The nerves came last. Devin could feel their slick, ropy texture slide under the toes of his living foot. The youth felt the beast's muscles deaden.
The dragon screamed and reared around to snap at the pest biting its tail. Devin climbed up the edge of the beast's sacrum and the dragon started wheezing.
I will not let these knights slaughter you like baiting a dog in a pit. Your death will have the dignity you deserve. It's not right. They think they can kill magic creatures with impunity? Hunt us? Capture us? Torture us? No. Not anymore.
The youth felt around with his feet for more thin ropes leading away from the spine and gently cauterized them. The dragon wheezed as its hind legs collapsed beneath it. Devin bent his knees as the beast slammed into the beach and shook the ground. Let the earth tremble with our vengence.
The soldiers started cheering once more, venturing closer to the fading beast. The dragon scraped its head across the sand and grabbed a few of the metal men in his jaws. Devin had reached the shoulders and the dragon was flapping its gigantic wings. Devin clung to the Dragon's back desperately seeking the nerves which led to his heart. The dragon panted and rolled his eyes upwards. A thin trickle of flame licked around the edges of his lips and a large membrane glazed over and dimmed his fiery, yellow eyes. With one last breath and a shutter, the leviathan twitched in the sand and lay still. The flame extinguished.
Devin's sweat-drenched shirt clung to his body after his exertions. He peeled off the garment and threw it at the soldiers. The soldiers whooped and hollered. Some dropped their shields, others waved their swords in the air. The youth took a deep breath and let the sea spray cleanse the stench of death and sweat.
Rest easy, he patted the dragon with his foot. Your fight is over. Devin cupped his hands and yelled, “that was a declaration of war, you stupid bastards, not a victory rally.”
A few of the dragons began to move from their perches and approach the tableau on the beach. Devin planted his feet on the black drake's shoulders and raised his hands above his head. He shot a giant pillar of flame into the air. The dragons all reared on their haunches and responded in kind, surrounding the beach with a wall of shimmering flame. Then they dispersed, curling up in anticipation to watch the coming spectacle.
Devin stretched his arms, splitting the fiery red pillar into a 'V' as he glared at the army. The fires grew shorter and hotter, coiling towards his hands until his fists were white hot orbs of rage. The cheering among the army became ragged and tense. Your lives are mine, those fists whispered.
Some of the more cognizant soldiers gripped their weapons in a fighting stance. Two of the red knights with generals' insignias were attempting to marshal and discipline their men.
The third general, the one who threw his sword, was nonplussed by the pillar of flame. The man hauled himself off the ground and brushed the sand off his armor. “State your name, Corelian, that we may know you better,” the old gray beard said. He braced one of his crimson greaves against the shelf-like zygomatic crest beneath the dragon's eye and tugged at his sword. The blade wrenched free with a loud, sickening squelch. The man took a cloth and wiped away the thick, translucent ichor. “I am General Festus of the Red Army. I hail from the Iron Empire.”
Devin chuckled, shaking his wrists and extinguishing the white fire as he hopped down off the dragon. “Oh, I know all about the glorious Red Army. We used to call you the lobsters: you're spineless little bottom crawlers and no good in a pinch. Pretty red shells though.”
“You dare insult us?” One of the smaller generals garbled as the gray beard waved his colleague down.
“Your actions speak more eloquently than your words, young mage,” Festus said, sheathing his sword and bowing. “Dragons are fearsome opponents and my men have a more urgent task beyond taming this wretched place. We are here to vanquish a dangerous criminal. But you defeated one of the monstrous beasts who threatened our mission and warned off the others. So despite your sharp tongue, you have my gratitude.”
“You misunderstand, General. I killed that drake to rescue him from your butchery. And I wasn't warning the other dragons to save your pathetic lives. I kept them away because the task of killing your army belongs to me and I don't want to share the pleasure. I was expecting Black Guards to come for me, but you'll do.” Devin walked up to the old soldier and braced his foot opposite the general's. “My name is Devin the Artifice Mage and I am your urgent task.”
