Death Mage's Curse

by Jon Bender

  “Here we are again,” Darian said. “I swear, ever since I met you, my life has been a series of life-threatening situations.”

  “Why do you keep volunteering to come along? I am sure Tamrick or another mage would have been happy to take your place,” Jaxom replied.

  “I never said I didn’t enjoy the thrill of it. At least this time Da’san isn’t here to cast his shadow of morality over every moment of excitement.”

  “You two aren’t going to bicker like this the entire way, are you?” Cribble interrupted before spitting on the ground.

  “Only if you are going to be your usual congenial self,” Darian said with a wink for Jaxom.

  “Good, I was worried I would have to listen to what passes for humor amongst mages the entire trip,” Cribble said, never looking their way. Jaxom almost thought the Guard Commander had made a joke, but was sure that he had meant every word of it.

  Laiden let out a grunt of laughter, drawing a stern glare from Darian. “Is something funny, Apprentice?”

  “Uh… no Magus. I had something caught in my throat,” he said, never meeting Darian’s eyes.

  “Be careful, Apprentice. A lot of things can go wrong on a journey such as this.” Darian said grimly before turning away so Laiden couldn’t see his mischievous smile.

  “Yes, Magus. I will be more careful.”

  Jaxom shook his head and fixed Darian with a long-suffering look. His friend shrugged and looked ahead. Following his gaze, Jaxom again felt the strain of having to wait before he could act to save his brother. He found himself wishing that shades or the priests of Or’Keer would attack just so he could vent his frustration on them. At that moment, he would have been happy to see hundreds of bandits riding towards them. Jaxom shook off the foolish thoughts and forced himself to concentrate on what he would do once they reached their destination. He had waited this long to act, and it would only be a short time longer now.

  Chapter 3

  A heavy haze hung in the air above the embattled armies. The sun’s rays caused the dust to give off a golden glow that almost matched the color of the tall grass. The battle was not going well for the Rilnormans, who were outnumbered by the Ostega forces. Even the few mages they had brought had not been enough to gain the advantage. It had been ten minutes since the last time she had seen a cast, leading her to believe the Ostegans had either reached and killed the mages or they had fled the field. Either way, this battle was over. The two kingdoms had only months ago been allies until Rilnorm had secretly marched its armies across the border. Queen Laness had been negotiating a truce with the king of De’Var in the north when the invading army had moved straight through Ostega. The unprovoked attack cut the kingdom in two before a defense could be organized.

  Vaniece stood from her kneeling position on the hill. Her location only a couple of miles from the battle offered an excellent vantage over the empty grassland. It was still early morning, but the wind blowing over her loose, brown shirt was hot and dry. Her black hair was cut short in the Ostegan style, a necessity when the winds brought waves of heat from the Southern Desert. A pack of six reanimated grassland dogs stood motionless nearby, their white glowing eyes vacant of any life. They were larger than their domesticated brothers, with long legs and powerful jaws that could easily bring down the quick savannah deer. The pack had made the fatal miscalculation that a lone human on a horse would be easy prey. Now they were hers.

  Taking one last look at the battle below, she turned away, knowing her people would be victorious. Her instructions had been clear. She would not involve herself in the fight unless her help was needed or the agents of the mysterious temple made themselves known. Before she left for the mission, the queen had told her that these dark priests had been seen supporting Rilnorm in several battles. The same priests served the god Or’Keer, whom her father had left to fight all those years ago. The queen also suspected them of the murder of several military leaders, some of Ostega’s best strategists. Their loss weakened the sieged kingdom’s position considerably. Vaniece had been tasked with hunting down those responsible. So far, the search had not proved fruitful.

  Mounting her horse, she had commanded her pack to follow her back to the camp when two men in dark robes crested the hill riding horses at a trot. With nowhere to run, she waited for them to arrive. As they drew closer, she could make out the superior way they held themselves, but did not recognize them as mages or priests of any god she knew.

  “Good morning, Vaniece Enhart,” one of the men said, stopping a short distance away.

  Her pack stood between her and the men, but she did not cast magic or command the dogs to attack. She needed information. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Our master would like to make you an offer,” the second man said.

  “Who is your master that he thinks he has anything I want?”

  “You know who he is. Shall we not play these games? The great god Or’Keer wants to give you the same chance he gave your parents. They foolishly denied him, but Or’Keer is generous. He hopes you will be more sensible.”

  The mention of her lost family perked her attention. Her parents had been forced to part years ago. Her father had hidden her in Ostega with a family who cared for her until she had reached maturity. Her mother had continued east with her little brother Jaxom, promising that they would come back. She had often thought of searching them out but had no way of knowing if they were even alive. Now she knew Or’Keer had never found her brother.

  “What is the offer?” she asked.

  “Our master is almost ready to claim the fifteen kingdoms for himself. He gives you the choice of joining him and having a place of power, with your own land to rule, or being crushed with the rest of the vermin who oppose him.”

  “I know my mother said no. What was my brother’s response?” she asked casually.

  “Your mother came to regret her refusal…at the end,” the first man said.

  Vaniece felt her chest tighten. For two decades, she had held onto hope that her mother was alive. Carefully keeping her face blank, she shrugged. “That was not my question. What did my brother say?”

