Mage Strike (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 2)

by R. K. Thorne

  Akaria had its own military class, with soldiers employed and supported directly by the king. The arrangement was one of the things that made Akaria stronger than its neighbors. It was easy for the surrounding kingdoms to recognize the benefits of a dedicated martial force—and a lot harder to build one. Aven’s ancestors had convinced enough members of the richest and most powerful families to actually send the gold to pay, support, train, and feed enough men and women to make a significant standing army, and that was the real achievement they all clung to. In spite of the fairly obvious recipe for martial superiority, their neighbors had not done the same.

  Then again, if everyone turned on him and his father because he’d been born a mage, Akaria could end up in exactly the same weakened situation—or worse. He had to believe that the territories would put more importance on Akaria’s strength and safety than they did on Aven being born able to blow some leaves around in the wind without any hands. He was the same man they’d always known. He did the same things he’d always done. Well, mostly. He loved Akaria more than almost anything. He had to hope that meant something.

  But, well—it remained to be seen. At least no one had tried to exile him yet.

  A knock on the door. Aven glanced at Dyon. “It’s enough,” the lord relented. “At least the young ones will get their promotion news.”

  “We can do more tomorrow,” Aven said. Then he nodded to the soldier at the entry to open the door while Dyon organized his various vellums, parchments, and papers and piled them up to go.

  Teron poked his head in the doorway.

  “By my ancestors, you’re still here?” Aven said, and Teron grinned in reply. “Come, come. I’m kidding. I’d heard. But you weren’t at dinner yesterday?”

  Teron came in and gave a small bow, and Jerrin hovered behind him. Aven waved both men in, and they sat down before the desk Aven worked at. It wasn’t really his desk, as much it was a center of military affairs. But Aven ended up using it most, as that was one of the duties his father had assigned him. It could have been assigned to Thel or more likely Dom, or any other lord, lady, or warden. But his father had given it to him to prepare him.

  “The map—” Aven started, unsure of where to begin. Then he stopped and picked up the book Teron had given him. “Did you know what this was?”

  Teron shrugged noncommittally, but smiled.

  “What about this?” He opened the book and unfolded the star map.

  Teron shrugged again.

  “You told my mother you were looking forward to talking to me about it.” Aven narrowed his eyes at him as Teron’s smile broadened. “So—let’s talk.”

  “I had a feeling it might come in handy to someone. I hoped you were that someone,” Teron said, still evasive.

  “You said as much when you gave it to me.”

  Sensing Aven’s slight annoyance, Jerrin put his hand on Teron’s arm. “It’s time, Son.”

  “Son?” Aven looked from one to the other. How—and why?—had they avoided disclosing that little tidbit?

  Still—Teron hesitated. He looked to his lap and didn’t meet Aven’s eyes.

  “Well, it did come in handy,” Aven said softly. “It saved my life and kept me from joining the ranks of Kavanar’s slaves.”

  Teron looked up in surprise.

  “I owe you a great debt. More than I can ever repay. But I can try. What can I do?”

  “Is the map—” Teron started, then hesitated, then seemed to throw caution to the wind. “I didn’t know what the map was. I did have a feeling. I thought maybe the map was air magic. It looked like it might be one of Zaera’s ancient maps, or a copy of one.”

  “Zaera?”

  “A mage of the Dark Days, one of those who commandeered the mind of the king,” Jerrin said gravely. “A great villain, some say. Others disagree.”

  “I had researched her past, looking for clues—” Teron started.

  “And what reason did you have to research her past?” Aven said, hoping they would finally spit it out.

  Teron looked at Jerrin, clearly afraid. Jerrin jerked a finger toward Aven as if to say, out with it. Teron hung his head.

  “Which one of you is a mage? Or is it both of you? Or your whole delegation?”

  Jerrin shook his head, but looked relieved Aven had figured it out. “My son—and my wife.”

  Jerrin had come to Akaria without any wife. Many Devoted dwelt in Takar, and the elder Devoted even made their home in the temple there. Was the woman even still alive? Was this why they were afraid?

  “And where is she?”

  “We don’t know,” Teron whispered. “I’ve tried, but I can’t… Magic is a death sentence in Takar. I don’t know any spells… I’ve tried anyway, but…”

  “We think she is in Kavanar.” Jerrin’s jaw was clenched, tense. “That, or dead.”

  Well, they were in luck. But they didn’t know it yet. “Why did you come here? Was it really only as part of the delegation?” Aven said.

  “We hoped to find a way to stay,” Jerrin said quickly. “But Takar watches us even from afar. And there is no reason—”

  “I owe you both my life—and far more than that. I will gladly grant you residence in Akaria as full citizens or permanent delegates if you wish.” Their surprised stares were more reward than any cheers he could have hoped for.

  Finally, Jerrin recovered first and snorted. “Well—you were right that burying your nose in all those books finally came in handy.” He clapped Teron on the back, which seemed to finally snap him out of his stunned state.

  “But… why the fight?” Aven said to Jerrin, since he seemed to be far more communicative at this moment. The fight in the Proving Grounds on that fateful day seemed like a lifetime ago. “Was it really that you simply wanted to spar?”

