The Battle Mage (The Age of Oracles Book 3)

by Ben Hale

  “I know we are adversaries,” Teriah said. “But I’d like to dispense with the wordplay.”

  “Does this mean you’ll tell me what you’re planning?” Alydian asked.

  Alydian expected her to smile but it was pity on her face. “There was a time that I would want you to die, but that time has since past.”

  “Now you want me to live?” Alydian scoffed.

  Teriah sighed. “You know, we are not so different. We want peace for all, so that every race can have a life bereft of violence, of bloodshed, and die of old age.”

  “You want to take their freedom.”

  “Their freedom leads to pain and loss,” Teriah said. “Don’t you see that? They are like children told to play with swords, yet you are surprised when blood is spilt. I will give them the freedoms they have earned, and in time, grant them more. Perhaps one day they will truly be free.”

  “The people deserve to choose their own life,” Alydian said. “With all the joy and pain it brings.”

  Teriah sighed and shook her head. “I am sorry, but this war is about to come to an end, and you have chosen the wrong side. Soon you will stand alone and those you called friend will clamor for you blood.”

  “You may be powerful,” Alydian said, “But you cannot stop my army.”

  “I don’t mean to stop your army,” Teriah said. “I mean to own it.”

  Alydian frowned, confused by the turn in conversation. But the sheer confidence on Teriah’s face could not be ignored. The woman truly believed that Alydian’s army would become hers. But the question was . . .

  “How?” Alydian challenged.

  “Go and find out,” Teriah said. “The moment you entered the Empire they were infected by the plague. It’s only a matter of time, now.”

  Alydian heard a distant shout and jerked to the side. She glanced to Teriah and the woman nodded. Alydian scowled and extinguished her magic, returning her vision to the room. She reached the door of the tent just as Devkin thrust it open.

  “Alydian,” he said, relieved. “Some of the soldiers have gone mad. They are calling our army traitors and striking anyone nearby.”

  “How many?” She asked, fear threading into her gut.

  “Only a handful,” he exclaimed. “General Astin has ordered them shackled.”

  Abruptly a cloud of smoke burst from the ground and Elenyr appeared, her sudden appearance causing Alydian to stumble back and Devkin to palm a sword. Then she phased to a normal appearance.

  “I discovered Teriah’s plan,” she said in a rush.

  “I know,” Alydian said, stepping to the door of her tent.

  The conflict was immediately recognizable, pinpoints of shouts and flickering light scattered throughout the rebellion forces. Shouts and the occasional clash of blades was evident, punctuated by cries of pain. Then another incident arose.

  And another.

  “It’s too late,” Alydian said, horrified.

  “For what?” Devkin asked, whirling as a new man began shouting just a hundred yards away. His companions were quick to restrain him but he continued to scream.

  “TRAITORS!” he bellowed. “You have betrayed the oracles!”

  Elenyr released an un-oraclelike curse. “The blasted woman started a plague.”

  “We’re getting sick?” Devkin demanded.

  “Not in the flesh,” Alydian said. “In the heart. Teriah didn’t want to fight us because it was only a matter of time until our army becomes hers.”

  Elenyr nodded. “It’s a plague of loyalty.”

  Devkin’s eyes lit with understanding. “And we just brought her reinforcements.”

  Chapter 27: Willowbrook

  Avoiding villages and travelers, Raiden led the way to Willowbrook. Raiden had always seen the townsfolk as allies, but now he could not shake his doubt. In the homeland of friends, he had never felt such fear.

  Several times Jester or Red slipped into a village in order to hear the tales, and from them they learned that Alydian had reached Herosian with the rebellion forces. But word had spread that Elenyr had disappeared, and rebellion forces were beginning to riot.

  Raiden felt the press of time. If the tales were true, the plague of loyalty was spreading through Alydian’s army, and unless he found a cure, Alydian would witness her forces turn against her. Setting a blistering pace, they reached Willowbrook as night fell and settled into the treeline to examine the village.

