The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  Aven closed his eyes and seized control of the storm again. He had to trust them to try to protect him—and if they couldn’t, to rouse him with the vicious pain of dragging him out of the carriage.

  There—he found the mage force again. As quickly as he could, he ignited the fallen trees.

  They burst into flames. Mages scattered, running. He threw flame after them without aiming or seeing if he made contact. He had to keep his mind on something else.

  One mage remained still.

  Then, for the first time, he felt something like what he’d felt battling Derk, but inside the storm. The other mage reached for control of the storm and nearly took it.

  He shoved them back. They thrust forward again.

  Aven ignited the ground beneath the mage, the tree behind him, but the mage snuffed out the flames. Damn. Aven had a lot less practice at this. What could he do to stop this mage once and for all?

  The image of his horse convulsing on the ground flashed through his mind.

  No—the thought turned his stomach. To kill with his magic? How could he claim magic was not evil if he took a life with it? How could he—

  Another loud crack snapped his concentration like a twig, whirling his mind back into the carriage. Did he smell… smoke?

  No. He couldn’t let go yet. He hurled himself back into the storm and again found the mage, who had by now seized much of the storm for himself.

  He had to stop hesitating. He had to act. He knew the Code. This mage had nearly killed him, and this mage’s companions were fighting to kill the rest of his family and all of their forces. If he’d had a sword in his hand, he would not have hesitated. To kill in self-defense was not evil. Indeed, he could not help anyone if he was dead, struck by this mage’s lightning.

  Still, he hesitated.

  “Samul, no!” his mother screamed, breaking his concentration again.

  Aven’s eyes snapped open. His father rode toward them. Abruptly, the earth cracked apart, yawned like a gaping mouth before him.

  The king and his mount almost made the jump. Almost.

  Instead, they tumbled down into the earth.

  Aven closed his eyes. There, the mage. Aven gathered all the energy he could muster and struck. Lightning sizzled through the air, once, twice, three times. Flames danced up from the earth.

  The world whirled and went black.

  Tharomar awoke to sunlight blinding him from a fresh new angle. The sun had been rising higher as the day wore on. Still, he lay unmoving with his eyes shut, hoping to sleep just a little longer if he could.

  Next he became aware of the warm body curled next to him. Jaena. Her slow breaths meant she was asleep. A cold wind blew across them, and he was glad for her warmth. He opened his eyes for just a peek and discovered her arm stretching over his chest, wrapped around him. Her dark, elegant fingers rested against his ribs, an unfamiliar but beautiful sight.

  Well. It was too cold for sleeping outside comfortably. He, of course, would never take advantage of such a situation. But he allowed himself a moment’s flight of fancy, imagining sweeping her into his arms, pulling her close, burying his face in her neck and her braids, feeling her body against his. He noticed now, suddenly, details he had somehow missed before—a small scar above her left eyebrow, a tiny silver earring in her ear, the way one side of her mouth curved just slightly higher than the other.

  Nefrana’s blooms. He forced himself to sit up abruptly. Enough, Tharomar, enough. Not now.

  He stalked away to relieve himself behind a tree.

  When he returned, she was rubbing her eyes and showed no sign of remembering she’d slept with her arm around him. Good. They didn’t need that awkwardness on top of everything else.

  Or was it already too late?

  No, damn it, he told himself. Get the brand out of Kavanar, get this woman to safety, and then you can find a dozen girls to sleep with. But not this one. Not that finding someone else sounded at all appealing at the moment.

  Unless… unless it was her idea. He hadn’t been the one putting his arms around her, after all. With that ankle, she was depending on him to get out of here, and he refused to put her in any kind of tough situation.

  But if she put her arm around him again, he wasn’t going to push her away either.

  “Ro? Everything all right?”

  Gods, he was just standing there, staring. “Uh, yes, just listening for the road. Ready to get going again?”

  She stood, although it required a bit of lurching. “Listen, before we go one step farther, you are going to tell me what in all the gods’ dreams is going on. Why are you helping me?”

