Death Mage's Curse

by Jon Bender

  Jaxom smiled and tried to sound confident and unconcerned. “See you soon.”

  He continued smiling until he was back in the courtyard. Just hearing her voice had lifted his spirits. The others came around from the side talking quietly amongst themselves. “Can we get over the wall there?” he asked, when they looked up from their conversation.

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Darian said. “We just have to watch for the patrols.”

  “Change your clothes. We go as soon as it’s dark,” Jaxom said, glancing at the setting sun.

  As the others went inside to change out of their Ale’adarian uniforms, Jaxom moved closer to the gate, which was closed but not locked. On the other side, four Bruxan soldiers stood watch. Jaxom only had to wait a handful of minutes for another group of four men to pass in front of the gate before circling back around. Only one other patrol came around before the first reappeared, and he estimated that it took each group ten minutes to make the circuit. That gave Jaxom and the others less than five to get over the wall and disappear into the city. They would have to be quick.

  Leaving the gate, he returned to the small jail and changed into his customary black pants and shirt. The men were spread out where they could. Many had decided to sleep outside instead of in the dirty building. Jaxom chose a section of wall and settled in to get a few hours’ sleep before sunset. He was woken by a rough shove and found Cribble staring down at him with pressed lips. He was wearing plain brown pants and a brown shirt, his sword belted tightly around his waist. Jaxom had never seen the man out of his chainmail and blue tabard, but the common clothing did almost nothing to hide his soldierly appearance. At the very best he would be taken for a mercenary.

  “It’s time,” the Commander said gruffly, before moving off.

  Jaxom belted on his sword and followed the man outside. The moon was still low in the sky. Clouds blocked out much of the light. As they made their way through the gloom, they passed groups of men. Those still awake looked up at them to nod. The Ale’adarian soldiers had not been informed of the plan, but they all knew Jaxom and the other mages had dressed as soldiers to go unnoticed when they entered Bruxa. And on some level, they must have also understood that an attempt to rescue the king would put their lives at risk, but none had complained about the danger. Jaxom hoped that their trust would not be wasted.

  Coming around the corner of the jail, Jaxom found Darian and Laiden waiting by the shed. The apprentice was wearing attire similar to Jaxom’s, and Darian had donned brown pants and a blue shirt. Jaxom could not help but wish his friend was a little less vain when it came to his clothing. Black or brown would have allowed him to move more freely in the dark, but he insisted on wearing the color of his school. As he approached, Jaxom saw they had pushed a barrel up against the side of the small wooden structure. The shed was a few feet shorter than the wall, with enough space between for a man to walk through unhindered. They would have to leap and catch the top of the wall before pulling themselves over. Laiden began to climb onto the barrel when Jaxom placed a hand on his shoulder. If anything was going to happen, he wanted to go first.

  He climbed onto the barrel and pulled himself onto the roof of the shed. Leaning out toward the wall, he saw torches bobbing to the left then disappearing around the corner. Staying low in the dim light, he waited for the second group of soldiers to round the corner and head towards him. He waited for the light to move a short distance away before jumping across the gap and throwing his legs over the wall. He hung by his fingers for a second then dropped softly to the ground. He moved quickly to a small, shadowed alley to wait for the others. When he looked back, Laiden was already dropping to the ground. Jaxom could see the light of more torches coming around the corner and quietly cursed to himself. The Bruxans must have added another patrol. Laiden scurried across the cobble street and squatted next to him, panting.

  “I thought we—” Jaxom placed a hand over his mouth, silencing him.

  He hoped desperately that Darian and Cribble had seen the soldiers approaching. As the men passed in front of them, he saw Darian duck low. A slight creaking sound that even Jaxom heard caused one of the Bruxans to stop and look up for a second before moving on. When they were a safe distance away, Darian dropped to the ground with Cribble quickly following.

  “What happened to five minutes?” the Guard Commander growled.

  “Let’s just get out of here and find a comfortable place to wait, preferably some place further into the city where there is a better quality tavern,” Darian said.

