The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  “They know about my school, dear girl,” Cornelius said, sighing as he pinched a piece of bread off the loaf and chewed it. “He speaks the truth. Their leader is none other than Captain Armand Delacourt Vice: a ruthless, insane bigot from a profession, no an entire society, of mage killers who won't believe or just doesn't care to admit you're not all wizards in training.”

  “You forget I met the bastard when I stole his watch.” Abigail snorted. “He seemed more arrogant than insane.”

  Devin shook his head. “You weren't there on the beach, Abby. Captain Vice was pleased, almost giddy, talking about Ingeld. Like a hunter uncovering a den of foxes. He's after everyone, Abigail, not just me. That madman thinks he's coming to destroy an entire town of wizards.”

  “We're just merchants.” Abigail threw up her hands.

  “Who peddle magic-oriented gadgets and send their children to a school head-mastered by one of the four principle wizards in the country,” Devin said. “Captain Vice is on his own little crusade to end the mage menace threatening his empire and that's all the evidence the man thinks he needs.”

  “You single-handedly slaughtered an army, Devin,” Abigail whispered. “Who's to say the Black Guards are wrong to try and stop you? You need to surrender before more horrible things happen.”

  He turned away from Abigail. “The Red Army came to Corel to fight a dragon.”

  “And they found a snarling wolf instead.”

  “Do you think I enjoyed killing those men? Maybe the Black Guards are right. Maybe every mage deserves to die. Did your mother deserve to die?”

  Abigail glared and said nothing.

  “If I surrender, they'll put me in a glass cage, too,” Devin said. “What choice do I have? I won't run away again. I caused this mess and I'm going to fix it. Nobody else is going to suffer for my flaws. Nobody else is going to die because of me. I will save everyone. My magic will save everyone.”

  “Like you and your magic 'saved' us the last time? You aren't some shining, brilliant savior, Devin,” Abigail said. “All you do is raise a shadow of doom over our heads. You bring Black Guards into our town and no mere words or magic will fix that.”

  “But I can control it now.”

  “Some things are still beyond your control.”

  “I will fight them . . . alone if I must.”

  “Please, Devin. If you won't accept my help, then swallow your pride. Surrender.”

  “Oh, like your mother surrendered?” Devin asked. “She only destroyed one house. How many houses will my surrendering destroy? How many will my fighting destroy? Do you think it matters? Do you think Captain Vice will turn around and march away if I give up?” Devin squared his shoulders. “They're not only coming to destroy me and the town. The Black Guards are coming to destroy every last vestige of magic culture. I can't let that happen.” He glanced past the door into the town beyond as his enemies enclosed Ingeld from all sides. I won't let that happen.

  “Devin, don't do this,” Abby pleaded. “So, the first plan to try and rally the townsfolk failed. Can you blame them for throwing a few rotten vegetables after what you did? We'll make a new plan. Together. You don't have to go out there alone.”

  He brushed a piece of rancid squash off his shoulder. “Apparently, I do.”

  “These are trained mage killers. You're going to your death, you idiot! Never mind, I've said all I came to say. You refuse to see reason. Nothing changed on that beach at Port Eclare. You're still the same selfish, stuck up ass and I'm done talking to you,” Abigail said, walking stiffly to the door. She refused to look at the youth and smiled through her tears at the old man. “Goodbye, Professor.”

  “That was cruel. You only mentioned her mother because you know the poor girl's right,” Cornelius said after the door slammed. You will save more people by surrendering than by fighting. So what are you going to do, lad?”

  “I don't know.” Better for Abigail to be pierced by my cruelty than a Black Guard's blade. Devin grabbed his molten sword off the stone mantle and left the house. The rose hips, cast into the cold, stony soil, had transformed into a coiled mass of thorns and pale flowers. Would my powers have succeeded any better than nature? Would my muscles? Devin clenched his fist and then released his magic back into his gut, reserving his energy. The smell of burnt rose petals followed him out of town.

