Newcomb 1 Spellweaver A novel Cyrus Newcomb A thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirements of the University Honors Program University of South Florida, St. Petersburg April 23, 2013 Thesis Director: Jon Wilson, Florida Humanities Council Newcomb 2 University Honors Program University of South Florida St. Petersburg, Florida CERTIFICATE OF APPROVAL ___________________________ Honors Thesis ___________________________ This is to certify that the Honors Thesis of Cyrus A. Newcomb has been approved by the Examining Committee on April 23, 2013 as satisfying the thesis requirement of the University Honors Program Examining Committee: ___________________________ Thesis Director: Jon Wilson Florida Humanities Council ____________________________ Thesis Committee Member: Barbra Jolley, Ph.D. Professor, College of Arts and Sciences Newcomb 3 For Sam, The best friend I have never met Newcomb 4 Chapter 1 Cole Travers strode into the Chimera's Tail as if he owned the place, and this upset Stanton Letherben, the man who actually did, more than the usually genial barman cared to admit. After serving on the front lines during the end of the Wars of Annexation, Stanton had purchased the Chimera's Tail with the last part of his meagre soldier's commission. He had been injured during his tour of duty, returning to Thertan with a bum knee, a broken arm, and a face like a squashed gourd. A bit of healing magic had saved Stanton from dying but it had not been able to make him handsome again, and Stanton's betrothed had left him after seeing his scarred and grotesque body. Now, Stanton invested all his time in the Chimera's Tail and took a fierce pride in what he had created. Being a working class man, Stanton did not know the name nor the reputation of the man who had entered his establishment, but if he had he no doubt would have ejected the man from the bar immediately. The tavern was a simple one-room affair, and the walls were hung with mementos from Stanton's time in the Royal Army, serving on the mainland, fighting against both the necromancers of Üruush and the elves of Felviar. His trusty flintlock rifle Betsy hung over the bar, her metal bits polished to a coppery sheen. Stanton did his best to keep the place in order, but he was getting well into his sixties, and his injuries prevented him from cleaning as much as he would have liked. Stanton had just finished serving a round to a group of rather thuggish men sitting in the corner when the door of the tavern was flung open. Bright light flooded in around the tall, slim figure of Cole Travers, and Stanton had to blink several times to get a good look at the man. The new arrival was dressed well in a pair of black slacks, a handsome dark knee-length coat. There was a straight cane clasped in the man's hand, and Stanton believed he saw the glint of a golden chain on the newcomer's breast as Cole turned to close the door. Stanton grimaced. The man was obliviously part of the gentry, young, foppish, and no doubt completely self-absorbed. Odds were good he was lost, something no one, least of all a wealthy individual, wanted to be in this quarter of town. Cole crossed the room in three quick strides, and Stanton was able to finally get a good look at his face. The man appeared to be in his mid-twenties, with strong cheek bones, and thick jaw bones that tapered down to a thin chin. He was clean shaven, an oddity itself, with long black hair that fell to his shoulders and rather pale skin. What really bothered Stanton was how the man looked at both the Chimera's Tail and its patrons. Cole seemed to be judging everything, from the tavern's hard lacquered bar, to the long double-pane glass window Stanton had installed in the western wall. Those windows were his favourite feature of the place, and he paid a street urchin twopence a week to keep them clean. Even though the Chimera's Tail was located in a slum, squatting down an alley way between Walker Street and Trader's Lane, but one couldn't tell that from looking out those windows. Outside was a fantastic view of the mighty Mallar river, its banks swarming with merchants, pedallers, and street performers. Indeed as long as one did not tilt his back and see the massive chimneys and smoke stacks vomiting billowing clouds of ash into the sky, one might think he was in one of the nicer quarters of Thertan, capital of the Achlish Empire. Cole continued across the room, sweeping past the sleeping form of Jessa, one of Thertan's many women of ill repute. The man completely ignored the other patrons, and even the way he glared at the tavern's new gas-lights annoyed Stanton. Stanton had spent a good deal of money having those lamps installed. Of course, he would have like to have purchased ever-burning mage-fyre lamps, but magic was an expensive commodity for the common man. Besides, the salesman had promised him that gas was the next great up and coming innovation; before adding that such an investment would require Stanton to sign a six year contract to buy gas for the lamps. “Somethin' I can get for ye lad?” Stanton smiled doing his best to sound genial, while at the Newcomb 5 same time making it clear the newcomer did not belong. The man fidgeted under Stanton's gaze, hand playing about the high collar of his fine dress shirt. “Or are yuh by chance looking fer soom directions? Or ken I help ya with something?” “Your assistance would be most welcome,” said Cole, in a deep timber Stanton would not have expected from one so young. The young man smiled, revealing a row of dazzling white teeth, and Stanton noticed that the smile did not seem to reach up to the young man's icy blue eyes. Stanton usually found the gentry spoke with a sneering contempt for the lower classes, but Stanton did not detect a hint of malice in this man's voice. On the contrary now having heard the youth speak, Stanton felt an odd compulsion to help him in any way possible. “I have come here on business. Have you, by chance had a Mister Quintan grace this fine establishment with his patronage?” “No sir,” Stanton replied before the other man had finished. This new arrival was trouble, Stanton could just tell. “Should he 'ave sir?” “You would remember him if he had,” said Cole. “Mayhap he shall arrive later.” “Would ye like something ter drink?” “Perhaps later, when my acquaintance arrives.” Cole looked about, his cold, emotionless eyes, lingering on the thugs drinking in the corner. “For now, I shall acquire a table, and wait.” Stanton smiled and watched as the young man crossed the room, sweeping past the sleeping Jessa, and seating himself at a table in the shadows. Stanton went back to his work. “Simple minded fool,” Cole breathed more than said. His private thoughts often tumbled out like this, uttered so quietly only he could hear them. Indeed, the barman had been very simple minded, and very easy to dupe. There really had been no need to use magic to charm the man. Still it's always fun to break these idiots with magic when I get the chance, Cole thought as he crossed the room. Cole got a certain perverse rush from using magic to compel people to act against their better judgement The real reason Cole had dipped into his magical talents was so he could get a feeling for the room's atmosphere, especially its patrons. No sooner had he begun to tap his magics, when one of the men sitting in the corner looked up. Cole smiled, and the man had taken the bait. Only another touched by magic could sense when such powers were used. Cole was not usually so careless, but when it came to the hunt, finding one's prey often required a bit of recklessness. Cole sat quietly for a few minutes before reaching into his coat, and grasping the golden chain Stanton had glimpsed earlier. The Telethium that he removed from his coat pocket appeared quite similar to the standard pocket watch; it was round, gold, and fit perfectly into the palm of a man's hand. The Achlish Phoenix, its eyes made of small rubies, was etched into the Telethium's cover while the release clasp was set with shimmering mother of pearl. Cole pressed the release, and the Telethium sprang open, revealing an internal face that was most certainly not that of an average pocket watch. The Telethium was a product of the brilliant tinkerers on Crafter's Row. Each had his own design, but every tinkerer started with the same basic design, a pocket watch. The centre of the Telethium was still a clock, but it was surrounded by a variety of other gadgets. A thin glass tube, filled with a viscous green liquid ran along the inner edge of the Telethium, while a small glass bead floated within, resting against a series of marks that recorded the temperature to the nearest degree centigrade. The Telethium also contained a compass as well as several other gauges that recorded depth and pressure. When taken outside, a small spindle on the side of the Telethium could also measure air speed and direction. Like a watch, everything was contained under a single piece of glass, with the facing side nothing more than a simple polished piece of gold, perfect for scrying if one had such magical talents.