Magician's Heir

by D Bruce Cotton

  Power preserve us, thought Aristomus. Then his eyes rolled back, and he fell into stygian darkness.

  Chapter 17, Familiar Companion

  Serton had a room prepared for Adam at Eddingford Castle, to prepare for an early departure the next morning. Sleep proved difficult though. Adam wanted to leave at once, fearing they might already be too late. But he understood the delay. Inadequate preparation might doom any chance they had at a rescue.

  He rose early the next morning and collected his pack and staff before heading outside. Someone from the Academy delivered both during the night. When he reached the courtyard, he saw the preparations nearing completion. A company of ten soldiers gathered by their leader to receive last-minute orders and instructions. As Adam got closer, he noticed something familiar about the man in charge. His thick, black beard and crusty voice reminded him of...

  “Captain Henslow?” Adam couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone back to Lakeshore weeks ago.”

  White teeth gleamed through Henslow’s beard. He acknowledged Adam with a slight bow of his head. “And so I had planned, Master Gray. But Lakeshore is naught but a shell, its people fled.” He sighed, a look of regret in his eyes. “With nothing to return to, I deemed my duty best served by helping those refugees who fled Lakeshore. Should they survive the voyage to Ciote, they would need aid.”

  Adam flushed, embarrassed to admit he’d forgotten about the people of Lakeshore. “Did everyone make it? Did Darius get them there?”

  “Aye. The refugees made it without harm. The winter storms came late this year, praise the Power. However, their numbers overwhelmed Ciote. Darius feared provisions would prove insufficient for so many to winter there, so he set sail again, bringing those not injured to Seir. Most of the survivors are now settled in the city.”

  Adam breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m happy to hear it, Captain. But what are you doing here?”

  Henslow’s smile vanished. “Understand me, Master Gray. The Dark Mage took everything from me... my son, my home, so many of those I swore to protect. And I consider Master Aristomus my friend. I yearn to strike a blow... to give meaning to the deaths of so many. I...”

  A soldier cleared her throat, interrupting Henslow. A nod of her head let them know someone approached. Adam and Henslow looked to see Serton walking toward them with a small entourage of Council mages.

  “Ah, good. Master Serton comes. It must be time to depart at last.”

  “Um, Captain?” murmured Adam. “Maybe we should cool it with the whole ‘Master Gray’ thing. I’m just an apprentice...”

  Serton arrived before Henslow could reply, but he snapped Adam a quick nod to show his understanding.

  “Captain Henslow, Apprentice Gray,” the High Mage nodded greetings to them both. “I know you must depart, so I will not hold you. Master Aristomus planned to take the Eastern Road. Unless something happened, it is there you should find them.”

  Henslow and Adam murmured their thanks and turned to their horses. “Belle!” shouted Adam in surprise. He hadn’t seen the old mare since they’d arrived in Seir. She nuzzled him in recognition as he gave her shaggy neck a tight hug. Henslow climbed atop his familiar black stallion, Raven. Adam hurried to join him.

  Wheeling their mounts, the company set off for the main gate. Iron-shod hooves rang on the hard cobblestones. They rode with purpose and the few residents up so early gave them a wide berth. Twenty minutes later, the party rode through the entrance tunnel to the main gate and into the open countryside outside the city.

  “How will we find them, Captain?” asked Adam. “They left over two weeks ago. That’s a good head start.”

  “Aye, it is. But last week’s snowstorm will have slowed them. And Master Serton told me of your nightmare. That it came a week after their departure and also coincided with the storm? I am not one to believe in coincidences, Master Gray...”

  “Please, Captain. Just call me Adam.”

  “As you wish,” Henslow conceded, “if you will consent to call me Jacob.” He grinned. “It is how I am known to my friends.

  “A week’s ride would bring them to the crossroads of the Eastern and Lakeshore Roads. I believe nothing happened to them before then. So we will save time by leaving the road after rounding the northern edge of Tempest Lake. Avoiding Codtown and cutting straight across will allow us to make up a small amount of time. Once we pass the Lakeshore Road, my scouts can spread out and search for signs. We will make our way west until we find some clue.” He leaned over Raven and placed a gentle hand on Adam’s shoulder. “If it is possible, we will find them, Adam. You have my word on it.”