  Abby's wrong. I did change on that beach, Devin thought as the smell of burnt rose lingered. All this time, I thought my metal foot was the true consequence of my magic. The responsibility and guilt that come from using it are worse. The youth looked at his hands. They seemed too clean. He wanted to rub dirt on his fingers: something coarse and grimy. He almost went back to ask for her help. It wasn't pride that stopped him. That had all bled out on the beach at Port Eclaire. But he didn't want Abby to stain her hands. Not for a murderer like him. No one else should have to bear this guilt.

  Devin walked to the edge of Ingeld and peered from atop the twin hills on the northern borders where the streets used to begin. The many layers of footprints attested that the lack of roads did not appear to hamper anyone, even in the sodden springtime.

  What was I thinking, removing those cobblestones? Devin thought. Have I matured at all since then? Has my magic? The fact I can control my actions doesn't absolve my motives.

  Devin sat in the dew-soaked grass, hidden behind the stalks as he waited for his enemies to appear. The youth laid his sword beside him and the blade hissed and smoldered on the cold, wet ground as though anticipating its next battle. At long last, the enemy arrived. Devin clenched a fistful of dirt. He rubbed the soil into his hands as he stood and reached for his sword.

  A company of Black Guards emerged from the trees and advanced through the field below like three columns of armored ants marching through the mist. Their leader, a captain, raised his hand to call a halt some distance from the long shadow of the hills. The man pointed at Devin and uttered an unintelligible command.

  Captain Vice faces me with a mere thirty knights at his back? He should have brought a hundred. Devin squinted. He thought that was the captain, but was wary after the last misadventure. A full helmet obscured the man's face. Apparently, Vice was wary, too. The color of their armor wasn't the only difference between the army and the guards. The army splashed their ranks across their chests, turning each officer into a living banner. The guards were more subtle. Captain Vice had traded his lobster chest insignia with frilled collar tabs, but the symbol was the same.

  Oh, Captain. Devin smiled, wielding his sword. That overweening pride will destroy you. From here, those pips just look like a gaudy silver arrow pointing to your head, begging me to chop it off.

  The guards split into three groups: Captain Vice led the charge straight up the hill, the second column flanked from the east, and the third from the west. Another pincer attack? Devin thought. Don't they teach any other maneuvers at the Imperial Academy?

  The eastern flank of knights clustered and surged ahead of the rest. Devin swept his sword to the left, channeling his powers through the blade, and a blast of air flattened the eastern flank. The front rank smashed into the rear in a mass of plate mail and flailing limbs sliding down the hill. The captain bellowed and the remaining guards backed away, stepping gingerly around their lump of fallen comrades. The knights spread randomly around the base of the hill to deny their enemy another target of opportunity.

  The captain bellowed again, raised his arm, and waved his hand in a tight circle. The knights advanced again more cautiously, each man moving in an opposite direction to the guard next to him. The Black Guards had modified their forward charge into two interlocking spirals, each group weaving in opposite directions as they walked up the slope.

  Devin shook his head. Trying to follow one knight within that pattern made him dizzy. It was time for an attack that didn't need to be aimed. The youth plunged his sword into the ground and sent a short burst of power into the earth. Two soldiers climbing counterclockwise sank into the mud up to
their hips.

  Oh, Captain Vice. Spirals? Allow me to respond in kind. Devin sent a larger, swirling magic pulse rippling down the hill, knocking several knights on their asses. Devin smiled as the fallen Black Guards slid backwards through the brown grime. Their greaves and the weight of their armor had churned the base of the hill into a cold, brown slurry. Welcome to mud country, you steel bastards!

  As the knights resumed their advance, Devin could see the brass watches slung at their hips flash in the early morning light against the matte black armor. The youth sent more power through the hill. Each pulse weakened as though Devin was pushing his magic through the mud the guards were creating. The knights only stumbled now, but were getting disoriented and their attack losing cohesion. Devin narrowed his eyes and pointed his molten sword at one unsteady knight with gasping breath and a drooping sword. The man dropped his blade and covered his ears as the brass talisman chained to his side shrieked.

  Those damn watches. Devin unsheathed his blade from the ground and frantically swung his sword, casting spells into the air, into the ground, into the armor. The watches keened as more and more spells missed their targets, drawn into those whirring clockwork defenses.

