The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  “I’m right here, you know,” said Derk.

  Asten frowned, not quite swayed.

  “Consider this information gathering, if you must. The objective cannot be to just destroy the encampment. We need Thel back, but also the more we know about what we’re facing, the better.”

  She sighed. “Understood. You’re right, sire. I’ll do my best to bring him back to you and learn what we can.”

  He nodded now, dropping his hand. “And… thank you. For everything you did with Alikar at the vote this morning.”

  Asten waved him off. “Proved himself a desperate fool even to approach us. I don’t need to be your friend—or respect you—to give traitors no quarter. But I am your friend, and he could easily have known it.”

  “I still appreciate it.”

  She bowed more graciously now.

  “May the Balance protect you,” he said. “And the gods speed your horses.”

  And with that, Asten turned and was gone, Derk on her heels.

  Aven sighed and sank back beside the fire, but it wasn’t long before he felt Wunik’s presence beside him. “Yes?”

  Wunik looked as tired as Aven felt, with rings under his eyes and his brow more haggard than Aven ever remembered seeing it. But he straightened and said, “Do you think we should look for more mages to free, sire?”

  Aven rubbed his forehead. “After the day we’ve had, it’s admirable you remembered that.”

  Wunik shrugged. “Naps work wonders.”

  “So I’ve heard. Yes, let’s try.”

  Without saying anything to the others, he and Wunik quietly absconded out to the balcony. The elder must have understood on some level what Aven was thinking, because he didn’t bring out his usual setup with the water. No, instead he drifted to the side of the balcony with Aven, out of sight of the others, and opened up a simple window of light in the air. If they were really going to free any mages, they’d need Miara’s help to talk to them.

  But Aven had a very bad feeling that no help would be necessary.

  Wunik’s shimmering portal glided across pines and roads and wheat fields until it came to Mage Hall. The older man let out a slow breath.

  Aven’s hopes fell at what he saw, though he wasn’t surprised.

  Not a human in sight, mage or no. Not even the towers were manned, though they had been before by mages in physical chains. Fires lit the windows of the long, low dormitories, but fewer now.

  “They’ve been sent off to war,” Aven said quietly. “Not all of them, but many.”

  Wunik nodded, collapsing the window as he clasped his hands.

  “Sent after us.” Aven looked out over the city, his city, his fists closing against all reason. The majestic towers of white stone stretched up in a seemingly random pattern, like stalks of graceful flowers reaching up toward the sun. To stare down at the black, hollow shell of Mage Hall and know that those who’d labored there traveled toward this beauty, likely on a mission to destroy it—against their will at that… Something in him hardened like the red-yellow of steel cooling to bitter, angry gray at the injustice of it.

  Wunik hung his head. “Let’s not tell the others.”

  “Only if they ask.” Aven was already nodding.

  “Yes. I’ll keep checking nightly. Something might change. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  Wunik hurried back inside, but Aven stopped and stared out at the rooftops. He gripped the marble balustrade and tried to calm the anger roiling inside him.

  Thel had vanished into thin air. His father’s life was teetering on an edge no one could make any sense of. And now this. What if he never freed another mage? His father never recovered? Never saw his baby brother again?

  And here he’d thought his life would get easier after the vote. Simpler. In truth, the complications were only beginning.

  Chapter 3

  Maps and Messages

  “Wake up, runt.”

  Thel was hauled to his feet. Shaking himself awake, he struggled to focus on the blurry monstrosity in front of him. The only thought that successfully formed was that he was way too tall to have ever been called “runt” by anyone. He blinked the grit out of his eyes, and the events of the day before rushed back.

  Detrax.

  The beastly mage was hauling him up by his jerkin, out of the tent he’d shared with Niat, and toward the larger one. The tiny mage book slipped slightly in the spot he’d tucked it into, threatening to fall out. Thel clamped an arm to his side to pin it down, hoping he didn’t give anything away.

