The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  But bigger.

  Yes, that would be it. A lot bigger. And the swamp was full of plenty of muck to meet her needs. She closed her eyes, bunching the mud together, visualizing a giant. Much taller than her, taller than Ro, although they were both tall. This creature would be taller than three men high, maybe a little more.

  Although she couldn’t yet see it, she could feel the muddy form rise from the swamp. Globs of dirt dripped from it, splashing back into the water as it rose. It took a step forward, the earth trembling beneath her.

  She beckoned it forward another step, then another. The thuds grew louder as it neared them and staggered toward the road.

  “Is that… Are you doing that?” Ro had sunk into a tense crouch; he must be hearing it, maybe seeing it too.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. It’s just mud.”

  “Last I heard, mud doesn’t exactly get up and walk on its own.” He took a step back, then another. She wondered if he realized what he was doing. Yada shifted nervously nearby.

  “All right, well, it’s me and the mud. Unless you want to go clobber them with that mace?”

  He winced. “Point taken.”

  “Can you comfort her? If the creature just scares the Devoted farther down the road, we may need to walk along behind it.”

  He nodded, remembering himself and creeping over toward the horse.

  All the while she brought the mud man forward, step by step. Maybe she should have started closer because now it seemed like an endless hike to get those damn Devoted. But it was too late for that now.

  She ducked low and crept closer to the edge of the road to see better.

  The Devoted all turned to face her abruptly. She stifled the urge to hide. They couldn’t see her hidden in the dark. They could, however, see the outline of a monstrous black form against the early night sky. She could see it too, for that matter.

  She picked up the pace, but the concentration required was grueling. One step, then another, then another. All of her mind strained to bind the creature together, to grip each piece as it moved forward, to make it as intimidating and menacing as possible.

  Gods, let this work. After this effort, she would be drained. She and Ro might end up sleeping by the side of the road for the night anyway, having made no progress. It was much too cold for that, unless they huddled together for warmth. That didn’t sound so bad…

  Focus, girl, focus. But what the seven hells would this group of Devoted do if the creature actually reached them?

  That might be a weakness in her plan. She’d counted on frightening them away first. If she—the creature—reached them, she had no idea what to do. Well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. Maybe she wouldn’t need to.

  Thud. Thud. The creature thundered forward. The Devoted Knights clustered together. Did they have weapons raised? She squinted into the night. Crossbows? It was too far to know for sure.

  Not that crossbows could hurt mud.

  However, it would be good to know if they had ranged weapons. If she and Ro were thinking about making a run at them. Much as they both wanted to avoid that.

  The creature was about fifty yards away now. One of them stepped forward, shouted something she couldn’t quite make out in the night. He raised something in both hands.

  A crossbow bolt struck the mud. The creature felt no pain, just one more bit of debris sloshing around inside its glopping body of wet clay, sand, and stone. She made certain not to react and simply took another step forward. Then another.

  She was getting closer now. More bolts fired. Another step. Another.

  Her mud monster was only about ten paces from them now. They staggered back a few paces, reeling, but intent on holding their ground. Two weighty logs blocked the road, a barricade to slow down any who approached. Maybe she could use those logs for something.

  She focused on the creature’s arms, the hands that until now had been unformed. Via the creature, she crossed the last two steps before their barricade and seized one of the logs. The men scampered back, out of reach. Just as well, since she didn’t want to hit them. Well, maybe only a little.

  She heaved the log into the air and then hurled it off into the forest, as though it weighed nothing, as though it were no strain at all.

  The second former tree she seized and lifted up over the creature’s head. She held it for a moment, wondering if they would perceive the threat or if the intentions of a monster made of mud were too hard to read.

  Apparently they could figure it out. Four Devoted scampered back, twisting and breaking into a run. Someone swore.

  Two still remained. She thundered another step forward. They responded with more bolts fired.

  Hmm. They seem determined to stand their ground.

