Star Mage (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 3)

by R. K. Thorne

  “Now is that any way to be hospitable?” Handsy said, his smooth exterior returned. He crouched down. “You just got a bit weak for a second there. Take all the time you need.”

  The leader glared at his back, either because of Handsy’s clearly lecherous intentions or because the man just didn’t want to go back any sooner than he had to. Likely both.

  Handsy smiled warmly at Niat, and she forced a smile in return. “I’m sure I’ll be fine in a moment or two,” she said as sweetly as she could.

  He nodded once. “See—just a moment or two. Let’s see if we have anything to bolster your strength.” Smiling even more brightly now, he straightened and moved toward his pack. Both he and the leader bent and began shuffling through their packs, presumably looking for food. A regrettable kindness, but his ulterior motives made things slightly easier.

  She reached for the quiver. The lid twisted open quietly, just like it had in the dream, and she kept her fingers silent and fast, daring as a mouse. Reaching in carefully, she felt the feathers of the fletching and quickly withdrew one arrow, setting it beside her before drawing another and twisting the lid closed.

  Her heart pounded, and her weakened state left her feeling like the organ might actually explode out of her chest. Gripping the arrows like daggers, she took a deep breath. Was she really going to do this?

  Yes. Yes, she was.

  The arrows weren’t hard to hide in the folds of her dress as she stood and stepped closer. Just as Handsy started to turn toward her, she stabbed.

  The arrow hit him in the side, and he staggered back in shock, but not before Niat had buried the other arrow in the leader’s ribcage. Blood spilled out of the leader’s wound and drenched Niat’s forearm in warm vermillion. The woman darted from the trees to Niat’s right and stopped short with a gasp. The Crab was frozen, crouched by the tree line and clearly uninterested in helping his friends. Handsy just stared at her in shock, his hand slowly wrapping round the arrow shaft as if he were gearing up to draw it out.

  Right. Some of them were creature mages. If so, they could just heal the damage she’d done with a little bit of thought. She wasn’t going to kill them. In fact, she couldn’t kill them.

  She could only run.

  Niat didn’t waste a moment. She grabbed the pack with its poison arrows and bow and fled back up the hill as fast as her feet could carry her.

  11

  SNAKES

  Daes shook himself off in the morning sunshine, along with the memory of the transformation his mage slave had just released. That was not a pleasant way to travel, really, but it was fast. Beside him, Marielle was straightening her skirts, hastily brushing off invisible imperfections. He was lucky she was a practical woman and would put up with something other than a carriage.

  Smoke was heavy in the air, and he smiled. That was the smell of his victory, or at least one step toward it. Anonil burned, and it was because of him.

  He strode toward the fortress, Marielle and a slew of other attendants the mage slave had also transformed following him. It was time to get some better news.

  A gaping hole in the side of the fortress caught his eye and made him stop. It was only one small area, perhaps the sidewall of one room on the third or fourth stories up, but somehow that wall had collapsed, leaving it open to the elements. Workers appeared to be trying to replace some of the stones, and some boards were going up to repair it.

  Strange. Exceedingly strange indeed.

  Perhaps even more strange was the crowd of mages and soldiers waiting at the fortress’s gate. One had a horrific second pair of eyes on his forehead, reminding Daes of a fly or a spider blinking wildly at him. Another sported short, brown horns, and a third’s skin was an unnatural darkish-green that allowed him to practically blend into the stone wall behind him, if the whites of his eyes hadn’t tipped Daes off. Actually, there were several others with similarly altered appearances. Daes glanced at Marielle, who was regarding them with big eyes but her chin lowered in determination. Good.

  He approached the group. “I am Lord Consort and Master Daes Cavalion, accompanying Queen Marielle of Kavanar.” The group made a hasty, low bow. “We’re here to see General Vusamon and Lord Alikar.”

  A bored soldier to the right perked up. “Will you be in need of accommodations?”

  “Yes,” Daes said quickly, and the man scampered away.