  He scowled. “Can’t it wait until we’re away from them? On the road?”

  “No.” Her voice was suddenly cold. No, she most definitely didn’t remember throwing her arm around him.

  Damn Devoted. “Well, can we talk while I roll up these bedrolls?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded and set to work. “Look, I apologize for not explaining myself sooner. But I didn’t want to press you so hard that you ran away, and I needed to understand who I was dealing with. I serve the Order of the Silver Grove, a sect of Nefrana’s worshipers whose mission is to find and protect mages and to end the Devoted blight.” She blinked, incredulous. It was probably a big jump to make, he couldn’t blame her.

  “The Devoted… blight?”

  “These ‘Devoted’ corrupt Nefrana’s good name. They preach evil. They commit heinous acts in the goddess’s name. They will be punished in their day.”

  “The Book of the Vigilant. The pendant.”

  He nodded. “The pendant is a symbol of my order. We keep ourselves secret until we are poised to take on the Devoted menace more fully. But in the meantime, we help folks like you. I was stationed at Mage Hall four years ago, waiting for my chance. But there’s been nothing in all that time. That is, until now.”

  She blinked again, clearly struggling to sort through his words for truth, for any incentive to lie. He hoped she would believe him.

  “Now can we get on the horse?”

  “So you’re telling me you’re a priest of Nefrana who doesn’t hate mages. And in fact, you hate the Devoted instead.”

  “ ‘Hate’ is a strong word. But yes.” He shrugged.

  She rubbed a hand over her face and looked as if she wanted to say something more but then stopped and shook her head.

  He pointed at the horse, and she finally nodded.

  Once they were on the horse and on the road, all packed again to go, he remembered one more thing. “Oh, and well, I’m not a priest.” Definitely needed to be clear on that. There were no vows of celibacy for him.

  “What are you then, exactly?”

  “Oh, I’m just a blacksmith.” He grinned.

  “With a really dangerous hobby?”

  “You might say that. But it led me to you.”

  “As I said, dangerous.”

  He smiled. “Danger has been a bit… lacking in my life as of late.”

  “Well, I happen to have an overabundance. I’m happy to share.”

  “Nefrana blesses you, my good woman, for your generosity.”

  She winced. Hmm, her definition of Nefrana did not include a benevolent, loving deity. He would have to work on that. Another example of the Devoted blight, driving a wedge between mages and the gods. “I don’t think she’ll bless me if I get you killed or captured by these Devoted.”

  “You’re not responsible for the evil acts that they commit.”

  She pressed her lips together, as if she weren’t so sure. “I still brought them on your trail.”

  “How did you become a slave?” He kept his voice soft.

  She glanced down at the horse. “Knights attacked my family on one of those treaty voyages. Kidnapped my sister and I. She’s—she’s dead.” Her voice broke on the words. The passing must have been recent.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But then it is those knights who put themselves on my trail. Not you.
You were on a diplomatic voyage with your parents.”

  She blinked rapidly again, then rubbed her eyes. Were those… tears?

  “And it’s my mission to stop them, remember?” he said gently. “I chose this path.”

  “Why? Why did you choose it?” Yes, definitely tears, from the roughness of her voice.

  He hesitated. He didn’t like thinking about Sasha, let alone talking about her. But… “An old friend, from when I lived on the streets. She wouldn’t come to the orphanage with me.”

  “Not the religious type?”

  “No. And she had a boy. An older one, one she loved, who said he would protect her.”

  “Gods, let me guess. He didn’t?”

  “Turned her in for a bounty. I don’t know how he figured out she was a mage. They slit her throat and left her body in the streets of Evrical.”

  Jaena sucked in a sharp breath. “Not… they didn’t enslave her?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Some Devoted only kill the mages they capture. Not all of them work with Mage Hall, especially those not in Kavanar. I guess no one in Evrical cared enough about an alley rat to capture her. She wasn’t the only friend I saw killed, mage or no, just the one I cared for the most. Kavanar’s colors must come from the blood that runs so red and thick in Evrical’s streets.”

