The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen (3 page)

“You should carefully consider the situation,” Hosius remarked coolly, mirroring Eusebius’s posture. “You’re all alone. You brought none of your Sourcerors. That was a mistake. And here I was all these years thinking you were an intelligent man. Your whimpering, gluttonous bureaucrats can’t help you.”

 
“A mistake?”
Eusebius snorted with laughter. “You disgust me! You’ve spent your pathetic life like a drooling dog, humping the Emperor’s leg for a bit of bone. Your master can’t protect you anymore, Hosius. Those days are over, old man. I think you’ve lived long enough.”

Eusebius glanced quickly at the dining table. It was made of elm with a large round top, and like a tripod, three sturdy legs supported it. His retinue had finished their breakfast earlier, leaving behind a tumultuous collection of terracotta cups, bowls, water pitchers and oil vials for the servants to collect and carry back to the kitchens on the eastern edge of the courtyard. With a barely perceptible wave of his hand, every object on the table shot skyward and sliced through the air, hurtling toward Hosius like a flock of murderous birds.

Hosius stood his ground, his expression unchanged, heartbeat steady. As the terracotta swarm advanced to within arm’s reach, every last piece came to an abrupt stop. It stopped, because Hosius
wanted
it to stop. This was easy. The Source flowed in Hosius’s veins, allowing him to do things that normal people—Wisps—could not. With a thought, he scattered the dining implements in every direction, watching with a disappointed smile (
surely the governor could do better than that?
) as they exploded into shards and clay powder against the walls, floor and ceiling.

Eusebius flicked his wrist. The table and the lounging couch next to it lifted off the floor and shot across the room at blinding speed.

Hosius crouched for a split second, then jumped. They passed under him, torpedoing a large amphora, smashing it like an overripe grape. The furniture crashed against the wall, splintering a painting that depicted a nude girl frolicking in a vibrant green garden. The flames in the oil lamps flickered and shuddered, then went out in swirling plumes of white smoke. Hosius remained suspended high up in the air as the wine from the shattered amphora spread across the floor.

“Very impressive.” Eusebius looked up at Hosius, his eyes filled with admiration. “It appears that I missed.”

“That’s very perceptive of you, governor. Perhaps you’re not so dense after all.”

“You’re quite nimble for an old cripple,” Eusebius hissed, his face red with anger, “but you can’t go any higher than the ceiling.” His hand twitched like he was swatting at a flying insect. The eight dining stools, heavy and made of solid bronze, sped toward Hosius like missiles.

When the projectiles were close enough for Hosius to reach out and touch, he froze them in place. Then he slowly descended from his lofty height, the stools still hovering near the ceiling. Once his feet touched the wine-puddled floor, he flicked his hand. Two of the stools flew sideways and smashed against a fresco of Alexander the Great on some ancient field of battle. The stools shattered and Alexander lost an eye and part of his head as the stone beneath the fresco crumbled to the floor, leaving a web-like divot in the wall. Another wave of Hosius’s hand and four stools jetted toward the opposite wall where they smashed into a giant gilt-framed painting of Ulysses standing proudly in a boat full of his admiring men. He slung the last two directly at Eusebius. With a casual twitch of his index finger, Eusebius diverted their path to the back of the room; they landed with a loud clatter next to the bust of Constantine.

Silence returned to the room for a brief moment, then there was the faintest of sounds, not much more than a breath of wind too light to rustle the leaves of the smallest of saplings. It came from behind the back wall. Hosius heard it, but he had been listening for it. Eusebius heard nothing. Now confident that the individual pieces of his plan were coming together like a mosaic, Hosius grew even bolder, and leveled a stinging taunt at the governor: “You should strongly consider standing down before word gets out that you were bested by an old leg-humping cripple who has seen three hundred summers.”

Eusebius smirked bitterly. “Stand down? I’m just getting started.” With his palms facing, he drew his hands close together, then pulled them apart before they touched. And then he did it again. And again. As Hosius watched—more out of curiosity than anything else—something began to form in the space between Eusebius’s hands. At first, it was just a flitter of wispy smoke. Slowly, it began to grow and take shape, the wafting streams of smoke forming into an orb-shaped cloud, black as death, and as large as a man’s head. From some place deep within the thing’s core, red lights flickered like fireflies, swirling and sparkling, then it ignited in scorching red flames.

