Mageborn The Blacksmith's Son

by Michael G. Manning

  Devon Tremont was laughing and he reached down to grab the back of Penelope’s head. He jerked her head up, delighted at the blood on her face. One eye was swelling and her nose looked as though it might be broken. “You’ll hang for this bitch!” he yelled at her drawing his fist back to strike her again.

  ***

  I was almost to him when he pulled Penny’s head back and the sight of her battered face drove all reason from my mind. I grabbed his fist and jerked him around to face me as I hammered my right hand into his astonished face. The blow sent him reeling, stumbling back, and he fell. I advanced on him, determined to finish what I had started when one of the guards struck me from behind, staggering me.

  I turned and saw the man staring stupidly at his broken truncheon. The heavy wooden weapon had snapped when it struck my head. I was glad I had shielded myself when I saw that. “Do that again and you’ll regret it,” I growled and looked back at Devon.

  The young lord was back on his feet now, and my eyes could see he had put a shield around himself as well. He circled me warily, “Someone give me a sword!” he shouted. The guard behind me tossed him his own.

  I glared at the guard, “I’m going to remember that.” I drew my father’s sword as I closed with Devon and we began our deadly dance. I call it a dance, but honestly I am no swordsman, I beat at him like an enraged farmhand with a club. His sword was moving too quickly for me to follow so I ignored it and hammered at him as if he were a side of beef to be cut up for market.

  The only thing that saved me was the shield I had cast about myself. I pressed Devon hard, keeping him off-balance with heavy blows, but still his sword kept slipping my guard to strike at me. I would have been bleeding from a dozen places if it could have cut me. Finally we drew back to catch our breath.

  I was breathing hard, winded already. My recovery was far from complete and it would not be long before my anger would no longer be enough to keep me fighting. Worse, Devon looked as though he was still fresh. He held his sword in front of him and ran his finger down the blade, “Thylen” he said, and I saw a glow appear along the edge.

  I hadn’t learned that trick yet, and it worried me. From the corner of my eye I could see Rose pulling Penny away. The guards had us encircled now and Sir Kelton was shouting at me to put down my sword. They probably would have rushed me, dragging me down if Dorian hadn’t intervened.

  “Get back!” His booming voice cut through the din as he broke into the circle. His sword was out and he glared at them from beneath dark brows. “The first man to interfere will find his insides on the floor!” he shouted. Then Devon came at me again.

  We traded quick blows but he had me on the defensive now. I was backing as he pressed his advantage and I felt his sword tip catch my cheek, slicing effortlessly through my shield. Shit! I was desperate now, he seemed able to cut me at will, and even if I could get past his guard my sword wouldn’t pierce his shield.

  I had an idea. Stepping back quickly I spoke, “Shelu Nian Trethis” and I found myself in utter silence. I had stoppered my ears with a special type of shield, one to prevent sound from entering. My own brilliance amazes me sometimes. I could see Devon’s mouth moving but I couldn’t hear his words. If I had to hazard a guess I would imagine it was something like, “You stupid fool.”

  He came at me and I closed my eyes, “Lyet ni Bierek!” I said, and I put everything I had into it. The result was astonishing. Light flashed so brightly that everyone watching us was blinded, including I hoped, Lord Devon. The light was accompanied by a thunderous ‘boom’ so great that it shook the teeth in my jaw. Everyone within the ballroom drew back reeling, some fell to the floor crying out with shock. I would judge that my ‘flashbang’ was a success, although I still needed to work out a better name for it.

  I opened my eyes and saw Devon sitting on the ground. He was blinking and seemed completely disoriented. His sword lay beside him but his hand couldn’t find it. I had created my spell right in front of him, so he should have gotten the worst of it. The flashbang was a creation of pure light and sound, with no force behind it to break or destroy. His shield had not protected him at all, not being designed to do so. In fact his shield still appeared to be around him. How annoying, I thought.

