The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  “Then I will—”

  “Calm yourself. Your rashness is uncalled for.” Warden Asten glared at Alikar, leaning forward, her chainmail catching the firelight. “We haven’t even heard what Prince Aven’s had to say.”

  “I’ve heard everything I need to hear. The people of Gilaren will not abide—”

  “They will abide,” Samul thundered. “This kingdom is ruled by laws, not the whines of spoiled young kittens.”

  Aven had not thought it possible for Alikar’s face to look any more sour or severe, but he somehow managed it at that insult. “And what about the laws of the gods?”

  “There are no laws against a mage as our king,” Samul said, voice strained. “Believe what you like, but this land is governed by the rule of law. Akarian law. And—most importantly—by me.”

  “We all must answer to the gods.”

  The look his father gave Alikar was dark and dangerous. “Do you dare judge me?” he said, his voice quiet as the grave.

  Alikar’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he froze.

  “I am sure that in your priesthood, you must have learned that judgment belongs to Mastikos. Nefrana tells us, do not steal from the gods their right to judge. An eternal hell reaping the fields with a dull scythe—is that not the penalty for those who steal from the gods?”

  The king paused. Alikar met his gaze, unflinching. The lord clearly did not know Samul well if he was at all surprised by his king’s words.

  “Am I wrong? Educate me, oh holy one.” The king’s voice was barely louder than a whisper.

  Alikar did not immediately respond, and the silence stretched on. Finally, the young lord spoke. “Your Highness and members of the Assembly, I formally call for a convening of the Assembly of Akaria to meet in the capital, Panar, in two weeks’ time.”

  Aven gritted his teeth. The man had to be a simpleton or a masochist to effectively spit in the king’s face. It had come to that already, had it? Aven had known some would reject his magic, but he hadn’t thought it would take this form. At least no one had called for him to be banished or executed. Yet.

  “Certainly, we must have Lord Sven to have a true vote,” Alikar continued. “And as you have nothing to hide, I’m sure you’ll want to hold such a significant meeting where the royal archivists and chroniclers can attend. They’ll need to record the proceedings for posterity, after all.”

  Of course. All the Assembly members were here, save one—and Alikar would insist on dragging them to the other side of the kingdom. He was unlikely to win any allies with that move, but perhaps he didn’t care. There was no arguing his point, however. The meeting should be properly recorded, and once an Assembly gathering was initiated, it must proceed. The Lanukens should have spent their lives in the capital anyway. Only their attempts to hide Aven’s magic had justified staying in Estun so long.

  Alikar continued, “Additionally, Anonil and its people will not support a war against Kavanar under these circumstances, at least not until we have a proper heir.”

  “What war against Kavanar?” Samul said, spreading his hands wide. “Ah, you propose we should ride to war over this grievous attack on our crown prince? Fine idea, my lord.”

  Alikar’s glare deepened, but he did not reply. Instead, the lord turned and left with a swing of his furred cloak.

  Daes settled into his armchair in his private study. Mage servants bustled about, setting the table before him. He’d invited Evana, the knight-princess, to breakfast with him privately this morning. He’d spent the night going over their options, and now he needed to get her take on them. And hopefully win her to do his bidding.

  He had no idea how this would go. She was straightforward like he was, which he liked. But he had more experience with simpering politicos and their shallow maneuvers. He knew how to trick their kind into doing what he wanted. Simply asking for help was something he did a lot less often, and with less success.

  He leaned back as a young child mage settled a bowl of potatoes onto the scarlet tablecloth. Daes had spent a lot of time in this chair in the last few days. Nearly all of it. Thinking about the events of the last few weeks, he’d verged on wallowing, although he hated to admit it.

  Daes’s teams had searched high and low after the prince’s escape. Creature mages had tried to follow once they’d realized they were no longer in Mage Hall, but it had been too late. He’d sent search parties out into the surrounding hills and countryside, but they’d turned up nothing. Several still searched, but he was not optimistic. They could be anywhere by now. The creature mage and the prince had dashed out of his hall and pretty much vanished.

  His glorious plan had come crumbling down and left him flat on his ass—literally—in front of the king and all of the Masters. Such a public failure filled him with rage and had often woken him at night in a savage sweat, reaching for his sword. Each time he had calmed himself. Only once had he actually taken the sword to anything, and no one had died from his fits of rage. At least not yet. He’d been thinking of acquiring a new bed frame anyway.

  So Daes chose to focus on the positive and the fact that he hadn’t murdered any valuable slaves or obnoxious peers as a result of this debacle. Especially with the looks Seulka had been giving him. She could try to brush it off on him all she wanted, but she was just as culpable, if not more so. She had claimed that star magic was surely entirely forgotten. If there were degrees of failure, hers was certainly worse than his, although less public and dramatic. For all he cared, she could burn if she thought he was going to forget about that.

  No. As much as Daes wanted to kill that son of a bitch prince himself, he shoved his feelings into a corner. Rage only got in the way. He’d long ago learned to slow his actions, to check himself when his blood curdled with anger. The most effective ways to meet his goals hardly ever involved fits of passion, and he wouldn’t let his own emotions blind him or stop him from getting what he wanted.

