Chapter 4

Mathias sat on the cot in his small cabin, head in his hands, thinking furiously as he fought against the surging anger.

It wasn't fair!

His apprenticeship had been all but done, with the end of the journey allowing him the chance to create his final apprentice piece, and prove he was ready to be promoted to journeyman. A task he had been working six years towards.

It would have been the chance for him to move forward, study at the Arcanum and begin his rise through the ranks to Adept, and then Master of his art. Perhaps even reaching the exalted position of High Master and leading his Order, or eventually Archmagus, the supreme leader of all wizards in Ratan.

With the death of Adept Margery, his teacher those past six years, his dreams were dashed.

There would be no one to mark the completion of his final apprentice piece, and the chances of finding a new teacher to take him on for that one final act would be impossible. At best, he would need to re-do at least two years of his apprenticeship, and at worst, start from scratch.

Which was another way to say it was impossible. No teacher would take on an apprentice his age, with years of training already completed, and it was foolish to believer otherwise.

No. His dreams were ruined, his chance of ever studying at the Arcanum fading like mist before the morning sun.

All because she had chosen to sacrifice herself to save a few men.

His hand curled into fists at the thought, and he held them rigidly at his side, holding back from destroying what few personal belongings he had in the small cabin in his rage.

It was too much!

If she had held off, just waited, they would have defeated the Shrike swarm, he was sure of it. Her sacrifice had been unnecessary and selfish beyond belief, in that she had killed not just herself but his career too.

He rose from the cot, the motion almost violent, and began to pace in the small space. He had been blessed with a quick mind, or so he had been told, and it was time to put that to use. There had to be a solution. All he needed was to figure out what it was.

Which was not so easy as he had thought.

There were rules as unbreakable as commandments from the Lost, and just as revered, within the Arcanum. Rules and traditions that could not, would not, be broken for anyone.

Though, there were-perhaps-ways to work around them.

He scratched at the dark beard that covered his lower face. It was a point of pride for him to keep it neat and orderly, and it was past time to be tended, the hair starting to itch and scratch at his skin. Too long on the ship and away from the city, where he could spend his rest day visiting one of the excellent barbers, before enjoying a leisurely morning sipping coffee at his favourite café high on the hill, giving him a commanding view across the entire city.

It had been Margery's decision to undertake the long crossing to the new colony. Her choice to set there his final apprentice piece. While all his peers were assigned their pieces in the Artificer District, creating elaborate works that they could then sell to help fund their progression into the next stage of their career.

Not for Mathias though. No. His teacher had decided that her pupil must create something of note. Something that would stand for an age and be of service to the nation of Ratan.

Just thinking of that almost made him apoplectic with renewed fury and his feet became heavy, pounding the wooden boards as he paced.

As much as he had almost revered her, for her skill and talent, it was her politics he did not share. She was of noble birth and had been raised with the belief that it was her duty to help others, to serve the community and the nation both.

Not so much for Mathias, the low born son of a tradesman one step removed from the poor quarter and the slums contained there. No, he knew that such beliefs could only be held by those with the wealth and power to have the luxury of them, and while he longed to attain such a lofty position, he had long known he would never share those beliefs.

There was only one person who mattered, and that was himself.

Which brought him back to his quandary: how to ensure he could finish his apprenticeship and move on to the Arcanum Magicka, and higher learning.

More to the point, how to do so and earn enough coin to fund that next level of learning.

He stopped, a thought occurring as a solution presented itself. Risky, yes, but if he pulled it off, he would return to Yorwich as the talk of the city, his name on everyone's lips. At that point, they would be unable to deny his progression to journeyman, and he would be able to charge a fortune for his services, allowing him to fund his training.

He pounded his fist against his open palm, jaw set as he decided. He would do it. Risk be damned.

Grabbing his cloak from where it lay rumpled on the bed, he pulled it on and stepped out of his cabin, letting the door close behind him with a thump.

The corridors below decks were cramped and hot, the bronze pipes fixed to the hull radiating heat and fighting the bitter cold of the void that would otherwise permeate everything. The air was rank with the odour of unwashed bodies and the cook's station, where the fat man worked to prepare the days meals, using far too many spices in an effort to cover the taste of the cheap cuts of meat.

With a sour twist of his mouth, and a further lowering of his mood, Mathias brushed past a hurrying crewman carrying an armful of fresh bandages towards the surgeon's office. A space not hard to locate with the screams and moans of the wounded issuing from it.

Mathias pulled open the doors to the stairs leading to the centre deck, and sucked in a lungful of the fresh, cold, air. It was a relief after being in the cloying space below decks, and he climbed the stairs quickly.

He paused at the top, eyes scanning the deck, still stained with the blood of the fallen, men and Shrike alike. The crew were hard at work repairing the damage and making the ship ready of a steady speed rather than the crawl it currently managed.

His gaze paused as he caught the eyes of a girl, his brow furrowing. The girl who had flown, he realised, recalling a glimpse of her terrified expression as she passed over him on the back of a gryphon during the battle.

Blonde hair tied in a ponytail, short of stature and slight, a perfect candidate for the Gryphon Riders, who preferred such. Less weight for the creatures they rode to have to haul into the sky, allowing them to carry more equipment and whatever supplies or goods they might be carrying without the need of enhancing their harnesses with magics to lighten the weight.

She wore the plain coat and work-trousers common amongst all the tradesmen though, and the brass pin on her breast denoted her to be an apprentice of the Gryphon Handlers, a subset of the Riders guild.