  He stumbled and hit his knees as he was lobbed through the front tent flap. The scent of porridge and honey made his mouth water in spite of himself.

  Detrax loomed over him, frowning. Thel returned the expression.

  “I hear you’re a prince,” Detrax growled. “Lot of good that’ll do you now.”

  Thel said nothing.

  Detrax clapped twice. A man stepped in from outside, fidgeting and obsequious. “Porridge. And paper and charcoal.”

  To his surprise, Detrax crossed his legs and sat down on the carpet-covered ground, gesturing for Thel to sit as well with all four arms in unison. Thel complied and tried not to stare at the extra appendages.

  The servant returned and handed him a bowl, and Thel dug into it without ceremony. The requested paper and charcoal were placed on the carpet between him and the beast mage.

  Detrax watched him silently for a while, then narrowed his eyes before he began to speak. “War’s coming.” He paused. His voice had such a low, slow growl. Had it been altered with magic too? “Certainly you know that by now.”

  Thel faked hesitation and then nodded slowly, buying himself as much time as possible to inhale the food.

  “The Masters want your lands. They’ll not be stopping before they’re satisfied.”

  Detrax stopped and seemed to want some response. Thel weighed his options and chose a moderate path of slight objection. Complacency would only seem like a ploy. “You know Akarians won’t go without a fight.”

  “Aye, I do. But not sure the Masters know that. Or care. But no matter. I’ve got three dozen mages with me, and more followin’. There’ll be naught they can do about all that. Hopeless. Truly, I tell you.”

  Thel took another large bite to buy another moment before responding. “I’d have to be a fool to simply take your word for that when nothing has happened yet.”

  “Aye, you might.” Detrax inclined his head at the servant again, who now brought them both a dark liquid in small mugs that Thel prayed was tea. This was a lot of hospitality for a prisoner. Detrax must want something, likely to do with the empty vellum before them. What did Thel possibly have that Detrax wanted? He waited until Detrax had taken a drink, then took one himself. He didn’t have the luxury of abstaining in this situation, but after that blue vial, he couldn’t help but be wary.

  “Thanks for this,” Thel said, raising the mug slightly. It might earn him nothing, but gratitude couldn’t hurt.

  “Well, can’t have you dying like the damn seer. Least not yet.”

  Thel choked midswallow. “Like the seer?”

  “Aye, gift’s killing the girl. Didn’t you notice? A shame, not that I’ll tell her that to her face. Mere mortals can never handle the gods in their heads. There’s a reason the gift’s rare.”

  “So you think it’s real?” Thel said, stalling whatever Detrax’s request would be. More information about Niat couldn’t hurt.

  Detrax chuckled, and Thel struggled not to gawk at the horns looming above the mage’s head. “Aye, it’s real all right. She’d ditch the gift if she could, I bet. But there’s no denying the gods.”

  No, indeed, there wasn’t. Something about the proclamation saddened him, however.

  “And there’s no denying me either, boy. Now down to business. Here’s my offer. You’ll get it without consequence but once. Then the cutting starts.”

  Thel’s chewing slowed to a stop. Cuttin
g…? That did not sound pleasant. He forced himself to down another huge bite, lest it be his last chance.

  “The Masters want your lands, as I said. But I’m fixing to get my own share of this before the fighting ends. And you’re a Lanuken.”

  Thel nodded slowly.

  “So the Lanukens have mines. You know where they be. Draw me a map of where they lie, and we won’t have no cutting.”

  Thel froze, only staring. Of all the things, he hadn’t expected that.

  “Anonil, my lord?” The servant prompted softly from near the door.

  “Oh, and you’ll be telling me the defenses of Anonil, as we crush it on the morrow. Or mayhap the next day.”

  Thel’s eyes widened. “I don’t know the defenses of Anonil.” Inwardly, he winced. Shit. That phrasing implied that he did know the mine locations. He knew both, of course, at least generally. But he was less willing to give up the city. Men would lose their lives over that information. Whether anyone would die if Detrax knew the locations of the mines was possible but less certain.

