Death Mage's Curse

by Jon Bender

  The man stared at Corin with a look of satisfaction before turning the key and tugging the rusty door open with a squeal. Alexar stepped into the cell wearing regal robes, the clean, red fabric a stark contrast to the cell. Eleanor followed, no longer in her white dress with the large pockets, but in a slim-fitting, low-cut red gown. He had been so shocked by her betrayal that he had not found the words to ask her why. Seeing her now, dressed in fine clothing, he understood. She refused to meet his eyes.

  “I can’t tell you how saddened I am,” Alexar said, shaking his head as if disappointed in a child. “I thought we had come to a civil understanding, yet you force me to this unpleasantness,” he said, waving a hand about the cell.

  Corin stared at Eleanor, sorting through his emotions. He was angry, of course, but also hurt and humiliated. His feelings had been real, but now he knew he had been duped.

  Alexar looked from him to Eleanor. “Ah. I had almost forgotten. I don’t believe I have made proper introductions. King Corin, this is my daughter, Princess Shana.”

  “Your daughter?” Corin said stunned. He had thought her just some noble woman in his court, someone who sought to gain favor with Alexar to advance her own position. The king had his own daughter spy on Corin, even offering up her body to gain his trust.

  “My youngest, and until now, the one who would have inherited my throne. She was to gather information and report any plan to escape,” he said, his voice casual, even bored.

  When she finally met Corin’s eyes, he saw regret and shame. More lies, Corin thought. Alexar turned to face his daughter, and Corin saw her body tense. Alexar’s arm whipped out, his palm connecting with her left cheek then coming back to strike the right. Corin jerked reflexively as she fell hard to the floor, mentally scolding himself for caring. Shana looked up at Alexar without emotion, a smear of red at the corner of her mouth where his knuckles had broken the skin. Cleaning away the blood, she rose to stand impassively next to her father.

  “Unfortunately, she failed. You should never had made it as far as you did,” Alexar said. He turned back to face Corin. “Now, how I am going to deal with you?”

  “Let me go,” Corin suggested lightly.

  “You killed two of my men, and made me look a trusting fool,” Alexar said, his voice going deathly calm.

  “What if I promise not to try again?”

  The man in the other cell began screaming. Alexar looked back to the jailor. “Go put an end to that. I think he understands his mistake.”

  “Another innocent victim?” Corin taunted.

  “Hardly, even by your standards. He is one of the guards who survived your little excursion. The one with the missing tooth.”

  Corin could no longer be shocked by anything this man did, even torturing one of his own men. “What happens now?”

  “You killed two of my men. They may have been incompetent, but they were loyal. You have to pay.” The screaming stopped. A few minutes later, the jailor returned using a rag to clean blood off his hands. “I will leave you for a while in the capable hands of our friend here. He has been instructed not to do too much damage. Your people are still on their way, and they may be very upset if you are unable to stand or speak.”

  “How kind of you,” Corin said through gritted teeth.

  Alexar nodded his agreement. “We will speak again soon.” He turned to leave but stopped when Shana did not follow. She kept her eyes fixed on Corin. Alexar laughed then continued out of the cell and down the hall.

  “Leave us,” Shana commanded, looking hard at the jailor.

  The dirty man seemed conflicted for a moment. He glared at Corin with an unsavory promise in his eyes, then left. Shana turned back and moved closer. They stared at one another in silence.

  “I meant what I said.”

  Corin grunted. “You’re going to have to be more specific since everything you told me was a lie.”

  “The details were lies,” she said, dropping her gaze. “But when I told you I was sorry, I meant it.”

  “Details…” Corin echoed.

  “I told you I am a prisoner here just as you are. The story I told you about my sister is true. I became what I am to survive. If I show any hesitation, any unwillingness to obey, my brothers and sister take it a sign of weakness. Our father pits us against each other to see who is fit to rule in his place.”

  “I took you with me, and you repaid me with this,” he said, shaking a little in the restraints.

