Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2)

by Foster, Brian W.

  Not the words—nor the tone—he’d dreamed her saying to him when they first met for real. Didn’t she recognize him? “My fair maiden?”

  “Niskma is the proper address or, if you must, my lady.” She thrust the dress toward him.

  He grabbed the garment by reflex, holding it high in the air.

  “No.” Ashley sounded as if she addressed the most incompetent servant in creation. “Hold it out from your body by the shoulders. The bottom of the skirt should almost touch the floor.”

  Why didn’t she know him? And was she being mean on purpose?

  His mind a whirl of confusion, Xan’s body obeyed. She stepped into the dress, baring even more of her legs, and bent forward to put her arms in the sleeves. Her shift gapped from her chest.

  Far from her chest.

  He couldn’t help but gawk before remembering his manners and looking away. After a moment, a strong tug pulled the dress from his grasp.

  She twirled, putting her back to him. “Button me.”

  His hands quivered even to brush her neck. As he fumbled with at least fifteen snaps, he cursed himself for his clumsiness. It seemed to take hours to get them fastened.

  “Retrieve my saddlebags from the bottom of the armoire.” Her voice left no doubt that she expected to be obeyed.

  They’d used a lot of magic. With Justav surely near on their trail, they needed to get far from the manor quickly. There was no time to pack. But Xan couldn’t find words to gainsay her. He stood stunned.

  “Excuse me, my lady,” Brant said. “We’re in a hurry.”

  “It will take but a minute if your man will get a move on.”

  His man? Xan couldn’t comprehend her reaction. “Ashley—”

  She directed a commanding look at him, and he withered.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He found three bags and deposited them in front of the wardrobe.

  She pulled stacks of folded clothing and dropped them. Her underthings.

  Heat rose to Xan’s face anew, followed by even more heat when he determined she expected him to stow the garments. He stuffed the silky material in the bags as if prolonged contact would burn. Finally, she stopped adding item after item to the pile on the floor, and while she pulled on her boots, he struggled to close the buckles on the overburdened packs.

  Ashley took Brant’s proffered elbow with a smile, and the couple left the room. How had that happened? She was supposed to be on Xan’s arm.

  Lugging the saddlebags, he hurried after them and caught up when they reached Dylan at the top of the stairs.

  “Any sign of trouble?” Brant said.

  “No.” Dylan bowed briefly at Ashley.

  Brant nodded. “Nothing to do about the archer, I guess. Best to go out the back.”

  Maybe there was still a chance to show Ashley who really rescued her. Xan took a deep breath. “No. Too risky to have him at our backs.” He bounded down the stairs.

  “Xan!”

  He ignored Brant’s call and dashed out the manor’s front door. The lookout in the tower scanned the courtyard, his bowstring taut and arrow nocked. He loosed as soon as he spotted Xan.

  The wood shaft disintegrated into ashes, sending the metal head swirling to crash randomly into the ground. The bowman reached for his quiver.

  Magic coursed through Xan. “You had your shot. My turn.”

  As the archer strung a second arrow, his bow—string and all—burst into flame. He screamed and threw the weapon. It plummeted to the ground, lighting the grass on fire. The man smothered his burning hands against his pants, moaning from the pain.

  Xan searched inside himself for remorse at the injury he’d caused. Nothing. If a man’s going to try to kill him, Xan had every right to hurt him.

  The deaths, though.

  Ashley stared at him in horror. What had he done now? Surely, she wasn’t that delicate to be stunned at the sight of violence. Could it be the magic? But why?

  “We should get out of here,” Brant said.

  Right. Justav. No time to worry about Ashley.

  Xan and Dylan rushed to the stable and saddled a large white stallion that, according to Dylan, simply had to belong to the niskma considering how fine the creature was. They had everything ready by the time Brant escorted her inside.

  While Dylan helped her onto the horse, Xan pulled Brant outside. “Ride Ashley out the front. The rest of us will meet you at the stream.”

