by Amy Hopkins
“Oh, that’s better,” Danil said, relieved.
He and Arnold watched as Francis squatted by one of the pots, his hand hovering over it. He closed his eyes and screwed up his face.
“You’re heating some leaves, not taking a shit,” Trini taunted from across the room.
Francis’s eyes snapped open. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, shuffling around the pot to turn his back on her. He blew out a hard breath, lifted his hand again, and stared.
A moment later, his eyes turned black and a sliver of smoke rose from the flowers.
Danil raised one hand in a silent fist pump. He waited until the smoke dissipated and Francis’s eyes cleared before letting out a holler.
“You did it! You’re a Bitch-damned physical mage!” Danil went over to clap him on the shoulder.
Francis blushed. “Yeah. I guess so.” A grin spread over his face as it sank in. “Yeah. Yeah! I’m a magician!”
“We’ll celebrate tomorrow,” Trini said, darting over to give Francis a hug. “I’ll show you what you’ll be able to do after a bit of practice.”
He awkwardly gave her a quick squeeze before stepping out of her embrace. “I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as you,” he said.
“Nonsense,” Danil said. “You’ll start to progress faster now that you have a real teacher.”
“Bastian did ok,” Francis said, grimacing. “We only burnt down half a building between us.”
At the smattering of laughter, Francis relaxed.
“Good work, lad. Good work,” a bellowing voice called from the doorway. Lord George stepped inside, beaming. “Young Trini said she’d been working with you—hope you didn’t pick up any of her bad habits.”
“Me? Bad habits?” she said in mock outrage. “I’m a pillar of decency.”
“Ha. You don’t fool me, girl,” George said with a fatherly smile. “But you did well with this young man. Who knows, maybe you’ll train him up enough to serve with my personal guard.”
At the mention of his guard, George’s eyes flicked to Arnold and the rest of his men. They stood, dumbstruck, staring at the Muir lord with pale faces.
“You’re… here?” Arnold gasped.
“I am. And, speaking of my guard…” Lord George scanned their faces. “They seem to be under the sway of Rogan, the cunning bastard. I’m in need of a trained force, one led by a good man who is willing to pledge allegiance to me.”
Arnold dropped to one knee. “My Lord. I pledged to your son; we all did. We failed him. We would all give our lives to rectify that.”
George walked over and looked down at Arnold. “He failed you. Perhaps, I failed you, too.”
“You were up against a force you couldn’t defend against,” Danil pointed out. “I wouldn’t exactly call that a failure.”
“Still, my son would have led his men to disaster eventually.” Lord George sighed when Arnold dropped his eyes guiltily. “Don’t be ashamed for thinking the same thing. I know he was an idiot, but I was just too damn weak to do what I should have.”
“Lord George the Third was an honorable fighter,” Arnold said after a moment’s pause.
“Diplomacy is never unwelcome,” Lord George said with a smile. “But there’s really nothing else you could say about him that isn’t an insult.”
“My lord… if there is any chance you’d take us on…” Arnold faltered, falling silent.
“Was I too subtle? I expect it. You’ll serve as my personal guard as a temporary measure. Once Rogan is ousted and we sort out who is left, you will integrate with my existing guard.” George lifted his head a little. “Will you and your men swear to me?”
Arnold sucked down a shaky breath. He didn’t speak for a moment, but the moisture glittering in his eyes gave those watching confidence in his answer.
As one, the soldiers standing behind Arnold knelt, heads bowed.
“We will, my lord. Life and soul.”
“Life and soul,” echoed the others.
“I accept your pledges.” Lord George patted Arnold on the shoulder and motioned for him to rise. “Your first order is to go and get some sleep. When Rogan attacks—and we believe that will be soon—you will fight alongside the soldiers of Tahn.”
“Yes, my lord.” Arnold’s voice still trembled with emotion.
George gripped his shoulder, looking into his eyes. “You will be fighting men you have served alongside. Our aim is not to kill them—but if we have to in order to remove Rogan from power, we will.”
