The Dark Mage (Hand Of Justice Book 1)

by Jace Mitchell

  Mason shook his head. “No need to apologize. You’re right. Let’s see what these tent people want and whether we can give it to them.”

  Riley might be in a coma, but she was still helping Mason.

  “What we want? Aye, that the question?”

  “Yes,” Mason answered. “If you fight for us in this war, what do you want for payment?”

  “Payment, aye.” Worth’s eyes narrowed and he studied Mason carefully. “That the question.” Worth stood and turned his back to the two men, looking out across his tiny kingdom. “I ask, they fight. They no say no.”

  They won’t say no if I ask them to fight for you, Mason’s mind interpreted the sentence.

  Like my own men. Like Riley.

  “This mage. He bad, yes? He hurt your woman?”

  Mason didn’t know exactly what Worth meant by your woman, but this wasn’t the time to explore the details of his and Riley’s relationship. “Yes. He’s bad, and he hurt her. He’s coming for her.”

  “For her?” The man turned around. “Why? Say.”

  Mason shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know a lot. She said he’s coming for her and New Perth.”

  The man nodded, a knowing look on his face that Mason didn’t understand.

  “I not like them.” Worth pointed to the tent people. “I have no third leg, third eye, one ear. I whole.”

  Mason nodded.

  “My father. My mother. They bring us here. My father. He whole. Was whole. My mother, like them. My sister, like them. Me whole, like father.”

  “People came for my mother. My sister. Wanted kill. That why we here. That why I here. Because protect people we love, aye?”

  “Aye,” Mason whispered.

  “You want protect this woman?”

  “Aye,” he whispered again.

  “Payment.” Worth brought his hand to his chin again. “What you say? ‘I don’t know,’ aye?”

  Mason smiled. “Yes, I’ve said that a lot.”

  “I don’t know,” Worth answered. “You see how we do. You like, you pay, aye?”

  Mason looked at Eisen, who only shrugged back.

  “Sure. That works for me.”

  “Good, good, Assistant to the Prefect. That good. How many you need?”

  “Mages?” Mason asked.

  “We magic. How many you need?”

  “How many can you spare?”

  Worth looked at the tents, and despite his crude version of English, Mason thought the man was doing math. He was thinking about the children they had, and how many adults they could afford to lose permanently. What it would do to his city.

  A minute passed, and Worth looked down at his feet.

  “Five women. Five men. Plus me.”

  Mason leaned back on the bag of grain, considering. He’d left New Perth with no idea how many mages he needed. Now eleven were being volunteered.

  Would that be enough?

  Riley’s voice spoke in his head.

  He’s coming for me, and for New Perth.

  Ten would have to be enough because there wasn’t any more time.

  “Okay, we have a deal.” Mason stood. “When can we leave?”

  “On morrow.” Worth finally turned around to face him. “You love her? Your woman?”

  It was an odd question, and one Mason had never thought about. The tent person meant it in a different way than Mason was considering, or at least that was what Mason believed. He thought Worth was asking about romance, but that wasn’t what existed between Riley and him.

  And yet he could only give one answer. “Yes.”

  The big man smiled broadly. “Good. Good. Love. Babies. We give magic. Kill mage. You marry. Have babies. Yes. Yes. This good.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Harold wasn’t sure about his position any longer. He had been for a long, long time, since out of all the leaders Harold had known, Rendal was the most powerful.

  Until this woman.

  Now, Harold had begun to wonder if perhaps his horse was hitched to the wrong wagon.

  “I gotta say, boss, I don’t think this is the best idea.”

  Belarus—a man whose mere existence proved the Father and Mother did not care a whit about Harold. His second-in-command had been Leonard, a man Harold trusted. Unfortunately, the bitch Harold was now going to gather up had killed him when she blew up the whole damn yard.

  And then his master—or “boss,” as the idiot Belarus would surely say—had had the gall to ask Harold where he’d been.

  Not there.

  Not around that woman who was a killing machine.

  He hadn’t lied to Rendal; his intent had been to force her back toward the main yard, but he had also wanted to fully understand her power. Harold was fine with having a master. Preferred one, actually. He just wanted to make sure his master was the most powerful, and he was starting to have doubts about that.

  Belarus, for his part, continued talking as if Harold were actually listening.

  “Going down to the biggest city this side of the continent and demanding they release someone we tried to kill? Well, it just seems to me like things could go wrong there.”

  “Does it now, Belarus?” Inside, Harold’s temper was red-hot, but to the world, he remained as calm as the surface of a pond without wind.

  Belarus nodded, his horse trotting beside Harold’s.

  He didn’t want to think any more about the master or the problems there, so he decided to fuck with Belarus.

  “What do you think might go wrong?”

  “I mean, what if they say no?”

  “Hmmm…” Harold feigned thought. “I’d never considered that. You think they might say no?”

  “Yeah.” Belarus’s eyes lit up, thinking his boss was actually interested in his opinion. “Why would they just give her over, ya know? And if they don’t, what do we do?”

  Harold wanted to throw the man off his horse and stomp him to death with his own.

