The Mage War

by Ben S. Dobson

  “Good,” said Tane. “That’s what I was aiming for. But if you’re not trying to make me charm donors, I’m all ears.”

  “I’m not certain this will be any more welcome,” Greymond said. “I’ve made a similar offer before, and you declined. But the fact is, Thorpe’s machine has changed the landscape of magical theory. We may even be able to use it one day to restore those who have been riven, which would obviously mean a great deal to the families hurt by Endo Stooke’s siphon. This is a new kind of magic, and we need someone to teach it, as well as lead our research. The machine doesn’t require magecraft to operate, and you have more experience with it than anyone. I hoped that you might have changed your mind about coming to work here.”

  He had refused the last time she’d asked him to lecture at the University, but now… This is a whole new field, and I could lead it. A non-magical writing the manual to a new kind of magic. That was hard to refuse. And months spent evading the law had made the prospect of excitement and adventure much less appealing. He glanced at Indree. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “that if I’m going to be on the arm of the Chief Constable, I could stand to be a little bit more respectable.”

  Indree grinned. “You couldn’t be if you tried.”

  “Be that as it may,” said Tane, “I… I think I accept, Liana.” And as he said it, a strange, sad look flashed over Kadka’s face. It was gone almost immediately.

  “I thought you might,” Greymond said with a slight, knowing smile.

  Tane scowled. “If I’m going to work here, you’re going to have to agree not to divine my future. It’s annoying.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, still smiling. “Now, I will leave you to your celebrations. We can make an appointment to discuss details later.” She bid her farewells and retreated.

  “Congratulations, Professor Carver!” Tinga said, slapping Tane on the arm. “Indree’s not the only one with a new title.” She glanced around. “Is anyone else about ready to go? We should get a drink, celebrate somewhere less… musty.”

  Tane raised an eyebrow. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

  “I’m old enough to sit on a special council for the Senate. I’ve earned it.” But as confident as she sounded, Tinga still looked hopefully to her parents.

  “I think we can allow that,” said Bittik with a benevolent smile. “Just don’t be home too late.” And then he frowned, and glanced sidelong at Indree. “Er, of course, assuming the Chief Constable doesn’t—”

  “I won’t have her hauled in,” Indree said, laughing. “She’s right. She’s earned it. And I could use a drink myself.”

  “I should take the little ones home, I think,” Iskar said. Syllesk and Nevka were seated at a table nearby, both looking very drowsy—they’d spent quite a lot of energy sneaking off to explore every corner of the building.

  Kadka tried to hide her disappointment. “Is true. I will see you all—”

  Iskar cut her off with a shake of his head. “I wouldn’t dream of tearing you from your friends today, my love. Go, have fun.”

  She flashed him a joyous grin. “This is why I love you.”

  “Let’s get out of here, then,” said Tinga. She and Cestra led the way, hand in hand.

  Dusk was falling when they stepped out onto the campus outside Thalen’s Hall. In the fading light, Tane noticed Kadka looking at him, with the same twinge of sadness as before. It occurred to him that this was very near where they’d first met. Or rather, they’d met inside, but the place where he’d stolen her badge and bolted across campus to enter a crime scene without permission was very near. He smiled at the memory, and felt a tug of sorrow too. He’d learned that day that he’d lost a friend. It had taken him a little bit longer to realize he’d gained one as well. The best friend he’d ever had.

  “Kadka,” he said. “Hold up a moment.”

  She did, along with everyone else.

  Tane waved the others on. “Go ahead, we’ll catch up.”

  Indree didn’t ask questions, just leaned in to give him a quick kiss. “We’ll save you some seats.” She led the others away, leaving Tane and Kadka alone in the dusklight.

  “Something wrong, Carver?” Kadka asked.

  “I wanted to apologize,” he said. “I didn’t even ask you before accepting Greymond’s offer, and… things will change, if I take the position. I can still say no.”

