The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  Patrice shook her head. “It won't last. Sooner or later, one mage's resolve is going to break in public. All this goodwill you're building will evaporate in a splash of human chunks and hatred. All it takes is one slur, one bad day, one personal tragedy. Mages being people just like everyone else cuts both ways, Devin. People are flawed.”

  “Then we need to start educating the mages then, too. Find constructive ways to release those ethereal energies. We've started the foundations for that already. Now we just need to implement them.”

  “No,” Patrice growled, “we need to get everyone agreeing to implement them or strong arm this new emperor you're appointing.”

  “Not just me. Everyone will have a stake in the new Iron Empire,” Devin said. “We just need to pick the right person to lead us.”

  Drusilla sniffed. “We're doing a fine job leading ourselves, thank you.”

  “If you are done deciding the fate of the country on a street corner?” The general had marshaled a company of his men. He placed a glowing necklace around the neck of one of his soldiers. “Private Kort has volunteered to serve as bait. He will lead a dragon back here. My men will step aside and let the glorious people's revolution show us their strength.”

  “We accept these terms,” Devin said.

  Festus lifted his hands. “I still can't believe you sullied yourself with this business, Devin. A dragon or a revolt will die here this day.” He scowled. “One beast is just as odious as the other.” He walked with a few quick, mincing steps over the dragon parts and shook Devin's hand. “Let it be a trial by combat then.”

  Devin shook the man's hand. “You're very sure-footed for a drunk who belches more than he speaks.”

  Festus grinned. “And you're very honorable for a treacherous knave who sacked his own government. I was curious to see if decapitating the army was next on your list. So I all but bared my chest to you.”

  Devin gripped the man's hand and squeezed. “What if we're playing the deep game now only to betray you later?”

  The general crushed the youth's fingers, leaned down, and whispered, “You jumped into the deep game the moment you dived into politics. Nasty, slimy waters. You're a capable fighter on your own, but that's not enough for politics. Prove to me you can lead other men in battle and I may just endorse this,” he snorted, “Dragon Party of yours. I'm too old for another coup.”

  “What of your loyalty to the emperor?”

  “We swear our oaths to the position, not the man.” Festus shrugged. “The golden throne appears to be a vacant post at the moment. Abandoned in time of war. Who will earn the right to claim it and wield and maintain the power to hold it, I wonder?” He raised his voice and gestured to the wrecked building across the street. “Get running, Kort. I want to see a dragon half the size of that house snapping at your heels in a trice.”

  The Private raised his visor, saluted, and then turned and walked down the street, his giant greaves clanking against the pavement. Devin closed his eyes and smiled. The smooth whirring gears of the soldier's properly oiled mechanical armor was sweet music after the eerie sloshing of the High Guards.

  He wondered if any of that strange armor survived the explosion. Once he got over his revulsion, it might be fun to—

  A loud roar echoed down the street, rattling what few windows remained intact in nearby buildings. Apparently the soldier had found his dragon.

  Devin beckoned to the rest of the party.

  General Festus scratched his beard and chuckled. “A mage of maturing years, an ex-guild member, a disgraced guardsman, a minor nobleman, and a street performer. This is the revolution of civilians you've gathered to slaughter the dragon of injustice?”

  “No.” Devin smiled, gesturing to his team. “These are their leaders.”

  “Can they defeat flesh and blood monsters, too?” Festus asked.

  “I'll show him 'maturing years,'” Patrice muttered, raising her fist and smacking it.

  “You are well informed, general,” Devin said, placing his hand over her fist and lowering it. He bit his lip to keep from smiling as he remembered the giant dragon's head smacking into the palace battlements with a similar meaty thunk. “Did your spies also tell you they are the best men and women in the city? I am proud to lead them.”

  “They might well be.” Festus snorted. “Most of the city has fled or died. Lead them then, Artifice Mage, but remember: no magic. Even if everyone loves your mages with open arms, nobody will stand for a country governed by tricks and sorcery.”

  Devin nodded and gathered his party around him. Styx stood to one side apart from the group. Devin sighed and passed on his orders.