Arnold swallowed. “Yes, my lord.” He spoke softly, this time.
“Life and soul!” the men behind him cried out, and Arnold let out a choked laugh. “Life and soul!” he echoed. “For Muir! Life and Soul!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Rogan tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. The room was empty, silent except for the tap, tap, tap of his fingernail on hardwood.
“How shall we celebrate our victory, Julianne?” Rogan asked.
He cocked his head, listening.
“Really? I don’t like that idea at all. I’d much rather a small, intimate event. Just the three of us.”
He paused again, then said, “Why, Adeline, of course. If not for her, we wouldn’t be here today.”
After another short silence, Rogan opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted.
“Lord George, the soldiers are ready to move out on your command.” The weedy young man stopped talking, suddenly worried by the dark look in his master’s eyes.
“Hasn’t anyone taught you not to speak over others?” Rogan said.
“No one was speak—” the boy said, then stepped back. “Your voice. It’s different.”
Rogan cursed. He’d worn Lord George's image for so long it was second nature, but disguising his voice was distasteful. He had forgotten to deactivate the spell before answering.
“Lord George?”
Rogan whispered a word.
“Lord… Lor—” the boy stepped inside the room, then fell to his knees. Tears sprang from his eyes. “No. Please, no.” He belted his face against the floor. “No! Help me!”
He smashed his face again, pounding it on the hard stone, over and over. His cries were soon stifled by the blood choking him as he destroyed his skull, only stopping the rhythmic destruction when he finally collapsed.
Rogan stood. “My dear, I apologize for the display. It was… necessary.”
He nudged the body with his toe, unsure of the boy was dead or merely unconscious. A quick brush with his mind magic revealed him to be alive.
“Ugh. How distasteful.” Unable to use mental magic on a comatose body, Rogan debated finishing the job manually. The blood pooling on the floor touched his shoe and he stepped back.
“Drown, for all I care,” he muttered. Bodies were such a bother. They tended to upset people, though Rogan wasn’t entirely sure why. He would have to brainwash people to ignore this, and have someone take care of the cleanup.
“Perhaps I’ll leave it until I get back.” Satisfied with the choice, Rogan swept out of the room, pulling the heavy doors closed behind him. “Come, Julianne. Let us go and crush the city of Tahn.”
The hallways of the lord’s manor were quiet. Most of the staff were busy, madly preparing to send off the army. It was the first real battle Muir had experienced, apart from a few skirmishes with neighboring regions over the resources in the area.
Why fight over hogs and trees when you can let someone else do the work, then hand them over? Rogan wondered. No wonder these fools have such miserable lives.
He shoved at the doors of the manor, shielding his face from the bright morning sun. The street outside was busy, cluttered with people and horses. Cries went out as Rogan, still under the spell making him look like Lord George, was recognized.
“Our mighty leader is here! To battle! Life and soul!”
Rogan basked in the adoration, his smile beaming out as he walked among them. One man led a horse up to him, a pure b
lack stallion with a spirited gait. Rogan pulled himself on the horse’s back, then raised a hand for silence.
“My people!” he began, waiting for the fresh cries to die down before continuing. “People of Muir! You have my humble thanks. The sadness and grief at my daughter’s kidnapping, the worry I feel for her… Gone!”
Cheers rose up again, this time bringing a prick of irritation. He had, after all, just killed a man for interrupting his conversation.
“My friends, our mission is clear. We will take no prisoners, show no mercy. Today, we shall prevail. Today, we ride for Adeline!”
This time, he gestured with his hands, and the yells and cheers reached a deafening crescendo. He rose to stand in his stirrups, pumping his fists, sending out wave after wave of magic to imbue the crowd with excitement and bloodlust.
He knew it wouldn’t last. They had a day and a half’s ride ahead, but it would let them leave Muir hearing the cheers of the townspeople they left behind. Not that there were many—Rogan guessed that almost everyone in the town with a horse had turned out to ride with him to Tahn.
