Storm Raiders: Age Of Magic - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Storms Of Magic Book 1)

by PT Hylton

  The cobblestone wall was roughly masoned, and climbing proved to be no difficult task. Benjamin worked with his hands all day, and that gave him the strength he needed to hold tight to the small gaps in the stone. In a few short minutes, he was at the window. Just as Jarvi had predicted, the window was still unlatched, and he was able to open it and climb through.

  He performed a quick search of the house to confirm it was unoccupied, then he went to the back door and let in Jarvi.

  “Well, isn’t this lovely?” Jarvi said sarcastically while stepping inside.

  Benjamin had to agree that the place had probably seen better days. It was clear the men who’d been traipsing in and out of here had worn heavy boots and displayed little interest in knocking the mud off them before entering the home. Benjamin couldn’t imagine what evidence could possibly still exist here that hadn’t been trampled to oblivion at this point.

  Still, they were inside now, so they’d might as well take a look around. Benjamin led the way to the second story.

  As they walked, Jarvi said, “Do you remember when you first came to me with the suspicion that there might be a traitor?”

  “Of course.” Benjamin had spent weeks thinking about it before bringing the matter to his friend. The evidence had been piling up for a while, and he’d wanted to be as sure as he could be before causing a panic.

  The whole thing had started with a captain whose crew worked the Storm Wall, the area in the middle of the sea between the Kaldfell Peninsula and Barskall where stormships used a combination of weaponry and heavy storms to make the sea impassible to their enemies from the west. The Storm Captain had been grumbling about how the Barskall seemed to be getting through more often recently. He’d said the Barskall found the gaps in their defenses so often, it was as if they knew where the stormships would be positioned.

  That one offhanded remark had sent Benjamin’s mind in motion. Over the coming months, he’d begun to see patterns as he overheard other comments. It took him back to his time as a Hunter in Arcadia when he’d spent his days gathering clues from the smallest remarks dropped in casual conversations.

  He noticed the stormships that traveled north were ordering more and more weapons and armor, which meant they were engaging in battles more frequently. That had to mean more Barskall were getting through. He noticed that even when ships like High Tide and Summer Wind were assigned to the trade routes near the Lost Isles, they were still going through armor and weapons at an unusual pace. They needed their weapons and armor repaired and replaced far more often than one would expect. There were more and more reports of northern villages being raided by the Barskall. But how were they getting through?

  He began asking gentle, probing questions to the sailors he met returning from the north, questions that allowed him to gather just enough information to put the pieces together.

  Finally, he’d come to a conclusion: too many Barskall Warriors were getting through to the Kaldfell Peninsula, and the Magistrate either didn’t understand the severity of the situation or didn’t care. So, after consulting Jarvi on the matter, Benjamin had made an appointment to speak to the Magistrate. And shortly after that, he’d been framed for murder.

  “When you first brought me the idea, I thought you were crazy,” Jarvi said. “It took me a while to come around to the idea.” They reached a sitting room on the second floor, and Jarvi stopped. “I did some asking around about the crime, and this is it. This was where he was murdered. They found him lying by the window.”

  Benjamin let out a thoughtful grunt as he looked around. Bronson was no wimp. Whoever killed him must have been a competent swordsman.

  There were no signs of a struggle. Either the city guards had done an uncharacteristically good job of cleaning up, or the fight hadn’t lasted long.

  Benjamin scratched his chin. “You said the killer came in through the window?”

  Jarvi nodded. “It was wide open when they found him. In fact, someone in the street heard him scream. If they hadn’t, it might have been days before someone found him.

  Convenient, Benjamin thought. “Something about this stinks. Look at the chairs. They’re all angled toward the window.”

  “So?”

  “So, you expect me to believe Bronson was sitting in this room, looking toward the window, and the killer had time to open it and climb in before Bronson noticed? Surely, he could have fought off a man climbing through a window even if he was drunk. At least there would be signs of a struggle.”

  Jarvi thought for a moment before answering. “He could have been sleeping in one of those chairs. The killer might have snuck in and slit his throat without him even waking up.”

  “But you said they found him by the window, not in the chair. And someone heard him scream.”

  Jarvi chuckled. “Okay, my Arcadian Hunter friend, what’s your theory?”

  Benjamin looked around the room one more time before answering. “I don’t think the killer came through the window. He only wants us to think he did. I believe the killer was already in the house. Bronson was murdered by a friend.”

  ****

  Dustin gripped his staff and struggled to keep his focus on the storm he was calling, not on the battle raging below his feet.

  He’d found the storm tower just as the townsperson had described. A trough was built into the wood on the top of the tower, and the trough was filled with murky water.

  It may not have been clean, but it was seawater. Dustin knew that the moment his staff touched it and the power hummed into his body.

  Another man was on the tower with Dustin. He must have been some sort of watchman, Dustin assumed. He’d been the one who’d sounded the alarm when the Barskall had returned to attack the village. Dustin couldn’t see him very well; he crouched in the corner, silently watching Dustin.