  “Oh, Tharomar.” She twisted and met his eyes, concerned. He blinked. How often had she said his name? It sent a thrill through him. How often had he found himself, his lips just inches from hers, and resisted the temptation to kiss her? More than he would have expected in their short acquaintance. His eyes flicked to her mouth—no, damn it. Did he have no self-control left?

  She seemed to notice something in his gaze, but he had no idea what. She leaned her head against him and nestled it into his shoulder again, this time not to rest, but as a sort of hug, since she couldn’t turn as they rode the horse.

  He took one hand from the reins and risked one soft caress of her back, the cloak rough beneath his fingers. Nothing more than a kind gesture of comfort, he told himself. Nothing more.

  She straightened, and they rode farther toward Anonil in silence, his neck cold.

  Chapter 13

  Into the Deep

  “Aven! Aven!”

  His mother’s voice. Still, he felt tired. So tired. He needed to sleep.

  “Aven, damn it, wake up!”

  A rush of energy flooded into him, and he snapped his eyes open. He sucked in a painful breath, as if it had been a long time coming. She was crouched over him, cheeks wet as she cradled his head in his hands.

  “Don’t you ever do that to me again!” she shouted. “You’re going to kill yourself. You stopped breathing. You’re going too far, damn it.”

  He sat up—or tried to. She’d infused him with energy but hadn’t healed anything yet. The agony of his left side was plenty strong. He let himself fall back to the wet, muddy earth with a squish.

  “What happened?” he coughed. Even wheezing that out felt like hell. What was that in his mouth? Blood?

  “We fought them off. Dyon and several other warriors took out the archers. Siliana and I kept them away from the carriage, just barely, until they lit it on fire. Then we had to drag you out—”

  “Father?”

  She looked away, up at the ridgetop, wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Did you—did you take the storm?”

  He nodded.

  “Damn, Aven. You left a crater,” Dyon said. “Those mages are either dead or thoroughly run off by now.”

  “Father—I saw him—” Aven insisted.

  His mother’s face twisted. Did he really need her to answer? He knew as well as she did. Something had happened. The question was what, and how serious.

  “Is he dead?” Aven said quickly. Gods, let him not be. The heated words of the evening before flashed through his mind. This attack only proved his point, but would he have said the same things if he knew they were the last words he’d ever say to his father? His voice sounded strange, hoarse. He tried not to groan, but the ache grew. Yep, that was definitely blood in his mouth.

  “Is that—I need to heal you, damn it.” She ignored him, shutting her eyes and placing her hands on his chest. Siliana rushed to her side. Behind her, a fir tree abruptly faded from green to brown to black and crumpled into dust on the forest floor.

  Gods. She was taking the tree’s energy, for him.

  So much death.

  “Is he dead?” he shouted now.

  “We don’t know,” Dyon finally said. “Thel and the others are looking for him. The king fell into a ravine they opened up. When we went to try to find him, the horse was there, legs broken. But Samul wasn’t. The canyon those mages opened stretched all the way to the river, and water had just reached us, so we couldn’t quite tell.”

  “If he’s dead in the bottom of that thing—” He cut himself off. He didn’t want to finish. Heat built in his side, in his neck, at the base of his skull.

  “I don’t think he died,” said Siliana. “I didn’t feel his light go out, I tried to watch. I helped the horse let go cleanly, it didn’t deserve to drown. I think the king was swept out into the river. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s alive now.”

  “Now,” his mother barked. Siliana bowed her head, and Aven discovered quickly why.

  If he’d thought breaking the rib was painful, or falling from the horse, this was a dozen times more so. He could not contain the scream of agony as muscle, bone, and nerve rearranged themselves.

  He must have passed out again because again someone was rousing him. Gentle slaps to his face and a muffled, “Aven, Aven, wake up.”

  He forced his eyes open a second time. Probably shock, not any kind of magical expenditure. The mind could only take so much pain before it shut off.

