Star Mage (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 3)

by R. K. Thorne

  STAR MAGE

  THE ENSLAVED CHRONICLES: BOOK 3

  R. K. THORNE

  IRON ANTLER BOOKS

  Copyright © 2017 by R. K. Thorne

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Elizabeth Nover, Razor Sharp Editing

  Cover designed by Damonza

  Version 1.0

  Created with Vellum

  For Mrs. Leonardo, who first taught me to reach down, open my heart up, and bleed on the page.

  And for Joanna, who loves freedom as much as I do. Thank you for teaching me the priceless lesson of taking myself seriously.

  CONTENTS

  Maps

  1. Searching

  2. Hope

  3. Maps and Messages

  4. Fire

  5. Control

  6. Cracks

  7. Translations

  8. Making Plans

  9. Farewell

  10. Betrayal

  11. Snakes

  12. Calm

  13. Duty

  14. Cliffs

  15. Returns

  16. Promises

  17. Siege

  18. Sacrifice

  19. Beginnings

  Afterword

  About the Author

  MAPS

  1

  SEARCHING

  Blackness weighed down on Thel, darker than any Estun cellar, reassuring in that he must be alive, ominous in that he wasn’t sure how long that would last. His forearm had been trapped against his face by the weight, a minor blessing of protection, but angular shapes jutted into his chest, his thigh, his kidney. His everywhere, really, although the jabs from below him were warm against his back. He coughed involuntarily, then grunted as his body spasmed painfully beneath whatever was crushing him. Dust was thick on his tongue, in his throat. What the hell had happened? How had he gotten here?

  It came rushing back—the voting both for and against his brother Aven, Alikar’s bribing of the Assembly members, the side of the tower exploding, rubble flying.

  Ah, yes. The rubble. That was the heaviness, the weight on all sides. And yet, being crushed by rock shouldn’t be quite so comfortable. Something else was at play. Yes, he could feel it now. His magic kept the rock from completely suffocating him, he could feel it now. Was the pressure lessening even now as he thought about it, or was it just his imagination?

  No, indeed, he could sense more. He could feel rocks like another limb, as though he’d extended his awareness into them, could feel other rocks beyond.

  Curious.

  Also—just how deeply was he buried?

  Panic flooded him for a moment, and it did not ease when his next breath was even thicker with dust. Gods. He fought down the panic, pressed it back and out of the forefront of his mind. Panic would get him nowhere. He had to think.

  He was already using his magic. By all rights he should be crushed to a gooey pulp. Had he protected himself? Hmm. What had that book said? Tucked inside his jerkin, it wasn’t very useful right now. It was just as crushed as he was. He hadn’t gotten far learning any earth magic from it.

  He’d only coaxed his mage status out of Miara a week ago. He and Teron had been the only earth mages at Estun, both untrained, so they’d searched the stronghold’s library and turned up a single, palm-sized volume bound in black leather. But he hadn’t had nearly enough time to study it and really learn anything.

  And yet. He should be able to move the rock, he’d read that much. A truly untested hypothesis indeed. Reaching out around him, he sensed more rock but not an infinite amount. Above him, it ended rather quickly. Below him, it stretched on and on… And there was something that wasn’t rock.

  A feminine voice groaned softly, a few inches from his ear. Well, that wasn’t exactly the sound he wanted to elicit from a woman, and certainly not in this circumstance. Time to see if his magic was good for anything to get him—them?—out of here.

  What had that book said to do? It had blathered on a lot about visualization. How was he supposed to visualize something he couldn’t even see? And why? It wasn’t like he needed to see the rock in order to feel it. Why couldn’t there be magic words like in the old stories? Then again, his tongue was thick enough with dust that soon he might not be able to say much, so perhaps that was fortuitous.

  Fine. Fine. He held an image of a pebble in his mind. Now what? A hill. Yes, a hill. And now… it’s rolling down the hill.

  Nothing happened. Bollocks.

  The voice moaned now, and something shifted under his right kidney. Oh, by the gods, yes, the female voice was clearly crushed underneath him. Awful.

  All right. Uh, a pebble… no, a boulder. He pictured himself underneath it. And some more boulders. And then gradually, in his mind, each boulder floated up into the air, into the sky, and most importantly, off of him.

  A clatter came first, then another shudder, then a thud and a crack or two. Light fell across his closed eyelids, and warmth hit his face.

  He opened his eyes but immediately regretted it as dust went straight in. Trying to lift a hand to his face sent more rocks flying and dust swirling, but—his arm was free.

  Wincing, coughing, gasping, he struggled to roll to his left, go forward, to get up in some way that hopefully didn’t crush the person beneath him any further.

