“By the gods' clenching, putrid assholes, just cut the damn foot off,” Cornelius screamed.
“Cornelius, hold your tongue.” Devin sighted an imaginary line below the old wizard's knee and raised his sword.
“Well, praise the five gods. Got you to stop stalling, didn't it?”
Devin grunted his assent as he sliced. The old wizard fainted. The youth held the molten blade against the raw stump for good measure. As the stench of burnt pork filled the air, Devin realized he hadn't eaten a thing all day. He collapsed and laid his head on Cornelius's undulating chest. The wizard's peaceful, shallow slumber reassured the young artifice mage. Exhausted, Devin curled up and slept.
Some time later, someone prodded Devin with a steel toe. The youth opened his eyes, sat up, and took in the scene. General Festus had donned another suit of armor with the proper general's insignia, but left the helmet behind again. Festus stood at the head of a ragged company of Red Army soldiers which surrounded the old wizard and the youth, but made no move to attack.
“I've explained things to my lads,” the general said, smacking his mailed fist. “Some of them were none too happy Vice got to live. So I told them about the new punishment for cowards and deserters courtesy of my new oath brother, the Artifice Mage: seal the bastards up in their own armor and leave them in a pile for the dragons to pick over come morning.”
“I see all your men follow you? Rather than be entombed alive?” Devin smiled as he stood, jabbed his sword, and pinned Cornelius's fluttering, bloody bandage to the ground. The youth folded his arms over the pommel as molten sand dripped down the blade over the smoldering, twitching fabric, sealing the bandage behind hot, puddled glass. “Ha! Wise choice.”
Several of the closest soldiers shied away as Devin cracked the glass lump with his sword tip, spraying molten shrapnel into their ranks. Muttered curses arose as the vanguard backed and bumped into their fellows.
“They only thought they had a choice,” the general growled. “So, when do we kill Captain Vice? And where? In this town of yours?”
“Thank you for the offer, General, but no.” Devin shook his head and yawned as sleep beckoned. “This is not your fight. Lead your men home. You have unfinished business in the empire. The magistrate and his Black Guards for embroiling you in their conflict. Just as I have unfinished business with one, particular Black Guard.”
“A devious man,” the general said, “who has already escaped punishment several times.”
“He will not escape again,” Devin vowed. “Let me have him, please?”
“We do have pressing business back home. We must avenge our foul betrayal. And yet you ask us to leave the prime agent of that betrayal to you.” The general sighed, waving his hand and fluttering his steel fingers. “Take him with my compliments, oath brother. Just promise me that miserable wretch will suffer untold agony at your hands.”
Devin gripped the hilt with both hands stirred the molten glass with his sword tip. “I will break the law and his bones and make a hot slurry from the cold, grainy specks of his soul. Captain Vice will suffer several times over, I assure you.”
The soldiers cheered and General Festus nodded. “Good enough. More than good enough. Take care of your wizard friend and when he awakens, pray apologize again on my behalf. I acted . . . rashly in my pursuit of Captain Vice. I swear that scheming poltroon makes my worst qualities rise to the surface like rancid cream.”
“I will tell him,” Devin promised, remembering the day Captain Vice had invaded the old wizard's home and mind. Cornelius of all people will certainly understand how Vice's creepy evil ways can seep into a man.
“If I may beg of you one small favor?” the general asked.
Devin held up his hand. “There is no need to make the request. It is my responsibility. I shall make arrangements for a small party to bury your fallen. I will tell the men to erect a cairn and your soldiers will sleep beneath the watchful eyes of dragons. I have friends among the bargemen who ow me a favor now that the “dragons” who were sinking their mates have been destroyed. Your doing, I assume, General?”
General Festus squared his jaw. “I had a responsibility too, lad: to maintain the secrecy of this mission. I'm not proud of it, but I did my duty.”
Devin shrugged “I've seen men hide too many hideous things behind the flag of duty to give you much credit for that, general. Such as our mutual friend, Armand Delacourt Vice.”