  “I wanted to go with you,” she pleaded. “You have no idea what my father is truly capable of. He would have found us and dragged us back here,” she explained, her face blanching with fear.

  “Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

  “I know that you won’t believe me. I accept that. I just wanted you to know that my feelings for you are real. I have wished every night that I wasn’t my father’s daughter.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes, and the bruise darkening her jaw gave him an irrational urge to say comforting words. Corin narrowed his eyes. He could not let himself be manipulated. Not again. “You’re right. I don’t believe you. Send the ugly one back in, at least he’s honest about what he is.”

  She nodded. The motion caused the forming tears to slide down her cheek and mix with the blood at her mouth. She moved closer and leaned up. He held is face as if it were stone, but still tasted salt and iron on her lips. When she stepped back, she turned quickly, so he could no longer see her face.

  After she was gone, the jailor returned. He leaned in close, a wicked smile spreading across his oily face. His greasy, matted hair hung in clumps from his head and smelled as if it had never been washed. Corin gagged. “The king don’t want me mussing up your face none, but there are plenty of other places, right?” His rotten breath was hot in Corin’s face.

  Corin snapped his head back and then forward, the impact of his forehead breaking the ugly man’s nose. The jailor reeled back, holding a grimy hand to his face. His eyes filled with fury and hatred as blood leaked through his fingers.

  “I was thinking to take it easy on you, but you have gone and messed that up,” the man sputtered.

  Corin doubted that the man had ever intended to take it easy on him. The first punch came from the man’s right, and Corin was sure he heard his rib crack. The blow was quickly followed by another from the left, and then a rain of punches on his chest and stomach. When the jailor had spent his rage, he took a step back to catch his breath through his mouth. Corin could do nothing but hang there and struggle to do the same as a wave of agony engulfed him.

  The jailor walked to the table, and Corin craned his neck to watch. The man’s hand glided over the tools before finally stopping over a long wooden rod with dark brown stains on it. He moved out of sight behind Corin. There was a moment of pure silence as Corin waited, his own labored breath loud in his ears.

  Chapter 9

  Jaxom moved to the side so the sun, just coming up over the horizon, was no longer in his eyes. Walking carefully to avoid slipping on the damp grass, he leapt away when his opponent lunged. Avoiding the sword coming in low for his thigh, Jaxom neatly deflected the thrust for his stomach that quickly followed. His opponent took a step back, holding his weapon before him and predictably launched an overhead attack, which Jaxom knocked to the side. The parry threw his foe wide, partially exposing his back. Jaxom ignored the opening. Any blow he landed then would only glance against the chainmail his opponent wore, and he wanted to drag this out a while longer.

  Recovering quickly, his adversary slashed with short, controlled strikes meant to open a hole in Jaxom’s defense. Jaxom allowed his sword to be worked higher and away from his center as he blocked a series of blows from the right. After he stopped another overhead attack, his moment came. His opponent took a half step back to disengage his sword and swung it in a wide arc. Jaxom leapt away, allowing the blade to pass just in front of his navel, and stepped back to slash downward. As he brought his blade up for a killing strike, his target
suddenly dropped low, rolling forward and throwing Jaxom off balance. Jaxom turned just in time to see his opponent come out of the roll and spin low to the ground, the blade aimed at his lower leg. Before his opponent’s sword could strike, Jaxom brought his knee up, striking his adversary in the chest and throwing him hard to the ground. Standing over his defeated foe as he struggled to pull air into his lungs, Jaxom swung his sword, connecting solidly with the armored chest in a loud thwack.

  “He almost had you,” Nelix said, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Jaxom had not noticed the general’s approach.

  Jaxom looked down at his defeated apprentice. “Almost isn’t good enough. Isn’t that right, Laiden?”

  “Right, Magus,” Laiden wheezed from the ground. “Did you have to hit me the second time? We both knew you had me beat.”

  “I thought it would be a good learning experience,” he said, unwrapping the twine that held the padding around his sword.

