Welcome To The Age of Magic

by C M Raymond et al.

  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.

  21

  “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.

  Abbey was working with a family on the east side of the village. She was covered in soot, and she was bone tired.

  She felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Dustin, a bright smile on his face.

  He nodded toward the center of town. “Come with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Abbey looked at the man she’d been working alongside. She suddenly realized she didn’t even know his name.

  “Go,” the man said. “This house will be just as burned down later as it is now. Besides, you look like you could use some rest.”

  Abbey follow
ed Dustin to the center of the village where a group of townspeople were tending to the wounded. Dustin led her to a boy on a bedroll. His lower leg was wrapped and elevated.

  Dustin grinned at this boy. “This is Vern. He’s the one who saved us.”

  Abbey blinked hard. “What do you mean?”

  “Up on the tower. He killed a Barskall Warrior to protect me.”

  The boy nodded excitedly. “Yeah. Then one threw me off the tower. It was pretty sweet!”

  Abbey raised an eyebrow. “You were thrown off the tower?”

  Vern nodded again. “Dustin cushioned my fall with a gust of wind. I still broke my leg, but at least I didn’t break my head.”

  Abbey laughed. “I guess that’s the better of the two options. Thank you for saving us.”

  Vern laughed. “Are you kidding? You’re the one who saved us. How many Barskall Warriors did you take out, anyway?”

  In truth, Abbey had no idea. She remembered the fighting, the moment to moment struggle to stay alive, to stop these invaders attacking these innocent people. But everything had happened so fast. She was barely sure how she’d managed to stay alive, and she certainly hadn’t counted her fallen opponents. “A few, I guess.”

  Vern gazed up at her with admiration. “Way more than that. You were amazing. I used to want to be a Storm Caller when I grew up. Now, I want to be a…” He paused. “What are you, anyway?”

  “She’s an Arcadian.” The voice belonged to Syd, who looked as dirty as Abbey felt. “She’s also a stormship sailor, a blacksmith’s apprentice, and a fugitive.”

  “Whoa,” Vern said. It was clear he was even more impressed with Abbey now. He turned to Syd. “Why don’t you have any hair? Sorry, is that a rude question?”

  “Not at all.” Syd paused for a moment, then sat down on the ground next to Vern’s bedroll. “It’s not a story I tell most people, but seeing as we fought in a battle together, I suppose I could make an exception for you.”

  Abbey crossed her arms. She wanted to hear this.

  “When I was a little girl, I had a big brother,” Syd began. “His name was Elliot, and he was my favorite person. There was a kindness within him, a desire to help people. That is very rare, especially in Holdgate. I did everything I could to be like him. I trained with him, played with him, and followed him and his friends around, probably driving them crazy.”

  Vern laughed. “Sounds like my little sister.”

  “When I was about your age, my brother went to work on a stormship. The ship was called Thunderclap. Have you heard of it?”

  “Of course.” There was awe in Vern’s voice now.

  “At the time, Thunderclap’s captain wasn’t as famous as he is now. Tor was just a promising young sailor who’d somehow managed to land the job as captain of the best ship in the fleet. My brother was thrilled to work for him. I was sad to see Elliot go, but I was excited, too. I couldn’t wait for him to come back and tell me about all his adventures fighting Barskall.”

  Syd looked off into the distance for a moment before continuing. “It was a year before Thunderclap returned to Holdgate. I was waiting at the docks, and I watched every sailor step off the ship. But my brother never came. It turned out he’d died on the voyage.”

  Vern’s eyes were wide now. “What happened?”

  “That’s what I wanted to find out. No one told my parents or me. They simply said he’d died. We got some money from Captain Tor, but no answers. So, I went to see the captain myself. I demanded he tell me what had happened. Captain Tor refused. He told me what happens at sea is only for sailors, not for the families back on land. He wouldn’t give me any information. I don’t even know if Elliot died in a battle or if he fell off the ship.”

  Syd turned back to the boy and looked him in the eye. “I made two promises to myself that day. First, I vowed to become a sailor on a stormship. I figured it was the best way to honor my brother’s memory. Second, I shaved my head in mourning, and I vowed it would remain shaved until I learned what happened to my brother.”

  “Have you asked Captain Tor?” Vern said. “Since you became a storm sailor, I mean.”

  Syd nodded. “He remains unwavering in his refusal.”

  Vern shook his head in disbelief. “What a dick.”

  After they’d chatted with the boy, Abbey, Dustin, and Syd gathered near the storm tower.

  Abbey was the first to speak. “As much as I want to help these people, we need to get moving. Tor could decide to head back to Holdgate any time.”

  “Agreed.” Syd gestured toward the north side of town. “The mayor told me they would be glad to give us a ride to the city after what we did to help them. We just have to say when.”

