Mage Hunter Omnibus (Complete 5 Book Series)

by Ty Johnston

  Verkain’s fist lashed out, the steel of his gauntlet raking against the sergeant’s chin, knocking the head back and leaving a red gash. Guthrie’s vision swam, blurred, darkened. For a moment he was afraid he would pass out again, then his sight focused once more. He shook his head to brush away the last of the cobwebs in his vision, then found himself facing the sitting king once more. It was as if nothing had happened.

  Verkain’s voice was bleak when he spoke again. “If you continue to ask questions, I will be forced to deal with you more strenuously. I admit to using my spells on your comrades in the Gauntlet mostly because I wished to see what effect I could bring upon them, to find out if my magic would work on them, and I am not afraid to do the same with you. I had hoped to question you civilly, but if you insist upon seeing to your own wants, my methods can become quite extreme. Do you understand me?”

  Guthrie nodded.

  “Good,” Verkain said. “Then we can get along to business. My first question ... why were you in the temple?”

  Guthrie sat up a little straighter, confusion clear on his face. “You mean you don’t know?”

  Verkain raised a fist. “I warned you.”

  “I don’t mean to question,” Guthrie said, leaning back in his chair as if he could avoid another blow. “I mean, I would have thought you would have already known why we were at the temple.”

  “I have my notions on the subject,” Verkain said, “but I wish to hear what you have to say.”

  Guthrie blinked. “We were hunting Ildra. I had orders from Sword Zanbra to lead her and Spear Kroff to the wyrd woman.”

  “To what ends?”

  “To slay Ildra,” Guthrie said. “We are at war with the Dartague and apparently Ildra was behind it all, or so I thought. The Gauntlet, they specialize in hunting those with magical abilities, so they were after Ildra.”

  Verkain smirked. “I suppose they have no knowledge of your own talents?”

  “None,” Guthrie said.

  “For the time being, it will remain that way.”

  Which was fine with Guthrie. If Zanbra and Kroff knew Guthrie was supposedly a natural mage, they would not hesitate to kill him when given the opportunity.

  Verkain stood and moved around his field desk to pull out a chair and sit. He lifted a sheet of parchment and stared at it, the outline of a map clearly visible through the paper. After a moment, he thrust the sheet aside.

  “According to Ildra, nearly two weeks earlier you and a captain of the northern Ursian militia followed a mountain trail away from a Dartague camp. Is this true?”

  Guthrie nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then I can assume you expected the trail to remain the same when you took the mage hunters into it?”

  “Yes.”

  Verkain smirked. “Ah, the vagaries of magic.”

  Guthrie had no response. His loathing for all things magic was growing by the day. Magic was what had trapped him and his companions. Magic was what had slain priests at one of the region’s temples. Magic was responsible for so much of the terror and pain Guthrie had witnessed over the last weeks. Those who made use of magic seemed to think they were above the morals of all others, that they could use their abilities for their own ends and only those ends. Everyone else must quiver in their wake or pay the price.

  Verkain moved around to the front of the desk again and sat on its front edge. “So you had no idea you were following myself and my personal guard?”

  “You mean all those Kobalan soldiers with you?”

  Verkain nodded.

  “No, we had no idea,” Guthrie said. “We knew there had been a sizable force riding across the land, and that they had entered the mountains, but we did not know they were Kobalan. If anything, we guessed they were Dartague.”

  “So you did not know about the pagan temple? Or that I would be there?”

  “No,” Guthrie said, which was the truth.

  The Kobalan lord smirked again. “Your only reason for being there was to slay Ildra?”

  “That was the goal, yes.”

  “Then why did your people attack me?”

  It seemed a pertinent question to ask, but then the memory of the events dawned upon the sergeant. “We did not. You attacked us first.”

  “Explain.”

  What was there to say? Guthrie saw no reason to lie. “We sprang out of that tunnel into the main temple room, or whatever it was ... an altar room. Then you shouted and threw a dagger at Zanbra. It was only then that we attacked, in self defense.”

