The Magelands Epic: Storm Mage (Book 6)

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘Thank you,’ Lennox said to the hedgewitch.

  The old woman nodded, her eyes full of pain and exhaustion. Lennox got back to his feet as Carrie offered a waterskin to Leisha. He walked out of the alley and into the street, his boots avoiding the charred and smouldering bodies. Cain was watching over the older hedgewitch as she searched through the corpses.

  ‘Some job, boss,’ Cain said. ‘You toasted them.’

  Lennox found the body of Loryn, recognisable from the axe-cleft in her helmet; the rest of her burnt. He leaned over and picked up a metal badge from the ashes and wiped the soot from it. It was Loryn’s identity tag.

  ‘And I think that’s Denny,’ Cain said, pointing to another blackened body.

  ‘Shit,’ said Lennox. He knelt by the corpse and dug through the ashes for the soldier’s tag. He rubbed it clean, then put it in his pocket with the one he had taken from Loryn. Two of his squad dead.

  ‘Sanang bastards,’ he muttered.

  The hedgewitch let out a long wail, crying her lamentations into the night sky.

  ‘She found her daughters?’ Cain said.

  ‘No,’ said Sable, walking into the street. ‘I told you; they’ve been taken.’

  Lennox frowned, glancing towards the dark alleys where the Sanang had scattered, trying not to imagine the fate of the two young hedgewitches.

  ‘Get ready to pull out,’ the Holdings agent went on. ‘The flying carriage will be waiting for us.’

  ‘But what about Thorn and her sister?’ said Carrie.

  ‘We’re cutting our losses, while I still have two hedgewitches and a fire mage. Good work clearing the street, Lennox. Nice to have you back, soldier.’

  ‘I’m not leaving without the two young hedgewitches,’ said Lennox. ‘There’s still time to rescue them.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Leisha, striding from the alleyway, ‘I’m in.’

  ‘And me,’ said Carrie.

  ‘What the fuck is this?’ cried Sable. ‘A mutiny? Lennox, get your head together, boy. Order your squad to secure the two prisoners and come with me.’

  ‘No.’

  Sable drew her sword and leapt forwards, so fast that Lennox had barely time to flinch before her blade was by his throat. He acted on instinct, and swung his mace at her. In an instant, a blinding, searing pain exploding behind his temples. He dropped the mace and crashed to the ground, his hands clutching his skull.

  ‘I see you can’t be trusted,’ he heard Sable’s voice say, as if from far away.

  The agony was all encompassing, and he cried out for it to end, his voice a scream.

  ‘A pity,’ Sable went on, and raised her sword.

  Chapter 27

  Trial by Fire

  Stretton Sands, Eastern Plateau – 9th Day, Second Third Summer 525

  Arms in the crowd lunged at Thorn. Loryn struck one of the warriors, but another split her head open with an axe. Thorn screamed as the Kellach soldier fell. Strong hands shoved her and she lost her footing, falling to the cobbles. The ropes tied to her wrist were pulled, and she was dragged along. Clove was attached to the same length of cord, and the sisters were hauled over the cobbles, as warriors collided with them on both sides. Thorn was picked up, an arm round her waist, and a hand over her mouth. Her captor barrelled through the crowd, heading towards a side alley. She could hear the cries from Clove behind her, and she struggled in the warrior’s grip. The hand over her mouth changed into a fist and punched her on the chin. A flash of agony ripped through her before she could numb it with her powers. Others joined her captor, shielding him on either side from the rest of the crowd, and they broke through to the alleyway.

  The Sanang charged up it; the two hedgewitches bundled into their midst in the narrow passageway. Thorn’s nose filled with the rancid smell of the man’s sweat, and she threw up, her vomit trailing in streaks down onto the cobbles beneath her.

  An explosion roared out behind them, and the warriors stumbled as a wave of heat burst over their backs.

  ‘They have a fucking fire mage!’ cried a warrior. ‘Run! Stop for nothing!’

  The stench of burning flesh caused Thorn to gag again as she squirmed in the man’s grasp. The Sanang increased their pace, racing through the narrow alleyway in almost pitch darkness. They emerged out into a small square, its fountain lying in broken fragments of marble strewn across the ground.

