Dawn Of Darkness

by Amy Hopkins

  Dropping his hand with a scowl, George looked her up and down.

  “You speak for them, do you?" he asked.

  “I do.”

  “Well, you should know your crappy little host town owes fealty to Muir, and its lord. That lord would be my father, by the way.” He cocked an eyebrow, and Julianne caught a fleeting expectation that she would be impressed. “George the Second?”

  She stifled a snort. Nothing about this little shit kicker was impressive. “You’re here to collect taxes?" she asked, catching onto his cover story.

  George Junior’s mind raced as he realized he could not only complete the job he was asked to do, but fill his pockets, too. “Yes. They’re late, by a month.”

  “And these taxes are for?” Julianne raised a bored eyebrow.

  “What all taxes are for.” George’s irritation showed as he sucked at a tooth. When Julianne motioned for him to continue, he added, “You know… roads, protection, schools. Those things don’t pay for themselves.”

  “Oh! So, you’re here to pave the roads and build a school for the hardworking people of Tahn? Because you’ve sure as hell done a piss-poor job of protecting them.” A few cries of agreement went up from the Tahn soldiers.

  George reddened. “The people of this shit-hole town couldn’t muster up the brains to make a school worth it. And why would we pave the roads? Not like the place will be any cleaner. It might stifle the dust, but the place is full of lice.”

  “We’ve spent the last two seasons enslaved by a bunch of mind-fuckers,” one of the men behind Julianne called out. “Where were your fancy soldiers then, aye? Off sucking their mamas’ teats? They sure as fuck weren’t protecting anyone.”

  She narrowed her eyes, waiting to see if the little pustule had an answer for that. She couldn’t read it before he spoke. He didn’t think much before opening his mouth.

  “Maybe you were better off, then,” he said. Julianne’s anger rose. “At least the tithes were coming through.”

  She pushed harder, rifling through his memories. The man was too stupid to sense it. He was speaking the truth. Cart after cart, laden with the best produce of Tahn, had flooded in over recent months.

  Why? His mind had so many blank spots she was surprised he could still function. The answer to the shipments was hidden in one of them, she was sure.

  When the lordling touched his temple and squinted, she pulled back. Anyone with a sensitivity to mental magic would feel a buzzing sensation in the temples and forehead when being mind-read, and she cursed her luck that he was one of them.

  “If you have time for festivities, you clearly have time for work. Pay the money owed by week’s end. If your little town is too piss poor to make tithe, you can make it up with fine women and serving girls. No ugly bitches—only the best. We’ll take them by force if we need to.”

  George spat again, but this time, he missed the ground. A stringy dollop of phlegm hung from his shoe. One of the villagers laughed, and more than one of George’s men had lips tightly pressed together.

  “Shut up!" he yelled. He tried to kick the stringy goop off, but only managed to swing it up onto the hem of his pants. Letting out a growl of rage, he shoved his foot along his stirrup, trying to wipe it away. The horse, taking his motion as a cue to bolt, darted forwards. It wasn’t just the villagers laughing now.

  George sawed on the reins, and almost toppled off as his horse reared. “You fucking peasants!" he screeched, face crimson. A fat vein throbbed at his neck. “My father’s army will burn your shithole town to the Bitch-damned ground!”

  A quick touch on two of his soldiers’ minds showed that was false. Julianne read them easily. The main thought on both minds was a frustration they were out here at all. This group of soldiers was employed by the city—a mission like this one should have been handled by the young lord’s personal guard.

  Beyond that, they were bored, embarrassed by their dick of a temporary leader, and uncomfortable with the presence of George Senior’s new advisor. They were aware he had suggested this trip, but didn’t know why, or why this unit was sent instead of the other.

  Come to think of it, Julianne realized, they don’t even know what this new advisor looks like. How strange.

  One of them was already thinking of the hot dinner and warm bed that waited for him at home. An errant thought about how George the Third would spend his homecoming gave Julianne an idea.