  He shook his head, trying to clear it, and finally turned out the inside of his tunic and wiped his eyes. The room came into slow focus. A gaping hole in the tower yawned a few yards from his feet. Nearly two floors had been cut into by the bombardment, or had collapsed afterward, and rubble was everywhere. Beyond the chasm, the rest of the chamber they’d met in remained but was now empty. Something bizarrely like thunder followed by brief bouts of sharp rain fell in the distance, like a brief moment of hail that ended as soon as it had begun. Strange. Blinking to clear his eyes, he peered back at the hole he’d climbed out of.

  A young woman sat in the cavity, equally bleary-eyed and coughing but clearly alive. Was that his handiwork, or was it luck? Her dress had been poor protection against the stone onslaught, its white now tinged to the pale color of bone, the thin gauze ripped in several places. Was that blood? Hair still a shade of near white fell in dramatic curls around her sharp, angular features and expressive, kohl-lined eyes.

  She would be attractive if she weren’t a traitor. The priestess Niat. He refused to let himself think amorously of anyone of her moral fabric; the mind was a thousand times more important than the corporeal form.

  He stepped forward and held out a hand to help her up. She squinted and frowned at him but accepted, stumbling to her feet. Temple sandals were also of little practical use against the rocky terrain she now found herself in, but then again, she hadn’t been planning on a hike, now had she?

  She stumbled against him, and he caught her, just barely. Apparently they were both due some good luck because when Thel ran toward a falling person, the poor soul usually ended up sprawled on the floor. Years of combat training had given him little grace and only moderate reflexes. Oh, he wasn’t half bad when he was paying attention. But he usually wasn’t. His thoughts were often elsewhere.

  That training had afforded him some strength, however much less than his brothers, and now he lifted her out of the depression they’d been trapped in and set her on her feet on the open floor behind him. Then he carefully stepped down and around her, hoping not to send either of them stumbling into the nearby gaping chasm by mistake.<
br />
  He tried to meet her eyes, but she stared up at the sky, openmouthed. They hadn’t been under there that long, had they? He followed her gaze.

  Above them, a dozen stones of various sizes floated in air. Most were pieces of the masonry that had once been the walls of the tower, jagged and angular, not like the boulders he’d imagined, and yet it had worked. Curious. The visualization did not have to be quite perfect, apparently. Yes, he was finally learning a little.

  He glanced back at Niat, only now to find her staring wide-eyed at him. The expression was a bit crazed. What, floating stone was more terrifying than nearly being crushed to death? His eyes caught on something on the side of her hip.

  “Why is your dress glowing?” he asked.

  She glanced down at her hip, then back at him, narrowing her eyes. “Mage,” she hissed, like an insult, an accusation.

  He raised his eyebrows. “What does—” he started, hoping to ask again about her glowing hip, but in his distraction, he released some part of himself that was still connected to the stones.

  He realized his error almost immediately as her gaze darted up.

  Without looking—there was no time for that—he threw an arm around her and swept her a foot to the side and against him.

  “Get your—” she started.

  A piece of masonry crashed into the spot where she’d stood, and she gaped, eyes wide as the dust swirled up and caught in the wind, reminding him just how high up they were.

  “—hands off me, mage,” she finally finished, pushing him away.

  He glared at her, then rolled his eyes. “You’re the one that distracted me. A simple ‘thanks’ would have sufficed, but I suppose your kind words will have to do.” He didn’t waste time on people that stupid. Or impolite. Her merits were not exactly adding up.

  He stalked past her and headed for the stairs but stopped short at the pool of blood near his feet.

  A leg protruded from the nearby rubble, but judging by the amount of blood, more than one person had been crushed… unless they had been under there a long time. It didn’t matter.

  He swallowed, tearing his eyes away. Likely his magic had saved him and Niat, then. He didn’t feel terribly happy about it at the sight of blood. Who lay fallen? Someone he knew? One of Alikar’s men?

  “Hey. Seer. Get down—oh, ho, what have we here.” Thel glanced up. One of Alikar’s men stood at the top of the stair that remained. Yes, this would be trouble. “You two better come this way. Only way down that’s intact. Let’s go now.”

  Thel glowered at him, not missing what he was trying to do. Niat marched past him, and Thel followed her down into the stair.

  Just around the bend, a three-foot section of the stairway had collapsed. It was only a one-story fall through the gap, not enough to kill you, but it certainly would not feel pleasant.

  Niat hesitated at the edge.

  “Get goin’, girl. You so much a princess I have to carry ya?”

  “I’m not a princess, I’m a priestess, you dolt,” she snapped.

  “That’s not how your da presents the facts.”

  She scowled at him, took a step back, then another. A running start was a good idea.

  Ah, if only he’d had time to learn more. Certainly an earth mage should be able to raise up enough blocks for them to walk over, but he wasn’t sure he could do such a thing while also walking over it himself. Although… he had managed to get out of the hole while maintaining the spell. He scratched his chin, imagining the fool’s face as Thel tromped across blocks that flew into place to form a path at his feet.

  An ominous crack was the only thing that alerted him that he’d done more than imagine it.

