Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2)

by Foster, Brian W.

  With the last sword strike, Xan spun and wordlessly stalked to Honey.

  * * *

  Xan grimaced at the sight of Ashley waiting for him inside the castle gate.

  Would she be disgusted by the results of his mission or impressed? Which would be better? Which did he want?

  And what if Tasia found out? He wouldn’t be able to bear her hating him.

  “Where have you been?” Ashley said.

  “Killing people.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I told you not to put yourself in danger.”

  Neither disgusted nor impressed. The correct answer was C—mad. He should have known. “You should be happy. I ordered others to do all my dirty work.” He dismounted.

  “What’s this then?” She fingered the tear in his cape.

  “I’m clumsy. My clothes get torn all the time.”

  “Looks like an arrow hole to me,” she said.

  Xan shrugged.

  “Listen to me carefully,” she said. “You are not to put yourself in danger.”

  “Just one more mission,” he half muttered.

  “No. I’ll not allow it.”

  “Ashley …” He hated the whine in his voice. Why couldn’t he talk to her like he had the officers? “I thought we discussed this. I have to do it.”

  “General Flynn filled me in on the plan,” she said. “You are not needed for the final part.”

  “I am needed. I’m going.”

  Her face clouded. “I am the niskma of Vierna, and you my subject and an officer in my father’s army. You will follow my command.”

  Stupid regulations. How’d he gotten roped into accepting such an arrangement? “Be reasonable. The only way we—you—survive is if we sneak into the enemy camp and kill all their mages. We can’t find those mages without someone who can detect magic being part of the team. The only choice other than me is to trust Lucan to do it—if he’d even agree to in the first place.”

  Ashley flicked her hair. “You are not going to sneak into the enemy camp. I’ve seen your … skills … in that area.”

  “But, as I just said, there’s no other …” Xan flexed his hands several times. “Then what do you recommend?”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Train Brant. He’s a good soldier.”

  Xan hated hearing that name pass her lips. “He takes a half hour of preparation to use his ability. Whoever goes on this mission has to access the power instantly.”

  “The person also has to make a covert entry, a task for which you are singularly unsuited,” she said. “Magic training is the easier element.”

  Xan shuddered. He simply couldn’t push off his grim responsibility onto anyone else. Besides, if there was one thing in life he wanted to do less than assassinate a bunch of sleeping mages, it was training Brant. “I’m going on this mission, and that’s final.”

  66.

  Brant stomped through the castle.

  He’d been knighted, but it wasn’t like that appeared to make any difference in how he was treated.

  Bad enough that no one had bothered to outfit him with new weapons, much less armor. Bad enough he’d not been allowed to take part in either of the actions that morning. Bad enough he apparently wasn’t even to be allowed to watch the enemy army maneuver from the safety of Asherton’s walls.

  But to be summoned at the orders of “Marshal Conley?” How had that asshole been given a higher rank than him?

  And how had he allowed that dweeb to get Lady Ashley?

  Brant grimaced. That foolish costume he’d allowed her to talk him into wearing was such a stupid mistake. Never do the bidding of a pretty woman you were trying to woo. He hadn’t even been able to get her dress off.

  At the door, he paused. He had no desire to see Xan’s face, much less listen to him. But Brant was a soldier—a knight—he’d do what duty asked.

  He took a deep breath and entered the room to find Xan seated at the far end of a table. “Sir Reed reporting for duty, sir.”

  “Brant …”

  “What are your orders, sir?”

  “Do you really want to play it this way?” Xan said.

  “What way, sir?”

  Xan exhaled sharply. “Sit.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “We are not in a good situation as far as magic goes. We’ve got you, me, and a death mage who is unreliable at best and an enemy spy at worst. Truna could have us outnumbered a hundred to one.”

  Could the situation be that bad? All the soldiers believed that Asherton couldn’t possibly be defeated. Not that they’d know about the magic, though.

