Underdog Mage Chronicles Read online

  The Underdog Mage Chronicles: Book One

  By R. D. Bernstein

  Books by R. D. Bernstein

  Underdog Mage Chronicles:

  1. The Crippled

  2. The Captive https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DBCP7DL

  Fate Chronicles:

  1. The Eternal War

  2. Children of Fate

  3. The Drakaran

  4. Deadly Diplomacy

  5. Mystery at Crescent Islands

  Ship of Secrets

  Raven and the Phoenix

  Prologue

  “You look like you’re in a lot of pain. Can I help you?”

  The voice came as a distant whisper, yet carried with it an undeniable, commanding power. Lance was in and out of consciousness, but he could clearly make out the mockery in the question. He no longer could see out of his left eye and was sure his legs were beaten so badly that he would likely never walk again.

  Lance coughed and struggled against the restraints. “You can go to hell,” Lance spat. He knew he would pay dearly for that comment, but he would be damned if he let these people get any satisfaction from him begging.

  Through his bleary vision of one good eye and the dim light of the cramped room, Lance could barely make out his captor’s face lined with scars and a grin that showed a cavernous mouth filled with yellow, jagged teeth. The man’s breath smelled like month-old food mixed with far too much stale ale, forming a toxic combination

  “You are brave… and stubborn,” the torturer mused. “But all men crack eventually. Even the stronger ones. You’d be surprised by how many bones there are in the body to break and each one connected to so many wonderful pain receptors. I’ll ask you again. Where is the crystal? Let me help you end your suffering. Answer me.” He hissed the words at the end like a poisonous snake tightening its grip on its prey.

  Lance let out a defiant growl and pulled on the leather straps holding his arms in place. This time they made a grinding and tearing sound, but they held firm.

  “I will never tell you! You’ll have to kill me.”

  The torturer clucked his teeth in disappointment, spittle dripping out of his mouth and down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of a robe covered in dried blood.

  “I was afraid you would say something like that. But I assure you, I have every intention of killing you. It’s up to you how fast and painless it is.”

  The torturer stood there and waited for a few moments. When he realized Lance was not going to answer, he let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

  “I see…” The torturer finally said. “So be it. The one thing I have down here in the dungeons is spare time. I’ll go and fetch my tools. They are probably due for a sharpening, but I am so tired as of late and a dull blade will cut all the same… eventually.” He chuckled.

  Lance closed his good eye and held back tears as he heard the chamber door open and then shut again. This was it. He was going to die. He’d like to say he was brave at the end, but it was hard saying that when he had already wet himself… twice. The world was cruel and fate had decided to place him in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Time seemed to slow down. Lance could hear the drip drip of water falling from a hole in the ceiling and pooling onto the stone floor.

  “It can’t end like this…” Lance whispered through dry, cracked lips. “I haven’t married yet, or had kids, or…” he choked on his words. Talking wouldn’t do any good. He focused. Lance felt the leather straps holding his arms. He could feel every fiber in them, threaded together to form the leather. He could feel his pulsing heartbeat.

  Lance forced his heart to beat faster through sheer willpower or perhaps fear. He had heard once that during times of near-death, people had accomplished feats of strength seemingly impossible by normal standards. Lance felt the blood rushing through him and with it a strange, tingling sensation of power. His weary body felt refreshed and rejuvenated.

  With a loud growl, Lance ripped both arms free of the leather straps. He didn’t know how he did it, but Lance didn’t wait to think about it. He leaned down with a moan of pain and undid the straps around his ankles. His body was sore and broken in too many places to count.

  Falling onto the floor like a ragdoll, Lance writhed in pain for a few moments. His right leg was completely broken. He stood up with great difficulty and hopped over to the chamber door.

  Lance peeked around it and, seeing nothing but a dark corridor lit sparingly by torches, he made his way out. It was going to take a long time to make any progress, but he would be damned if he let that man do anything else to him.

  Holding onto the wall for balance, Lance made his way down the hall until he spotted a sewer drain. It smelled like rotting carcasses and mildew down here, stinging his nostrils and eyes with its pungent odor. A noise from up ahead of someone descending a staircase made up Lance’s mind. He slid down into the drain and prayed it would lead outside.

  Chapter 1

  Three months later…

  Lance hobbled past a beggar holding out his hand. He couldn’t even look the beggar in the eye. Lance knew he was just slightly better off than those living in the streets as it was. By not looking, he was convincing himself that he would not wind up like that. He hurried up and entered the courtyard where the rest of the potential recruits lined up. He adjusted the eye patch covering his ruined eye. It had a nasty habit of shifting when he walked too fast.

  The Commander looked down the bridge of his pointy nose as his eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding, right? You can barely walk, let alone see.”

  Lance took the comments in stride. The Commander had every right to be skeptical. Hell, Lance didn’t think he stood a chance of making it as a royal guard, but he would never let that stop him from trying. He wasn’t about to take to the streets begging for scraps of food.

