Star Mage (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 3)

by R. K. Thorne

  Before they’d retired the night before, he’d jotted down a warning to his order and handed it to the creature mage Wunik had mentioned. Siliana had sent her crow off a few minutes later. Just like that, the message had been on its way through the dark night sky.

  Ever since, dread had been brewing within, the intuitive feeling that he’d made some kind of mistake, not foreseen something he should have. Certainly he had needed to send word as soon as possible. Members of the order would be marked by the pendants they wore, and the Devoted could find them, as long as the knight he’d encountered had shared her news. And why wouldn’t she? For all that knight knew, those golden sheaves of wheat might indicate a mage every time.

  Then again, for all Tharomar knew, that might be true.

  Why had they lied? Could they have not known? But why the enchantments then?

  The sick feeling of dread in his stomach was not eased by the hope that his order had been ignorant. What kind of mage protectors could the order be if they couldn’t identify and protect one right under their noses? They were either terrible at their mission or lying about it. Or they had believed hiding his true nature from him was the right way to fulfill their mission.

  Which possibility was scariest, he wasn’t sure. All of them pissed him off.

  Outside, a tree’s branches tapped against the glass of the balcony doors, swayed by the wind, as if beckoning him.

  He turned on his side, away from the tapping tree and toward Jaena, moving his eyes along the lush curve of her shoulder, her skin dark against the gray quilt. Her sweet grin drifted through his mind, the way she asked more questions than she ever answered, her shy ambition. The merchant story might have been a cover, but there had been truth to it too. A future she longed for. That he longed to see with her, to help her reach.

  He lingered but couldn’t fall back asleep, so he eased out of bed, moving slowly and smoothly so as not to wake her. He slipped quietly toward the fire, intending to pray if he couldn’t rest.

  The tapping on the balcony door returned, different this time. He stepped closer. A crow fidgeted on the railing, wings flapping.

  A crow with a message box tied to his leg.

  Tharomar carefully cracked open the balcony door and stepped out into the icy morning air, shutting it behind him. Quickly as he could, he extracted the message, gave the crow a little pat, and stepped back inside. The bird flew off, presumably returning to Siliana for its reward. He’d have to inquire later.

  Shutting the door with a soft thud as he returned inside, he glanced at Jaena. Still sleeping peacefully. Good.

  He unrolled the message.

  Tharomar Revendel,

  Thanks be to Nefrana for your message and your service. I was glad to hear you are safe, as word had reached us that the smithy had been vacated when the Devoted were searching near the town.

  I’ve sent Inoril to tend to the smithy in your absence. Does this mean you found what the Devoted sought? We hope that you and any companions are safe and free of the Devoted as this reaches you.

  We will send word through the order of this new danger from the Devoted blight. The loss of the pendants is unfortunate, but I am unclear on what additional abilities of the pendant you are referring to. The ability to recognize the sign of our order has served many in troubled times. Has something else transpired that you do not name? I look forward to the full story upon your return.

  Things have worsened here in Evrical, and indeed everywhere. We’ve seen mages hunted down and captured in the streets, and not just in Evrical. The Devoted have been reaching farther, as far as Detrat and even into Farsa. Here, we fear they suspect the true purpose of the temple. We cannot risk the discovery of the order, not before we are ready to fight them. I’m sure you will agree this is of the utmost importance to our cause. As one of our most capable warriors, your return will be much anticipated as a boon to defending us.

  In Nefrana’s Name,

  High Priestess Danal Shian

  He stifled a groan. They wanted him to return? Not only that, but they expected it. His hand drifted down of its own accord, weakly dropping the missive on the desk. The future he’d just caught the scent of seemed to go up in smoke before him. He had duties. Commitments. An oath to obey their orders. And Jae was safe now. He gazed at her sleeping form. She didn’t feel safe. What was he going to do?

  He shook his head. He knew exactly what he was going to do.

  Nothing. Not a damn thing. Oath or no oath, he wasn’t going back.

