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      Novel Chapter:  

                Bryte’s Ascent

                (Book 4 in the

               Arucadi  Series)

     Archived Chapters of    

                Bryte's Ascent

A PERILOUS POWER

Prequel to A School for Sorcery

The big city of Port-of-Lords is not kind to country boys Trevor Blake and his best friend Les Simonton. They go there to be trained in the magical arts by the Community of the Gifted in Port-of-Lords, but the training is not what they expected. When they fall into the clutches of a thieving conman and an evil Adept, Trevor learns the limitations of his power and Les discovers a power he didn't know he had. 

trade paperback in Tor's Starscape YA line

Cover art by Marilee Heyer, ©2003

EXCERPT

Today [Trevor] was of age and no longer bound by his parents’ restrictions against the use of magic.  He could do as he pleased, even ignore the prohibition against visiting Uncle Matt and Aunt Ellen.  Why not pay his aunt and uncle a farewell visit before leaving for the university?

The bus chugged and clattered into view.  He waved it to a stop and jumped on, handed the driver two small copper coins, and took a seat.  As he watched the countryside jog past, he thought about how much Les, too, would enjoy a trip to Sharpness.  What fun if they could share this final adventure before their paths parted, perhaps forever.

He’d used his power once today; he could do it again.

He closed his eyes and drew pictures in his mind: first, Uncle Matt and Aunt Ellen’s house as he had seen it last, a rambling frame farmhouse of three stories.  Painted a dark brown, it had a high-peaked, wooden-shingled roof with three tall chimneys.  And lots of windows.  He remembered Les saying that those windows looked like eyes watching everywhere so nobody could ever sneak up on the house.  To Trevor that had seemed an odd notion.

Then Les as he was today, his fiery red hair as unruly as ever, his boyhood freckles melded into an even tan, his body tall and strong from working in his father’s fields.

He pictured Les walking along the lane as he had, waiting at the crossroads where he had waited, and, like him, boarding the bus—the afternoon bus this time—to Sharpness and Wickton.  He pictured Les taking this same ride, feeling the same monotonous jiggling and rocking all the way to Sharpness.

Trevor smiled a satisfied smile as he stepped off the bus.  It was almost noon.  He strode through town and on down the curving country road that led to his uncle’s house.

His heart leaped as the house came into view up ahead on the rise, the oak trees on either side of it as full and magnificent as he remembered.  The house itself had changed little.  He hurried toward it.  Aunt Ellen opened the door before he reached it.  She looked older than he remembered.  Drawing him into a warm embrace, she said, “At last, you’ve come back.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me,” he said.  “You haven’t seen me since I was seven.”

She laughed.  “You’ve grown up, right enough.  But you still have the same straight, shiny brown hair and thrust‑out chin.  And the famous Blake nose that you’re all blessed with.”

He laughed, too, and hugged her harder.  As a kid he’d hated that “Blake nose” with its bump in the center, but now he had to admit that it was distinctive.

Over her shoulder he saw his uncle beaming at him.  “Trevor, my boy,” he boomed.  “Of course we recognized you.  We’ve been expecting you.”

Released from his aunt’s arms, he received a hearty hug from his uncle and allowed himself to be drawn into the comfortable parlor and installed in an overstuffed wing chair. 

“How could you have been expecting me?” he asked.  “I only decided to come on impulse after I missed the bus to Essell.”

His uncle’s hearty chuckle jiggled his muttonchops.  “I know, I know.  And on the way you decided your friend Les should join you here.  You broadcast the suggestion so loud and strong, no sensitive within forty miles could’ve missed it.  Be interestin’ to see who turns up along with Les.  We might have us quite a party.”

“A dangerous one.”  A worried frown creased Aunt Ellen’s kindly face.  “Most gifted folks stick together, but there are a few bad apples, and if one of them gets the message . . .”

“Now, now, Ellen.  Won’t be nothin’ we can’t handle.  Don’t worry the boy.”

But his uncle stroked the fringe of beard that outlined his jutting chin, and Trevor knew the gesture meant that his uncle was worried, too. 

His rash act might bring trouble to this house.