  “We can do this. Nothing we haven't done before. Jemmy, hide in one of the alleys down the street until the beast passes. Then keep him pinned here as best you can. Go for the tail when I say and if he's persistent, slash the tendons in his hindquarters.”

  Jemmy nodded. “I've heard worse plans.” After saluting, he turned and jogged down the street.

  Devin glanced at the rest of his team. “Tarbon and Drusilla, flank the beast and throw all your watches at his wings and limbs when I give the command. Tie two of the chains together and try to wrap them around your targets. The watches won't stop his heart, but they might weaken his muscles. We don't want him flying away. Styx, are you going to help out?”

  Styx huffed and turned away.

  “If our plan works, this will be the last dragon we kill . . .”

  “Don't try to paint this with pretty words, Father.” His son glared. “Your plan will surrender perfect killing tools to that barbarous general to slaughter countless other dragons after we've—ha!—killed our last. We wipe our hands and walk away while that pile of dragon bodies grows larger after we leave.”

  “It's a compromise that will give us a chance to save as many of the other dragons as we can and lead them out of town.”

  “If you really cared, you would try to save all of them, not barter with a dragon butcher.”

  Devin's shoulders sagged. “I'm sorry you feel that way. I could have used your help.”

  “Why do you keep assuming the dragon is going to be male?” Patrice smiled. “Females of the species are always more clever than the males. Subduing a female adversary is a much better test of your skills. So what is my task, great leader?”

  Clever females, eh? She's less subtle than Styx! “We'll try to keep the beast occupied until you can sneak within striking distance. No magic. No heroics. Just wait for the opportune moment and throw the brass watch down the dragon's gullet again.”

  She quirked her eyebrow. “After you throw yours, of course. Or are you letting me lead?”

  Devin smiled and pointed to the top of the dragon carcasses. “I won't be participating in this dance. I shall be choreographing it from up there.”

  “You want me to face a dragon alone?”

  “Not alone. As part of a team, which I will be directing. The general wants to see me general, not fight alongside the troops.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Try not to zap or burn the poor beast when you miss with the watch, eh? I promised Festus we wouldn't use magic and we still don't know what ethereal threshold will trigger a reaction. Be safe.”

  Patrice nodded and pushed him towards Drusilla. “You're worrying about the wrong woman right now. Isn't there something you want to tell her before we all face certain death again?”

  “Have you come to subdue me?” Drusilla chuckled as Devin walked over to her. “Might be fun.”

  “Not unless you've turned into a dragon,” Devon muttered. May the gods' vengeful hands strangle Patrice.

  Her eyes lit up as she walked her fingers up his chest. “I can be your maven and you can be my drake.”

  Devin didn't trust himself to say anything.

  “After we've won the day, are you going to sweep me up in your arms, throw me on the ground, and ravish me with your eyes?” she asked with an arch, little smile. “Or will you keep sneaking into my bedroom and staring at my
breasts before throwing a blanket over them?”

  “You saw that?” Devin asked, backing away.

  She grabbed his wrist. “I saw everything. And so did you.” She worked his hand under her linen shift and placed his fingers on her bare breast. “This is ridiculous. Squeeze it,” she commanded.

  He hesitated. One of the soldiers in a plain, red uniform leered while another looked like his eyes might pop.

  “Eyes front, privates,” Drusilla growled, “before I feed them to the dragons. Please, Devin? Maybe you'll believe your other senses. Sight and hearing seem to have failed you.” He squeezed and she smiled. “The rest of me is just as soft and twice as warm.”

  “After this is over, we can find a nice patch of soft, warm grass . . . and talk,” Devin promised.

  Drusilla slapped his chest. “Tease,” she murmured.

  A loud rhythmic pounding suddenly echoed down the street. They both turned. The soldier assigned as armored bait was running towards them with a large, blue dragon stalking in his wake. Devin had never been so pleased and so furious in his life. A low humming spread through the air like a swarm of droning insects.

  Must be those infernal watches reacting to that stupid dragon, which had to come at the worst of all possible times.