  Detrax scowled and jabbed a finger from one of his four hands at the blank vellum.

  Thel stared at it. Dare he give him the information? Many Akarians stood between the beast and those mines. Could he rely on them to keep Detrax from getting there? He could lie—draw a false map. But he was unsure what means Detrax might have to verify his claims. But was outright refusal any better? What would that accomplish, besides… cutting?

  Thel took a sip of tea, frowning. Moving as slowly as possible, he picked up the charcoal and drew the mountains, the roads, all of it as slowly and meticulously as humanly possible. These were the things Detrax could already know, things that could be easily verified.

  He added two dots in the middle of the toughest passes he knew. Not remotely near any mines. Then he dropped the charcoal to the carpet and dusted off his hands.

  Detrax squinted at the vellum. “There be more than two. And add labels.”

  Thel shook his head. As Detrax’s eyes widened in rage, Thel said, “Dinner.”

  “What?”

  “I’d like to live to see dinner. Tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll give you the information, but not all at once.”

  Scowling, Detrax’s face slowly turned red, veins in his neck straining. “You… little…”

  Thel crossed his arms and scowled back at him.

  “I could beat it out of your thick skull.”

  “You could,” Thel acknowledged. “Or you could try.”

  “Aye, time for that at the fortress, eh?” Detrax said to his servant, who snickered darkly behind him. Detrax paused. “Aye, but that’s no fun.”

  In a blink, a dagger bit into Thel’s thigh, Detrax’s thick fingers curled around the blade. The beast mage released the hilt and leaned back, chuckling as Thel gaped at the blade hilt in his leg. His blood welled up around it. He forced his eyes to Detrax.

  The vicious glee burning in the mage’s eyes sent a shock of pure fear through Thel. This was not just a man who used pain to achieve his ends. Fierce, bloody rapture emanated from Detrax, sadistic ecstasy, his hand still gripping the blade hilt.

  The mage squeezed a bit harder and twisted.

  Thel’s shock wore off at the new flash of pain, and he couldn’t stifle a cry this time. His hands automatically reached for the dagger, fighting to remove it. To his surprise, Detrax withdrew, letting Thel cast the dagger aside on the carpet. Blood only rushed out faster, and Thel cursed himself. Shit. He should have known better, remembered his training, thought longer. He was going to die here, bleeding out on this beast mage’s floor.

  Detrax loomed closer, laughing slowly, savage and perverse. “You feel that life draining out, my boy?” He chuckled darkly again. “You remember that, that feeling when you see this face. Got it?”

  Thel nodded, probably too vigorously.

  “I’ll tear you in twain, no worries about it, if I don’t get what I ask. Let that be a lesson not to lie to me.”

  Thel nodded again, and suddenly, to his relief, the wound began to close. Right—creature mage. Thel gritted his teeth, this agony almost greater than when the blade had entered and twisted—but he was determined not to give that bastard any more satisfaction than necessary.

  Before the wound had fully healed, the agony abruptly stopped. Detrax leered at him, radiating pleasure. “I can keep you from dying. And I will. ’Cause that’s just more I can wring out of you.”

  Detrax stood and put both sets of his hands on his hips, looming over Thel, surveying his handiwork.

  “Is this—cutting?” Thel managed, glaring.

  Detrax chuckled again, eyes twinkling. “Aye, a taste.”

  “That all?” Thel shot back through gritted teeth.

  The beastly mage scowled. “The cutting is just beginning for you, little prince.”

  Ro lay awake that morning, listening to the rumbles of the city waking up, the whispering early winter winds, and Jaena’s soft breaths beside him. In spite of the larger bed someone had seen fit to arrange for them—the king?—he still couldn’t sleep.

  Before they’d retired the night before, he’d jotted down a warning to his order and handed it to the creature mage Wunik had mentioned. Siliana had sent her crow off a few minutes later. Just like that, the message had been on its way through the dark night sky.

