Stret hesitated for another moment, allowing the silence to stretch for a long moment. “You’d better come in,” he said finally, stepping back to allow the other Chaos Mage entry into his home.
They entered the living area, and Stret gestured wordlessly to a chair. Kor’tal obeyed the unspoken order and sat, while Stret took a seat of his own.
Stret steepled his hands, and looked at the other Mage over them. “Now, would you mind telling me what this is about?” he asked flatly. “Or should I just burn you and have the ashes buried?”
Kor’tal winced at the threat. “Mau’reek’s scrying told me there was one of us in the area,” he told Stret quietly. “It didn’t tell her – or at least, she didn’t tell me if it did – that you were so powerful.”
The younger Mage leaned back to hide his confusion. Scrying shouldn’t have been able to locate him, even if he wasn’t shielding – which he was – and would never have told someone that he was a Chaos Mage. “Mau’reek?” he asked calmly, allowing none of his confusion to color his voice.
Kor looked at him. “You don’t know who Mau’reek is?” he asked, clearly surprised.
“I remember the name from somewhere, but my connection with the Swarm is tenuous to nonexistent, Mage Kor’tal,” Stret said calmly.
“All right,” Kor’tal said slowly, looking quite shocked at the thought of a Chaos Mage not knowing who ‘Mau’reek’ was. “Mau’reek is one of the Four.”
“Now them I know about,” Stret said dryly. He could hardly not know about them. The Four loomed large in all literature about Chaos. They were the four Magi who, roughly four hundred years before the Twain were ever born, had destroyed half of the world and created the Waste and the Swarm from its ashes; and in the doing so, bought themselves immortality. The shek’maj’hil usually took up at least a chapter in any book. Four lives, four Magi, eternally bound to four pillars. The amount of Chaos involved in its creation had seared half a continent clean of life. The amount of Chaos involved in its existence mutated the animals and people who survived its creation into the Swarm. It was impossible to not know about the Four.
“All right,” Stret considered finally, “since we now both have some idea of each other’s credentials, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” Simply having been sent by one of the Four made an impressive credential all on its own.
“We’re Chaos Magi. Death and destruction, why else?” Kor’tal said with a youthful grin. The man couldn’t have been over twenty-five, for all that he was older than Stret’sar.
“If you don’t get more specific than that, the death and destruction are going to be yours,” Stret responded coldly.
Kor’tal raised his hands. “Okay, okay,” he said placatingly. “Mau’reek sent me on a specific mission, with two targets.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Stret observed, shrugging. “Why do you need help to kill a mere two Magi? I presume they’re Magi.”
“There’s the clincher,” Kor’tal admitted. “Mau’reek doesn’t want them dead. She wants them brought to her.”
“Why?” Stret asked.
“One is one of ours, a Raven Mage like myself,” Kor explained. “He was one of the Fallen, and ran a good chunk of our intelligence network this side of the mountains. Mau’reek doesn’t want what he knows falling into the hands of the Vishnean suck-ups, and she figures his service has been worth a rescue.
“The second target is a kid at the local Academy,” the Raven Mage continued. “He shows a lot of potential, and Mau’reek thinks that if we grab him, she can do the whole ‘motherly’ routine and Turn him.”
“I guess I see the point,” Stret said after a moment’s consideration, “but I have two questions of my own. Firstly, why can’t you bring them both in on your own? And second, what’s in this for me? If I make this run with you, I look to lose everything I have here.”
“They’re both in the Academy,” Kor’tal told him bluntly. “To get to them, I’ll have to blast my way through nine Battlemagi. I’m only a Raven Mage. As for the other…” he suddenly stopped speaking and his eyes snapped shut.
A moment later they opened again. When he spoke, his voice was lighter and more melodious. “There are reasons, my suspicious young friend,” the voice told Stret’sar.
Stret glared at Kor suspiciously, and the voice coming from the Mage’s throat laughed. “No, this is not Kor talking,” the speaker confirmed. “This is Mau’reek. I believe you deserve an answer to your question of why you should participate in this.