  Drusilla glanced at his contorted expression and laughed. “Go lead us to victory, my drake.”

  Devin blinked. He took a deep breath and composed himself. He lowered his hand and bowed. “May you thrash all who oppose you, my maven.”

  The pile of dragon corpses smelled of blood and sour alcohol. Devin glanced over his shoulder as he climbed. Seeing everything from a height added a new perspective. He had just finished climbing to the top next to General Festus when the armored Private Kort collapsed in the street. The dragon licked his lips, raised a fore paw the size of a horse, and swatted the heavy armored private with ease.

  The man screamed as his armor hit the pavement and slid into a pile of rubble. The gears in his armor protested as he waved his arms frantically. His metal legs did not move. His knee bearings had been shattered and were spurting viscous black oil.

  A few soldiers moved to help their comrade, but the general stopped them with a glance. The large, blue dragon crouched, ready to spring on his helpless prey.

  Can't have that. Devin cupped his hands and yelled, “Dragon Party, to battle! Jemmy, skip the tail and slash that beast's hindquarters. Make him feel it. Drusilla, duck in and unlatch that poor man's armor after Jemmy distracts the dragon. Get the fallen soldier out of there.”

  “Interesting strategy. Still have a noble heart, I see,” Festus said.

  “Just clearing the battleground and proving our adaptability to the unforeseen,” Devin replied. “We would be poor allies if we let that drake play with your soldier like a kitten with a rat.”

  Festus grunted. “My rats have thicker hides and bigger teeth than yours.”

  Jemmy drew his sword with a quiet, steely hiss. He raised the blade overhead and threw it. The blade spun through the air and sank deep into the meat of the dragon's left thigh.

  Devin whooped. “Looks like our teeth are big enough!”

  The beast roared, arching his long neck to snap at the thorn in his leg, the soldier all but forgotten. Then the dragon saw Jemmy standing defenseless and hissed. The second cheer building in Devin's throat collapsed into a pile of mucous and bile.

  24. DEVIN, YEAR 498

  Devin felt a salty, bitter tang flowing down the back of his throat. He was clenching his teeth so hard, he'd bitten his cheek. I'm . . . actually concerned about Jemmy? he wondered, basking in the sudden warmth he felt for the Black Guard.

  Just in time to watch the man die, the artificer muttered. Save the feelings for later. Right now, that man is just a tool waiting in your workshop. Stop stalling and wield him.

  “Jemmy, take cover in one of the alleys,” Devin screamed, thrusting his arm to one side. “The dragon's too massive to follow you. Tarbon, prepare to strike. Dru, get that damn soldier out of there.”

  They move through their positions and tasks like the parts of a well-oiled machine. Devin paused his admiration to yell again as Jemmy hesitated. “Forget the stupid sword. Your job is done for now. Retreat! Tarbon, cripple the beast's hind legs and wings as best you can with watch strikes when he turns and chases Jemmy. Then find an alley of your own.”

  As Jemmy sprinted away, the dragon turned to lumber after him, and Drusilla rushed to unbuckle the hapless private from his busted armor. The man screamed again when she popped the seals on his leg. Drusilla ignored the man's cries and her fingers flickered across his armor like someone shucking a broken oyster. He couldn't see her fingers, but he knew those seals. They were hardly ever touched outside an emergency and she was having trouble finding all the latches.

  Devin had seen a lifetime of broken armor in the aftermath of Port Eclare: popped valves, shredded latches, and broken seals. He could imagine the misalignment of the delicate valves and gears in the knee joint. Devin could hear the teeth stripping when the young private thrashed.

  Drusilla finally wrestled the man from his armor, wrapped her arms under his armpits, and dragged him back toward the waiting line of soldiers. His left leg dragged awkwardly on the ground. Likely broken, Devin thought. Once she passed a certain point, the general raised his arm. The soldiers cheered and moved to assist.

  Drusilla collapsed and Devin struggled to push her from his mind. The dragon's hind legs clawed at the pavement and his shoulders wriggled after plunging neck deep into the narrow alley where Jemmy had sought refuge. Devin could see the beast's frustration as the tail lashed.