  Verkain straightened, his features stern as if he did not approve of Guthrie’s recollection of the recent past. “Then you were not trying to save the wyrd woman?”

  “Save her?” Guthrie said. “I don’t know what would have happened if we had gotten there before you, but no, our goal was to kill her, to end this war.”

  Verkain leaned back further, wrapping his arms in front of his chest as his gaze narrowed. “Tell me, what do you know of Ildra?”

  “Little,” Guthrie said. “She was a Dartague wyrd woman, apparently one of the more powerful ones. The Dartague seemed to have placed her in a position of political power, allowing her to bring about the war with Ursia. I did not know at first that she was pregnant, and wasn’t fully convinced of it until she gave birth to her little girl.”

  “Anything else?”

  Guthrie’s mind raced. So far he had seen no reason to withhold information. None of the questions had been overly aimed toward his own country and any military plans its leaders might have in the works, not that Guthrie was involved in such planning, him being only a sergeant. But now Verkain’s questioning was becoming more pointed. Was this leading somewhere?

  Then he recalled another fact about the wyrd woman. “Apparently she was your student. You said something to that effect in the temple. I assumed she had studied magic under you.”

  “Correct,” Verkain said. “I found her as a young woman, still in her teens, in the mountains between Dartague and Kobalos. I saw much promise in her and brought her under my wing for a few years. Unfortunately the promise I saw went unfulfilled.”

  Verkain was giving a little information of his own, but all it led to was more questions from the sergeant. Of course he could not voice those questions, not without a beating or worse.

  “Tell me,” the king went on, “what have your generals concluded concerning my own involvement with the Dartague?”

  Guthrie was nonplussed. “Involvement? Until we saw you in the temple, none of us had any idea of any involvement.”

  “In general, then,” Verkain said, “what do your leaders believe of my nation’s connection to the Dartague?”

  This seemed a question more appropriate to an emissary than to a lowly sergeant, but Guthrie was not about to argue the point. “To my knowledge, there are no expectations of any link. Kobalos and Dartague share a border. The Kobalans and Dartague, both being northern peoples, are generally believed to be distantly related.”

  “What of me, in particular?”

  The sergeant did not know how to answer. What was it Verkain wanted to know?

  Seeing no answer forthcoming, the king stood again, turning toward his desk and looking over its surface. “I believe we are finished here.”

  Guthrie stiffened. Was Verkain looking for a weapon to end the sergeant’s life? “What are you going to do to me?”

  Verkain chuckled once more and turned back to the Ursian. “For the moment, nothing. I will confer with your comrades once more, to make sure your answers are the same as those they provide, then ... well, we shall see.”

  The king turned toward the exit, a tied-down flap of the tent’s wall. Guthrie saw his chances of knowledge fading, and there was still so much he didn’t know.

  “I do not understand,” he blurted at the king’s back.

  Verkain slowed and halted, one hand raised as if to open the tent flap. Then he turned around to face his prisoner. “What is there for you to understand, sergeant? You are a pa
wn in a much larger game. Like a pawn, you can be sacrificed.”

  “At least tell me what is going on,” Guthrie nearly pleaded. “If I have to die, allow me to at least know why.”

  Verkain snorted, then turned toward the exit again.

  “Why did you kill Ildra?” Guthrie cried out. “What are you going to do with the baby?”

  The king was brought up short again. When he faced the sergeant once more, Verkain’s eyes were filled with rage. “The brat will be returned to its father, some chief with clan Thunder. As for Ildra, she ruined my plans for the future with her impulsiveness. Remember that, sergeant, that impulsiveness can get one killed. Especially impulsiveness in asking too many questions.”

  With that Verkain spun around, pulled the ties on the tent flap and marched out into the day, the sun’s brief light flickering through to the sergeant’s following gaze before the opening fell closed once more.