Not a rider then, a handler. Little more than a farmhand or one of her majesty's zookeepers. His lips pressed into a tight line, and he dismissed her as irrelevant, his gaze moving on, searching until he found someone he could speak to.

Stalking across the deck, he stopped beside Officer Letterford, an arrogant ass with a penchant for over-zealous application of the rawhide whip he kept coiled on his belt, on the opposite side of the slim rapier he wore on his left.

The dark green officers' jacket was worn over a white shirt and crisp, white trousers. He wore black leather boots polished to a high shine, and the brass buttons of his jacket glittered. Unlike the crew who wore sheepskin vests against the cold, he eschewed all, but a thick, woollen cloak dyed green to match his jacket.

His blonde hair was cut short, and his moustache was thick and well groomed, though in a style that had long since fallen out of favour by the gentlemen of the city.

"Be off now, Oliver," he said to the crewman, his voice firm, the tone clipped and betraying his roots as a son of the merchant class. He came from money, then, Mathias knew, his family well off enough to purchase a commission, but was not noble born. "Hurry and tell Josias we are ready for the spar to be raised."

The crewmen leapt to obey, as fearful as all the crew were of the officer's harsh temper and firm hand. Mathias watched him go and waited with barely concealed impatience for Letterford to turn his attention to him.

"Speak up, man," Officer Letterford said without looking around. "I have too much to do to waste time, so to the point, if you please."

"I require access to Wizard Carlyll's cabin."

Officer Letterford did turn his head to look at the young wizard then, a frown forming as his lips twisted. "What need have you of that?"

"Her belongings-"

"Are to be returned to the Arcanum," Letterford said. "As we are legally bound to do. You have no rights to pick over her things."

Mathias reined in his temper and bit down on his tongue, the sting of pain giving him pause before he spoke something he could not take back. While he had no fear of the officer's lash, as he was not a member of the crew, he knew that without the officer's goodwill, his journey could be made quite unpleasant.

"There are items that I will require to complete my task at Rockshore," he pressed. "To complete the contract Lord Browett has commissioned."

It never hurt to drop the name of a lord, he reasoned, though to his annoyance it seemed to have little effect on the ships officer.

"Your mistress was commissioned," Officer Letterford pointed out, frown deepening. "As her apprentice, you could not have taken on such a commission yourself."

"With her passing, and a six month return trip, there will be no one else able to complete the commission," Mathias pointed out, gritting his teeth. "You will be aware of the urgency of this task and such a wait will not please Lord Browett."

He grimaced, irritated as he was forced to step aside as several crewmen brushed past him, their bodies reeking of day-old sweat and the sheepskin vests they wore had a rank odour that no amount of washing could erase. Officer Letterford followed their passing with his eyes and barked out an order.

"Roland, Lewis, get your arses moving and climb that bloody mast. If you're not up there by the time the spar is ready to be hauled, I'll have your hides!"

The two named sailors didn't hesitate as they scrambled up the scorched mast, trailing the thick ropes that would be used to help haul the heavy spar into place. Each of them had a thick canvas bag of tools and parts they would need at the top, strapped to their backs making their movements awkward as they climbed.

Mathias tried again, sensing his was losing the officers attention. "Sir, I must protest quite strongly; my need for the books and equipment Wizard Carlyll was bringing are crucial to my task."

"Enough, man," Officer Letterford snapped. "The law is clear. Her belongings will be returned and no matter my thoughts on this, I am bound by law."

"Three months out from the Queen's Law," Mathias pointed out. "The only law that applies is ships law, and here the captain decides. All I ask is access to the equipment required for the task assigned. I have no interest in her personal belongings."

"The captain decides," Letterford's lip curled. "And I enforce it. You complain to the wrong man, sir."

"You think that Lord Browett will be pleased to hear you delayed his commission?"

"That, sir, is neither my concern nor my interest." The officer's nostrils flared. But before he could reply further a scream cut him off, followed by a heavy thump as one of the two crewman who had been climbing the mast slipped and fell from a great height.

He lay motionless on the wooden decking, knocked senseless though still alive judging by the rise and fall of his desk.

"Gods below," Letterford muttered before leaping into action and barking orders. "Rafe, run for a stretcher. Jude, stop your staring and get out of my way."

Officer Letterford pushed past the shocked Jude and crouched beside the fallen crewman. He reached out, hand hesitating above the man's body. The leg was bent at an angle it shouldn't be, and bone poked through the skin of his arm. There was blood on his lips, and his breath gurgled in his throat.

"Wizard," Letterford called. "Help here!"

"With what?" Mathias asked, grunting. "I am no healer."

Officer Letterford's face darkened. "Mayhap not, sir! But you are all we have."

Mathias spread his hands, lips pressing tight before he spoke. "Apologies, sir. Guild law demands that an apprentice not practice healing unsupervised." He smirked at the officer's angered expression. "You understand, of course."

He spun on his heel, cloak swirling in the air in quite the dramatic fashion, much to the wizard's delight, and he strode away as the officer began to bellow and take out his rage on the crew.

Mathias didn't care. They were almost at journey's end and there were ways to circumvent the officer's insistence on following the law to the letter. All he needed was time to think and plan the best way to do that.

Behind him the man on the deck groaned in pain. A wet, choking sound.

Mathias didn't stop. He had time. That was all that mattered.