War of Magic (Dual Magics Book 4)

by Meredith Mansfield

  The place was on its way to becoming a town, if not a city eventually. Here on the edge of the plains. It’d be needing some form of local government and a peace-keeping force before long.

  The wagons—and most of the pack trains—would turn south or west from here. Some traveling toward Tysoe, carrying dried fish, woven cloth, as well as products of the Smiths’ and other guilds. Others heading west to Caere, carrying lumber and grain from Tysoe. Few went east from here—yet. And none at this early season.

  “Over here,” Arcas called. “We’ll water the horses and then press on to the next waterhole. Where we can camp in peace.”

  Vatar nodded. He hadn’t been even this far onto the plains in six years. He wouldn’t be going now, except that Zavar and Savara would turn thirteen this summer. Time for them to be initiated into the Lion Clan. Still, he’d looked forward to spending some time on the plains as he remembered them. This wasn’t that. Not anymore. But the next waterhole would be . . . well, possibly not just the same, but closer to the plains of his childhood.

  The track leading east was much narrower and less-traveled, though still suitable for small wagons. Room enough to ride two or three abreast. It did make the riding easier—and faster.

  Though Arcas was in the lead, having traveled this route more recently than Vatar, Vatar tried to keep an eye on the surrounding area for unexpected dangers and on all the members of his group. Young Caslar, now ten years old and on his first visit to the Dardani, rode at the front beside Arcas. Then the twins, Zavar and Savara, side by side. They were accomplished riders now and had gone along with Arcas to help with the herds and visit their Dardani family for the last three years. Jadar and Taleara came next, after a wider gap than Vatar would have preferred. Though he’d taught them to ride himself, back at the farm, at nine and seven years old this would be their first ride of this length. And the first time they would camp on the plains.

  Thekila, as always, rode beside Vatar, their youngest boy, four-year-old Tenar held in front of her. One of Vatar’s arms wrapped around Tenar’s twin sister, Teranara. As close as they’d been able to come to naming the younger twins after Teran and Terania and still give them proper Lion Clan names. That pregnancy had been hard on Thekila, small as she was. Vatar and Boreala had finally been able to convince her that six children were enough.

  Thekila looked over at him and quirked an eyebrow. “Are you thinking so hard about the past because you’re still worried about your welcome?”

  Vatar sucked in a breath. Trust Thekila to put her finger on exactly what he was thinking, even when he thought he’d shut down that part of their bond.

  “Everything will be fine, Vatar. It’s been six years. Kiara and Theklan have been asking us to come back for the last four. Zavar and Savara have both said no one even mentions the battle anymore.”

  “I haven’t been around to remind them of it,” Vatar said. It had been hard enough to leave the Dardani behind six years ago. He didn’t know which he dreaded more: finding that his people’s reaction to his magic was just as strong—and isolating—as it had been back then, or finding out that he could be welcomed back—and having to leave again anyway. He’d known since he’d allowed the old Guild Master to name Vatar as his successor that he wouldn’t be able to return to the Dardani often—even if they accepted him back.

  She reached over and he shifted his reins into the same hand that restrained Teranara in order to take Thekila’s hand.

  “It will be all right, Vatar. Whatever happens, now or in the future, you will not be alone. Ever.”

  He squeezed her hand in reply.

  ~

  The wagon track from the crossroads only went as far as Zeda. To reach the Lion Clan’s spring village in the oak-studded hills, they had to ride across country, just as they always had for as long as Vatar could remember—and longer. He smiled in spite of his worries. This, finally, was the plains as he remembered them. This early in the spring, the grasses were green and not yet tall enough to pass the horses’ fetlocks, studded here and there with bright little wild flowers.

  He glanced up as a shadow passed over. And frowned. He should have been able to sense an eagle before it flew over. In the same way he’d been able to point out the herd of wild horses to the children yesterday, even though their coloring made them almost impossible to spot unless you knew exactly where to look. If he could sense the wild horses, why wouldn’t he be able to sense the eagle?

  Vatar looked over at Thekila, who was also following the eagle with her eyes.

  Her eyes twinkled as she looked over at Vatar. “When is an eagle not an eagle?”

  Vatar darted another look up at the bird, now winging off in the same direction they were riding. “You think it’s Theklan?”

  Thekila nodded. “I think he was keeping a watch for us.”

  “We could find out.”

  Thekila shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to distract him just now. I doubt he gets much practice flying anymore.” She gestured to the trees scattered on the slopes of the hills ahead—carpeted with orange, yellow, and blue wildflowers. “Besides, we’ll find out the old-fashioned way soon enough.”

  By midafternoon they crested another hill and looked down at the Lion Clan village, clustered on a shelf just below. And Vatar drew his breath in sharply. That had to be nearly all of the clan gathered. There to drive Vatar and his magic away?

  No. Because they were waving. And that was Mother and Pa out front, Pa leaning on a tall oak staff. And Theklan and Kiara, grasping the hands of their own little boy. And . . . could that tall youth be Fenar? He’d been only a little older than Taleara was now the last time Vatar saw his half-brother.