  I swung at him with my sword, but it failed to do more than knock him sideways. I needed something bigger, heavier. I cast about, looking for a better weapon. My eyes landed on the eastern fireplace. Striding over I looked for the fireplace tools, but someone had taken the iron poker. I started searching the kindling piled next to the hearth instead. The great hall had two fireplaces, and they were so large that the logs were cut almost three feet in length. I selected a sturdy piece fully four inches in diameter. I held it up in a double handed grip, it seemed to have promise.

  I headed back towards Devon. He was standing now and still seemed blind, but he didn’t need eyes to see me. Using his mage-sight he pointed at me and said something I couldn’t hear. White hot flames erupted around me, but my shield kept out the worst. The heat was so great my clothes began to crisp and char about me. I ignored the flames and marched at him, “Lyet Bierek” I said again, and a great cracking ‘boom’ sent him to the floor.

  The flash had partly blinded me but I didn’t need my eyes any more than he did. The log swung in a great arc as I slammed it into his face. He flew several feet, crashing into a chair near the edge of the room. I hit him again, pleased he was still conscious. I began steadily raining blows on him with my firewood club. He tried to raise his sword but I knocked his arm aside. I thought it might have broken which brought a smile to my face. I smacked him about like one of the dummies the guards practice with, beating him senseless.

  Finally he collapsed, unconscious on the floor. As he passed out his shield winked out of existence and I grinned, raising my makeshift club over my head. Someone touched my arm and I almost swung at them before I realized it was Marc. He was shouting something but I couldn’t hear him. I removed the sound block from my ears. “...if you kill him they’ll have you for murder!” he yelled.

  I looked at him stupidly, “Yeah, so what?!”

  “You’ll be hanged!” he shouted back.

  I thought for a second, “If I don’t kill him he’ll press his case and have Penny hanged!”

  Marc looked at me for a moment, “You’re right. Kill him.” Then Dorian appeared, still blinking his eyes from my earlier spell.

  “Let me do it,” he said, pointing at Devon with his sword.

  We started arguing, trying to decide which of us should finish him off when James Lancaster found us. “Put the firewood down Mordecai. Dorian sheathe your sword!” his tone brooked no delay. I looked down at the piece of wood I held, it was still burning from the fire Devon had used on me, so I walked over to the fireplace and threw it in.

  Around the room people were still recovering. Several men were beating out a fire that had started near where Devon tried to roast me. A large tapestry was in flames but it looked like they would be able to keep it from spreading. I walked back to the Duke, his son was arguing with him but he shouted Marc down, “I’m not hanging anyone, not you, not Penelope, not even this piss poor excuse of a lord here! Now shut up and let me think!” I was pretty sure that by ‘piss poor excuse of a lord’ he meant Devon, but there was a possibility he meant me instead.

  I decided to ignore them and started looking for Penny. I found her with Rose, sitting at one of the small tables to the side. They were surrounded by a crowd of people, some of them watched me as I walked over. I showed my teeth and growled at them, “Move!” They cleared out quickly, and a few even ran.

  I looked at Penny, she was sitting up but her face looked terrible. One eye was swelling shut and her nose looked like someone had formed it from a badly shaped piece of bread dough. “Oh Mort, your cheek!” she exclaimed. Her voice had a comical nasal twang, as if she were holding her nose pinched shut.

  “Shut up stupid,” I said gently. I sat down next to her and touched her
face with my mind. Sure enough the bone in her nose had snapped and been driven sideways. My experiments on my own bones had taught me a few things, so I spoke a quiet word first, damping all sensation in her face. Then I moved the bones back into place and reconnected them. My attempt at pain blocking wasn’t entirely successful, because she still let out a choked cry as the bones realigned. I couldn’t do anything about the swelling but at least she wouldn’t look funny when it healed.