  She could hurl the log at them. That didn’t exactly accomplish the goal of not hurting them, but it probably wouldn’t kill them. Probably. Hard to judge weight or the creature’s strength via the mud. Was there something else she could do? Why wouldn’t these damn men get out of her way? What had she ever done to deserve any of this? What could possibly motivate people to devote their whole lives to simply hunting down other people for their magic? Were they jealous? Bored? Had they been personally wronged? She doubted it.

  Any personal wrongs were unlikely to measure up to her personal wrongs. Had they been torn from their families? Had they lost a sister to this mess? She wanted to scream at them, roar out her frustration—

  To her surprise, a horrifying sound erupted from the creature. Neither scream nor roar, exactly. Which made sense, considering the creature didn’t have vocal cords. In fact, she wasn’t sure exactly how it created the sound. Rocks tumbled around amid the mud, and they shook and collided as the creature shouted its rage at them.

  She slammed the log to the ground just before their feet. It collided with the earth, dust rising and shaking everything around them. The two men finally stumbled back, arms askew, struggling to keep their balance.

  She lifted the log again. Another bellow erupted from the creature made of mud.

  Finally, finally, they turned and ran, racing toward horses that yanked and pulled at their tied-off reins.

  Back in her body, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her mud man thundered after them a good hundred human paces, but they didn’t stop. Some freed their horses and took off at a gallop farther down the road, and others lost control of their mounts and fled on foot.

  Where would they head? To Anonil? Probably. She doubted she’d seen the last of them.

  But at least she and Ro could make their way farther now, without killing anyone and without trudging through the swamp. She waited just a moment longer to be sure the Devoted meant to put some distance between them and the creature. They never slowed.

  She coaxed her creature back to its swampy home and gradually released the spell, letting the mud slide apart, finally laying its hefty mass back to rest in the mire of the swamp.

  Odd how it had felt almost alive, like a real flesh-and-blood creature, enough so that she ached to let it slide back into oblivion. But it was not the Way; the creature was not a natural thing by any stretch. About that much, Ro was right. She’d disturbed the Balance by creating it, but hopefully she’d only offset the imbalance those vile Devoted had created in the first place. After everything that her gifts had cost her, couldn’t some good come from them?

  Other mages grew flowers and cleared thunderstorms. She made mud monsters. Not exactly what she’d hoped to excel at, studying to be a warrior mage, but she wasn’t complaining.

  Miara found a fruit bat hanging high in the tree. Good. One more, and that should be enough. Hello, there, she cooed. Might you be able to stand watch for a friend and I while you hunt? Just keep your eyes open and tell me if there are dangers in the area. New humans, wolves, the like. I have some dried berries you can have in exchange.

  It made an audible squeak of delight. It was happy to alert her—and also to scoop up her berries.

  Miara hea
ved a sigh of relief. She had begged the help of six separate animals now, and this fruit bat should be enough. She and Samul could have veered into town a few hours ago and looked for an inn, but she hadn’t wanted to risk it. Too predictable. If those mages searched for them, the nearest inn would be the most obvious destination and therefore the first place to look.

  So instead they would camp in the woods, where the trees stretched for miles and offered a million hiding places, so many that it would be impossible to search them all. She hoped the pursuing mages were either smart enough to realize they couldn’t search every corner and nook of this dismal forest, or stupid enough to try looking, because it would take them forever.

  “It’s set. I have a fox, a deer, an owl, a bat, a mole, and a cougar, all on the look out to alert us for danger.” She spread out nuts and berries she’d foraged from the destroyed carriage and from her pack as her offering for those that helped. The cougar, luckily, had eaten not long ago.

  “A mole?” Something about his tone made her think he might doubt whether she actually had any animal on alert. She almost shook her head. His suspicion knew no bounds.

  “All of that, and that’s the one you pick on?”

  He shrugged but said nothing. Yes, very unlike his son. Not that Samul was stoic or wordless, but Aven never missed an opportunity to talk.