By the time Hosius realized what he was looking at, it was too late.

Eusebius smiled with deep satisfaction, then he nodded, and it rocketed toward Hosius.

Streaming pulses of fire marked the object’s path, illuminating the room in brilliant, intermittent flashes of orange light. Eusebius stood perfectly still and focused all his energy on stopping it. It gradually slowed, but continued to creep forward, eating up the space between them. Finally, when it was within inches of his outstretched hand, it stopped, the pulsating heat burning the tips of his fingers. An icy sweat trickled down his back as he flicked his wrist. In a sudden burst, it darted straight for the bust of Apollo.

“And the trouble with firestarters,” Hosius observed, as the orb consumed the likeness of the pagan god, “is that firestarters lack control. You’re as likely to kill yourself as your adversary.” The marble bust melted, leaving nothing on the expertly-carved gold leaf pedestal but a pile of ash. With a wave of Hosius’s hand it blistered across the room straight for Eusebius. Sparks and black smoke trailed in its wake.

Now it was Eusebius’s turn to look nervous. He stared down the flaming ball, squinting hard as though he was gazing up at the sun. To Hosius’s amusement, the governor began to scream in an unexpectedly high octave. The object slowed like it was moving through wine instead of air, bobbed up and down erratically, then crept along inch by inch before finally coming to a stop.

As it hovered in front of Eusebius spitting out fiery sparks, he made the same twitchy, clapping motion as before. The cloud grew smaller and fainter in color. The flames vanished and the inky blackness became a milky-gray as it shrank to the size of an apple. It lost its shape, turning amorphous and misty, and with a loud
clap
, it disappeared in a puff of white smoke.

“I’ll show you control!” Eusebius growled, and pointed at the doorway. A host of amphorae stacked ten levels high and just as deep raised themselves off the floor and tore through the electrically charged air. As a fresco of Bacchus looked on (revealed for the first time by the clay swarm’s departure), Hosius swatted them away, and smashed them against the wall to his left. Eusebius pointed again. As if invisible currents were directing them, another battery of amphorae, this one even more numerous, took flight. Hosius felt no sense of urgency as he blocked their path and tossed them aside to where the table and couch once stood.
Child’s play.
Eusebius was getting careless. His anger was dictating his actions and fogging his senses.

It was almost time.
And Eusebius was oblivious.

The governor jabbed a finger at the bust of Venus (already shorn off at the cheeks) and aimed it at Hosius’s head. Half a room away from its intended target, Hosius flicked it away with a subtle gesture and crashed it against the fresco of Alexander the Great. This time, Alexander lost most of his torso and one wheel of his war chariot.
Eusebius should know better
, Hosius thought, surprised.
A few pounds of marble stood no chance of—

The amphora throttling toward Hosius was huge. A storage vessel used to fill the smaller ones, the four sets of handles were not a decorative embellishment—tipping it into a pouring position and returning it to its base required eight servants. The speed at which it traveled seemed to warp the air around it, drawing in the flames from the oil lamps, dimming the room. He calmly assessed his situation: At its current speed, and given its size and weight, it would obliterate both him and the wall to his back.

This is more like it, governor.

Hosius didn’t flinch. He fixed his gaze on the container and willed it to slow down, a task made easier by Eusebius’s roiling emotions. It lurched to an abrupt stop and tottered back and forth like a tree in a stiff breeze, then it changed direction, seeking out its sender. Wine slopped out of the wide spout, dousing sharp-edged pieces of wood partly buried under drifts of crumbled stone and clay. He glanced up to see that Eusebius was having trouble with his headdress. It had fallen over his forehead at an angle and covered up one eye. He cursed and ripped it off his head, throwing it to the floor with a piercing howl. The vessel paused, and hovered there for a few moments, unmoving. It quivered, then the top leaned forward over the base, and it wobbled its way toward Hosius. But not for long. It stopped after a few feet and went back the way it came, turning in slow circles as it did so, wine cascading down the sides. It paused again, and reversed course, only to retrace its stuttering glide a second later. As another directional turnabout appeared inevitable, the handles at the top splintered and broke, falling to the floor along with the neck. The body began to form fissures along the surface. The fissures become cracks. The cracks widened.