  I tried to kiss her but that didn’t work. Her nose was far too tender, plus she kept going on about my face. Eventually Rose dragged me over to a mirror along one of the walls. I was a horror, my right cheek was drooping, exposing my upper teeth; blood coated that side of my face and ran down my neck. Odd, I hardly felt it at all. I pushed the skin back together and sealed it with my finger and a thought, leaving a red line. I would later regret the rush job, since I still have an ugly scar there to this day.

  That was when the screaming and yelling started up again. The doorway to the great hall only had a couple of guards still standing at it. Most of the others were scattered through the crowd trying to calm everyone down. The two by the doors were watching the events inside, so they never saw the men in black leathers who crept up on them from behind. They died quickly, but one of them screamed before his windpipe was cut through. Pandemonium erupted as people scrambled to get back from the doors.

  The men spilling into the room were all dressed similarly, in black leather with masks tied over their features, hiding everything but their eyes. They carried sharp knives and long curved swords. I was pretty sure they hadn’t come to dance; they had the wrong shoes on. They spread out and began methodically cutting down the guests. People trampled each other in their efforts to get away, making it easier for the men to reach them.

  Duke Lancaster was pushing his way through the crowd, he still hadn’t seen them yet, “What the bloody hell is going on here!?” He roared as people fought to get around him, then he saw the men. He was nearly cut down then, as he was still unarmed. Two of the men had him caught between them and a fallen table, but Lord Thornbear rushed into them from the side roaring like a bear. He didn’t have his sword either, but he held a chair and used it to smash one of the men to the ground. Then he drove the other back like some eastern lion tamer, holding the chair in front of him.

  At least thirty of them were already in the room, spreading out, killing anyone they found. I could see many more entering through the main doors. “Lyet Bierek” I spoke and the men all around the doorway fell back, shocked and stunned. That bought us some time while Sir Kelton and the guards in the room struggled to form a line between the remaining guests and the men in the room.

  The Duke and Thornbear were still cut off from the rest of us, surrounded now by a dozen men. The assassins were still disoriented and Thornbear fought like a maddened bull, swinging his chair back and forth, cracking skulls. Even so they would have been slain had Dorian not come to his father’s aid. He charged from the line of men with Sir Kelton and cut his way past those before him to reach his father.

  I had never seen Dorian fight like that before, nor do I hope to ever again. He became a demon of slaughter with a sword in each hand. I wondered where he had found the second blade, and it was only later I realized he had taken Devon’s sword from the ground. Dorian ran through the men in his way, and as he passed they fell back, dropping weapons and crying out from the wounds he gave them. He went through them like a scythe through ripe grain.

  Once he had reached the Duke and his father he paused to toss the sword in his off hand to Lord Thornbear who caught it deftly. The two of them fought on either side of the Duke then, steadily working their way toward Sir Kelton and his men.

  During all of this I had taken a position among the guards who were struggling to form a defensive line. Marc was to my right wielding a sword to deadly effect. I tried to do the same but I was far less skilled, if it had not been for my magical shield I would have died several times over. We strove to drive them back but there were too many. Man for man the Duke’s guardsmen were better at face to face combat but the assassins outnumbered us several times over. We were driven back, step by step, till they controlled more than half of the great hall, and we were even further from the two Thornbears and the Duke, still fighting for survival.

  The guards were falling one by one and now we had fewer than thirty men, barely enough to form a line across the room. A few more down and we would be overrun. “Dorian!” I yelled, “Run!” He caught my eye for a second and I hoped he understood. He said something to his father and the Duke and they turned their backs on the men in front of them, charging toward those that remained between them and our line.

  “Lyet Bierek” I shouted, placing the center of this one behind them. The sound of it would probably deafen them, but at least they were facing away and the men ahead and behind them were blinded. The huge noise even unsettled those before us and we gained a few feet as some of them fell.