  “No, Sir! I mean… you’re right I have a limp and one good eye, but I’m not joking about becoming a guard. I’ll work twice as hard as the others because I want it more,” Lance stammered.

  The recruits around him snickered.

  “It’s not about wanting it more when you can’t fight,” the Commander replied. He shook his head. “What good is it to waste my precious time and gold on training someone who can’t possibly fight?”

  “I can fight,” Lance stated, much louder than he intended.

  “Is that so? Prove it,” the Commander demanded. He looked over to a guard and nodded. The guard drew a training sword from the weapon rack and tossed it at Lance’s feet.

  “You have the passion, but do you have any ability?” The Commander asked. “Pick it up.” He motioned to a group of knights watching over by the blacksmith. “Brandon! See what this gimp has to offer.”

  A young knight standing off to the side stepped forward and grabbed a training sword. He hefted it and swung it a few times back and forth to test its balance.

  “These swords are crap,” Brandon remarked.

  Lance barely had time to raise his sword to deflect a quick overhead swipe from Brandon. He gave no warning that the fight had started. Brandon circled Lance until he attacked on the side with the wounded leg.

  Lance’s leg gave out and he fell to the ground with a cry of pain. Brandon’s sword came down, and somehow, Lance managed to roll out of the way. He blocked another swipe and stood back up, putting most of his pressure on his good leg.

  “You’re a squirmy fellow,” Brandon said. He came at Lance with a flurry of attacks and suddenly time seemed to slow down. Lance could feel his heartbeat and every sense in him told him where to move his sword. Up, down, left… three attacks in a row blocked and then a half dozen more.

  Brandon shifted quickly to the right and Lance twisted his ankle on a leg
that had no place moving the way he just forced it.

  This time, Brandon poked him with the sword before Lance could do anything.

  Lance rolled back and forth holding his ankle in pain.

  “Not too bad,” the Commander admitted. “You lasted longer than some. You’re right about effort, but you’re too much of a liability. Look at you. Your leg could give out at any moment and your eyesight will give your enemies an advantage.”

  Lance wanted to say something in his defense, but he was in too much pain. His leg was worse off than it felt in months and his clothes were covered in mud from rolling around, his short blonde hair disheveled and matted with dirt. He felt and looked the part of a crippled beggar.

  “Don’t waste your time here, young man,” the Commander said. His tone made it clear there was nothing more to say.

  Lance swallowed his pride and struggled up to a standing position. He began his slow, shaky walk when a voice called from above. Lance looked up to see a man wearing a black robe standing on one of the many balconies of the royal keep.

  “Hold on!” The man in the robe yelled.

  Lance froze. Had he done something wrong? Did he offend the Commander? Was he in trouble?

  “What is it, Master Sellius?” The Commander asked.

  “That man,” Sellius said, pointing a bony finger at Lance. “Send him to me.”

  “The cripple?” The Commander asked incredulously. “Very well. John, escort him up to the Mage Quarter.”

  A big man wearing chainmail nodded and walked up to Lance. “You heard him. Let’s go.”

  “Wait, did I do something wrong?” Lance asked as John gave him a not-so-gentle push forward.

  John shrugged. “Usually not a good thing if the mages want to speak to you, but you’ll find out soon enough.

  Lance gulped.

  * * *

  Lance had never been inside of the royal palace. The rooms were massive, lavishly decorated and kept immaculately clean and shiny. Statues chiseled into the likeliness of past and present nobles lined the hallways where workers and guards paced, going to and from important jobs. Lance stared at them with curious eyes and they all ignored him with not so much as a glance in return.

  “Try to keep up,” John warned. “I have to get back soon.”

  They passed through a set of double doors and then in the next room they took the door to the far left, a door with strange symbols carved into its metal surface. It opened without even the slightest creak to reveal a large, domed room with a high-vaulted ceiling.

  John led him to the middle of the room where a man in a black robe, different than the man Lance had seen on the balcony, scribbled with a quill. He looked up with a bored expression.

  “Can I help you?” The man asked.

  “Master Sellius requested to speak to this one,” John explained.

  The man in the robe looked Lance over and raised one eyebrow. “Master Sellius wants to speak to him?”

  “You’re as confused as I am,” John replied. “But those were my orders.”

  The man put his quill back into his inkwell and sighed. “Very well. Leave him here. I’ll fetch Master

  Sellius. And for heaven's sake, try not to track mud everywhere.”

  “Good luck,” John said to Lance. “You’ll need it.”

  Lance had no idea what was going on, but he felt entirely out of place here. He strongly resisted the urge to make a run for it while no one was around, but his curiosity won over. There had to be a good reason for a Master of the mage quarters to want to speak with him.

  Time passed slowly and with each passing second came more creeping doubts and worries. Compared to the rest of the royal palace they walked through, standing alone in this great room it was eerily silent. Lance knew little about the mysterious Masters, but the rumors he had heard were hard to believe. They were said to possess unimaginable magic powers capable of twisting the very elements themselves. They were also said to drink the blood of their enemies and use it for their incantations. Lance knew some of the stories were most likely embellished or made up out of fear or ignorance. At least he hoped.

