The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  The man in the black cloak held up his hands. “I never butchered dragons for money, my lord. I merely captured the beasts.” He turned to Devin. “The contents of that box are for your eyes only. Please consider the gift a gesture of good faith . . . Dragon Boy.”

  Devin flinched. He hefted the box once more and set it aside. He glanced at the man's hip: there was no tell tale bulge. A dragon hunter? But not a member of the Dark Cabal? He must be a Black Guard in disguise. Devin hefted the small, lacquered box again and winced. He's given me his mage detector. But why? Does he hope to attack and expose me as a mage?

  The man continued, pulling back his hood and revealing an old, but familiar face. “I did not come here to hunt mages, but to represent them. My name is Jemmy Duran.”

  Jemmy . . . Duran? Captain Jemmy? Here? Devin's mind shrieked. He claims to represent the mages? Is that some sick code for genocide?

  Jemmy smiled and gestured across the dying flames of the forge. “Why don't you open that box now, Devin? You know what's inside already, don't you?” He steepled his hands. “By the five gods, I swear I mean you no harm.”

  Devin unclasped the lid and opened it. A hint of brass flashed on a pillow of black velvet. He knows it's a useless gesture. He knows my magic is gone. Devin peered over the edge of the box at all the curious faces. This message isn't meant for me. It's for the unknown mages he claims to represent here in the room. Who among us is a secret mage? Whose heart quickens when they see these brass machines in the streets? Who may not trust a Black Guard, but now sees Jemmy extend his trust to Devin the Artifice Mage? Clever bastard. I will not be his bait.

  “Do you accept my offering?” Jemmy asked.

  Devin closed the box and scowled, never revealing the contents. “A tiny, severed finger?” He sneered at Jemmy's clasped hands. “I've seen how your kind treats mages. Did you cut it off some poor mage girl while she was praying?”

  Jemmy startled. “I would never . . .”

  “Oh, but you would,” Devin said, throwing the box into the forge. “You have. You are complicit in the torture and execution of countless mages. You and all your cronies . . . using these awful tools.”

  The lacquered box burst into a dark, smoky flame. The acrid scent of varnish plumed into the air as the panels of the box began to peel and curl. Devin twisted a lever and worked the bellows. A blast of air blew tiny embers into the air. The coal beneath the charred logs glowed white.

  Drusilla left her corner, running toward the forge. “What are you doing?”

  “Showing everyone the strange nature of the captain's gift. ” The brass fixtures on the box started melting. As the box slowly turned to ash, a familiar brass watch revealed itself.

  “That was meant for your eyes only, Dragon Boy,” Jemmy growled, reaching for the watch.

  Drusilla slapped his hand away. “Don't be a fool.” She reached for the tongs hanging beside the forge. “Let me rescue your watch before that melts, too. The gears are toast, but I think I can save the casing.” In the midst of the dark, smoky inferno of ashes and puddled brass, the watch began to glow brighter than the coals.

  “Styx, block the door.” Devin reached out and blocked the tongs. “No, the gears are fine, aren't they, Captain Jemmy Duran of the Black Guard? Not here for me alone, eh?” He spread his arms. “Have you come to arrest all of us?” A collective gasp arose from the crowd. Several screamed. A few ran for the door, but Styx was there, arms crossed, shaking his head.

  Those who had not run quivered or screamed again as Devin plunged his hand into the dying flames, plucked the watch from the inferno, and raised it high for all to see.

  Drusilla watched the theatre unfold, her lips clamped. She looked ready to throw Devin on the coals to see if he melted.

  Devin waved the glowing watch. The brass casing was eerily cold and smooth. “Behold the token of the Black Guards: the unbreakable mage detector.” He tossed the thing back to Jemmy, who reached up and caught it. “A mechanical, magical cheat,” Devin said, “that you people use to stalk and capture genuine magic users. Bit of a hypocrite, aren't you?”

  Jemmy's back stiffened. The captain drew himself up to a menacing height, but did not refute the charge.