  The multi-eyed one bowed again stiffly, and his voice was like rocks tumbling down a mountainside. Daes shoved down the wave of unease he got from trying to look at the man. “Lord, General Vusamon is in Anonil, dealing with the last remnants of resistance. Shall we send for him?”

  “No, I can wait. Let him finish the job. So Anonil is under our control?”

  “Fully, my lord.”

  “Lord Alikar, then.”

  “I am sorry to say it, my lord, but Lord Alikar is dead.” The mage didn’t sound very sorry to say it. He sounded as though he was glad of it. Not that Daes could really begrudge him that; Alikar had been a simpering fool. But appearances had to be maintained.

  “Excuse me?” Daes said slowly, letting venom sink into his voice. “Dead?”

  “Yes. We found him dead in the woods. He left in pursuit of the priestess and the prince he’d captured, and—”

  “In pursuit? Wait, a priestess and a prince?”

  “Yes, they escaped, my lord.” Now he did sound a little sorry to admit that.

  “They escaped?” Daes’s voice rose, and he clenched his fists at his side, struggling to keep from lashing out. “Escaped? Before you even thought to send word that they’d been captured?”

  The mage winced. “My orders were to obey Lord Alikar’s demands, my lord. Lord Alikar did not think to do so.”

  “Or perhaps he did not want to do so.” Daes would have rushed to the field if he’d known one of the Akarian royals was here. What other prince could it have been? Could it have been the star mage? He’d have ordered whoever it was executed immediately. He’d have— It didn’t matter now. “Who gave you those orders?”

  “Lady Seulka, my lord.”

  “Of course.” His voice dripped with disdain. That woman would still find a way to ruin everything for him, or die trying. Or without even trying; she seemed to get lucky at it. “Do you know which prince it was?”

  “Not exactly, my lord. A blond one?” The mage bowed his head slightly, jaw clenching. He didn’t like expressing deference, did he? Just like that escaped creature mage of his.

  Blond. Not the star mage then, but a brother of his. Small blessings. “Don’t tell me—that’s his hole in the wall up there? How?”

  “He was an earth mage, my lord. Untrained entirely, but still. Our leader believed he was too new and could be controlled—”

  “Clearly you believed wrongly.”

  The mage’s jaw clenched more tightly. “Not I, my lord.”

  “Who is your leader then?”

  “He too was killed in the escape.”

  Daes shook his head, reeling at this bit of incompetence. How could you thwart incompetence you never even knew was present? You couldn’t. He couldn’t control everything. Although that didn’t stop him from wanting to.

  He sighed. “Tell the generals and mages I want a full report by this evening. Once Anonil is subdued, we have work to do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mage, how did you… come by those eyes of yours?” said Marielle.

  The mage smiled and bowed slightly again. “I grew them myself, Your Majesty.”

  “Oh,” Marielle managed, her poise only slightly thrown off. “They’re quite… impressive.”

  Impressive? How about freakish, bizarre, horrifying—

  “What will you have us do next, my lord and lady?” the mage said. He glanced out at the tree line. “Would you have us go after the prince and priestess?”

  He waved off the lost prince and the woods. “We have greater work to do. Our forces must rest and secure our hold on Anonil, but it won’t be lon
g now before we move on.”

  “Where are we going?” the mage asked, eyebrow raised.

  “Panar,” Daes replied.

  “The Akarian capital?”

  “Yes. We’re heading to Panar. And we’re going to crush it.”

  “GET READY TO RUN!”

  Thel was glaring at his boots when Niat’s voice split the air. He looked up as the bear raised his head. Just down the path, she was there suddenly. Blood covered one hand and arm, and she had drawn back a small bow. She looked like she was struggling with it, but she was aiming at a creature the size of a house.

  The arrow did indeed take flight and thudded into the bear, near the neck, to his surprise. Niat’s eyes went wide. Perhaps that hadn’t been her target, just luck. Gurgling, the bear stumbled away from them, but barely made it five steps before tripping.