  Small but well ordered, the settlement boasted a single inn and tavern, the latter occupied by the fishermen that lived in the village. Like most villages situated on the inland sea, Willowbrook forged a living on the water. Fishing vessels bobbed at the end of short docks, their sails furled for the night.

  The main street contained homes on the landward side, their roofs obscured beneath the great limbs of the oak forest. Between the street and the sea were places of commerce. A blacksmith, shipbuilder, salting warehouse, and other businesses bordered the docks.

  “Looks normal to me,” Jester murmured with a shrug.

  Red nodded. “A simple fishing village. There are dozens along the coast. Why would Elsin come here?”

  “She says the villagers have dirty souls,” Marrow said with a frown.

  “What does that mean?” Winter asked, but Marrow was arguing with the tree about its roots, prompting the roots to move so she could be more comfortable. “Lorth,” Winter whispered, and the body mage joined her.

  Lorth leaned into the tree beside her. “What do you need?”

  “Scan the village,” she said. “See anything out of order?”

  Lorth blinked and his eyes narrowed. “Fisherman in the street.” He pointed to a couple striding down the road and then sniffed. “He still reeks of his daily catch. The woman beside him seems to be his wife. They’re talking about the children.”

  “What about the tavern?” Raiden asked. “Hear anything out of the ordinary?”

  Lorth extinguished his vision charm and enhanced his hearing, cocking his head to the side. “They’re worried about the Empire and the rebellion’s invasion.” Then he frowned. “Someone’s practicing with a sword, a duel, it sounds like. No, there’s more than two . . . a lot more.”

  “I don’t see a training hall,” Jester said.

  “Perhaps it’s in a basement?” Red asked.

  Raiden shook his head, his eyes on the village. On the outside it seemed completely normal, yet he sensed an aura of falsehood that set him on edge. He would have liked to simply walk in and listen to the tales at the tavern, but caution required a different tactic.

  “Winter,” he said. “Take your Verinai and check out the houses. See if you discern anything out of place and meet back here by dawn. Red, you and Marrow look at the blacksmith and the shipbuilder. Jester and I will take the salting warehouse and the store. Don’t get caught.”

  He caught Marrow’s eye to ensure she understood his words. She groaned in response. “Fine,” she said, drawing out the syllable to display her irritation.

  They all nodded and slipped away. With Jester at his side, Raiden worked his way down the slope to the nearest structure, the store. Placed at the end of the road, the building contained a long porch and a home above. Both were dark, and Raiden pointed to the second floor.

  Jester uncoiled his shadow whip and flicked it upward, the whip catching the shadows on the roof. Then he scaled the wall and disappeared through a window. Raiden drifted to the back and withdrew a set of picks. Inserting them into the lock, he worked the mechanism until it gave, and then eased himself into the darkened room.

  He waited for his eyes to adjust but the room was exactly as expected. Bags and crates of goods waiting to be displayed. He checked their contents, even shoving his hand into the sack of flour, but found nothing.

  He shook his hand free and threaded his way to the opening that led to the front of the store, but it too lay empty. In the dim light he circled the shelves, searching for anything that seemed out of place. He found nothing out
of place, but his sense of unease did not abate.

  Five minutes after entering he slipped outside and waited behind the trunk of a tree until Jester appeared. Raiden raised an eyebrow but the assassin shook his head, indicating he too had found nothing.

  Drifting from shadow to shadow they reached the salt warehouse next door and Raiden picked the lock while Jester stood watch. The lock was newly installed and boasted several pins, prompting Jester to lean over.

  “Sometime before the war ends?”

  Raiden grinned just as the lock gave. “Still faster than you.”

  They slipped inside and were instantly assaulted by the smell. Fish and salt combined for an overwhelming reek, forcing Raiden to cover his nose as he ducked behind a crate. Barrels of salted fish lined the wall and stacked to the ceiling, while a preparation area dominated the other side. Nets had been rinsed with freshwater and hung from the ceiling to dry, ready for the next day of labor.