  So this is what that boy had gone through. It was good to be alive, but… what a cost. Beyond worth it, but “agony” did not seem like a strong enough term.

  He tried to sit up now, and succeeded, although his head spun. He looked around for his mother but didn’t see her.

  “Where is she?”

  “Siliana is feeding her some energy down by the forest’s edge. They’re okay. There are others to heal, so—”

  He swore. “She should have healed them first.”

  “Beg your pardon, my king, but I believe she did the right thing. She knew exactly what she was doing.”

  He snapped his gaze to Dyon. Had he heard right, or was he just that dizzy?

  Dyon lowered his head, acknowledging Aven’s questioning gaze without words.

  “He could still be alive,” Aven said quickly.

  “He could also be dead.”

  Aven swallowed.

  “Until we know for certain, you are our king,” Dyon said. As his mother was not Lanuken blood, the power to rule passed directly from father to son.

  Aven sucked in a breath, mind racing. “What does this mean for the Assembly vote?”

  Dyon shrugged. “Did that damn vote ever mean anything? Even if we vote against you, Samul always had the right to ignore the Assembly.”

  “He wouldn’t have. Doing so could destroy everything.”

  “I’m not so sure. So could putting the wrong son on the throne, no offense to your brothers. But either way—it is up to you now. You could let us vote, perhaps abdicate if you feel you do not have our support. You could tell us our Assembly gathering is no longer valid, as you are no longer the heir, but the king. Which is probably what I would do.”

  Aven stared at his boots. When had they gotten so muddy? His whole body was nearly covered in mud.

  “You could go in and slaughter us all, even.”

  Aven looked to Dyon with wide eyes.

  “What?” Dyon shrugged. “I prefer to live, but lesser kings have done such things. And for good reason. If you let us vote, and more than half the Assembly votes against you, we could be looking at civil war. The death of a few nobles might be a lot more merciful than letting them pressure the poor in
to throwing their lives away for those nobles’ own power. Think of the fighting that would ensue.”

  He did not want to think about it. He would make sure it didn’t happen. Although Dyon did have a point. From the perspective of protecting his people, perhaps it was an option he should consider. He had no intention of seriously doing anything about it, though.

  At the very least, he would wait to see how they voted. What was the sense in killing them all if some of them willingly gave him their support?

  Gods be damned, what was wrong with him? He hadn’t even been wearing the crown for a full minute before plotting the deaths of his enemies. These were people, damn it. People he’d grown up with, like Asten and Dyon. Even damn Alikar had a family to return to. Which reminded him.

  “Where’s Alikar?”

  Dyon gave him a look that said he’d followed Aven’s line of thinking. Damn, he hadn’t meant to be so transparent. He’d gone straight from Dyon talking about murdering a bunch of nobles to asking for the location of his primary dissident. Smooth, Aven, very smooth. Fortunately, Dyon seemed to have no problem with this line of questioning. His nod said, that’s exactly what I was wondering too. That’s what you should be worried about.

  “I’m not sure, sire. Let me look. Can I help you to your feet first?”

  With Dyon’s help, Aven straightened and brushed himself off. Then the lord circled the edges of the group, asking for Alikar’s whereabouts. His mother and Siliana strode back from the forest’s edge, looking full of life and ready.

  Aven staggered to the gash in the earth left by their enemies. He stared down at the water lapping over the poor horse’s dead form.

  Rest in a better place, in Mustaik’s fields, my brother. At least he’d fallen in battle. But the noble horse deserved a better end than this—long years in a green pasture, not a tragic, sudden death in this place.

  And so did his father.

  Gods, let him be alive.

  Aven sat, head propped in his hands, under the temporary pavilion they’d erected against the rain while they searched. Footsteps approached, and he raised his head. Thel stopped just outside the canvas enclosure. His brother’s blond hair, which usually hung to his chin, was tousled in all directions, and his normally pale blue eyes were dark, heavy. Thel shook his head, grim as the overcast sky.