  Cribble grunted, but allowed himself to be led. He never said no to a mug of ale. As they walked, the buildings became more and more well maintained with clean stone walls and grey slate roofing. Darian led until they found themselves in front of an inn. Music and laughter poured out into the night. Following the ice mage in, Jaxom was greeted by the smell of richly spiced food and the cheerful sound of a harp and lute. The room was filled with men wearing the clothes of tradesmen and middling merchants, all with short swords or daggers strapped to their hips. He gave a short pause at seeing a group of soldiers sitting in a corner talking loudly, but no one paid any attention to the newcomers. All the tables were filled, and Darian offered to buy a drink for a man at the bar if he would give up his place, so they could sit together.

  Taking a seat on a stool, Jaxom took a closer look at the people around him. There was no sign of the despair he had seen earlier. It was like a different city, one of affluence and plenty while others lived in squalor only a short distance away. Darian ordered a round of drinks while Cribble scanned the room covertly. The Commander’s eyes never lingered on one person or table long enough to draw attention. Jaxom did the same, but took time to enjoy the music of two men playing on an elevated platform. He could not remember the last time he had simply sat and listened to music. Since the dark god had come to their attention, there had been no time to relax and enjoy the pleasures of life. Adriana was the one relief from the continuous struggle their existence had become. Thinking of her made Jaxom long to kiss and hold her again.

  “I, for one, would much rather be there than in our generous accommodations,” Darian said, sliding the drinks down the bar and interrupting Jaxom’s thoughts.

  “We are here to do a job, not so you can enjoy yourself,” Cribble said, grabbing the mug and taking a long draw.

  “I see you have no intention of remaining sober,” Darian retorted.

  “I could drink your weight in ale and still get up with the sun to fight a battle,” Cribble growled, wiping foam from his mouth.

  Darian raised his own drink in challenge, and Cribble skeptically eyed the mage. Jaxom waved hastily at the innkeeper, a slim man with a dark mustache and suspicious eyes. “Do you have two rooms available for the night, preferably close together?” Jaxom asked. The small man nodded and held out a hand. Jaxom placed six silver coins in the man’s palm.

  The innkeeper looked them over for a moment. “You said you wanted two rooms, right?” Jaxom sighed and added another two coins to the pile. “Up the stairs and to the right at the end of the hall,” the man said, pulling keys from his pocket.

  Jaxom took the offered keys and gave the others a meaningful look, then stood. Cribble sat stubbornly for a second longer than necessary before following the others up. Jaxom entered the first room. The cramped space was lit by a single oil lamp burning low on a small desk. They filed in, then Cribble shut and locked the door behind them. Darian flopped down on one of the two beds and began forming small icicles that leapt from his hand to stick in the wood beams of the ceiling.

  “That is your bed for the night, mage. When those things finally melt, it won’t be me getting wet,” Cribble said, taking a seat in a chair near the small desk.

  Darian sat up and glared at the Guard Commander. “Why is it that when you call me mage it sounds like a curse, but Jaxom you call by his given name? You know what I could do to you if I wanted.”

  Jaxom held his breath. Not long ago,
Cribble had taken every opportunity to show Jaxom how much he detested him. Of late, the man had stopped calling Jaxom names, like grave robber, or making other rude comments. The change was subtle, and Jaxom had scarcely noticed it with everything that was going on.

  Cribble held the man’s stare without showing even the smallest amount of trepidation. “I do not fear you or your magic. Your kind simply hide behind men like me while you fling your magic about. Without us, mages would have been wiped out long ago. I dislike his type of magic, but Jaxom has only ever used it to protect Ale’adaria. And he knows how to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with men and face the charge.”

  Jaxom was stunned speechless. It was the most he had ever heard the man say at once. Even more shocking, Cribble had complimented Jaxom, if in a backhanded way. There had been a time when Jaxom had worked to earn the gruff man’s respect, but he had long since given up and accepted that while Cribble would work with him, he would always despise what Jaxom was.

  Darian looked at Cribble for a few more seconds before the dangerous expression on his face was replaced by his usual mocking smile. “Fair enough,” he said, laying back to fling more ice into the ceiling with little thunks.