  A set of large doors faced the sea, where the daily catch could be loaded on carts and wheeled inside for salting. Salted and smoked fish were major exports of the region, and was likely the primary source of income for the villagers.

  “Why guard the salt?” Jester whispered.

  Raiden followed his gaze to see two men standing at the front of the warehouse, their postures bored but alert. They stood where they had a clear view of the street through the front windows and a view of the interior of the warehouse.

  At first glance they appeared to be fishermen. Their clothes were homespun and made of wool and cotton, the colors drab and faded. But a slight bulge beneath the tunics revealed armor and weaponry, and their stances were that of professional soldiers.

  Raiden and Jester exchanged a look and by unspoken accord retreated the way they had come. Once they were outside they returned to the village overlook to await the others. When they were safely within the welcome shadows, Raiden pointed to the village.

  “What are soldiers doing in Willowbrook?” he asked. “And why are they hiding their presence?”

  “They’re not soldiers,” Jester said, scratching his goatee. “One had a tattoo of the Terros prison, so I wager they’re mercenaries.”

  “But why guard the curing process?” Raiden mused. “And do the villagers know about them?”

  A rustle in the branches caused them to turn and find Red and Marrow stepping into view. Marrow looked excited, but her hair had turned white and she looked like a dark elf, right down to the clothing. Before Red could speak she talked in a rush.

  “I’ve never snuck into a guarded camp before—she wants to sneak in again—do you think they saw us?—no, we were stealthy—and the men didn’t even see me—”

  “Even when she hung from the rafter above their heads and made faces at them,” Red cut in.

  “More mercenaries?”

  “In the blacksmith shop,” she said with a nod. “Two, both dressed as fishermen over their armor.”

  “Any sign of Master Skerl?”

  Both shook their heads, and Marrow began to speak again, but this time her features began changing. “They aren’t mages—but she says their weapons are all enchanted—and not longtime enchanted but recent—just a few months old—but powerful—and different magics.” She suddenly noticed she was back to her old self and squeaked in surprise.

  Her head returned to a dark elf but her body didn’t, and in quick succession her skin flashed black, then white, and then green, eliciting a giggle. Then abruptly she morphed into a large, bearded barbarian. Her features clouded with anger but before she could shout Red spoke in a soothing tone.

  “They’re guarding someone,” she said.

  “Or something,” Jester said.

  “The source of the plague?” Raiden asked.

  Red looked down at the village and shook her head. “A small army could destroy the mercenaries with a coordinated attack, so I doubt it guards much.”

  “Agreed,” Raiden said. “Elsin would place more defenses to guard the source of the plague.”

  “The source is probably at Herosian,” Red pointed out. “We never did make it into the underbelly of the fortress.”

  “But why guard this place at all?” Jester asked, sweeping his hand at the village. “There’s nothing of value except fish and salt—neither of which has much value.”

  Raiden shifted to look down at the village, wondering what about it set him on edge. It looked like any other village, right down to the pair of men stumbling out of the tavern on their way home.

  A woman opened the door to greet her husband, but the encounter was oddly forced, her angry condemnation of his drink sounding off, albeit accurate. As they watched the village gradually turn to slumber, they waited for the Verinai to return. Just when Raiden began to worry, Winter and Lorth filtered through the trees with the other Verinai.

  “What took so long?” Raiden asked.

  “Most of the houses are empty,” Winter said, “but the villagers appear to be soldiers in disguise. It took time to search them all.”

  “Even the women are armed,” Lorth said.

  “But why?” Jester asked, sparking the same questions as before.

  Raiden frowned and examined the town again, struggling to tease his doubt to the surface. It was maddening, like an itch just out of reach. He reviewed what they had seen, carefully examining his memories in the hopes that the truth would emerge. Then he scanned the empty village streets, his eyes settling on a toy horse in front of the blacksmith shop.

  Obviously intended for a child to use while their parents worked the forge, it seemed forlorn and lonely on the porch, the shadows casting a sadness to the toy as it awaited its young rider. The sight brought his idea to the surface in a burst of clarity.