  She deftly entered George’s mind again. When you’re fucking your prostitute tomorrow night, tell her everything you did when you got back. She put the suggestion in his mind with a weighty compulsion, then added, and from now on, pay her triple for her time.

  One of George’s men gave his stallion a sly jab in the buttock and, already unsettled and probably relishing some revenge on his inept rider, it took off. The young noble gave up trying to control the beast and let it have its head, forcing his companions to catch up.

  A few of them shot sympathetic looks to the townsfolk before turning their horses to trot back the way they came, seemingly unworried about keeping pace with the now-galloping horse at their lead.

  “Well, that’s one for the books,” Marcus said. He pushed a hand under his helmet to rub his head. “What a prick.”

  “It’s his prick that’ll get us to the bottom of this,” Julianne said. “Danil, you read the soldiers?”

  Generally, the strongest mystic in a party would read the mind of the most important person present. This time, that meant Julianne was pushing on George. It automatically fell to Danil to examine the other minds surrounding him.

  “They support him out of loyalty to his father, who they think is an honorable leader. They think the little dipshit needs a good thrashing. But, they wouldn’t commit treason against their lord, no matter how much of a dick they think his son is.” Danil spoke out loud for Marcus’s benefit. “Jules, something is going on in their city. I bet it’s the New Dawn.”

  “Oh, it’s them alright,” she said. “Phlegm face is a sensitive, so I didn’t push too hard. His mind is patchy, too.”

  “Drugs?” Danil asked. Opiate use could cause a mind to resemble a block of holey cheese.

  “Could be, but I’d wager it’s too much magic. If he’s a sensitive, and they’re shoving compulsions and false memories onto him, it could cause similar damage.”

  Marcus watched the exchange. “So, what now? If he came back with an actual army, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “We take the fight to the source,” Julianne said, thinking about the strange advisor nobody liked, but no one remembered ever seeing. “I’ll go to Muir. I’ll bet you any money Rogan is there. If I can take him out and neutralize the threat, you won’t have to worry.”

  “Hate to state the obvious, Jules, but what if you fail?” Danil looked at the villagers. They were dressed like soldiers, but had never fought, not really. Even now, he could see they were shaken.

  Julianne gestured at them. “That’s why we have a backup plan. You and Garrett can train our people. Run simulations, make them as real as possible so we don’t have anyone shitting their pants if the fight comes here.”

  Marcus raised a hand. “If Garrett’s training my troops, I hope to hell that means I’m going with you.”

  Julianne nodded. “You said you were dying to take me out to dinner in the big city. Now’s your chance.” She winked at him as a grin lit up her face.

  “Wait, he said what?” Danil squeaked. “You’ve got some balls, Marcus. Last guy that said something like that to her spent the next week believing he was a horny chihuahua.”

  Marcus winced. “I hope you’re joking. Don’t tell me if you’re not.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Julianne called a crisis meeting at Annie’s. Bastian and the rearick had already gone to bed, but quickly roused when Julianne sent them strong mental nudges. She let Harlon sleep, but Francis appeared at the dining hall when he heard the noise.

  Annie set a fresh pot of tea on the table. “Lis
ten, I don’t mind you using my house to host your discussions, but my old bones are tired. You want a waitress for your meeting, you have it at a decent hour, you hear?”

  Julianne jumped up from the table and gave her a hug. “Go to bed, Annie. You’ve been so much help, we wouldn’t think of asking more of you. If there’s anything you need to know in the morning, we’ll fill you in.”

  Annie huffed out a breath and patted Julianne's arm. “And you’ve done much for us. Seems you’re still doing. I appreciate that.”

  She waved them a goodnight and traipsed upstairs.

  “What’s happened?” Bette asked.

  Julianne and Marcus gave a quick explanation.

  “Ye want me to mold those snot-nosed saplings into real fighters?” Garrett asked. “Maybe if ye gave me a year or six…”

  “We don’t have that long,” Julianne said. “But don’t worry. I was going to ask Bette, anyway.”

  Garrett shot to his feet. “I’ll have them battle ready in a week, Bitch help me.”