  That had been the dread pooling in his stomach, that had been the apprehension. He hadn’t feared what the letter would say. He had feared what he was going to do when the time came.

  Staying was the only option. Nefrana had never given him so much. How could he turn his back on these gifts?

  On his magical gifts, sure. Going back to the temple would have meant abstaining. But he wasn’t entirely sure where he stood on that point, anyway. Magic was a minor gift compared to the others. Jaena was a gift. And Akaria itself was a gift—a land where mages could be free.

  Both of them needed him, didn’t they? Or was he the one that needed them?

  It wouldn’t be long before the star map was translated. And Jaena… If it hadn’t been for her injury so close to her pursuers, she would have been fine escaping Kavanar without him. Now in Akaria, with all the support of a free kingdom at her back? He was fooling himself if he thought she needed his protection or his help.

  So then, perhaps it was selfish to stay. Could he do the most good elsewhere? Perhaps it truly was the temple that needed him most.

  Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to change his mind. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  He pulled on some clothes and stoked the fire, adding a log as quietly as he could. How odd that he could still learn things about himself at this age. He’d never thought he’d had a selfish streak. But then again, he’d never had anything worth hanging onto, nothing he cared much about losing. Yada, the smithy, even the weapons and books, he’d given them all up easily.

  For her. For the mission, too, but if he was honest, it was mostly her.

  Fire raging again, he slipped out of their rooms, heading down toward the library. As usual, he greeted the guards he passed along the way, asking their names, inquiring about the weather. He had learned a few things from his childhood, and one of them was that knowing a guard’s name—or his wife’s—was a powerful thing when your luck went awry.

  Maybe he’d head outside. He needed… something. Something to distract himself from this new, disturbing facet of himself. Maybe some fresh air.

  He definitely wasn’t going far.

  STONE COLUMNS and wide windows bathed Aven in pools of cheery morning sunlight and cold, dewy shadow as he strode down the corridor toward the war room, barracks, and training yard. Ah, Ranok wasn’t home, but it sure was nice. Maybe it could be home, someday. It certainly had more light. Did Miara have a preference between mountain holds and city fortresses?

  The sounds of troop muster echoed off the stone, like it had the few times he’d visited Panar as a young man for training maneuvers. Not far away, the town market was in full swing, the sounds of haggling peppering the brisk air. No snow yet, but it would be on them soon, even this far south. Another thing he needed to discuss with Dyon.

  But first, he had to find Miara.

  Thuds from the training ground reached him before he could see the wide, dusty square. Rounding the corner slowly, he leaned against the stone in the shadows, folded his arms, and watched.

  A sword flashed in the sunlight as Miara assaulted a wood-and-straw practice dummy. The slashes and jabs had an air of thoughtful experimentation rather than true aggression, but she was quick and decisive, clad in new leathers this time in the midnight blue of the royal guard.

  She paused for a moment, resting the sword tip in the dirt and her hand on the pommel as she wiped her brow with the back of her other hand. Wisps of red had escaped from her bun and danced in the fe
isty wind.

  Are you trying to hide in the shadows or just waiting for an opening to say hello? Her mind’s voice was growing to be a familiar presence in his thoughts, and now he caught a hint of a smile in her tone.

  He grinned. A little of both. Come speak with Dyon and the war planners with me.

  I’m sweaty.

  So are they.

  She snorted, then her gaze flicked to him. Care to give me a few pointers? I’m without my tutor, with Dev still in Estun.

  He’ll be here soon. Dom can’t stay away for long, and Devol will come with him. Especially when they hear about Thel.

  He could sense her spirits fall at that, her light a candle in danger of flickering out for a moment. It would be nice to have a few more friendly faces around here. I miss Fayton and Camil. She turned and strode toward the weapons rack.

  Me too.

  Does your mother usually take part in war planning?

  What my mother did doesn’t have anything to do with what you do. You’re not her.

  So that’s a no?