  The mage prince would have to pay for this, of course—and the creature mage too. How, exactly, was the question. And he needed to be perfectly calm to execute his revenge.

  He had underestimated his enemy. He would not do so again. That others had underestimated the enemy even more than he had did not help anything.

  The only positive of the whole debacle was that ultimately, they had wanted a war, and they were still likely to get one. Perhaps even more likely.

  And yet—he had hoped they would attack already. Were they marshaling a larger force? What were they waiting for? He swore under his breath as another child arrived with a bowl of eggs.

  Of course, at exactly his weakest moment, the knight-princess appeared at the door. Others might overlook her royal status, but Daes knew this was not wise. She was obviously most interested in her role as a Knight of the Devoted Order, but he knew the type: they snubbed their noble birth—until it became useful. Her noble rank would emerge when the unwary least expected it and slap them across the face. Daes instead chose not to ignore it.

  She was a vision as always, statuesque in beauty, with a face as elegant and hard as marble. She waited in the doorway for him to speak, but he let the moment pass just a little longer. Some women would think he admired them, and in this case, that was at least partially true. Others would grow anxious in the silence. Either effect was useful to him.

  “Princess,” he finally greeted, though he decided not to rise. “Please, join me.”

  She glided forward smoothly. A serving mage pulled out her chair and pushed it under her as she sat. She did not acknowledge the mage even slightly.

  “Please, call me Evana.”

  He smiled warmly. Ah, that was a good sign. Of course, she wanted his help. So this should not be an uphill battle. He hoped.

  “Evana. And you, of course, can call me Daes.”

  She nodded curtly and took a sip of tea. She was all business, and that was a game he knew how to play.

  “I’ve given much thought to your proposition. And our next steps against the
Akarians. I appreciate you meeting me privately today.”

  “Why the secrecy?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s not exactly secrecy. It’s the carefully timed dissemination of information. I will share my plans with the other Masters, just not yet. I’d like to share with you the role I envision for you before I share everything with the others.” In truth, he had not yet decided if that day would ever come. If Seulka kept giving him vicious looks, he might have to include revenge on her as part of the plan.

  “Forgive my foggy knowledge of your history here, but can you remind me—who put you in charge again?” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  He met her gaze flatly with no hint of a smile. “I did.”

  Evana lifted her chin just slightly. A relaxed interest pricked around her eyes. She was pleased, he thought, although her mouth betrayed no emotion. “I’m listening.”

  “Help yourself to this food, and I will share my thoughts. Shall we?” She nodded. “All right then. I still believe we can draw the Akarians into war on our lands—”

  “Why on your lands? Won’t the damage be worse to your property?” she asked. “The farms and villages I passed on the way here were only mildly fortified, although they’d made some very minor preparations.”

  He nodded. “Skirmishes on the border were once frequent, before the Dark Days, and even more common in the centuries before the Akarians united. Having the Akarians on our terrain will certainly do more damage to our people and land. But it will give us much-needed advantages. We will have local supplies, while they’ll be easier to cut off from their food supply and reinforcements. Much of Akarian terrain is rugged—hills, mountains, forests—compared to the flat and open land our soldiers are used to. And equipped for, unfortunately. Not to mention the value of drawing the Akarians away from their own fortifications. They’ll also have to leave forces behind, while we can mass our forces much more easily with less risk. With the addition of mage forces, I think we may have enough of an advantage to actually win.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Mage forces?”

  “You saw them training yesterday. The forces grow more every day, in both size and skill. But I’m going to need more. A lot more.”

  “I thought Nefrana frowned on mages taking up arms.”

  He smiled and spread his hands as if helpless. Did she really believe that? Nefrana seemed to be against whatever the priests—and perhaps the king—wanted her to be against. The rules seemed to have far less to do with ethics or dogma than politics. But until he knew her better, he would stick to religious reverence, at least while she was around. “Think of the story of the shepherd and the farmer. The shepherd let his flocks wander as Nefrana willed and paid them little mind. The farmer worked long and hard to till the land, never asking for Nefrana’s—”

  “I know the story.” She waved it aside. “Silly, as most parables are. I always felt any decent shepherd wouldn’t have ignored his flock.”

  “True. But the story teaches us that we must use all our resources to defend Nefrana, that we must not leave our fate solely in her hands. Our priests have guided me to use every tool and weapon at my disposal to counter the mage threat. The mages are the greatest weapon I have. Doesn’t that change things? If we can stretch our borders across Akaria and perhaps even into Takar, then many more mages will be captured and bound to our will, not running dangerously wild, endangering people’s souls. Isn’t that worth temporarily arming mages who can be utterly controlled and easily ordered to stop at any time?”

  “Perhaps.” She looked far from convinced.

  “So that brings me to the first point where you are concerned. I want more mages.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “You know how to identify mages, yes? You have Devoted stones?”

  She nodded. “I don’t carry them, but my squires do.”

  “And you have friends or colleagues who may be pursuing their holy mission?” Friends seemed like the wrong word. He was not sure a woman like Evana had friends of any kind.