The general did not gape or sneer as the youth expected. He bowed again, lower this time, until his beard nearly touched the sand. “Of course, I see that now. How unfortunate. Forgive me for missing your signature metal appendage, Artifice Mage. Reports on the thing failed to highlight its magnificence.” The general straightened his back and very carefully did not reach for his sword. “So you are Devin? Then, I regret that you must take my gratitude to your grave. You face the steel of the Red Army: body, blade, and soul. Magic is the coward's weapon. A cheat. Face us with cold steel in your heart.”
“None of your men will leave this beach alive,” Devin said. “You only thought you faced a dragon before. I am the real dragon.”
“You are a child with an odd foot and curious delusions,” Festus said, the first hint of scorn creeping into his voice. “You call yourself a dragon, boy? I've faced those flaming demon spawn before. I've walked through the roasted remains of enemies and allies. I've seen real dragons. You don't measure up.”
“I. Am. A. Dragon,” Devin yelled, pointing to his chest with one flame-shrouded finger.
General Festus ignored the tiny, magic flame with the same aplomb that he had ignored the towering, magic flame. The man raised his sword and gestured to the black, scaly corpse beside them. He smirked. “You just vanquished the real dragon. Does that not make you more of a knight instead? You'll forgive me if I don't invite you to join our ranks.”
Devin inhaled. He exhaled. Ah, the scent of the sea. And this old fool pokes dragons. “All this fresh, salty air. I think I'm in the mood for lobster bisque. Won't you join me, General? No, please, join me.” Devin gathered power in his fist to swat the man aside and pin that plate mail body against the dragon's corpse.
Devin reached towards the general and swatted nothing. It was like trying to grab mist. A hollow, keening shriek reverberated from within the general's cuirass. The man's eyes widened and his raised sword dropped point first into the sand.
“What was that?” Devin held a hand cupped to one ear. “Something about magic and cowards, General? Is that a magic talisman draped around your neck? Do I detect a core of brassy sorcery beneath all your burnished steel?”
“I did not know,” the general gasped, clutching his chest. The watch rattled against his sternum and rang the cuirass like a bell.
“I don't believe you.” Devin smiled, lowering his arms and crossing them. “Are you a man who follows your principles, General Festus? I agree, magic is cheating. Oh, but there are so many ways to cheat in a fight. How many soldiers did you bring to this beach? How many to hunt one lonely, little, barefoot mage?”
“I have . . . 500 men,” Festus wheezed, reaching a finger under his gorget and pulled the chain with a sharp yank. He raised the watch from the depths of his armor into the light and glared at it.
Devin reached out and sent another magic pulse. The watch vibrated in the general's hand and the man nearly dropped it.
“Tricks!” The general spun his forearm and whirled the chain like a sling, flinging the brass watch towards Devin. “We don't need magic. We have the finest mechanized armor in the world.”
“And I'm not even wearing a shirt,” Devin clucked. “You lobsters have a pretty carapace and lovely crimson claws. Any other time I would love to spend hours examining the pure, simple mechanics you cover up with all that tawdry filigree. But any armor is only as strong as its gears and joints, General. If you're not careful, a more natural red pigment will seep inside. I don't need to attack you with fire. Water will do.”
Patches of
rust began to appear on the general's shining armor. Soldiers started to come to the general's assistance but he waved them away. Festus approached Devin, sweat beading at his gray temples. The man's movements grew stiffer and he groaned, sheathing his sword. The gears in the armor began to grind and wheeze. Smoke trickled, then billowed from the joints. Rust covered half his suit and the armor began to flake. He continued his dogged advance, moving like a man wading through neck deep morass. The gears screamed and then locked.
General Festus stood face to face with Devin, a rust-colored statue. “So I am immobile. Don't confuse that with defeat. We fight with the steel in our hearts, not our hands.” He turned his face and spat on the beach. “Will you do the same, Artifice Mage?”
“No.” Devin stomped the ground with his metal foot and the Red Army sank into a depression in the sand. A few soldiers screamed as the youth raised his arm and warm water began to rise. One unit of heat across a given volume of water will excite the particles within, Devin thought as the screams escalated, transforming the liquid to a gas. Are you excited yet, you little lobsters? Does the passion to hunt mages boil in your veins?
