“Yet I make the pledge regardless. It does not take me long to measure a man, and I am rarely wrong.” She turned her gaze sadly to Xain.
“Then I accept your service, Loren of the family Nelda.” Jordel offered his hand. They clasped wrists and shook.
“Excuse me.” Gem stood, clearly bemused. “This talk is grand, but I feel the need to mention that another army of sellswords still marches towards us.”
“You are correct, master pickpocket,” said Jordel. “Though I think they will not reach this place for hours yet.”
“Still, haste would serve us,” said Loren. “Let us gather our things. Now that none know where we are, nor our course, we can hide in the wilds until the sellswords have passed.”
“That seems best,” Jordel agreed. “Yet I would not say that none know of our presence nor where we mean to go.”
Loren looked at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“The wizard struck my Mystics with his fire,” said Jordel grimly, “but when the flames cleared, there were but five bodies.”
“You mean that one has escaped?” said Loren. “How?”
“I guess that Vivien escaped amidst the flames. Even terribly burnt, her magic may have saved her.”
“That is good, I suppose,” Loren said, unsure if she meant it.
“Not for me, I fear. My actions today will not sit well with many of the order’s masters. But no matter. We must be off. Gather yourselves and your possessions.”
Loren had precious few belongings. But she had her dagger and retrieved it from where it lay on the grass. She eyed it in wonder, returned the blade to its sheath, and turned to Jordel.
“When Xain struck at me with his magic, his spells withered. He said something when we struggled—something about my dagger.”
Jordel looked at Loren carefully. “I suppose he guessed at the truth. Daggers of that kind are powerful wards, and any mage would find it hard to strike while you bear it.”
“That is a wondrous magic.”
“It is and one that has been lost to yesteryears long and forgotten. The last of those weapons was crafted many hundreds of . . .” Looking thoughtful, his voice trailed to nowhere.
“Can it do anything else?” Gem said, looking at Loren’s dagger with renewed interest.
“It can cut tethers or spear a bite,” she said. “And that is all I require, for now.”
“A magic dagger,” said Gem. “The legend of the Nightblade grows.”
“And will grow further still,” said the Mystic, roused from his musing. “But come. If any tales are to be told of this day, we must live to recount them.”
Jordel went to Xain, grabbed the wizard by his bonds, and dragged him towards the horse.
“What are you doing?” said Annis, aghast. “Surely, you do not mean to bring the wizard with us?”
“I do. Despite it all, I still need him.”
“But how can you think to let him live?” said Annis. “He has had too many chances and has failed to prove himself at every turn. How could you—how could any of us trust him ever again, even with the slightest task? Removing his bonds might see us all killed. What good will he be to you in your war, trussed like a gamebird?”
“I will not trust him, nor should any of you,” said Jordel. “Not for a long while yet, at least. He has not been himself for a while. Magestones have a terrible, insidious effect upon the mind and are poison to the flesh. Xain has clearly suffered from their influence, but now he must free himself. It will be a tortuous affair, and I envy him not. But he will live. To my order, I am an outlaw. But that is as well, for in the coming months, Xain will need my aid more than the Mystics.”
With Loren’s help, he hauled Xain onto his horse and secured the wizard to the saddle’s straps. The steed would be laden enough with two grown men, so Gem joined Annis and Loren on the black mare.
“This is a beautiful beast,” said Gem. “Stole it from the sellswords, did you? You made a fine choice.”
“I think so.” Loren reached forwards to scratch the horse on its ears. “His name is Midnight.”
She kicked her heels into Midnight’s side, and the Mystic did the same with his steed.
Their horses climbed the steep northern hills and slid down the other side, striking out into the wide plains south of the Greatrocks. Into the wilderness they rode, while an army of sellswords marched on Wellmont behind them.
Loren looked at Jordel, whose eyes were intent on the land ahead. She knew that days of great danger lay ahead for all the nine kingdoms. But for the first time in longer than she could recall, Loren found that she felt safe, and her eyes joined the Jordel’s in looking ahead.
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MYSTIC
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NON ZOMBIE
NON ZOMBIE II
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THE NINJABREAD MAN
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Garrett Robinson was born and raised in Los Angeles. The son of an author/painter father and a violinist/singer mother, no one was surprised when he grew up to be an artist.
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A passionate fantasy author, his most popular series is the Nightblade Epic. However, he has delved into many other genres. Some works are for adult audiences only, such as Non Zombie and Hit Girls, but he has a
lso published popular books for younger readers, including the Realm Keepers series and The Ninjabread Man, co-authored with Z.C. Bolger.
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Mystic: A Book of Underrealm Page 27