  Chapter 2

  From outside the tent came barked words in Kobalan, what Guthrie could only guess were some kind of orders, probably Verkain telling guards to keep a watch on the tent’s entrance. Then followed the stomping sounds of heavy boots, likely the king leaving.

  Guthrie waited a couple of minutes to make sure Verkain was not returning so soon.

  Then the sergeant went to work. His arms pressed out on the coils binding him, but he quickly found the ropes were too tight and tough for his strength. Then he tried to stand in a squatting position, but the chair was too heavy and his position too awkward with his legs tied. The chair budged not an inch from the floor. For the moment he gave up his exertions, resting himself.

  What to do? He had to escape, that much was obvious. He doubted he would make it far, what with a camp full of Kobalan soldiers milling about outside the tent, but he had to give escape a try. Recalling his flight from the Dartague camp, he realized he had been in worse conditions of late.

  His breaking away from the Dartague and Ildra brought several notions to mind. He glanced to the table where his weapons still lay. Could he reach them? At least the dagger? Straining at his bindings once more, he soon gave up. No, that plan would not work.

  But what else? How else could he free himself? How had he escaped the Dartague when they had nearly had him?

  Magic.

  Guthrie found the thought disquieting. He had no trust in magic, even if it somehow came from within himself. He had next to no acquaintance with his own magical abilities, and his experiences with others of a magical bent did not provide him with pleasing thoughts. If anything, he was coming around to hating magic and those who utilized such.

  But could magic free him of the ropes? Perhaps even take him away from the Kobalans?

  His situation dire, there was little left to try but some sort of sorcery, but he had no idea how to go about it. How had he made use of magic before, when he had conjured forth a rolling wall of fire to blight his enemies?

  Guthrie did not know. He thought back. He had spoken no magical words, had made no waves of his hand in the air. He had bashed several oil lamps within the Dartague tent, starting a small blaze, then when the barbarians had rushed to attack him, Guthrie could remember wishing the fire had been bigger, that he could turn it upon his enemies.

  Then the wall of fire had appeared, chasing after his fleeing foes.

  Was it that simple? Did all he have to do was think something and it would come to pass? Surely there was more to magic than this? His own talents in magic were supposedly unique, him being a rare natural mage, whatever that should entail. Did his being a natural mage give him a boost in magical power? Did it somehow sidestep more common rules, those which wizards and witches and their like had to obey? Again, Guthrie did not know. He knew next to nothing about magic other than all too often of late he had seen its use in the hands of those who wished to harm others.

  But he had to try something. Otherwise it meant death for himself and his comrades, and possibly for the dead wyrd woman’s baby girl.

  Guthrie closed his eyes, imagining this would somehow allow him to better focus. But from there, what to do? He tried to stare inwardly at himself, at his soul, in hopes this would stir up some powerful force within himself.

  But nothing happened.

  He opened his eyes. Time to try something else.

  When he had brought about that wall of flame in the Dartague tent, it had been merely a matter of wanting, of wishing. It had been during a moment of duress, so perhaps emotion had something to do with it. So why not try that?

  Within his mind he conjured up a vision of what would happen to him if he did not make his way to freedom and soon. None of it was pretty.

  Guthrie glanced down at the ropes holding him, emboldened by a sudden haze of gold appearing on the edges of his vision. He wished the ropes were suddenly made of ash.

  And they were.

  He blinked in surprise as the cords fell apart, sprinkling to the ground in specks of black and gray.

  Kicking out, his legs were free, as too were his arms. Jumping to his feet, he nearly stumbled forward, pin pricks of pain lancing his limbs. He had not taken into account his legs and arms had fallen asleep in their entwined state. Holding himself up by the edge of Verkain’s table, Guthrie stood there a moment to allow the blood to flow through his limbs once more. When he finally felt steady, he grabbed his helmet, plopped it on his head, and lifted his weapons belt to be wrapped about his hips.

  Ready to defend himself once more, he turned to the tent’s exit. And stopped.