  7. ARMAND DELACOURT VICE, YEAR 496

  The imposing stature of the palace always soothed Armand, not because the thick, stone walls made him feel safe, but because they were a quaint anachronism. The soaring stone block fortress harkened back to a time when the minor kingdoms squabbled amongst themselves. You needed a fortress in those days. Before the empire brought peace and stability to the land. Imperial banners draped along the battlements, whipping in the breeze.

  Armand smiled as he dismounted from his horse, his eyes never leaving those banners: the familiar black sigil of a stylized dragon circling a crimson field. The justice and law represented by those fragile bolts of cloth were better safeguards than all the stone and mortar behind them. It was both a reminder of the glorious history of the empire and the imperial bulwark against whatever future threats might come.

  The entire inner city of the capital was like that. All the buildings had a rigid, bleak quality to them. It was quite charming. Before passing the reins to the waiting attendant, Armand loosened the straps on his saddle pack and removed a selection of exotic books. He had smuggled them out of the guard house in the confusion after catastrophic news of the Battle of Port Eclare had reached the capital. With all the commotion, sneaking into the magistrate's office to pilfer a few illicit tomes was a simple affair.

  Armand cradled the books to his chest and hugged them. He's not the magistrate anymore. Good riddance. He had meant to use these books of magic and sorcery as evidence at the old man's public trial documenting his perverse fascination with mage kind, but Emperor Horatio II had swept aside such trivial nonsense of robes and gavels and administered the justice of the high court himself. The old man deserves a noose. A pity the emperor let him live. Armand squashed the traitorous thought. The emperor does not have to explain his actions to the likes of me. He saw the festering rot in his empire and he excised it with the twin scalpels of law and order. The empire is well rid of Lucius Judicar, ex-Magistrate of the Western Province.

  Now that Horatio II had cut through the legal morass of the messy province judicial system to strike at the man who had thrived slogging through that sticky mess of paperwork and regulations, these books could find a new use. They would offer tantalizing, vital clues into the twisted mind of their original villainous owner: Devin the Mage. True justice was clean and simple like a quick, sharp blade. The ex-magistrate never understood that.

  A pair of High Guards led Armand to the audience chamber of the august Emperor Horatio II, Lord of the Iron Empire and Protector of the Northern Territories, long may he reign. “He is expecting you,” one of the High Guards murmured as his partner, hand braced on his hilt, glared at Armand as he jerked his head toward the door. Armand surrendered his sword and dagger and pile of books, placing them on a small polished table set outside the chamber for just that purpose.

  “You can take the books in with you,” the other High Guard snorted as he opened the door.

  The gilt and glory of the empire adorned the walls, but Armand was drawn to the seat and the man dominating the center of the room. Horatio II rose from his golden throne and extended his arms. A purple robe draped across his broad shoulders and a cornet in the shape of a silver dragon swallowing its own tail encircled his head on a nest of dark curls. He was a tall, imposing man. His grand voice matched his station and stature.

  “Captain Armand Vice,” the man murmured, splitting a slice from an orange. He chewed the blood red flesh with long, slow relish while rolling the pith of the fruit between two fingers. “These have always reminded me of soft, little bones.”

  Armand dropped to one knee and bent his head.

  “No. Rise, Captain. You will face me when I sentence you to death.” He tossed the rind at Armand's feet and reached for a fresh orange from
a basket woven from golden threads on a pedestal beside his throne. “Lovely snack, these. I like to pretend I'm crushing the fingers of my enemies beneath my teeth. The flesh looks just like flensed muscles and the juice makes such fragrant blood, don't you think?”

  “My life, my muscles, and my blood are yours to command,” Armand replied, bending his head further as if an axe already hovered above it, his bent knee braced against the floor. He found himself thinking again of the ex-magistrate. The ex-magistrate should have worn a silk noose with golden threads. Such hand-braided luxuries are only fit for sissies and noblemen. I'm certain General Festus looked splendid in his silk noose. If ever a man deserved death for negligence and gross incompetence . . .

  “You dare seek an audience with me after that wretched business with Port Eclare?” the emperor asked, stroking a fine, black, oiled beard. “Bold. Calculating. I approve, Armand. Yours will be a quick and painless death.”