  “Ye couldn’t do it in yer lifetime. Takes a warrior to train a warrior,” Bette piped up.

  “And I suppose ye could do it better?” Garrett asked.

  “I think it’ll go faster if you work together,” Julianne said, letting a hint of iron enter her voice. Bitch help me, I thought that damn fight would make them less competitive, not more, she thought.

  “I can help, too,” Danil said. Garrett scoffed, but Danil explained. “I can give you illusions for them to fight. They can hit as hard as they want, no need to worry about bruising a friend. The illusions will bleed, though. Exploding heads, spilled intestines, I can do the lot. Get them over the squeamishness real fast.”

  “That’s brilliant!” Bette exclaimed. “Oh, and if they chop a head off, can ye make it all squirty?”

  Danil looked at her in alarm. “Cripes, Bette, you sound like you’ll enjoy the show!”

  “Just wanna make sure my men can handle a wee bit of blood, is all,” she said with a grin. Garrett just watched, jaw slack.

  “Bastian,” Julianne said. “I want you on teaching, as many hours as you can rope people in. See if Artemis will help, too. He promised to take some children’s classes, but I’ve only seen him do the one. We need as many villagers as possible to be able to shield.”

  “Yes, Master,” he said. “I might be able to come up with some kind of deal with old Artie.” Bastian didn’t elaborate, but Julianne didn’t have time to ask, so she let it be.

  “So, where are you going?” Bastian asked. “Off to Muir, I’m guessing.”

  Julianne nodded. “Marcus’s shields are damn near impenetrable now. He’ll blend in better than the two of you”—she pointed at her fellow mystics—“and I know he can fight like a demon if we get into trouble.”

  “You’re up against mystics, though, Master. Are you sure it’ll be safe?”

  “We’re just going on reconnaissance. If there’s a chance I can take Rogan down cleanly, I will, but I won’t do anything stupid. If I need you, I’ll send word.”

  “Depending on the situation, we might be able to petition the local lord for help,” Marcus added. “If his men still think highly of him, maybe they haven’t gotten to him yet.”

  “That’ll be our first task,” Julianne said. “We need to know how deep the rot is, and how far it’s spread.”

  She rubbed her head. “We’ll have to leave first light. I don’t want them getting the jump on us.”

  “We should get some sleep then,” Marcus suggested with a wink.

  “Not in her room, yer not,” Bette retorted.

  Marcus stuck his tongue out at the rearick as he stood. “I’ll be here at sunrise with the horses. Be ready.”

  Julianne pushed back her chair and rubbed her eyes. “Marcus is right, which proves miracles do happen. We all need sleep.”

  The room quickly emptied, leaving Julianne to stack the teacups. A clink startled her, and she looked up to see Francis helping.

  “I guess you lot have it all organized, then?” he said quietly. “You probably don’t need my help, but it’s there if you need it.”

  Julianne put a hand on his arm. She knew the man had been hurting in silence for a long time, now. If only they’d had the time to deal with the deeper wounds this town had suffered before having to rush off to rescue it again.

  “Francis, all our big plans could all come to naught. For all we know, that fat jerk is on his way back now. We need every bit of help we can get.”

  Francis brightened a little. “If there’s something I can do, tell me.”

  “You were a builder before, weren’t you?" she asked.

  Few of the villagers had returned to their old professions, instead roped into farming and rebuilding the town. Francis had spent most of his time doing repairs and mending fences, in between his classes with Marcus and Danil.

  He nodded. “Not much call for it here. Mostly did fences and barns.”

  Julianne grinned. “That’s perfect. I want you in charge of fortifying the main thoroughfares. Wall off as much of the exposed routes into the town as you can and make sure those bastards can’t just ride on in.”

  “Thank you, Master.” Francis shook her hand roughly. “You can rely on me.”

  “I have no doubt.” Julianne’s heart lifted as a sense of purpose infused Francis.

  His posture straightened, and he pushed his shoulders back, lifting his head to look her in the eye for only the second time since they had met.

  The first time was the day he had sworn to burn the New Dawn to the ground if it killed him.