  Lord Thornbear and his son hacked their way through the stunned men, while the Duke finished those he could with a long dagger he had found. It looked for a moment as though they would reach us unharmed. Five steps, then ten, they were almost to us, when two men managed to time their strikes at Lord Thornbear. He stopped one blade, and almost dodged the other but his age betrayed him and he was too slow. The sword plunged into his chest just below the sternum.

  Dorian came of sturdy stock, the elder Thornbear grimaced and grabbed the man who had slain him. Dragging him close he rammed his own sword home before collapsing with his dying foe. I heard a cry come from Dorian’s lips, a sound I will never forget as he saw his father fall, but there was no help for it. Lord Thornbear was dead.

  Dorian slew the second man and might have charged back into the fray but the Duke stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Instead they leapt over the last fallen man, reaching our line. I saw my friend’s face as he came past, spattered with blood and tears falling from his eyes. I would have spoken to him but I had no words, and the assassins were pressing us harder now.

  The Duke armed himself and with Dorian among us our line gained strength, still we were little more than thirty men, and the hall before us held scores, easily a hundred black garbed killers. The conclusion could only be bloody and it would not be in our favor. As we fought I could see some of the women and noble ladies picking up swords from dead men, shoring up the line. Rose and Penny were among them. I even saw Ariadne arming herself, though she did not try to enter the battle.

  Genevieve Lancaster stood behind us now, shouting at those unable or unwilling to fight, organizing them to form a barricade of tables and broken furniture, seeing that I had an idea, one that would either save us or kill me in the effort. I have since learned that my ideas are something of a mixed blessing.

  Chapter 20

  Last Stand in the Great Hall

  Traditionally wizards are not known for their ability to heal. The reason for this lies in the complexity of the task. Few mages learn to use their sight inwardly in such a way that they are able to perceive and understand the inner workings of the body; those that do find that attempting to manipulate the processes within results more often in harm than good. Channelers on the other hand do not rely on their own power or intuition, but that of their god. Because of this most acts of magical healing are attributed to saints and holy men. This is not to say that wizards cannot heal, in history a number of accomplished mages have been noted healers, but they are the exception. Most are able to do little more than mend cuts in the skin, some manage to fix broken bones, but few learn the finesse necessary to heal anything beyond that.

  ~Marcus the Heretic,

  On the Nature of Faith and Magic

  We withdrew behind a makeshift barricade of fallen tables and broken chairs. To call it a barricade was a bit of a stretch, I’ll admit, but it gave us a slight advantage. It hampered the men coming at us, making it easier to kill or wound them as they struggled to get over the
tumbled furniture. They drew back for a moment to coordinate their final push and the fighting paused.

  “Genevieve!” I shouted to the Duchess, “I need your help, I have a plan.” She nodded and came quickly to me. She had seen enough to realize that whatever I might do it was better than the alternative.

  “What can we do?” she asked me.

  “Get the burned logs from the fire. I need a line, as straight as you can make it from one side of the room to the other!” I told her. It took a few more words to explain myself but at last she understood me and soon she had people running to either side of the room, gathering burnt wood to draw the line.

  Vestrius’ journal had mentioned great wizards of the past using their strength to create huge shields to protect buildings or men during time of war. Often the effort killed them, especially if they did it without proper preparation. My own experiments had already shown me how much more energy was needed to do something without words as opposed to with them. I already knew the words necessary for creating a shield beyond my own body, but there was another method of increasing efficiency, the use of symbols or visibly drawn lines, much like a summoner’s circle. I wasn’t sure how much help a simple line would be, but it couldn’t hurt.

  I had impressed upon Genevieve the need for the line to be as straight as possible and one of the men helping her was a carpenter by trade. Soon he was using a board from a broken table to help them rule the line as they drew it across the breadth of the hall. I was glad he had thought of it, the line was much better than what I thought would be possible.

  A man spoke out from the men who stood on the other side of our barricade. “If you surrender now I promise we won’t kill the women.” Devon Tremont was standing behind them, using a chair so he could see us over their heads. “My men could use a reward for their efforts after all.”