  The dozen or so Sanang paused, panting and catching their breaths.

  ‘Fuck me, lads,’ cried one. ‘We’ve got ourselves two hedgewitches.’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ shouted another. ‘If we want to keep them, we’ll need to be quiet. If every other arsehole finds out, they’ll be over us like a fucking rash.’

  ‘What’ll we do, then?’ said another. ‘The gates will be crammed with Sons. Every bastard’s getting out of this shithole before the imperials catch them. The town’s fucked.’

  ‘I know what to do, lads,’ said a lower voice. ‘Are you with me?’

  ‘Fuck you, Gatlang,’ said another voice, ‘you’re not in charge…’

  The warrior’s voice tailed off with a shriek, followed by a thud on the cobbles.

  ‘Anyone else got a problem?’ said Gatlang. ‘Good. I’m the new boss of the Black Boars, or what’s left of us, and I say we find somewhere to lie low for a bit, and wait for the rest of the Sons to flee. You saw the harbour gates; those arseholes of Pyre will keep the imperials occupied for a while yet. When the bulk have evacuated, we find a wagon, and smuggle the two sows out. We’ll find somewhere safe, and then we’ll put them to use. But remember, you bunch of wankers, I’m the boss. No one touches them until I’ve had them first. I’ll crack the skull of any that tries, just like I split open the head of that Clackdomyn bitch back in the street.’

  A roar of voices echoed through the smoky air, the fires providing a dim light around them.

  ‘Let’s move,’ said Gatlang. ‘Follow me.’

  The grip round Thorn’s waist was tightened, and the warriors ran across the square. She could hear Clove whimpering somewhere behind her in the press of bodies, and struggled against the rope that bound her wrists, but Leisha had secured them well. Her mother was still alive; she was sure of it. Lennox dragging her off to safety was the last thing she had seen before she had fallen to the cobbles, and it gave her a little comfort. As for her own life; it was over.

  The soldiers entered a back alley and quietened as they stole past a line of tall tenements. Gatlang tried the handles, and found one that was unlocked. He opened the door and peered inside.

  ‘Come on,’ he nodded, raising his sword and entering. The rest of the Sanang followed him in, moving slowly through the dark hallway of the tenement. A warrior found an open door, and they crept into the apartment. Gatlang waited until they were all inside, then closed the door. He took a lantern from a pack and lit it, illuminating a small set of rooms, long abandoned and ransacked. He checked every inch of the apartment as the group waited in the hallway, then gestured to a room.

  ‘Put them in there,’ he said, ‘then get me a chair and a smoke.’

  Thorn and Clove were dropped onto their feet in the hallway. Hands shoved them forwards as a tattered armchair was placed by the door of a small, windowless chamber. Gatlang sat down, then took an offered weedstick from one of the warriors.

  ‘Be seeing you later, ladies,’ he smirked as Thorn and Clove were thrown into the dark room. Thorn landed on the ground. She glanced up to see the door close behind them, and heard a bar set down into place. A thin sliver of faint light was coming through the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door; enough for Thorn to make out where Clove was lying next to her. She reached out and lay her hand on her sister’s shoulder.

  Clove jumped.

  ‘It’s alright,’ Thorn whispered. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Thorn?’ Clove said, her voice low and rasping.

  ‘Yes, sister, I’m here.’

  Clove sat up embraced her. ‘This is the end, Thorn. My wor
st nightmare, come true. There’s only one way out.’

  Thorn’s heart froze. ‘We should look for a chance to escape.’

  ‘No,’ said Clove. ‘They’ll be coming in here soon, and, and…’ She shook. ‘It’ll never end. Our bodies will heal again and again, but our minds? We have this one chance to die with what dignity we can muster, you and I, sister, before we are lost forever.’

  Thorn tried to control her breathing, but it was coming fast, her head full of images of what awaited them. ‘Even if we wanted to, we can’t. We’re too hard to kill.’

  Clove nodded in the faint light. ‘Yes. Dismemberment or fire; that’s what it takes.’ She raised her bound hands, her fingers clutching onto something.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Thorn.

