Rogue Mage

by Brandon Barr

  But the fists didn’t come, and Daeken dared a quick glance up.

  The man’s arm hung frozen above him, poised to strike. Daeken’s first thought was that Keeth was messing with him, but something in the giant’s eyes spoke of confusion.

  Keeth turned and glared at his arm, as if it were a foreign thing. His eyes shifted to Daeken and he groaned, face and ears turning red.

  “You promised not to use your magic.”

  Daeken stared, incredulous. Magic?

  Then a memory from only a few days prior stood in his mind. When He first found Shepherd, he had seen a similar sight. The raider had held a knife above the boy intending to kill him, but the knife never fell.

  He had thought it was Titannus who had held his servant’s hand steady for some unknown purpose, but now, Daeken knew that wasn’t so.

  “Oathbreaker!” shouted Keeth, whose deadly arm seemed chained above his head, as if a mighty invisible hand held it in place.

  Daeken looked up to where the dog pack was. Standing amongst them was Shepherd, his eyes glowing white like a noonday sun.

  Everything fell into place in Daeken’s mind. Someway, somehow, the boy had the power of magic.

  Turning back to the Giant, Daeken sent a fist flying up under Keeth’s chin, then a second and a third. Daeken’s fists shot fast and hard and relentlessly, each impact dead on target. After more than a dozen blows, Daeken saw Keeth’s eyes roll back.

  A final blow to the big man’s left temple, and the unconscious body toppled off of him, careening to the ground like a fat comatose heifer.

  The only thing missing from the bizarre spectacle was a long drawn out, MOOOOOOOOOOO.

  Daeken rose to his feet, steadying himself against the tree Keeth had intended to use for bashing his head in. A few of the dogs in the pack yapped excitedly.

  The large group of brutals cowered back, their eyes large with fear. Daeken searched their party for Tanner, but found only one raider, who stood glaring at him with sword in hand.

  Daeken spun around, searching the forest. Then he spotted the coward. The owl-faced man fled like a rabbit, full speed away from his position.

  An old, dark longing rose up in Daeken’s soul. Something he hadn’t felt since he’d discarded his mission to kill the Tanner for a life of farming and family. The pulsing throb of vengeance once again throbbed in his neck.

  “I’m coming for you, Tanner Morgan!” shouted Daeken. I swear it—on Terry Henry Walton’s honor—I’ll find you and give you your just repayment for the life you stole from me.

  As Tanner’s fleeing form disappeared, Daeken turned back to the horde. The raider standing with them cocked his head. “How do you know that man’s name?”

  Daeken took a step towards the raider. “Go ask the coward yourself.” Daeken raised his hand and pointed to where Tanner had fled. “All of you, if you want to live longer than this day. Go, now! Back to the filth-hole you came from.”

  Several of the brutals nodded vigorously and started off.

  The remaining raider glanced over his shoulder at their retreat, deliberating what action he should take.

  “Tell Zarith Smith, or whatever scum-suck mage you report to, that the Meadowlands are a no-bastard zone. Tell them that if they want to live, they had better change their raping, pillaging ways, or we’ll hang their decapitated heads from the tree tops and feed their festering flesh to the ravers.”

  The raider glared at Daeken, then without a word, turned to follow the horde of brutals that were now departing with scowls on their faces. Some glanced back at him, and he could see the murderous intent in their eyes.

  If they hadn’t believed he was a mage, he’d likely be dead already.

  Daeken stood, arms folded across his chest, and waited for them to march out of sight before turning to look back at Shepherd.

  “You, boy, are full of surprises!”

  Shepherd’s eyes, though barely visible, held a calm, deeply satisfied light behind them. Daeken walked over and tousled the boy’s hair. “I thought I told you to stay put this time?”

  Shepherd scratched the pack leader behind the ear and lifted his chin up at Daeken and squinted.

  “Thank you for disobeying, son,” smiled Daeken. “You did great.”

  Daeken turned to Keeth, still lying in the dirt. “Well, what do we do with him? Tie him up you think?”