“Loathe as I am to admit I have anything in common with that odious man,” the general shuddered, “in this one regard he is a true soldier of the empire.”
Devin snorted. “The bargemen all blame the dragons anyway. I shall not disabuse them of that notion when I tell men of the hallowed battle ground where a small, brave army helped me to slay the rampaging monsters and quelled their fiery wrath. The bargemen will not question the fiction or unravel loose threads. They'll be happy enough to ply the river trade again. They may even erect a monument to those foreign soldiers who sacrificed so much to pierce a dragon heart.” The youth held one hand over his breast and jingled the last gold buttons in his pocket. “With the right incentive of course.”
“That will have to do,” Festus said, removing his gauntlet and holding out his hand. “A more fitting tribute than my last encounter with those scaly deman spawn. Farewell, Artifice Mage.”
“Farewell, General,” Devin said, clasping the man's hand. “I release you from your oaths to share my fate and kill no more. I imagine those might hamper a soldier in pursuit of his duty.”
“Remember, all men are bound by something, Devin.” Festus shrugged and rolled his shoulders as he affixed his gauntlet. “If not by duty, then other fateful strands. Forgive me, but I must chivy my men through that accursed, dragon infested city while the sun sleeps. If our luck holds, there should be an old trade route on the other side and we shall likely be swarmed by cutthroats and thieves.” The general smiled and placed one hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword. “Much more familiar enemies, those.” Festus bowed from his saddle and led his men back towards the dunes. Devin listened to the clattering armor disappear into the night, as his arms formed a pillow to cradle his head, and fell asleep again.
Devin awoke to the sight of dragons soaring in the thermals radiating off the marble rubble. He looked around for Cornelius and nudged the old man. “General Festus was sorry for attacking you. Now time to get a leg up on the enemy and go back to Ingeld.”
Cornelius popped one eye open and glared. “Good for him. And the punning of that wooden abomination is bad enough. Don't you start, too.”
“I miss Styx . . . even the puns. I keep wondering if he's safe. Is he still happy there without me? Does he even need me anymore?” Devin rummaged for a suitable replacement foot for the old wizard among a pile of twisted, metal wreckage.
Cornelius chuckled. “If you only realized how much you sound like Abigail's father . . .” The wizard stared as piece after piece of junked armor sailed through the air. “By the five gods! You really do consider that wooden monstrosity your son, don't you?”
“Yes,” Devin said triumphantly as his hands rose from the debris with a bent metal leg piece. “Call him an abomination or a monster again and I'll make you eat this armor. He is what he is, Cornelius. Now, what did you mean yesterday about my disregarding the dragon allometry?”
Cornelius sighed. “You want to discuss that now?”
Devin gestured with the metal foot to the multitude of dragons festooning the walls and flying through the air. “What better time or place?”
The old wizard squinted in the sun, shielding his face with one hand as he propped himself up with the other. “Where's your iron peg? Why not use that old thing to fix my leg?”
“Too small.” Devin said. “Besides, the peg's in my satchel at the mountain cabin waiting for the right target. What's the allometry conundrum?”
“What are the dragons, all those bulky, huge dragons, doing right now?” The old wizard asked.
&
nbsp; “Flying of course,” Devin said, quirking his eyebrow. “Flying and breathing fire are what dragons do.”
“Let us stick to the flying for now. We can address fire later. What else flies?”
“Birds?” Devin asked, flapping his arms.
“And have you ever seen a bird skeleton?” Cornelius snorted. “Even large birds have light, dainty bones with air pockets. A baby could break them. A bird is nothing but a dusting of feathers stretched over a small sack of muscle with dainty bones. Do those dragons look light and dainty to you?”
“No, I suppose not.” Devin said as he dropped armored leg by the old wizard's side. “So, dragons don't have bird bones. It stands to reason because they're not birds.”
“Stands to reason. Of course!” Cornelius snapped his fingers. The hollow, steel foot disappeared. “Whoops.” He snapped his fingers again and the limb reappeared. “Standing. That's it! Consider two terrestrial animals: the mouse and the pachyderm.”