  ‘Matches.’

  Thorn shuddered at the thought of flames close to her, but said nothing, watching as Clove sparked a match off the small box. She squinted in the flash of light, her eyes glancing round the small room. It had once been a study, though any desk or chairs had gone. Bookcases were lying toppled over on their sides, their contents piled up on the floor. Clove grabbed the nearest book, tore out a page and lit it.

  ‘It hasn’t rained in thirds,’ she said as flames took hold of the page. ‘Nothing’s damp. It’ll all burn.’ She brought the flame down until it touched the ropes binding her wrists together. She clenched her face in pain as the fire ate through the fibres, then her hands were free. She rubbed her wrists, and stared at Thorn in the glow of the burning paper. ‘Are you with me? We can push the books between us and the door, then light it all up. Hold out your hands. I’ll untie you.’

  Thorn thought of all her dreams. Clove was probably right; if the warriors entered the room, then neither sister would be left unchanged, and she might be longing for death. She watched as Clove picked the knots free and the ropes round her wrists dropped away.

  Clove lit another page, handed it to Thorn, then began throwing books from the great pile into the middle of the room. Thorn gazed at her. In the hospital, on the boat, and in the cells, her sister had been paralysed by the fear of what might happen, but now that those worst fears had been realised, she seemed calm and in control. She wants to die, Thorn thought.

  ‘Help me,’ whispered Clove. ‘We don’t know how much time we’ve got.’

  They let the page burn out and continued moving the heaps of books away from the wall and into position between them and the door. Thorn went through the motions, but her mind was far from made up. She was prepared to take any glimmer of hope that she could find; and her thoughts raced over every possible plan she could come up with as she worked. Maybe her mother was searching for her; would Sable want to lose two hedgewitches? No, she thought, Sable would cut and run with the two she had. The marines. She pictured Bryda kicking down the front door of the apartment and shoving her sword down Gatlang’s throat.

  ‘Alright,’ said Clove. ‘I think we’re ready. Once the flames take hold of the books, we can push the shelves and bookcases on top.’ She smiled at her sister. ‘Don’t worry. The smoke will get us before the flames do.’

  ‘Maybe we should wait a while,’ said Thorn. ‘We can light it when we hear the bar being lifted from the door.’

  Clove shook her head. ‘That won’t give us enough time. They’ll be able to rush in and stamp it out. The only chance we have is to do it before they come in. Be brave, Thorn, my beautiful little sister.’

  Thorn glanced away, her hands trembling. She tried to steel herself, but her heart was racing. Her mind flashed to Bracken, and the sight of her lying dead on the cobbles; and then to Loryn as the axe ended her life when all she was trying to do was protect them. A name entered her thoughts.

  ‘Keir Holdfast,’ she mumbled.

  ‘What?’ said Clove.

  ‘I’m not supposed to die now. I haven’t met Keir yet.’

  Clove frowned. ‘Your prince? You always were a dreamer.’

  ‘It wasn’t a dream; it was a prophecy.’

  There was a creak from the floorboards outside the room. Both glanced at the door.

  ‘It was nothing,’ said Thorn.

  ‘Nothing? They’re coming. They’re not getting me and, because I love you, I’m not going to let them get you either.’ Clove struck a match, and lit the dry pages of a book she had in her right hand. Her eyes shone as the flames licked through the paper. Thorn backed away. Clove placed the book onto the heap they had made, and lit other volumes off it, until the room was bright with dancing flames. Smoke belched up to the ceiling, swirling into a dense fog, and the heat pushed Thorn back against the wall. Clove heaved at a fallen bookcase, lifting it a few inches, and dragging one end to rest of the blazing pile of books. Flames licked up the varnished wood, and the heat increased.

  Muffled cries of alarm came from behind the door as the smoke belched ever lower. Thorn coughed, and crouched down. The door was kicked open, and Gatlang charged in. He almost ran headlong into the flames, but pulled himself back, raising his arms as the heat struck him.

  ‘You fucking sows!’ he screamed. He turned to his men, several of whom were clustered outside the door. ‘Bring water!’

