by Layton Green
Val toyed with his mug, trying and failing to imagine his gentle father as a dimension-traveling wizard.
Alexander yawned and stood. “You should get some rest. Six a.m. comes early.”
“I’ll be up soon,” Val murmured. He wanted so much to ask about his father, but he wasn’t ready to go there yet. He didn’t know why his father had left or who might still be looking for him. Instead he said, “You haven’t heard of a wizard by the name of Salomon, have you?”
Alexander gathered his cloak with a chuckle. “Not unless you mean Salomon the Wanderer, also known as Salomon the Lost? Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. I once overheard the name in conversation. Who’s Salomon the Lost?”
“The most powerful spirit mage who has ever lived, and a warning to all who pursue the art. Legend has it Salomon was teaching his son how to travel through the planes, but the son lost focus and became lost in the Astral Wind, set adrift through time and space. Salomon is said to still roam the heavens, grieving and looking for his lost son.”
“How old is this legend?” Val said.
“Salomon himself lived a few thousand years ago. No one knows his true origins, but he was a historical figure during the Byzantine Empire.”
Val’s Adam’s Apple felt heavy when he swallowed. “I see.”
“No other mage has managed to live for more than several hundred years, so of course the story is a fanciful one, used to keep young wizards in line and steer them away from deep magic before acquiring the proper training.”
With another yawn, Alexander threw his cloak over his arm. “Spirit mages tend to be an ambitious lot. Before his son died, it’s said Salomon was obsessed with exploring time and space, other dimensions, the outer limits of spirit magic. According to another legend,” he said, with an exhausted, dismissive wave of his hand before starting up the stairs, “Salomon was searching the multiverse for God.”
-27-
The next week was a blur. The Byway scenic but unchanging, a never-ending tarmac through the coastal forest. Except for a few hillocks and lakes, the road remained flat, the sky powder blue, the woods deep and still. No more patrols passed.
Will’s training somehow increased in intensity. With each torturous dawn he arose, like a half-healed phoenix, to begin anew the cycle of pain and horseback riding and sparring with Mala.
During the long rides, he worked to internalize the lessons, and every night before bed he shadow-sparred to help cement the knowledge. His sword, which at first had been too heavy for him to wield, had almost become manageable.
Val had told him and Caleb about the legend of Salomon the Lost. Neither knew what to say, except to chuckle nervously and wonder who the impostor was.
Lance seemed to fit right in with the Chickasaw, and they had even begun teaching him some of their language. But a darkness had emerged in Lance’s eyes, a capacity for violence Will hadn’t glimpsed since the first few days after his friend’s return from Afghanistan.
Around noon they entered a dense woodland. Rows of long-leaf pines lined the Byway like sentries, woodpeckers hammered out staccato rhythms, eagles and ospreys soared overhead. That night they camped in a clearing next to a hardwood hammock, their backs to a stream. They were close to the sea, and the smell of brine drifted lazily on the breeze.
Mala said it was the last time they would risk a fire, as the next day they would enter the Southern Protectorate. Will preferred not to think about that. He sat on a log next to Caleb and warmed his hands.
“Do you miss home?” Will asked.
Caleb cracked off a piece of deadwood, broke it into pieces, and tossed them in the fire. “Sure.”
Will had asked the question facetiously, expecting Caleb to go on a rant about how much he missed video poker, Jager shots, Rebirth shows, and not having to worry about Protectorate patrols.
“You don’t sound convinced,” Will said.
“It’s not like I have much going on there.”
“I thought you liked your job.”
“It’s alright. Easy money and I get to knock a few back on the clock. Just pensive tonight, I guess.”
“Nervous about tomorrow?” Will said. “Entering the Southern Protectorate?”
“I’d actually forgotten about that. Thanks for the reminder.”
Will gave Caleb a sidelong glance. “Marguerite?”
Caleb looked surprised at the suggestion. “Nah, that’s cool. Though maybe my lack of skill at roguery has reinforced the fact that the only things I’m good at in life revolve around debauchery.”
“I sort of thought that was the point of your existence? You’re killing my worldview here.”