  She didn’t join us often, but she also wasn’t recently defected from the enemy.

  Is that a positive or a negative in my favor?

  Both, probably.

  I may not be her, but people will have expectations based on what she’s done.

  And we can change them. There also haven’t been any significant wars in my father’s reign for her to sit out of planning.

  A fair point, I suppose. Weapon returned, she strode toward him, frowning at the sky and looking every bit the woman who’d kidnapped him, just garbed in a new color now.

  “Wasn’t it the short sword last time?” He switched to speaking aloud.

  “And hand ax. But I couldn’t find that. Your brutes probably prefer more sizable weapons.”

  He smiled. “They’re your brutes, too.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Soon.”

  “All right, our brutes probably prefer large, hefty weapons. Good for smashing.”

  “How did you find the long sword?”

  “Lighter than I’d thought. Having both arms to wield it seemed easier than two smaller weapons, actually.”

  “It’s not a bad choice. I know you’re accustomed to clawing at eyes, but the longer range is an advantage. If they can’t reach you, they can’t hurt you.”

  “And I’m getting a few pointers after all. Thanks.” She smiled as she found her cloak on a peg, swung it over her shoulders, and lifted the hood—her old black Kavanarian one, hopefully not a detail that Dyon or any lieutenants would notice. Clearly not everything had been replaced yet. She smiled brightly, her cheeks flushed with the activity. “Ready to plan a war?”

  “Never a good time for that, but we haven’t much choice.” Aven smiled back and held out an arm, guiding her back toward the war room.

  “I’d think with all your military prowess, you Akarians would be chomping at the bit for war.”

  He sobered a little. “Only those who don’t know much about war anticipate it.” And he didn’t have much direct experience, but he could read. Not that there wasn’t a rush to battle itself, but the truth of the matter was that war was inherently dark and bloody and everybody lost something in the end.

  The small, plain room where Dyon, a few wardens, and the regiment lieutenants waited sat along the corridor that led from Ranok proper to the attached barracks. It had more in common with the drafty soldiers’ quarters than the palace, with its dusty dirt floor and its wooden walls hung with maps.

  Aven swung wide the heavy oak door. Just for a thrill, he shut it with a gust behind them. He wasn’t going to get any better if he didn’t practice, right? The corner of Miara’s mouth ticked up as she noticed his extravagance. Or laziness. A handful of lieutenants, wardens, and arms masters waited around the outside of the room, taking notes and making drawings. One young, brown-haired warden raised her eyebrows and eyed the door.

  “Drafty in here, eh?” Aven said to the warden with a smile. She smiled nervously and nodded back.

  You don’t need to hide your magic anymore, Aven. Miara’s silent tone had a surprising edge.

  Force of habit.

  If we don’t show them magic, how will we get them to accept it? They have to see it can be harmless. Or even helpful.

  Even sarcastic comments referring to my magic at all feel very bold, trust me.

  We’ll work on it.

  A stone hearth to their right fought off the morning chill. One stone arch led out to the grounds and the market, as well as unhelpfully letting in a river of frigid air. Wunik and his glowing water sat under it on a pair of rough-hewn logs, bathed and enlivened in light. Could Aven convince them to take this outside? One glance at the table told him definitely not; too much was already carefully positioned there.

  “Take a look, Aven. Miara.” Lord Dyon jabbed a finger at the table before him as one of his lieutenants—Jenec?—scowled and placed another small brown stone inside charcoal lines that marked off Gilaren territory.

  Miara smiled. “Good morning to you to you too, my lord.”

  Dyon grunted a hasty greeting without looking at them. “We’ve got these bastards staked out across the map. The talents of your mage friend are making an enormous difference in our planning.”

  Aven smiled at that, but his expression faded as he surveyed the scene they’d set. More than a dozen smooth stones were arrayed inside Kavanar and Gilaren, with several poised on the edge of Numaren. Some represented Akarian forces, but most indicated the enemy. He pointed at the two closest markers, perhaps intended for assaulting Panar itself. “That’s barely a day’s ride away.”