  “What about Dylan and Lainey, sir?” Brant said.

  “I sent them away.”

  “Them and not me? My life isn’t worth anything? Sir.”

  “You’re a soldier. Dylan isn’t. My sister certainly isn’t. But if you want to leave, go.” Xan muttered something else.

  “What was that? Sir.”

  “Just go. Really. Leave town. I’ll make sure you have all the money you need.”

  “Excuse me? Sir.” What was the asshole trying to pull?

  “I need someone for a dangerous and nasty mission. Someone who can detect magic. I’d rather do it myself, but I can’t. If you were to leave, though …” Xan sighed. “You’re not going to go, are you? Nothing I can do to make you, right?”

  Was he for real? Brant almost laughed. Probably just trying to trick him. “Duke Asher is my liege lord.”

  “Okay,” Xan said. “One last chance, though. Once I tell you about the mission, you’re committed, and believe me, it’s not something you want to do. Are you in or out?”

  “Oh, I’m in.” Like Brant would run from a fight.

  “You heard about the ambush?”

  “Yeah, I can’t believe they let some idiot make that call. Injuring nobles and animals as brutally as possible? Troop morale is about as low as it can be.”

  “That was me,” Xan said. “My idea. I issued the orders. I carried them out.”

  “But …”

  “We have one chance to pull this thing off, Brant. Right now, they’re setting up camp and gathering their wounded. If I’m right, Irdrin is going to be under enormous pressure to use his death mages to heal those nobles. That magic use will lead us right to them. We can find out how many we have against us, where they’re quartered.” He paused. “We can reduce their numbers.”

  “You want me to assassinate them?”

  “No. What I wanted—well, not wanted exactly—was to go myself, but that’s off the table. The duke has plenty of men who can do spy work and … other stuff. We’re limited, however, on people who can sense magic. You will not participate in the actual … you know.”

  As dishonorable as the plan was, it made sense. If Truna really did outnumber them that badly with mages, the walls and soldiers wouldn’t do the duke much good. They were toast. “What are my orders?”

  Xan sighed again. “Lead the duke’s men to any magic use inside Truna’s camp. Find where the mages sleep. Leave the rest to Stokes.”

  Yay. Brant foresaw a lot of sitting and staring into space in his future as he tried to sense magic.

  “How do you usually approach using magic?” Xan said.

  “Mainly I think, ‘I can do this. Come on. Concentrate.’ Then I order the rock or whatever to become heavy.”

  Xan shook his head. “Did you not listen to anything I told you?”

  “Honestly,” Brant said, “I zone out most of the time you talk.”

  “And this is upon whom all our lives depend,” Xan muttered.

  “Just get on with it.”

  “There are two components to using magic.” Xan’s voice took on a lecturing tone. “It sounds like you have part of it down with your ‘ordering,’ but you’re fighting it when you need to immerse yourself. Let the magic flow through you.”

  “What does that even mean? Let it flow through me!”

  “Think of it like a crossbow,” Xan said. “Figuring out
what you want the magic to do is like aiming it. The problem is that you don’t know where the trigger is. If you run your finger over the wood for long enough, you’ll probably find it, but it’s unpredictable as to when. I need to teach you how to find the trigger.”

  That made sense.

  “When you were successful, the magic flowed from a source in your mind, kind of like you’re a bucket of water being filled. You need to find the spigot.” Xan paused. “To me, it was like a weird bulge.”

  Brant nodded. He had felt something like that.

  “Focus on your body pressing against the chair,” Xan said. “Think about the power in those points, about the energy created if the chair were to no longer exist.”

  “What am I trying to do?”

  “Nothing. Just connect without doing anything.”

  How do you focus on nothing? Brant closed his eyes. C’mon, be heavy. His body tensed. He sought the source of the magic.

  Power filled him. Strength. A sense he could do anything.

