Damn. Well played, Shamus. Well played.
Despite his talk of dwindling numbers, last I knew, the Cabal had over a thousand active wizards. I hadn’t considered the possibility I might know the victim.
I gritted my teeth and turned back to face him. “I suppose that means it was someone I know.”
His own fierce expression softened. “It was Kyle Allen.”
I blinked at him a few times, unsure what to say. I’d grown up with Kyle. We’d been friends. He was one of the kindest people I knew. The idea of someone killing him was just ludicrous.
I took a deep breath and calmed my nerves. Parker knew the right buttons to press. He wanted me full of self-righteous anger, but I wasn’t about to be manipulated. Kyle had a kind soul and whoever murdered him, I hoped they suffered for it, but my decision had been made.
“That doesn’t change anything, Parker,” I said, continuing toward the cabin. “Give Director Allen my condolences. Kyle was a good guy.”
“And you don’t want to know who killed him?” he asked.
I paused at the doorway. Double damn.
Everything in me screamed that I should just open the door and go inside. I tried to tell myself I didn’t want, or need, to know. It wasn’t any of my business. I wasn’t going to be the executioner, regardless of who the killer was. Why should I care, anyway? A good man was dead. That was all that mattered. Whoever killed him was just a miserable bastard and they were going to get what they deserved either way.
My feet betrayed me and I turned back to face him. “Who?”
“Axel Gunner.”
A long silence fell between us. I listened to the trees yawning in the breeze. The rustling of leaves on the wind. Somewhere a crow cawed. Another answered from deeper in the forest. After what felt like a lifetime, I said, “I’ll go pack.”
Chapter 2
I shut the door of my cabin, still processing what he’d said.
How could Axel Gunner have murdered another wizard? How could Axel have murdered anyone?
And they expected me to be his executioner.
I must have stood there for close to a minute before a new thought struck me. I opened the door and poked my head back outside. Parker was waiting on the porch.
“This isn’t some kind of joke, right?”
“It’s not a joke, Wyatt.”
“You’re sure he didn’t put you up to this?” I asked. “Just to get a rise out of me?”
Parker raised an eyebrow and gave me a hard look.
“Right,” I said, nodding. “There’s no way you would’ve gone along with it.”
I slammed the door in his face and went back inside.
There had to be some kind of mistake. There was no way Axel would’ve murdered someone in cold blood. He just wouldn’t. Especially not Kyle. They’d been friends, too.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. It didn’t help. They actually expected me to execute my best friend. Sure, we hadn’t spoken in years, but dammit, I still considered him my brother.
I walked to my bedroom and grabbed a duffel bag. It didn’t take me long to pack. I pretty much always wore old jeans, a black t-shirt, and faded Chuck Taylors. Branson was only an hour or so away, but there was no telling how long the Cabal would drag this out. And I wasn’t in a hurry to fulfill my role.
In the forefront of my mind, I’d already made the decision that I wasn’t going to play executioner. Yet, in my heart, I knew that it was my job. The sword had chosen me and Parker was right, like it or not, I had a responsibility. But if it came to it, could I actually execute my best friend? Could I even stand there and watch someone else do it?
I moved deeper into my closet and pulled out an old trunk. In it was the dark garb I used to wear when I served on one of the Cabal’s strike teams. Nothing special. Just some black military pants, a long-sleeve shirt, and a belt with some pouches. Last, I grabbed my staff and headed back out the front door.
Parker still stood on the porch.
I ignored him, locked the door, ensured my wards were in place, and started toward my old beater pickup.
“You can ride with me, if you want,” Parker offered. “Have an SUV parked on the dirt road.”
“No, thanks,” I said over my shoulder.
“I’ll ride with you, then,” Parker said, keeping pace.
“What?” I asked, coming to halt. “No. Absolutely not. Go away, Shamus.”
“I’m afraid I must insist.”
We stared at each for a few seconds.
“Oh, shit the bed,” I said with a bitter laugh. “The Archmage told you not to let me out of your sight until I showed up, didn’t he?”
“No,” he said with a hint of indignation. Then he cracked a grin. “He ordered me not to let you out of my sight until the job is done.”
“You were my babysitter the last time I saw you. Big bad Shamus with his big bad promotion, back on Wyatt babysitting duty again. You must feel like a real asset.”
“And you must feel like a real asshole.”
“A surprising amount of the time, actually.”
“You know, the Archmage didn’t say I couldn’t kick your ass.”
That was a fair point. And I had little doubt he could. I mean, in fisticuffs I might be able to keep up with him, but if he broke out the magic, well, I was out of my league.
“So, if I’d refused to come along?”
“I was going to drag you to Branson by your ear,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why do you always have to be such a pain in the dick, Wyatt?”
“In all honesty,” I said, trying to sound serious. “It’s either because I greatly admire you, or because I don’t like you at all. I’ll let you decide which.”
The door of my truck groaned as I opened it. It had seen better years, many years ago. But, when you’re living off scraps and the occasional odd job, you can’t be too picky. It was a seventy-seven Sierra, which meant it still ran like a beast and drank enough gas to sink to a battleship.