Caleb gave a half-smile. “Don’t get me wrong, little bro, I’m still me.” He gave Will a playful punch on the shoulder. “Forget it. If you haven’t noticed, we’re out of jungle juice. I’m sure that’s not helping my mood.”
“Why don’t you go ask Hashi for some crusty bootleg?”
“That stuff tastes like shoeshine.”
They sat in silence as bats circled and dodged in the moonlight. The Chickasaw twins were chatting across the fire, Alexander was setting wards, Hashi was checking the perimeter, Val and Lance were fiddling with their packs. Will didn’t know where Mala, Allira, and Marguerite were. Close, he hoped.
“You know what I miss?” Will asked. “Ice-cold Mountain Dew.”
After a few moments, Caleb nodded sagely. “Loaded nachos, hot wings, happy hour at Igor’s.”
“Yeah, but now we have fire-roasted wyvern and rich golden ale. Plus babes in leather.” Will crossed his hands behind his head and lay on his back. “I do miss home, but when have you ever felt this alive? The excitement, the mystery, the sense of not knowing what’s around the next corner? Monsters exist. Magic is real. What could be better?”
“Not getting eviscerated by the necromancer waiting for us back home, if we make it back. Don’t sugarcoat this, Will. You know what I miss about home? I miss walking down the street at night and not worrying about bandits slitting my throat, or trolls snatching me and cooking me over a fire.”
Will’s mouth tightened. “I haven’t forgotten Charlie or the alley or that . . . thing . . . that almost killed me in the mine. Not for one second. Just trying to lighten the mood. What’s with you tonight?”
Caleb didn’t answer.
Will drifted off to the murmur of voices by the fire. Sometime in the middle of the night he was awakened by a sharp crack. When his eyes popped open, an amber light filled his vision. The light faded, and he saw Mala crouching, sword drawn, next to the spent coals.
It didn’t look like a practice run.
“Alexander,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “What’s the meaning of this?”
The geomancer jumped to his feet, hair tousled with sleep. Lance, Allira, and Marguerite rose behind him. “Something tripped the wards,” Alexander said. “Let’s hope it was an animal.”
“Can they be broken?” Mala asked.
He shrugged into his cloak. “Not unless it’s a magical creature or a—”
Hashi and the twins galloped into the campsite, faces flush. “Bandits,” Hashi said. “Twenty, maybe more. The leader wields magic.”
“Wizard,” Alexander finished.
Mala swore. “Wouldn’t the wizard have to be more powerful than you to break the ward?”
“Most likely,” he said grimly.
“How far out did you set them?”
“Quarter mile.”
Moments later, Will heard shouting voices and crunching leaves from the direction of the Byway.
“Akocha and Fochik,” Mala continued in a rush, “make sure they don’t outflank us, then converge on the ends. Marguerite, take the brothers into the trees. Allira and Alexander, stay back and try for the wizard when you have an opening. Lance and Hashi, push forward with me.”
Will unsheathed his sword and moved next to Lance. Mala’s face tightened. “With Marguerite. Now.”
; Her voice had a ring of authority that seemed to physically move Will backwards. Will rejoined his brothers, knowing he wasn’t ready for battle but ashamed of the fact. “Watch yourself, Lance,” he called out.
Lance grunted. He had already turned in the direction of the bandits, war hammer in hand.
“Go!” Mala said.
Will wiped the gum of sleep from his eyes as Marguerite urged the brothers into the hardwood grove. He drew his sword and crouched into a fighting stance. He may not be ready for battle, but the battle might come to them.
As the incoming voices grew louder, adrenaline clogged Will’s pores, the anticipation of violence a greasy ball of dread bouncing and slipping inside his stomach. He tried to take long breaths to achieve some semblance of control, but panic was already constricting his airflow. He took short rapid breaths and then ran through his multiplication tables, doing everything in his power to stay calm.
Marguerite stopped twenty feet inside the wood. They turned with her to watch at least two-dozen bandits emerge from the woods like a horde of barbarians. It seemed like a hundred men to Will. A rough voice shouted a command in a foreign tongue, there was another sharp crack, and artificial blue light flooded the campsite.
