Something's wrong. Where is all the cultured anger? The restrained malice? Devin whispered in his head, peering into the rider's hood. His blazing sword lowered.
Festus's sigh was like the thunderclap heralding an avalanche as the general surged forward and sliced his sword deep into the horse's neck. Arterial blood spurted as the animal bellowed and leaped into the air. The rider attempted to leap free, but his foot caught in the stirrup as the horse stumbled to the unyielding sand, packed hard by the charge of the dead battalion and then soaked in water and blood. The horse toppled on her side, pinning the man's leg as he tried to crawl away.
Devin stepped closer, though whether to give aid or gloat, he could not say. The beast's eyes went wide with panic as she snorted the blood-soaked ground. She screamed and pawed at the beach, flinging grit and crushing the rider's lower leg beneath her thrashing bulk. The man's bones snapped like twigs.
The rider screamed. Devin closed his eyes, trying to savor that sound. He thought Vice's pain would bring him joy, but he felt nothing but sick shock. The youth opened his eyes. The general was cleaning his borrowed sword. The horse was shuddering and foaming at the mouth. The rider was muttering furious oaths as he struggled and kicked weakly at the beast with his unencumbered foot.
The cloaked man trapped beneath the horse twisted his body and struggled vainly to wriggle his way out from under the beast. The man's exertions threw back his hood and Devin found himself staring into the dark, bewildered eyes and ashen, clean shaven face of Cornelius Gander, Master Magician.
24. DEVIN, YEAR 496
The old wizard ground his molars. “Not quite the warm welcome I was expecting,” he said between clenched teeth. “You must introduce me to your sword swinging confederate, Devin, so that I may greet him in a similar manner. I see plenty of swords here.”
As if you've ever swung a blade in your life, old man. Devin planted his sword in the ground and waved Festus away as the general leaped to assist his mistaken foe. “A case of mistaken identify, Cornelius. I . . . we . . . thought you were Captain Vice.”
“You thought I was Captain Vice?” Cornelius asked, smacking the dying horse with his fist. “Why?”
“Because you came riding up like a mysterious phantom after I fought the soldiers and you wore one of those watches like a pendant and talked about stopping me like a rabid dog.” Because I willed for the pale rider to be Cornelius. Because for a brief, violent moment, despite all the killing, I still craved horrible, blood curdling vengeance on my nemesis.
“What did you think this stupid brass boondoggle was for?” Cornelius heaved the brass watch at Devin's head.
“I've already got one of those.” May the gods piss on me if I'll stoop to collecting the damn things like trophies. The youth caught the watch and tossed it back to the wizard who sighed and draped it around his neck again. “And where is your beard?” Devin asked. “Old wizard equals beard. If you only had your beard, we would have realized that you weren't Captain Vice.”
Devin and Festus attempted to lever the dead horse with a pair of discarded pikes so the old wizard could drag his leg out from under the prone beast. The youth placed a metal log at the optimal fulcrum point to shift what he assumed a horse weighed. It's just a log. A metal log. And for a wonder, those physical science lessons the guild put me through are finally useful for something.
“Stop! I'm still caught in the stirrup. You're just pressing the abdomen of the beast into my broken leg,” Cornelius screamed.
Devin sighed. “The pikes just aren't tall or strong enough to reach all the way under the horse while maintaining enough leverage to lift its body. Did you bring any long, iron bars?”
“No.” The general shook his head. “If a pike will not do, a sword may suffice. We must bisect the animal along the axis of the wizard and then lever the horse half which traps him with the one that does not.”
The artifice mage and the general eased the beast back onto the ground. “I'll get my sword,” Devin sighed, still reluctant to wield the blade.
The wizard unclasped his cloak and threw it. “By the breath of the five gods, it's stuffy tonight. Thought I was Vice, eh? Because Vice talks about seeing his own body impaled on a pike and Vice cannot possibly grow a beard as easily as I can shave one. Sometimes, I wonder about you, Devin.”