“Kor’tal was right when he suspected that I did have an idea of how powerful you are,” she told him through the Raven Mage’s lips. “I did.”
“I’m still wondering how you managed to find me, let alone discover how powerful I was,” Stret said drily.
“One does not live a millennium and a half without learning how to make your magic as near to perfect as your power allows, Stret’sar,” Mau’reek told him, a tinge of what had to be amusement running through her voice. “You are the most powerful Chaos Mage I’ve sensed since Jai’tell. You are wasted in this little house in the woods.” A gesture took in the house around them. “I want… no. We, all of us, the Four, want you to come to us. You may be what we have been waiting for.”
“What do you mean?” Stret demanded.
“Do this for me and come to us,” she replied. “You will discover all you want to know about everything. Including yourself.” With that, Kor’tal’s eyes snapped shut again.
When they opened, he slumped back in the chair. “That is not exactly pleasant, you know,” he observed. “I hope you got what you wanted.”
“You’ll have to help me pack the carriage I’m going to have my men buy,” Stret told the other Mage calmly. “My books are rather dangerous for non-Magi to handle, and my retainers deserve at least some concern”
“Carriage?” Kor asked, his voice somewhat blurry.
“Well, I’m not leaving my books behind,” Stret said logically. “Plus, we’re going to need some way to transport our ‘rescuees.’“
Kor looked up from his slump to meet Stret’s eyes. “You’re coming then?” he asked.
Stret looked towards the eastern wall, towards the Waste and the shek’maj’hil. “Your mistress has intrigued me,” he admitted. “I’m coming.”
Stret’sar studied the Mage-fort-Academy as the carriage approached it. One hand guided the horses without much thought, while the other adjusted the heavy cloak he wore over his purple robes. He reached out with his senses to confirm that Kor’tal was ready, then flicked the reins, convincing the horses to go faster.
They reached the gates of the fort, and Stret glanced up. “Hello the gate!” he shouted up.
A Mage, probably an Initiate, appeared in the gatehouse above. “What is it?” he yelled down in return.
“Delivery,” Stret responded.
“Delivery of what?” the youth demanded. “Nothing’s scheduled.”
Stret paused for a moment. Once he made the next move, there was no going back. Ever. On the other hand, he’d made that decision a long time ago. This was merely confirmation of it.
“Chaos!” he yelled, throwing off the cloak.
As the Initiate gobbled, Bor’yets swung the carriage door open and put a crossbow bolt through the youth’s throat. The Mage toppled, the body falling from the tower to impact on the ground near the gate.
Stret gave the corpse a glance, and looked quickly away to the gate. It was three meters of ironbound wood, spelled against any attack. He shrugged, then blew it down with a chaos lance that overwhelmed its shield without even trying.
He leapt from the carriage to run through the ruined gate, raising his shields as he went. For all his studies, this would be the first time he had ever used his magic for real.
Fire blazed over Stret’s head as he rolled forward. He came up to his feet and saw the Death Mage who’d attacked him. He didn’t even bother to try and ascertain the Mage’s level, but merely sent a full po
wer chaos lance across the courtyard.
It ripped through the Battlemage’s shields like they were tissue paper, and continued on to do the same to the Mage’s body. Gore sprayed across the group of students the Mage had been instructing, and Stret turned his gaze upon them.
Before he could identify the child he’d come for, fire hammered into his shields. He turned to find that three Magi, one of whom appeared to be an Initiate, – he didn’t have a staff – had appeared in the doorway of the main keep.
As Stret raised his hands to attack, he heard the twang of Bor’yets’ crossbow. One of the Battlemagi waved the bolt aside, freezing in shock as the bolt’s payload hit regardless.
Stret grinned. To give his retainer a chance against the Battlemagi he’d bound the bolts with chaos, which meant they temporarily disabled the magic of someone who used magic on them. The Battlemagi’s shields went down, and Kor’tal’s chaos fire burnt him to ashes as Bor’yets dived to the side.