  “The sentry from the road is still out there somewhere,” Brant said. “Why not just lift the horse over the back of the wall?”

  Xan hated the situation. Hated Brant riding with Ashley. Hated the potential of them facing another guard. But something was off about her reaction. “You can handle one guy, right?”

  Brant grinned.

  “Do what I told you,” Xan said.

  “Fine. You’re in charge.”

  Ashley rode out, and Brant climbed on the horse behind her. He put his hands on her waist and whispered in her ear. She giggled.

  Watching them accomplished nothing but adding to Xan’s pain, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away until they disappeared from sight. He shook his head. Still so far to go to make good their escape from Justav.

  Xan had to hold himself together.

  He groaned. Lainey. She was going to find out sooner or later about him killing those men. How could so much have gone so wrong?

  44.

  Xan’s mind spun as he led Lainey and Dylan toward the horses.

  His magic use against the archer had stunned and horrified Ashley—a reaction that made no sense. Why would she, a mage, think anything about someone else using magic? Especially since she already knew about his ability because of the dream. Stranger still, there hadn’t been even a flicker of recognition on her face. It was if she had no clue who he was.

  A duke dying mysteriously. A siege. Battles between duchies. Strange accents. Unexpected reactions.

  “Under no circumstances is anyone other than me to use magic around Ashley,” Xan said.

  “What?” Lainey said. “Why?”

  “There’s no reason for the three of you to hang if there’s no pardon,” Xan said.

  Dylan started. “But you—”

  Xan held up a hand to silence him. “I’m sure we’ll be able to work out something with the duke, but why risk your lives on a maybe?”

  By the time they reached the creek, he’d spun himself in circles considering all the possibilities, and Ashley arriving, with Brant’s arms wrapped around her and his chest flush against her back, did nothing to make Xan feel better.

  He knew that Brant was good with girls, but really? How the blast did he get so familiar with her so quickly? It had taken Xan twenty nights to put his arm tentatively around her shoulder.

  Everything was slipping away. Her. His chances for escaping.

  Brant dismounted, and she trailed her hand along his arm as he slid to the ground.

  The loving touch twisted the knife in Xan’s gut. He wouldn’t cry. Anything but that.

  Ashley caught his eyes and smirked as if to say, “You thought you could have this? Silly boy.” She was trying to hurt him. It was the only explanation.

  Xan rushed to untie Honey. As he climbed onto the horse, he winced at the two stab wounds in his back, reminders of all he’d went through to save her and what her rescue had cost him. Why would she want to add to his pain?

  With everyone mounted, Brant led them east through the stream until they reached the bridge and up the south embankment onto the lane. After a half mile, fields that had been cut from the forest appeared on each side, and an hour before first light, the group stopped in a clearing to rest and cook breakfast.

  Xan had ridden at the back. Like a little space would let him ignore Brant and Ashley. As if Xan could forget her. At best, the ride provided a brief respite.

  With them stopped, he could put it off no longer. He pulled Brant aside. “Lead the others away for a few minutes while I talk to Ashley.”

  “Sur
e thing, boss,” Brant said. “Good luck.”

  What did that mean? Xan shrugged off the question. More important matters demanded his attention.

  As his friends left and with Ashley watching silently, he heaped dry branches in a pile at the center of a clearing. Before lighting it, he paused. What he was about to do was stupid. She’d seen him use magic and had been unimpressed. A further display wasn’t likely to produce any benefit.

  And it would give Justav a clue as to their location. Xan grimaced. It was a horrible idea.

  But what was he going to do? Dig around his saddlebags for a flint with her just standing there? How stupid would that make him look?

  At a glance, the wood ignited.

  On the other side of the blaze, Ashley glided to a seat on a log, making the humble support seem like a throne. “You’re either brave or stupid to use magic openly.” Her tone left no doubt she favored the second option.

  Xan shrugged, wishing he could change her opinion of him. Wishing he didn’t share that opinion. “I’ve already got a catcher after me.” He explained about Justav, leaving out the part about his three friends also being mages. “Maybe the duke will spare my life because I rescued you?”

