The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  “So, you will protect them, will you, Styx?” Devin asked, gathering the watches and placing them on the far end of the room. The dragons seemed to perk up when he shoved the brass devices into a drawer. Devin was reminded of the dawn dragons of Port Eclare shaking off their cool night torpor and launching towards the rising sun. “So, a point of fact: distance and shielding have a profound dampening effect on how the watches impact dragon physiology. Fascinating.” he stroked the stubble on his chin.

  Styx laughed and his shaking chest disturbed the dragons. They launched themselves into the air. The watches made hardly a peep.

  Devin shook his head. “Sometimes I could almost understand magic.”

  “But can you understand mages?” Drusilla asked, shaking her fist mockingly at one of the male dragons flying around her head. “Jemmy will be here soon to take you to them.”

  “Captain Jemmy,” he corrected, “the Black Guard.”

  “Ex-Black Guard. Fordus even vetted—”

  “Doesn't mean I trust him,” Devin snorted. “He led a small army to capture me, Dru. To drag me back to the empire.”

  “Last time I heard this story, it was a mere company . . . which you flattened. And then he let you go anyway and you came back to the empire of your own volition. We don't have many people in our little dragon group who aren't guild members. Please don't shoo this one away. Give him a chance to prove his . . . mettle.” She grabbed a rod from a pile of scrap and touched Devin lightly on the head.

  He reached for the rod with one hand and pulled her close with the other. “Your jokes haven't gotten any better over the years.”

  She whipped the rod away from his clutches and lightly poked his chest. “Your reflexes are still shoddy.”

  He grabbed a thicker rod from the pile and swatting hers away. He gripped it with both hands. The grease on the thing was making it slide through his fingers. “If there were wooden swords, it would be like old days again.”

  By the arch smile on Drusilla's face, old childhood memories were not on her mind. “You clutch that thing with a firm, well-oiled grip, Sirrah. Against a woman! Plenty of practice swinging your rod in Corel?” Drusilla smirked when Devin blushed. “I'm more used to skinny rods myself.” She smacked his rod away half-heartedly. “Most people just come in here looking for . . . an artificer. The only pounding around here is metal grinding against metal.”

  “Who . . .ahem, what I was doing in Corel is not your concern.” Devin winced as the rod fell to the ground. He jerked his foot back. “Slipped out of my hands.”

  “Yet another man who can't handle his own rod.” She sighed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Was all that talk about my bedroom the day you came back just mindless banter? And here I had hoped some sweet Corelian lass put a bit of her polish on you.”

  Devin glanced away towards the dirty windows. “That glass could use a bit of—”

  “Aha!” Her eyes narrowed. “There was, wasn't there? You're pining for some country rube.”

  “Drusilla . . .” he reached to caress her face, but she swatted his fingers.

  A loud knock sounded on the door. She sighed and pushed him away with her metal stick. “Best not keep Captain Jemmy waiting. I will leave my bedroom door open tonight if you decide . . . whatever you decide. She gave Styx a guilty look. The wooden man was staring at them both with a befuddled expression. “I'll send your son and his dragons on a long errand.” She leaned close and whispered in Devin's ear. “I keep the windows smeared and dirty on purpose. What would the neighbors think of their respectable artificer if they saw the things I do alone at night?”

  9. DEVIN, YEAR 497

  The overcast, moonless sky made the capital a city of long, mournful shadows in the flickering light of the street lamps. Not a good night to be alone.

  Jemmy kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, but as a man might grip a walking stick, not an instrument of death. The cheeky fool was even whistling.

  “The alleys are dark tonight,” Devin said, peering into the shadows.

  “I suppose they are.” Jemmy ducked into one of them, thrusting his arm back into the light and beckoning for Devin to follow.

  A flame dancing on my fingertips would be handy right now. Devin sighed as the darkness closed around him. “You remember I have no magic?”

  Thank the five gods, the artificer grumbled.

  “Yes, your magic is gone. I saw it happen,” Jemmy said with a loud stage whisper.

  Devin wondered why, suddenly wishing he had a weapon at his hip. Like that sword.