  Laiden rolled to his knees and stood. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to learn from a bruise,” he said, rubbing at his chest.

  Jaxom shrugged. “Don’t get hit?”

  Nelix grunted in amusement. “You did well, lad, especially against someone as skilled as your mentor.”

  “Go get something to eat, and be ready to leave,” Jaxom said, patting the young man’s shoulder.

  “Yes, Magus,” Laiden said, still rubbing his chest as he headed to the one of the small camp fires surrounded by squatting soldiers.

  “It’s only been a couple ten-days, and the boy is showing a lot of improvement,” Nelix said, coming up next to Jaxom and watching Laiden kneel near the fire.

  “It will help keep him alive,” Jaxom said, unable to hide the pride in his voice.

  “I just spoke to the captain of our Bruxan escort,” Nelix said, with uncharacteristic agitation. The scar on his face taking on a hint of pink, reflecting his anger.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Not that he said. We will arrive this afternoon. They will have us stay in an empty barracks at the edge of the city. Once the ransom has been verified, Alexar will allow me ten minutes with the king.”

  “Let’s hope we can trust him to keep his word this time.”

  “He thinks he’s in control, so we shouldn’t need to worry about that, especially if he wants to continue extracting ransom from us. The problem is that we will be kept under guard the entire time.”

  “We’ll find a way out of the camp,” Jaxom said, doing his best to display confidence.

  “And do you still plan to send your cat with me when I am taken to the king? Are you sure it won’t be seen?” he asked, with skepticism. Nelix was a skilled leader of men, a strategist, and a soldier. But for all his strengths, subterfuge did not come easily for him. He preferred to meet his enemies head on.

  “These Bruxans have yet to spot it. Don’t forget that emora are very good at hunting men. By the time a person gets a look, it’s already too late,” Jaxom said, recalling his first encounter with the large cat. The animal had blended seamlessly into the surrounding trees until it dropped onto the back of a Kelran rebel. The man was dead from a crushed spine before he even hit the ground. “In any case, I’ll be controlling it.”

  Nelix nodded.

  “Have you told the others yet?” Jaxom asked, looking over to the small fires where Darian and Cribble sat on the ground eating.

  “Yes. Commander Cribble wasn’t happy. He suggested sneaking away before we reach Taurn.”

  Jaxom shook his head. The Bruxans would notice four men missing. “We stick with the plan.”

  “That’s what I told him,” Nelix said, glancing to where their escort had made camp. The Bruxans were breaking down their tents and saddling their horses. “I’ll get the men ready.”

  Jaxom watched him go. As Nelix paused next to each group, men jumped into action. Jaxom reached out to the emora where it hid in some low bushes a quarter of a mile away from their camp. The risen would continue to shadow them, unseen. When both camps were broken down and the men ready, their escort took up a loose ring of protection around the wagons. As they moved through the densely packed farmland dotted with small houses, the people working the fields stopped what they were doing to watch the procession. Even at a distance, Jaxom could see how beaten down they were by their dirty, unkempt appearance. They kept their shoulders tilted inwards, backs slightly hunched, and heads hanging low. In Ale’adaria, people stood straight and held their heads high. Here, most of the houses were in need of repair with missing shingles and sagging porches. An air of hopelessness and defeat emanated from these broken people. Jaxom tried to shrug off the stifling sensation as they rode past. He could do nothing directly to help them, no matter how much he wanted to. He was glad that the column kept moving straight through the afternoon meal, the escort showing no indication of wanting to stop. When it became apparent they did not intend to eat, Jaxom pulled a piece of dried meat from his saddlebag and chewed it, mostly to distract himself from the plight of the Bruxan people. He hoped Corin’s plan for Bruxa, once he was freed, included fixing the destitution within its borders.