  The older man’s words comforted Adam. Turning back to the road, he mumbled under his breath, “We’re coming, Alecia. Hang on.”

  HENSLOW SET A HARD pace. The company rose early and did not make camp until well into the night. Temperatures remained frigid, but no storms interfered with their travel. By noon of the fifth day, they reached the crossroads.

  Henslow spread his men out on both sides of the road as they continued moving east. It slowed their pace, but he deemed the risk of missing a sign of the embassy’s passing too great otherwise. Soon after, a scout sounded a piercing whistle from the north. Henslow and Adam left the road, plunging into the snow-covered countryside. A few minutes ride brought them to a low hillside where the scout waited. A moment later, all three men looked down into a wide basin filled with snow.

  At first, Adam didn’t understand the summons. But looking closer, he noticed something strange about the snow. Odd bumps and protrusions disturbed its clean lines. Henslow muttered under his breath. He ordered the scout to round everyone up. Then he prodded his stallion forward. Adam followed, trepidation increasing with every step.

  At the bottom, Belle stumbled over a low mound. When he moved the horse aside, he saw something left uncovered. Henslow spat a curse, sliding from his horse’s back. After digging with his hands a moment, he jerked back in revulsion. A dismembered arm lay in the snow, still wrapped in a tight blue coat sleeve like those worn by Seir’s guard force.

  Adam swallowed hard, trying to control his rebellious stomach. Henslow looked up at him, empathy engraved on his face as he shook his head. “No!” Adam shouted. The next moment he landed on his knees, digging through the grisly remains. Henslow pulled him away, holding Adam with both arms as he struggled to free himself.

  “Adam! No!” Henslow growled. “You do not want to find her this way!” He struggled to pull Adam back up the hill and away from the horror below. As his men arrived, he snapped quick orders to uncover the scene and report back to him.

  Hours later, the sun had gone and Adam sat at a small campfire, staring into the flames. Henslow waited at his side. When a soldier came to report, Adam saw something shiny clasped in one hand—the necklace he’d given to Alecia. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks, all hope extinguished.

  Henslow squeezed his shoulder a moment and then rose to meet the soldier across the clearing. The two whispered together, Henslow nodding in agreement several times. At last he returned to the fire.

  Adam dreaded the news but couldn’t help himself. “Was it... did you find her?” he asked, face drawn and pale.

  Henslow sighed before replying. “Power be praised, no. Save for this necklace my men uncovered, they found no sign of the mages.” As he handed him the necklace, Henslow saw rekindled hope flare in Adam’s eyes. “Perhaps they escaped. I have my men searching for signs, but... I think it likely they are captives. My men found indications of a large group moving northward.”

  “Taken? But why would they take them captive?”

  “To gather intelligence? Who can say for sure? But there can be but one fate for those taken by the Dark Mage.”

  Adam’s face resolved into hard lines. “Then we have to find them, Jacob, before it’s too late.”

  WITH TIME AGAINST THEM, Henslow ordered an immediate pursuit. A few leagues north of the attack,
the fresh snow ended, and the trail became plainer to see. The rising moon painted yellow light over a packed and trampled path through the snow. The trail led straight north until it faded from view.

  It allowed the company to increase speed. Their horses traveled faster than the Unsouled on foot, but they remained days behind. And the soldiers and horses needed time to rest. Despite those limitations, the company continued to gain ground.

  After three days of pursuit, marked only by short periods of rest to feed and water their mounts, the snow-covered peaks of a tall mountain range came into view.

  Adam rubbed his eyes, wondering if the strain of the hunt made him see things. “Is that...?”

  “Aye,” responded Henslow. “The Dark Mountains. In another day, perhaps two, Mount Dismay itself will be visible.” He pointed to a curling finger of black smoke in the sky. “Already you can see the smoke rising.”

  Adam shivered. “Can we catch them in time?”

  “I do not know, Adam. Much depends on how fast the Dark Mage’s forces travel. But we run out of time. If we cannot overtake them in the next few days...” Henslow shook his head but said no more.