  “I thought you were a mage, but I was afraid I was wrong. I have never been trained—” Teron sputtered.

  “Well, that makes two of us.”

  “I thought I might be able to see some evidence if I stirred up some benign trouble,” Jerrin finished.

  Aven smiled ruefully. “Well, you were right. It worked. Unfortunately, the trouble stirred up was not entirely benign, as that Devoted Knight was watching as well.”

  Teron scowled. “We heard. She told us before she left. Narrow-minded fools, all of them. I needed to give someone the book I’d found in your library. Someone with more ability than I to figure out what it meant. I needed to know if it could help us find Mother.” Teron’s voice faltered, and he put his head in his hands to try to recover his composure.

  Aven took a deep breath. These men weren’t diplomats, more like refugees. He would never have guessed. What if he had never met Miara? What if he had refused to even fight Jerrin that day? How long till he would have sent them packing back toward a death sentence?

  He caught the eye of the guard again at the door. “Send for Fayton, please.” With a crisp nod, he stepped out to send for the steward.

  “This evening, I am convening a group of freemages of Akaria. It would be my pleasure to have you in attendance, if you are not previously engaged.” He smiled. The unnecessarily honeyed words of diplomacy were a touch of humor. He hoped they would calm Teron. But he also hoped it would be an important occasion.

  Mages of Akaria had not gathered together openly in generations. Well, this gathering would not be entirely open. He was only telling those he knew he could trust. But still. Many of them would be revealing that they were mages to those in attendance, and all of them were taking a risk.

  Teron looked to his father.

  “Teron will join you,” Jerrin said, voice grave again. “And I would, if you’ll have me, although I’m not a mage.”

  Aven gave a crisp nod. “Yes, come. Excellent. Now, the remaining matter is—do you wish to stay in Akaria?”

  “Of course we do—” Teron started.

  “As permanent diplomats or citizens?”

  Jerrin eyed Teron. “We will have no support system here, no
occupation. Only what we’ve saved. They do not need us as handshakers and brandy drinkers.”

  Aven wondered how they had convinced anyone in Takar that they had needed the duo as handshakers or brandy drinkers. But he was glad they had.

  “Can you separate from them politically? Will they take offense?”

  Jerrin shook his head. “We were chosen for the Akarian delegation very specifically. Old, crusty warriors like me are not well respected among Takarans. Our people honor peace, we seek enlightenment. I like beating things with a mace. They thought you might like me.”

  Aven smiled. “Well, then they are correct. But not for the reasons they thought, eh?” His smile widened. “And I knew you were holding out on me, saying you had no preference. It’s maces next time, old man.” Jerrin snorted. Aven spoke as he straightened the papers on the desk. “I can certainly help you find a way to make a living. I wouldn’t be doing much to repay my debt if I left you to die in squalor, now would I?” That would probably also be against the Code, if not the Way as well. “There’s the army, the mines and refineries, the upkeep of this hold at the bare minimum. Hell, there’s even a mage that has two apprentices he supports. We’ll find you something.”

  Jerrin nodded. “It would be nice not to take advantage of your hospitality any longer. It’s been too long. I am truly sorry for that.”

  “We had no other option.” Teron straightened.

  Aven waved it off. “It’s settled. See you this evening?” He stood. They took the hint and stood as well, and they all strode to the door together. “I’ll speak with my head steward Fayton—he’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Teron said, bowing deeper than Aven could remember.

  “No,” Aven said. “Thank you, my friend.”

  The two men left. Aven turned to hurry and finish his work. He needed to find Miara and make sure her morning had gone all right. He needed to eat. He needed to review these mine statements and inventory lists. He needed to look at the updated maps of Anonil and Panar. He needed to think of a way to find Teron’s mother, a needle in the haystack of Mage Hall.

  He needed to get all this work out of the way so he could focus on the real issue—were they truly ready for this war with Kavanar? Even if he could get them all to quit squabbling and support him, he was not so sure.

  Jaena ducked inside the stables when she arrived, looking for a nook to hide her quarry. Where could she hide this damned thing that none of them would expect? Mage Hall was not very big. How long would it take them to simply canvas the area, look at every corner and cobweb?

  She glanced around. The stables were relatively quiet now, only one mage bringing a horse back into its stall at the moment. The rest of the stalls were empty—out in the fields or at work some other way. Burying the brand under horseshit sounded like a fair treatment of the wretched thing. It was a start.

  She pretended to wander to the other side of the stables, looking for the wagons that went to and from the farm towns to buy goods. But of course, they were all gone. They would have left an hour or two before, first thing in the morning, and wouldn’t be back before lunch. She could have perhaps stowed away in the bed of one of them. But no chance now. The stables, too, were cursedly clean, with nary a bit of equine excrement for her to hide this damn thing under.

  Who else went in and out of the gate? Legitimately?

  She scratched her scalp absently. The shepherds came and went, although usually at the start of the day too. Serving girls took food at lunchtime out to the workers in the few fields farmed by Mage Hall, shepherds in the hills, and a few others.