  The boy’s blank eyes looked into his for just a moment, then returned to the dog he was scratching.

  “You know, we don’t have any rope. Might be simpler if I just cut his head off. We need to get back to Payetta, she might need us.”

  Shepherd again looked up at him, then the boy reached out and gave Daeken two pinches on his arm.”

  Daeken remembered what he’d told the boy earlier. Pinch once for no, and twice for yes.

  “Yes, I should cut his head off?”

  The boy pinched him twice again.

  Daeken’s right brow shot up. “You’re right. Can’t leave him here to crawl back to the mages. And with no rope...”

  Daeken drew his sword and braced himself. As many men as he’d killed, he didn’t have much of a stomach for killing the unconscious. But then again, this was one man he’d rather not have to fight ever again.

  Some words that Cory penned from Terry Henry Walton floated into his mind.

  The only fair fight is the one you lose, his wise ancestor had said once.

  So be it, he concluded.

  SHLINK

  The giant’s big-eared head rolled several feet, like an ugly weed snipped at the stem.

  “Right,” declared Daeken. “Come, son, let’s get back to Payetta.”

  Giving the dog leader a quick rub under the jaw, he shouted a thank you to all the dogs.

  The pack turned, howling and yipping as they bounded back into the woods. Daeken took Shepherd’s hand and hefted him up upon his back, then as swift as his legs would carry them, he carried the boy west again.

  Back toward South Meadow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Justen paused as Jax, Ferren, Kinwick, and Ian pressed the attack. One moment Titannus was spinning, wielding his sword along with his two raiders, the next moment he’d vanished.

  The two raiders noticed it too judging by the surprise on their faces.

  “Titannus is using illusions again!” shouted Justen.

  Ferren shouted back, “How could he? I thought his energy was spent! They had to carry him all the way from Hargstead on a stretcher!”

  Fear rose up in Justen’s chest. He and the Heroes Brigade had chased Titannus’s phantom across two farms, all the while, the mage had remained behind…with Payetta!

  “I’ve got to go back!” roared Justen, bolting toward the farmhouse where he’d abandoned his wife. He thought she was safe as long as he had Titannus in his sights, but now he realized his error.

  He’d never trust his senses again—not around that devious and twisted man.

  ***

  The woods were close, but dammit, not close enough.

  Payetta knew she wouldn’t make it before Titannus grabbed her from behind. Ahead, halfway between her and the woods was an old oak tree standing beside a pile of rubble. It was one of the old ruins, and the tree looked nearly as ancient as strange grey stones scattered about.

  If she could just make it that far…

  But the clomp of Titannus’s boots in the muddy soil was only three steps behind her.

  Badger Balls! Titannus knew what she was capable of, and he was making a bid to stop her before she could use her magic.

  But double dammit, she didn’t know if she had the strength left to use any.

  So she did the only thing that came to mind. She turned on her heels, found her balance, and sent a roundhouse kick at Titannus’s face.

  ***

  The morning light poured down through the clouds upon the farmhouse as Justen finally reached it. A boding sense of dread drove him through the door. He took no care to be quiet and his b
oots pounded on the wood floor as he entered. Sword in hand, he burst into the room where he’d left Payetta.

  Percy lay there, a panic-stricken look plastered on his face, but there was no sign of his wife.

  Justen turned to the injured captain, who had clearly been startled by his noisy entrance. The stench of She Grunts hung heavy in the room.

  “What happened?” ground out Justen, his voice edged with anger.

  “Payetta went through that door,” replied Percy shakily, then pointed. “Titannus followed her.”

  Justen dropped his sword to Percy’s neck and pressed it up under his chin.

  A trickle of blood ran from where the steel tip dug into the soft flesh.

  “If you’re lying to me,” rasped Justen, “I’ll come back and finish what Daeken started.”

  “I’m telling the truth,” cried Percy. “Payetta can vouch for me. I saved her life from Titannus. Punched him in the face I did.”