All at once, unable to withstand the enormous pressure, the amphora exploded, rocking the room like an earthquake, the wine stored within it erupting in all directions. Before the dark liquid could shower the room, Hosius contained it, stopping it in midair, as if time stood still. He held it like that for a while, watching, soaking up the strange destructive beauty of the scene. Then he let it all go; thousands of terracotta shards along with the wine wafted down as gently as a wind-swept butterfly coming to rest in a dewy meadow. The wine spread across the floor, covering the mosaics like a river of blood.

“Enough!” Eusebius raged, lowering his arm to his side. “This is pointless! We’ll destroy the castle before this is over.”

“Then I suggest you obey the Emperor and fulfill your oath,” Hosius replied stiffly.

Eusebius scratched the tip of his nose and surveyed what was left of the room. Only a fraction of the lamps were still burning, casting broken shadows across the floor. Lingering wisps of smoke curled up into the air from those that had gone dark. The bust of Constantine had survived the battle—but that was all. He straightened himself to impose the full scale of his height, then looked down on Hosius with his large avian eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he intoned, like a teacher lecturing a dimwitted pupil. “The Emperor can’t possibly understand the Source. The Warning says
the Source yields two paths, but be careful where you tread, the will of the Source is not meant to be understood by men
.
It couldn’t be any clearer, yet the Emperor wastes our lives without a thought for the consequences. Without a shred of concern for the toll it’s taking on all of us. You included—though you don’t see it.” He dragged a heavy hand through his mottled hair. “I’m tired of meddling in these affairs. The Source will have to manage without me. I’m done looking for a boy who will never be found. And if he ever turns up, the poor wretch will have to settle his dispute with the Drestian without my assistance.”

Hosius nodded sagely, as if agreeing with the governor’s sentiments. “I completely understand your… feelings. I really do. Unfortunately, you seem to have forgotten that the oath can’t be rescinded.” He went silent for a beat before adding conversationally, “I understand you’ve been blessed with a rather large family. You have, I believe, four daughters and a son?”

“What… what… I what?” Eusebius stammered, confused. At last, he gathered himself and corrected Hosius: “I have four daughters and
two
sons.”

“Two?”
Hosius paused, allowing Eusebius’s heavy breathing to fill the silence until the timing was just right. “I’m afraid I have some rather unfortunate news regarding your family, Eusebius. The Emperor took the liberty of moving them to the royal residence in Constantinople until the meetings here have concluded. Regrettably, because of your arrogant refusal to honor the oath, the Emperor decided that your eldest son should be sacrificed as a lesson to you. I’ve been told that he died well. He didn’t grovel or beg for his life. He accepted his fate. That should please you. But it’s still a shame. I’m sure he would have made a fine Sourceror. Maybe even a master—
like his father.”

Eusebius’s face went pale, his eyes bulged. This was no bluff, and he knew the truth in Hosius’s words. Without warning, he charged Hosius with his arms outstretched, his fingers bent like talons preparing to tear flesh.

Ka-whump! Ka-whump! Ka-whump!
The sound of steel thumping against steel echoed throughout the room.

Eusebius froze in place.

From the corridor where the governor’s delegation had departed emerged a detachment of Emperor Constantine’s private guards dressed in full battle regalia. The flickering lights from the remaining lamps reflected off the polished steel of their swords and shields, casting shutters of shifting yellow light throughout the ruined room as they arrayed themselves behind Hosius.

Eusebius watched with his jaw slack, his arms still held out in front of his body. He blinked, and shook his head as if he was trying to clear his mind after waking from a deep slumber. Then he noticed that the soldiers hadn’t come empty handed. Some of the guards—six of them—were carrying objects. And when he realized what those objects were, he let loose a terrible cry, a high-pitched wail filled with terror and revulsion.

The guards gripped the objects by the
hair
and tossed them at Eusebius’s feet. He screamed as the blood spread across the floor and merged with the wine, forming pools around him. He looked down at the face of one of the men—the fat sweaty one, his cheeks no longer purple, but bone white in death. The face stared back at him, its eyes still open, the pink tongue lolling out of swollen blue lips.