  So I can't strike you directly with magic when you get this close, Devin thought. The artifice mage clenched his fist around the leather wrapped hilt of the molten sword as he raised the blade into the air. But maybe I can still hurt you.

  Devin glanced at the straight, tall trees at the base of the hill. Trying to control circular forces in the midst of these watches is sapping too much energy. Back to linear attacks, then. A tall, gangly pine on the forest edge near the base of the hill wrenched from the ground with a splintering crash, roots dragging through the mud. Devin chopped his sword down. The blade was an extension of his arm, reaching past the Black Guards and their watches. Four unwary knights had clustered together to shield against the magic attacks despite their orders. Devin scythed the pine in the small group. The men screamed as the tree swatted them aside like black insects and pinned their bodies to the hill.

  Devin lifted his sword again, but the weight of the next tree drove him to his knees. He could feel his magic trickle into the watches as he pumped more power from his well and spread it down the hill. It was getting harder to reach beyond the knights' magic cordon as they brought the watches closer.

  The artifice mage stuck again with his powers, hitting nothing. The watches absorbed everything.

  The captain whistled, raised his arm, and clenched his fist. The knights halted and dressed their circular line. A few patted their mates on the back as they surveyed the wreckage behind them. The knights squared their shoulders. The captain lowered his arm. The men screamed and charged straight up the hill, fancy maneuvers and strategies discarded in the mud. The watches clanked as they smacked and rattled against the armor. A cordon of brass and black steel closed around Devin's neck like a noose as he struggled to his feet.

  The youth flung all the remaining power in his body at his enemies. He was surrounded by a wall of shimmering, screaming brass. The thunderous battle cry of the watches shook the hill. Devin felt someone wrestle the sword hilt from his grip as he dropped to his knees and covered his ears.

  Captain Vice approached, a pair of silver collar tabs floating before the brass wall. Devin blinked and focused on his nemesis. Vice placed one mailed hand on his visor, raised his sword, and then fell to the ground.

  Someone stepped on Captain Vice's mail clad neck. The soft leather shoe was covered in white flour dust. Devin blinked again.

  “On your feet, Devin. My mother was a fighter. You give up and you answer to me.” Abigail stood there, a long loaf of bread slung over her shoulder. Several townsfolk rushed past, screaming and waving assorted weapons, pummeling the remaining guards surrounding Captain Vice and clearing a path. Abby's amorous woodsmen seemed particularly gleeful and handy with their tree limb bludgeons.

  “You rallied the townspeople?” Devin whispered. “Why? How?”

  “I know my people, imp. You tried applying gentle persuasion and reasoning with those poor bastards. I just busted some heads.” She smacked the loaf against her palm and then extended her hand to Devin. “If you defend our town, that makes you an honorary member of Ingeld, damn it. We protect our own.”

  “That means a lot to me, Abby,” Devin choked.

  “Mom tried to fight the system by herself, too. I couldn't save my mother, but may the five gods curse me if I'm going to let you make the same mistake.” She hefted her bread. “Ah, you won't find a better mace in the whole town than Dad's three day old baguettes.”

  Devin took her proffered hand and Abigail hauled him up. “Thank you, Abby.”

  “Can't exactly call you a selfish ass if you're fighting and dying for us, can I? The least we can do is fight alongside you.” The girl shrugged and brushed a fleck of grit off her apron. “You know, Devin, I still think you should broaden your ambitions, but for now, nothing says you can't fight to honor your little sister and save this stupid town in the process. But fighting to avenge a missing foot is just stupid. And you're not stupid, are you?” She raised the baguette.

  “Yes . . . no . . . what about my sister?” Devin asked, shielding his head with his hands.

  “What, you thought I didn't know about that?” She smiled and tapped his fingers with the baguette. “I just wanted you to admit it, Bold and Brainless: to yourself if not to me.” She glared at the prostrate guards and hefted the stale bread. “And if these black armored fiends think they're stealing another person I care about away from me . . . ”

  “But you said . . .” Devin picked up his sword, careful not to singe Abby's apron flapping in the breeze like a dusty, white pennon.

