir! Please follow me."
The compartment he’d found was indeed empty. Returning to Fred O'Shaughnessy would’ve been awkward at this point, so I asked the conductor to fetch my luggage. Then I handed him the promised payment.
The knots securing my backpack were still intact, which was a relief. However, my knife, unlike my pistol, was buried deep in my travel bag. Cutting the knots would’ve been quicker, but instead, I set about untying them by hand.
"If I’m left undisturbed until Drammock, there’ll be another pound waiting here for you," I told the conductor.
"Understood, sir," he said with a grin, closing the door behind him.
Once I was alone, I started working on the knots in earnest. Ten minutes in, I was already regretting not leaving the knife more accessible.
Waiting for nightfall and the next station, I applied the ointment to my eyelids. When the train gave its first whistle, I grabbed Grandpa’s medallion and stepped into the empty corridor. The train let out another long whistle and began to move. At that exact moment, I activated the medallion’s magic. Its energy coursed through my subtle body, dispersing the energy of the hunter’s mark.
The door of the neighboring compartment suddenly flew open, and out jumped Brian McLilly – a young warlock who had only hunted two beasts for Ferrish.
"Evening, Brian," I greeted him.
"E-er, you must be mistaken," he stammered.
I pointed at the faint shimmer of the ointment under my eye.
"Bollocks!" he cursed, his irritation plain.
I smirked, bid him goodnight, and returned to my compartment. Not a minute later, there was a knock at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Brian."
I opened the door. "What do you want?"
"Let me travel with you."
"Not a chance. I paid for this compartment."
"Duncan, you bastard!"
"Good night!" I slammed the door shut.
The trick had served its main purpose – I’d identified the spy. I doubted my uncle would have spent money on accommodations for both of us. But the maneuver had a secondary objective too: to teach Brian how situations like this might unfold. This time, I didn’t plan to repeatedly drill the reflex – It would be too obvious and might backfire, putting him on constant alert. Besides, the hunter’s mark actively drained life force as it restored itself. For now, it was just mild fatigue, but repeat the trick three times and trouble would surely follow. The next time would have to be the last.
I pulled out the charged stones from my satchel and slowly transferred the energies of ether and mist into the medallion. Half the energy dissipated during the process, and I ended up using two of my three ether stones – yet another reason to bring this charade to a close.
The stones from my suitcase were unceremoniously tossed out the window, replaced by useless old clothes from my backpack. I left two fifty-pence coins on the table for the conductor and waited for the next station.
The following stop wasn’t ideal. It was just a halt in the middle of nowhere, and I needed a proper station in a larger town. Ideally, one with a bustling platform like Avoc. The next stop was better. As luck would have it, a train heading in the opposite direction pulled up to the platform just as ours let out its first whistle. The timing was perfect, and I decided to act.
The situation with Brian played out almost identically. This time, however, he wasn’t as quick to react. He opened the door to his compartment, cast a sour look at me, and slammed it shut with a bang.
Our train had barely picked up speed when I sprang into action. I darted back into my compartment, locked the door, threw my backpack out the window, and followed it immediately. Hopefully, Brian wasn’t looking out his own window. Within minutes, he’d probably start to worry, look for me, and decide whether he should jump off the train himself.
The second backlash from using the medallion was harder to bear, but I stubbornly hoisted the backpack onto my shoulders and sprinted toward the railway station. My previous train hadn’t yet disappeared from the platform, but I reached the tail end of the opposite train just as its first whistle blew. Scrambling up the steps, I was met by the conductor, who grabbed my hand and yanked me onboard.
"Ugh... thanks," I said, pulling a pound from my pocket. "Would you be able to help me, sir?"
"Always happy to assist a generous passenger!" he replied with a grin.
"Excellent! I need some tea and a map of the railway lines."
"And where are you headed, sir?"
"I’ll decide once I see the map."
"Then please, come to my compartment."
I didn’t share my plans with the conductor. Instead, I marked the first decent railway junction on our route and requested to be woken up when we arrived, slipping him another pound for good measure. To my surprise, this payment also secured me an entirely empty compartment.
Half an hour of changing clothes and an hour and a half of deep sleep later, the morning platform greeted a completely different person. The young man in an expensive suit with a backpack was gone. In his place stood a modestly dressed traveler carrying a small travel bag and a satchel. Three hours later, that traveler boarded a train heading for the county capital, Ross, in Ballywinterurk.
I needed a truly large station to disappear into for good. I had planned to make three more transfers but recalled how Grandpa used to berate me for being overly cautious. So, I adjusted my plan and headed straight for Farnell instead.