  Kadka still had that gentle sadness in her eyes. “Is not just you, Carver. Silver Dawn has much to do after all this. With Vladak gone, Iskar needs help. Already asks me. And then there is little ones, and wedding… All of this will take my time. Things change, if you take offer or not. Is good place for you. Should take it.”

  “I suppose,” he said. “I just… I’ll miss seeing you every day.”

  Kadka smiled. “You will still see me. Not every day, maybe, but I will not go away so easy. You are my first friend here, and my best. I come to Audland with nothing and no one, and then I meet you. The rest, Iskar, my family, all comes from that.” She hesitated a moment, and then she blurted out, “Stand with me at my wedding, Tane Carver.”

  Tane felt his throat constrict, swallowed against tears. “Of course. Of course I will. And you know that I could say the same for you, right? I wouldn’t have anything if I hadn’t met you.” He managed a shaky smile. “Also, I wouldn’t have survived. You changed my life, Kadka.”

  “Yes.” She was grinning, but there were tears in her eyes too. “This is very true.”

  Tane laughed. He was wiping his eyes when two huge, white-furred arms wrapped around him in a big bear hug, lifted him from his feet. It was hard to breathe, but even so, he hugged her back.

  After a moment, Kadka set him down. “You see?” she said. “Change is sad sometimes, but not always bad thing. We are still in each other’s life. Just… in different way.”

  “I know,” said Tane. “Still, I suppose this is the end of”—he cringed a bit as he said it—“Magebreakers Consulting and Investigation.”

  But Kadka just grinned her wild grin. “Is no end, Carver. Some new thing will come. Someone who needs help, some strange magic. You can not resist. And when this happens, you come for me.” She held out her hand. “Promise?”

  Tane clasped her hand in his. “Promise.” And then he found himself saying something he’d never thought would come out of his mouth:

  “Once a Magebreaker, always a Magebreaker.”

  Thank you so much for reading The Mage War. I hope you enjoyed it! This is the end of Tane and Kadka’s adventures for now, though maybe not forever—I may come up with new stories in this world worth telling. I’ll certainly be writing other books, in any case, and if you’re interested in following my new releases, you can sign up for my mailing list here, or find a link on my website at bensdobson.com. As an added bonus, you’ll receive a free copy of my fantasy short story The Last Hero, exclusive to subscribers. And if you’re interested in supporting my work further, check out my Patreon at patreon.com/bensdobson for even more exclusive benefits, including draft chapters of works in progress and advance copies of new books!

  If you’d just like to read more by me, check out my other novels here on my Amazon author page. And please, consider leaving a review of this book on Amazon. It’s a great way to help me build an audience so I can keep writing!

  And while you’re waiting for my next book, flip to the end of the book to get a free sample of Scriber, my standalone fantasy adventure novel!

  About the Author

  _____

  Ben S. Dobson is a Canadian fantasy author. When he isn’t writing to indulge his lifelong passion for epic tales, he can probably be found playing Dungeons and Dragons, or watching a Joss Whedon show, or something equally geeky.

  If you’re interested in being notified when I release a new novel, sign up for my mailing list here or on my website.

  For more information, check one of these places:

  Patreon

  http://patreon.com/bensdobson
/>   Website

  http://bensdobson.com

  Facebook

  http://www.facebook.com/bensdobson

  Or, contact me directly by email here:

  bensdobson@bensdobson.com

  If you enjoyed The Mage War, you might enjoy my standalone fantasy, Scriber. Disgraced scholar Dennon Lark and the king’s infamous warrior niece, Bryndine Errynson, go on a journey to save their kingdom’s future by uncovering its long forgotten past. Turn the page for a free sample of the book, available on Amazon.

  The sound was deafening. It exploded through the town, a crash of thunder that sounded so close it might have come from inside my own home. Leaving the drawers of my desk wide open and dropping an armful of writing supplies that I had been about to stow in my bag, I rushed to the door.

  My hand froze on the handle. I could hear shouts and screams outside, and the panicked whinnying of horses; my fingers trembled on the cold brass, refusing to do as they were told. I was suddenly aware of a thick lump of fear in my belly; it had been growing there for some time, I think, but I had been ignoring it, telling myself that we would be gone before an attack ever came.