Parker opened the passenger door and studied the dirt-covered layers of junk that covered the seat and floor. “Seriously, Wyatt, I have a brand-new Expedition right down the road. It’s got climate control, comfortable seats, and it’s smooth as a dream.”
“Oh, this has all that,” I said as I tossed my bag behind the seat.
“It has climate control?” he asked in a mocking tone.
“Yup,” I replied as I climbed in. “You see that crank right there on the door? That mystical piece of modern technology allows you to control temperature and airflow.”
He glared at me.
“Careful getting in,” I said, smiling at him. “I wouldn’t want you to get your suit dirty.”
He shook his head at me and muttered something under his breath. I was reasonably confident it was another threat to my wellbeing.
This was going to be fun.
***
“So, things haven’t been going well for the Cabal?” I asked as I navigated the windy roads that would lead us to Branson.
At first, I didn’t think he was going to answer. Then finally, Parker said, “It’s like I told you already. Our numbers are down. Supernatural crime is up.”
“It’s been relatively quiet around here.”
“Yeah,” Parker said, glancing over at me. “There’s rumors that some local keeps supernatural threats in check, but I don’t guess you’d know anything about that, would you?”
“No point in denying it,” I said, shrugging. “I still believe in upholding the Solemn Covenant. The local constables keep everything in order. I just chip in occasionally. I think knowing the Blade Mage lives nearby keeps most of the nasties away.”
Parker grunted. “Wish that was the case everywhere.”
I turned my attention back on the road, unsure what to say. I couldn’t deny I felt some guilt for not being an active part of the solution, but I also didn’t know what else I was supposed to do. Until now, the Cabal hadn’t wanted me
involved in their business. So, I stayed out of it.
That business, of course, was to serve and protect the supernatural community within our territory. The Ozark Mountain Cabal was one of seven ancient druidic-approved magic guilds in the United States. We were responsible for Arkansas, Oklahoma, Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa, and South Dakota for some damned reason.
The rest of the states were spread among the other six organizations – The Southern Circle, The Western Temperament, The Rocky Mountain Chantry, The Great Lakes Coterie, The Appalachian Argument, and the Colonial Coven.
Each guild was different and set their own laws, but, basically the principles were the same. Uphold the Solemn Covenant and protect the innocent from supernatural threats. We didn’t answer to the United States government, though I’m sure they would’ve preferred it if we did. Not many people outside of the supernatural realm even knew we existed. We answered to a higher power, so to speak.
The Solemn Covenant was written and agreed thousands of years ago. No one knows the history of how or when it was founded, but basically, all parties agree that at some point in history, the ancient druids decided to help us protect humanity from the things that go bump in the night. To do that, those mystic weirdos chose the magic guilds they believed most worthy, and to each, they provided eight arcane artifacts. Thus, the Arcane Guardians began.
Four of the artifacts represent wisdom, and the wielders are referred to as the Arcane Sages. The positions include the Archmage, the Enchanter, the Curator, and the Shaman. The other four are weapons which represent our promise to protect the innocent, and are referred to as the Arcane Paladins. They are the Defender, the War Mage, the Hunter, and yeah, you guessed it, the Blade Mage.
In each guild, or organization, the artifacts themselves choose the best individual to wield them. That individual then assumes that role. The problem is that over time, many of the artifacts were destroyed in battle, lost, or in some instances, simply didn’t choose a new person. When Europeans began to settle the United States, that split them up even further. No guild has all eight artifacts anymore, but all the druid-approved cliques have some, at least.
The Ozark Mountain Cabal has five of the eight, more than any other guild in the United States. We have all four of the Arcane Sages. Based on the math, yeah, you guessed it again, I was the only Arcane Paladin in the Cabal.
My father held the position before me. He was the heart of our organization and respected by the supernatural community throughout the world. He was a pillar of everything the Blade Mage should be. The Lantern Bearer. The Arbitrator. The Inquisitor. The Vanguard. Those are all nicknames for the Blade Mage, and my father embodied them all. And he oversaw the entire Battle Mage division of the Cabal. Basically, he kicked ass.
When he passed away, the sword chose me, and the whole world wept.
Okay, that might be a bit extreme, but suffice to say that no one was really happy with the selection. Well, no one except Axel Gunner. He was thrilled. No one else, though. I was a nobody wizard who’d just been booted from a strike team when I found out my boss was porking my girlfriend. Even while I was on the team, I hadn’t even had a specialty or a crucial role. And as Parker had mentioned, during my time in the field, I’d made a few messes. To my face, my own team called me the Generic Mage. Behind my back, everyone called me the Bastard Mage, on account of me being the Blade Mage’s adopted son.
So, as soon as the sword chose me to carry on my father’s legacy, the Archmage restructured the Cabal so I wouldn’t have any responsibility under me. Everyone else simply gave me the cold shoulder.
Lost my dad, lost my job, lost my girlfriend, and then was chosen to be the ‘Heart’ of an organization who thought me as useless as man nipples. So, I packed up and left. Even my father’s possessions didn’t make it to me. All the Cabal’s Human Resources people would tell me was his will had been executed exactly as he’d defined it. Everything my once respected family owned was lost. All that remained was a lonely cabin, nestled away in the woods.