  “Nope. Can't let that happen. Don't worry, plenty of folks still want to string your guts across the trees for wyvern scraps.” Abigail swung her bread and cracked it across a knight's gorget. The crust flaked against the vibrating steel neck piece as the man choked and garbled. “I mean besides these louts. Retreat! Back to the town! By the gods' quivering ass cheeks, we're exposed up here.”

  “Abby, blasphemy,” Devin huffed as he jogged alongside his depressingly few rescuers.

  “Oh, a pox on your thankless, prudish ways, Devin. I just rescued you,” Abigail laughed, gesturing to the spreading cluster of running townspeople surrounding them. “We all rescued you. What did the five gods ever do for you in a lifetime of trials and misery?”

  They gave me Styx, Devin thought quietly. Surely, he's worth a few trials and misery? “Thank you. By the five gods um quivering cheeks, thank you,” Devin gasped as he glanced at his rescuers. He thought he recognized Magnus's apprentices as they chortled. What happened to Styx? And Magnus? And Cornelius? “Not that I'm ungrateful, Abby, but where is my son? Where are my other friends?”

  “You were so insistent on doing this alone. Styx and the professor and the blacksmith led the rest of the town someplace safe. I think they took everyone to the professor's cottage in the mountains. We made a new plan.” Abigail said, glancing over her shoulder at the approaching wave of clanking steel. The townspeople quickly outpaced the armored knights.

  “We're almost back to Ingeld,” Devin cried. “What's this new plan?

  “Styx always said you liked to use rocks and things.” She gestured to a dilapidated, brick shack on the edge of town. “You demolish this building and use the pieces for missiles. Three of the walls are already rubble and the last one's shaking like a loose tooth. Fling grout into their eyes. Then savage the Black Guards with flying bricks. Yes!” Abigail tossed her baguette to the scarred woodcutter as she danced and scattered the lose bricks with her toe. The girl clenched her fists. “Use those bricks right there. Then I'll kick their rotten mouths open and piss down their throats.”

  “We would pree . . . We would pree . . . ” The woodsman with the mutilated cheeks reached behind Abigail and clubbed the girl to the ground with her own stale bread. He coughed and cleared his throat, not
quite spitting. The scars stretched across his face as he grinned. “We would prefer you didn't, Abby, m'lass.”

  26. DEVIN, YEAR 497

  Devin could only stare as Abigail's ponytail streamed in her wake like a black, silk banner while the man's familiar, thick, imperial country twang registered in his ears. Those soft, lilting vowels he had spent years training to harden while working for the guild. Abby wouldn't have recognized that accent, Devin thought. I haven't heard it since General Festus. From the village elder to the village madman. Then he heard a sickening crack as the girl's head smacked against the bricks she had scattered. His heart shattered on those bricks.

  Devin reached for Abigail, but the woodcutter smacked the youth's fingers with a wooden club. His mates knocked out the rest of Devin's rescue party, draping their prisoners on the hard packed floor of the cottage. The men stood over the prone bodies, thick branches in hand. Not threatening, just waiting.

  “We know you. We know your wee . . . your wee . . . your weaknesses.” The woodcutter touched Abigail's prostrate body gently with his foot as a torrent of blood gushed from her forehead. “The captain told us all about you and what you could do before he sent us on this little covert mission, Dragon Boy. Did your old fellow guild members really call you that?”

  Devin nodded, dumbstruck as the old taunt from his past resurfaced from the lips of a Black Guard. He reached for Abigail again.

  “The girl will key . . . key . . . keep for a time, boy. Head wounds tend to bleed, but they aren't . . . usually fatal. Not really a child these days are you?” the leader mused, propping his club against his shoulder. “Dragon Ad . . . Adol . . . escent just doesn't quite roll off the tongue. We may not have our watches, but it won't take more than a moment to turn all these unconscious people into corpses. You're still spent, but I bet you have some trick . . . trick . . . trickle of reserve left.” He whistled in appreciation. “Then there's that awesome, glowing pig sticker. Who needs magic spells with a sword like that? So which one of us will you attack first while the rest of us crush your friends into the dirt and your girl lies bleeding?”