Knight's Struggle_Age Of Magic_A Kurtherian Gambit Series

by P. J. Cherubino

  “He was looking for me,” Gormer said. “But he found Pleth.”

  “I’m not sure what I told them,” Pleth confessed, looking at the floor.

  “He got nothing,” Gormer said. “I was in his mind.”

  Mortsen whistled. “I don’t know anyone who can stand up to mental magic torture.”

  “I don’t think I did,” Pleth said. He pointed to Gormer. “You were there with me. I saw you over this fuckwad’s shoulder. But I felt you right beside me, holding… something back. I could feel things touching me, but I couldn’t see them.”

  Gormer stood suddenly. “You didn’t see the tendrils?” he asked.

  “The what?” Mortsen asked.

  “Like tentacles or ribbons of smoke. They were everywhere,” Gormer replied.

  “He can see their magic,” Mina gasped.

  Mortsen rounded on him. Gormer didn’t think it was possible, but the man looked scared. “Only the Reachers can see that.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gormer replied as he kneeled down to finish stripping the corpse. “I’m not a bad guy anymore. I know that now.”

  “Heh,” Mortsen huffed as he got down on the floor to help. “That’s unfortunate. Now you’re just another mark.”

  “Even good guys can be bad every so often,” Gormer replied. “So, don’t press your luck, ape man.”

  “What’s an ape?” Mina asked.

  Keep 52: Raluca’s Quarters

  Raluca spasmed awake on the bare planks that was her bed, a sharp pain in the back of her neck. She sat bolt upright as her heart beat a wild rhythm in her chest.

  “Damn it,” she hissed. “He’s dead.”

  The bond between Cosmin and herself was born of their training together. It was a common occurrence between a Reacher master and a student.

  Raluca stared through the wavy, leaded glass and out into the predawn sky above the tree-line. She’d taken her new quarters on the top floor of the Keep 52 administrative building.

  Crossing the room, she opened the windows and looked down into the courtyard. The doubled guard marched around inside walls. Inside the courtyard, her underling Movers were already setting up for morning drills.

  She left the windows open and crossed the room to a large ceramic bowl. She poured cold water from a pitcher into the bowl and splashed the frigid water on her face. Icy rivulets ran down her neck and under her armor. She’d gone to sleep in full combat gear for this very reason.

  She knew what she had to do.

  Raluca threw the door open and shouted into the hallway, “Quartermaster! To arms! Muster all troops! Now, now, now!”

  It took only five seconds for her call to make the entire keep explode with motion. Throughout the Keep, her army sprang to purposeful action while the civil guard simply got out of their way.

  “Lazy piss puddles,” Raluca said. “Barely useful as doormen,” she growled.

  The woman Raluca had assigned as First Charge of the yard ran down the hallway. She was out of breath from running all the way up the five flights of stairs. “All platoons assembled, First Lieutenant!” the woman announced, slapping her palms against her hips. She clapped her heels together twice to complete the formal protocol.

  “Very well,” Raluca said. “Have the other First Charges meet me in the courtyard. I am moving my plan forward. We will attack Argan Village before dawn tomorrow. You know what this means.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant!” the woman said. “It means we drill all day. We fight the battle before the battle, just like you taught us!”

  “That’s right, First Charge,” Raluca said. “With soldiers like you, we will take back the Protectorate from the scum who infest it!”

  Argan Village: Just After Dawn

  Astrid was ending her morning meditation when the night shift patrol leader came into the courtyard dragging a clean-shaven man behind her. She rose up smoothly from her full-lotus position. It was a testament to the mobility of her new armor that she could achieve this position with very little interference. Moxy was right; the armor felt completely natural already.

  “Come on,” Maggie said to the man. “Hurry up.”

  Astrid took note of the shackles on the prisoner’s ankles and shook her head. She met them both halfway to the Longhouse. “How do you expect him to hurry with leg shackles? Also, who the hell is this, and why is he here?”

  “I’m a civil guard,” the man said. “Your man Gormer sent me. I have an urgent message.”

  “Fuckstick won’t tell me what that message is,” Maggie said. “Also, he doesn’t have the password.”