  “Did you see any children?” he asked, spinning to face the group.

  Red frowned and shook her head. “None.”

  “I saw toys,” Winter said, “but no young ones.”

  The other Verinai nodded their agreement, and Raiden turned to Lorth. “See if you can hear a child crying.”

  Lorth shrugged and closed his eyes, an expression matched by Marrow, the giant barbarian. The seconds passed into minutes and still they waited. Then Lorth furrowed his brow and opened his eyes.

  “A baby is crying and his mother offers comfort.”

  “From where?” Winter asked.

  “It’s faint,” he replied. “Like coming from a great distance . . . or underground.”

  Marrow began to giggle, the sound of anticipation. Finally, her appearance returned to normal but the change went unnoticed by those in the group. The Verinai had grown accustomed to the girl’s erratic magic.

  “Village streets and smiling men seek to hide what lies beneath,” Marrow said.

  “And what is that?” Red asked.

  Raiden gestured to the village. “A prison.”

  Chapter 28: The Red Hand

  “How can a village be a prison?” Lorth asked.

  “Elsin has imprisoned the villagers and replaced them with mercenaries,” Raiden said.

  “Why not kill them?” Red asked. “Elsin has no qualms about using the Verinai to kill—sorry Winter.”

  Winter sighed. “You speak a bitter truth. Why would she keep the villagers alive?”

  “Necessity,” Jester said, pointing to the ships. “Mercenaries don’t know how to fish, and they would need the villagers alive to keep up pretenses.”

  “It sounds plausible,” Winter said, “but it doesn’t explain why.”

  Raiden frowned and considered the options. “She’s using mercenaries, not Verinai, so perhaps she doesn’t want the guild to know what she’s doing.”

  “I wager the mercenaries don’t know either,” Red said.

  “True,” Raiden said. “But they’re guarding something.”

  “Master Skerl?” Winter asked.

  “Perhaps he is hidden beneath the village?” Jester asked.

  “We have to be careful,” Red said. “If we just wal
k in, they might kill the villagers.”

  “Elsin has taken great pains to hide a secret,” Raiden said. “It’s time we find it.”

  He assigned watch posts and the group split up, choosing camps around the village in order to get a full view. One of the Verinai had animal magic and conscripted a group of squirrels to relay messages. Then they settled in to watch.

  Dawn broke shortly after and Raiden watched the mercenaries rise and set about their daily labors, repairing nets and setting sail. Four boats departed at sunrise while women did the wash and cooking.

  As the hours passed, Raiden’s suspicions were confirmed. Men repairing nets committed errors, the fishermen returning with few fish in their nets. The women cleaned the linens but kept hesitating, as if they were uncertain where things were located. If those details weren’t enough, their movements were those of someone trained for combat. Older men lingered on porches, but only on those with an approach to the village, marking them as sentries.

  Raiden traded watch with Jester and Red, and they woke him when the sun set on the horizon. The village activity waned as he yawned and took his place in the trees. Rubbing his eyes, he gestured to the people.

  “Any news?”

  “Plenty,” Red replied. “One of the Verinai scanned the earth beneath the village. Seems there’s a series of caverns that access the salt warehouse and the blacksmith shop, as well as the tavern.”

  “Now we know why they were guarded,” Raiden said with a nod.

  “They are well trained and armed,” he agreed. “Every position serves a dual purpose, sentry and villager. Even those on the ships do not travel far offshore, and they watch the coast in either direction.”

  “What about Master Skerl?” Raiden asked.

  “No sign of him.” Jester handed him a strip of dried meat and a pouch of nuts and fruit. “Winter grew these herself and harvested them for an evening meal.”

  Raiden savored the meal. “Summon the others. We need answers and we’re out of time.”

  Red spoke to the squirrel perched next to her and it skittered away. Then she went to rouse Marrow, who’d fallen asleep shortly before. The girl woke violently, nearly blasting Red in a burst of ice.