“Don't . . .” the general pleaded with his eyes when his voice would not allow it. “My men don't deserve to die like creatures in a pot. Fight them if you must. Kill them if you can. But honor their pride. Face them like a soldier. Face them with steel.”
“But I have no sword.” Devin clenched his fist and pouring more energy into the water.
“Use mine.” Festus shook his head and bit off the words. “No, we must do this properly. I give you my sword, Devin the Artifice Mage. It has served my family for generations and I offer it with a glad heart. Take this blade as a sign of my surrender. As a gift for ridding us of the black beast. You saved many lives, regardless of your odd intentions. I offer this blade freely as a token for a valiant foe. May it serve you well.”
“Thank you, General. How can I refuse such a gift?” Devin patted the old soldier on the cheek and unsheathed the sword. The general is right. This is too much like torture, he conceded. And I am not a torturer. The youth let the simmering water recede and transferred his energy into the bastard sword.
“My men are well equipped with the latest armor, young Artificer Mage,” Festus said calmly as the screaming continued. “You've already ruined mine with rust. It would be a shame to corrode the delicate mechanisms in theirs with boiling salt water.”
The sword began to glow. “Relax, general. I'm a dragon, not a monster. Lobster bisque isn't really to my taste. Your men may face me in the field of combat . . . such as it is.” The youth scuffed the sand. “Did you not hear your General, soldiers of the empire? Climb out of your sandy pit and face me with your pride and armor intact.”
“We shall make a knight of you yet,” the general said as the youth hugged the old man's rusted armor and muscled it around to face the army. Devin kicked the watch towards the general with his metal foot as he passed, brass magic clanging against steel craftsmanship. He strode down the beach to get away from the draining effects of the cursed, brass talisman. Let it keep protecting the general. The old man was no longer a part of this fight.
The magic does not control me. I control the magic. Finesse. Strategy. Like a dragon. Devin held the sword aloft over his head, more energy coursing through his finger tips. The blade blazoned, transforming into eye searing, white liquid metal to rival the sun. He smiled as the first wave of soldiers clambered over the edge and stared. A lone captain on a white horse smacked the more awestruck soldiers while two of the generals dressed their lines. The front rank split into two groups, cast aside their shields, raised their swords, and charged. One general led the left column arcing right; the second led the right column arcing left. Devin watched, bemused.
The lobsters are attempting a pincer movement. Glorious! So many soldiers. I can feel the ground vibrate, Devin mused as he turned to the prone General Festus. “I'm using steel, General, as promised. But in the spirit of knightly codes of conduct, I must warn your army.” I made a promise to myself as well as to Festus. No more hiding behind chaos. I do this willingly and precisely. Magic may claim no responsibility for my actions. Magic is but a tool hanging on my belt.
The mage in his head started muttering. Devin squashed the fickle creature deep within his mind. He felt the artificer's silent approval.
The youth faced the soldiers and stabbed his sword into the ground. “Hear me, oh steel-heart knights of the empire,” he shouted, amplifying his voice through the thrumming blade and sending his own vibrations across the beach. A round wall of sound projected from the epicenter of the sword, sending compressed waves through the air as power surged through the weapon into the ground.
“My heart is in the magic as much as the steel.” Devin smiled he tossed ruins and rubble into the sky and sand swirled through the air. The sight was distracted as an epiphany intruded on his vengeance. At last, I have uncovered the secret of circular magic effects, he crowed. Don't try and constrain the forces from the outside, anchor them from the inside. Huzzah! Several of the soldiers had been knocked to the ground. Devin sneered. “Crawl on your bellies, worms. You face a genuine sorcerer’s sword reforged in fury and magic flame like the battle mages of old. I am no knight.” The ground rippled as he laughed. “I am the Artifice Mage.”
23. DEVIN, YEAR 496
Devin's naked torso rippled as he abandoned his sword and waded through scattered pieces of mangled, clockwork armor and gray-veined, white marble masonry. The rocks look like ghostly chunks of cold flesh with flat, drained blood vessels.