“I thought you were referring to yourself sarcastically in the third person,” Devin whispered, pulling his sword from the sand. “It's something snide that Vice would do.” Why did the general and I never question our assumption of the rider's identity? Did we both want to confront Captain Vice so much we conjured his ghost from a brass pendant and hooded cloak? What would I do if Vice was actually here lying prone and trapped? Would that make me happy?
“Would he? I cannot claim to know. If you must know about my beard,” Cornelius stammered, “I wanted to look young again before I lose my hair entirely. Well?” He waggled his bushy eyebrows with a rakish flair. “Do I look younger or not?”
Festus shook head and his own salt and silver beard swayed. “In the end, age spares no man the cruelest lash, sir.”
Cornelius looks as old as he's ever looked, but maybe less distinguished or mature? Devin's eyes narrowed. “Look younger for whom?”
“For myself. Just for myself. What does that matter now?” Cornelius said, dismissing the matter with a flip of his hand.
“Why are you here, Cornelius?” Devin braced his glowing sword on the taunt skin between the horse's ribs and the stiff, black hairs began to smoke and scorch. The youth sawed back and forth, cutting slowly through the beast's vertebrae. “And why ride straight through a catastrophe of dragons?”
“To answer your second question first,” the wizard said, “anyone who has ever read my Guide to Fantastique Magick Creatures much less authored it knows dragons are no danger after they curl up for the evening, even if they could be bothered to hunt one lone man. You should have remembered that detail. I suspect you were distracted by other tiny, insignificant events.”
“It's a warm night,” Devin said, waving his arms. The arrogance of that man. Tiny, insignificant events, indeed. “It's not inconceivable a large beast with a temperature linked metabolism would bestir itself without the warmth of the sun to fuel . . . I'm just turning a wyrm hole into a wyvern pit, aren't I?”
“A charming command of classic idioms, lad, although you fail to address the glaring allometry conundrum.” Cornelius shook his head. “A year away from your studies and your mind is already dulling. Such a waste. Such a pity that you persist in choosing violence over scholarship to express your magic. But on to more pressing matters. We can reminisce about dragon physiology later.”
“Cornelius dropping a scholarly debate like a hot coal?” Ah, the arguing. The give and take. It's like the last year never happened. I've missed you, old man. Devin asked, pressing his fingers against the wizard's forehead. “You really did injure yourself. Are you you sure you're not feeling feverish, Master Cornelius?”
“Hush, Devin. Don't you 'Master Cornelius' me. This is important. With regards to your first question, there are disturbing rumors and reports from the Royal Army. Another contingent of your countrymen just entered the country through the northern pass and marches towards Ingeld.” Cornelius glared at General Festus. “A company of Black Guards. Moving slowly to avoid the army, thank the five gods. With a fast horse, which that stupid soldier just butchered, we could have made it back in time to repel the invasion.”
“General Festus, sir, at your service.” The man bowed stiffly. “My officers should have several horses on hand with which to replace your steed.”
“Cornelius Gander,” the wizard replied, “and I don't think much of your service. One of your officer's horses appears to be galloping this way, already. With an officer on it. A white mare.”
The general peered across the beach. The rider's white captain's insignia blazed across his dark red chest plate. “Who is that? Captain Arcla? No, I saw him dismembered.” H
e snorted. “It's not Captain Horace. I'm wearing his cuirass.”
Devin paused in his self appointed task of cutting through the dead horse when he heard the general's curses rise into the air like blistering flames. The youth glanced towards the tall rider on the white horse, a nasty suspicion burrowing into his mind like a worm. No! It couldn't be.
The man had doffed his helmet and pulled an object from the satchel hanging at his side, revealed to be a familiar battered, wide brimmed hat with a broken white plume. Captain Vice cocked the hat at a jaunty angle, touched the brim, and bowed from his saddle. The pearly gleam from his white, crescent smile rivaled the moon.
“How are you here, you stinking pile of horse shit?” Festus roared. “I had four men escort you off my ship at Port Minnow.”
