Read Online Dance of Destinies (The Galactic Mage Series Book 5) by John Daulton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Daulton
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Sander said. “And a lot of mass in there. You said yourself we’ve only just got enough teleporters in this concert to pull it off, and barely enough mana draw. I can’t afford to have this shipment get lost.”
The conduit got up and teetered a little, but straightened right away. “I said I’m fine. Ask me one more time, and I leave. That’s no idle threat. Do you know who you are talking to?”
Black Sander closed his eyes and let the wave of impatience pass. Conduits were notoriously conceited, a rare breed of people, whose usefulness for bringing multiple magicians together was invaluable. They had no natural magic of their own. They were simply oddities of nature. But they were useful oddities. They were also renowned as drunks and liars, yet there wasn’t much to be done about attitude. Especially for a clandestine enterprise such as this.
“It’s ready,” Belor called across the room to him. “You can send it now.”
Black Sander looked to the crate where his assistant stood, dwarfed by the mighty figure of Twane. One was the epitome of a life indoors, the other a man whose thirty-odd years had almost all been spent at sea.
Black Sander turned back and took one of the seats around the conduit. He, like the Z-class seer, would participate in the concert cast as a mana channeler. He had no gift in the school of teleportation, but his illusionist’s rank was W, and with that, and the fact that he was a Two, he could add a magnificent amount of mana to the conduit’s mana pool. With the sulky T-ranked teleporter and two other teleporters, an M class and a J, they calculated that it would be enough. He hoped inexperience wouldn’t be a handicap as he glanced over at the two lower-ranked teleporters the marchioness had sent him. Neither of them could be more than seventeen.
“Just remember what they taught you in school,” Black Sander said, for his own benefit as much as that of the two younger teleporters there. The truth was, even Black Sander hadn’t done this since he was in school either. His time at the two-year school for young wizards—mandatory for any young wizard on the continent of Kurr—had been a long time ago.
“Let’s just get going,” said the conduit. He was sitting up straight now, and his eyes were open and alert, if as red as his robes. “You, T class, what’s your name?”
“Paeter,” said the trembling man.
“You’re doing this, so you start the spell and feed it to me. Master Sander and the dullard Z, send me yours after. Just channel the mana. Don’t start thinking about spells. You hear me?” The conduit was looking directly at Kalafrand. Black Sander didn’t blame him. Kalafrand nodded that he understood.
Black Sander hoped he hadn’t just signed on to something that was going to get his mythothalamus burned out, but, well, the gorgon was already at the ball. Nothing left to do but put your head down and dance.
The teleporter calmed himself, closed his eyes, and started chanting. The conduit’s eyes flared a little wider than before and took on an elsewhere look.
Black Sander hesitated long enough to see if Kalafrand set himself to work channeling mana rather than casting a spell. The seer’s eyes were closed and his lips pressed loosely together in a dull smile. Good.
Black Sander closed his eyes and opened his mind up to the mana too. He could see the pink and purple whorls of it churning all around. There was some movement sliding toward a vacancy that pulsed like a candle nearby, a flickering nothingness. He figured that slide was Kalafrand. Z-class mana draw was truly something to behold, even from an idiot and an idiot that was only a One. He gathered up mana on his own, swept it up, and pushed it toward the flicker that he knew was the conduit’s beacon. He pushed the mana to it and watched it be pulled in like water down a drain. He pushed more and more until he was channeling constantly, as much as he could. It was more mana than he’d
The conduit got up and teetered a little, but straightened right away. “I said I’m fine. Ask me one more time, and I leave. That’s no idle threat. Do you know who you are talking to?”
Black Sander closed his eyes and let the wave of impatience pass. Conduits were notoriously conceited, a rare breed of people, whose usefulness for bringing multiple magicians together was invaluable. They had no natural magic of their own. They were simply oddities of nature. But they were useful oddities. They were also renowned as drunks and liars, yet there wasn’t much to be done about attitude. Especially for a clandestine enterprise such as this.
“It’s ready,” Belor called across the room to him. “You can send it now.”
Black Sander looked to the crate where his assistant stood, dwarfed by the mighty figure of Twane. One was the epitome of a life indoors, the other a man whose thirty-odd years had almost all been spent at sea.
Black Sander turned back and took one of the seats around the conduit. He, like the Z-class seer, would participate in the concert cast as a mana channeler. He had no gift in the school of teleportation, but his illusionist’s rank was W, and with that, and the fact that he was a Two, he could add a magnificent amount of mana to the conduit’s mana pool. With the sulky T-ranked teleporter and two other teleporters, an M class and a J, they calculated that it would be enough. He hoped inexperience wouldn’t be a handicap as he glanced over at the two lower-ranked teleporters the marchioness had sent him. Neither of them could be more than seventeen.
“Just remember what they taught you in school,” Black Sander said, for his own benefit as much as that of the two younger teleporters there. The truth was, even Black Sander hadn’t done this since he was in school either. His time at the two-year school for young wizards—mandatory for any young wizard on the continent of Kurr—had been a long time ago.
“Let’s just get going,” said the conduit. He was sitting up straight now, and his eyes were open and alert, if as red as his robes. “You, T class, what’s your name?”
“Paeter,” said the trembling man.
“You’re doing this, so you start the spell and feed it to me. Master Sander and the dullard Z, send me yours after. Just channel the mana. Don’t start thinking about spells. You hear me?” The conduit was looking directly at Kalafrand. Black Sander didn’t blame him. Kalafrand nodded that he understood.
Black Sander hoped he hadn’t just signed on to something that was going to get his mythothalamus burned out, but, well, the gorgon was already at the ball. Nothing left to do but put your head down and dance.
The teleporter calmed himself, closed his eyes, and started chanting. The conduit’s eyes flared a little wider than before and took on an elsewhere look.
Black Sander hesitated long enough to see if Kalafrand set himself to work channeling mana rather than casting a spell. The seer’s eyes were closed and his lips pressed loosely together in a dull smile. Good.
Black Sander closed his eyes and opened his mind up to the mana too. He could see the pink and purple whorls of it churning all around. There was some movement sliding toward a vacancy that pulsed like a candle nearby, a flickering nothingness. He figured that slide was Kalafrand. Z-class mana draw was truly something to behold, even from an idiot and an idiot that was only a One. He gathered up mana on his own, swept it up, and pushed it toward the flicker that he knew was the conduit’s beacon. He pushed the mana to it and watched it be pulled in like water down a drain. He pushed more and more until he was channeling constantly, as much as he could. It was more mana than he’d
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