  The tone was wrong, almost jocular, but the veiled threat behind those words was raw and unabashed. I have displeased my emperor. Armand could not help the small twitch as he lifted his face to peer into the cold, twinkling eyes the Lord of the Iron Empire. The emperor's face cracked into a sardonic grin.

  “You do not face death with the same aplomb as all those brave soldiers you entrapped? I could lay the worst military catastrophe in centuries at your feet, Armand Delacourt Vice. And you a mere stooge for the unlamented Lucius Judicar. You heard what I did to the poor fellow?”

  Armand remained kneeling and nodded slowly. He knew the generalities of the thing, but no details. None of the Black Guards would admit knowing the specifics of the old man's punishment. As if their silence erased it.

  The emperor resumed his seat on the golden throne. His robes twitched as he adjusted them over the armrests of his throne and gestured again. “'Rise,' I said.”

  Armand stood. He bit his lip. True, the Black Guards mentioned no punishments, but had regaled him with tales of the High Guards dragging the Magistrate down to the pit of his own dungeons. Rumors had placed the emperor on the scene, disguised as one of his own High Guards.

  “Come closer, traitor.” The emperor crooked his finger as he put the orange away. “You will beg me to show you such mercy. Have you any words to say in your defense for the bungling at Port Eclare?”

  Armand fidgeted as he approached the throne. He felt a twinge. Surely not a lingering sense of respect for old Lucius? For once, the law was clear on this matter: nobles convicted of treason received on appeal before their silk noose. But surely, the ex-magistrate deserved whatever punishment the emperor deemed fit? Was Horatio II not the pure, shining arbiter of justice, unsullied by man's laws and courts and frippery? Armand brought himself up short as his thoughts began skittering down the slippery path to treason.

  No, it's something else, his mind insisted. Despite the stale sweat of fear soaking into his tunic, this rebuke felt wrong, almost disappointing. The words he was hearing sounded scripted, as though he had stepped through the chamber doors and into a bad play. He felt like a naughty child standing before a parent rather than a criminal on trial. He had expected more finesse on behalf of his emperor.

  Of course any simple-minded dolt would rashly conclude after the massacre at Port Eclare that he had acted as an agent provocateur, a pawn on behalf of that wretched magistrate. No doubt, General Festus had insisted as much to cover his own ass upon the man's disgraced return to the capital. Before the emperor hanged him from—

  The emperor snapped his fingers. A tall, familiar figure in battered red armor entered the chamber from a small anteroom behind the throne. A single armored lackey trailed behind him.

  By the five gods, the bastard still lives. Ah, Armand nodded to himself. The emperor was merely repeating the sentiments of another, duller intellect. Hark, my accuser approaches.

  “Captain,” the General Festus said, nodding to Armand and glaring at the books still clutched in his hands. “Still more of a librarian than a soldier, I see.”

  “General,” Armand sneered, sizing the man up from head to toe, dismissing his underling as he imagined a rope dangling around the man's neck. “I see you found another set of armor after Devin the Mage reduced your last suit to wind and rust. You gave the mages a great and terrible victory that day.” He raised his books. “These tomes will ensure they will not succeed again.”

  The emperor chuckled. “Your concern for General Festus is touching, yet misplaced. No magic spells shall breach this chamber.” He gestured to the wall behind him.

  “I care not one whit for Festus. He is a boor and incompetent. I fear for your person and your empire, my lord,” Armand said, his eyes following the emperor's gesture. For the first time, Armand noticed a pair of mounted brass clocks hanging on either side of the large, golden throne. His eyes had passed them by as two more pieces of gilt decoration, but now that the emperor drew his attention to it, the single, twisted dial looked oddly familiar.

  Armand glanced at the heavy bulge in his pocket. He had . . . liberated the useful device when he had rescued the magic books. The threat of the mages was too dire to be ignored.

  “Yes,” the emperor said, “these devices share a lineage with your little watch contraptions. They are antiques, but just as effective. And so much more inspiring, don't you think?”

