Free The Galactic Mage by John Daulton Page A

again, and peels of high-pitched merriment echoed through Calico Castle’s labyrinthine halls as she jumped for the wriggling fiction while Tytamon teased her, bobbing it up and down and keeping it just beyond her reach. After a few moments of this, Tytamon relented. But right as the magical lizard was finally within her grasp, it burst into a pink cloud of rose petals, real ones, that rained down upon her for nearly half a minute. Somehow she managed to squeal even louder than before, and she danced about in the shower of flowers trying to catch all the petals as they fell.
    Altin winced at her jubilant screams, closing one eye and marveling that none of the crystal goblets on the shelf behind him shattered with the piercing shrill of Pernie’s noise. By the gods that child was obnoxious, and Tytamon was bringing it on, making it even worse; you’d think he’d know better by now.
    “Pernie!” scolded Kettle finally, clutching at her ears. “You’ll bring the orcs down out of the hills with all that racket.” She turned to Tytamon and added, “An’ yer encouragin’ her with all that fancy stuff.” Kettle’s smiling eyes did not reflect the nature of her words, however, and Tytamon only continued to grin. When the petals finally stopped falling, Kettle handed Pernie the egg basket and pushed her out the door in the direction of the chicken coop. The child began to protest, but a look from Kettle choked the words before they could get out. “That’s enough lizards an’ flowers for one mornin’, thank ya. Get ya busy now.”
    Kettle turned, curtseyed to them both, and followed the girl outside.
    Altin shifted his weight impatiently until they were out of sight. “All right, I’m ready to try the stone. I slept well last night and cast nothing. I’m fresh as April dew.”
    Tytamon, still grinning as he watched the departure of Kettle and the girl, turned back to his apprentice, the merry glimmer in his eyes becoming something that touched on sorrow and perhaps a bit of sympathy. He shook his head and let out a long breath. Altin ignored it all, figuring the old man was having second thoughts about the Liquefying Stone. He kept his mouth shut. This was not the time to give Tytamon any reason to change his mind.
    After a moment, Tytamon reached into his pocket and pulled out a small towel, bundled up tight, and set it on the tabletop between them. They both stared at it for a while.
    Finally the great wizard spoke. “I can feel your impatience.”
    Altin swallowed. So much for hiding it. Tytamon didn’t miss much. “I can’t help it,” he said. “What did you expect?”
    “You can’t be impatient with the Liquefying Stone.”
    He knew Tytamon was going to say that. “I know.”
    “Look, just understand this: this stone is going to dump mana on you. You think you understand what I am saying, but you don’t. It will be like striking flint to steel looking for a spark and then having your dragon breathe on you instead. When you go to make your cast, you need to try to draw almost no mana at all. Even then, you’re going to be shocked at what you find yourself pulling in. So, make sure you pick a spell that allows you to channel extra mana, something that gives you an outlet to improvise and unload, okay? You will need it for the first few tries; I promise.”
    Altin listened carefully to every word. It made perfect sense. If the stone did what Tytamon suggested, he might find himself overwhelmed with mana, overcome; even with a mythothalamus the size of his, he could only channel so much. He could be fried—either literally fried, as in dead, or magically fried, burnt out, his mythothalamus cooked and his magical sight lost as surely as a destroyed retina costs a person’s sight. “I understand,” he said, looking Tytamon square in the eyes. “I honestly think I do. Is there anything else I need to know?”
    “No. Just that. Start slow. Keep it simple, and keep it small. Oh, and remember to keep