  “I will stand guard as well. But you should rest and heal.”

  “I’m fine.” Samul waved her off. “I can watch part of the night too.”

  Miara had no idea if this was some kind of test or how to pass it and was too tired to care. “What part of the night do you want? First or second or… ?” Perhaps offering him the choice would allay his mistrust.

  “I can watch first. You were the one working magic all day.”

  Her turn to shrug. “There’s plenty of life around here to replenish energy.” But in truth, she was tired. No, after so much time with them both as fish, she was utterly exhausted. She’d spent as long as they dared, long enough that part of her had been afraid the king had forgotten he was not a fish nor had ever been one. They’d also traveled as humans, a pair of foxes, and as blue jays—sometimes perched on Lukor’s back, although that hadn’t been as restful as she’d hoped.

  Samul had been fashioning a fire pit, which looked a lot easier now that his leg was healed, but she didn’t remind him of that fact. “You don’t have a flint, do you?”

  “Of course I do.” She withdrew the flint and dagger from her belt. Samul’s eyebrows rose a bit, but she had no idea how to interpret the expression.

  Samul was a much quieter companion than Aven had been. He lit the fire without much commentary and settled back into his seat. Perhaps he was just lost in thought. Or perhaps this was not his usual self, but a different him spawned by his near death. Maybe he was contemplating the irony that her disobedience of his orders had saved his life. She hoped he was.

  Mostly, though, he watched her every move, seeming to judge each choice.

  It didn’t change anything. Judge all you want, old man. She had things to do to make sure they didn’t die out here.

  “Fine, I’ll sleep first. Wake me when the moon has moved a few fingers, and I’ll watch.”

  “That’s hardly the midpoint of the night.”

  “I know.”

  He met her gaze for a few seconds, then shrugged again. Whatever was he thinking about? It was almost tempting to dip into his thoughts again to find out.

  She lay down on the makeshift bed, contrived from a saddle blanket and the one fur that had remained in the stable from her earlier pack. Why had she even unpacked the old one? She should have kept it ready for an emergency, by the door. Then she remembered—Fayton. He was the charitable soul who’d helped her so… unhelpfully unpack everything so that now she didn’t have most of it. She smiled a little to herself anyway. He’d meant well, and with Aven’s map, she’d come out of there with some supplies, at least.

  Had Samul and Elise ever camped like this together? Had they ever traveled across the realm, alone with just each other and the wilderness? She couldn’t much imagine it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

  She missed Aven, with a sudden, heavy weight. If only she had been with them during the attack. But then again, by following behind later, she’d been able to find Samul when the other Akarians had failed.

  Her separate journey would be a boon if she and Samul survived. If they got mauled by a bear, well… And while she hadn’t found one in the area—a fact that certainly helped encourage her sleep—they were still close enough to the mountains for an ursine visitor.

  She tried to close her eyes and sleep, but the image of Sorin creeping up over top of her on the bed flashed before her. Her eyes snapped open. Perhaps sleep would be harder to come by than she’d thought.

  When she finally drifted off, Miara’s light slumber was not restful. She tossed and turned and kept waking, thinking she’d heard something—a stick breaking, a door creaking open, soft footsteps on a stone floor? Other times, she dreamed.

  She was back in Mage Hall again, standing before the Masters, awaiting orders. Sometimes she just stood and stood, the hours passing, interminable waiting for something that she just knew wouldn’t be good. Sometimes they’d order her to kidnap Aven, and she’d march off dutifully. Her legs moved against her will, and she couldn’t even feel them.

  Sometimes, worst of all, her father and Luha stood with her. Daes would slowly approach each of them. He’d scowl into her eyes, then into her father’s, then lean down to scowl into Luha’s, then side-eye Miara. He’d step back like he was preparing something, but what, she wasn’t sure. She’d be overcome with the need to rush forward. To stop him from whatever he planned to do to her family. To knock him out of the way and run.