  Niat was looking in all directions for the snake man, but neither of them knew where he’d gone. She raced toward him, dropping the bow and savagely undoing the bolo with one quick tug. Huh.

  She’d clearly been much trickier than he’d thought.

  He leapt to his feet and raced after her, up the path, way from the others. The bear had fallen on his side and was thrashing, the transformation starting to weaken. “What kind of arrow was that?” shouted Thel.

  “Poison,” she shot back. “C’mon. We’ve gotta get as far away as we—”

  Just then the body of the snake lashed out from the side of the path. No, not its body—its tail. It wrapped around her middle. She squawked and dropped the bow and pack as she tried to grab onto the nearest tree.

  Thel dove for the bow and grabbed an arrow from an oddly embellished quiver. Poison. Right. Then he scrambled into the brush after her. He’d strangle that bastard, he’d—

  He stared. In the clearing beyond, the snake’s tail held Niat up in the air. The creature mage’s body had swelled to almost two feet in diameter, coiled maybe thirty feet long or more. And it was still growing.

  “Put her down or I’ll shoot!”

  “Shoot and I’ll drop her,” the snake hissed back. “It’ll be much harder to get away with a broken leg, don’t you think?”

  “Just go!” Niat screamed. “Go on without me!”

  Oh, please. He circled the snake, whose eyes watched him, easing closer to the tail, pretending to aim at the head. Then, at the last second, he dropped the bow, gripped the arrow, and leapt.

  If Thel was anything, it was tall and lanky, and his weight on the tail brought it much further to the ground, if only in surprise. He ran up its side and then dove for Niat as he stabbed the arrow into the tail.

  Niat did fall, though Thel shielded her with his body, and they hit the ground hard, his breath flying out of his chest for a moment. But the arrow. The scales were too hard—maybe the mage had enhanced them. The arrow had broken in his hand.

  The rock. He grabbed for the damn weight hanging around his neck, and Niat grabbed too. Together, they ripped it off and tossed it toward the snake’s head, sending him reeling back and hissing.

  Thel didn’t waste a moment. He gripped a mindful of dirt and stone from behind them, ripped it up into the air, and slammed it down onto the snake’s head.

  “Let’s go!” Niat shouted. She was grabbing the bow where he’d dropped it.

  He grabbed the pack and raced after her. “South, south—toward Panar! Go!”

  “Don’t need to tell me twice!” She raced in front of him, out into the forest.

  Well, by Anara. She’d come back.

  IT WAS hard to hear the silence of the forest over the huffing of horses, the muttering and clinking of men, and the groan of the wagons, but Aven kept sensing it. Like a blur at the edges of his vision that he couldn’t quite catch sight of. Every time he thought for sure no forest could be that quiet, another clink, cough, or comment would steal away his certainty. The train of soldiers stretched out in front and behind him, curving along the road. They’d left the fields and plains behind last night before making camp, and the trees had only grown thicker with every passing hour.

  Forests in winter were quieter. Most birds went south all the way to Farsa or even the Southern Kingdoms, some claimed. The stillness was probably nothing out of the ordinary. And the air was finally starting to convey that crisp cleanness of the darkest, coldest season. After wrestling with a few hours of fitful sleep last night, he’d woken up to a thin coat of frost silvering the grass outside his tent. This evening they’d reach the stronghold, and if nothing was truly terribly wrong—unlikely—they’d all be sleeping inside by nightfall. Hopefully that would help him sleep better.

  But he doubted it. Miara’s absence bothered him more with every step of his horse, but he didn’t know what he was going to do to remedy it. Short of a note from her saying she was all right, not much was going to make him feel better.

  They’d check out the hold, talk to whatever leadership remained, and determine where the force at Anonil was headed, and soon he’d know their next steps. Falling back to Panar had never sounded so appealing, but it’d have to wait. Better to fight the war out here than in the city.

  As they rode, the silence nagged at him. He fought off boredom by working over the maps and pebbles once, then again, the back of his mind pondering options. Too many, and none of them greatly defensible against mages. He sought some advantage, some way to turn things to their favor, but so far, he’d come up with nothing.