  “Your battle plan seems to neglect the most predictable facet of dragon tactics,” Festus said as they watched the dragon trying to squeeze into the narrow alleyway. “You forgot the one thing dragons are known for . . . against a knight no less.”

  Devin gestured. “Bait the dragon. Negate his defenses. Kill the dragon. We're doing better than your soldier.”

  “Hard to defend yourself retreating on foot,” the general conceded, “but you've left your knight in a blind alley without a shield or armor.”

  “The beast can't fit his claws—”

  “His claws are not my concern. Every creature has claws. But only dragons breathe fire.”

  “And how does one defend against such fire?” Devin asked. “I've heard stories of a certain battalion ambushed in the mountains by five massive drakes. How well did your shields and armor save the Red Army against molten dragon fire? How well did the armor save your soldier?”

  “Poorly,” the general said, scowling.

  “Better to keep mobile. Jemmy's quick feet and mind are his best defenses. He doesn't have to dodge for long.”

  “Yes,” the general grumbled, “his equally unprotected team shall try and save him. I look forward to seeing you coordinate your attack. Be sure you've formed a strategy in your mind first, lad. Don't just have them rush into things. And be certain to always appear poised and confident, even when your heart quivers.”

  Interesting wrinkle, Devin mused, nodding as Festus offered him no doubt more sage advice and focused on his team. When a battle reduced to a series of maneuvers, it was easy to think of everything as a problem and people as tools for solving those problems. Dangerous habit. How do we throw something down the dragon's throat when all he offers Patrice is his rear end?

  “Patrice, prepare to attack. You may have to step on his tail.”

  “What?” she shrieked.

  Do all larger dragons' organs work with magical assistance? Could we feed the watch into the other end? Would Patrice ever talk to me again if I ordered her to stuff a dragon like a plucked goose? Would a monster succumbing to slow death by constipation impress General Festus?

  “I can hear the gears in your mind grinding from here,” Festus chuckled. “A good general adapts as the situation changes around him. What will you do?”

  “Jemmy,” Devin called, “when Patrice stomps on
the dragon's tail, go for your sword and distract him. Patrice, whether he roars, starts to flame, or goes to bite, you'll only get one throw.”

  Patrice was already sprinting toward the dragon. She ducked under the lashing tail and braced it on her shoulders to expose the creature's cloaca. She drew back her arm, watch in hand, and smiled.

  “Hey, Devin. Look here,” she said, shoving the watch deep inside. The cheering among the soldiers died. There was no other noise except a small puckering sound as Patrice withdrew her arm and shook the mucous off it.

  The dragon screeched in a tone reserved for tiny birds. Patrice backed away slowly, second watch already twirling overhead.

  “Now there's someone who knows how to take initiative,” Festus said, slapping his thigh as the cheering redoubled. “You have good subordinates, Devin. I would take her into battle any time. The Black Guard, too, despite his past ties.”

  Bless the five gods for subordinates who can read their leaders' minds. Devin startled. She didn't really . . . did she? Do some mages actually possess such skills? There's so much I don't know. Focus on the task at hand.

  In the back of his mind, Devin knew this was a vital test, but it lacked urgency. After the behemoth on the parapet, any lesser dragon seemed anticlimactic, a rote battle. They were not only a well-oiled machine, but proven and tested. Inventing, building, and testing: these were the joys of an artificer's craft. Once the design had been proven, only boring components like maintenance and sales remained.

  Devin watched idly as the dragon limped from the alley.

  He sighed. Now she's going to throw that second watch down his gullet. Another dead dragon. We've done it before.

  The dragon roared and as she flung the watch, he arched his neck and released a tower of flames into the sky. The watch clanged off the beast's scales and dropped to the ground. The dragon swept the object aside with one paw as one might swat a midge.

  She threw another watch. The dragon ducked. The watch smacked against the crumbling stone wall of the house behind him.

  Patrice, Devin hissed in his mind, what are you doing? The dragon's jaws weren't even open that time.