“To Tahn!” he called out and kicked his horse.
The horse shied. The people clogging the streets blocked the way and were too stupid to move. Growling, then yelling, Rogan tried to get them to move, but the cacophony of excited men and women drowned out his words.
Finally, Rogan send a blast of magic to the biggest man, on the biggest horse he could find. His target yanked the reins in his hand, making his horse rear up with a whinny. He bolted, forcing a path through the press of riders.
Rogan followed, face set in a snarl. Insolent fucking whelps. They ruined my speech.
He didn’t look back to see if they followed. He could hear his generals, mostly new hires with few brains and even less experience. They yelled instructions and insults, but it did the job.
The thump of hoofbeats soon increased and before long, Rogan flew down the road following by a line of riders racing to keep up.
We’re coming for you, my pet, he thought. You’ll be so happy to see me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Julianne walked quickly, clutching the small note in her hand. “They’re leaving—no, they left, early this morning,” she explained.
Bette let out a low whistle. “Well, it doesn’t matter when they come; we could always be readier. But, we’ll do.”
“Do you think you can get the new men integrated by morning?” Marcus asked.
Bette had spent the afternoon speaking with the new soldiers, along with the troops she, Garrett, and Marcus had recruited in Tahn. A few volunteers from Madam Seher’s theatre had joined them, too.
“They’re still a wee bit wary of the situation, but this news will change that. Nothing like the prospect of a knife in yer guts to get ye ta co-operate with the man fightin’ beside ye.” She clicked her tongue, thinking. “Training might be a mistake. We don’t want ta be caught with our pants down.”
“I agree. Perhaps you should roster half of them on watch and give our men a chance to work with them in small groups?” Marcus suggested.
“Aye. Do ye think they’ll make it here by mornin’?” Bette asked.
Julianne shook her head. “From the sounds of it, he would be bringing half the city. They have supply wagons, a weapons cache… everything but a medical tent.”
“That says a lot about ’is motives,” Bette commented. “He doesn’t care how many men he loses. Crazy bastard.”
“Crazy, but be prepared for a siege, by the sound of it,” Marcus said. “He has to know using Muirians as cannon fodder won’t sit well with any of us, especially George and Adeline.”
“Yes,” Julianne agreed, “but he’s whipped them into a frenzy. They think we killed George and kidnapped Adeline.”
“So?” Marcus said casually. “We can just throw them on the lookout tower. Once the army sees them, they’ll back down.”
Julianne shook her head. “He’s an illusionist, remember? Anything he sees us do, he can use to his advantage. We’ll need to be smarter than that.”
Marcus sighed. “Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned sword fight?”
Bette nodded in sympathy. “If ye don’t want ’em runnin’ inta our pointy sticks, ye’d best have a plan before they get here.”
“Before they get here?” Julianne laughed. “Bette, I’ve had a plan since the day Adeline stepped foot in Tahn.”
“Of course, ye bloody did, ye smartass.” Bette shook her head. “Serves me right for doubtin’ ye.”
“I’m surprised she even needs us around,” Marcus said. “In fact, if we weren’t here, Jules would probably have already won the battle, freed both towns, and tied everything up in a neat little bow.”
Julianne shrugged. “Maybe. But then, who would get up at three in the morning to make me a cup of tea because I’m too busy to sleep?”
Marcus sighed. “I’m the tea-lady. The fucking tea-lady!”
“And so good at it, too,” Julianne said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “But now, I need you to go be someone else’s tea-lady. I have to go see someone.”
She veered off to the left, leaving Marcus to mutter at Bette about how unappreciated his tea-brewing skills were.
She found Artemis in his room, scribbling formulas on a scrap of paper.
“If they see him die… well, that’s easy enough. He won’t be that stupid, though, surely? Any number of things could… but if it relies on his connection. No getting around that, not unless he stays alive. Hrmm. Perhaps the answer, then, will lie in the solution.”