  Sometimes they even brought out food in their knapsacks.

  Back in the stables, she searched for the spot where the stable hands relaxed. Where did they wait or take breaks? Had Miara worked here when she was not yet free? Certainly there had to be some food that wasn’t for horses around here.

  She found nothing. Apparently, when they wanted to relax, they left.

  She’d been there too long anyway. She headed back into the flow of people. She would just have to go straight to the source. The meal hall was on the way to the nearest gate. Serving girls would come from that way anyway.

  Was she leaving? Now? Was she really doing this?

  It was too late to question any of it. But if she succeeded, if the Masters could no longer make new mage slaves, that would be worth a more difficult escape for other mages in the future. Wouldn’t it? And at least their ranks would no longer be growing.

  Besides, the Masters deserved this and far worse.

  And Dekana had deserved far better.

  She ducked inside the food hall. She glanced back at the knapsack. Faint smoke drifted up, curling into the air. Well then, she had better hurry. She doubled her pace.

  Serving girls ferried bowls and baskets from back in the kitchen toward the table of lunch offerings. A hefty basket of bread sat nearby, alone and unattended, probably while its owner went to get another.

  She scooped up the basket like it was her job and headed back out, chin in the air.

  Everything is fine. Everything is normal. Just taking food to the farmers in the fields. This is what I do every day, of course.

  Her heart was pounding. She stopped for a moment beside a bush and crammed a few loaves of bread into the knapsack. And to check if the damn thing was going to burn a hole through the bottom. It had cooled, but only slightly, so she forced another cooling spell into the metal.

  She tightened the knapsack as much as she could and knotted the drawstring once, twice, three times. If someone wanted to check this thing, it was going to take them forever to undo her efforts. It had to be a pain—not worth checking.

  Then she hovered there for several long minutes, looking for signs of other girls headed into the fields. She spotted a group of three strolling pleasantly and chatting, one with a basket of cakes, one with a sack, another with numerous waterskins draped over her shoulders.

  Jaena fell into a casual stroll a dozen paces behind them. Sure enough, they headed for the gate and gave the gate mage a friendly, familiar nod. A pumpkin walnut cake was offered and accepted. Everything was calm, casual. Although cold, they were just out for a stroll on a brisk autumn day.

  When it came Jaena’s turn, she too gave the same nod to the gate mage and pointed at her basket. He waved her off, happily munching away. Pumpkin walnut did sound good right about now. What would she do for food once she got out of here? Time for figuring that out later, and at least now she had this bread. She strolled out the gate. This is my job. Shepherds and farmers need their lunches. An important task. Nothing much to worry about except getting these breads to the fields.

  And just like that she was out. She was… free.

  She fought the urge to bolt. She imagined herself throwing the basket aside, bread spilling all over the road as she sprinted away. But that would just get her caught.

  Instead, she marshaled all her self-control to continue behind the three girls down the road and onto a side path, turning toward the hills. Ah, good. These girls were headed for the shepherds. Nothing too close.

  At the first stand of trees, Jaena slipped away, melting into the shadows and quickening her pace. She checked the sun. She needed to head east as quickly as possible, as unnoticed as possible.

  May Miara forgive her for not following the plan.

  Behind her in Mage Hall, a low bell rang that she had never heard before, heavy and sullen as it echoed off the hills. Someone, somewhere inside, was raising the alarm. Now they would start looking for her.

  May future freed mages forgive her if the Masters never opened the doors of Mage Hall again.

  5

  Hidden

  Jaena hiked as casually as she could along the edge of the East-West Road toward Anonil, but gradually the bells from Mage Hall escalated from one low, sullen ring to many. She started off with the theory that normal people would be strolling down the road at this time of day, and it was best to blend in. N
o reason to act conspicuous. Renegade mages would flee through field and hedge and forest, like they had something to hide. She didn’t think the grain fields would hide her dark profile very well, especially those that were cut low now that the harvest had begun.

  The brand poked her roughly in the back with each step as if seeking to slow her down or exact its own revenge. Not a chance, she thought. I’ll fling you into a lake where you can’t be found. I’ll bury you in the deepest canyon I can find. Something. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but as soon as I get away from this place, I’ll be burying you in the most obscure and terrible place I can think of.

  As the bells in the distance increased, she began looking for somewhere off the road in case she needed a different, less obvious path. A few hundred feet ahead, a path snaked through uncut fields toward a village. The path led over a small stream—barely more than a trickle, nothing like the great rivers of her homeland. A small bridge crossed it.

  What was that sound behind her? How far back were they? Were those horses—the horses of a farmer’s wagon or a Devoted Knight?

  She darted off the edge of the road and raced toward the path. As she turned down the path, she heard barking in the distance. Dogs too? She groaned. But that was where the stream would come in handy. She hoped. If she could get beyond the stream and beyond the town, there should be many scents for the dogs to sort through—and many people for the Devoted to question. Perhaps that could at least slow them down. And in the town there might be something she could steal to hide herself better, or perhaps even a horse.