  Ever since, dread had been brewing within, the intuitive feeling that he’d made some kind of mistake, not foreseen something he should have. Certainly he had needed to send word as soon as possible. Members of the order would be marked by the pendants they wore, and the Devoted could find them, as long as the knight he’d encountered had shared her news. And why wouldn’t she? For all that knight knew, those golden sheaves of wheat might indicate a mage every time.

  Then again, for all Tharomar knew, that might be true.

  Why had they lied? Could they have not known? But why the enchantments then?

  The sick feeling of dread in his stomach was not eased by the hope that his order had been ignorant. What kind of mage protectors could the order be if they couldn’t identify and protect one right under their noses? They were either terrible at their mission or lying about it. Or they had believed hiding his true nature from him was the right way to fulfill their mission.

  Which possibility was scariest, he wasn’t sure. All of them pissed him off.

  Outside, a tree’s branches tapped against the glass of the balcony doors, swayed by the wind, as if beckoning him.

  He turned on his side, away from the tapping tree and toward Jaena, moving his eyes along the lush curve of her shoulder, her skin dark against the gray quilt. Her sweet grin drifted through his mind, the way she asked more questions than she ever answered, her shy ambition. The merchant story might have been a cover, but there had been truth to it too. A future she longed for. That he longed to see with her, to help her reach.

  He lingered but couldn’t fall back asleep, so he eased out of bed, moving slowly and smoothly so as not to wake her. He slipped quietly toward the fire, intending to pray if he couldn’t rest.

  The tapping on the balcony door returned, different this time. He stepped closer. A crow fidgeted on the railing, wings flapping.

  A crow with a message box tied to his leg.

  Tharomar carefully cracked open the balcony door and stepped out into the icy morning air, shutting it behind him. Quickly as he could, he extracted the message, gave the crow a little pat, and stepped back inside. The bird flew off, presumably returning to Siliana for its reward. He’d have to inquire later.

  Shutting the door with a soft thud as he returned inside, he glanced at Jaena. Still sleeping peacefully. Good.

  He unrolled the message.

  Tharomar Revendel,

  Thanks be to Nefrana for your message and your service. I was glad to hear you are safe, as word had reached us that the smithy had been vacated when the Devoted were searching near the town.

  I’ve sent Inoril to tend to the smithy in your absence. Do
es this mean you found what the Devoted sought? We hope that you and any companions are safe and free of the Devoted as this reaches you.

  We will send word through the order of this new danger from the Devoted blight. The loss of the pendants is unfortunate, but I am unclear on what additional abilities of the pendant you are referring to. The ability to recognize the sign of our order has served many in troubled times. Has something else transpired that you do not name? I look forward to the full story upon your return.

  Things have worsened here in Evrical, and indeed everywhere. We’ve seen mages hunted down and captured in the streets, and not just in Evrical. The Devoted have been reaching farther, as far as Detrat and even into Farsa. Here, we fear they suspect the true purpose of the temple. We cannot risk the discovery of the order, not before we are ready to fight them. I’m sure you will agree this is of the utmost importance to our cause. As one of our most capable warriors, your return will be much anticipated as a boon to defending us.

  In Nefrana’s Name,

  High Priestess Danal Shian

  He stifled a groan. They wanted him to return? Not only that, but they expected it. His hand drifted down of its own accord, weakly dropping the missive on the desk. The future he’d just caught the scent of seemed to go up in smoke before him. He had duties. Commitments. An oath to obey their orders. And Jae was safe now. He gazed at her sleeping form. She didn’t feel safe. What was he going to do?

  He shook his head. He knew exactly what he was going to do.

  Nothing. Not a damn thing. Oath or no oath, he wasn’t going back.

  That had been the dread pooling in his stomach, that had been the apprehension. He hadn’t feared what the letter would say. He had feared what he was going to do when the time came.

  Staying was the only option. Nefrana had never given him so much. How could he turn his back on these gifts?