  “Captain!” A scout headed back towards Henslow, one arm waving. Wheeling his mount, the scout fell in beside the two men. “Sir, we found something, about a league distant.”

  “What, man? Speak up,” growled Henslow.

  “By the signs...” the scout hesitated. “I believe a battle took place there. Someone attacked the Unsouled.”

  “Who...?” Adam asked. But Henslow had already spurred his horse ahead, heading for the reported site. Adam clicked his tongue and brought Belle up to a fast canter. By the time he caught up, Henslow had come to a sharp stop. Raven reared, then stomped and pounded the ground. Something ahead made the stallion nervous.

  Adam followed the Captain’s gaze to the scene below. They’d climbed a slight rise falling away to a wide, flat plain. Half-frozen snow and thick mud mixed with the foul blood of the Unsouled spread out before them. Bodies littered the area, ripped and strewn all around them.

  “Dear God...” muttered Adam.

  Henslow nudged Raven with one foot and the horse stepped down onto the blood-soaked field. Adam followed, glad now for the freezing temperatures. The cold kept down the terrible stench of battle.

  “Alecia,” he whispered. The carnage... How could anyone survive? Then he glimpsed dark green fabric near a pile of broken Unsouled. It looked like the tattered remains of a cloak. “ALECIA!” he screamed.

  Throwing himself from Belle’s saddle, Adam fell to both knees in the muck and mire. His trembling fingers hovered at the edge of the cloak in hesitation, fearful of what might lie beneath. Steeling himself, he gripped the fabric and pulled it back.

  A pale face splattered with mud looked up through glazed eyes. Thick black eyebrows and a braided beard marked the dead figure as a man. Adam sighed with relief as he stretched the cloak back in place. A hand gripped his shoulder.

  “Adam, is it...?” Henslow asked in a soft voice.

  “No,” he replied, voice hoarse with emotion. “No, it’s Bartun.” The reprieve brought Adam a moment of shame. He’d met the jovial mage only once, but no one deserved to die like this.

  The company spent the next hour combing the battlefield, searching for signs of the three mages. They found only two staffs; one whole; the second burned and broken. Blackened with heat, the metal bands held a few remaining bits of charred and brittle wood. The scouts also uncovered two sets of tracks leading away from the battle site. One set continued north, but signs pointed to a smaller group. The second set led southeast and indicated a much larger group.

  “We must decide, Adam,” said Henslow. “Do we continue north after the smaller band or turn aside to the southeast after the larger?”

  “What do you think?”

  Henslow stroked his beard, deep in thought. “If they escaped, I believe Master Aristomus would flee to the southeast, the original path of the mission. It makes no sense to continue northward. My scouts found one clear set of hoof prints, so we know at least one horse left in that direction. The footprints of the Unsouled wiped out all else.

  “But any captives held will go north. And we may be the only hope they have.” Henslow grimaced in distaste as he shook his head, unsure.

  “There’s no choice then. If we can’t be sure, we’ll need to split up,” Adam reasoned. “I think you’re right, though. I want to take the southeast trail. If they ran that way, they’ll need help soon. In the cold, with no supplies...”

  “I understand,” Henslow replied. “I will take Loren, Stevin and Danyll and head north. If any remain captive, we cannot abandon them. The rest of my men go with you to pursue the larger group.” Henslow clapped Adam on the shoulder. “Do not worry, Adam. If Alecia is there, I swear to bring her back.”

  Adam climbed into Belle’s saddle. “Thanks, Jacob. Be careful out there.”

  “And you, too, my friend.” Henslow turned away, ordering his soldiers to mount up.

  Chapter 18, Escape

  As consciousness returned, Alecia felt her head sway back and forth, the creak of leather loud in her ears. Bruised from head to toe, her sore body throbbed with a bone-deep ache. Forcing open crusty eyelids, she saw a stirrup dangling below her. They’d strapped her to the back of her horse. She felt coarse rope binding both her hands and feet; the bonds tight enough to make her hands swell, the fingers thick and clumsy.

  A cold hand slid along the back of her exposed calf. She shivered in revulsion, tensing against the expected bite of an Unsouled. Instead, there came the meaty sound of bone on flesh.

