by Brandon Barr
The sight of the young boy in the raider’s arms conjured up a memory that stiffened Daeken’s knees.
Less than a year ago, he’d found his own son dead in the field outside their burnt home.
Tears stung Daeken’s eyes as he recalled that horrible sight, and he forced his knees to bend. With a light step, he moved toward the raider.
As long as he had breath in his lungs, he would not allow harm to come to the child.
“Let the boy go.”
The raider’s bare, hairy chest glistened with sweat. “You’ll kill me if I do. You saw, I’m tied up in these damned things.” He gestured with a nod of his head toward his trousers.
“I give you my word. If you let the boy go, I won’t harm you.”
“How about this—you walk away, and I promise not to slit the kid’s throat.”
Daeken drew back his cloak and slid Wickedbane in its sheath. Deftly he drew the silver-bladed knife out against the back of his hand, carefully concealing it by pinching the knife point between his thumb and fore finger. Slowly he raised his hands up.
It would be a risky throw with the man’s knife pressed against the boy’s neck. He needed an instant kill.
“This is your last warning,” called Daeken. “If you harm that boy, the things I will do to you I can’t speak of in his presence.”
A twisted look of glee came over the raider’s face and his eyes drifted over Daeken’s shoulder. Daeken turned and spotted a man only ten feet from him. The man’s eyes drew him in. They were pure white and glowing. A sudden vice-like pinch squeezed at the back of Daeken’s eye sockets. He fell forward onto his knees, grimacing against the shocking pain.
You come from afar, echoed a silken voice in his mind. You’re here for revenge. Is that all? I was hoping for more. Your eyes intrigued me.
Daeken felt a powerful tug pulling him back to his feet. He fought against the tugging sensation, but it was stronger. Slowly his body obeyed the call of a different master. Daeken forced to his feet glared out at the man standing in the grain field before him.
He was of average size, and looked neither old nor young. Long white hair flowed down over the man’s pale-skinned face. The eyes of the man were white as quartz. He stood there, red cloak billowing in a wind that Daeken could not feel.
He knew who this must be. The name that more than one man today had cried out to for help. This was Titannus.
Without warning, Titannus moved like a shadow across the field, as if time stood still for Daeken while the sun shifted in the sky. The man seemed to hover just above the grain field like a mirage, legs straight as poles as he moved, his eyes boring into Daeken.
I see your thoughts, but are you deceiving me? Beautiful, purple-tinged eyes you have. Is there any magic behind them, or are you slaughtering my men by your muscle and skill alone?
Daeken’s mind felt as if caught in a fog. He concentrated, focusing on the one thing that mattered to him most at that moment. Then he spoke in a whisper. “Let the boy live.”
You are a noble man, came the melodic voice in his head. But this boy dies today, as do you. You will be a declaration to the Meadowlands and they will flee from here because of the ruin they see.
Children, as you know, are a powerful motivator.
The image of his son was pushed violently to the forefront of Daeken’s mind. The mage was mocking him, dredging up the deepest pain of his soul! Daeken clenched his teeth and willed his hand toward his sword. His fingertips brushed the steel pommel.
You are strong for one without magic, came the smooth-edged voice. You fancy yourself after a relative you admire. Terry Henry Walton. A justice warrior and a legend of the past. You dream for bygone times and are caught off guard by the present. Magic is the power to rule the day now, not swords or heroism. The Meadowlands is what you get when the weak rule. My master Zarith Smith and I are the new noblemen of the day.
Titannus’s white eyes glowed like a cloud hiding the sun. Daeken strained for his sword, fingernails scraping at the grip. The man moved toward him as a ghost might, feet dangling above the ground, the heads of wheat brushing against his boots.
An enormous sword as tall as two men materialized in his hands. The long silvery blade gleamed in the sun. I will take your life now.
Daeken’s fingers wrapped around his sword grip, and now he fought to pull it free. The mage’s gigantic weapon lifted higher, his white eyes piercing Daeken.