  They crossed a small bridge that seemed familiar, except that the trees were far thicker than he remembered from last time. He glanced back at Siliana, riding a row behind him. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her wine-colored tunic was shrouded in a brown cloak with mottled fur he didn’t remember seeing on her before. To tell the truth, it looked like something he’d seen Derk wear.

  “Does this bridge look familiar to you?” he called out to her, and anyone listening, really. “Remember it?”

  She nodded once, curtly. “I do. But it’s different.”

  He frowned, not particularly wanting to be right about this one. “What’s different?”

  “The trees. They’re thicker.”

  Dyon was in the row behind her, frowning now at the trees. Aven nodded back and turned, not caring to say more about it. Especially if the forest was quiet for the reason he feared it was.

  Animals froze and hid when predators were around. And humans were predators.

  “How can the trees be thicker?” a soldier before them muttered.

  “Trees take years to grow,” muttered another. “Probably a city dweller. Don’t know what she’s talking about.”

  Aven focused on the chestnut’s blond mane and tried to think. He’d seen problems coming and not done anything about it before. Watch and wait, let the enemy tell him what they were doing, expose their weaknesses and react.

  Perhaps that might work sometimes, but his gut said it was time to go on the offensive. Before it was too late to take that chance. He’d taken the first step, marching toward the border with a regiment, ready to fight.

  But only two mages. A wave of acid pumped into his veins at the thought that all this might not be as well-thought-out as he’d like to believe. Closing his eyes, he reached up into the sky, cold and clear and blue, and he caught the cold winds, the wet ones, twisting them together, calling the storm.

  Dropping back into his body with reckless speed, he turned again and gestured hastily for Siliana to join him. Even as she made her way up past the others, she spoke into his head.

  Something’s not right. Isn’t it?

  He nodded. Are there people out there in the hills? It’s too quiet.

  She lowered her head at the horse, perhaps so others wouldn’t notice her eyes going distant. Her gaze snapped up. I found one—but he found me. They know we’re aware of them now. This isn’t good—

  How many? he demanded.

  At least four, there’s six. Ten. More. Her thoughts came in a jumbled rush as she sought to report as quickly as she coul
d. They’re moving. Shit.

  All mages? What kind?

  Aven whirled back, the saddle leather creaking, and he caught Dyon’s eye. Frowning, he held up two fingers—for two platoons, that was close enough—and pointed into the woods. The men around him didn’t need more warning than that. A few reached for shields belted to the horse’s sides. Of course, they weren’t wearing armor for such a long ride, but weapons were close at hand, and more than a few loosed them a few inches, if not drawing them outright.

  Uh. Her eyes darted back and forth frantically. There are twelve, they’re in groups of three—one air, creature, earth each. Triads. I think. What do I—

  Stay close, Aven replied. And keep your magic for healing, I think, unless you’re fighting to save someone’s life. I’ll see what I can do.

  Dyon had snapped a quiet command with a gruff word and a hand signal to Jenec and another three lieutenants, who followed suit signaling to the men. The two who’d been muttering in front of him glanced warily up at the sky.

  That was the one thing they didn’t need to worry about. For now, the sky was Aven’s. But if there were three air mages out there, that might change rapidly.

  He raised his mind up into the sky again, trying to keep his grip on the reins and saddle’s pommel tight so his body wasn’t tempted to go tilting off.

  From the sky, he could almost see them. A snatch of color between the trees. The new growth worked well to hide them, but every once in a while he could catch one moving.

  Where would they come out? What would they try? What if they had a peaceful message and didn’t mean to attack?

  What if they didn’t?

  He wasn’t waiting to react this time. Aiming for where he’d last seen that flash of color beneath the pine boughs, he gripped the saddle tighter, braced himself, and struck.

  A crack split the air, sending up shouts all around him

  By the gods, they’re attacking— Siliana started.

  That was me. Keep watching them and tell me if any were hit.

  You mean you’re going to—again?