  It was in their first interview. Julianne had met with the man to probe his mind and make sure he wasn’t still trapped by the New Dawn’s mind control, and that he hadn’t followed them willingly.

  What she found was blind rage and a thirst for revenge. The Dawn had taken his wife. Danielle was ill when they came into town, and was preparing to leave to seek medical help in Muir. They used mental control to fool her into thinking the strange lump in her throat was gone.

  When Francis questioned it, they did the same to him. The lump grew, though Danielle couldn’t feel it and Francis couldn’t see it. Even when she choked on her food, or gasped for breath, it never occurred to them that it was the growth, getting worse as it went untreated.

  Danielle had died a few days after Julianne freed Tahn. Francis hadn’t even known. They had told him she was off to serve at the feet of Master August and his superiors, and the bastards had mind-fucked him so badly he was proud of her.

  Julianne listened to him talk for hours. About the niggling feeling something wasn’t right, the constant anxiety and nightmares about his wife’s safety. He drowned himself in guilt, convinced he could have—should have—known better.

  It had taken some time for Julianne to make him understand he had done everything he could. It was August himself that planted the first seeds of mind control, and he seemed to be the strongest of the mystics in town.

  A simple village man, with no training or expertise, hadn’t had a Bitch-damned chance against him.

  Remembering his vow, Julianne touched Francis on the arm. His muscle was tight, vibrating with tension. “Francis, you’re a part of this. What you do over the next few days, even if they don’t come here, will help.”

  He nodded. “I can’t thank you enough. For… you know. Everything.” He cleared the gruffness from his voice. “I’d best be off to bed. Goodnight, Master Julianne.”

  Julianne waited until he had disappeared into the shadows before slipping upstairs. After pausing a moment to make sure all was quiet, she opened a door, then closed it behind her.

  “Bah. I should’ve known you’d notice,” Annie said. She sat in a rocker, swaying gently back and forth with a pile of knitting in her lap.

  Julianne eyed the metal grate in the wall behind the chair. It covered an air vent that led downstairs. It did, Julianne found out as she had done a mental sweep of the house late one night, offer a
wonderful acoustic quality that filtered any noise from the dining room straight up to Annie’s ears.

  “I suppose I should apologize for eavesdropping,” Annie said irritably. Her face didn’t give any indication that it would be forthcoming, though.

  Julianne shrugged. “It’s your house. Your town, too. You could have stayed at the table with us.”

  Annie scowled and gave Julianne an “are you kidding?” kind of look. “With that rabble? Easier to sit back and listen up here, where it’s quiet.”

  Julianne raised an eyebrow at Annie’s reasoning, but didn’t comment on it. “Do you think it’s a sound plan?”

  Annie pursed her lips, thinking. “Seems like the most dangerous place to be in this will be your boots.”

  “I’ve been through worse,” Julianne said.

  Annie nodded. “I’d believe that. See it in your eyes. Don’t take much to put a person down, though. A moment of lost concentration. A stumble or a wrong word.”

  Julianne smiled. Annie wasn’t so much worried, as offering a challenge.

  “Did I ever tell you about my time in Arcadia?” Julianne asked. Annie shook her head and Julianne’s smile turned into a grin.

  “I bet I’m about to hear about it, though,” Annie said grumpily. Still, she picked up her knitting and the needles began clacking away. Julianne had spent enough time with her to know this was a sign to continue.

  “A little over a year ago, three men came to the Temple. They tried to start a fight; one died. We didn’t want word to filter back about what had happened… so I took the dead man’s place.”

  Barely flickering an eyebrow, Annie asked, “Who was he?”

  “Stellan was one of Adrien’s most trusted soldiers. He had a dozen friends and twice as many enemies. I took Stellan’s place, wore a magical disguise. I had to talk like him, act like him, fight like him. I had to recognize the people he knew, people I’d never met.”

  “Might sound like a foolhardy act to some,” Annie said softly.

  Julianne nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. “It was dangerous. One slip and I’d be dead, my entire mission over and all the people relying on me exposed. I spent months as that man.”