  Dyon nodded. “Indeed it is.”

  “Well, you’ve all been busy.” Aven ran a hand absently through his hair, taking it all in.

  “And so have they. But this knowledge is a huge help. We won’t be riding out blind, guessing at everything. We can respond faster. The Kavanarian forces may move, but Wunik’s efforts enable us to make much more informed plans.”

  Aven nodded numbly. “Glad there’s a positive to this situation.” He paused, then remembered Miara’s comment. “I think you’ll find there are many spells that can be helpful to us in war. However, we must keep in mind Kavanar can do this just as well as we can. If not better. They’ll be able to see our movements easily too, as long as they bother to look.”

  “How many men do those stones represent?” Miara asked.

  “It varies,” Dyon replied. “Around one thousand each. Their force isn’t as uniform as I’d prefer if they were mine.” He sniffed at the stones in distaste and leaned his elbows onto the table. Akarian companies were always as close to one hundred soldiers as possible, although the mix of horsemen and footmen was not always the same, and every regiment had as close to ten companies as they could manage. “Look, I know it’s a lot of pebbles, but we are better trained, better armed, better armored. I daresay it may be a stroll in the garden, kicking over urns, if we’re lucky.”

  “If it were only soldiers, I’d agree with you,” said Aven. “Can you discern how many mages they have on the move?”

  “No,” Wunik called from where he sat. “Haven’t noticed any differences in armor to give us any clues. Well, not exactly.”

  “What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” Aven asked.

  “Some are cavalry, some infantry, of course. Some of each don’t have armor,” Dyon said. “But that could mean they just don’t have enough armor to go around.”

  “Or they don’t need it,” Miara put in.

  Dyon gave her an indecipherable look. “I would expect that Kavanar doesn’t have enough equipment, whether the unarmored are mages or not. They haven’t been serious about this war for long. In fact, it’s surprising they have suddenly become so aggressive.”

  Aven rubbed his freshly shaved chin. “Well, their Alikar plot failed. And then there’s Trenedum Palace.”

  Dyon squinted at the map, frowning. “What about it?”

 
“We attacked it. Demikin was caught up in some kind of coup—dead by the end of it.”

  “Dead? Well, that might explain a few things. When did you have time for all that? And how?” Dyon managed.

  “With a bit of help from our mage friends, we made a last-ditch rescue effort. Two nights ago? I think that’s right. Spiraled into an outright attack. Stealth has never been my strong suit.”

  That’s what you have me for, Miara said silently.

  If only you hadn’t been stuck somewhere in the woods with my father at the time.

  “Can’t argue with that,” Dyon grumbled. “But why were you there in the first place?”

  “We rescued Miara’s family and Tharomar from the dungeon there; Kavanar was trying to use them as leverage against us.”

  “’Bout time somebody struck back at those bastards,” Dyon said. “If you ask me, we’ve been at war since they kidnapped you, sire.”

  “What’s this about a coup?” Miara said. “I missed that in Jaena’s recap, I think.”

  “Daes seemed to be arranging something, and we walked into the middle of it. Ultimately, Demikin fell to his death accidentally, but nobody—including his personal guard—helped him. Last I saw him, he was facedown in a fountain.” Aven filled in a few more details of the attack that he’d glossed over. “Daes has likely used our attack to cover it up, so he can pin the blame on us.”

  Miara swore under her breath.

  “Demikin didn’t leave an heir,” said Dyon. “So if he’s dead, who’s in power?”

  “And these troops must have already been in motion before this coup took place,” added Jenec, scratching his head.

  “The coup wasn’t an act of opportunity. Daes is the careful, planning type.” Aven paused, remembering seeing Daes arriving at Trenedum in the water and Shanse’s words in Anonil. “Kavanar’s crown can descend to the queen, who appeared to be a close ally of Daes’s. A spy also reported that troops had started to move on the queen’s orders specifically. Hmm.”