The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  And they were off again.

  “Keep to the Way,” Regin called after them. “And may Anara watch over you.”

  Was that a formal blessing or merely a wish from an old man to a young one? Well, he was pretty sure he would need both, wherever they were going. Whatever was waiting for him, it wouldn’t be long now before he was staring at his destiny, face to face.

  They rode straight till nearly nightfall, with only the slightest breaks. Sorin had bread and cheese in his bags, which he shared when they first got on the road and later, around midday. They passed a wine flagon from time to time.

  They talked very little.

  The air mage seemed to be enjoying the scenery. Mara looked dark and withdrawn. Aven tried to look bored and not look at Mara. But at times he caught himself studying her, and he thought the other mage might have noticed. How long could you look at trees and a mare’s neck without glancing around, though?

  As the sun started to sink below the mountains, Mara pointed to a nearby clearing. “There. This is a good place to stop. We’re stopping.”

  “But we’re nearly there!”

  “This is far too long of a ride, they can’t take any—”

  “Oh, certainly they can—”

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion. We’re making camp.”

  They rode into a clearing that was near the road but secluded by brambles and towering pines, so they were not easy to spot from the road.

  Aven had barely dismounted before Sorin grabbed him by the arm.

  “I’ll take him to relieve himself, meet you back here in a few,” Sorin said, voice gruff.

  “You think I made it this far without enchantments to keep him in check?”

  Sorin said nothing and continued to make for the brush with Aven in tow.

  Mara rolled her eyes. “Fine, whatever. Have it your way. But he is chained, you know. He can’t run far.”

  Sorin shrugged as if he did not care. What did he have up his sleeve? “Can’t be too careful with the Masters’ precious goods, Miara,” he said.

  Miara! Aven almost stumbled at the word. Was that her real name? He glanced quickly back at her, finding a new color of fear mixed with sadness in her eyes. Her mouth hung open as if she wasn’t sure what to say, but to him it was a confirmation—that was her real name.

  But he didn’t have much time to think of that. The mage was dragging him roughly toward the woods’ edge, around and behind some large pine trees. Aven’s shoulders tensed—clearly Sorin was up to more than being helpful. But what?

  He did need to go, so he did at the mage’s first direction. Sorin also did, and Aven was very tempted to look and make a comparison, but he didn’t need any more problems than he already had.

  “She’s mine, you know,” the air mage said in a whisper.

  Aven raised his eyebrows but didn’t meet the mage’s gaze. So this was what the fuss was all about. Perhaps Sorin had heard their words in the tent, but more likely he could simply tell. A man could sense these things, sometimes, if he was looking for them.

  Deny it, he told himself. To hell with your pride, deny it. Act like you don’t care in the slightest. It’s none of his business. He knew he should, but he couldn’t form the right words.

  “If she’s yours, then why are you whispering?” he replied, buttoning up his trousers.

  “I see you looking at her. Stop it. She’s mine.”

  Aven felt quite sure Mara—Miara?—did not want to be Sorin’s. Although, could this have something to do with what she’d said? No, she’d said there was no one. Deep breath. He needed to be diplomatic. He should shrug and walk back to the campsite as if he didn’t care in the slightest.

  “Like hell, she is.”

  Sorin lunged at him, and Aven dodged the first blow, but he was stiff from riding so long. The mage’s elbow struck his chin from the side, sending him spinning.

  Aven tried to stagger away, but walls of air solidified around him, keeping him from dodging. Well, that’d be a neat trick to learn someday, when he wasn’t getting pummeled. The wind kept thrusting him back toward Sorin, but it never sent the bastard off-balance. Air magic in combat, indeed. He should be taking notes.

  The air didn’t just solidify. It thickened and roiled and felt wet with… was that rain? Aven stole a glance up, and even in the growing darkness, he could see the cloud forming above them, tiny bolts of lightning flashing.

  Aven didn’t put up much of a fight, mostly dodging and ducking and spinning as much as the air would allow. He got in a good staggering blow or two to Sorin’s jaw, but with each contact, Aven felt a light sting along his skin—as though he was being shocked. Strange magic, indeed.

  Aven knew he could lay his foe out quickly if he wanted to. But killing the man would only complicate things. One particularly off-kilter dodge and a blow to his temple sent Aven tripping to the ground as a loud clap of thunder rumbled above them.

  Either Aven’s thud or the very unnatural thunderclap must have caught Mara—Miara’s attention, because she came running around the corner of the pine trees and cursed as Sorin kicked him hard in the ribs.

  She threw herself on Sorin, heaving him away from Aven and into the trunk of a tree. Small flashes of light sizzled from him as he collided—the storm’s energy in him. She was stronger than the bastard, Aven thought with some amusement.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Whatever I damn well please,” he spat at her. He balled his hands into fists, and Aven could see spasms of lightning gathering in the trained mage’s hands.

  “This is my mission. How dare you endanger it.”

  Sorin finally seemed to realize Miara was not going to capitulate. “He tried to run.”

  She snorted at him in disgust. “So you were going to lightning bolt him as he ran away?”

  “Just a reminder of why not to leave, no?”

  She glared at him. “No.”

