Rogue Mage

by Brandon Barr

  “This isn’t good,” said Justen. “I can’t read the dogs like Payetta, but this pack is from the east. We call them the Granite Ridge Pack. They’re deep woods dogs. The largest pack we know of.”

  “Why do you say it isn’t good?” questioned Daeken.

  “Because the dog packs only tell us when bad things are afoot. They’re very loyal to us. Well, to Payetta.” Justen stroked the muscled side of the large ragged dog. “You have to go with them. We need to find out what they’ve seen.”

  Daeken’s eyes narrowed. “And leave just you and Payetta alone? Titannus will be back. I know he will.”

  Justen’s face hardened. “Would it really matter if it were just you and I? He would kill both of us.”

  “It might matter,” said Daeken firmly. “You trust these dogs that much? You think I should go with them?”

  “Yes. They’ve saved our butts more than once by warning us of danger ahead of time.”

  Daeken sighed, and it rumbled out as a growl. “I’ll go then.”

  “Good,” said Justen with a nod. “Come here.”

  Daeken weaved his way through the dogs, and they sniffed at his leggings as he passed.

  “Daeken, this is Right Eye, leader of the Granite Ridge Pack. Give him a good petting and let him know you’re a friend.”

  Daeken did as Justen said and noticed the hole in the dog’s left eye-socket. “I see where he got his nickname.”

  Justen put his face up to the dog and the mutt began to lick his lips and cheek. “Do that now.”

  Daeken gritted his teeth. “You’re serious?”

  “Very. I want him to trust you. You may need his help.”

  Daeken grunted again and knelt, then slowly moved his face up to the moist snout. Right Eye sniffed his mouth then slopped a tongue across his face.

  Daeken pinched his lips and scrunched his face muscles tight. The tongue sponged him roughly on his chin, then up the side of his jaw.

  The dog barked, and a nervous yelping filled the room from a dozen canine throats.

  “Go now,” called Justen. “Follow them. They should lead you.”

  Daeken set the candle down beside Justen and stood. Right Eye made straight for the door and the other dogs began to follow him out one by one. Shepherd had seated himself back on the hearth, and stared out the open door at the retreating dogs. Daeken deliberated quickly about what he should do with the boy. His heart made the choice easy for him. If he trusted anyone to keep the child safe, it was himself. Besides, if history told him anything, trying to leave him behind would be futile. Somehow, despite the odds, Shepherd would find him. There was something going on beneath the surface of that expressionless face, and his silent tongue. He was special, just as the child’s mother had told Daeken.

  “Come, Shepherd.” Daeken reached his hand out to the boy. “We’re going to see what all the trouble is. Then we’ll come back as quick as we can.”

  Shepherd took his hand and Daeken hoisted him up onto his back. Before he ducked through the door into the dark, he turned to Justen.

  “Get that girl conscious again. We need her attitude in a bad way.”

  ***

  Titannus wheezed as he leaned against the door frame of a small barn, staring out across the unplowed field he and his two men had cut through. A ten-minute walk through the muddy field in that northern direction could bring him to the dying mage.

  Dying, he was almost certain of it. But something disturbed him about the entire incident, and his doubts continued to nag and grow.

  He closed his eyes and refocused on Straever, his last remaining Elderhost. The weary tug of exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Controlling Percy had drained him like a knife blade across his throat. Titannus recognized the quiver running through his body as he leaned against the door frame. His knees were still shaking from his frantic dash through the field.

  He gave in to his legs, sinking to the floorboard below that smelled of decaying produce and animal filth. With his back against the door frame, he pushed with all his strength into Straever’s mind. He had to make this quick.

  Smoothly he slipped into the darkness that pulled at the back of his eye sockets.

  How near are you to Hargstead, whispered Titannus into Straever’s thoughts.

  Through the Elderhost’s eyes, he observed his contingent of raiders marching through the rain. He had summoned them back earlier that day from the southernmost border with the instruction to not rest until they returned to Hargstead.

  We should arrive by dawn, Master, responded Straever.

  When you arrive, you’ll need to wipe out a small army of farmers who’ve managed to trap our men inside Hargstead.

  Titannus felt Straever’s alarm.

  Was this caused by the impure mage you spoke of?

  She’s dead now, snapped Titannus. Killing them will be as easy as hacking down newborn calves. Their weapons are as pathetic as their skill.

  Are you trapped in Hargstead too? questioned Straever.

  No! Now shut up and listen! We’ve been given new instructions regarding the farmers. We are to kill them all. Chase down and slaughter any who run. Keeth and his brutals will be here soon. They can help hunt down the strays. Is all that understood, Straever?

  Yes, Master.

  See it done.

  Titannus departed from the Elderhost’s mind, and collapsed onto the barn floor.

  The scuff of feet sounded about him and he felt the hands of his two raiders begin to lift him up. He opened his eyes.