  She gave no sign of being moved by the tale. “Even my father’s power has limits.”

  Another reaction that made no sense. The duke had spared her the same fate for the same crime. Why would she lie?

  Xan sank to the ground. “Be that as it may, he’s my best chance.”

  “You should run. Brant can escort me home.”

  Ouch.

  Xan stared into her beautiful green eyes. “Do I look familiar to you?”

  Ashley studied him. “Were you a servant at the castle? You’re no good with horses, so not a stablehand. Did you clean chamber pots?”

  Great. Just how he wanted her to picture him. “Have you had any vivid dreams recently?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t recall any. Why?”

  He barely stopped himself from slapping his forehead. Of course, she didn’t remember the meadow. She’d had no recollection of real life while in the dream. Why would she remember the dream in real life?

  She had no idea who he was. Not only was he not her hero, they, as far as she was aware, had no connection at all. He had absolutely no shot with her. Especially since she inexplicably loathed him with a passion beyond reason.

  “Just an idle question,” he said.

  They lapsed into silence, her ignoring his existence. There was much he needed to know. Had she seen any evidence of her captors being mages? Did she know where Morav was from with that strange accent?

  He couldn’t make himself care enough to ask.

  Feet traipsing through dead leaves at the edge of the clearing drew his attention, and Brant and Dylan joined them at the fire. Brant sat next to Ashley. Their bodies touched. She pulled his ear down to her mouth. After a hissed whisper, they both laughed and continued a conversation in hushed tones with their heads close together. Ashley giggled.

  Xan bolted from his seat and rushed into the woods. He needed help. Someone to make sense of the situation, to tell him things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

  Lainey.

  His sister was a girl. Maybe she could explain, help him salvage something. He yelled for her but got no response. After a frantic dash, he spotted her sitting with her back to a tree, moonlight shining off her blank, red eyes. Tears had left trails through dirt on both her cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” he said. “Is it your ankle?”

  Her expression bore utter disdain. “How could you?”

  “What?”

  “Dylan told me!” she screamed.

  Told her what?

  “How many people did you kill?” She spat the words.

  His knees threatened to buckle. “That’s all you care about?”

  “They were people, Xan.”

  Spattered blood. Headless corpses. Agonized cries from the archer.

  He’d killed three people and seriously injured another. “What choice did I have?”

  “You always have a choice!”

  The guards at the manor were clear enemies. Xan had expected their attack. He didn’t expect Ashley’s hate. Brant stealing her affection. Lainey’s anger. Dylan’s betrayal in running to her.

  “You’re right,” Xan said. “I did have a choice, and I’d make the same one again!”

  Silence hung between them for a moment with her glaring at him and him meeting her stare with one as intense. He couldn’t hold on to his anger, though. It was his fault her life was at risk.

  He fled.

  Though the sky had brightened, deep shadows still inundated the forest. He hurtled past trees and brush until something caught his foot. Tumbling forward, he stretched his hands in front of him before landing hard on the root-covered ground. A low hanging limb scratched his face, and a rock dug into his stomach.

  Resting his forehead on his hands, he lay there, not moving, and let tears escape until his eyes ran dry. The dimness of dawn turned to full morning light.

  Something in his pocket pressed hard against his thigh. He dug it out. The carving of the oak leaf. How much hope he’d put into a stupid token. So ridiculous of him to think she could ever care for him, that what they’d had in a dream could be real. He needed to grow up.

  Xan gripped the miserable trinket with both hands and twisted, but it didn’t break. It didn’t even bend. With a snarl, he flung it at a tree. For a wonder, it hit the trunk before bouncing onto the ground. Unharmed.

  Burn it. He embraced the magic.

  But maybe he shouldn’t. He’d already lit one fire. Justav was still out there looking for him. One thoughtless usage was bad enough. Two would give the catcher way too much information.

  Xan ignited the carving with a thought. A fireball consumed the wood, and he didn’t stop pouring in energy until only ashes remained.