  Sorin was panting. His face grew colder, voice icy. “These non-mages. These so-called normal people. They hold every freedom and never appreciate it. And we have to grovel at their feet? Why should we have to risk our lives for just another sack of flesh—” He stopped, shaking his head, and started toward Aven again. Convincing cover story, or perhaps both motives were true.

  “Don’t make me fight you, too.” Miara’s voice was stony with warning. “My orders are specifically to return him alive. Stop now, or I’ll be taking you both back captive.”

  “Fine, love,” he said. He looked pointedly at Aven with the words.

  “Get back to making camp,” she ordered. “And don’t call me ‘love.’ ”

  Sorin huffed and stalked back to the horses.

  Her face was creased with concern and anger in the dim twilight. But not surprise. This was only the beginning, wasn’t it? This is why she wanted me to run, he thought.

  But he could never have done that. He could not leave her. Especially not now, when the stars were just about to come out.

  Suddenly, he remembered how weak they’d gotten after they’d healed the boy. Maybe there was a way he could use Sorin’s foolishness to his advantage.

  As she took his hand and heaved him up, he did in fact see stars, and dizziness swam through him. It did not take much pretending to allow himself to fall back to the ground like a sack of potatoes and pretend to pass out.

  “Damn it,” she swore. “By all that is good and holy. Sorin, look what you’ve done.” He returned from the clearing as she groaned in disgust. “Fine, no camp. We’ll keep riding. He may need one of the healers. And how can I stop you from killing him if I’m asleep?” She cursed again.

  “I knew the horses could do it” was all Sorin said. Was that an attempt at humor, or was he just that much of a jerk?

  “Shut up. Help me get him on his horse.”

  Many curses from Miara later, she and Sorin had managed to get a comatose Aven onto the horse and tied such that he wouldn’t fall off. Pretending he was unconscious
throughout the process might have been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, requiring him to ignore both the awkward, painful positioning and nearly being dropped a time or two. The position they left him in was not terribly comfortable, with the pommel jutting into his stomach, but he hoped it would be worth it. If he did indeed pass out after what he was about to do, they would be none the wiser. He had never successfully tricked Miara before, but if she had any clue that his unconsciousness was a ploy, she didn’t show it.

  The night had only just fallen by the time they were back on the road. The sun had set, but the stars were not yet bright. He caught glimpses of a sliver of moon when he felt sure they weren’t looking in his direction.

  He could not see Sorin. His horse was between theirs, and his head had fallen facing to the left. Sorin was on his right side. From the sound of it, though, Sorin appeared to be dozing upright from the slight snores and snorts coming from his general direction. Miara stared straight ahead, cold, leaden, her eyes and face dead of emotion.

  The gods were with him, it seemed. They were traveling west, and so not only was his face turned toward Miara, but it was also turned toward the southern sky. It was hard to catch sight of Casel amid the tall trees, but if there was a chance for him to do it, he would find it.

  His eyes closed, he fought sleep and waited until the group neared a clearing. He watched for the faint light on his eyelids to brighten. The forest was dense around them, but if he could just get a brief expanse of open sky, he could get a clear view of Casel.

  He listened to the horse’s hooves, Sorin’s snores, Miara’s quiet breathing, the sounds of the forest at night. The slight amount of light from the sky flickered on his eyelids, but he waited for it to brighten just a little more, just enough to be worth the risk—

  A moment later the light was even greater. He opened his eyes the tiniest sliver. The hillside they passed had fallen away, and there were no trees on that side of the road. There, just to the right of Miara’s shoulder, he saw the familiar sparkle of Casel.

  Don’t second-guess yourself, he thought, hearing her words again.

  As he had with the boy, he reached out, but this time more desperately, more determinedly. His fists clenched, sweat broke out on his forehead. A cold, silver, fragile energy twisted into his soul, like white smoke coming from the sky. It came from far away, and it was weaker than the sun, but… it was still there. He drank it up like he had never been so thirsty, feeling his chest grow warm, then hot. He drank it up till he felt crazy with energy, full of this peculiar, whispering, twisting magic—

  And now—to try to use it.

  He knew where the wound was. Of course, he could not touch it without revealing his unconsciousness was a ruse, but he knew. Would it be enough? He trained his mind on her shoulder, like he had focused on the movement of the wind, and pushed.

  For a moment, nothing felt different. Then something caught, like a key suddenly turning in a lock. The swirling white energy flew faster now, faster, no longer swirling but streaming toward her at breakneck speed, until he found himself suddenly empty and starting to shiver. He turned his eyes to the sky again, found Casel, and pulled. There came the whispery tendrils of power, and then there they went, funneled toward Miara with all his might. He could not do both at once. He could hardly control the rate that the energy flew through him, so much so that he worried he would pass out before he’d done the job.

  How much would be enough to cure her? Would any amount be enough, or was he throwing energy at her for nothing? His gut told him that it was working. But Miara didn’t flinch or move; she only stared ahead with that hard, dead face.

  The look on her face spurred him on even as he felt himself tiring. Pull, push, repeat.