I sighed. “How bad is it really, Parker? I don’t get much news. Despite the supernatural activity around Eureka, the Cabal feels like another world.”
“The Castle is an hour down the road. You’re practically in the epicenter of the organization.”
That was true. The Cabal’s headquarters, which we all lovingly referred to as the Castle, was nestled away in the Boston Mountains, just a little way south of Fayetteville, Arkansas. However, the Cabal maintained bases of operation all over our territory. Some were giant fenced-in compounds, like the one we were headed to outside of Branson, while others were just little offices. It varied based on the population and the size of operation in a given location. Since wizards tend to wreak hell on technology, most of our major cities were policed by other organizations who worked alongside ours. Branson was an exception.
“It may be quiet here in your lonely woods, but that isn’t the case across the map.”
“Is the increased activity more urban or rural?”
“Both.”
“Really?”
“In every state, in every county, and in every city, the numbers are growing. More gangs. More nasty buggers. And we’ve got less mages to keep it all in check. Less vampires, were-creatures, and other supernatural recruits as well. We’re even down on Normans.”
‘Norman’ was slang for normal person. As in, not a mage or a monster. I was never sure exactly how many ‘other’ supernatural beings the Cabal had on staff, but before I left, there were close to five thousand regular humans working for the Cabal. Roughly a thousand of those supported combat operations. Some were ex-law enforcement or ex-military, while others were current law enforcement or National Guard. The Cabal gave them the flexibility to be both. It never hurt to have people on the inside, and the Cabal ensured it always had members in places of power.
And we weren’t just magic police. A secret society on steroids, the Cabal had more business interests than the accountants could count. It owned stakes in numerous large corporations and had fiscal interests throughout the world. A lot of the farming industry in the Midwest paid dividends to the little magical society I grew up in.
And of course, there was the civic side. The Cabal had an accredited private school which was a front for training magic to youngsters with the gift. There were also a variety of charity works, blood clinics for vampires, facilities for helping were-folk, councilors for coping with victims of monster attacks, and just about everything else you could imagine. There were accountants, human resource people, doctors, realtors, an army of lawyers, and so on.
Back to Parker’s concern, I gave him a shrug and said, “Increase recruiting. I know you can’t just pick up battle ready mages off any lot, but surely there’s any number of combat vets looking for work, or suck-heads looking for a legal blood supply, or were-critters that need snacky treats.”
“You don’t think we have?” Parker asked. “When your father cleared out most of the heavy hitters, the Archcouncil changed our focus and reallocated a lot of the battle budget to other purposes. You may not realize this, but the Ozark Mountain Cabal is a family. We stand for more than just stopping the things that go bump in the night. They wanted to put more emphasis on studying magic and civic works.”
“You have a brochure to go along with that sales pitch?”
“Piss off, Wyatt. We’re trying to build a haven where supernatural folks can feel safe. Working toward integrating them into normal society. Better tomorrows and all that.”
“You’ve been drinking the Kool Aid for too long,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in the insult. Truth was, I believed in the Cabal’s mission, too. Always had. It was the bullshit politics and assholes that ruined it for me.
Ignoring my comment, he continued, “Point is, our numbers are down and crime is up. We have half the battle trained Normans we had when you were still around. We’ve lost over a hundred battle mages.”
“Really?” I asked. This was news, i
ndeed. “Why?”
“Some of our people moved to other parts of the country. Signed up with the other guilds. Some went nomad, decided not to be card carrying members of the Cabal anymore. I guess you aren’t the only who’s disenchanted. It started right after your father passed. People don’t feel safe without the Blade Mage around.”
I didn’t reply.
“And we’ve lost some in battle. The more the threats increase, and the more our numbers dwindle, the more spread out we are. We can’t be everywhere. Sometimes our folks in the field don’t have the reinforcements they need right when they need them.”
“Damn,” I said. That wasn’t good news. Still, there was an implication in his tone that was almost accusatory. It irked me. “You know I’m not him, right?”
“Of course,” he said. “If your father was still alive…”
“He was the Blade Mage,” I said, nodding. “On that, we can agree, but don’t forget, even after all he did for the Cabal, near the end, a lot of people doubted him. They laughed behind his back, Parker. Said he had wild theories about dark mages. Don’t forget that.”
“I haven’t,” he said, staring out the window. “For what it’s worth, he was a hero to me.”
“Well, that’s something we can agree on, then.”
Our conversation hit a lull and I watched the trees pass by in silence. The Cabal’s problems were for people like Parker to figure out. Hell, he should’ve been chosen as Blade Mage.
I really wasn’t looking forward to stepping back into this world. The Cabal was supposed to protect people. It was supposed to be a family like Parker said. It was supposed to stand up for what was right, but just like any large organization, it was filled bureaucratic bullies and political whores.
After a while, I broke the silence. “Okay, so clearly you’re supposed to be vague about the details, and that’s fine, but can you at least enlighten me on who I should expect to see at the compound?”
“Director Allen will be there, along with the rest of his family, of course.”
The Blade Mage Page 2