The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  By the gods, she hoped not.

  She dismounted and strode to the heap, flinging back a branch and refusing to let herself slow or hesitate. If he was here, she needed to know. Whoever might have fallen, she needed to know. Hesitation would not make it easier.

  A horse. Chestnut colored and finely bridled, much like the mare she’d seen Aven riding into the distance.

  They hadn’t even taken the bridle.

  Gold inlaid into the supple leather shone in the weak sunlight. Not a piece readily abandoned. Had they been in such a hurry? Or was this a matter of burial rites, of leaving some fallen warrior’s weapon behind? Clearly they could have left the horse where it fell, but it looked like it had been dragged here. There were many footprints leading from the road and a wide trail of mud she hadn’t noticed initially.

  So the Akarians must have been attacked. The gash in the earth, the lightning strike marks, the strange vanishing storm—all these indicated magic at work.

  Perhaps the mages that had caused the cave-in had followed the procession once it left Estun. Was it possible someone on the inside had told them when they were leaving and which road they were taking? And—then what? How could she divine what had happened from what she could see?

  The Akarians must not have fallen, or their bodies would be strewn around the road, right? Instead, they’d had time to drag this horse aside and give it some burial and honor. But not a complete burial. And she was only a few hours behind them, so they could not have dallied long. But they had paused. Why? Had it been only for the horse?

  She left Lukor looking for nibbles of grass while she strode to the rift that gashed across the road. Nothing about it was natural. If the same mages who attacked Estun were involved, likely many of them were earth mages capable of this sort of thing.

  Water from a nearby river flowed into the bottom of the ravine. At the bottom was the murky outline of another fallen horse. Or was that her imagination? The weak sunlight did not adequately reach the bottom of the newborn canyon.

  She traced the edge of the ravine down toward the river, whispering to Lukor to follow. Footprints covered the banks of the small river, perhaps the length of four horses across. People had searched here for something. Something had been lost in the battle.

  Or someone.

  She looked down the river, where willows dipped and hung lazily over the flowing, now unusually shallow water. What troubles would be wrecked on the animals living in the river by this sudden offshoot? Those mages should be ashamed. The gray willows swayed, peaceful and relaxing in a lulling scene of tranquility, the former chaos of battle indicated only by the altered water level.

  Upriver, the water ran more normally, spilling down violently around a few boulders when it hit the detour of the ravine. The forest grew denser uphill. The river flowed out of the next valley to the west. Two smaller streams combined in a marshy area a bit up the hill.

  She almost missed it, but then—up along the mountain, a weak column of smoke.

  A campfire. Could surviving Akarians have retreated there?

  Or their assailants?

  Stay here, she whispered to Lukor. Going to check this out, I’ll be back. She had to go as quietly as she could, and no horse would be anything close to quiet in the forest underbrush. If he could even fit under all that. He huffed a quiet acknowledgment. For a moment, she missed Kres and wondered where he was and who was taking care of him. Damn, now was not the time to get emotional. Focus.

  She muffled her footsteps to some degree and began picking out a path toward the smoke. After a dozen steps, she caught the presence of a fox nearby and slipped into a similar form, careful to get it right and hold onto her clothes and equipment. Being smaller and lighter would make her both quieter and faster—and if she were spotted, not such a concerning sight. Just a fox, really. A wandering forest creature, nothing more. With the dried leaves crunching underfoot in spite of her best efforts, she was going to need all the help she could get. The mages—if they were who awaited her up the mountain—would have to be paying close attention to notice anything more than an ordinary forest denizen.

  As she got closer, three voices caught her ears and were making no effort to keep quiet.

  “We should head back now. We’ve lost too many.” A man.

  “But what about him?” A woman with an unfamiliar accent. “We can’t just let him go. We got lucky.”

  “Not lucky. Nefrana blesses us.” A different man now, older and with more gravel in his throat.

  “Oh, shut it. Lucky, with six of us dead? That’s not what I call it.”

  Miara reached the edge of their gathering. Three figures sat around a campfire, while one stood pacing back and forth. She inched closer, squinting at those seated. Hmm, this fox’s eyesight was blurrier than expected.

  The woman shook her head, running a frustrated hand over fair skin and blond hair. The gravel-voiced man stroked a braided, straw-colored beard. The pacing one was jittery and nervous and pacing so fast she couldn’t get a good eye on him, nor the fourth figure farthest away. This fox’s eyesight was not its best quality. Perhaps she should have found a model creature that had sharper eyes, or simply improvised. Her vision could likely be tweaked and fixed, but there were also other things to spend energy on.

  “Let’s take him with us,” the woman suggested. Miara struggled to place her accent but came up with nothing.

  “On foot? With no horses? We wouldn’t make it far.”

  “With so few of us, we should just head back. We’ve more than completed our mission. We’ve got no supplies for transporting a prisoner.”

  Prisoner? So the fourth one she couldn’t make out was an Akarian? Miara wanted to snort to herself, but she kept quiet. The cowards were whining away about how hard it would be to keep the prisoner, and there were three of them. Alone, she had kidnapped Aven just fine. Although she hadn’t had to do it on the spur of the moment.