  He didn’t, though. Harold remained calm. “I’ll give that some consideration, Belarus.”

  It bored him, fooling with this dimwitted soldier. He was little more than sword oil and hopefully would die in the first skirmish that arose. Two more days of this nonsense and they’d be in front of New Perth’s gates.

  “You think she’s stronger than the boss?” Belarus piped up again.

  Harold turned to the man, his head moving slowly because he couldn’t really believe he had just heard that question.

  Belarus was staring forward, riding as if he’d asked what the weather would be tomorrow.

  Harold turned around as far as he could on his horse, looking to see who might have heard his new second-in-command. His troops were farther back, and thank the heavens for that.

  Keeping his calm demeanor, he turned back to the path in front of them, the forest heavy on either side.

  “Belarus, I would advise you to never say such a thing again. I’d advise you to never even think it.”

  Belarus raised his eyebrows. “Why? It’s just you and me.”

  “Who do you think I report to?”

  “The boss.”

  “That’s right. The boss. How do you think he would deal with knowing that you’re questioning his strength?”

  Belarus swallowed, the click in his throat audible in the nearly silent woods.

  “Exactly. The boss isn’t going to deal with you doubting him in a very...gracious manner. And to answer your question, no, I don’t think she’s stronger than the boss. I think she’s a good swordsman—”

  “Swordswoman,” Belarus interrupted.

  “Thank you.” Harold gritted his teeth. “Thank you for that correction. My point, dear Belarus, is that the woman is good with swords, but she doesn’t possess what the boss does. She doesn’t have magic like him.”

  “Then what happened in the yard?”

  Harold thought it would be more fun to rub sandpaper over his eyeballs than continue talking to this imbecile. It wasn’t that H
arold disagreed with him necessarily. Hell, the woman was obviously something special. Even the master thought so. It was that this man was sitting there saying things that could get them both killed.

  “Were you in the yard, Belarus?”

  “Nuh-no…”

  “Exactly. So how do you know what happened? You don’t. You’re conjecturing—”

  “Conjectu-whatting?” Belarus interrupted again.

  “You’re making shit up.” Harold’s temper finally snapped. “You’re making up bullshit, and asking me questions that I don’t want to hear. The master is stronger. That bitch will either do what the master wants, or she’ll die. That’s all there is to it. Do you understand me? And speak clearly, because I want to know you mean it.”

  “I-I-I understand,” he stuttered.

  “Good. Now get back there with the rest of the men and keep your trap shut.”

  Belarus’s horse slowed, leaving Harold to walk alone in the front. His head hurt, and he hated losing his temper like that. Not that he cared what the men thought about him. Belarus should fear him, and what had just happened would help instill that. No, Harold hated losing his temper because it was beneath him. It showed weakness if you let something rile you. The inability to keep yourself calm. Weakness could not be tolerated in him...or his master.

  He sighed.

  A horse sprang into view ahead.

  Harold stopped, raising his hand to signal those behind him.

  He waited, a minute passing, and then recognized the master’s symbol on the oncoming horse. A glowing green band.

  It was the scout, and he must have seen something or he wouldn’t be returning.

  “Sir.” The rider and his horse approached. “There’s a caravan up ahead about twenty miles. They’re heading this way.”

  “How many people?” Harold asked. He knew what the men behind him would want, of course, but he had to keep the master’s goal in mind.

  “Appears to be thirty, best we can tell.”

  Harold nodded. He could almost feel the men’s giddiness.

  “They’re in our path?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll cross right over them.”

  Well, there wasn’t anything he could do about that. He couldn’t hold the men back if he wanted to if they would be running across a caravan most likely loaded with women and treasure of one kind or another.

  “We’ll take them.”

  Cheers rang behind him.

  Harold didn’t care. He just wanted to get down there to that bitch.

  The master wanted her for his own purposes, but Harold was starting to think he might have run across someone more powerful than Rendal Hemmons.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Riley was reaching for her sword before her eyes were fully open. She swung her legs off the bed and grabbed for a hilt that wasn’t there. There was no sheath attached to her side.

  A blanket fell to the floor, and Riley realized she was sitting down.

  She blinked.

  Her sword wasn’t on her hip.

  She was wearing a light-blue gown, certainly nothing she owned.

  The room was empty, and she suddenly felt dizzy. She groaned, leaning forward. She needed to lie down but didn’t want to. She had to understand what was happening around her.

  A few moments passed, and the feeling in her head faded slightly. She opened her eyes again and started methodically checking her body with her mind.

  Injury, left arm.

  She lifted the gown’s sleeve and saw a white bandage, so she peeled it back and looked at the wound. A blade had done it, although Riley couldn’t remember when or how. It had been sewn up and was healing. She put the bandage back in place and continued checking herself.

  Soreness all over, but nothing broken. Her head hurt, but she was thinking clearly.

  WILLIAM!

  Her mind shouted the name because Riley had been taking care of him. Riley had dragged him for days and days, and where was he now?

  She shot up, ignoring the woozy feeling that washed over her.

  “Right Hand, please!” The door in front of her opened and a doctor walked in, already talking. “Please sit down.”