  Dustin turned toward the man. “You know, my friend down there is single-handedly protecting this tower from charging Barskall Warriors. Maybe you’d be willing to go down and give her a hand?” His voice came out sounding strained. Doing anything else while Storm Calling—even speaking—took a fabulous effort of will.

  The man slowly shook his head. “This my station. I need to stay here.”

  Dustin grit his teeth in frustration. Abbey needed help. “Listen, I don’t mean to come into your town and tell you your business, but if you don’t get your ass down there and help, your station is going to be a smoldering pile of rubble come morning. So, how about you quit being a worthless piece of shit and get moving?”

  The man slowly shook his head again.

  “Unbelievable.” If this man didn’t want to do his part, Dustin wasn’t going to waste another word on him. He turned his attention back toward the village.

  The rain seemed to be helping. Granted, it wasn’t putting out the fires—those still burned around the village—but it did seem to keep them from spreading.

  Dustin had never called a rain storm of this magnitude before, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up. He was still a bit drained from the previous night’s efforts. He silently vowed to keep going as long as humanly possible, until every last morsel of magic he could access had run dry.

  He risked a look down at Abbey. Three Barskall Warriors were closing in on her as she bravely held her position at the foot of the tower.

  Dustin concentrated on the man nearest Abbey, and a gust of powerful wind slammed into the man, knocking him onto his ass. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do from up there. He couldn’t risk a lightning bolt, not that close to Abbey and the tower. No Storm Caller was that precise.

  The other two Barskalls charged Abbey, and she held her sword, ready to meet them.

  Dustin saw another Barskall Warrior sprinting toward her from the left, just out of her line of sight. By the time Dustin noticed, it was too late to send his wind or even yell out a warning. The Warrior smashed into Abbey, wrapping his arms around her and tackling her to the ground.

  The other two Warriors raced pa
st and barreled up the stairs.

  Dustin spun toward the top of the staircase where the Barskalls would emerge at any moment. He tried to steel himself. He could use his staff as a bludgeon against his attackers, but he had no delusions. He wasn’t Abbey. There was no way he would last long against two Barskall Warriors.

  The man crouching in the corner leaped to his feet and moved toward the top of the stairs. “As the Storm Caller protects our village, it is my duty to protect him.”

  For the first time, Dustin realized the watchman wasn’t a man at all. He was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than twelve. He drew a long, thin sword and lunged at the first Barskall Warrior who appeared at the top of the stairs. The sword sank into the Barskall’s chest, and the Warrior collapsed.

  The other Barskall pushed past him, and this time, the boy was not so lucky. The Barskall struck with his broadsword, knocking the thinner weapon from the boy’s hands. He then swung his arm, hitting the boy in the chest. The boy went flying over the edge of the tower and tumbled toward the ground.

  “No!” Dustin yelled. He focused his magic, trying to create a gust of wind under the boy that would cushion his fall. He had no idea if the attempt was successful, and he heard the boy land with a thud.

  Dustin spun toward the Barskall Warrior, fury in his eyes. He would attack this evil man with all the power of nature that swirled within him.

  The Barskall rushed forward and, instead of attacking Dustin, he stabbed his sword down into the trough. Dustin heard the wood crack, and the seawater ran out. The power within Dustin ebbed with the disappearing seawater.

  The rain immediately slowed, and the Barskall Warrior smiled.

  Dustin raised his staff, still furious at what the Barskall Warrior had done to the boy, but then he paused. What was it Abbey had said? That magic was in all things, not just the sea? That maybe the sea simply prepared him?

  He touched the end of his staff to the wood below his feet. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, the same way he always did when his staff touched seawater, and he felt… something. It wasn’t the same as the Storm Calling he was used to, but there was power there. A different power, but power nonetheless.

  Tentatively, he reached out to touch it, but he felt it pull away.

  Stupid! He couldn’t help but chastise himself. You couldn’t reach for the power tentatively. Every apprentice Storm Caller knew that. Storm magic required a firm demeanor.

  He tried again, not hesitating this time, grabbing the power with confidence, and this time it did not pull away.

  Power flowed through him, familiar and new at the same time. He couldn’t feel the push and pull of the tide, but it was as if he could sense the rock deep below the surface of the ground, it was as if his feet were anchored to it.

  He opened his eyes. The Barskall Warrior was still moving toward him, and Dustin realized his struggle to harness the power of the earth had only taken a moment, though it had felt much longer. He shaped the power, and a vicious wind slammed into the Barskall Warrior, sending him toppling over the edge of the tower.

  Dustin closed his eyes another moment, and the rain began to pour down even harder than before.

  He glanced at Abbey and saw she was back on her feet. A half dozen fallen Barskall Warriors littered the ground around her.

  He called down to her. “You okay down there?”

  She nodded up at him. “You?”

  “I’m fine.

  She pointed toward the north end of the town. “Look at what Syd’s up to!”

  He followed her gaze and saw Syd and the townspeople driving the Barskall Warriors back, forcing them to congregate at a point near the north end of the village. He shook his head in admiration. How had that woman managed to plan and execute a successful battle on the fly with untrained fighters?

  He squinted at the Barskall Warriors. They were gathered together, no townspeople near them. He smiled and closed his eyes.