  “Unfortunately, Or’Keer was forced to kill him. From what I understand, he would have been a powerful asset,” the second man said.

  She had been alone all her life, but the thought that, somewhere, she still had a family had given her comfort. With those few words, that thin blanket of security had been stripped away, and beneath it…was nothing. Still, she had to hold onto hope. Or’Keer’s priests would say anything to get what they wanted.

  Without realizing what she was doing, she had raised her hand as a sphere of swirling black smoke formed in front of it. The priests dropped into prayer, asking their god for power. Her magic leapt forward, striking the last speaker in the chest and sending him flying backward off the saddle as his horse ran in fear. The magic quickly decayed the flesh of his torso but not enough to kill him. Her pack charged forward, their long legs covering the ground quickly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw dark shapes move, finally taking the form of four men in black masks. They attacked, slashing at her pack with curved swords. As the first priest finished his prayer, a black tear ripped open in the air between them. A being fashioned from pure darkness stepping out. It was much larger than an average man and wielded an enormous sword in its armored fists.

  Looking over the shadow warrior’s shoulder, she could see the mounted priest continuing to pray. Behind him, the second priest was still disoriented and unsteadily climbing to his feet. Releasing the reigns, she held out her hands to either side, pulling death into herself until she was nearly bursting with power. Her senses heightened, and the whole world snapped sharply into focus. She saw everything with clarity: the wind pushing slowly through the grass, one of her pack mid-leap with jaws open to latch onto a masked man’s throat, and the shadow warrior moving forward with its sword raised. She probed the earth for the remains of long-dead animals. As she dragged the bo
nes to the surface, they ripped from the dry ground in a cloud of dust. The dozens of floating bones snapped in half, creating jagged missiles. Vaniece swung both hands forward, and the world faded back into place as the bones shot toward her assailants. The praying priest anticipated the attack and moved the summoned being to shield himself from the majority of the daggers. One of the shards slipped passed to embed itself in his upper arm, but the pain did not break his concentration. Vaniece could not help but admire his fortitude. The dismounted man had not been so lucky, gathering his wits just in time to turn and see death flying at him. Half a dozen of the sharpened bones pierced his body and threw him to the ground to gasp his final breaths.

  With her attack spent, the dark being closed the remaining distance. Her horse reared in fright. Without her grip on the reigns, Vaniece tumbled out of her saddle. The hard-packed earth knocked the wind from her lungs. Looking up from her prone position, she saw the being slice off one of the horse’s legs then sink its sword deeply into its chest. As the horse fell, the warrior withdrew the blade and turned its empty face to her. Lifting her hand from the ground, she quickly cast two spheres. They struck the warrior, knocking it back a few steps.

  Acting quickly, she looked past the dark warrior, who was still blocking a clear view of the priest. Off to the side, her pack was down to four dogs, still locked in combat with three remaining masked men. Seeing no other choice, she reached out, taking control of a dog and leaving her body defenseless against the warrior. The shift in perception was staggering, but she jumped away on instinct. The smell of man filled her nostrils, warning her that one had shifted its position behind her. A curved sword passed through the space she had just vacated. Ignoring the masked figure, she broke away from the fight. The ground flew beneath her as she pushed the canine body to its limit, charging the priest who sat on his horse still mumbling in prayer.

  Just before reaching her target, she released her control of the dog and returned to her own body. When her eyes focused, she saw the edge of the large sword heading for her face. She threw her body to the side, and the blade slammed down with a force that shook the ground beneath her back. She tried to roll again, but a heavy boot collided with her ribs, sending her slight body on a short flight through the air.

  The pain in her side was excruciating, leaving her unable to move or draw a full breath. All she could do was watch as the warrior stepped closer, its long shadow falling over her. Raising the sword above its head to finish the job, the dark being suddenly froze. The body began to dissolve as holes appeared in its chest and arms, letting the sun through to shine on her face. The risen wild dog stood on top of the priest, its jaws ripping flesh away from his neck and chest, the brown fur of its maw soaked in red. Still having trouble drawing breath and unable to stand, she commanded the dog to leave its kill and return to the masked men who had managed to destroy another of her pack.

  Pushing through the pain, she got to a kneeling position and cast more spheres at the masked men. One saw them coming and shifted to the side, exposing the back of the man behind him. The spheres struck, throwing the man forward into a pair of open jaws. The dog quickly tore through the fabric of his black shirt and into his stomach. Seeing their fortunes change, the two remaining men abandoned their dying comrade and ran down the hill with unnatural speed. The pack growled and snapped as they gave chase. Vaniece knelt in the tall grass for a few minutes longer until she was sure they would not return. Cutting the flow of power to the dogs, she felt some of her strength return, but breath still would not come easily. Each short intake sent a wave of agony through her chest like she was being kicked all over again. Standing slowly, she took stock of her condition. She would never be able to walk back to camp. Casting, she dragged the horse’s severed leg back into place and reconnected the bone and tissue, then proceeded to close the gaping wound in the animal’s chest. When she was finished, only thin, pale scars bore witness to what had happened. She channeled a thread of power into the carcass, and the horse’s dead eyes took on a soft, white glow. The horse rolled to its hooves and stood once more. Vaniece carefully pulled herself into the saddle and commanded it to walk. Her pain-racked body unable to handle more than a slow trot.