Will gasped when he saw the leader, an eight-foot tall behemoth with a goblin’s head and a mass of fat and muscle that dwarfed even Hashi. He wielded a spiked iron mace, and in his other hand an arrow of ugly brown light was forming out of thin air.
“Ogre mage,” Marguerite breathed.
-28-
The ogre mage roared, a terrifying battle cry that scooped out Will’s insides and left him weightless with fear. The rest of the bandits, a dangerous looking crew of human fighters, raised their weapons and surged towards Mala, Hashi, and Lance. Jittery with adrenaline, Will paced back and forth and then took a step forward, unable to watch his friends get slaughtered.
Val laid a hand on his arm. “Let them do their jobs. You’ll only distract them.”
“We can’t just watch,” Will croaked.
“I know how you’re feeling,” Val said, and Will could see by the tightness in his brother’s face that he did, “but there’s nothing we can do. They’ll slaughter us.”
Will knew he was right. Still, the only thing that kept Will from racing out of the trees was the lingering force of Mala’s command, and the sight of Caleb huddled behind Marguerite. His brothers would need him if the battle edged closer.
Will heard screaming and saw two bandits drop at the corners of his vision, then two more. The twins’ arrows had found their marks. Mala threw a dagger and took out another on the front line.
A few of the bandits fired crossbow bolts. Alexander waved them out of the sky. The ogre mage bellowed and hurled his magical arrow straight at Alexander, through the haze of artificial illumination that surrounded the battle. The geomancer threw one of his stones and the ball morphed in midair, thinning and stretching into a shield. The arrow hit the shield, and both exploded.
Will heard the whir of Allira’s boomerang. Just before the projectile reached the ogre-mage, he flicked a hand and the boomerang bust in midair. Two more of Alexander’s stones whipped towards the ogre-mage, so fast Will could barely follow. The stones slowed as they reached the bandit leader, and he plucked them out of the sky and crushed them in his fists. Then he grinned, revealing rows of saw-like teeth.
The first wave of fighters was steps away from Mala, who stood an arms-length between Lance and Hashi. Mala drew a coil of rope out of the larger pouch at her side, then tossed the rope at the front line of bandits. The rope wrapped around all four men, constricting them with impossible speed. Will heard the snapping of bones all the way from the grove, cringing as the men’s screams filled the air.
Mala wasted no time. She whipped off her sash, twirling it in front of her to create space. There were still twenty men rushing forward, about to overwhelm them. Hashi moved forward beside Mala, just out of range of the sash, and swung his cudgel like a baseball bat, crushing the head of the lead man and catching another in the knees with his back swing.
Lance stepped up on the other side of Mala, blocked a sword thrust with his shield, and then brained his opponent with his hammer. He didn’t have anywhere near the presence of Mala or Hashi, who were swatting bandits like mosquitoes, but Lance held his own and protected Mala’s flank.
Still, the numbers were overwhelming, especially with an ogre-mage at their back. A cadre of bandits got smart and flanked the three fighters, coming up behind them. Allira cracked one in the skull with a whizzing boomerang, but two got through, one on each side. Will didn’t know what had happened to the twins, but their arrows had stopped flying into the melee.
“Lance!” Will screamed.
A few of the brigands’ heads turned toward the grove where Will and the others were concealed. Will didn’t care, because Lance dropped just in time to avoid impalement by a spear he hadn’t seen coming. Still on his back, he stopped the next thrust with his shield, then began a desperate battle to reach his feet.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw the ogre-mage and Alexander exchanging pyrotechnics. It was clear the ogre-mage was the stronger force, even with Allira distracting him with boomerangs.
Mala helped Lance to his feet, but one of the bandits slipped behind Hashi. The big man whirled in time to block the sword thrust, but another attacker stabbed Hashi in the side with a dagger. Will heard the Chickasaw grunt, but he didn’t even pause, turning the cudgel sideways and using it as a ram against the first man, snapping his head back so hard Will knew it had broken.