The white light emanating from Titannus’s pupils became almost blinding, but the mage wouldn’t allow him to close his eyes. Daeken gritted his death against the coming death blow.
A pounding shook the ground beneath Daeken’s feet, and the mage turned his head.
The painful glare receded and Daeken could see again.
A massive brown bull charged through the wheat field and suddenly Daeken’s mind was free. He teetered for only a moment, regaining his balance, and saw the mage twist away from the horns of the charging creature.
Daeken spun away from the snorting animal and the mage, and ran for the boy.
The child lay on the ground, the raider kneeling over him, arms straining down against the knife that was poised above the boy’s heart. Sweat drenched the raider’s face as he seemed unable to bring down the knife to kill the child. By what force or power, Daiken didn’t know. Perhaps the mage had wanted to kill the boy himself and stayed the raider’s hand by magic.
It mattered not. Daiken’s blade was free, and the man looked up at him too late. Wickedbane sang as it pierced straight through the man’s ribs like a spear, the cross guard slamming into the hairy chest with all of Daiken’s force.
The man sputtered as Daiken fixed his boot against his belly. “You should have let the boy go,” Daiken reminded the man, then with a fierce tug, he pulled Wickedbane free.
Daiken’s eyes searched for Titannus and found him. He stood in the wheat field facing five figures. The sword in his hand dripped with blood and the large bull lay still beside him on the ground like a large lump of dirt.
The sword, Daiken noticed, was no longer two men in length, but average size.
A damned illusion, thought Daiken. Then his gaze shifted to the five figures challenging the mage. They stood beside a log outbuilding in the distance. The foremost figure was a young woman—a teenage girl by the look of her.
It took all of Daiken’s willpower not to go give them aid after what the mage had done to him in his mind. But instead, he knelt beside the child. The boy looked up at him, face expressionless, eyes barren of emotion.
In a flash of memory he saw his own son staring back at him, eyes cold and distant.
Daiken took the boy’s hand and put a smile on his face. “Everything’s going to be all right, young man. I’ll keep you safe.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What’s your name, son?” asked Daeken, wiping a dusty sleeve across his face. “I’m a friend. You can trust me.”
The boy’s eyes twitched slightly, the only sign that he was aware of Daeken at all. Nothing else in the boy’s vacant stare showed any reaction at all to his words.
Daeken reached his hands under the boy and lifted his upper body off the ground to sit him up. Gently he dusted him off, glancing quickly at Titannus, thankful that he was preoccupied. He had to get the boy to safety, for the mage had already stated his intent to kill him.
He took the boy’s hand, “I’ll take you away from here. Come.”
He tugged lightly on the boy’s arm to help him stand but felt resistance. “Come on, up on your feet.”
“Go with him,” rasped a frail voice beside the storehouse.
Daeken looked up to see the boy’s mother, eyes open where she lay on her side against the building. Immediately the boy’s resistance broke and he stood and followed Daeken over to his mother.
She lay there, wheezing with every breath, and Daeken knew she was near death. “Take my son, he will…” she coughed violently and Daeken placed a hand on her shoulder and shushed h
er softly. She closed her eyes.
“I’ll see that the boy is safe,” he replied.
Her eyes opened for a brief moment to look at her son. “Go with this man. Trust him.”
The boy reached out and placed his small hand on his mother’s lips, then ran his fingers to her cheek. She closed her eyes.
“His name is Shepherd,” she rasped. “He is a special boy…take him…as your own.”
Her broken sentence ended. And Daeken glanced again at Titannus and the five figures confronting him. Daeken felt the boy’s hand squeeze around his, and Daeken gave one last look at the woman. It was time.
“Come, Shepherd,” commanded Daeken. The boy stood and looked at him as if for the first time, the barest trace of emotion breaking through his vacant eyes.
Daeken lifted the boy up in his arms, hurried behind the storehouse for cover then ran for the woods.