Stret’s fire hammered the shields of the second full Mage for a moment before the shields collapsed and the Mage shriveled. He turned to the last Mage, to see a chaos lance slam into the Initiate’s chest.
The Drake Mage turned back to the children, but another group of Magi appearing distracted him. As he faced them, chaos fire suddenly flickered over their shields.
“I’ve found the boy! I’ll take these, you go get Jia’har!” Kor’tal’s yell was barely heard over the hissing of the exchange of fire between him and the three Battlemagi
Stret checked to be certain Bor’yets was out of the line of fire. He spotted his retainer concealed behind the carriage. The ex-bandit nodded at him. Stret returned the nod, and charged for the door.
Stret was perhaps ten steps into the main foyer when a voice spoke above him. “Greetings and defiance, Fallen One,” it said quietly, but confidently.
He turned at those words, to find himself facing a man of middle age in the formal robes of a Battlemage, slowly advancing down the stairs.
“Hail and ill met, Battlemage,” Stret replied, bowing mockingly.
The Battlemage inclined his head. “I am the Falcon Mage Jua’ran, master of this fort,” he said coldly. “Now, tell me your name, so it might be remembered after I kill you.”
“I am the Drake Mage Stret’sar,” Stret told the man with a cold smile, “and I think it is you who shall be killed.”
The formalities completed, both men launched their attacks. Jua’s white fire criss-crossed with the inconstant purple of Stret’s chaos lance.
The Chaos Mage shrugged off the older Mage’s attack, hurtling another chaos lance at the Battlemage. This time, Jua used Air magic to dodge the attack, flying through the air to land in shield contact with Stret.
Before Stret could react, the old Mage reached through both shields and sent fire flaring at Stret from within the younger Mage’s shield.
The fire split and scattered on the inner shield, a defensive spell Stret had created specifically to defeat this style of attack. His own hands reached out in retaliation, but he didn’t bother with magic. He merely locked his hands around Jua’ran’s throat.
The Mage slowly sank to his knees, his shields collapsing, as the air was cut off from his lungs. His hands scrabbled at Stret’s, but flicks of chaos fire burned them away. Stret tightened his grip until there was a sickening crunch, and the old man stopped breathing.
He dropped the body and headed towards the staircase the fort commander had come from. Most likely, the old Mage had been interrogating Jia’har himself.
No other Magi barred Stret’s path to the northern tower. He was close enough now that he could locate Jia by the sense of chaos. The man was alive and, so far as Stret could tell, unbroken.
That meant that the remaining Magi should be trying to bar Stret from reaching the spy. They appeared to either be in hiding, or headed for the courtyard. Battlemagi wouldn’t do either of those unless they knew that there was something barring Stret’s way. Something they thought he couldn’t get by.
But there was nothing. He paused at the top of the tower stairs, sending his senses through the door. Jia’har was there. There was no-one else there. Too easy.
He opened the door, and found that he was right. It had been too easy. In the center of the room, calmly facing the door, was a kneeling man in formal battle robes, carrying a staff. Around his neck rested an amulet of some kind, an amulet Stret would have sworn was familiar. His age seemed indeterminate, but he seemed to radiate power.
“Ah,” he said calmly. “Drake Mage Stret’sar. I’ve been waiting for you.” He nodded regretfully. “It’s a shame, really, that you came so far to achieve so little. But your intelligence on this little strike wasn’t entirely complete.”
“Oh? And what did we miss?” Stret asked, slowly trying to circle about the man.
“That the person who captured Jia’har was me, and that I was still here,” the man said quietly as he stood. “I am the Hawk Car’raen, Fallen One,” he said calmly. “And you are about to die.”
The Hawk Car’raen. Now Stret recognized the amulet. The Hawk Amulet, containing a millennium of stored knowledge and power. Well, look at it this way, he told himself, now you get to find out if you really are the world’s best.
Stret raised his hand, palm upwards. Chaos fire flickered over it. “Let’s do it,” he said firmly, letting the fire lash out from his hand, flickering over the Hawk’s shields.
