The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  “Despite involving mages, this is no longer a strictly domestic affair. It passes beyond our borders and my jurisdiction. I humbly beseech you. The Black Guards require the assistance of the Red Army,” the magistrate sighed, “to tidy things up.”

  “You don't just want our assistance,” General Onus screeched. “You want us to mop up the whole damn mess for you. A mess you created.”

  “It would place the Black Guards in our debt,” General Reaper mused. “We will need to pull support from all the provinces to field any sort of respectable standing army again. And the personal gratitude of the Magistrate of the Western Province could go a long way towards realizing our failed capitol ambitions.”

  Capitol ambitions, the magistrate snorted in his mind. Is that what the army's calling it? The emperor exiled you to the provinces after he killed the ringleader of a military coup you failed to thwart. And you think he will let you boys back to play in the capitol at my behest? You lost that game before it began. Stick to marching troops and leave the political sandbox to me.

  “I would love to support you,” the magistrate wrung his hands, “but as the originator of the current crisis, my office has no pull whatsoever with either the emperor or the bureaucracy in the capitol. Gentlemen, you see standing here before you a political pariah.” He shrugged. “I fear we may be on our own. So, how may the resources of the Western Province assist you?”

  “You're a lame politico,” Onus sneered, flicking his fingers through the plume on his helmet. “You've just admitted as much. Why should we assist you when your gratitude is so worthless?”

  True, my gratitude is hollow political coin these days. You boys need something more fungible . . . like a great martial victory. And I need one of you garrison troopers to get off your red armored asses and realize it. I need to make my one man menace a more juicy threat. Or find some nice, fat senators stuck vacationing in Corel. Where is Captain Vice with that report? Damned if I don't actually need the man, now.

  “Reaper made a salient point you seem to be ignoring, Onus,” General Festus rumbled, stroking his gray beard. “The magistrate's domestic connections and local influence here in the Western Province could be useful.” The magistrate was taken aback by how alike and yet how different the general sounded next to poor Colonel Irkoff. While Irkoff had spent years trying to shed his village twang, the general's accent had grown rougher, refusing to let his surroundings dictate who he was. The man was almost admirable.

  “I said no such thing,” Reaper protested, pointing out the window where faint sword clashes still echoed off the walls. “Do you hear that? The parade ground out there is bursting with new recruits . . . for the Black Guards, gentlemen, all for the Black Guards. Must be hard finding billets for them all, Magistrate.” He rolled his eyes. “We have no such problems at HQ, do we?”

  “I believe Festus made some mention of local influence? My dear man,” Goins said, reaching across the table to pat the magistrate's clasped hands. “I hear you revitalized the City Council? Could you bend those formidable administrative talents to revitalizing our flagging recruitment?”

  They're getting off topic, the magistrate thought, plunging his hands beneath the table to wipe the sweat of Goins's greasy fingers on his robes. Where is Captain Vice? You want my help pushing young lads into that travesty you call an army? There's a reason nobody but miscreants and vagrants joins the Red Army . . .

  “General Festus,” the magistrate consulted his notes. “When was the last recorded dragon attack on our western frontier?”

  “That calamity was 30 years ago, Magistrate,” Festus replied, scratching his bushy, silver beard. “We were conducting war games and one brigade of mechanized armor veered too close to the mountains. Five large, male drakes descended from the clouds. They attacked like the wrath of the five gods. Their mouths were portals of fang and flame. The ground became ash. The sky was on fire. Men cooked in their armor. No screaming. No cries. Just silent, roasting death.”

  “And you were a colonel in that brigade, sir?” the magistrate asked quietly.

  “Yes,” Festus growled, nodding his head. “Promotions rained down like dragon fire after that massacre.”

  “Of course, we vanquished the foes, eh Festus?” Onus asked, winking at his compatriot while Reaper and Goins waved their arms frantically. “Did you march back to the capitol with their giant lizard heads mounted on your pikes?”