  Niat narrowed her eyes at him over her shoulder. Beyond her, stones had risen to form a pathway. He grinned, mostly to himself, at the simple victory. Always a pleasure when learning came easily.

  She looked back to the path he’d apparently now formed across the gap, but still she hesitated. He couldn’t blame her for that. He had no idea if it would hold her either, really.

  He pushed past her and, carefully holding his gleeful image of annoying the guard in his mind, stepped out onto the stones. They wobbled slightly but did not fall. Not wanting to push his luck, he stepped quickly across them and smirked back at her from the other side.

  “Are you coming?”

  She glared daggers at him.

  “Get goin’ or I’m gonna throw ya,” the other man snapped at her.

  Still frowning, she readied herself with a deep breath, then ran across the gap as quickly as she could. She was light on her feet, barely touching the stones, more like a hummingbird than a human woman.

  He frowned. Whimsical, poetic thoughts like that usually meant he was taking an interest in a girl. Foolish brain, she’s a traitor and a religious zealot besides. None of that.

  The guard raced across the makeshift bridge before Thel could drop it as he had planned. Damn. He was often too busy thinking to remember to act. He liked to think that meant his actions were overall of better quality, but perhaps that wasn’t quite true.

  And he was doing it again. Both Niat and the man had begun down the stairs without him. His chances of getting away from that fool were better if he were ahead of him. Maybe his tall legs could still overtake them.

  He headed down after them, the bridge collapsing behind him with a crash.

  A thunderous boom echoed through the tower. Odd. What could that be? Another echoed a few moments later.

  Thel managed to wedge his way past them. It annoyed the guard, but he focused on the priestess instead, grabbing her by the elbow.

  “Get your hands off me, fool.”

  He didn’t comply. At least Thel wasn’t the only one getting such orders, although he tended to agree with her that nothing good was going to come from that imp’s clutches.

  “Shut up, seer scum.”

  What was that all about?

  “You insult your own soul when you insult the temple,” she replied, her tone even and aloof.

  “I got no problem with the temple. My only issue is with liars.”

  She sighed bitterly, as if she’d dealt with this before. Thel frowned again. Occasionally, the temples housed priests and priestesses who claimed to be given visions and direction from the gods. He hadn’t heard of any seers recently, though, and usually the discovery of one was a momentous occasion. Perhaps it was a recent discovery.

  Or maybe she was a charlatan. Either fit, really.

  “I am not a liar,” she said quietly.

  “Save it for your new husband, Priestess,” he snapped, her title dripping with rancor. That seemed harsher than the actual epithets he had slung at her.

  Against all reason, Thel shot a glare at the man over his shoulder. Niat was glowering at the man too, but Thel didn’t miss the streak of fear in her eyes. What was that all about? More mysteries.

  Of course, he didn’t have much muscle to back up his glare, and Thel hated fighting with a passion, so he should really learn to keep his opinions to himself and focus on getting farther ahead of the man.

  They reached the bottom, and Thel took off at a jog away from the tower. Maybe if he simply went about it with enough authority—

  “Stop him!” Alikar’s voice. The order was hard, voice raw. “This city will fall in the siege to come. We need to be out of it before that happens. Grab them. Back to Gilaren.”

  Another stout man grabbed Thel by the left bicep now. Thel sighed and glanced around for others, but none had caught up. He couldn’t see much without looking straight back, which would be too obvious. He should have taken his father’s insistence on warden training more seriously and argued his way out of it a little less.

  Too late to lament that now. He took a steadying breath, steeling himself for what he usually loathed to do. Then he drew his sword and spun, swinging around behind his back, catching the man near his kidney and throwing him off-balance into the street. Fortunately, the man was caught off guard enou
gh to let go of Thel’s arm. Sometimes that move ended poorly with Thel sprawled on the floor as well. Many thrusts and strikes ended that way. Gods, did he hate fighting. It came about as naturally to him as flight to a toad.

  He met the next three men head-on, steel clashing as had been his goal, but when three more joined them, he knew he was outmanned. Another five appeared, riding atop a carriage.

  Thel glanced around, searching for a way to out-think these brutes. The street held merchant shops that were still closed or in the process of opening—a bakery, a tailor, a butcher. Nothing that would guarantee a getaway or even a back door, nor any alleys between them to slip through.

  A grate led down under the street. His best chance.

  He hurled his sword—and most of himself—at the two men between him and the grate, not intending to actually fight them but more to stave off any wounds they might land while he bowled them over and went tumbling in the direction of his real goal. Dom would have laughed at him, but his brother would try the exact same thing in this situation, he was sure of it. Dom would probably have pulled it off with more grace, though.

  Thel managed to break free, scrambling toward the grate in a soldier’s crawl on his elbows before a foot slammed down, crushing his hand as he grabbed for the grate.

  He looked up, stifling his groan. Alikar glared down at him.