  She was a little too familiar with the task they were considering. Time to get more rescues than kidnappings under her belt.

  “Plus those Akarians are still out there,” the cautious, pacing one continued. “You want to run into them again and get toasted too? I’m not even sure how far inside Akaria we are, but we still have to get out.”

  Miara skirted the clearing as silently as she could. The mages did indeed seem familiar, probably warriors she’d passed within Mage Hall. The Masters would be proud; this nervous one was certainly a fine example of what they looked for in warriors—someone with absolutely no taste for battle at all. Hopefully that would come back to hurt them.

  None of the mages turned out to be as familiar as the fourth figure. Getting closer, she finally made out who it was. Sitting silently beside them was Samul. His hands were bound with the heavy vine of a creature mage’s making, no doubt. His majestic armor was smeared with smoke and soot and blood, and his hair and beard were slicked flat to his head. His helm was gone, and blood soaked the left side of his face and into his beard. He looked a decade older, and his eyes stared into the distance as if ignoring these mages. She could not tell visually if they had healed him and just not cleaned him up or if he was still injured. One of his legs jutted out at an odd angle, semi-straight, and she had a bad feeling it, too, was injured.

  “I can change you into a horse. Perhaps that would help, or at least shut you up,” growled the gravelly voiced one.

  “Let’s let him go,” said the pacing man.

  “The Masters would want him,” said the foreign one. “Obviously.”

  “They didn’t order us to take him. We don’t have to do it. It’s our choice.”

  Foreign Woman rolled her eyes. “They’ll kill us if they find out we had him and just let him go. Don’t be a fool.”

  “Let’s kill him then. Don’t have to take him back, don’t have to tell them we let him go, of all things.” Gravel Voice brushed his hands off each other as if washing his hands of the matter.

  “Oh, like that’s easy,�
�� sputtered Nerves, scowling.

  “We can transform him into something else, make it easier to transport him,” Foreign Woman said. “We don’t need to have that debt on our hands. I thought you were concerned with the Balance.”

  “Of course I am,” said Gravel Voice.

  “You think Nefrana doesn’t frown on killing people, but she’s definitely against all things magic?”

  “Don’t oversimplify. You’re just being emotional, after all the losses we’ve experienced.”

  “Eat shit, Harum. How’s that for emotional?” She scowled at him.

  “He’s an enemy of Nefrana, of course. That makes it allowable.”

  Why was Samul not reacting, trying to convince them of anything? She probed cautiously toward his mind, carefully avoiding the others. He seemed alert. His head did not seem injured anymore, but his leg was. Not broken, but something was wrong inside the knee. There, she found it—a spell binding his throat. They’d taken his voice so he couldn’t call for help. Or argue. They had that taken care of.

  Samul. It’s me, Miara.

  To his credit, his face barely reacted. A slight awareness flickered in his eyes, nothing more. He had been ignoring them all, lost in his thoughts, and she had awoken his attention. His thoughts whirled, and she backed away quickly.

  You can’t speak to me. But I can speak to you. Focus on a thought, and I can see it in your head.

  Elise has… a few times. Not a stranger to this. Still, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea that mages could simply peek into a king’s thoughts whenever they pleased. The one time Miara had done it had already been too many.

  I know. You’re not the only who’s felt that way. It doesn’t help people get comfortable with us. But it’s not without cost—

  What are you doing here?

  Rescuing you, apparently. What the hell happened?

  I could ask the same of you. I thought I left you under guard in Estun.

  Can we deal with the immediate threat first?

  Fine. Mages attacked. Six or eight of them were killed, these three are not sure. I fell into a ravine trying to save Aven.

  Her heart jumped into her throat. If something had happened to him because she hadn’t reached them in time, she would never forgive herself. Or Samul, for ordering her to stay behind. What do you mean, save Aven?

  Lightning struck his horse, threw him off.

  Mage lightning? They were probably aiming for him and missed. The exact arc of the lightning could be difficult to control at a large scale, and there was no reasonable way to practice.

  Oh. I didn’t realize. That makes sense. Well, I don’t think it hit him. The horse knocked him off, went into convulsions.

  I saw the horse. It was dead. But there was no one else there. No human bodies.

  Good. Good. That is good to hear. They all must have lived then.

  They searched for you, I think. What happened after that?

  Dyon dragged Aven back to the carriage. He seemed alive, although in serious pain. They were targeting the carriage—both with fire and rock. I went forward to—I don’t know. I don’t know what I expected to do. To try to help? I had no way to help. But he’s my son. I had to stop them get through to them end them somehow… His thoughts started to unravel for a moment, and she pulled back, both for her sanity and his privacy. The tumult calmed a little. The earth opened beneath me. I fell. Washed down the river. I think I lost consciousness at some point, maybe when I fell. I’m not sure, it’s foggy. Then these bastards found me.

  Are they the remaining mages from the ambush?

  I think so.

  What happened to the others?

  They seem to think Aven killed them.

  Aven?

  I think so. Lightning struck and killed them. Six, eight? Seven? They’re not sure. They didn’t look to find the bodies, just ran.