  When the sun was three quarters through the sky, the road became progressively wider and filled with other travelers as they approached their destination. Even with the wider road, people moved off to the side to let them pass. Some even pulled wagons loaded with vegetables or hay off to the side to allow the column to continue unhindered. Like the farmers, these people kept their eyes down, sneaking only small, furtive glances filled with fear and hatred. Soon, more poorly made houses started to spot the landscape, growing closer together until Jaxom’s caravan found themselves amidst a bustling community. Muddy side streets branched off the road through which dirty children ran and played. Most were barefoot and wore rags on their thin frames. The people here looked even more downtrodden, walking with vacant stares and hunched shoulders as if life had been beaten out of them, leaving only husks. Jaxom tried not to see their suffering and concentrated on the task at hand. Not wanting to risk the emora being seen in such a densely populated area, he commanded the risen to wait away from the people as they moved deeper into the city of Tuarn.

  As the column of mounted men and wagons entered the city proper, they were greeted by a swift change in their surroundings. The mud road was replaced with cobblestone that rang under the horses’ hooves. These houses were constructed of stone with fired clay roof tiles. The people were notably better dressed and more well fed than those he had seen thus far. At the center of the city, a tall white wall around the palace reflected the sunlight. Like the wall, the palace was made of white stone with four towers at each corner. The massive structure loomed menacingly over the city, and Jaxom could not tear his eyes away from it. It seemed, above all, a monument to the oppression of an entire people, and somewhere within, Corin was held captive.

  The escort turned down a side street, forcing Jaxom to look away from the palace. Their new path led them to a small walled structure. Twenty Bruxan soldiers in red livery stood outside. The building looked to have been a jail or city guard post at one point, but had clearly suffered years of disuse and neglect. Aside from their escort, Jaxom had not seen one patrol during their trip through the city. From the behavior of people walking the streets, who moved quickly while eyeing everyone they passed, Jaxom surmised that the law was only loosely enforced, if at all.

  The men outside the walled structure opened the gate as the captain of the escort raised a hand, calling for a halt. Turning, he moved his horse closer to Nelix. “You and your men will stay here tonight. Food and ale will be provided. We will take the wagons, and if everything is as it should be, you will be taken to your king tomorrow,” the captain said.

  “When?” Nelix demanded.

  “When King Alexar commands,” the captain snapped. “If any of your men are caught outside, they will be executed on sight and left for the scavengers.”

  Nelix nodded his understanding and gave the word for t
he wagon drivers to climb down from their seats. The courtyard was obviously not meant to hold the number of horses and men they had brought. A small stable, though, held ample hay and grain and a well from which to draw water. The building itself had very few windows, and those it did have were covered by bars. After situating their mounts, Jaxom was joined by Cribble, Darian, and Laiden. Inside, the air smelled stale. A few flat wooden beds were secured to the walls, but the floor, where most of the men would end up sleeping, was strewn with the droppings of small animals, rotted straw, and rubbish.

  “At least we won’t have to sleep here,” Darian said in disgust.

  “You mages are too concerned with comfort,” Cribble said, but Jaxom could tell that even he was repulsed.

  “So, any ideas on how we’re going to get into the city without being seen?” Darian asked, ignoring the Guard Commander.

  “I would rather we didn’t have to kill any soldiers. We can’t afford to draw attention,” Jaxom said.

  “I saw a small shed outside near the wall. We might be able to climb on that to get over,” Laiden offered.

  Jaxom looked at his apprentice and nodded. “You three go and have a closer look. I’ll contact Warin and Adriana to let them know we have arrived.”

  Once they had gone, with Cribble grumbling about having to take orders, Jaxom raised the whispering stone to his lips. “Adriana?”

  “I’m here,” she replied, after a short wait. Her voice sounded relieved.

  “We are in Taurn. Are you and the others close by?” he asked, mirroring her relief. She was as capable a person as he had ever known, but being apart and unable to speak to her had made him worry all the same.

  “We set up camp in an isolated area and scouted the city last night. We are ready.”

  “Good. After Nelix leaves tomorrow, we will go in and get Corin. If everything goes well, we will meet you outside the city,” he said.

  There was a long pause before she responded. “Be careful. You still owe me a wedding,” she said, worry creeping into her voice.