  I waited there with my hand on the door, listening, and after a short time, the cries outside died down. I heard muffled commands being given, but nothing like what I imagined a battle would sound like. I took a deep breath to steady myself and opened the door.

  In the darkness outside, it was impossible not to notice the fire before anything else. The town was bathed in angry light and smoke billowed thick and grey around the roof of the Prince’s Rest. The flames were spreading rapidly; a slight breeze had sprung up, and as I watched, the fire rode it across the roof of the Rest and leapt to the cottage that sat beside the inn. The horses still tied at the inn were thrashing about in panic as Bryndine’s women tried to free them and lead them away, though it looked like most had already been rescued.

  Bryndine and her soldiers were trying to maintain order: a number of them had formed a line from the well to the inn and were passing buckets of water along it to try to quench the flames; others sought to keep the terrified villagers inside their homes, packing to leave. There were more of them in the village than before—some of those who had been put on guard must have returned to help fight the fire.

  “Leave the tavern,” I heard Bryndine call, and I saw her huge form, outlined in smoke, amidst the line of soldiers at the well. As always, Sylla was at her side. “It’s already lost. Form lines to those buildings, there and there.” She pointed at the homes to either side of the tavern. “Douse the roofs, keep them wet. We need to stop it from spreading.” They immediately set to work, following her commands with trained efficiency. Whatever I thought of the woman, she clearly had a firm command of her company.

  Iayn Gerynson rushed by my door, and I grabbed his huge, hairy arm to stop him.

  “What happened?” I demanded, fear causing my voice to reach an embarrassingly high pitch.

  “Lightning, Scriber. Bolt of lightning, right out of the sky. My ears are still ringin’.”

  “That’s impossible.” I turned my eyes upwards; the sky was completely clear, not a cloud in sight. “Lightning doesn’t strike out of a cloudless sky.”

  “It’s that damn woman, they said she was cursed!” Gerynson freed his arm from my grip easily and moved away, heading in the direction of his home. I knew he had spoken out of superstition and ignorance, but the terrible dread in my gut only intensified.

  I stood just outside my house, watching as the Prince’s Rest burned to the ground. Josia’s small form was visible, rushing back and forth between the well and her home, desperately trying to save the inn even though the soldiers had given it up. I could hear her sobs from where I stood. I felt a twinge of pity for her—Josia’s relentless cheerfulness had always bothered me, but of all the people in Waymark, she was probably the only one I didn’t truly dislike. She didn’t deserve this. I took a step towards her, though I don’t know what I intended to do; as Bryndine had declared, the Rest was clearly a lost cause.

  It was then that I heard it, a low whisper coming from behind. My hands clenched convulsively and I whirled on my heel, peering into the thin aisle of darkness between my small cottage and the next. But there was nothing there; nothing but long, wavering shadows cast by the flames that were now at my back. Yet the whisper persisted.

  “Who’s there?” I asked, my voice barely audible. There was no answer, but I thought I might have seen something moving in the darkness beyond the homes that lined the east side of the road. It was difficult to tell; the smoke from the fire made my eyes water, and the constant shifting of the shadows created the illusion of motion where there was none. And still the sound of whispering drifted past my ears

  “We are the Burnt,” the whispers said, one phrase among hundreds of others, whispered by hundreds of voices speaking at once. A wave of anger and pain flowed over me, and I stumbled back in fear. Something caught underneath my foot and I fell heavily to the ground, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. I knew those whispers. It was impossible; it was nonsense; but I had dreamed of those voices.

  There was something there, in the dark. I could see forms moving in the shadows now; I was certain of it. I tried to scramble backwards, but my body was frozen. Most of the guardswomen were fighting the fire, and there was no one to sound the alert—those figures in the darkness would fall upon Waymark without warning.

  “They’re coming,” I tried to say, but it came out as a croak, unheard amid the commotion in the village, and the figures in the shadows were getting closer.