  Astrid shook her head. “Thank you, Maggie. Please unbind this man and leave him to me.”

  “You’re in trouble now, buddy,” Maggie said.

  Astrid made a mental note to instruct Maggie on threat assessment. The man was unarmed and not behaving in a belligerent fashion. He was annoyed, but much too unconcerned to be an enemy spy.

  As Astrid patted him down, he said, “They told me to come without any weapons. I regret that now.”

  “Don’t regret it,” Astrid said. “They were right. You’d be a red stain in the snow had you tried to approach our lines with arms.”

  To his credit, the man only narrowed his eyes as he rubbed his wrists.

  “Come on,” Astrid said, turning away. She waved him towards the Longhouse. “Let’s get you something warm to drink, and you can tell me your story.”

  The civil guard was clearly impressed with the Village and especially the longhouse.

  “This place is so different,” he said as he sat down opposite Astrid at one of the long tables near the kitchen. “I was here years ago with the Assessor before that asshole Pleth.”

  Astrid chuckled. “Pleth no longer bears the title ‘Asshole.’ Now, I think his title is “The Earnest and Annoying Reformed Asshole Pleth.”

  For the first time, the man let his guard down. “If you say so,” he said with a restrained laugh. “It’s OK to give a body a second chance. The shit that sticks to some folks don’t wash off easy, though.”

  “Well,” Astrid replied. “We have pretty strong soap around here.”

  The man fixed her with hard eyes. Astrid liked him. He had a forthright way about him. She detected no deception. Still, she had to be sure. He was smart, too. That was obvious by his sharp eyes.

  “You want to make sure I’m not part of some trick, right?” he asked. Astrid nodded her head. “Gormer told me to tell you that you were right. He’s starting to see what Charlie sees. He’s not quite there yet, but he’s close. That’s his message.”

  Astrid couldn’t hide her surprise. That statement was about something very deep between Astrid and Gormer.

  “Shit,” the man growled, looking away. “Why did he have to tell me something personal? I hate that gooey, sugary junk.”

  Astrid reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry you had to carry such a personal message,” she said. “But I’m in your debt.”

  “Nonsense,” the man said. “I’m a civil guard. I’m doing my part. Lungu’s gone crazy, and somebody needs to stop him. This land is my home.”

  “Tell me your story,” Astrid said.

  The guard described second-hand what happened at The Stump Inn. He also carried information from Mr. Snowflake, who witnessed the mustering of Raluca’s troops.

  “So, they are going to attack tomorrow before dawn,” Astrid concluded.

  “Yes,” the guard confirmed.

  Astrid thought for a moment. “What’s your plan? Will you be missed?”

  “No,” the guard said. “I ended my night shift right when Mr. Snowflake asked me to come here. I'm not on duty until tomorrow evening.”

  Astrid looked around the longhouse. She was in luck. Making eye contact with Pleth’s wife, she called her over.

  “Margaret, this man has come all the way from Keep 52 with an urgent message. He’s in need of rest. Might you have space for him?”

  “Oh, no,” the man stammered, confi
rming Astrid’s high opinion of him. “I won’t impose. Just give me some fresh straw. That’s good enough for me!”

  “Nonsense,” Margaret scolded. “You’re with us now. You’re more than welcome in my home. That’s how we do things around here.”

  “That’s an order,” Astrid told the man.

  The guard rose up and took off his hat. “I am grateful. Thank you,” he said.

  “Rest up,” Astrid said. “You’re going to need it. We’re moving out tonight at midnight.”

  At that, the man looked surprised, a bit confused, and then slightly scared.

  “I’ll be ready,” he said, clenching his jaw. “Or, at least, as best I can.”

  “All I ask is your best,” Astrid replied. “I’ll do the rest.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Lungu Fortress

  Protector Lungu had been up for three days. He had the attendants leave trays of food and jugs of wine and ale by the door. The instructions were always very specific. They were to step two paces into his private chambers, set the trays or jugs on the floor, then turn around without a word. He’d broken the arm of a servant who dared to make eye contact. Lungu was not in the mood.