  Festus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “These were five male dragons in their prime against 1,500 knights. That's one drake per 300 fighting men. We encroached on the beasts' hunting territory unwittingly. We challenged them with the might of our army. We were not so mighty after; a mere 32 walking wounded marched back to the capitol, Onus. Not even enough left to bury the fallen. We made a cairn for the dead from their shattered armor. We quick marched on broken limbs and bloody stumps lest the beasts return. More died on the road home. We dug shallow graves where they fell when we did not just kick them under the bushes to rot. No, Onus,” he shook his head, silent tears dripping down his beard. “The Red Army did not vanquish the foes that day.”

  “May the five gods embrace them,” the magistrate said quietly, steepling his fingers and bowing his head. “I am so sorry for your loss, General Festus. A grim day indeed.”

  “1,500 knights,” Festus grumbled. “Can you even comprehend the magnitude of that number, Magistrate? With your pithy, little companies of guards scattered across the empire here and there? 1,500 men all gone in a single afternoon. I lost . . . many friends.” He glared at General Reaper. “And you talk of gathering armies? This is about Corel, Magistrate. Don't lie to me. You want to march an army into that dragon infestation. I wouldn't lead men through those mountains if Emperor Horatio II descended from his precious alabaster throne and kissed my feet.”

  The magistrate stood and held up his hands to placate the old soldier. He heard faint, hurried footfalls growing louder as they sprinted down the hallway and stopped outside the door. It's about time, he thought, turning towards General Festus with a contrite expression. “I do not propose we venture through the mountains, General Festus, but around them. Let us not repeat the folly of the past. But make no mistake, gentlemen. This new mage threat is the next dragon at our doorstep.” The magistrate glanced at the door. “If we fail to eliminate this threat, the empire will burn. And we will burn with it.” Still no? How many dramatic cues does that pompous wretch require?

  “Well, I'm hearing a lot about what we cannot do and what we should not do,” General Goins said. “What exactly are you proposing? You've been building to something . . .” He smacked the wide, wooden oval separating them all. “Why not just lay it on the table, Magistrate?”

  “He's been doing what?” Onus yelled, jumping up like a little, red flea. “Are we dogs to be led around on a leash by this black-robed ruffian? Why should we sit here and listen to this?”

  The magistrate let the silence lengthen as he shuffled his notes. He sneered behind the ruffled pages at the door. Still waiting for that perfect moment, Captain Vice? Well, the stage is set, much like a deadfall. The curtain is dropping, Captain, on your head. “I would never presume to lecture the empire's own lords of warfare on strategy,” the magistrate demurred. “But there may be a way we can field a battalion to eliminate the mage, bypass the dragon problem entirely, and . . . shall we say curry favor for the army and my humble self among appropriate parties in the cap . . .”

  “Ships, my lords.” Armand Delacourt Vice strode into the room, doffed his white-plumed hat, and bowed to all present. He managed to make the broken feather in his cap look dashing. “Our salvation lies upon the river route. Forgive me for not coming sooner. I was . . . detained.” He glared at the door closing behind him as Jemmy retreated from the room.

  Finally! The magistrate almost bit his tongue clenching his jaw. “Gentlemen,” he gestured towards the captain.“Allow me to introduce my field agent, Captain Vice.”

  Vice pu
lled him close. “After my report, sir, I must investigate your personal library to research the nature of the enemy.”

  “Of course.” The magistrate fluttered his fingers. “You may borrow any books you desire in pursuit of the enemy. But first, Captain, I believe you can tell us more about the Corel situation?”

  “Our target is the Mage Devin,” Vice said. “An inexperienced youth. I believe you likened him to a dragon at our door, sir?”

  “Listening in, were you, Captain Vice?” General Onus sneered. “Ear planted on the door? Spying on your betters?”

  “I hesitated to interrupt your deliberations,” Vice clasped his hands. “I am but a lowly captain amongst great generals.”

  General Onus sat back in his chair, apparently mollified.

  “Hardly a mature dragon,” the magistrate murmured. “Would 500 men not suffice to kill a scaly whelp out in the plains, General Festus, if we can sneak you past all the adult dragons in the mountains? What did they call baby dragons in Corel, Captain?”

  “Wyrms, sir. Pitiable creatures hunted for sport,” Vice replied.

