Drake smiled at her before answering. “I am Adept Drake. And you?” he asked with a slight bow. She was attractive, though not conventionally beautiful. Her jaw was too square, and she had a nose that would have made a hawk proud. However, her wide, deep brown eyes more than made up for any other defects. The large breasts that strained at the cloth of her robe helped as well.
The girl swallowed convulsively, looking at Drake with wide, suddenly frightened eyes. “Jettie Atherton, Adept Drake. Journeyman Battlemage Jettilain Atherton.”
Drake nodded as he dismounted and walked over to face her. She was taller than he had at first thought, and he actually had to look slightly up into her eyes. Drake gave her a lopsided grin as he spoke.
“Journeyman Jettie, you would do well to learn to gauge your opponents in the future. For a Journeyman to attack an Adept is usually fatal.” He paused to see her reaction, and was even more amused to see her catch her lower lip in her teeth while her eyes filled with even more fear. “However, I think you are in luck. I’m not in the mood to kill anyone today.”
Jettie nodded and backed away, keeping her eyes on Drake. Drake ignored her and turned his attention on the sentry. “As for you, you aren’t so lucky. Trying to press me into your army was a serious mistake.” Drake walked over to get closer to the man. “I’m not going to kill you, but I’m going to make you wish I had.” Drake stepped back and cast a spell, waving his hands above his head and chanting theatrically. He didn’t need to make gestures or chant, but it impressed the yokels. Smiling at the sentry, he nodded. “From this day forward, every time you hear the word “volunteer”, you are going to shit your pants.”
The sentry’s eyes went wide, and he had a suddenly panicked expression on his face as the rest of the men murmured among themselves. Then the men who were down wind laughed. The sentry had, as cursed, messed himself when Drake had said the word volunteer.
The sergeant ordered his men to disperse, and the sentry took off at a dead run toward the latrine pits. Turning back to Drake, he bowed. “If you would care to follow me, I’ll escort you to General Preston.”
Drake shrugged, and then led his horse behind the sergeant. He also reinforced his shields, just in case there were any Adepts with this army. The sergeant led him past row upon row of tents until they reached an area that was bordered by a rope, and more sentries.
“I have a man here to see the general,” the sergeant declared loudly as they approached.
A man in officer’s braid stepped out to block their way. “State your business.”
Drake looked at him and shrugged. “I was passing by when one of your sentries tried to press me into service with your army.”
“Now you just wait one...” the sergeant began, but Drake cut him off.
“Silence!” he hissed, and the sergeant’s voice failed him. “I was just passing by until that fool forced me here. I have no desire to see your general. This was your idea.”
The officer stepped back into the conversation, standing between Drake and the sergeant. “The queen has commanded that all men of age between fifteen and thirty join the army.” He stepped forward to look at Drake. “Why haven’t you joined up?”
Drake sighed and explained yet again, “Because I am not a citizen of your kingdom. I am a traveler from the Darendian Empire.”
That surprised the officer. “What are you doing here then? If you’re not here to volunteer, what brings you this way?”
Drake shrugged. “Just passing through, as I’ve already said.”
“Lieutenant, please!” the sergeant whispered hoarsely. “He’s an Adept!”
The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. “An Adept indeed. Well, come along. I’ll take you to the general. He’ll know what to do with you.” The lieutenant led off, but Drake stood his ground.
“I told you that I am just passing through. Why would I want your general to do anything with me?”
The lieutenant turned around and glared at Drake through narrowed eyelids as he laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. “You’re in our territory. Either you join us, or you die.”
Drake laughed at the audacity of that statement. “I think not! You don’t have any Adepts here who can match me. I’ll be on my way.” Drake turned away and started to mount his horse when a new voice joined the discussion.
“Just how sure of that are you?” a feminine voice asked, and Drake turned to face the newcomer.
“As sure as I can be without a contest,” Drake replied softly, carefully assessing the woman. She was pretty, petite, and had a strangeness about her that set off alarms in his head. This girl is an Adept, a high Adept, and just might be my equal when I’m in human form. How wonderful! I never thought I’d meet a girl like her.