  “I know other knights. Of course. What does it matter?”

  “And you knights sometimes capture mages and sometimes kill them, do you not?”

  “It is up to a knight’s preference, possibly the monastery where they trained. Different groups have different standards. I prefer to solve a problem completely when I encounter it.”

  “Ah, but what a waste of valuable resources.”

  “Your captives seem fairly well treated. I hadn’t expected that.” She eyed a mage who waited in the corner for any requests from them. “Is that why?”

  “Oh, they get their share of beatings. Not everything is worth a specific compulsion. And I am but one Master. I strive to keep the others… prudent, but I don’t always succeed. But yes, I consider them valuable property. Do you leave your bow in the street to be stolen? Swords out in the rain to rust?”

  She narrowed her eyes again but said nothing.

  “One man’s problem is another man’s opportunity,” he said. “What I’m getting at is—I want more mages coming to Mage Hall. I want more slaves as quickly as we can make them. And I thought that you and some of your Devoted colleagues could perhaps be counted on for that? Perhaps to capture instead of kill for a few weeks?”

  “You’re prepared to pay the increased bounties?”

  “Of course.” He hadn’t cleared that with the other Masters, but he didn’t care. When the mages showed up, the other Masters would hand over the coin. The three of them celebrated the acquisition of new slaves even more ardently than he did.

  “Where do you suggest we find so many mages?”

  He shrugged and sipped his tea. “I thought perhaps you could figure that out.”

  The cold expression on her face told him she didn’t like that answer.

  “But we receive few mages from Hepan. I hear magic is perfectly legal there. Akaria is barely a day’s ride. And I’ve heard of a mage school in southern Detrat, although how you transport a large group of captured mages—or capture them in the first place—is not something I have any particular insight into.”

  She nodded sternly, although he noted she hadn’t exactly agreed to his plan. She wanted to hear more first.

  “And then there is still the matter of the mage prince. And the Akarian royal family.”

  “And your renegade slave.”

  He nodded, scowling. “Indeed. I did not forget.” He stopped for a moment to calm himself. A bit of toast, a taste of tea. Better. Let the wave of rage pass. “I’ve hired professional assassins this time, sent a few mages to help him. No asking the king. No kidnapping feints or fakes. The goal is to kill him, and the brothers too if possible, rather than simply start a war. The threat of star magic must be completely and utterly wiped out. Estun is a hard target, though—heavily fortified and stuffed to the teeth with loyal Akarian soldiers.”

  “And if the assassin fails?”

  “Estun might be a tough target, but they cannot be safe everywhere. I’ve initiated a plan to force them out of Estun one way or another.” Several plans, actually, but all those details didn’t matter here. One plan would suffice for her. “I’ve bribed a member of their Assembly to call for a vote.”

  “A member of their Assembly—impressive. Who?”

  “The lord of Gilaren. I forget his name. A young whelp, encouraged by enticements of trade deals and discounts and spurred on by the coin in his pocket.”

  “Gilaren? You must be joking.”

  He shook his head with a rueful smile. “I know, I thought it would require some kind of underhanded, arm-twisting tactic when the initial offer of money failed, but apparently not.”

  “Certainly that’s the first land you hope to seize in this war of yours.”

  “What war?” He grinned. “No war has started, if you hadn’t noticed, mostly to my chagrin, but it helps me in convincing the Gilaren lord. But yes, of course. I can practically spit on his territory and Anonil
from here. There’s no way to acquire Akaria without capturing his territory first.”

  “Or perhaps later, if you have them pacified?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. I see you have a strategic mind behind that pretty face.”

  Where Seulka or another woman might have smiled, Evana glared at him. He didn’t understand why, but he preferred her reaction. Maybe he just liked women who weren’t so eager to please.

  “And that is hardly surprising for a woman of your skill and intelligence,” he said quickly, feeling some need to smooth over the situation. Her expression eased. “Of course, I have other activities in motion. I am sending a small team of mages to Estun to cause some trouble and force the Akarian royals out, and perhaps give our assassins some opportunities. A dozen new squads will start training the day after that. If only I had more mages, there’s so much I could do with them.”

  She sighed. “And that is where I suppose I could best help. I will see what can be done, contact a few… friends.”

  “Were you hoping to charge into battle right away?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose I was. But this is a logical plan. Storming into Estun with my bow drawn would be foolish—and most of all, ineffective. It’d be more likely to get me killed than the prince. I will help you. Tell me, when will you tell the others? Or will you tell the others? Will your king know of these plans?”

  “Does it matter to you?” He left his expression blank, a bit cold. He didn’t want to tell her more than he had to, or reveal whom he might be withholding information from. She might use it against him.

  “I must understand to whom I can speak of these plans, of course. If secrecy is required, that suits me perfectly. I just want to know what resources I have and how best to utilize them. If the king should not know… it’d be best that I not mention it to him then, eh?”

  “And are you regularly in the company of the king?” It was Daes’s turn to narrow his eyes.

  “No. But we wouldn’t want to let a little bad luck spoil your carefully laid plans, now would we?”