  Each time, she never achieved it. Her body was always still, frozen, stuck—still enslaved, nothing more than a prison that held her mind.

  After yet another of these dreams, she sat up, panting with the effort to resist the irresistible orders of the brand.

  It’s all right. It’s not real. You’re free. She repeated it over and over in her mind.

  “You all right?” Samul asked.

  She shook her head, then propped her elbows on her knees and hung her head in her hands. She pressed her palms to her eyes. Why, why, why would her mind not rest? It’s all right, it’s not real, you’re free now, it’s all a dream. Why must it torture her so?

  “Are you going back to sleep, or can I make you some tea?”

  Miara peered over her shoulder at the king. “You… make tea for people?”

  He smirked. “Like Aven, I wasn’t always a king.”

  “Well, okay. Tea would be nice. Then you can rest some before we take to the road.”

  She sat silently, staring with round eyes into the surrounding woods but not seeing them, while he made use of the pot and tea and water she’d stolen against his orders before leaving Estun. She was free, and the Masters were far, far away. They couldn’t hurt her—at least not right now. She was sitting with the damn king of Akaria, of all people. Not something she could have foreseen even a few months ago.

  “Here you go,” Samul said, handing her the tea. “I believe I owe you an apology. Perhaps tea will make it go down easier.”

  She accepted it awkwardly, bracing herself for what was to come. True, he did owe her an apology, but she was a bit shaken at the moment to receive it.

  “I was wrong to forbid you to come with us,” he said slowly.

  Part of the tension in her eased. While that didn’t exactly change things, many people simply could not admit they were wrong, even when it was obvious. “Your mistake seems to have worked out in your favor.”

  He winced a little. Her words might have sounded harsher than she’d meant them. “That’s not lost on me. The Balance has a way of occasionally throwing such things in our faces, I guess. But I hope you can accept my apology.”

  “I do,” she said, nearly sure her
words were true.

  “You have clearly proven my suspicions unfounded. As Aven reminded me, you’d proven that to him repeatedly, but apparently, I had to see it for myself to understand.”

  “Much as I might have tried to convince you, I can’t blame you for being cautious.”

  “Well, perhaps you can blame me for not wanting you present at the vote?”

  She pursed her lips. “Hmm. Perhaps.”

  “I can’t say I regret that choice. I still believe you could destabilize the situation. But Aven made a long list of good reasons why you were worth having there anyway. Even if I wasn’t ready to accept them at the time.” His voice was tinged with regret. She took a sip of the tea, having somewhat forgotten it. “But I should have explained better. If you set my ultimately false suspicions aside, I was not really concerned about you in particular. I was only trying to look out for Aven, in my way.”

  She gazed at the tea, not meeting his eyes.

  “He has worked hard for the throne his whole life. I don’t know what he would do if it slipped from his grasp.”

  She swallowed another sip of tea. A sudden determination to make sure that didn’t happen filled her. “He will be a great king,” she said solemnly.

  “He’s a natural.” Samul sighed, a smile cracking his lips for the first time. “He takes to the crown readily. Not everyone is so… graceful about it. I’ve never gotten used to the throne, personally.”

  She raised an eyebrow, catching his eye. “What?”

  “I always feel like I’m making a mistake. And frequently do, as you’ve seen.”

  “I’ve never heard anyone consider you anything but a great king. Trust me, I’ve seen King Demikin. I don’t think you need to worry.”

  “Coming from you, the subject of my latest mistake, that does ease my heart.”

  “I had many missions eavesdropping on those royal halls for—” No, she would not call them the Masters any longer. They were not her Masters anymore. “For Daes and the others. Demikin is a worthless monarch, deaf to the cries of his people. Everyone acknowledges this. Not that it’s much of a comparison. I haven’t watched you order Aven’s death, so he’ll always be quite worse in my book.”