“Apparently, I am here twice,” Captain Vice laughed, waving his hat back towards the dunes. “Show some gratitude, General. I saved the last vestiges of your pitiful army and all you can ask is how I crept back aboard your ship?” Armand Vice clutched the hat as the wind rose up. “So, the Black Guards finally march on Ingeld? Now I have but to take command of the company and destroy that viper's nest of mages forever. And to think I was once happy killing you people one at a time.”
Devin stabbed his sword between the dead, black horse's ribs and Cornelius sighed. “Truce, Captain Vice. I thought I wanted you dead, but I've killed too many people and stained my soul with too much blood to reach this point. I refuse to kill another creature on this day, even one such as you.” This is the kind of decision I'm supposed to regret later, but may the five gods cry for me, I swear I never will. I had vengeance within my grasp and let it slip between my fingers.
“You threaten me with a glowing sword? I've seen the like in the gift shop of that accursed town,” Armand Vice scoffed. “Lies! The lies of a mage bereft of his power. Tell me another.”
“I can tell you that Cornelius does not teach a school for mages,” Devin said, lowering his head and wriggling the sword free. The youth started hacking at the dead horse's torso, pausing for a breath at the end of each swing as he worked through the ribs and backbone. “But you would not believe me. I could not believe it myself. Then I met his students. I lived with them for a time in their town. You once told me you would catch up to me. Seems I must now catch up to you. Leave this place, butcher. Where so many brave men died with steel in their hearts. Before I do something I regret. With the steel in my hands.” The vertebrae broke like two puzzle pieces with a crackling pop as the cartilage separated from the bone. Devin gagged as the raw bile stench of punctured, cooked intestines rose like warm steam.
“Why not fight me here, now?” Vice taunted. “Can't you use that sword for something other than butchering dead horses, mage? Are you anything without your vaunted powers?”
Do you not hear those soldiers behind you preparing to cross the beach with death in their hearts? the youth thought. There's only one person they hate more than me right now and he's sitting on a white horse wasting time with petty, shallow taunts. It's not enough that I can't kill you. Must I save your life, too? Devin gestured over towards the dunes where faint sounds of martial chaos drifted on the wind. “Already the soldiers gather to attack you if General Festus doesn't beat them to it. No more death. Escape, butcher, while you still can. Slink away to Ingeld if you dare and face me there surrounded by your Black Guard cronies. Let them see you for the coward you are on the field of battle.” Devin raised the sword, pointing towards the town he once called home in the distant east. The blade's glow split the night. “And then, Captain Armand Delacourt Vice, I am going to ram this molten sword into your black, shriveled heart.”
“If you can find it,” Cornelius murmured. “Please, Devin. Finish this. My leg is on fire.”
Devin ignored Vice and focused on saving Cornelius as Festus braced a pike perpendicular to the trapped wizard and raising the front end of the horse using the animal's pelvis as a fulcrum. Devin helped Cornelius crawl away. General Festus lowered the beast's torso back onto the ground, raised the pike until the point was chest high on a horse. The general snorted and flicked the strands of gore off the blade. Then he advanced towards the captain.
“I need to cut off your leg. Below the knee. The hot metal . . . ” Devin sobbed. “The hot metal will cauterize the wound.”
“Cut it!” Cornelius smacked his thigh with the stick and winced. “I never liked that foot. We can compare stumps later.”
The youth raised the molten sword and a single bead of sweat trickled down his cheek, reviving another banished memory. The Butcher's table. Sweat on the man's brow, his arm raised. The blade descending. Heat and darkness. Pain and darkness. Devin threw his sword to the ground. “I can't do it, Cornelius. I can't. It's too much. It's too much like him.”
“You will,” the old wizard coughed, “and you must. I trust you will do a more conscientious job than others I could name. You are not a butcher, lad.”
“No,” Devin shook his head. “I am a butcher. I am no better than the Butcher, himself. They all died while I gloated.”
“Devin, look at me,” Cornelius said, taking the youth's quaking hands with a frail grip. “We may have had our disagreements, but you are nothing like him. You are nothing like that despicable excuse for humanity over there.”