  Gods. She reeled her mind away from Samul’s for a moment, not sure he needed to feel what she felt at that revelation. Aven had been the one to leave those char marks on the earth.

  She wasn’t sure if it was awe or horror that filled her most. To kill with magic was what all the priests insinuated mages would do, if they could. They’d been accused of much, in the Dark Days. They’d all heard enough stories to fear there might be some truth to them—a vicious killer secretly lurking inside, ready at the first whiff of insanity to fly into a rage and level a city.

  Brother Sefim’s words sprang back to her again. Magic was a tool like anything else. Nobody was outlawing spears or swords or arrows or catapults any time soon. What was the difference between killing with magic and killing with a sword? She would not have been appalled if Aven had run these mages through with a claymore in self-defense. Such deaths were sad, regrettable, but not avoidable. If an equally—or better—equipped opponent was trying to kill you, you could die or fight back, but there wasn’t much room for middle ground.

  Self-defense is different, she forced herself to remember. Just like with Sorin.

  Not that she didn’t feel horror for killing him and splattering blood across Estun’s pristine floors. Aven had been protecting himself, and so had she.

  Back to the matter at hand. The Akarians had lost their king in this horrid attack. Fortunately, that loss was only temporary, although Aven and Elise would not know that yet. They had to be distraught. Sitting around feeling guilty about her and Aven defending themselves from people who were trying to kill them was really helping no one at this point.

  She ought to be able to rescue Samul from here—somehow. These mages didn’t seem like much opposition. If she could escape Estun, kidnap Aven, and then rescue him from said kidnapping—she should be able to make this work.

  Just a little clever thinking and creativity…

  She waited, but no ideas showed up.

  Abruptly she realized that Samul could be trying to talk to her, but she was no longer listening. She dragged her mind back to him.

  They dragged me up here and healed the gash on my head. But… your arrival is well timed. Which reminds me, are my guards dead?

  What?

  Did you kill Devol and my guards to escape?

  Are you serious?

  Am I laughing?

  She struggled for a moment to formulate a response that wasn’t dripping with vitriol. That he thought she would casually kill innocent guards and the honorable and sweet master of arms simply to gain her freedom infuriated her. How could even think such a thing? Devol and the guards are fine. Devol is my friend and has been far kinder to me than you have been. To think that I would hurt him is pure absurdity.

  I have not been unkind to you.

  I guess that’s a matter of opinion. This is not the time to discuss that anyway. I have work to do.

  Are you going to kill them?

  She was so annoyed at this new accusation that she couldn’t even bring herself to answer. Instead, she turned her attention to the mages. She picked at that bit of their souls she could reach with her magic and began to spin her chains around each of their wrists, one by one. When she had enough chain to work with, she hooked it around a nearby tree and bound it back on itself, once, then again. None of them were going anywhere, although they didn’t know it yet.

  Now what?

  She could simply step out of the forest, help Samul to his feet, and stroll away. But they did all still have command of their magic. The woman seemed to be a creature mage, so it was possible she might find some transformation that could twist her out of the chain or even figure her way out of it with a bit of time. One of them was likely an earth mage—she was betting on Gravel Voice—and if he could open one ravine, he could likely open another.

  It would still be best if she and Samul could sneak away. But what could they do? Should she distract the enemy somehow? Could she transform Samul to somehow get away?

  They continued to argue Samul’s fate, although she’d lost track of their conversation during the king’s recounting of events.

&n
bsp; She glanced back down at the river. It wasn’t far away. It could be an excellent and unexpected place to hide, if they could make it that far.

  She felt around until she found Lukor, still patiently waiting and munching on a willow leaf, a selection he regretted. Downstream, she told him. I’ll meet you down there.

  Another mental chuff of acknowledgment, and he trotted off.

  As she drifted back to her fox body, she groped around in the surrounding woods, looking for something to work with. Rabbits, owls, foxes, ants, snails, potato bugs, butterflies—no, no, no.

  And then she found him. A stag.

  No time for musical overtones and gentle greetings, she spoke quickly and prayed she wouldn’t spook him. I need your help. Some humans nearby have kidnapped a man and mean to kill him. Can you help me free him?

  How do I know they won’t kill me? Or you won’t?

  I swear by—by— What deity did a stag pray to? I swear by the Balance I will not. I will do my best to protect you and heal you if injured.

  The stag chuffed for a moment, considering. And then, he said, Fine.

  I simply want you to cause a distraction. Show up in the clearing over here for a few moments, then flee. I’m going to make you—much larger. Then I’ll shrink you back down.

  The buck liked the sound of that, at least the first part.

  She pulled energy from the lively forest around them, a little here, a little there, and poured it back into the stag, his antlers broad enough already to interfere with the tree branches. He grew, ducking his head and dodging the entangling limbs. His hooves stomped in their direction, close enough for her to hear already.

  And now for her part. Just behind Samul, she concentrated carefully. A fox would have to do for him too. Would the armor be too much burden? Would it matter in the transformation or act simply like clothes, which would come along for the ride if she worked carefully enough?

  She was going to find out, apparently.

  I’m going to transform you. I’m disguised as a fox behind you. When I transform you, turn around, leave the circle, and follow me.