***
“Let’s get this shit-for-brains bastard who murdered my parents,” said Payetta.
Ian shook his head. “We’re going to die today. It’s the damned mage.”
Payetta kept her eyes on Titannus who’d just slit the throat of her bull and now stood, gazing in their direction.
“This is a heroes brigade,” she reminded him. “Heroes don’t think about the consequences for doing good. They just do that shit.”
“Volunteer heroes might think about those things,” whispered Ian.
Jax, Kirk, and Old Ferren stood fanned out behind her. She’d like to think the sight was intimidating to Titannus, but she saw no sign in his posture as he gazed out at them. The mage’s red cloak fluttered about in the windless air. His long wispy hair hung straight over his shoulders, and the dual effect of movement and stillness was a stark reminder to Payetta that she had never dealt with any magic beyond her own.
“As much as I hate to say this, Payetta,” rasped Old Ferren, “this is your fight to win or lose.”
Payetta sighed. “For the record, if I survive today, I’ll stop bringing up your pee-pee incident.”
She heard the smack of Old Ferren’s hand hitting his forehead and could practically feel his head shaking back and forth in consternation.
“We very well all might die this hour, and you’re off making jokes. How does someone so young get so jaded?”
“Now’s not the time, Ferren,” responded Payetta. “We can play question the leader another day.”
Jax laughed behind her, but then suddenly his laughter morphed to screaming. Payetta turned and saw him fall to his knees holding his head. Suddenly his screams died, and then Ian cried out, hands springing for his head as he fell backward onto the ground.
Payetta spun back toward Titannus. The mage stood in the same malevolent posture, only he’d closed the distance by half.
She stepped towards him. It was time for her to face the monster from her childhood.
“Let them go you coward! I’m the one you want.”
***
When the red-cloaked figure slayed the bull as if it were a kitten, Justen tried to stand. The pain from his shoulder ran up his neck like a jolt of lightning. He growled with anger and fought the dizziness, shutting his eyes tight.
When the wave of pain passed, he glared out at the distant field where the Volunteer Heroes Brigade stood, his wife in the center. The figure standing fearlessly before them radiated a presence and a power, but it was his legendary long white hair that marked him as the mage. Titannus.
Justen had never seen the man, neither had Payetta. All they’d gathered of him were reports. But they knew what he’d done to them. What he and his raiders had taken away. And now the mage was taking again, here in the Meadowlands.
Justen took a step toward the impending battle.
As long as he had breath in his lungs, Payetta would not face the mage alone.
“You’re in no shape to move,” cried the young farm woman.
“Sit back down,” urged her brother. A strong hand gripped his good shoulder firmly.
Justen continued forward, ignoring their pleas. “Go to North Meadow. Tell them what’s happened. The more voices they hear, the better.”
“What are you going to do?” called the brother. “That’s Zarith’s mage out there.”
Justen’s eyes remained fixed on Titannus. “Mages bleed like the rest of us.”
***
Payetta strode through the wheat field toward Titannus, pushing all her fears aside. She felt almost naked here in such a plain, unforested space with only the plants and mice to use as weapons. She drew her wooden sword and gave it a twirl in her hand.
Titannus watched her through heavy eyes that angled down at the corners. He almost appeared tired. Did he expend energy just as she did? The thought gave her confidence. He’d killed the bull she sent at him, and that was no simple feat. There was no telling how much of a toll on his energy he’d taken while aiding his men in their attack on South Meadow.
Maybe he was even weaker than herself?
The red-cloak that rippled about Titannus suddenly stilled. Payetta stopped and stood straight, shoulders loose.
“Get off our land,” Payetta called out.
His angled eyelids lifted with the corners of his lips. “I didn’t know the Meadowlands had a mage among them, and one so young,” replied Titannus. “Tell me,” he continued, “how did you learn to control such a large animal like that?”