“I've only ever seen pachyderms in picture books, but all right,” Devin said, testing the fit of the armored foot after making several adjustments with his molten sword, including forming a metal cup to cradle the wizard's stump. “Finding a sheath for this thing that doesn't burst into flames on contact may be difficult,” he muttered as the old wizard swayed. “Hold still, Cornelius.”
“What happens if you take a huge, hulking pachyderm and reduce it to the size of a svelte, little mouse?” Cornelius asked.
Devin sighed. “You would have a small, squat pachyderm.”
“What happens if you enlarge a mouse to pachyderm size while preserving its original, delicate proportions?”
“Huge, hulking mouse?” Devin asked, scavenging bolts from another set of armor to rivet a set of leather straps onto Cornelius's new metal limb..
Cornelius slammed his palm into the sand. “Broken rodent. Their legs . . . um, couldn't take the weight.”
“Uh huh,” Devin muttered. “Speaking of which, stand up.” The youth braced himself and offered his arm. The old wizard took the Devin's hand and scrambled to his feet. “What does all this have to do with dragons?”
“I've just explained as clear as glass. The beasts break the laws of physical sciences. You're looking for answers in all the wrong places.”
“Clear as puddled glass,” Devin said, glancing at the light distorting the fabric he had sealed in melted sand the night before. The youth hefted the brass watch surrendered by General Festus, turning it so the sunken finger prints flashed in the sunlight. How is this possible? What physical or magical force could deform an object that absorbs all forces? “What about this little mystery?”
“What did I just say.” Cornelius hobbled around on his stiff, metal limb. “Your salvation may very well lie hidden in that deformed brass case. I can't rob you of such an important, personal, intellectual discovery. Give your brawny magic muscles a rest and exercise your brain for awhile. The poor thing's atrophied with neglect.”
So, you don't know either, you old fraud. “As you say, Cornelius,” Devin said, pointing. “Look, the general left a horse staked out for us. It's a wonder the dragons didn't grab her.”
“Then let's get back as fast as we can,” the old wizard huffed, walking with a crooked gait towards the placid, brown horse. The animal stood at the end of a long tether munching on a patch of burnt grass. “Before Captain Vice destroys the town looking for his answers in all the wrong places.”
25. DEVIN, YEAR 497
The travelers arrived at Ingeld soon after the Spring thaw; tattered New Year's buntings still hung from some of the houses. Cornelius hunched over the saddle horn while Devin led their brown nag down the muddy streets, glowing sword dragging behind him as youth and beast both struggled to place one foot in front of the other on the slushy, treacherous ground. Devin took cold comfort in the thought that if winter had been unkind to them, she had unleashed an icy, vengeful fury on the invading Black Guards. According to Cornelius's network of master wizards, the imperials were still days away from marching into town.
Devin had spent much of the trip pondering the significance of the watch's eerie fingerprints. They looked like a small child had pressed molten fingers into the brass. The youth attempted to duplicate the feat by marshaling the magic energies into his fingertips on both his and Cornelius's brass watches, but to no avail. The watches leeched the energy as soon as he created it. The youth left the watch with Styx, but the brass talisman pulled on his mind even when the weight was absent from his pocket.
He was overlooking something important. He had missed some crucial clue. Devin was still contemplating the mystery of the brass fingerprints on the misty morning when the Black Guards attacked. Abigail brought word of the approaching enemy and one stale loaf of bread.
“Some of the new lads, a group of woodcutters sheltering in town over the winter caught glimpses of black armor through the trees coming from the north. Those rugged fellows always slip me a little extra brass for their bread. I think they're starving for a woman,” Abigail said, slapping her thighs.
“If we could get back to the Black Guards,” Devin sighed, “and leave your lusts for rugged woodsmen far, far behind us? Where is the rest of the town?”
“Most of the townsfolk are preparing to flee into the mountains, but some have stayed to protect their shops. I've gathered them outside,” she said, crossing her arms, “if you wanted to give everyone a rousing speech?”
Devin looked up from where he was hunched over the table with Cornelius tinkering with the exposed brass watch mechanism. “Give a what?”