  Justen raised an eyebrow, then removed his sword from the man’s neck. “I’ll be back. Stay put.”

  He rushed out the door then stopped, his eyes searching for markings in the dirt and found in the mud from the night’s rain a series of footprints that led away from the farmhouse. One fit the boot size of his wife. In the field beyond, the two prints cut into the crops, snapping the plants without care. He found exactly what he hoped—a trail leading toward the woods.

  Something told him only one mage would return from that direction. It was his job to ensure it was the right mage.

  He felt a little scratching at his leggings. He looked down and found She Grunts staring back at him, sniffing the air.

  Justen bent and gave her a quick pat on the head. “There you are, girl. Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back.” He clenched his teeth. “So help me God, I’ll bring her back!”

  With fire in his legs he tore off down the muddy trail.

  ***

  The impact of Payetta’s boot knocked Titannus sideways, and the mage went down like a kitten smacked in the face by a stiff swat from its mother.

  “That one’s for killing my father!” she snarled with glee, grinning down at him. “And my father was a jerk. Wait until I give you the one for my mother the saint.”

  Titannus’s eyes were rimmed with red puffy flesh. The swelling was so bad, it didn’t look like he could even open his eyes.

  Titannus spat blood and wrinkled his nose like a rat, then stared up at her, somehow able to peek out of the bloated red slits that hid his eyes. Payetta couldn’t help but liken them to a pair of fat-assed baby butts. She half expected a turd to pop out.

  She lifted her boot to strike another blow when his hand swung out and grabbed her by the ankle and twisted her from her footing.

  She fell beside him and grunted in pain. He reached out and grabbed her arm which was draped across her chest. Weaponless, she beat her fist on his hand.

  He roared with laughter as he pulled a knife from his cloak. The frugal jerk off had had enough sense to retrieve it after She Grunts nailed him between the eyes.

  “TIME TO DIE!” shrilled Titannus.

  In desperation, she reached up with a shaking right hand and caught his wrist. Her injury screamed in nerve-twisting agony as it held back death from falling.

  But for how long, she knew it was only a matter of seconds.

  Already what little strength she had was faltering and the knife was beginning to descend.

  His arm shook violently. At any moment, she might lose her grip completely.

  Movement caught her eye. A man’s form stood a distance away—a form she instantly recognized.

  Justen!

  Titannus turned his head toward the intruder.

  Her husband had his bow out and drew back an arrow as he ran toward their position. Then it was as if he’d hit a wall. Justen grimaced and the bow arched back in his hand, sending the arrow straight up into the morning sky.

  Payetta grinned. “You think you’re so powerful,” she hissed diverting some of her energy to the newfound wooden projectile.

  Titannus turned his head back to her, his eyes white and lifeless as they had been in the farmhouse, only now she could barely see them in the folds of swollen flesh. “More powerful than you,” whispered Titannus, blood and saliva running down his chin. “I’m going to carve my name in your heart as I watch you die.”

  Her arms trembled with her last trace of adrenaline.

  “I don’t think so,” she grunted out, then flicked her eyes just above his head. “Look what’s coming for you, jackass.”

  Titannus hesitated only a moment, then looked up.

  Payetta directed the falling arrow on its course—straight into the mage’s right eye and through his brain. The metal tip of the arrowhead made a muted click as it hit the back of his skull.

  “That one’s for my mother,” spat Payetta.

  The knife slipped from Titannus’s hand as his limp body collapsed on top of her.

  A moment later, Justen arrived and shoved the dead weight off of her onto the ground. He fell to his knees and quickly put his hand on the side of her face.

  A slight cooling sensation coated the raw nerves throbbing in her shoulder as his touch began to work its magic.

  Justen’s face was a fierce dance of emotions. His eyes glistened over a wide smile.

  His voice was full of laughter. “You did it, sweetie!”

  She put her hand on the back of his. “We did it,” she breathed out, her heart still beating madly. “Best damn team in the world, that’s what we are.”