The girl raised her arms to the side and the men about them scattered as fast as their legs would carry them. “Manifest then, and let us see who is the more powerful.” She smiled coyly, then raised her arms above her head and manifested her power. Where a pretty young woman had stood moments before was now a hissing griffin, beating the air with its mighty wings and threatening Drake with its massive claws.
Drake’s horse took off at a dead run through the camp, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Drake grinned nastily as he faced the griffin. Think so, do you? But that’s just an illusion. Try this. Drake transformed himself into the daemon, his black shiny chitin reflecting the sunlight as he crouched and hissed angrily at the griffin.
The griffin reared back in surprise and alarm, and suddenly the girl was back. “Who are you?” she whispered, her wide eyes betraying her very real fear at facing the black death that crouched just a few paces away.
Drake remained the daemon, his hissing, sibilant voice tearing at her ears as he spoke. “I ammm Adept Drake Ssssstandralson of the Darennnndian Empire and beyonnnnd.” Drake returned to human form to finish speaking to the girl. “You are quite good, but you’re no match for me. However, I would like to stay and spend some time with you. You’re the most powerful Adept I’ve encountered in a very long time.”
“You’re the most powerful Adept I’ve ever encountered. Even Adept Caral and the entire gestalt couldn’t stand against you.” The girl’s voice remained soft and frightened. “This way, if you please, and I’ll show you to my tent.”
Drake smiled and nodded, then fell into step beside her. “You still haven’t given me your name, Adept.”
The girl looked frightened for a moment, then licked her lips and shrugged. “I am Adept Battlemage Mellody Carstairs, Chief Adept of the Army of Vernardia.”
Drake smiled and nodded. “I am pleased to meet you, Adept Mellody. And somewhat surprised. There aren’t many armies in the world that would accept a female as the chief anything, no matter the merit.”
“The queen feels differently, Adept Drake,” she replied in a tight voice that betrayed how tense she was about the subject. Drake suspected that, queen’s decision or not, there were still those who gave the girl trouble about her role.
Drake followed Mellody into the camp, passing four layers of security before they reached the innermost portion of the camp. Mellody stopped briefly to say something to the sentry that Drake couldn’t hear, then led him toward a tent.
“This is my home away from home, Adept Drake. Please accept my hospitality.” She bowed and then held the tent flap aside for him to pass.
Drake ducked into the tent and found himself impressed. The interior was elegantly appointed, but not overly so. There were cushions and rugs, but no hard furniture except for a small table. A curtain divided the tent, blocking off the back third. Drake suspected that Mellody’s bed and personal belongings were behind the drape, and ignored it. A girl needs her privacy. Turning back, he bowed slightly. “Very nice.”
Mellody smiled at that. “The queen treats her servants well. Please, sit with me.” She gestured toward a set of pillows separated by the low table. “Would you like some wine?”
Drake nodded and watched her pour. When the gl
ass was in his hand, he again stood and bowed, holding the glass between both hands. “For the welcome I have received under your roof, I am truly grateful.”
Mellody smiled softly and stood to return the bow. “You know our customs quite well, Adept Drake.”
“Courtesy, in all of its forms, is one of the first things I try to learn in my travels. If I stay long enough, I may tell you the tale of the time I didn’t, and spent several years regretting it.” Drake grinned and saw her relax a little. “I understand that you are in conflict with the kingdom of Bresardia. How long has this been going on? And how did it start?”
She looked at him with evident suspicion, then sighed. “Too long. Princess Rochelle of Vernardia and King Malcom of Bresardia were betrothed before King Bevan’s death. King Bevan had arranged the whole thing against Princess Rochelle’s wishes, and she broke the betrothal as soon as she was crowned, saying some hurtful, and unfortunately true, things about King Malcom. Things that no one had ever dared say to him before. King Malcom was furious, and sent his army into our territory to force her to honor the betrothal, but we stopped them here. Bresardia is really too small and poor to defeat us, but they’ve been seeking allies.”