He barely had time to raise an eyebrow, impressed at their strength, before a brutally powerful lightning blast slammed into his shields. Stret took a step backward, then another one, as the attack pushed at his shields.
Another step backward and then Stret took control of the part of the shield being attacked, turning it into a reflector. The lightning turned back towards the Hawk, only to die halfway to its creator.
Stret followed up the reflection with a chaos lance. It slammed into the Hawk’s shields and pinned the Mage for a moment. Then it simply broke apart, as it was suddenly overlain with order, shattering the chaos.
He barely managed to push up his shields’ power before the Hawk raised his staff to launch his next attack, an interlocking wave of lightning, fire and the deadly black light of order lances – an ability very few Death Magi ever mastered, from what Stret had read.
It took everything Stret had to hold that attack, which had to be everything the older Mage had, focused through the staff.
The Death Storm weakened slightly. Stret pulled what power he could from the shield, and reached into his own deep reserves, to unleash his own storm.
Chaos fire, ice, lightning and lances hammered across the small space between the two Magi. The Chaos Storm interpenetrated with the Hawk’s Death Storm. For a moment, the small space between them glowed with sheer power, and then both storms suddenly flashed out of existence.
Stret stared at his enemy in surprise. The Hawk had managed to interweave his spell with Stret’s, and collapse them both simultaneously. It seemed to have taken everything out of him, though. As Stret watched, the man slumped back against the wall.
Stret stepped forward, raising his hands to send lightning flashing at the man. It dispersed on the Hawk’s shield, but Stret could tell the shield was weaker now. He raised his hands to attack again, but Car’raen vanished before he could.
Stret walked forward to where the Hawk had been standing when he’d vanished. He waved a hand through the space, but there was nothing there. The Mage had teleported.
He grinned. He scared the ‘great’ Hawk Car’raen so much he’d run away – using the most dangerous and difficult ability known to Magi. Teleportation was Gray Magic usable by any Mage, but it was inherently untrustworthy. Difficult to use, it drained the user tremendously and, on top of that, there was about one chance in three that you simply wouldn’t survive the trip. Tired as he was, Stret straightened. He’d just faced the most powerful Battlemage alive – and won.
Stretching slightly, he reached out with his senses
to find Jia’har. He walked over to the door the man was imprisoned behind, and touched it. Locked. It clicked, and that was no longer the case.
Entering the room, Stret faced the man he’d come to rescue. Jia’har was sitting in a plain wooden chair, bound to it by what appeared to be silver chains. Most likely silver-gilded iron, since silver prevented chaos magic being used on it, but was far too weak in itself to hold a determined man.
“Who the hell are you?” Jia’har demanded.
“I am the Drake Mage Stret’sar,” Stret said, as he took his knife to the lock on the chains.
“Drake Mage?” the imprisoned Mage questioned. “I don’t remember being told about you.”
“That’s because I wasn’t working for your people until they decided they needed me,” Stret told him. A simplified version, but true enough.
Years of experience of picking locks without magic made his task simple, and the lock quickly broke. “All right,” Stret told Jia’har. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Jia said, his eyes looking around wildly. “The Hawk Car’raen is here. He’ll try and stop us getting away.”
“He already tried,” Stret said, grinning. “He failed. He ran.”
Jia’har looked at him. Stret continued to grin. The spy straightened up. “Well, in that case, shouldn’t we be going?” he asked dryly.
Stret laughed aloud as he led the way out the door.
By the time Stret and Jia had reached the courtyard, the exertion of his clash with Car’raen had caught up with the young Mage. He was having difficulty maintaining his shields and walking at the same time, but he kept them up nonetheless as he left the building.
The courtyard was destroyed. There was no better word for it. The stones of the paving had been shattered and broken. Some of them even looked melted. Scars from lightning and blasts of flame marked what few intact stones remained. Stret looked around carefully and found Kor’tal and Bor’yets.
Children of Prophecy Page 14