  “Not touch!” The inhuman voice had an eerie intonation, rising and falling in pitch. The sound scraped along the nerves, leaving them raw and exposed.

  Alecia’s head turned and a spike of agony shot through her skull, sending more spasms down her neck. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she blinked to clear vision gone fuzzy, and saw another horse just ahead. Strapped to its back, a figure slumped, unmoving.

  “Father?” she called, voice just above a whisper. She swallowed with difficulty, her throat parched with thirst, and called louder, “Father!”

  Behind her came the scraping rasp of metal as though someone sharpened a knife. Then a leather strap whistled through the air to land across her back with a loud crack. Alecia cried out in pain, the lash reawakening the agony of her bruised body. Tears spilled from eyes squeezed shut. Her back burned; the skin felt etched with acid.

  “You sssilent!” came the harsh sibilant voice. The lash cracked again and Alecia cried out in torment.

  “Leave her alone!”

  Through waves of pain, Alecia recognized her father’s voice. She turned her head enough to see the monstrous black Dread, heavy leather whip in one long-nailed claw, as it strode toward the figure strapped to the horse ahead of her. The whip came down with a terrible crack, like the sound of a thick branch snapping. Again and again the lash connected, ripping the mage’s cloak and soaking the tattered garment in blood.

  “No! Please stop!” Alecia gasped. The beast turned back to her, thick lips peeling back from long, sharp fangs. The monster’s hissing laugh followed her down into spiraling darkness.

  ALECIA AWOKE SOMETIME later. After removing the ropes from her wrists and ankles, a Dread threw her to the ground. The thick snow softened the impact somewhat, but still her body cried out in protest at the rough treatment. Struggling, she somehow sat up, her hands on fire with returning circulation. The drifted pile of snow formed an island surrounded by a sea of Unsouled wandering aimless around her.

  Moments later, Bartun and Rosner landed at her side. Pale and sweating, the big mage shivered in the cold. Alecia dragged herself over to inspect his injury. The bleeding had slowed, but with no treatment, the ravaged flesh had already begun to fester. She scraped together some cleaner snow and used it to swab out the wound. Bartun hissed in pain but held himself as still as possible. Rosner moved close enough to
watch as she worked.

  “If not treated, he will lose that leg,” the slender mage judged.

  “Aye,” came Alecia’s sharp response. “But we can do nothing without our staffs.” She tore a strip of cloth from her robe and whispered to Bartun, “This will hurt. Try to hold still.” At the big man’s weary nod, she bound the wound, pulling it tight.

  The massive Dread returned bearing Aristomus and tossed him to the ground with the others. Breath ragged, the old mage remained unconscious. The Dread moved some distance away and turned to watch them, rancid breath steaming in the cold.

  Alecia stared at the creature for a moment, naked hate in her gaze. Then she turned to her injured father. Peeling back the torn strips of the robe, she winced at the damage. The Dread had turned Aristomus’ back into a bruised and bloody ruin. With gentle fingers, she washed his lacerated skin using more of the snow. Tears dropped from her cheeks to his damaged back. With gentle care, she removed the crusted blood and dirt from his wounds.

  “Oh, father,” she whispered. “You never could remain quiet when you should.”

  Aristomus gave a weak cough and groaned, “You have a point, daughter.” With Alecia’s help, he turned over and placed his burning back against the snowbank. “Perhaps...” The icy snow drew a gasp of pain. “Perhaps I should learn to be less incautious with my speech.”

  He glanced at the two men, his brow wrinkling in concern for Bartun. “I am not ungrateful mind you, but why are we not in the bellies of the Unsouled?”

  Alecia managed a small smile at her father’s gallows humor. “I do not know,” she replied. “None of this makes sense, unless...”

  “Unless the Dark Mage has other plans for us,” finished Rosner. “If we cannot escape, I fear the appetites of the Unsouled will be the least of our worries.”

  “Aye, you are right,” acknowledged Aristomus. “But without our staffs, we are powerless. Did any of you see them as the Dread brought us here?” When the others shook their heads, he continued, “Then finding them must be our first task.” He glanced over at their loathsome guard. “Perhaps the Dread will get careless. But we must locate our staffs if we are to take advantage of any mistake.”