“So you just sit and stare at one another,” Drake said, making a statement rather than asking a question.
Mellody’s eyes narrowed in anger at his comment, and Drake was immediately sorry that he’d said it. “No, we don’t just sit here and stare at one another!” she snapped. “Thousands have died on both sides. That’s the purpose of having Adepts here. We shield our armies and pound at one another, each trying to break the other’s courage.”
“Sorry,” Drake said meekly, surprising her. “How often do you have to fight?”
“Every day, after the midday meal,” she said sourly. “First the men go out and hack at each other for a while, then the Adepts start throwing lightning about. Care to come watch? I’m almost late.”
Drake nodded and stood, then stepped to the tent flap and held it aside for her as he smiled. Mellody led him to a platform that had been erected in the center of the camp. Dozens of Magi were gathered around it, and Drake could recognize Journeymen, Masters, and Adepts.
Mellody led him over to an elderly man with a long white beard. “Adept Battlemage Caral, I wish to present Adept Drake.”
The old man looked Drake over carefully. “So you’re the showy fellow we all felt a few moments ago. Stand aside now and let us get to it.” He gestured for Drake to stand with some other onlookers, and then led the Adepts up to the platform. The Masters and Journeymen ringed them in and began melding their power into a gestalt that would feed the Adepts. Drake was impressed by the easy precision they displayed, forming the meld in seconds. Practice is a wonderful thing. Eight other Adepts joined Mellody and Caral, and they began to blast at the opposing army. Power bolts of a dozen hues rained down on the shields that the Bresardian Adepts held, and their power bolts fell on the Vernardian shields.
Drake walked to the side and watched for a moment then raised his hands above his head. A massive bolt of bright golden energy slashed into the ground at the edge of the Bresardian’s shields, blasting the soil into fountains of dirt that rained clods and rocks on the heads of the army. He continued to blast in a continuous line, circling the army and digging a trench five feet deep, and ten feet wide around the entire force. Then he blasted the center of the camp, where the Adepts were, and shattered their shields.
Drake lowered his hands and looked at the Vernardian Magi, then grinned. “That should give ‘em something to think about.”
Adept Caral was looking at Drake with wide, worried eyes. “Just why did you do that, Adept Drake? You are not a part of our army. And, as I understand it, you’ve already refused to join us.”
Drake gave the old man a lopsided grin and shrugged one shoulder. “I’m hungry, and it didn’t seem likely I could get anything to eat until you were through.”
A loud guffaw of laughter interrupted whatever Adept Caral was about to say in reply. “Hah! Damn right!” a man in an impressive uniform with gold braid and medals prominent laughed, slapping his leg. “Damn right you weren’t going to be fed during a battle. I am Orman Preston, General of the Armies of Vernardia.” He bowed slightly to Drake.
Drake bowed deeply in return. “Adept Drake Standralson, of the Darendian Empire. I am honored to make your acquaintance, General.”
“The honor’s mine, Adept Drake. The honor is all mine. Come along, I’d be pleased to have you as my guest. The midday meal was some time ago, but I’m sure my cook will rise to the occasion.” He gestured Drake to his side and turned to go. “That’s the most impressive display of power I’ve ever seen. Old Flavian is probably shitting himself right now, trying to figure out where I found an Adept of your strength.”
Drake looked sideways at the general. “I have not joined your army, General.”
“Perhaps not, but he doesn’t know that,” the general replied without looking. “You may have just broken the stalemate for us, and I thank you. Are you sure you won’t join us?” Now the general did look at Drake, glancing quickly at him to see his reaction.
“No, General, I’m not sure, but it seems unlikely. I’m traveling for pleasure, and came here for something of a holiday.” Drake looked at the general with his head tilted to the side. “Fighting a war was not on my agenda.”
“Agendas can change, friend Drake. Agendas can change,” the general murmured softly, then led him into a large tent as two young officers held the tent flaps aside for them. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a low table, and then clapped his hands.
An old man immediately stepped forward and bowed. “Your wishes, my general?”