  “A full 300 men did not suffice for a drake in his prime . . .” Festus hesitated.

  “An untested stripling,” the magistrate laughed. “A broken, maimed ex apprentice barely come into his magic. Hardly the sort to roast men alive.”

  “But that young man demolished South District?” General Reaper asked. “Created wooden monsters? Destroyed that town . . .?”

  “The township of Ingeld,” Captain Vice replied. “He tore out the roads, terrifying imperial tourists in that despicable place.”

  “What an unstable character,” the magistrate said, clucking his tongue. “It is true, the youth made a bit of a mess in the streets here before half a company of Black Guards subdued him and he seems to enjoy playing with wooden dolls and tossing rocks and rubble. Are you saying a full battalion of Red Army soldiers is not up to the task of handling one lonely, crippled, little mage?”

  Onus leaped to his feet while Festus was still raising his finger, Reaper was at a loss for words, and Goins was scratching his head. “What are you implying, man? 500 men versus one boy?”

  “The captain is right,” the magistrate cried, smacking his open palm with a clenched fist. “Load your men onto ships. Take them south, bypass the mountains, and establish a forward base here,” he pointed to the map, “at the ruins of Port Eclare.”

  “I've heard nasty stories about Port Eclare,” Festus murmured.

  “I have heard those selfsame stories, General. An amateur historian collects such tales. One of the reasons the good captain wishes to raid my library. Merely quaint, local legends,” the magistrate assured him.

  “Hmm, I see,” Reaper said, examining the map. “Once we circumnavigate those mountains, we can strike straight into the heart of Corel. Why not simply sail upriver? Captain?”

  “The Ripscale River would require a steam dredge to accommodate our ships, sir,” Vice replied. “At best, she is a highway for barge traffic. You must land at the port.”

  “The mission is clear, gentlemen.” The magistrate stood. “Vanquish the young mage; save our imperial citizens. Rescue the families of all those powerful men stuck in the capitol anguishing over the fates of their loved ones. There may even be a cousin of the emperor cowering, trapped, waiting for our brave boys in red. Gentlemen, seize this chance. You even have a fresh guide who knows his way around the country: Captain Vice.”

  “With respect, sir,” Vice saluted. “I was prepping Sergeant Jemmy to lead this expedition. I have been too long away . . .”

  “Nonsense, Captain, this duty is an officer's billet. I would send Jemmy, forgive me, Sergeant Jemmy, but what does the average sergeant know of coordinating attacks and planning large scale strategical employments? Sergeants lead from the fore with their swords drawn. This mission needs a thinker, a strategist to distill our tactical theories into proper military parlance.”

  Festus glanced at Reaper and Goins, who both nodded. He ignored Onus. “If this man is everything you say, then Captain Vice is more than acceptable. But we have never seen the captain in action and your sergeant seems highly qualified.”

  “The wrong qualifications, I assure you,” the magistrate insisted. “I know for a fact that while poor Sergeant Jemmy is a masterful distiller of recruits into fighting men, that is hardly the same as distilling thoughts into tactics is it? The man owns not a single book. Why, I doubt the good sergeant could even pronounce the word 'strategy.' Whereas Armand Delacourt Vice is a philosopher, a captain, and a natural leader of men.”

  “Sir, I . . .” Vice began to say something.

  “My good Captain Vice.” The magistrate rolled right over him. “Why, your first task today was to raid my bookshelves and quench your thirst for knowledge of the enemy. This mission suits you perfectly. And due to your prior mission, you are now intimately familiar with Corelian topography. Go, Captain. Liaise. Your country needs you. The Red Army needs you . . . like a throbbing boil on its ass. Farewell, Captain. May the army give you the treatment you deserve, you pestiferous little pustule.

  The generals rose. “Consider it done,” Festus said, clasping the magistrate's hands. “We shall all reconvene in the capitol next year to toast our victory. Come, lads, we have a campaign to plan.”

  “Farewell, gentlemen. A moment of your time, General. I want you to have something.” The magistrate held the man's palm open as the other generals exited and removed the brass watch from his robes. His fingers caressed the fingerprints melted into the casing as he set the heavy watch into the general's cupped hands.