  His weight increased tenfold. The chair creaked and groaned. Wood legs cracked, and Brant crashed to the ground. Luckily, he let go of the magic before he hit.

  He picked himself up.

  Xan didn’t smile, but he nearly choked holding back laughter. “I told you not to make the magic do anything. Besides, you don’t always have to make things heavier.”

  Brant chose another chair, clenching his hands into fists and barely stopping himself from smashing the smug look off his former friend’s face.

  “Again,” Xan said, “without trying to do anything, locate the magic source.

  Brant nodded.

  “It should be something like a tunnel. Go through the tunnel.”

  How the blast did … Oh.

  An ocean of energy overwhelmed him. He couldn’t imagine using so much magic, but he wanted to try. Everything in the room took on a weird color. “Got it.”

  A red line stretched from Xan to the middle of the table. A candle-sized flame lit. “See that?”

  Brant nodded again.

  With the fundamentals established, all that was left was practice. Xan had Brant end his connection to the magic and access it ten times, and he got faster each time. He also learned how to sense when others he couldn’t see were using it.

  It wasn’t a fun experience working with the asshole, but at least, Brant had what was needed to do his mission. More, he had easy access to the power.

  “Your part of the mission is to find the magic users,” Xan said. “Sergeant Stokes and two of his men will do the rest.”

  “You’re sending me with three guys I don’t know? Not okay.”

  They argued for a while before Brant got Xan to concede to “try his best” to get one of the militiamen added to the team.

  “To be clear, the overall mission objective is what exactly?” Brant said.

  “Find the enemy mages, gather information on their numbers, and kill as many as possible.”

  “Win at any costs, huh?” Brant said. “Never knew you were so bloodthirsty.”

  Xan ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not the right thing to do. If it were just my life and Asher’s, would I choose differently?” He shrugged. “But to save Ashley and Tasia? Do I have a choice?”

  Tasia, huh? When did Xan get so close to the girl? Actually, didn’t Lady Ashley’s interest in him increase after he started hanging around with Tasia?

  Hmmm. Maybe Brant could kill a few birds with a single stone.

  If he survived his mission, that was.

  67.

  The morning sun dawned on Brant as he dashed from the man-door set into the city wall.

  Fifty yards wasn’t that bad. Only took seconds to run. Why did it look so far?

  Oh. Yeah. Because some idiot had decided he and the men with him should look like fleeing deserters. Asshole.

  He pumped his arms and legs.

  Of course, since it was a secret mission and all, the duke’s soldiers couldn’t be told. And what about the enemy? Sure, Truna’s army hadn’t completely encircled Asherton, but they could have any number of archers scouting the area. Either side could try to shoot him!

  There was absolutely no cover over the entire open stretch, and he wasn’t even wearing armor. Xan was going to get him killed!

  Wilfred and two of the duke’s soldiers, Sergeant Stokes and Raleigh, sprinted behind Brant. All kept their heads low. Best to present the smallest profile possible.

  The ground passed in a blur. Brant dove behind a bush. Wilfred and the sergeant burst into the brush. Raleigh followed seconds later.

  Brant scanned the area, but there was no sign they’d been spotted.

  All they had to do was make their way to the spot where he and Xan had sensed magic use. Scout out the mages. Hide. Sneak in at night and kill as many as possible. Easy, right?

  As long as Brant didn’t think about all the enemy patrols. And the danger of penetrating an opposing camp that was on full alert. And …

  Following game trails narrower than a man’s foot, Raleigh led them through a mile-wide stretch of wooded land. Once they reached fields on the other side, they circled to the right, following their plan to swing wide and approach from the north.

  An hour and a half later, Brant opened himself to the magic and detected numerous surges almost directly south, exactly where he thought they’d be. He hated to admit it, but Xan’s plan had worked perfectly. “Time to turn.”

  A half mile later, while crossing a shallow gully, Raleigh halted with his fist held above him. The others stopped behind him.