“Did you see what I did to all those poor soldiers?” Devin cried, hugging the wizard and burying his face in the man's chest.
“Gently, lad, gently.” Cornelius patted the youth's back as Devin absently twisted the wizard's pants into a crude tourniquet. “No, but I heard what you did afterward. I could hear you screaming from the far side of the Port Eclare and it's an impressive city. Those cries of misery and anguish were not the gleeful sounds of a bloodthirsty brute. You are not a monster.”
“I'm a wolf,” Devin said, hanging his head. “A monstrous, bloodthirsty wolf.”
“So wyvern to wolf, you have traded one animal totem for another,” Cornelius chuckled, coughing up blood and spotting his tunic. “But animals don't feel remorse, Devin, even you precious wyverns. Do you think Captain Vice feels any shame for all the men, women, and children he tortured and killed? Your soul is steeped in blood, yet his soars like a feather. The guilt of your emotions shackles you still. It makes you flawed; it makes you human. Not a wolf. Not a wyvern. Not monster.”
“Not a wyv . . . not a dragon?” Devin whispered. “No, I must be a dragon.”
“Captain Vice is the real animal. He kills for sport under the guise of duty. You fought to defend yourself and took no pleasure in the slaughter.”
“No, I didn't, did I?” Devin raised his head.
“When you chop off my leg with your burning blade, and you must share the secret of that little gem soon, it will be as a surgeon, not as a torturer.” Cornelius smiled wanly.
“Best do it fast, lad,” the general grunted, turning away from Captain Vice for a moment to face Devin. “Your wizard friend is bleeding out and he will lose consciousness soon. Greetings, Captain Vice. Come within the reach of my pike so that I may greet you properly. May the gods rip off your skull and shit down your neck, you miserable, simpering excuse for a soldier. I thought even Black Guards had standards until I met you.”
“Farewell, my dear general,” Vice said, gloating. “When I arrive back at the homeland and trumpet my glorious victory, I will be sure to share the precise nature of your doomed exploits here with every bureaucrat, government lackey, and official quill jockey I can find. I will file reports until it rains ink in the capitol. The Red Army shall never rise again!”
“Was that supposed to be a threat?” General Festus asked, tossing his pike. Devin could hear him unbuckling his armor and throwing it to the ground. “I could beat you right now wearing nothing but my small clothes and armed with no more than what the five gods provided. The Red Army has faced greater foes than a torturer of men and a bureaucrat with delusions of grandeur and emerged unscathed. Shall we fight then, Black Guard? ”
“
I will content myself with killing your career and your antiquated military, General,” Vice demurred. “The youth makes a valid point. Slaughtering you after you've lost so many men is petty.”
“I would expect no other form of strategy from you, Captain.”
Vice laughed. “Farewell, General. Old Wizard. Tinker Mage,” Vice said. Devin heard the horse whinny and gallop away.
“I honored your oath, boy,” the general growled, sheathing his sword. “No more killing today. I don't mind admitting that was the hardest thing I've ever done. I trust you can slice off that limb without me holding your hand?”
Devin nodded, raising the sword.
“Then excuse me while I call off the chase and save that miserable fiend. Work quickly lad before you break the oath yourself. Does failing to save a man count as killing him in the eyes of the five gods? Oh damn me, there they go.” His light mail shirt jingled as the general took off jogging down the beach.
“Even if we knew how,” Devin said, cocking the sword behind his head, “we won't be able to grow your leg back, not yet. Or even grow you a wooden replacement.”
“I know, I know,” Cornelius whispered, his eyes half closed.
“There's no magic left between the pair of us. We don't have time to recharge before leaving to save the town and we can't abandon these damn watches.”
“I suppose,” Cornelius agreed.
“Two mages and no magic,” Devin mused as he felt the heat run between his shoulder blades and smelled his hair singe. “Well, this sword should hold the brigands at bay.”
“Yes,” Cornelius said.
“Don't worry, I can cobble something together from all the old armor lying around.” Devin smiled as soft, warm ashes began to tickle the back of his neck. “You'll be more metal than me.”
The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 49