  Cribble shook his head in disgust. “Is there a reason we’re all in here?”

  “I want you to watch my back while I move the emora into place for tomorrow,” Jaxom said.

  “Be quick about it. I want to get some sleep,” the Commander said.

  Darian scoffed. “Drink all night and fight a battle in the morning, huh?”

  Cribble moved to stand but was interrupted by Laiden. “Magus? Would you mind if I controlled the emora?”

  Jaxom considered the young man for a moment before responding. “Not this time. The emora is too far away. I can barely reach it, and you don’t know where I left it.”

  Laiden nodded slowly. “Of course, Magus.”

  “Also, you have not done it before, and this is not the time to practice,” Jaxom said, trying to sooth his feelings. “I have faith in your abilities, so please trust my judgment on this.”

  “I understand,” Laiden said, sounding satisfied.

  The journey had given Jaxom plenty of opportunities to bring along the apprentice’s swordsmanship, but his magical training had been put on hold. Jaxom made a mental note to spend more time on that as soon as this ordeal was over. Sitting down on the bed, he closed his eyes and drew on the power of death. As the energy filled him, he felt, once again, the urge he was becoming too familiar with. As the power flowed through him, an itching started in the back of his mind. He had an irrational impulse to leave the inn that moment and assault the palace, taking Corin back by force. The lunacy of the thought made it easy to ignore. These emotions were somehow linked to his magic, only surfacing when he drew on the power of death. Through force of will, he shoved those impulses to the back of his mind. Locking them away to focus on the task before him. Reaching out with his magic, he strained to feel around the edge of the city. There, just beyond a cluster of hovels, he found the emora waiting. It lay motionless in tall grass, its coat melded to match the surrounding green. He took control of the large cat’s body. The sudden shift from his own senses to those of the emora was like having the sun rise on the impenetrable darkness of night. Everything around him emitted a soft blue glow of moonlight filtered through clouds. Smells of human filth from nearby houses became sharper in his feline nose. He heard the sound of a child crying softly in the night.

  He began making his way cautiously toward the barracks. His shifting coat would keep him hidden, but he could not take any chances. Keeping to the shadows and avoiding the few people who were still out, he crept along the empty mud streets. Outside the gate, torches carried by the soldiers were like hot coals to his night-adjusted eyes. The men seemed relaxed if not altogether bored, confirming that Jaxom and his friend’s absence had gone unnoticed. Finding an alley, he leapt from a pile of crates to the roof above, gaining a better vantage. Finding a niche in the sloping surface that would both hide him and allow him to see his surroundings, he shifted his coat one last time, blending with the roof.

  Jaxom pulled back to his own body and opened his human eyes. Everything in the simple and dimly lit room seemed dull. He released the power and felt the aggressive feelings drain from his body along with it. Cribble stood near the door, listening for sounds outside. Darian still lay on the other bed. His eyes were closed, but his uneven breathing told Jaxom he was awake.

  “Did you find it?” Laiden asked.

  “Yes. The emora is in place. When Nelix leaves, I will follow and find out where they are keeping Corin.”

  “Good,” Cribble said, opening the door. “I’m going to bed. You should come along, boy, unless you want to be dripped on all night.” As if to prove his point, a single drop of water fell from an icicle on the ceiling and splashed on Darian’s forehead. The ice mage opened his eyes, annoyed, and glanced speculatively at the other bed.

  “Oh, no,” Jaxom chuckled. “You made your bed. Now sleep in it.”

  Darian shrugged and rolled over. Cribble and Laiden left and closed the door behind them. Jaxom stretched out and closed his eyes, but for a time, sleep evaded him. Thoughts of what would happen tomorrow ran on a loop through his mind. Finally, he concentrated on an image of Adriana’s smiling face and drifted off, imagining their life together.