  He wondered if this were a brute-force system or a coaxing system. He did not know how to coax anything, or sing to it. If that was what was needed, he was just too undertrained… but perhaps he could try? Making something up couldn’t really hurt anything, could it?

  He fixed his eyes on Casel, hoping Miara would not notice his more open stare. As he began this new pull, in his mind, he whispered, Casel, star of freedom, liberator, my guide. I seek the freedom of this woman that I love.

  Immediately, the energy did not seem so fragile, nor so whispery—the cold smoke turned to a trickle of icy water flowing into him, faster and faster. Was it working?

  Freedom star, guide me. It is not the Way of Things that this woman be a slave. I seek to restore the Balance. Aid me!

  Energy surged, making him glad he was tied to the horse. He didn’t need any training to know that this much would drive him mad in only a moment or two. He stopped pulling and just pushed as quickly as he could, shoving down a growing panic and forcing his thoughts to focus on her and only her.

  More and more energy poured into him. He felt his body twitch involuntarily. He poured energy back out as fast as he could, but it was barely fast enough. He was filling up. The star’s magic was too much, more than he could handle. It was going to drive him insane. In fact, he was pretty sure if he tripped up in the slightest, the sheer energy would addle his brain and kill him.

  He wanted Miara to be free, but he did not particularly want to die trying. Surviving would be nice. The only way out was to keep going.

  He pushed aside the panic and concentrated on pushing. As he drew his mind nearer to her, he could sense the burning in her skin. The antithesis of the cold, hard, watery energy of the star, it was hot and festering and writhed like so many maggots. There. He pinned it down with his attention, trying to drown it in the cold deluge of the star and hoping he didn’t drown himself in the process.

  And then suddenly—the outpour stopped. Stopped so fast that he had emptied nearly all the energy in him at that horrible little spot in her shoulder—he felt his chest grow cold, then suddenly icy.

  The world whirled and went dark.

  Chapter 13

  Rescue

  Out of nowhere, Miara felt an unusual pang in her shoulder. It was not the typical twisting or burning, and she couldn’t remember such a feeling ever before. It was almost like ice or mint—like menthol on a cut, a burning, stinging, icy sensation, but not altogether unpleasant. She did not know what to make of it. She had never felt anything but pain or a lack thereof from it, and suddenly this.

  But it was only for a moment and then gone.

  She felt colder now. This forest was a strange one. At first, when night had fallen, she’d felt sure that the days and nights were growing colder, toward winter. But then she had started to feel warmer and warmer till she’d had to shed her cloak because she’d started sweating. Now the air felt icy again. Was she going mad?

  Perhaps she was sick. This had certainly been a far more demanding mission than most, and riding all night wasn’t helping anything.

  She couldn’t believe they were almost back. Shouldn’t she just get this over with? How much longer could she draw out this pain without going mad? Might as well get back to her horrible life knowing that she had given the Masters one of the best men she had ever known. Might as well start accepting that all her magic was only good for punishing innocent, honorable men.

  Could this really be the Way of Things? Was there really any justice, any Balance in the world? If there were, then Aven would have run away from her. If there were, the gods would have given her an ugly face to make him want to run away. If there were, mages wouldn’t be slaves in the first place.

  Predictably, her shoulder ached at the thought, but weakly. Perhaps it was as tired as she was, or sick along with her. She would have to get checked out as soon as they arrived back and the Masters were through with her. Assuming they were ever through with her. She snorted quietly at the thought. It didn’t matter; she was alone anyway.

  Or was she?

  Sorin dozed on his horse, and Aven had been well incapacitated by the idiot. She felt her rage bubble up again at the thought; she could have killed Sorin. But there was something else. She had the su
dden sense of someone watching her, somewhere in the shadows. Was someone there?

  Noises in the woods always spooked people in the middle of the night. But that was partially because sometimes there was something there.

  To her left, there had been a few too many cracked branches, whooshes, leaves falling. Like there was someone—or something—following them alongside the road.

  She swept her mind out toward the noises, targeted at first and then sweeping more broadly. If there was a bear or a wolf, she could dissuade them.

  She felt nothing at all.

  But promptly, another twig snapped. Whatever it was, it was still there.

  “Damn it, Sorin,” she snapped. “Wake the hell up. You were the one that wanted to ride all night. You’re going to be up with me while we do it.”

  He jumped—surprised at his own slumber—blinked, and rubbed his eyes. He glanced around, trying to rouse himself.

  “How long was I out?”

  “Do you hear that?”

  He, too, bent his ear to listen now, and there was only the sound of the horses and Aven’s light breathing to interfere.

  There was nothing now. Perhaps whatever was following them had heard her. Or perhaps it was all in her head.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t hear anything. You woke me up for that?”

  He shook his head and looked away from her, gazing around as if they were on a scenic pleasure ride through the hills.

  She heard another branch crack to the left of her a little too late. Before she could even turn her head to investigate, a dark, heavy form collided with her shoulder. Claws aimed at her eyes missed but dug into her cheek instead, and she fell from the horse.

  It was not possible—nothing had been there. Unless—

  She didn’t have time to really think, for whatever was on top of her was royally shredding her left forearm as she tried to block it from getting to her face and throat.