  A bolt of lightning crashed down into the middle of their group. Then another. Then a third.

  The Barskall Warriors didn’t need a fourth lightning strike. They turned tail and fled north.

  The battle was over. They’d won.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “The Barskall are a useful tool, darling. Remember that. They are like a weapon. And you don’t simply throw away a weapon because of an imperfection.”

  Somehow, Dahlia’s words failed to calm Tor. They were once again walking through the streets of Bode, on their way to see the Barskall Chief. Once again, it was time Tor could have spent finding the fugitive or persuading the surprisingly stubborn captain of The Foggy Day to help him.

  But Eril had sent a message demanding to see him. Demanding! It had been a long while since anyone had demanded anything of Tor, and it had put him in a dark mood. Usually, he greeted anything less polite than a gentle request with a boot to the face. And yet, Dahlia still wanted him to play nice with the Barskall.

  He turned to his Storm Caller. “Dahlia, you are correct that you don’t throw out a weapon because of a single imperfection. But you don’t ignore it, either. You repair it. You take it to the blacksmith. Perhaps it’s time to introduce Eril to the forge and the anvil.”

  A shadow crossed Dahlia’s face. “We’ve worked very long and very hard to build the Storm Raiders into a force that can achieve our goals. Before we started our work, they were just a few rogue Storm Captains looting villages to line their pockets. We’ve managed to change them into something so much more, and we must—”

  He spun toward her, cutting her off. “We? You keep using that word like we’re equal partners. I’ve risked everything to build an empire. You’re just the woman who creates gusts of wind for my sails. So, do not presume to give orders as to what we should do.”

  For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of anger in her eyes. But then it was gone, and she nodded, her eyes on the ground. “My apologies. I overstepped.”

  He sighed, suddenly feeling a bit guilty. He reached down and took her hand. “It’s all right. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that these Barskalls have me on edge.”

  She squeezed his hand. “There’s no need to apologize, darling.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence.

  When they arrived at the church where the Barskall Chief had set up his headquarters, the guards outside seemed skittish. Tor and Dahlia were immediately shown to the area where they’d met with Eril the last time, but his massive seat was empty. They had waited a full ten minutes before the chief came storming into the room.

  “Captain Tor!” Eril bellowed as he marched to his makeshift throne. “I’m growing impatient. How long must we stay in this burned-out husk of a city?”

  Tor felt Dahlia touch his back, and he nodded at her, showing he took her message. He would be patient with this man, this imperfect tool.

  “Eril, the search for the fugitive girl and her compatriots continues,” Tor said in the most pleasant voice he could manage. “Until we have confirmed she’s dead, our best bet is to stay in place. It’s a delicate time.”

  Eril scoffed loudly. “Delicate? Just like you Holdgatesmen. We’ve proven we can take down a city in a single night, and yet you hesitate to continue with our plan. Why? Because you’re afraid some girl will sully your reputation back home?”

  Dahlia stroked Tor’s back, but he was losing the battle to remain even-keeled.

  He spoke through a forced smile. “Our patience will be rewarded. There’s no need to rush. We agreed we want the entire Holdgate fleet on our side, did we not? That will take time.”

  Eril leaned forward and smiled back at Tor, revealing teeth stained black from years of overexposure to the Barskall draught. “It seems to me, a great Storm Captain would want fewer ships, not more. The more ships, the less reward for each of them.”

  Tor took a deep breath before responding. “If we succeed on our plans, there will be more than enough reward for every ship in the fleet.”

  Eril
chuckled. “Perhaps it is not caution that drives you. Perhaps it’s fear. Maybe you don’t have the balls to carry through what you’ve—”

  Tor was in motion before the man finished his sentence. He lunged at the Barskall Chief, grabbed him by the throat, and threw him to the floor. Before anyone could react, Tor had the tip of his sword pressed against Eril’s neck.

  Tor’s voice was calm when he spoke again. “You were saying?”

  Eril glared up at him, shock and fury in his eyes, but he didn’t speak.

  Tor pressed the blade a bit harder into the man’s neck. “I think it’s time I remind you of the terms of our agreement. You and your people continue to exist at my pleasure. Potions or not, I can end you anytime I choose. You want to set up a throne room in a fallen city? You want to pretend to be a king? Be my guest. But I’m the one who says how long we stay here, and I’m the one who decides where we go next. Do you understand?”

  Eril scowled for a moment before answering. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Tor sheathed his sword and held out a hand to the chief. Eril took it, and Tor pulled him to his feet.

  Eril rubbed at his neck for a moment, then burst out in laughter. “That’s why I like you, captain. A true leader needs to be a little crazy, and you fit that bill.”

  Tor ignored the comment. “Let me know when your people have killed the Arcadian and her friends. Until then, we wait.”

  He nodded to Dahlia, turned, and marched out of the church.

  When they were out in the street, Dahlia said, “I don’t know if that was the forge or the anvil, but I think it worked.”

  ****

  The sun rose over the small village to find Abbey, Dustin, and Syd working with the townspeople to salvage what they could from the burned houses. The fires were out now after hours of pouring rain brought on by Dustin, but there was still plenty of work to be done.