  “You expect a magical attack here in the heart of the palace? Surely, a contingent of Black Guards would be more . . . mobile?” Armand asked. Surely there are still a few competent Black Guards who possess poor Trevor's sterling qualities? A rare few. A shadow of loyalty towards his old unit tugged at Armand's heart even as he contemplated abandoning them. I must be getting soft. But with Lucius gone, perhaps the Black Guards could be redeemed, finally stem the tide of the mage outbreak, and advance the career of one Armand Delacourt Vice. To better serve the empire of course.

  General Festus crossed his arms. “The Black Guards have lost the emperor's trust. Their old leader betrayed the faith of the imperial army. Their new leader has vanished.” His eyes narrowed. “Their liaison is a coward.”

  “A coward?” Armand growled. “Who was it who rallied your pathetic soldiers when the rocks were flying at Port Eclare? When your generals were beaten or . . . indisposed, who saved your precious army, Festus?”

  “You led them in a rout. A headless chicken flapping around the barnyard could have done the same,” Festus said. “I led men into battle.”

  “You led them to disaster. You are nothing more than an incompetent glory seeker,” Vice said. “Why not build a statue to celebrate the men who followed you to their deaths? We can make a pile of severed mechanical limbs and discarded helmets etched in marble. A fitting tribute to the worst military disaster in centuries . . .” Armand's voice trailed off and he swallowed, remembering the sea-sprayed piles of limbs and armor littering the beach. He coughed into his hand. “Perhaps a different monument.”

  General Festus seemed not to notice his discomfort. “I will not be upbraided by a poltroon and a torturer. You know nothing of tactics, of battling an overwhelming foe on the field of battle. You only know how to run away. Was it difficult facing an enemy not strapped down to a table, the fight beat out of of him by your martial betters?”

  “Tell me,” Armand asked, “was it harder to defeat a dragon in human flesh than a giant fairy tale creature with fire and fangs? Did the roasted flesh of your poor soldiers smell any different?” This was a safer taunt, which did not evoke any horrible memories. Devin may have bestial, magic blood in his veins, but he did not actually burn his Red Army victims.

  The army lackey sputtered and lunged forward. The general held out his arm and stopped the man's advance. “You have my thanks for leading my men to safety . . .” his face darkened and his voice grew harsh “. . . after assisting your superior in leading them into a trap. I will not forget that, Captain Vice.”

  “Enough,” the emperor said quietly. While lesser men would have roared and stomped, the soft commanding v
oice of Huron II had a more subtle effect. The great man was above shouting. He made you listen. “This squabbling is unseemly. Those are the books the traitor magistrate confiscated from Devin the Mage?”

  “Yes,” Armand, perplexed by the odd emphasis. Judges confiscated seditious materials from witnesses and criminals all the time.

  The emperor must have sensed his unspoken statement. “I merely question the man's motives for keeping the things. They should have been burned to ash, not ensconced in his personal library.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Armand nodded. “One of the man's many . . . unseemly actions. Along with his pathetic maneuvering attempts to protect his dragon blood son.”

  The emperor reached up and rubbed the small horned fire-breathing figure of his silver dragon crown and grimaced. Armand understood the gesture. The empire had kept the trappings and symbolism of the ancient, decrepit monarchy and why not? Dragons were fearsome foes in the abstract. But to actually venerate the magic beasts as the kings of old, to encourage magic?

  The empire had pursued such folly once without the quasi-religious trappings, thinking those awesome powers could be harnessed and contained, somehow civilized within the bosom of the army. It had been a foolish, reckless dream.

  The emperor dropped his hand back to his side. Armand nodded to himself. Mages and dragons are nothing more than feral, wild animals. Safer to destroy them.

  “Yes, he shielded his mage son, one horrible crime stacked upon another. Crimes to which you alerted this high court. You put your nation above personal loyalty. Such faith deserves a reward. Lucius Judicar was a great man once and an excellent administrator.” The emperor sighed. “Yet the tainting influence of his mage son and young Devin turned his heart to darkness.”

  “He made the Black Guards weak, spineless,” Armand hissed. The news of Corporal Trevor's gruesome death had affected him more than he cared to admit. There was a true hunter of mages. “Mage activity is on the rise, yet the guards allow more and more of the villainous rats to run free and infest your empire.”