  The three-hour trek back was agony; every step sent shooting pains through her ribs. As she crested a hill, the Queen’s main camp came into view. Brown tents spread out for a quarter mile in every direction with people moving busily between them. Soon, armed riders in leather armor came out to meet her, their spears held ready. Recognizing her and seeing her injuries, they led her into the camp. Once beyond the perimeter of guards, they escorted her to one of the larger tents where the healers resided. A man and woman dressed in loose, red clothing came out to help her down, the man sparing a concerned glance for the unmoving horse and its softly glowing eyes. Inside, they guided her toward a cot, and the woman gave her a warm concoction to drink. The taste was awful, reminding Vaniece of dirt and tree bark, but after only a short time, the pain began to ease, allowing her to take her first real breath in hours.

  She felt herself getting heavy, as if she was sinking into the hard cot. The woman lifted Vaniece’s shirt, and probed her side with gentle fingers. “You have several cracked ribs, and I think one is broken,” the woman said.

  “Can you fix them?” Vaniece asked.

  “No. I can only bind them and give you something for the pain. Only time or a priest can heal them.”

  Vaniece nodded, allowing the woman to help her sit up. The healer proceeded to wrap a bandage tightly around her torso. She felt very little pain, thanks to the tea. When the healer was done, she handed her a small drawstring leather pouch.

  “Chew one of these when the tea starts to wear off. It won’t work as well, but it will dull the pain enough to allow you to move without making you overly groggy,” the healer said.

  After the woman left to tend a soldier, Vaniece sat on the edge of the bed. Opening the pouch, she found it stuffed with green leaves. She sniffed it cautiously, and jerked her head away at the strong scent. She pulled the draw-strings tight. Light came into the tent as the flap was pulled aside, admitting two men in chainmail and tan livery. Embroidered on their chest with golden thread was the setting sun of Ostega. Behind them, Queen Laness Talvar followed, wearing a breast plate adorned with the same sun in gold filigree. At her waist hung a sword sized to match her small frame, the leather grip wrapped in a golden wire. Both were ornamental, leftover from the time when the first queens of Ostega would ride into battle with their men. Woven into her shoulder-length hair was a grass crown, yet another tradition handed down through the generations. Though several years older than Vaniece, her size and innocent face made her appear much younger. Vaniece knew that her childlike appearance hid a temper that could flash hot at the slightest provocation.

  The Queen waved for Vaniece to remain seated when she attempted to stand. “How are you?”

  “I will survive. I found the ones we were looking for, Your Majesty,” Vaniece said.

  “They did this to you?”

  Vaniece nodded.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I went to observe the battle, as you instructed. When I saw no sign of Or’Keer’s servants, I intended to return. That is when they found me.”

  “How many?” the Queen asked.

  “Two priests. They offered me power in exchange for serving their god. When I refused, they attacked, along with more men who wore masks made of shadow. They weren’t priests or mages, but they had some kind of power that allowed them to move from one place to another without taking a step,” Vaniece said. It was not strictly true of course. She had attacked first, ending any chance of gaining more information, but telling the queen would only make her angry and would not change what had happened. What she had learned about her mother and brother was of no importance to the situation in Ostega.

  The Queen paused, chewing on her bottom lip. “Since I haven’t seen anyone in chains, I have to assume you were force
d to kill them all.”

  “Two of the men in masks got away,” she said, indicating her chest.

  “You did the right thing. I don’t have so many mages in my service that I want them risking their lives when there is little chance of success, and I only have one with your talents. At least now we know that the rumors of this new god meddling in our kingdom are true.”

  “What would you have me do now?” Vaniece asked.

  “For now, rest. Come to my tent later for the evening meal, and we will discuss your next task.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Vaniece said, bowing her head in respect.

  When the Queen left, Vaniece lay back, allowing the tea to take hold. She drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  The trip thus far had been uneventful. As the weather warmed, they had gratefully peeled off their heavy blue cloaks. Already, green was creeping back into the grass and trees, and animals that hibernated during the winter could be seen moving about. In only five days, they would arrive at the river border where they would leave Ale’adaria and enter Bruxa. Once there, they would need to hire a ship to carry them and the wagons across. Just ahead, down the packed dirt road, Jaxom could see the last large town on this side of the border.

  “He really did that?” Laiden asked Darian as they rode beside him.

  “We were surrounded by a hundred militia, and with a single cast, he hurled the daggers, downing them all,” Darian said. Laiden looked at Jaxom speculatively.

  Jaxom sighed. “At most, there were fifty enemy militia, and what happened was a special circumstance. I couldn’t accurately aim so many of the daggers. Since we were surrounded, I didn’t have to.”

  “The story sounds better with a hundred, so don’t make a liar out of me,” Darian said, grinning.

  “You are a liar, and I was lucky.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Darian said to Laiden in a conspiratorial tone. “Your mentor is modest. What he did was nothing short of extraordinary.”