  “Obviously you'd prefer the world not to know. I am uncertain of the wisdom of that, but as you will. Worried I might spill your secret, lad? You've given me no reason to betray you.”

  “But do you not betray your mage companions by concealing the truth?”

  “Oh, the magic is still in you somewhere. I've no doubt of that. Not much of a secret, really.” He blocked Devin with his arm, a barely discernible shape in the gloom, and pushed the startled youth backwards. “Besides, who said all the mages were friends of mine? Dark places for dark souls.” He pitched his voice higher and Devin could hear the smirk lingering inside it. “Isn't that right, you horrible rogues?”

  “So, your so-called savior of all mage kind is naught but a powerless milksop?” a husky voice asked as two glove-muffled hands began to clap. “My dear Captain. You've sold my poor brethren an empty sack of dust and called it gold. They will be so disappointed.” A few other voices chuckled in the dark.

  “You all heard that?” Jemmy affected a tone of injured wonder as though the thought of other men with ears perplexed him. In the dark silence, Jemmy's steel sword rasped from its sheath. “Shame. Four less idiots yammering at the meeting tonight.”

  “Or two,” the husky voice growled. “Ignore the sop. Swarm the knight.”

  Four pairs of flaming orbs lit the alley. Fists, Devin realized.

  “What's that?” the voice mocked. “No brass shriek echoing off the walls? Left your infernal geegaw at home on meeting night, eh?” the husky voice crowed. “Polite, but foolish. Kill him, lads.”

  Jemmy spat. “I don't need fancy tricks for the cabal. I will butcher you like one of your own dragons. Hang you up on the wall as a warning to others.”

  Bullies, Devin railed. Then he remembered the last time he had fought bullies by throwing rocks. Didn't need magic for that. He knelt down and felt the cracked pavement with his fingertips, prying a loose chunk free. Those glowing fists made such tempting targets.

  The sword drew sparks as it skittered across the brick walls. Jemmy was using broad strokes, keeping the length of the blade between him and his foes in the close quarters of the alley. “Fighting steel with burning fists?” he clucked. “It's showy, but you boys wouldn't last a moment on the training field. You've just made yourself a pretty target. Now, Devin!”

  How had he known? Devin thought as he hurled the missiles.

  A few of the bullies cried out and screamed. Several of the flaming orbs extinguished.

  Yes, Devin exalted.

  In the dim, candlelit gloom, Jemmy squared his shoulders and marched forward. He reversed the grip on his sword so the blade pointed down. He kicked the first assailant to the ground and stabbed before vanishing into the dark. The cries soon became a chorus of gurgling protests and choked words. Then, silence. A flare lit further down the alleyway. The striking sound of flint on steel followed by an ominous click echoed off the walls.

  “Come on, it's safe,” Jemmy called. “Watch your step.”

  Devin carefully navigated around the corpses to reach the knight. Jemmy held a fat cigar over the gasping prone figure of a man wearing large, thick gloves and oddly familiar clothes: dark slacks and a mottled gray vest.

  Jemmy probed a finger into the man's wound. “Nasty cut you got there, High Lord Fangwaller. Fatal if it gets infected. But you won't have to worry about that. Go on. Tell the lad who you folks are.”

  The man screamed as Jemmy probed
deeper: a long blood curdling wail. He clenched his teeth, chest heaving. “You shall regret this . . . indig . . . nation,” the man gasped.

  “You fellows don't belong in my indig . . . nation,” Jemmy said, removing his finger and wiping the blood on the man's vest. “You should have gone back to Corel ages ago. You chose to meddle instead.”

  “Beware, Black Guard. I'm not one of your tame imp sideshows. We have real magic in Corel, not explosions and cheap theatrics.”

  “I already know who they are,” Devin said quietly, pulling Jemmy's arm away. “The Dark Cabal. I've seen them before in Corel.”

  “So, you folks like playing with fire, eh?” Jemmy tapped hot ash on the man's face and pocketed an igniter. “Let me cauterize those wounds for you.”

  “No,” Fangwaller shrieked.

  “Now tell the lad why you're hunting him,” Jemmy said. “Before you bleed out, please.”