  Vatar buried his face in his little girl’s hair for a moment. They were there to welcome him home. Maybe there were still Dardani who were afraid of him. Likely, in the clans Avaza was better known in. But his own clan hadn’t rejected him after all.

  He raised his head and waved back.

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  Exerpt from Become

  The First Book in the Next Epic Fantasy Series

  By Meredith Mansfield

  Coming in 2017

  One day, a child of the Goddess will Ascend to join her,

  Ruling the sky as she rules the earth.

  Many will try and fail first.

  To Ascend, the mortal flesh must first burn,

  Leaving only the immortal.

  But even that is not enough.

  The help of Strength and Healing, Dreams and Weather

  All will be needed.

  Guard them well,

  For their loss could mean disaster.

  Training Princes

  The battle-scarred combat tutor stood in the center of the warrior’s circle and turned his head to scan the group of ten-year-old boys crowding the edge of the circle. Most were eager; a few showed fear. He’d been doing this long enough to know that those expressions didn’t forecast which boys would turn out to be true warriors. Not with young soldiers and guardsmen and not with these royal and noble boys, either. The stakes were higher with these boys, though, many of whom would undoubtedly be officers someday.

  He clasped his hands behind his back, rocked on the balls of his feet, and raised his voice to address them. “I don’t know how many of you have been good at scraps among the other boys. And I don’t care. I do know that that kind of fighting is nothing like what you will learn here, so lose any overconfidence that may have given you before I’m forced to have it beaten out of you.”

  The tutor paused for effect and to fix each boy with his one good eye. Two, in particular, by their alert and confident attitudes, would need today’s lesson more than the others. One way or another, they’d likely be the first in the circle. “All training for your first year�
��at least—will be unarmed. You will have to earn the right to learn weapons. This first lesson is about falling, not fighting. You will fall and be thrown many times during your training and during battles. Best you learn now how to do it without getting hurt.” They didn’t believe him, of course. Boys this age never did—or older ones, either. Well, they couldn’t say he hadn’t warned them. Every one of those boys was going to fall—and fall hard—before this day was out.

  He raised his arm for the young guardsman he’d selected to come forward. He’d chosen carefully—a young man not too much bigger than these well-grown lads. Not one of the big, heavily muscled guardsmen that surrounded the king. This opponent wasn’t supposed to look intimidating. The boys were meant to be impressed with his skill, not salve their bruised pride with how big he was. “Any volunteers?”

  Two boys—the two he’d expected—raised their hands.

  “I claim the right to go first,” one of them said, raising his chin. “As the son of Leradan the Bull.”

  The other boy thrust out his chest. “What’s that got to do with it? We’re both Leradan’s sons.”

  Ah, the princes. He’d known they’d be part of this class and he should have recognized them. Both boys bore the unmistakable stamp of their sire. But which was which? The tutor took a step forward. “And you are?”

  The first boy threw his chin still higher. “Benar.”

  The queen’s son, yes.

  The other boy pulled himself into a very good imitation of the military attention he must have seen around the palace all his life. “Gaian, sir.”

  And the babe from the Temple, said to be the son of the Goddess herself. By rights, he probably should give precedence to Gaian. Apart from the claim to be the Goddess’s own son, he was a day older than the other. But there was something in the arrogant tilt of Benar’s chin that made him think that he needed this lesson more. Let him be the first to find out how little he really knew. “Step forward into the circle, Benar.” The tutor moved out of the circle, leaving it to the combatants.

  Benar strode forward with a cocky stride and took up a boy’s idea of a fighting stance. Feet apart—just a little too far apart for proper balance or the ability to move quickly. The young guardsman took up a proper, more balanced, stance opposite him.

  The tutor gave the signal. “Go!”

  Benar, possibly on the theory that offense was better than defense, leapt forward to attack. The young guardsman merely waited. As Benar reached him, the guardsman grabbed the boy by his belt and used Benar’s own momentum to toss the boy over his shoulder. Benar landed hard, half in and half out of the circle and lay there, trying to force air back into his lungs. The tutor helped him up, simultaneously assuring himself that there were no broken bones. He turned to Gaian. “You next.”

  Gaian stepped forward without hesitation. The tutor noticed for the first time that the boy was barefoot. Well, for this lesson, that wouldn’t matter too much. Gaian made no attempt to take up a fighting stance. When the signal was given, he also declined to charge in. Instead, he began circling, forcing the guardsman to move to keep him opposite. This boy was clearly too smart to repeat his half-brother’s mistake. Good. But he couldn’t be allowed to think that caution would save him. As they circled around, the tutor gestured for the guardsman to close in.

  The guardsman feinted right, drawing Gaian to that side and ever so slightly off balance. The guardsman darted in to take advantage of it, but Gaian instinctively squatted down, closer to the ground. It was a good move for an untrained boy. The guardsman grabbed Gaian to pull him off balance, but the boy’s feet seemed almost glued to the ground. The guardsman braced his feet and yanked, trying to lift Gaian off the ground. Gaian pulled back. The guardsman’s feet slid out from under him and an instant later he was lying on his back looking up at Gaian. The boy smiled and held out his hand to help the guardsman up.

