So, he did his best to put it out of his mind, even if it was difficult.
What few times Lucian saw the Queen was for training. She treated him no differently than before, evidence that perhaps she didn’t have a spy following him around everywhere. That was, she treated him as a teacher who was somewhat annoyed at her student’s lack of progress. From her, he learned more about wards and brands, and how to combine different Aspects for different effects. He got more education in the few days’ journey across Psyche’s Westlands than he had in months at the Academy – perhaps because with the Sorceress-Queen, no knowledge was forbidden. He could ask whatever he wanted, and she would show him how to do it.
As time went on, he became even more convinced she actually did believe in her prophecy about him being the Chosen. Why else go through all this trouble? That left Lucian in a bind, too, because it naturally meant she might be right about things. What if he really did have to work with her, for years on end, for the Orbs to work? What if he had to become the kind of person that could stand to work with her, to have no qualms about ruling a stratified society with slavery?
Either now or in the future, there would be conflict with the Sorceress-Queen. And he was nowhere near ready for that.
With Fergus, he trained his spear work, while Cleon showed him some tricks with Thermal Magic. He showed Lucian how to stream fireballs, both stationary and moving. Stationary fireballs were no different than branded sphere light – it was just heat with some Gravitonic Magic to hold its shape. The trick to get it moving was a flash of Binding, or alternately, a second Gravitonic stream, though that method was less common. Cleon also showed him how to make ice spikes, which can be shot like projectiles using the same principle.
And Cleon also taught Lucian something he always wanted to learn: creating a Psionic brand powerful enough to cut off a mage’s magic at their source.
“It’s not easy,” Cleon said. “It involves creating a brand around another mage’s Focus, and trust me, no mage in their right mind will let you do that if they know how to defend against it. And almost every mage will be expecting you to try if they know you’re gifted at Psionic Magic.”
“So, how is it done?”
“Two ways,” Cleon said. “You can do it sneakily, or you can do it with sheer power. But the problem is, it takes so much magic to do it right that if you fail, you’ll be left weak and at the mercy of the other mage, who can just come right back at you and surround your Focus with a Psionic brand.”
“Makes sense,” Lucian said. So basically, he could kiss his prospects of cutting off the Sorceress-Queen goodbye.
“You need at least a dualstream, as with any brand,” Cleon said. “Ideally a tristream if the mage you happen to be branding has a particular gifting for Psionic Magic.”
Both of them looked at each other, knowing full well who they were talking about.
“The streaming of a Psionic brand is similar to that of a Psionic ward. But since you’re streaming it around another mage’s Focus, it will take much more magic. And the more powerful the Focus of the mage you’re dealing with, the more powerful the magic. Any Focus outside your own repels the magic of another mage if it gets too close, if that makes sense. So, the brand has to hold together strong, even considering that repelling force.”
It sounded complicated. “Okay. When can we practice?”
“Now, if you want. It’s all for a good cause, right?”
Cleon was right; it did take a lot of magic. Lucian could only make three or so attempts before being completely spent of his naturally accrued ether. He chose to create his brand with Psionic and Binding Magic, and even if his Binding Magic was unlimited, it was still draining.
Lucian practiced with Cleon every chance he got. He wanted to be ready for anything, to know how to do something to another mage that had made him feel so powerless.
The days passed like that – watching, waiting, and training.
The Zephyr sailed farther west, across bone-dry mountains, lakes of lava, and sharp peaks more akin to spikes than mountains. If there was a literal hell, this was probably pretty close to it. The air was sweltering, even at the high altitude. On the surface, it must have been an unbearable oven. The white giant of Cupid loomed above, its baleful crimson eye increasingly dominating the pale blue sky. Even night was no relief from its gaze, as the planet’s light kept the fiery land in half-twilight.
And then one day, the mountains and lava flows ended, and what lay before them was a vast desert of shifting dunes riven with cracks. It stretched for hundreds of kilometers, north, south, east, and west, a seemingly endless expanse.
On the fourth day, with the white giant of Cupid dominating the sky above, the Sorceress-Queen summoned Lucian to her stateroom. When the doors were opened for him, she stood looking out the glass windows. She wore a glimmering dress set with pearls that almost blended with her creamy skin. Her violet eyes seemed to peer deep into Lucian’s thoughts.
“Stand beside me,” she instructed. “There is much we have to speak of.”
There was nothing but to humor her. He stood at her side, looking out the window at the passing desert below. Those red dunes, some almost as tall as mountains, stretched toward the far eastern horizon.
“Something we must address,” she said. “As a