  “You threaten everything. We don't need a savior,” Fangwaller hissed. “We don't need upheaval. Bad for business. The imps treat us well enough even if we are foreigners. They only respect power. Stupid emperor never even suspected we were mages. You'll regret this, Captain.” The dying man reached for Jemmy's neck with one gloved hand. The leather began to glow. “And that odious campaign. 'Save the Dragons,' really? Did you think we wouldn't notice those stupid fliers?”

  “Oh no, I was counting on it.” Jemmy drove his sword down, casually, cutting the man off with a gurgling squelch. Fangwaller clutched his chest as his heels drummed on the pavement. The heels slowed and then stopped. The glowing in his gloves faded. He lay still. Jemmy turned to Devin. “Most mages are eager for change. These fellows fear it.”

  “There are mages who are . . . happy the way things are in the empire?” Devin asked. He could scarcely fathom it. “What about all the suffering?”

  “The cabal doesn't care who suffers so long as they keep profiting from the illegal dragon trade. Mercenaries and businessmen make shit revolutionaries, lad. Remember that when you're dealing with the likes of Lord Tarbon. I just gutted his main supplier.”

  We've not had one true meeting and infighting already. Glorious. “What are the Dark Cabal doing here in the capital?” Devin asked, prodding Fangwaller's corpse with his toe.

  “Protecting their interests, what else? They manipulate from the shadows with campaigns of whispers and lies. Much like the city council . . . if the council was made of foreigners and less powerful.”

  “The council?” Devin glanced over his shoulder and moved deeper into the shadows, pressing his back against the icy brick wall. He shivered, but not from the cold. Drusilla had told him stories of the council: the secret group of powerful citizens who ran the capital. Some said if the High Guards were the emperor's naked fist, the council was his poisonous velvet glove. Others said the emperor himself served at the pleasure of the higher ranking council members.

  Jemmy laughed. “You think those lofty city councilmen would dirty their fancy robes skulking through dark alleys?” He gestured with his sword, splattering a trace of blood across the merchant's dead body. “No, they would hire someone to skulk for them. Though I doubt anyone from the cabal would take orders from an imperial bureaucrat.”

  Grinning sheepishly, Devin emerged from the shadows. “What else can you tell me about the cabal?”

  “Not much else to tell.” Jemmy shrugged. “Mostly Corelian mages, but they've gained a few converts among the more gullible imperials. Some people just hate the idea of change, even beneficial change.” Jemmy shook his head. Then a breeze wafted through the alley, rustling some papers, and the knight laughed. “Those posters your son plastered all over the outer city were ingenuity. Drove the bastards out of hiding and right into my arms. Thank you.”

  “It wasn't my idea,” Devin demurred as the knight wiped his blade on the dead man's vest and sheathed it.

  “Well, I may have helped spread them around after Styx left . . . places that sell various dragon products . . . the kiosk at our headquarters . . . once I saw the nature of his mission,” Jemmy said. “Let's see if we can kill the opposition for good, eh? Get the man's gloves, won't you?”

  Devin sighed as he stripped off the heavy, embroidered leather gloves. They were sticky with blood. He handed them to the knight. Poor Styx. Did anybody who saw them not use those fliers to serve their own ends?

  Jemmy pocketed the bloody gloves. “Something else to nail on the kiosk at headquarters. This should keep those bastards quiet.”

  The knight thrust the cigar between his teeth, leading Devin through a dark, winding maze of alleyways and crumbling brick corridors. Their feet splashed though mud, fetid water, and other less identifiable putrid substances. Devin could have sworn he stepped in a ribcage at one point. Who knew? He could not even see his own feet. The world was reduced to two narrow falls, Jemmy's back, and the tiny light of burning ash bobbing ahead of them.

  The alleys began to change. The broken streets grew smooth underfoot. The naked bricks became covered with rough plaster. The path started inclining. Devin smacked the walls. “You're taking us to the center of the capital. To the inner city.”

  Jemmy nodded.

  “There's nothing but museums, offices, and the emperor's palace in the inner city.”

  Jemmy nodded again. “Perfect place to hide. After the bureaucrats away, the mages come out to play,” he said in an eerie sing song voice.

  Devin chuckled.