  ‘Water, boss?’ said one. ‘From where? The wells are dried up. There’s no water.’

  Gatlang lashed out at the man who had spoken, striking him in the face and sending him flying backwards. He pushed the others out of the way and rushed from the room. The rest of the warriors remained at the door, but none entered. The fire was spreading faster with the door open, and smoke was flooding out of the room. Thorn coughed and choked, her hand over her mouth as the thick clouds of smoke enveloped her. The heat sent her to her knees, then lower, as she huddled against the far wall.

  Clove laughed, and stepped into the flames.

  Thorn tried to scream as the flames engulfed her sister, but nothing came out. Clove staggered into the fire, her clothes catching light, and fell to her knees, her arms raised. Thorn closed her eyes, the smoke overwhelming her.

  When she came to, she was lying on a cold wooden floor in the darkness, a thick, heavy cloak wrapped round her. She opened her eyes at the same time as taking a great gasp of breath, her healing powers having restored her. She didn’t feel drained, so she couldn’t have been too close to death, but her throat was sore and parched, and her head throbbed.

  She remembered Clove.

  She tried to move, but ropes had been tied round the outside of the cloak, and her arms were pinned by her side.

  ‘Stop wriggling,’ said a low voice.

  She glanced around. She was in a small room, with a lamp burning on the floor. ‘My sister…’ she cried, her voice a whisper.

  ‘Is that who the other sow was?’ the man said. ‘Me and the boys watched her burn after we’d dragged you out. A slab of roasted pork; that’s what she looked like.’ He laughed. ‘Never seen a hedgewitch die before. Quite a sight.’

  ‘You fucking animal.’

  He leaned over in the dark and punched her in the mouth. Pain exploded in her face and she clenched her eyes closed until it began to pass.

  ‘You need taught a lesson, sow,’ he said. ‘You need to learn who the boss is.’ He lit up a weedstick, the end glowing in the darkness. ‘I’ve told the boys they can be as rough as they like with you. Though, they’ll have to wait their turn.’ He crouched down next to her, a long knife in his right hand. He traced the tip of the blade over her cheek. ‘Your days of whoring for the empire are over. You belong to me now.’

  Thorn struggled against the confines of the tightly wrapped cloak, trying to free her arms. The man put his left hand over her mouth, and cut the ropes that bound her. He pulled the cloak open, and she tried to squirm away. He moved a hand to her throat and gripped hard. Choking, she lashed out with her arm, her fingernails scratching his face and neck. He grunted in pain, then slammed the knife down into her stomach, the blade passing through and embedding into an inch of wooden floorboard. She gasped in agony as blood streamed from the wo
und, the hand on her throat tightening. As she was about to pass out, he ripped the knife out of her and released her throat. She rolled onto her side, her breath frantic, the pain in her abdomen excruciating. Her powers took over, and she writhed on the floor as the wound closed, and her windpipe healed.

  ‘Fuck,’ muttered the man. ‘I could watch you do that all day.’

  She lay still, panting, her powers surging more than they had ever done before. They had brought her back from death, but she felt weak, her reserves exhausted. She tried to speak, but her mouth moved noiselessly. Her hand felt for the ragged hole in her dress. The blood was still wet, and stuck to her fingers as she touched the healed wound. Her mind was retreating, almost oblivious to her surroundings as her body began to pulse with mage power. Surges of healing mixed with something else; something new.

  The man moved closer to her. He held the knife against her neck.

  ‘If you scream, sow,’ he said, ‘I’ll cut your throat. I’d like to see you come back from that.’

  Thorn lifted her hands to push him away, and her fingers touched the skin of his neck. Without meaning to, she sent a burst of power into him, the new power that had been bubbling up inside her. The man froze, his mouth making a gargled choking noise. He couldn’t move, she could sense it, her power gripping him. She felt the life force within him, swirling as if it were attracted to her touch. She closed her eyes, concentrated on her fingers, and began to draw the life out of him. A burst of exhilaration hit her; and her nerves sang like harp strings as she pulled the life from his body. He toppled over, still alive, his eyes staring at her in terror. She kept her hand on his neck, feeling stronger with every second as he shrivelled before her eyes.