  The tutor placed his fist over his heart in the age-old symbol of the Goddess. By the Goddess! The boy really must be Her own son. He’d only half believed that story before, but he did now.

  The Promise of Fire

  Flushed with victory, Gaian ran through the large rooms on the ground floor of the palace, dodging servants who only half-heartedly tried to stop him, his bare feet slapping on the tile floors. The small grey cat that had been his constant companion from the cradle ran behind, mewing like a mother cat calling her kitten. Gaian raced ahead, determined to be the first to bring the news to his father.

  He wanted to see the look on Father’s face when he heard that Gaian had bested a guardsman on his first try. Whatever the queen whispered to her ladies—and the ladies whispered to the servants, who whispered among themselves, not always out of Gaian’s hearing—surely that proved that he was truly the son of Leradan the Bull, eleven times victor of the Great Combat.

  Gaian skidded to a stop just outside the room his father used as an office. He knew better than to just barge in on the king. He straightened his tunic and raised his hand to knock, but then he heard voices. He paused. Usually Father was alone at this time of day. Surely the old tutor couldn’t have gotten here that fast. Or was it another conference about the drought in the South? Lately, Father’d been very troubled about that and the famine it might cause. Gaian looked up and down the corridor. No one was nearby to catch him. He cracked the door open just enough to hear who was inside, not really meaning to eavesdrop further than that.

  Father’s voice was easy to recognize, but Gaian had to put his hand over his mouth to suppress a gasp when he heard the other. He’d only ever heard the musical tones of his mother’s voice in his dreams. He pushed the door open a little farther so he could see inside.

  The glowing form of the Goddess stood—or rather floated—about a foot above the marble floor in the center of the room. Father was on his knees, on the thick, patterned wool rug, with his head bowed before her.

  “You have trusted me with a great responsibility, Goddess. What if I fail him? What if he doesn’t learn how to be a good man, a great man?” Father said.

  “You will not fail him, Leradan,” the Goddess answered.

  Father shook his head. “What if he becomes a god without understanding the responsibility of power?”

  “If he is not worthy, he will not Become.”

  Become a god?! Gaian hadn’t known that was even possible. Who could do that? And how? Gaian leaned a little farther into the room, fascinated.

  Father raised his head. “What will happen to him, then?”

  “He will go beyond my power to follow.”

  “You are the Goddess of everything that lives. What place is beyond your power, Goddess?”

  “Death.”

  Father blanched. “If he tries and fails, he will die?”

  The Goddess’s voice remained serene. “No, Leradan. He must die in order to try. The mortal flesh must burn before he can attempt to Ascend.”

  Die? Whoever they were talking about must be very brave to risk that. Gaian wondered who it was.

  Father’s hands clenched into fists where they rested on his knees. “He doesn’t know this, does he?”

  Cat slipped through the narrow opening in the door before Gaian could stop her. She ran straight to the Goddess, purring and weaving around the glowing form. Mother reached down to scratch Cat’s ears. Mother turned her head towards the door. “He does, now, Leradan. He has heard us.”

  Me? They’re talking about me? I could become a god like Mother?

  Father looked up to the doorway, where Gaian stood, eyes wide with wonder. “Gaian, come here.”

  There was such a floaty feeling in Gaian’s chest, he thought for a moment his feet wouldn’t touch the ground. He paced into the room as if he were in a dream. Father laid his hand on Gaian’s shoulder. Remembering himself, Gaian bowed his head briefly and then lunged forward to hug his mother. It was the first time he’d ever been able to do that in reality. “I can become a god?”

  Father’s fingers tightened on Gaia
n’s shoulder, digging deep enough to hurt. “You’re not ready for that, yet.”

  Mother placed her hand on the tousled blond hair, looking into her son’s eyes. “Someday, perhaps, if you choose to try. But not yet. When you are grown.”

  Gaian tilted his head back to look up at her. “But I could be with you, all the time, like now?” He could have a real mother, like the other boys, not just in his dreams. No one ever believed him about his dreams. “Can I really be like you, Mother?”

  Mother chuckled. “Not exactly like me. But you have my blood as well as Leradan’s. It is possible for you.”

  “Or you could live a long and blessed life, Gaian,” Father said. “You don’t have to try to become a god.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Gaian asked. “What could be better than being a god?”

  “Didn’t you hear? You would have to . . . die even to try. Die by burning.” Father shuddered. “And then you might fail. You might suffer and be lost for no purpose.”

  Gaian smiled. “Don’t worry, Father. I never fail at anything. Just now, I bested one of your guards in our very first combat training. The tutor said he’d beat all of us, to teach us to fall. But I made him fall instead. I was coming to tell you.” At the stricken look on Father’s face, Gaian placed a hand in his. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really.”

  Mother put a glowing finger under his chin and turned Gaian’s face to Hers. “You could fail at this, Gaian. All those who have tried have failed.” For a moment, it almost seemed that tears glistened in the Goddess’s eyes.

  Gaian straightened, standing up to his full height. He knew this was his destiny. “I won’t. When I’m grown, I won’t fail.”

  Gaian heard his father’s breath catch in his chest, but he didn’t understand why. All he knew was that a great destiny had been laid before him.