  “I cannot accept this gift,” the general said, shaking his head.

  “You can and you will.” The magistrate closed the general's fingers gently over the watch. “Consider this a token of my esteem and a good luck piece. It's the least I can do.”

  Festus clutched the watch, scowling. “I know something of these talismans. You guards use them to subdue your magical quarry. We defeat our foes with the strength of our steel and the mechanical might of our armor, not sorcerous frippery, sir.”

  “You hunt a different class of foe now, General,” the magistrate said. “Please, take the watch. In the end, it's nothing more than another layer of specialized armor. This merely deflects magic bolts instead of sword strokes. Surely you would not face the enemy in your small clothes? Consider it a personal gift from an old man who regrets sending others to do his job.”

  Festus nodded and his scowl softened. “Then I thank you for your present, Magistrate. I hope I am worthy of it.”

  Armand Vice hung back, still waiting to talk to the magistrate. The captain stared at the brass watch clutched in the general's mailed fist with a mixture of longing and despair.

  The mercenaries reported you surrendered your watch to taunt a merchant's daughter? Poor taste and poor choices, Captain. The guard who surrenders his watch to you today knows he will be dismissed tomorrow. Will that towering ego let you retrieve yours or steal one like a common thief? “Dismissed, Captain,” the magistrate said. “Please send in Sergeant Jemmy behind you. I believe he's waiting outside. Good afternoon, Sergeant.”

  “Sir, I could not help but overhear . . .” Jemmy said after Vice saluted and marched away grumbling.“Based on your notes about the abilities of the mage Devin and the competency of the Red Army, that mission, all those soldiers . . .”

  “. . . are doomed,” the magistrate nodded, frowning and closing the door, “and Captain Vice along with them. If those poor soldiers are the blood price my soul must pay for its vengeance, I will pay.” His face twisted in a mask of agony. “It was my duty to warn them, Jemmy.” The magistrate closed his eyes. His face cleared. “Sergeant, I have a special assignment for you and a promotion.”

  “Sir?” Jemmy replied, chewing his lip.

  “I need you to lead a company of Black Guards after the Red Army fails to stop Devin and lures the boy out of hiding. Sneak through the mountain pass. A small b
ody of knights won't attract the dragons' attentions. Move by night to avoid the kingdom's army as well. Our first invasion will have them in a frenzy. I need a captain I can trust: a tactician, not a librarian. Someone to lead our lads into a brighter future.”

  “Sir, I must protest this unwarranted promotion. I feel unqualified for such an august position.”

  “We will use this as an opportunity to clean the ranks,” the magistrate said, ignoring Jemmy's protests. “Take Colonel Irkoff and his cronies with you. He is the worst of Captain Vice's sycophants. The man is an ardent mage hunter and you will be hunting a dangerous mage. Use him. Use him up if need be. Vice is to have no allies, no succor left among the guards. Do you understand, Captain?”

  “My place is leading the troops on the parade ground or charging across the field, sir, not marching pencils across a desk. I regret to inform you that I am not officer material, sir.”

  “Oho, but I am sending you out into the field one last time. Best get all those battle urges out of your system during your time in Corel.” The magistrate patted the table and grinned. “Then your new desk and your new responsibilities await you.”

  “Sir, you can't . . . not legally. Sergeant to captain in one day?”

  “Lecture me on the law, will you? The law is not the shining idol Armand Vice would have you believe, Jemmy. She is a cruel, self-serving bitch. I've already committed political suicide, but I shall rest easy knowing I leave my Black Guards in your capable hands. No one will contest either the rank or the claim after you beat the dreaded mage menace and rescue all those pampered, imperial lapdogs. This is your last assignment; go do your duty, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir,” Captain Jemmy saluted. “I will honor your wishes.”

  “You must lead the men against the monster I unleashed upon the world. Devin is still our responsibility and he still belongs to the empire, despite the law and despite him. We will execute that boy as an imperial citizen, not thrash him like a chained dog.” His eyes lost focus as they stared at something only he could see. “Devin deserves more than justice, Captain. Grant him mercy.”