  “They’re coming.” Not loud enough, but better; a real voice issued from my mouth. The shadowy forms were nearly at the line of houses now; they would be upon the village in moments.

  “They’re coming!” I screamed. And that was loud enough. I wrenched my arm up, pointing into the dark. The ringing of some twenty weapons being drawn at once echoed in my ears.

  “I see them!” a woman yelled; one of Bryndine’s, a voice I did not recognize.

  “With me! Protect the villagers!” I heard Bryndine command. “For the Promise!”

  One of the dark forms lurched forward into a sprint, charging directly at me; the others followed closely behind, swarming into Waymark. As the first man entered the light, I almost thought I knew him—he looked like Josia’s husband Hareld, and for a moment I hoped that these were not the rebels at all. But the man brandished a heavy axe in his hand, and he was closing on me swiftly.

  I could not move. My mind screamed for my body to stand and run, but all I could do was stare in horror at the man who was moments from ending my life. I squeezed my eyes closed, waiting for the blow to land.

  Metal crashed on metal, and my eyes snapped open again. Bryndine Errynson towered before me, the Burner’s axe recoiling from her heavy round shield. She did not flinch, though her shield arm was badly wounded, and I could hardly believe she was not crying out in pain. She had said she might need to use the arm, though I had told her it would be foolish—I thanked the Mother and the Father that she had not listened.

  She swung her sword in a vicious riposte that tore almost entirely through the man’s neck. I flinched, expecting to be spattered with hot blood, but none came; despite his neck being almost entirely severed, the man barely bled at all as he slumped to the ground, dead.

  “Find cover, Scriber!” Bryndine barked over her shoulder, sprinting towards the oncoming attackers. They poured through the gaps between homes now, outnumbering Bryndine’s women three to one or worse. Yet they made almost no sound; no battle cries, no grunts of pain or effort. I could still hear the whispers in my head, but their mouths did not move.

  I did not seek cover. My body still refused all commands as I stared at the near-headless body that had fallen at my feet. The lack of blood somehow made it worse; it was unnatural, against everything I had ever learned. I remembered where the whispers had come from in my dream: hundreds of men and women, naked and b
earing awful wounds that did not bleed. Finally a slow, thick flow of dark red blood—nearly black—began to ooze from the gaping hole at the end of the man’s neck. A warm, sticky pool began to spread, seeping under my hands and beneath the seat of my pants, and I almost cried with relief.

  The man’s head had fallen at an awkward angle, pulling against the thin flap of skin and muscle that held it to the body, and with a sudden motion, it flopped onto its side. Dead, empty eyes seemed to stare directly at me. There was no doubt now—it was the face of Hareld Kellen. A single thought raced through my mind: that explains why he was late coming home. With a hysterical giggle, I vomited the contents of my stomach onto the blood-soaked ground.

  I sank into a terrified trance then, watching the fight unfold as though it were a performance acted out with marionettes. None if it felt real. The noises of battle seemed muffled, indistinct; I could see weapons clanging together and people screaming, but in my ears there was only a dull muddle of sound. All I could hear clearly were the whispers from my dream: “All will burn… We will have vengeance…”

  The villagers fled into the homes on the other side of the road while Bryndine and her twenty or so women held back the attackers. The women were badly outnumbered, but none of them had fallen, while the Burners had taken heavy losses already—to my untrained eye, it seemed the rebels fought clumsily and without coordination.

  I saw a slender redheaded woman of Bryndine’s company darting between foes, distracting one for a companion then lunging at another; a squat, stocky blond woman barrelling into a group of three men like a barbarian warrior and cleaving them down with her axe; Tenille’s sword flashing in the firelight as she expertly disarmed her foe. Bryndine and Sylla fought side by side, and I was unsurprised to see that Sylla wielded her longsword with a terrifying ferocity, striking with blinding speed as she guarded her Captain’s flank. I know little enough about combat, but it was clear to see that these women were extremely skilled.