  Abbey smiled. “Excellent. Then what are we waiting for? We have a blacksmith/sailor/fugitive, a bald first mate, and the only Storm Caller who can cast on land. What else do we need?”

  “Um, a plan maybe?” Dustin offered.

  Abbey chuckled. “Oh, we have that, too.”

  22

  Benjamin spent the morning waiting back at their hideout while Jarvi searched for more information on what had happened to Bronson the night of his death.

  Benjamin thought back to the night of the festival. He and Abbey had seen Bronson. The man had been playing a drinking game involving throwing axes, and there had been other people around. Trouble was, Benjamin didn’t remember any of them. And even if he had, that wasn’t the same as being able to prove them guilty of murder. He tried to call up the scene in his mind, but every face but Bronson’s was nothing more than a dark shadow in his memory.

  Benjamin slammed his hand on the table in frustration. He wanted nothing more than to be out there with Jarvi, asking questions and gathering information. Instead, he was stuck in this poorly lit, barely furnished hideout, relying on an antisocial old man to find the answers. He had to admit, Jarvi was clever, though. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d want on his side more, except Abbey.

  With nothing else to do, Benjamin went over the facts again in his mind.

  By all accounts, Bronson had been very drunk and hadn’t left the festival until the wee hours of the morning. The guards had hauled Benjamin from his home around four. That left only a few hours for Bronson’s travel home, his murder, the discovery of the body, and the identification of Benjamin’s sword at the crime scene. It was a tight timeframe.

  The murderer or an accomplice must have also broken into the blacksmith shop, either while Benjamin and Abbey were at the festival or while they were sleeping.

  Benjamin tensed as he heard footsteps at the doorway. He gripped the knife hanging from his belt.

  The door opened, and Jarvi slipped inside.

  Benjamin was on his feet the moment he saw his friend. “What happened? What did you find?”

  Jarvi smiled grimly. “I have information.”

  “Tell me.”

  Jarvi sank into the nearest chair and gestured to the one across from him. Benjamin reluctantly sat. He wanted to hear the news as quickly as possible, and sitting down could mean a long tale.

  Finally, Jarvi began. “I tracked down a woman who saw Bronson multiple times at the festival. Apparently, she was in a booth near his. She’s a storyteller.”

  Benjamin nodded in excitement. “I saw her. Abbey and I listened to a tale she was telling some children. About the stormships and the Barskall.”

  “As the night wore on, her crowd changed. The children were replaced with adults who’d spent the day drinking mead. She adjusted her tales to fit the audience and began spinning yarns of the bawdy variety.”

  “And she saw Bronson?” Benjamin couldn’t help it; he wanted his friend to get to the punchline of his story.

  Jarvi nodded. “Over the course of the night, Bronson and his friends became more and more rowdy, disrupting her tales with their merrymaking. Eventually, most of Bronson’s friends drifted off. All but one. Bronson and that last friend were apparently laughing uproariously over the friend’s new sword.”


  Benjamin tilted his head at that. Could it have been his sword?

  Jarvi continued. “Eventually, Bronson and his friend left the festival together. Bronson was exceedingly drunk, and the friend obviously less so.”

  Benjamin leaned forward in his seat. “Did she recognize this friend?”

  Jarvi nodded. “It was Randall. First mate of Thunderclap.”

  Benjamin put a hand over his mouth. The first mate of Thunderclap? In a way, it made sense. Thunderclap was constantly on the frontline. If the traitor were aboard that ship, he would have plenty of opportunity for contact with the Barskall.

  Yet, if Jarvi’s theory that at least one Storm Captain was involved was correct…

  That would be mean Tor was a traitor.

  Tor. The hero of Holdgate.

  Convincing the Magistrate someone working with the Barskall had killed his son would have been a difficult enough task already. Convincing him the captain of his flagship was working with the enemy? That would be nearly impossible.

  “Why hasn’t the storyteller come forward before now?” Benjamin asked.

  “She’s like me. Lives outside the city and has no love for the Magistrate or his city guard. If she hadn’t known I was a bit of a hermit myself, I don’t think she would have told me the truth.”

  “And I don’t suppose she’s running to the Magistrate to tell him what she saw?”

  “Afraid not.”

  Benjamin sat back in his chair and sighed. It was one thing to know the truth, but another to have to prove it. He thought again of Abbey. Did she know she was surrounded by traitors?

  He shook his head. “To think, I almost gave Dahlia magitech.”

  About ten years before, Jarvi had found him an especially large amphorald. Benjamin had made a gift he had intended to present to the Storm Caller of Thunderclap as a way to better ingratiate himself to the city. In the end, he’d backed out, deciding that it would call too much attention to him, and the Magistrate might demand that he make magitech for the other ships, too.