  “I didn't make it up,” Jemmy said. “It's our password. Sign - counter sign. Or you know, sing - counter sing.”

  “How are you avoiding the patrols—” Devin broke off when the ex-Black Guard snorted.

  They walked for a time in silence. Then the moon broke through the clouds, illuminating a large, stone wall at the end of the ally. Jemmy walked straight to a small trap door at the base of the wall and beat a pattern on the wood with his boot heel.

  After the sound of a heavy bolt sliding back, the trap door cracked open. “Is that you, Jemmy? I can smell that foul cigar from down here,” a voice called.

  “Yes,” the knight replied, kneeling and stubbing the cigar. “I brought a guest with me. Sorry we're late. We were debating continental mage politics with—”

  “I know, I know,” the voice said, chuckling. “Who do you think let them through on this end? Thought they'd blast down my door when they heard about your guest. I like you, Jemmy, but those Corelian fellows are my brothers-in-arms, too.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Pity,” the voice replied as the door banged open, revealing a short, smiling man in a dark half cape with a single, glowing finger. “Family squabbles are always so vicious.”

  Jemmy grunted. “That branch of the family should have stayed on the far side of the mountains. Their hearts are made of cold, greasy money.”

  The smiling man caressed the fabric of his cape. “Money has its uses, Jemmy. We can't fund the second mage revolt with hot passions and empty promises.” He raised the glowing finger and peered at Devin's face. Then he looked down at Devin's metal foot and gasped, “Is this the one?”

  Jemmy crossed his arms and nodded. “Spurred the first real fight for mage judicial equality this country has ever seen. Routed an entire battalion of the Red Army and pissed on the Black Guards the entire time. May I introduce Devin, the Artifice Mage?”

  “I've heard the stories. I almost believe we can win, now.” The man gave a little bow. “Tobias Drubber, at your service. Humble practicing doctor by daylight. Dashing mage revolutionary by evening.” He gave his half cape a little twirl and laughed.

  Devin shook the man's hand. “A doctor? Like a sawbones doctor? And nobody suspects what you are?”

  “Certainly some of my experiments are rather energetic. And my patients may be getting suspicious about the nature of their cures, but here I am. I may have had a few accidents around the lab examining the precise nature of my ailment, but . . .” The man waved away such petty concerns with a flick of his wrist.
/>   Devin drew back from the little man. “Ailment? What ailment?”

  “Magic, dear boy. What else?” The doctor shook his head. “The same horrid disease that afflicts every man and woman within our humble revolution. With the exception of the captain over there.”

  Jemmy shrugged and rolled his eyes.

  The doctor shook his glowing finger at the knight. “I have warned you that prolonged exposure to infected individuals may worsen your condition. Yet you persist in attending every meeting.” Tobias stood on his tiptoes to feel Jemmy's forehead. The knight obligingly knelt. “Any faintness of breath? Tingling in your fingertips?”

  Jemmy shook his head, dislodging the man's fingers. “Not among me nor any Black Guards under my command ever. And we came into contact with quite a few mages, doctor. But check my vitality if it pleases you.”

  “Finding a cure would please me,” Tobias muttered, placing his ear to the knight's chest and then shining his finger into Jemmy's eyes. “You are as always insufferably healthy. Perhaps your years of brief, punctuated exposure working for the Black Guards have allowed you to build a resistance to this disease.”

  “Perhaps,” Jemmy said, grinning as he tapped on his sword hilt, “there is only one cure for your condition.” The little man shivered and abandoned his examination. Jemmy leaned over and whispered in Devin's ear. “He really is a good doctor. Just has one or two odd ideas about magic.”

  Tobias gestured for them to precede him into the tunnel. Devin and the knight climbed down a short ladder.

  “Your ex-associates among the guards won't find anything suspicious among the corpses, Captain Jemmy?” the doctor asked as he re-latched the trap door from the inside. His entire body glowed now, lighting the tunnel. The vaulted roof of the underground passage was just below head height for most. Jemmy had to stoop, but Tobias and Devin could walk unbowed.

  “The lad told me their leader had some sort of magic-imbued gloves,” Jemmy said, passing the blood-stained objects to the doctor for inspection.