  Despite being older than dirt, he flowed to the lowest part of the ditch and threw himself down without making a sound. Brant ducked behind a bush. Wilfred crawled under some ivy while the sergeant flattened himself behind a row of shrubs.

  Brant softened his breathing and listened. Hooves plopped on soft dirt. Good thing Raleigh had been so attentive.

  A man rode toward them. When he drew near, he stopped, darted to the right, and stopped again.

  Wilfred eased his dagger from its sheath and inched onto his knees.

  Moron. It wasn’t worth the risk.

  The rider craned his neck, clearly listening for sounds. Wilfred shifted into a crouched position. Anything Brant did to stay him would give away their presence.

  The rider urged his horse forward. Brant let out a long, slow breath. He glared at Wilfred, ready to give him a tongue-lashing he wouldn’t soon forget.

  But Raleigh didn’t stir. Not a muscle.

  Brant copied him, and several minutes passed. Was Raleigh okay? Had the excitement given the old guy a heart attack? They didn’t have time to sit in one spot all day. So frustrating not being able to talk.

  More minutes passed.

  Brant’s ears caught a sound. More hooves. Five horses trotted in their direction.

  He held his breath as the men rode by. As soon as the new group passed from range, Raleigh rose from the ditch and continued as if nothing had happened. They met one more scout formation, also with a single rider followed by five more. The alertness of their foes meant Brant’s group had to move slowly.

  An hour later, they sighted the enemy camp, and Sergeant Stokes and Raleigh ghosted away for their mission to get uniforms.

  Brant shook his head. Granted the two were experienced soldiers who would get the job done, but he hated to be left behind. In less time than he expected, they returned with their bounty. Brant pulled on a burgundy tunic with a blood-stained neck.

  That could happen to him if he got caught. But he wouldn’t fail. Wouldn’t lose.

  They found a path to the back of the latrines and merged with the men returning from doing their business. No one gave them a second glance as they marched purposefully through the mob of enemy soldiers.

  Brant led them toward the magic use, stopping when they neared a large tent obviously being used as a field hospital. “Inside there.” He, again, had to give it to Xan.

 
So annoying.

  “Look sad and bone weary,” Sergeant Stokes said. “We’re waiting for word on whether my cousin, Lory, will survive.”

  Wilfred gave a tiny nod and cast his eyes at the dirt, his shoulders slumping. The sergeant and Rayleigh lounged with the practiced experience of men long used to waiting. Brant tried to match their stance as he watched the tent, but he was too tense. His back grew stiff.

  An hour later, one of the magic flows stopped, and a captain wearing a brown uniform with gold trim exited. He rubbed his eyes and dragged his feet as he walked.

  One of the death mages.

  Brant nudged Wilfred and stood. Leaving Raleigh and the sergeant to monitor people entering and exiting the hospital, they followed the captain. Once he disappeared into a network of tents with two guards at the entrance, they returned to the hospital.

  Over the course of the afternoon and into evening, they followed many more mages, singly and in groups. Soon after full dark, all magic flows stopped.

  “I think that’s all of them.” Brant had counted twenty-one enemy mages.

  Sergeant Stokes nodded, and Brant led them to a spot near the woods within sight of the tent complex. The four of them spread their bedrolls and pretended to sleep.

  Late in the night when silence ruled except for snores and the occasional sentry roaming, they rose and moved toward the woods like they couldn’t be bothered to walk all the way to the latrine.

  Brant’s heart thudded.

  Was he nervous? He’d never been nervous before. But he’d also never been about to kill people in their sleep. How was it winning if the other guy didn’t even know you were playing?

  He crept through the trees. His toes found openings where no leaves or sticks littered the ground, and his passage created no more noise than leaves rustled by soft wind. Sergeant Stokes and Raleigh were just as skilled. Only Wilfred slowed them.

  They stalked to the shadow of the tent, and Brant slit the heavy canvass with his belt knife.