  Only Treasurer Brol and Lungu’s personal messengers were allowed to enter without warning. But Brol himself took to knocking three times before entering. A messenger or two may have been thrown with a touchless strike, Lungu wasn’t sure.

  He was certain, however, that such things were talked about outside the chambers. Brol was exercising caution. Who could blame him. Certainly not Lungu, his oldest friend.

  So, when Brol knocked and poked his head through the door, Lungu understood, but wasn’t happy about it.

  “Come in, come in,” he said impatiently. He searched his cluttered desk to find the freshest cup of beet wine. When he found the wrong one, he absently threw the cup over his left shoulder, where it shattered against the wall. “Don’t say it,” Lungu said. “You’ve made your point very clear.”

  Brol sighed and stepped into the room with a ledger in his hands. In fact, it was the ledger—the book that showed in excruciating detail how much Lungu’s takeover of the keeps by his Lieutenants was costing the Protectorate.

  “The daily figures are in,” Brol said. “But it’s likely we won’t get many more reports. The snows are falling in the highlands.”

  By the highlands, Brol meant the Eastern District, which was higher up in the mountains than Lake Bicaz. At several thousand feet lower, the Fortress would get half the snow.

  “Will they last to spring?” Lungu asked.

  “Not without dipping into the winter stores of the surrounding Villages, which has already happened at Keeps 17 and 13.”

  “My Lieutenants are trained to think ahead,” Lungu said. Brol hesitated. “What?” Lungu asked. “I know you have something to add.”

  “If I say what’s on my mind,” Brol asked, pausing only a moment, “will you break my arm?”

  “Probably not,” Lungu said, taking another swig. “Show some courage for once in your life.”

  Brol laughed in spite of himself. “OK, then,” he said, taking a deep breath. “You’ve gone too far. Your orders have re-written the Protectorate Charter. People are starting to talk about your mental stability.”

  “Not my Lieutenants, though,” Lungu said.

  “No, not them,” Brol said. “You’ve trained them well in the ways of raw power. But I’m afraid of what might happen if this goes much further. You’ve set yourself up for a direct contest between yourself and this Astrid person.”

  “Of course, I have,” Lungu replied, sitting down behind his desk. If snakes could smile, they’d look like Lungu.

  “You wanted this to happen?”

  Lungu nodded. “This is one of the things I wanted to happen. I want Astrid to commit herself, or I wanted her to wait until spring to attack. Now, I have something even better.” Lungu pushed a paper across his desk.

  Brol came over and read the report from Raluca. “She’s going to take out Argan?”

  “Yes,” Lungu said. “She’s marching in at dawn. “It’s not exactly drawing Astrid out, but it will certainly force a direct conflict, which is what I wanted. There is no way Astrid can stand up against Raluca and her troops. Nobody will follow that gigantic bitch once she loses Argan.”

  “And then what?” Brol asked.

  “With Astrid dead or captured, I’ll move against the rest of the breakaway Villages.”

  “In winter?” Brol asked.

  “No,” Lungu said. “Once the villages see that Astrid got Argan destroyed, they’ll cave. After a hard winter, they’ll be firmly in my grasp by spring. What’s even better, is that those annoying Commissioners will be out of the way.”

  “But what if Astrid wins?” Brol asked.

  Lungu rounded on his treasurer with a hard face and glaring eyes. “Get out. You’ve strained this friendship nearly to the breaking point. Don’t come back unless you want to destroy it completely. I’ll send for you when this is over.”

  Lungu turned away from the stunned, then pained face of his oldest friend. When the door closed, Lungu said to the ceiling, “The king can have no friends.”

  He poured himself another cup of wine.

  The Stump Inn

  Gormer and Pleth caught a few hours’ sleep while Mortsen and two of his scary-looking friends kept watch. Word had spread through the strip like wildfire. Everyone closed down their businesses, and nobody was allowed to leave by Raluca’s order.

  Raluca had posted some of her troops around Keep 52 ward to make sure nobody slipped away to spread word of her plans. They were lucky she didn’t send anyone to look for her Reacher. Mortsen guessed that, while this was good for them at the Inn, it meant that she was saving all her force to take Argan.