  He just couldn’t bring himself to care about Justav.

  45.

  Justav bent over a headless corpse resting in an oak chair. Only spattered blood and gray bits remained of what had been above the neck. Two more bodies, each with cylindrical burn holes large enough to stick an arm through, lay on the floor.

  Drawn weapons and the resting places of the three suggested they’d all been killed in a single blast. Such a display of power.

  He spun to face Eugeus. “What have you found?”

  “Four men and two serving women knocked out just like our guardsmen back in Eagleton.”

  Justav tugged on the decapitated body, and the carcass tumbled onto the floor. “Our quarry, just as we assumed.” He sat. “Bring in the two so-called guards you captured.”

  Had the boy’s ineptitude been an act? How had untrained children—even powered ones—carried out such an attack?

  Eugeus and one of the guardsmen—Marcus?—pushed in two bound men and forced them to their knees in front of the desk.

  “What happened here?” Justav gestured at the bloody carnage.

  “I don’t know nothing,” the one on the right said. “I was out at the road un—”

  Justav nodded at Eugeus, who kicked the pathetic imbecile in the gut.

  “It was a mage, my lord catcher,” the one with burned hands said. “My bow burst into flames—”

  Justav nodded again. Another punch. “What did he look like?”

  “Tall. Thin.”

  The boy then. Since the earliest indications had been of fire magic, his being an alchemist made sense. Given the crushed door down the hall and the rocks at the cave, he had at least a masser with him and, perhaps, a kineticist as well.

  And whomever they’d found at the manor was another, one powerful enough to dream. Had Justav uncovered a secret cadre trained by Bermau? That could be quite dangerous to Dastanar’s plans. But there’d been no spy reports.

  Justav loathed mysteries. “Who was held here?”

  Both the bound men clamped their mouths shut. Justa
v gestured with his finger, and Eugeus drew a sword.

  The sentry’s eyes widened. “Milord, I don’t know noth—”

  Eugeus plunged the sword through the man’s heart.

  Blood poured from the wound. The man’s face registered confusion and pain. His mouth formed words, but no sound emerged.

  The blade’s steel rang as Eugeus withdrew it, and the man collapsed forward with a thud.

  “Shall we try again?” Justav said.

  Eugeus wiped both sides of the steel against the man’s brown tunic.

  The archer paled. “Niskma Ashley Asher, my lord catcher.”

  Interesting. Justav furrowed his brow. “You’re one of Irdrin’s men, yes?”

  The archer hesitated. “Yes, my lord.”

  Justav pointed toward the body lying at the foot of the oak chair. “And this one, your leader, also one of Irdrin’s?”

  “No, my lord. Dastanarian.”

  Justav exhaled softly. The king always worked plots inside of plots. If only his view of “need to know” matched life in the field …

  The archer was obviously an ally, though one of dubious use and one who knew too much. Too chancy to leave any alive who could tie Dastanar to Truna, much less the niskma’s kidnapping.

  He made another quick gesture with his finger, and Eugeus stabbed the archer. They’d have to dispatch the sleepers as well. And fire the manor.

  “What do you make of this?” Justav said.

  “Kidnapping your enemy’s daughter before a siege is a favored tactic,” Eugeus said. “Drag her onto the field out of bowshot. Strip her. Have your men line up. Bad for morale to sit behind the walls and watch your liege lord’s daughter be defiled.”

  “But why allow the dreaming every night?” Justav said.

  Eugeus shrugged. “My guess? King Barius didn’t deem this mission important enough to risk a magic user.”

  “If that’s the case and there was no mage here to stop her, why didn’t she escape long ago?” Justav really loathed mysteries. “Why wasn’t another catcher dispatched when I was?”

  Eugeus shrugged again.

  Justav could turn the situation to his advantage. If he recaptured the girl in addition to fulfilling his original mission, what would the rewards be? Maybe he’d end up ruling Vierna when Dastanar completed its conquest. Duke Justav had a nice ring to it.