  What to do now? There were probably a hundred or more Kobalan soldiers out there, big men as tough as the Dartague and better trained and equipped. Guthrie could not just waltz his way out of the camp, along the way gathering his companions and Ildra’s newborn child.

  Or could he?

  Where magic had once served, perhaps it could do so again. This time he did not close his eyes, but pictured in his mind an image of himself slowly vanishing. Again there was the golden aura around his sight, a sign of magic at work. He looked down at his hands and found the glow of magic now outlined his figure, but otherwise nothing was changed. Did this mean others would not be able to see him?

  The only way to find out was to test it.

  Guthrie breathed in heavily, stirred at the danger he was about to present himself, but there was nothing to be done about it. He took a hasty step toward the exit, gripped the edge of the tent’s flap and thrust it open.

  He found himself staring into the familiar narrow valley where he had once watched the Dartague camping. Before him were a half dozen black tents, all of them much smaller than the one he found himself still standing within. Immediately in front of him were the broad backs of two Kobalan guards, their plated armor black with white paint around the edges.

  One of the guards glanced back, apparently hearing the swishing sound of the tent flap.

  Guthrie steeled himself for a fight, his right hand gripping the mace at his belt.

  But the guard’s reaction was not one of violence. Instead, a look of confusion crossed the man’s features behind his open-faced helmet. He elbowed his partner and the other man turned to look. Both stood there dumfounded, staring into the tent opening.

  One of them muttered something in their native tongue, the words not familiar to the Ursian sergeant. Then that guard stepped forward.

  If Guthrie had not slid to one side, the approaching Kobalan would have bumped directly into him. As things stood, the sergeant managed to slip out the open tent flap as the guard passed him.

  The Kobalan stuck his head in the tent just as the flap fell but caught on the man’s shoulder. The guard twisted his head from side to side, obviously searching within.

  Then he pulled his head back and spun to his companion. A flurry of words passed between the two, then the outer fellow took off at a run. When his companion was gone, the guard in the opening thrust his way inside the tent.

  Guthrie decided he wasn’t going to wait around for a search for him to be
gin. Figuring the running guard was going after the king or perhaps some other commander, Guthrie followed him at a quick gait. Verkain was a powerful wizard and Guthrie would have to be wary of him since the sergeant did not know if the king would be able to see through Guthrie’s magic, but it was possible that wherever Verkain had gone would prove to be the location of Zanbra and Kroff, perhaps even the Dartague babe.

  Trailing the scurrying guard, Guthrie made his way around tents and men sitting around camp fires. It did not take long before the guard came to a brief stop in front of another dark tent, this one nearly as large as the one Guthrie had fled. Here the guard conversed in short words with two other soldiers standing before the tent. Immediately those two went into action, one shoving aside the tent’s opening to enter, the other man taking off at a run with the fellow who had brought the message, both heading back toward the tent Guthrie had just left behind him. With a huff the sergeant managed to jump out of their way before they ran into him, and fortunately neither had heard Guthrie.

  Sensing it would be best to hide, Guthrie moved to his left and dropped to a knee around the corner of the large, black tent. He watched the front, expecting the Kobalan lord to come charging out at any moment. But first there was a shout, a cry, and then the tent’s flap was thrust aside. Verkain came marching out, walking with speed toward where Guthrie had been held. There was the familiar bright, metallic glow of magic about the king as he fumed and stomped away, and Guthrie was glad he had not remained in the open. He did not know if Verkain would have been able to see him, but he did not want to take any chances.

  Once the king was gone, Guthrie glanced around. There were soldiers here and there, but none seemed too close and none were paying any attention to the invisible Ursian in their midst. The last of the guards from the front of the tent had not exited, which lead Guthrie to believe the man was still inside, likely watching whatever or whomever was there. Guthrie hoped the man would be guarding Zanbra and Kroff and the baby.

  Drawing his dagger free of its sheath, the sergeant stood and slunk toward the front of the tent where the opening still hung open. Glancing around one last time, he saw no untoward eyes upon him, then he shifted through the tent’s entrance and into the dim beyond.