Insults came to her mind, but they sounded weak in comparison to the loathing she felt inside for this man. Titannus was no longer just a faceless monster in her mind, but now had physicality and a voice. His presence made her cold inside.
“I practice at it, the same as you practice your art—the murder of those weaker than you.”
Titannus looked pleased by her response. “Yes, the weak, exactly as you say. This land is needed to expand Zarith Smith’s territory. The weak must either go or labor for our needs. Today is a day of killing, but once the walls of Hargstead fall, those who wish to live may do so as my slaves.”
“Is that supposed to make me like you?”
Titannus smiled. “Perhaps not, but I would prefer you to understand something before I place a decision in your hands. You are a rare individual. Few have discovered their potential for magic on their own. Because of your talents, I am going to give you an opportunity few have been offered.”
Payetta glanced back at her friends. The four of them stood, watching her, looking uncertain of what to do. She turned back to Titannus. “If you think you can convince me to join your side, save your breath.”
Titannus gave a slight bow with his head. “Even if you reject what I say, you are a mage and worthy of a little wasted time and breath.”
He began to walk, not towards her, but in a circle around her, keeping his exact distance. “You are superior to others as I am. We mages have a powerful influence, and with it, our kind can make the world right again. You want me dead, but I’ll wager it’s not what you truly desire in your heart.”
Payetta felt an odd sensation inside her head of being watched. A chill ran up her spine. It was like being alone in the woods in a place where nobody could ever find her, then suddenly turning to see a pair of eyes watching. Titannus was there, in her mind. She closed her eyes, her heart racing with fear at what he might do inside her. With all her might she pushed hard against the intruding presence.
Titannus’s hold was strong, and pulling it away felt like tearing out a weed with deep, branching roots. But she felt his presence give way and slip as she shoved her will against it. Using every last ounce of strength she fought him.
The intense concentration of focus and energy was the same she used on the small predatory animals she’d battled minds with. Some of those contests she won and some she lost, but her fights had made her strong.
Finally, she ripped his will free and cast it away, and the sense of a foreign presence was gone. She opened her eyes and collapsed onto her knees, exhausted.
“I am impressed!” came Tit
annus’s enthusiastic voice from out in the field. His face was flushed with exertion, but it also held a glint of admiration. “You are strong, young mage. Mind reading is not one of my better skills, but you are as capable as most mages your age trained by my master. I’m fortunate to have glimpsed as much as I did before you shoved me out.”
She glared at him as she heard her friends’ footsteps coming up from behind.
“You all right?” came Old Ferren’s voice.
She nodded, but did not speak.
Titannus began his slow, circular walk around her and her friends. “We are similar, Payetta. I saw just a glimpse of who you are, but it is enough. Your past haunts you. Deep regret torments your soul. Something involving your silence in childhood. Your mother was innocent and frail, and your father a cruel monster. You did nothing though your heart burned to act. Then I came along with my men and destroyed your village and killed your parents. Now you want my blood, but vengeance isn’t going to satisfy the vision I saw stirring in your heart. You want to create a world where the innocent are kept safe, but you try to achieve it the wrong way. I have found the path to that possible world and it is through power and control.”
The mage continued to walk a circle around her, keeping a safe distance. His voice disgusted her, but his words held a strange sweetness that resonated inside her. Outside of her hunger for vengeance, the protection of the innocent had become a life mission.
She wouldn’t hesitate to use her power against those who would keep her from fulfilling that calling. It was an essential part of her, for though she could not return to the past to stand up against her abusive father, she had the present, and she could fight, kill and curse those who deserved it. Power and control were her allies, just as Titannus had said, but one look around at the burning farms and the strewn bodies made it clear that his path diverged wildly from her own.
Payetta turned her eyes from Titannus who had made his way back around to her right side. Instead of watching him, she stared down at the ground. She shut her eyes tight, focusing her mind on the earth. She felt Titannus’s presence through the weight of his body upon the roots of the wheat field.