  “William. Where’s William?” Riley didn’t stop moving, and even in her poor state, easily sidestepped the doctor when he tried to grab her shoulders.

  She continued to the door, pulling it open.

  “Right Hand Trident, you need to rest!” the doctor called from behind her, hurrying to catch up now because Riley was already in the hallway.

  “Where’s William!?”

  Riley thought she was in New Perth’s castle, but she couldn’t be sure. Memories were coming back to her that she didn’t fully understand, and yet she couldn’t think of anything besides finding William, the other Right Hand.

  She turned the corner and stopped in her tracks.

  The Prefect stood before her. He was dressed in his usual white robe.

  “William is fine.”

  The doctor rushed into the hallway. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I’m sorry. I tried to stop her.”

  “It’s okay.” The Prefect didn’t break eye contact with Riley. “William awoke a day ago. He nearly tore down the castle to find you, and I told those taking care of you that the moment you woke up they were to alert me. I knew you’d do the exact same thing, and I don’t want the headache or the expense.”

  Riley looked down at the floor in reverence of the Prefect. “He’s okay, Your Grace?”

  “Yes. He’s still banged up, but he’s going to be fine. He’s sleeping now from what I’ve been told. I’ve had regular updates on both of you brought to me. It’s you and I who need to talk, though. And this isn’t a moment too soon.”

  “Your Grace,” the doctor spoke from behind Riley, “she is still not well. She needs more rest.”

  The Prefect nodded. “I understand, but our city does not care what we need. It only cares what it needs, and right now, it needs her. Right Hand, I trust that you are still willing to die for the city you’ve sworn to protect, as well as my son?”

  Riley looked up, her eyes bright with intensity. “I am.”

  “Then come. We have much to discuss.”

  With that, the Prefect turned and started walking. Riley didn’t look back at the doctor as she followed. Her head hurt and her body was sore, but none of that mattered. The Prefect had said she was needed so she would serve.

  The two made their way upstairs, Riley noticing that the hallways were oddly empty. She saw no guests, no maids, and no servants. Not even any guards. It was as if only she and the Prefect were in the building.

  They went to his quarters, ignoring the court where meetings with him usually occurred. She’d never been to his personal quarters, and she did her best to keep from glancing around as she entered. That wouldn’t be proper.

  “Please sit, Riley.” The Prefect dropped the formal title and sat at a small table next to a window.

  Riley stopped and stared out the window.

  She’d never seen so much movement.

  “What…” she began, completely forgetting who she was with.

  “We’re preparing for war, Riley, based on what you told us.”

  Her head snapped back to the Prefect. “What I told you?”

  Goland nodded. He looked at the table, taking a cigarette paper and some tobacco into his hands. “Yes. You told us that he was coming for you, and for New Perth. Do you remember that?”

  “No, Your Grace. Not at all.”

  “Please sit, Riley.”

  She did, pulling out a chair. “Lucie? Did she make it back?”

  The Prefect shook his head. “No. We’ve seen nothing of her yet.”

  Riley watched as the old man slowly spread the tobacco along the yellow paper.

  “I’ve started smoking again. Corinth, the doctor, tells me I can’t do it for long or the cough will return, and I told him that this coming war can’t last long then, or I’ll be coughing all damn day.”

&n
bsp; The Prefect laughed, but Riley remained silent.

  “I believe you, Riley. That’s not what I want to talk about right now. When William woke up, he said some things that surprised me quite a bit, and I wanted to ask you about them.”

  Riley looked up, finding the Prefect’s eyes on hers.

  “If it was anything bad, Your Grace, I can promise you he lied. William is a scoundrel, after all.”

  The old man grinned, understanding the joke. “For once, William spoke highly of you. He told me all about the man in the north. He remembers almost everything quite clearly, and I’m glad of that. If not, I’d probably be smoking twice as many of these, and Corinth downstairs would never stop bothering me. There’s magic in the north, and it’s coming for us. I feel confident about that. Our scouts tell us no one is coming yet, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  He finished rolling the cigarette and grabbed a match, striking it and bringing the flame to the cigarette. He breathed in deep, waving the match out with his hand. He placed it on the table, removed the cigarette from his mouth, and let the smoke out.

  “I’ve missed this. I can’t deny it.” He looked at Riley. “The man’s name is Rendal. That’s what William said. Do you remember him?”

  Riley nodded, a sudden image appearing in her mind. A tall man, strong, almost elegant-looking except for his ruthlessness. His pale-blue eyes were in the forefront of her mind.

  “Well, if it’s the Rendal I once knew, and I think it is, our scouts might not be able to see anything. He might be shielding them from the naked eye.” He took another hit of the cigarette and shook his head. “Perhaps my father was wrong about magic, but there isn’t time to dwell on that now. We are where we are, and if he’s coming, we have to hope my father wasn’t too wrong. I’ll get to the point, Riley, since time is short. William says that both of you were about to die, and then you exploded. I think his turn of phrase was, ‘She blew everybody the fuck up, Your Grace.’ Always proper, that one.”

  Riley laughed. “We should charge him every time he curses, sir. We could fund the kingdom for the next hundred years.”