  Chapter 10

  Vaniece ducked low behind the rock outcropping as she watched the Rilnorm Calvary ride into the distance. During the evening meal with Queen Laness, after her encounter with the shadow priests, the ruler of Ostega had explained Vaniece’s next task. She was to head south through enemy controlled land and find the queen’s brother, Prince Sagrad. The prince was in command of what remained of the southern forces after the previous general was killed in his sleep. Vaniece was to stay close to the prince and protect him. Queen Laness had explained that though she and her brother were not close, he was still a member of the royal family and required protection. Since Vaniece was the only mage to have confronted the dark god’s minions directly and win, she was the logical choice for the task of telling him about the dark god’s interference and protecting him.

  She had been traveling for days, forced to change direction several times to avoid being discovered. The invaders had only been holding in place against the queen, while much of their army moved south to capture Kilreth. Their quick pace had made it difficult to out-distance them, but she was sure she had passed the main force. From what she could tell, the prince was only putting up a token resistance, using harassing tactics to slow the enemy rather than stop them. As the patrol faded from sight, she stood, grimacing at a slight twinge in her side. Opening the pouch given to her by the healer, she pulled out one of leaves and chewed. Her ribs were healing, but not as fast as she would have liked. She climbed into the saddle and started south again.

  Heat radiated in waves from the flat land ahead. Beads of sweat formed under her loose shirt and the light hood she wore to protect herself from the searing sun. A dark hump on the horizon slowly took on the shape of Kilreth with its high walls. So close to the Great Desert, it was the only large city in the southern part of the kingdom. The harsh, rocky landscape provided little to sustain a sieging army. Looking about at the sparse surroundings, she did not think it would deter those who now threatened the kingdom. Much of Rilnorm had a similar climate, which meant that this invading army had experience surviving in it. They would come prepared for its hardships. She had seen signs of this preparation in the form of large, horse-drawn barrel wagons containing water. Without those wagons, the Rilnormans would have been dead in two days from dehydration. In this land, water was as valuable as food, if not more so.

  In the failing light, she could just make out the desert sand color of the stone walls protecting the city. Torches atop the battlements silhouetted men on patrol. The wide, rocky road, carved deeply with wagon wheel ruts from decades of use, led right up to the iron portcullis. Beyond the thick i
ron bars were short buildings made of the same sandy stone. Before she drew close to the gate, men above it had drawn bows and aimed them in her direction.

  “You arrive too late to be permitted entry,” a voice called from above.

  “I am Magus Vaniece, charged with a mission from Queen Laness,” she called, producing a rolled parchment bearing the royal signature and seal.

  A torch-bearing soldier walked into view behind the iron barrier. He held out his hand. Riding forward slowly, she unrolled the missive and handed it to him. He examined it briefly then passed it back and shouted an order to raise the portcullis. Vaniece passed beneath it, and the heavy gate immediately lowered behind her.

  “Do you require a guide to the bastion, Magus?” the torch bearer asked.

  “No, I know the way,” she replied.

  Unlike the cities of the northern kingdoms, with their buildings closely packed together, the houses in Kilreth were spread out. This made the bastion, which held the queen’s throne, easily visible near the city’s center. Kilreth was a lively place. People strolled the avenues dressed in bright clothing during the evening hours when the air was cooler but still warm enough to be comfortable. Nothing had changed since she had last been here. Even now, people were out walking the streets or standing outside their homes and businesses talking and smiling. It seemed odd for them to be carrying on normally with an invading army nearly at their doorstep. But none lived here that were not used to hardship.

  Some people took notice of her passing. Her plain clothes made her stand out amongst the colorfully dressed residents, but their eyes never lingered long. Passing through the city, she saw that small tents had been erected in the common areas to house the refugees who had fled the Rilnorman advance. Even these people seemed in good spirits. As she moved closer to the bastion, houses belonging to wealthy nobles and merchants replaced those of the common people. Many of these houses had second or even third floors. Past them, the bastion stood proudly in protection of the people of Kilreth. No wall separated the large structure from the city. The local lore was that the first queen of Ostega had been a woman of the people. As such, she had refused to build a wall between herself and them. She would share their fate, whatever came. It was a tradition that each following queen had continued to uphold.