  “Young man! Master Sellius will see you now.”

  Chapter 2

  Master Sellius was a good head taller than Lance. Despite being remarkably skinny, he was an imposing figure, towering over Lance with a practiced scowl. His hood was down which revealed a surprisingly white face, unusual in the nearly year-round heat. Lance could only surmise that the man did not venture outside often. His quiet stare made Lance uncomfortable as they were the only two people in the small room. Master Sellius’ eyes seemed to gaze right into Lance’s soul as if seeing and judging things even Lance didn’t know about himself.

  “You are younger than I thought,” Sellius finally said. His voice was flat and had a tinge of arrogance in it.

  “I’m nineteen, Master Sellius,” Lance replied.

  “What is your name?”

  “Lance Gundar. May I ask why I am here?”

  Sellius considered his thoughts and then cracked each of his knuckles slowly and methodically. Then he shook his hands out. “I’m not sure yet. There is something about you.”

  Lance didn’t know how to respond so he just stood there. At first he looked back at Sellius, but when that quickly grew uncomfortable, he switched to staring at the wall in front of him. Either choice made him feel more awkward and he silently prayed for this to all be over soon. Lance began to fidget and just when he thought he couldn’t stand the silence any more, the mage spoke.

  “I watched your fight,” Master Sellius told him. “It took a keen eye such as mine to see you used magic during it.”

  “What? But I don’t know how to…”

  Sellius held his hand up and Lance promptly closed his mouth.

  “The spell you used was sloppy and weak, and only by chance did it wind up not hurting yourself,” Master Sellius admonished. “Or even worse, one of the Commander’s knights. There will be no more improper spell casting until you are properly trained.”

  “Trained?”

  “Yes,” Master Sellius replied. “Anyone who shows the gift is rare nowadays. I can’t have you wandering about the land casting spells whenever you feel like it. Now, I will have someone show you to your room. Are there any personal belongings we need to fetch for you from home?”

  Lance shook his head, still in a state of shock. Was that what he had felt when he escaped being tortured. Was it what he felt when he was able to block all those sword attacks? The only items he owned were the clothes on his back, a few copper coins, and the crystal. He could have sold it long ago, but the people chasing it, the ones who knew what it really was, made the item invaluable. It was too risky to sell without drawing attention.

  “Good,” Sellius said. “Your first training begins at dawn tomorrow. You will be provided two meals a day, one in the morning and one at night and you will be given one pair of robes. As a trainee, yours will be red. Try not to muddy them up.” He said the last sentence in reference to Lance’s current situation.

  Lance subconsciously wiped at his clothes, not that it did any good.

  A few moments later a man wearing plain clothes entered from a side room and motioned for Lance to follow him.

  “Oh, and try to get some rest,” Master Sellius said. “Trust me when I say you will need it.”

  * * *

  The man who led him to his room was unsympathetic toward Lance’s inability to climb stairs quickly. His pace was fast and he didn’t look back to see if Lance was following. By the time Lance made it up the tower, he was dripping in sweat and his wounded leg was throbbing in pain.

  “Here are your room keys,” the man said. “Your robes are on your cot. From now on, you wear those. Dinner is served in one hour downstairs in the cafeteria. You miss it, you go hungry for the night.”

  Lance didn’t thank the man. He didn’t have the breath left to do so even if the man hadn’t been so rude. Instead, he turned the keys and st
epped inside. It was smaller than most rooms and surprisingly simple for a room in the royal palace. But a roof over his head and a room he could call his own was more than Lance had in a while.

  The cot with his red robes folded neatly on top was tucked in the corner of the room. Next to it was a small nightstand and other than that, the only additional item was a chest in the corner of the room for clothes and personal items.

  Lance was still stuck between a mix of being overwhelmed and shocked to excited and happy at his newfound luck. Guaranteed food and shelter was more than he could have hoped for. As for the magic thing, that could wait until tomorrow.

  His stomach growled. It had been some time since his last meal and that was only stale bread. Dinner didn’t start for an hour, but he couldn’t afford to miss it. It would probably take him a good half hour to traverse the stairs again in his current condition. His room had to be toward the top of one of the towers in the mage quarter. Hopefully the training tomorrow didn’t involve physical endurance.

  * * *

  The mage quarter was overwhelmingly large, and it was just a small section of the royal palace, separated only by that large metal door with strange symbols. After hiding his crystal in his room chest and locking it, Lance took both his room and chest keys with him downstairs.

  It took some time to find the cafeteria and only after asking several people who happened to be walking around. Some wore red robes like his, and others wore yellow, green, or blue. A few of the black robes also walked about, all of them much older than the others.

  The cafeteria was set up with five extremely long tables. Each table was filled with women and men wearing their respective colored robes.

  Lance approached the counter at the far end where trays of food were set up. He grabbed one from a middle-aged man wearing a chef hat. It looked like some type of hot porridge, a half loaf of bread with a healthy smear of butter and a slice of apple pie. More than he had to eat in a long time.