When Julianne’s shadow darkened his doorway, he ignored it. When she knocked, he spat. “Go away. I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy,” Julianne said. She walked in, completely uninvited, and parked herself in the way of the small lantern.
Artemis slammed his pencil on the table. “And how do you expect me to fulfil your request when I’m plagued by interruptions? At least seven times in the last hour!”
“Artemis, you’ve had someone visit twice today. You didn’t notice either time, the food Tessa brought is still sitting at the door.” Julianne reached into her pocket and pulled out a bread roll.
Artemis’s nose twitched as the aroma of warm bread filled the room. A rumbling growl from his stomach silenced the protest coming from his mouth. “Still. I’ve been interrupted this week. I think. At least once!”
The bread was soft and fresh enough that the butter inside hadn’t quite melted. He shoved it in his mouth, taking the largest bite that would fit.
“A bird came,” Julianne said, face somber. “We’re out of time, Artemis.”
“And?” he snapped, words muffled by the mouthful of food. “I told you, I can’t give you an anthwer until we know what egg-thactly he thaid…” he swallowed with a hard gulp. “Said, to form the death spell. One little word could change everything, for better or worse.”
Julianne sighed. “Well, then, we’ll just have to keep him alive until we figure it out.”
“And you’ll leave me alone until then?” Artemis asked hopefully.
He stuffed the last bite of bread between his lips and Julianne realized he had eaten it in two bites.
“Not a chance,” she said with a smile. “I need to ask you if the brainwashing spell you taught me is sound. I can’t practice it on anyone, but I need to know—will it work when I need it to?”
“Well, it worked for him, didn’t it?” Artemis mumbled. The fact that he had taught Rogan the spell was still a sore point to the old mystic. He sighed. “I never used it. It was never meant to be used! But he did, so he must have found a way.”
“But, we can’t know if he used it as you taught it, or if he altered it in some way,” Julianne clarified. Sometimes Artemis’s thought processes were perfectly on point. That was rare, though, and she had to know.
He nodded. “That’s right.” He looked away. “You’ll… hold to your promise?”
She nodded. “I swear, Arte
mis. No one will ever learn this spell from me.”
He nodded and turned away, sniffing and wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. “I never meant for this to happen.”
“I know.” Julianne reached out to touch his shoulder. “We all know. And, we know you’ll do what you can to fix it. For Tahn.”
Artemis didn’t turn back to her. He stared at the wall, silent.
She worried his silence meant he wouldn’t fight, but she eventually felt his shields drop, just a little. She couldn’t see into his mind, but she could sense his emotions.
He might be too proud to admit it, but Artemis was scared. Terrified, in fact. And yet, a thread of resolve ran through the fear, knitting it up in a tight bond. The fear would fuel him—fear of having to face this again, and fear of letting Tahn suffer from his mistake.
He would fight. No matter what, Artemis would stand with them in the battle for Tahn and Muir. He would lend his magic—and perhaps, his fists—to undoing the threat he had inadvertently created.
“Thank you, Artemis.” Julianne stood and walked to the door. “When I get back to the Temple, I’ll make sure your work is not forgotten.”
That elicited a wave of teary gratitude from the old hermit. Though not all the magic he had discovered was safe to share, many of the techniques he had developed would move mental magic into the future.
The very existence of shared shields opened up new possibilities, and the formula he had come up with to reverse and heal the effects of the brainwashing spell would need to be recorded.
Artemis was driven by knowledge. He didn’t care if he, personally, was remembered. In fact, Julianne had the feeling he would rather be forgotten. His research, however, was another story.
“Thank you,” a soft voice called as she closed the door. Smiling, Julianne left him to his notes.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The next day was spent in quiet busyness. The people of Tahn—both residents and refugees—scurried around, stockpiling food in cellars in case of a siege, ripping spare sheets into bandages, and hurriedly reinforcing what little weapons and armor they had.