The other bandit thrust his dagger at Hashi again. With no time to recover, the Chickasaw warrior dropped his cudgel and caught his opponent by the arm, stopping the knife. Then he snapped the arm at the elbow, head butted the man in the face, threw his limp body at the next row of bandits, and picked up his cudgel.
The flanking attack had cost them. With Hashi pulled away from the center, Mala risked being overwhelmed. She let her sash fly into the lead man, drawing her curved dagger as the sash whipped around the bandit’s head and smashed into his skull. Four men rushed her, and she turned into a whirling dervish, dealing out pain and death with her two blades, attacking with such ferocity that the group of men behind the first four took a collective step backwards.
Lance went down again. Hashi rushed the man standing above him, his cudgel snapping the man’s spine. A swarm of men surrounded Mala, stepping over the pile of fallen brethren at her feet. Hashi and Lance moved to help her, but Will lost sight of her, and feared she had gone down.
Three more bandits peeled off to rush the trees hiding Will and the others. He knew his yell had betrayed their location. The bandits were coming at them on Caleb’s side. One stopped long enough to notch and fire an arrow, but Caleb reacted faster than Will had ever seen him move, swatting the arrow out of the sky with his left bracer.
“Get back!” Marguerite screamed, trying to corral the brothers behind her.
It was too late. The three bandits came at them in the moonlight, eyes crazed with bloodlust. Panic flooded Will’s system. He tried to open his mouth and hold his sword in front of him, but no sound issued forth, and he felt as if he were moving through quicksand.
No! he screamed at himself. Not now not now not now.
Val and Caleb crouched behind Marguerite. Val yanked on Will’s arm, but Will shook him off. He couldn’t let Marguerite take a sword for them. He fought through the panic and stepped forward, willing his arm to heave his sword upright, cursing his weakness every inch of the way.
The men were twenty feet and closing fast, their shrieks ringing through the trees. Will finally managed to scream, releasing some of the terrible pressure inside his chest. He could do this. Parry, strike, parry. It was just like the practice sessions.
Except he would die if he missed the target.
Ten feet away, the lead fighter pitched forward with an arrow sticking out of his back. Will’s eyes flew along the path o
f the missile and saw Akocha at the edge of the blue light, notching another arrow. As he drew the bowstring back, a woman in a long braid came up behind him and ran him through with her sword. Blood spurted from Akocha’s mouth as he slumped forward.
A wave of nausea swept over Will at the sight of Akocha gutted like a fish. He almost swooned, and his heart thumped against his chest like an out of control jackhammer. He could barely hold his sword upright.
Marguerite stepped forward to meet the second bandit, the clang of steel ringing in Will’s ears. Marguerite’s dagger met her opponent’s blade, and the rogue twisted her wrist on impact, trapping the bandit’s longer sword in one of the notched V’s of her trident dagger. Before her opponent could recover, Marguerite plunged a second dagger into his gut.
The third attacker was steps away from Will, sword cocked with both hands, too close for Marguerite to help. Will managed to block the first swing, but the force of the blow swatted Will’s sword from his nerveless fingers. He felt a burst of strength as his adrenaline finally overcame his shock and panic, but the bandit’s next blow was already on the way.
The sword struck him in the side, biting into flesh. Yet instead of cleaving through muscle and bone, the blade fell harmless to the ground. His attacker stumbled forward, hands fumbling to stop his entrails from spilling out of a wide gash in his stomach. Val stepped forward to finish the job, swiping the half-moon of azantite across the bandit’s throat.
The screams of the dying filled the night. Will’s chest felt as if it would explode. He pulled Val toward the clearing. “We have to help them,” he croaked.
This time Val didn’t resist. Marguerite joined them, and Caleb fell in behind Val, creeping through the trees, meeting Will’s gaze with wild and frightened eyes.
They reached the battleground just in time to see Mala and Hashi take out the last two bandits. Lance was alive but moaning on the ground. The artificial radiance had started to dissolve, turning the battlefield into a Pointillist painting of moonlight, gore, and motes of blue light.