Abigail threw her arms up. “A speech, a call to arms. Get their blood boiling with your words instead of your magic.” The girl pushed him out the door where a small group had gathered around the wizard's front stoop. “We're merchants, by the five gods, not fighters.”
Devin recognized most of the faces in the crowd except several burly men in rough smocks. Abigail's woodcutters, he assumed. One of them had a hideous scar across both cheeks. Devin wondered what sort of grisly, tree cutting accident could curse a man with a face like that. Where do I begin? Devin thought. They're not my friends. They fight for their livelihoods. Will they fight for me?
People began shuffling their feet and coughing. Abigail nudged him with her elbow.
“Citizen merchants of Ingeld.” Devin raised his arms. “A dark, evil force is coming to destroy your town. I shall fight to save it.”
A rotten head of cabbage sailed through the air and broke across Devin's chest as a voice heckled from the audience. “Only evil destruction I see around here is standing on a stoop yammering. Gonna pull down our houses like you pulled up our roads?”
“You only fight for yourself,” a second voice called from the crowd. Several rancid tomatoes followed suit for emphasis.
“What's with all the damn produce?” Devin shielded his face with his arms as he turned and whispered to Abigail.
The girl shrugged and grinned as she plucked a stray cherry tomato from his hair and tossed it aside. “Lettuce just say that someone, who shall remain nameless, squashed our market. You are getting a taste of the consequences and harvesting the fruits of your labors. Alas, sales are rotten right now.”
“You've been spending far too much time with Styx.” Devin shook his head and turned to address the hostile crowd. “An army approaches on your northern border. Please, people, I need your help and I am not someone who asks for help lightly. I'm begging you as one human being to another. Join me and together we shall battle our common foe and drive them from our town.”
“You feckless, foreign scum. It's our town. All you've ever done is ruin it,” one voice cried.
“They're coming for you,” another faceless voice screamed from the crowd. “Well, we should let them have you.” Raucous cheering erupted as a rain of stale vegetables, rotten fruits, and one, small wooden toy pelted Devin. The youth retreated through the door with Abigail and slammed it closed.
Devin glared at t
he girl. “That was a horrible plan. How would you even conceive of such a horrible plan?”
“You're one to talk of horrible plans. After ripping the road to stop an imaginary invasion? I don't know why I'm even bothering with any of this.” Abigail nodded to Cornelius as she pushed the bread into Devin's arms. “Despite everything, I guess I still hold hope that you're not a despicable person. I heard what you did to those soldiers. Now you lead the Black Guard to our doorsteps with an army.”
Captain Vice led them here, not me, Devin thought, but the weak protest died somewhere between his mind and his mouth. “A company of mechanized knights at best according to the master wizards,” Devin demurred, dropping the bread back into her arms. “Hardly an army.”
“I heard what you do to armies,” Abigail muttered darkly. “Your revenge schemes are going to turn Ingeld into a second Port Eclare.”
“I must defend the town."
“This is a real invasion, not one of your little fantasies,” Abigail spat. “Besides, we can defend ourselves.”
“A gaggle of merchants? You don't really believe that or you wouldn't have asked me to rally them. You need to place more faith in me.”
“Place faith in you? Like a god? Should I pray to the almighty Devin to light my oven every morning and knead my dough? Should I pray to you to make customers rain from the sky? You've given me no reason to believe in you for anything. You're not a god and you're not responsible for the fate of the town. If anything, you're a blight upon it.”
“No, I'm not a god, but maybe we should all be praying to the five for deliverance instead of flinging rotten fruit,” Devin said quietly, steepling his fingers. “And I know I'm responsible for this mess. It's my fault the Black Guards are coming. With Captain Vice leading the charge, they will destroy this town, never doubt it. They're crazy, dangerous people.”
“You're the one who's crazy and dangerous. They're coming for you. Just give yourself up,” Abigail cried. “If you ever meant anything you said about fighting for the sake of this town, then go surrender for the town instead. Meet them before they get here and give yourself up.”
The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 50