  “They haven’t found the tunnels,” Mina said. “Or if they have, they’re not doing anything about it.”

  “No, they haven’t found them,” Mortsen said as he came out from the kitchen. “I just got word from Mr. Snowflake. One of his guys got away with our messages.”

  “Where do those tunnels go?” Gormer asked.

  “Mostly between a few of the… more enterprising inns and taverns on the strip. There’s another tunnel system that goes about a mile from the Ale House, then opens a few thousand feet from the south end.”

  “Why aren’t they connected?” Pleth asked.

  Mina sighed. “My grandfather started the tunnels twenty years ago, during the first set of… troubles between Lungu and the villages. We tried to expand them over the past few years, but we just can’t get through the rock between here and the Ale House tunnel.”

  “Still works great, though,” Mortsen replied. “It’s easy to sneak between the Ale House tunnel and our end.”

  “Case in point,” Mina said, holding up the parchment Mortsen handed her. She read it over. “Mr. Snowflake is a good man. He’s risking a lot for us. Says he doesn’t expect a reply.”

  “If I know Astrid,” Gormer said. “The reply will come in the form of a fist.”

  “You think she’ll attack first?” Mina asked.

  “I can’t wait to meet this woman,” Mortsen replied. “She sounds like my cup of tea.”

  “You’re a tea drinker?” Pleth asked.

  “If the tea is six feet tall and can kick lots of ass, then yes,” Mortsen replied, licking his lips.

  “You don’t stand a chance,” Gormer said with a grin. “George has been trying for months. She shuts him down.”

  “She hasn’t met me yet,” Mortsen said, slicking back his wild mane of brown hair.

  Mina palmed her forehead and groaned.

  “You’ll have a lot of competition,” Pleth said. “It seems everyone who fancies himself a tough guy wants to hit on Astrid.”

  Mortsen rounded on Pleth, all the humor gone from his face. He stepped over to the former Assessor and loomed. “What do you mean ‘fancies himself?” Mortsen growled.

  Pleth just
shook his head. Instead of responding to Mortsen, he looked at Gormer and said, “Well, I guess my training is complete. A few days ago, I’d have just about pissed my pants. But now, the prospect of getting my ass kicked by this scary fucker doesn’t bother me much at all.”

  Mortsen filled the room with his laughter, gold teeth on full display. He gave Pleth a spine-cracking embrace and pounded his shoulder with a massive hand. Pleth weathered it all with a painful grin and managed to get in some back pounding on Mortsen to boot.

  “One of us now!” Mortsen declared.

  “Men,” Mina groaned and walked away.

  Argan Village, Dawn

  Astrid hadn’t taken off her armor. She had the feeling she’d need to stay in it for the foreseeable future.She was only too happy that Tarkon and Moxy had designed the suit with a very inconvenient, but highly useful way for her to answer the call of nature.

  “We can’t move him,” Lief said at Astrid’s right shoulder as she stood surveying the chaos in the Longhouse. Half the building was dedicated to tending the wounded, the other half, on the side with the kitchen, was crammed with people grabbing a morning meal.

  Weeks ago, the volunteer cooks and food prep people had become full-time food service workers. So far, they’d accepted the work out of necessity and loyalty to the village, but Astrid knew they’d need some relief soon. As dedicated as they were, everyone needed some kind of relief. The village was becoming more like a small town, and that meant specialized labor and shops.

  Astrid shook her head. She was dealing with too much information. She turned to Lief. “Where is he?” she asked.

  Lief chuckled uneasily. “Exactly where he fell.” Lief pointed to the far end of the longhouse where the makeshift hospital was.

  Vinnie had collapsed in mid-sentence as he was giving instructions on how to bind wounds. Luckily, a large, very scary-looking bandit named Stitcher was in town. He’d taken over readily when Vinnie collapsed.

  Astrid walked over to the large Italian mage, who lay flat on his back snoring like a pen of hogs. She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve warned him so many times that food alone can’t replenish a magic user when they are drained.”