  Justen stroked the side of her face softly. “How’s the pain in your shoulder?”

  “Not important,” she replied, and took his hand, sliding it under her shirt onto her right breast. “Much better,” she declared. “How’s the Brigade and the farmers?”

  Before Justen could answer, a shadow passed over them

  “Titannus’s southern force has returned,” came a gruff voice. “The farmers will need your help.”

  Payetta looked up to see Daeken backlit by the rising sun, the form of Shepherd sitting on his shoulders. A big bulging object hung in his hands.

  “What the blazes is that?” she shouted at Daeken.

  “The head of Keeth the giant. You heard of him?”

  “No,” frowned Justen, “Is that what the dogs were all stirred up about?”

  Daeken nodded and lifted the head slightly. “This ugly brute, two raiders, and about fifty brutals.” Daeken grunted. “One of the raiders I knew from my past back east. He owes me something. I plan to track him down and take it from him.”

  Payetta wasn’t sure how Daeken defeated such a force of men, but she had no doubt he did. He was a valuable asset to have around the Meadowlands, and she intended to keep him here as long as she could. “What does the man owe you?” asked Payetta.

  “His life.” Daeken hefted up the head. “But there’s also a few items he stole from my grandmother.”

  “Have you seen the rest of the Heroes Brigade?” asked Justen.

  Daeken glanced off to the right. “I see them right now. Coming our way.”

  Justen turned back to Payetta. “Can you make it back to Hargstead?”

  “Damn straight I can, but don’t you forget your promise to me back at the farmhouse. When this is all over, there are two words I want to hear.”

  A playful smirk grew on Justen’s face. “Love you?...Heal me?...Spanky time?”

  “You’re getting closer,” purred Payetta. “It’s all three of those in one.”

  “I’m at a loss,” said Justen, shrugging dramatically.

  “Mud bath, Justen. You promised me a mud bath. I’d give more explicit details, but there are young ears present.”

  She reached up and grabbed her husband by the back of the head and forced his lips into hers.

  Payetta heard Daeken groan, but her lips were too preoccupied to comment.

  “Get a tent you two,” shouted Old Ferren’s raspy voice in the distance.


  “I agree, get a tent,” added Daeken. “Or frolic through the woods butt-naked for all I care, but only after we go to Hargstead and deal with the raiders.”

  “He’s right,” breathed out Payetta between kisses. “First things—” she sucked hard on Justen’s lower lip, then sighed in frustration, “—First things first.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Mayor Brundig looked out in despair at a hundred men advancing upon Hargstead from the south. It was exactly as Ian had warned. The other half of Titannus’s forces had arrived.

  Cheers and catcalls rose up from within Hargstead as the raiders who’d fled inside the walls celebrated the sight of their freedom.

  Above all, Brundig wanted the bloodshed to end. He’d seen enough death and destruction for a lifetime in the last few days. The thought of fighting the oncoming force of raiders was the last thing on his mind. Even if they had an equal number of men—which they did not if he included the thirty or forty raiders in Hargstead who would soon be released—Brundig wouldn’t stomach such an uneven fight. Swords versus pitchforks and scythes. Trained fighters versus farmers. The results would be disastrous.

  Thankfully, the men of the Heroes Brigade had concluded the same and had given him the same instruction.

  Without Payetta, retreat was their only option.

  He raised his hand in the air and gave a signal to the farmers standing guard outside Hargstead’s gates, and those on lookout around the walls.

  Quickly the farmers abandoned their positions and rallied around Mayor Brundig as the raiders in Hargstead jeered and cursed merrily at them.

  “I’m sorry men and women,” began Brundig. “Perhaps tomorrow will bring…”

  The mayor’s words trailed off as a few of the farmers began to cry out, faces full of dread as they stared out toward the northern strip of woods separating North and South Meadow.

  Mayor Brundig turned and his stomach dropped to the soles of his feet.

  Exiting the woods was a large throng of men coming straight toward them. Had there been more raiders all along? Were these reinforcements?