The youth tore his eyes away from the rocks and focused on the bits of armor. He admired the artistic lines and complex worm gears and pistons as he used his own mechanized limb to gently kick aside the metal debris, a task made easier by the way most things were half floating. Corpses were the only things floating in the sea: all the ships and boats had either left or sunk. The youth tried to concentrate on cloth and armor as he weaved through the mess and climbed over rubble to avoid touching any of the shattered bodies.
Devin finally found a lonely corpse bobbing face down that was more exposed armor than flesh and tore a wide, linen scrap off the man's shirt. The Artifice Mage found a clean corner, dunked it in the sea, and then wiped his cheeks and his neck. He touched the cloth to his lips and spat.
The brine of the body tastes too much like the sea, Devin thought. He braced his metal foot on the back of the man's cuirass to clean his blood splattered, brass toenails, trying to remove the stain from his steel foot what he could not purge from his iron clad heart. Or remove from his hands. He just smeared the blood around, tinging the brass. Abby was right. Devin looked down at his dripping fingers. I am nothing but a bloodthirsty wolf with black oil in his veins.
The toenails had been Styx's bright innovation so that their nails would match as father and son. Thoughts of Styx brought a brief, happy respite as the heavy air returned to choke him. It's this smell, Devin thought, staring at the bloody, broken desolation of rocks and flesh and twisted metal surrounding him. An imperial battalion lay scattered across the beach, red plate mail shucked, limbs contorted beneath the strewn rubble.
Was that an arm reaching out? Some of these soldiers were little more than children wrapped in armor. They all looked the same when they were trying to kill me, he whispered in the dark depths of his mind. But it was a quiet, futile thought.
The more Devin looked, the more little arms he saw. Familiar, little arms. He started to see his little sister trapped beneath every blood smeared pile of debris. His vision flickered. The marble blocks began to warp into lime dusted bricks. Even the distant, hairy corpses slimmed and contorted into pale, girlish figures, all reaching for him. Crying out to him in that gentle, sweet, bratty voice he had suppressed for years. No, Devin whimpered, not her. Not now. He clutched the sides of his head, trying to squeeze the voice back inside the depths of his mind.
Devi! Devi! His sister called. He could almost
feel her tugging at his sleeve. Gonna do that trick with the rocks? Gonna make the pebbles fly inna air, Devi? We playin hide and seek, now? Where are you, Devi? I can't find you. Don't wanna die. Devi, I don't wanna die. Why didn't you protect me? Why, Devi, why?
The youth screamed to drown out her pleas and quell his anguish. But the visions of her face, her body, and her fragile, little arm followed Devin when he closed his eyes. He pried them open and scanned the corpses frantically, drawn to the most gruesome wounds, searching for the most masculine bodies. He sought chiseled chins, beards, and broad shoulders. Smashed skull: dead. Not Misera. Popped eyeballs: dead. Not my sister. Armor pounded to scrap: dead. He's not my little sister either. He's just a man, just a dead man. Legs wrenched off: dead. Dead. Dead.
Devin stared into the heavens, imploring the five gods to help him forget again. Sword in the ground. Rocks and rubble. That's all. Don't dwell on what happened next. You blinked and they were dead.
The youth gulped great mouthfuls of tangy, salty air, but the blood tainted it. He held his nose and clenched his jaw as if to deny himself the life force he had stolen. He couldn't stand the smell anymore. His knees sagged as he stared across the beach. If granting life is the domain of the gods, what right have I to steal it? Please, please tell me I did not slaughter them all. Am I nothing but a killer? A miserable wolf with cold, sallow eyes and blood dripping down his jaws?
As if in response, one man puked in the distance. Devin gasped and dared to breathe again. Gulls plucked and fought over the offal on the beach. The stench of vomit drifted in the wind, mixing with the blood. Devin ran back to his sword with the blade still planted in the sand, bracing himself over the pommel as his knees collapsed beneath him.
The tide had risen during the battle without him noticing as the crumbling city surveyed the battlefield on its western borders. Would the ancients cheer, Devin wondered. The ancient battle mages had finally returned to Port Eclare in glorious triumph.
The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 47