“Cordon, this is my guest, Adept Drake. He missed lunch today. Can you rustle something up for him?” General Preston said, gesturing to Drake.
“I am honored, Adept. I will return shortly.” He bowed to both Drake and the general, then disappeared.
“A good man, that Cordon. Been with me for twenty years. He was assistant to old General Hayward’s cook. Picked him up when I made general. Now, what can I do to convince you to stay with us? Are you looking for peace and quiet, or adventure?”
Drake looked at the general and grinned. “Peace and quiet. With occasional adventures to break the boredom. Or occasional companionship. I have sufficient funds to keep me in bread, beer, and girls for the foreseeable future.”
The general grinned at Drake’s choice of words. “You may find that there’s little peace to be found with the war on. Bresardia has her people throughout the kingdom, stirring up trouble. Most of them are posing as disaffected soldiers and such, making life miserable for the common folk.”
Drake sat forward, staring at the general. “I may have already found some of your troublemakers. A few weeks ago, I encountered a bunch of men who were supposed to be deserters. They were terrorizing a small village called Milton.”
The general leaned his head back, tapping his fingers against his lips. “Let’s see. Milton, Milton, Milton. No, it doesn’t sound familiar. So, we already owe you for service to our kingdom.” Cordon returned then with a steaming bowl of stew and an assortment of side dishes. “Ah, here we are. Consider this a down payment.”
Drake was impressed. The stew was very thick, savory, and well-seasoned. Crusty sourdough bread, sweet butter, and ale rounded out the meal. He nodded his thanks and began eating.
General Preston accepted a mug of ale as well and picked up his topic again. “There are other advantages to you joining us. An Adept of your power will turn the tide, and may even drive the Bresardians back to their island. That would make your stay more peaceful.”
“You have a point, General, but I’m going to have to consider a number of things. After all, in the end I will go home. I’ve never been one to put down roots,” Drake said carefully. He didn’t want to insult his host.
The general left him alone then, and he finished his meal quickly. “That’
s better. Cordon, you are a master worthy of the finest palace. The general is lucky to have you.” Cordon bowed deeply, then took the tray and dishes away. Drake turned his attention back to the general. “General Preston, I would be pleased to join your corps of Magi. For a time, at least.”
Chapter 3
GENERAL PRESTON SMILED BROADLY AND NODDED as he relaxed. “Thank you. I’ll have a tent added to the Magi’s camp for your comfort. Please forgive us, but there’s little in the way of furnishings available.”
Drake nodded deeply in acknowledgment, then stood. “If you will excuse me, I should inform Adept Caral that I’ll be joining his gestalt. Perhaps you could provide me with an escort?”
The general grinned and snapped his fingers. One of the young officers at the tent flap immediately entered and snapped to attention. “This is Lieutenant Walter Curtis. Lieutenant, please escort Adept Drake to the Magi’s camp and have a tent erected for him. He is joining us, and placing himself at the disposal of Adept Caral. Have the Quartermasters provide him with whatever he needs, but get him uniform robes first. I’m assigning you to be his orderly until he becomes accustomed to the army way. Dismissed.”
The lieutenant snapped a salute to his general, then bowed to Drake. “Adept Drake, this way please.” He gestured toward the tent flap and Drake led the way. Outside, he guided Drake to the Magi’s area of the camp and reported to Adept Caral.
Adept Caral nodded when Drake and the lieutenant entered his tent. “So, he talked you into staying, did he? Welcome aboard, Drake.” He smiled as the lieutenant frowned. “We don’t quibble about titles here, much to our army brethren’s discomfort. The only time you need to be formal is in the field, or at an official function. Lieutenant,” he waited until the lieutenant was looking directly at him, “what are the general’s orders?”
“Adept Drake has placed himself at your disposal, Adept Caral. He is to have a tent and whatever else he wishes,” the lieutenant answered. He glanced at Drake before continuing in a tone that was tight with stress. “I am to be his orderly.”
The Chronicles of Amberdrake Page 3