  “Leave me,” growled Titannus. “I need to rest. I’ve no energy left.”

  “Sorry, Mage Lord,” one of the men mumbled.

  “Wake me in half an hour,” he called to them, and closed his eyes, no longer fighting against the dark pull of sleep. He despised this weakness—especially with the uncertainty of Payetta’s fate gnawing at his fears, but he needed to recuperate from the maelstrom of magic usage he’d performed that day.

  Caught between dreams and conscious thoughts, the lightning storm emerged before him, pounded in his head as a frightening memory. It disturbed him to think Payetta had that kind of power all along.

  Or had the hatred she felt for him driven her to this new capability. Her greatest weakness was also her greatest strength. She felt deeply of her passions, and held strong feelings for others. These could be bent and twisted against her, but they could also unlock new magic within her.

  But it wasn’t only the lightning storm that bothered him—something else strange had happened. He had barely missed piercing her heart with Percy’s sword, and it had been caused by an outside force. A small but significant tug had misdirected his aim.

  How Payetta had managed it, he couldn’t guess, for her back was turned to him.

  He had never missed his mark before.

  When his men woke him again, he would go and find the young mage. If she wasn’t a cold, stiffening body, he’d not miss his mark a second time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “For the last time, stop apologizing,” insisted Ferren, furrowing his bushy brows at Mayor Brundig. Ferren folded his arms across his chest as he studied Mayor Brundig’s beaming smile under the light of Jax’s torch. Rivulets of rainwater ran from the mayor’s wet matted hair down the sides of his face. His lips were lodged in a permanent, bewildered smile ever since Ferren ran into him. It seemed that ever since the raiders fled inside the gates of Hargstead, the mayor had been stuck in a state of awe, unable to fully digest what he’d called earlier a “miraculous rescue.”

  Ferren understood. He remembered watching Payetta’s magic for the first time four years ago. And compared to back then, she was putting on quite the show now!

  Jax and Kinwick stood smugly beside Ferren, drinking up the mayor’s apologies like a strong wine.

  “Why didn’t she tell me she had powers?” mumbled Mayor Brundig in an almost reverent tone. “That would have changed everything.”

  “Would it have?” clucked Fer
ren. “Or would Percy have insisted she was evil at heart and had her banned long before? Or worse? What with her badger’s tongue and the temper of a hornet, don’t you think revealing she was also a mage might have put the fear in you. Especially with Percy hissing in your ear.”

  Brundig’s smile flattened a little. “I’ve been a fool—”

  “Not that again,” cried Ferren. “Don’t start your apologizing. Where is that smooth-talking vermin, anyway? If someone needs to apologize ten times over, it’s that arrogant rat.”

  The mayor’s lips devolved further from the smile once plastered on his face, forming into a deep, shadowy frown.

  “Percy…” mumbled the mayor, his head wagging back and forth. “I believe the mage bewitched him.”

  Ferren squinted. “What do you mean, bewitched?”

  Brundig’s eyes suddenly morphed into a scowl. “Just before your Heroes Brigade and the farmers arrived to attack, Percy began acting and talking oddly, didn’t know things he should have, didn’t recognize me. Then all of a sudden, he took out his sword—only it was twice the size it should be and covered in yellow flames! He killed one of his own Meadow Guards with lightning from his hands!”

  “It was Titannus,” said Ferren, suddenly glancing about. “The mage must have gotten inside the fool. We need to warn the others.”

  A cry sounded from the line of farmers surrounding the Hargstead walls.

  “Who goes there?!” shouted a farmer.

  A lone figure came out of the dark into the dim outer light of a torch. Ferren recognized him immediately.

  “He’s friend, not foe!” shouted Ferren, and rushed over to meet him. Jax, Kinwick and Mayor Brundig followed on his heels. The first thing Ferren noticed was Ian’s haggard appearance, and second was the grave face he wore. Something was wrong.

  “We have a predicament,” wheezed Ian. His face was pale. “Payetta, she’s been badly wounded.”

  Ferren felt a knot form in his gut. “How bad?”

  Ian’s jaw tightened. He shook his head. “Bad. Justen’s trying to heal her. She’s not waking up.”

  A chill colder than the miserable rain froze the hairs at the back of Ferren’s neck. The sting of tears bit at his eyes. “We have to protect her. Where is she?”

  “In a farmhouse with Justen and Daeken. Percy’s there too.”

  The name rang in Ferren’s ears like a blacksmith’s hammer.

  “Percy’s not Percy anymore,” shouted Mayor Brundig. “Titannus is using him!”

  “We found that out the hard way,” said Ian. “The fool’s still alive, but barely. Daeken got to him, but it was too late for Payetta. Percy had already put his sword through her back.”

  “I’ll kill the bastard,” shouted Jax.

  Ian shrugged. “It appears he was forced to do it against his will. Titannus is the one responsible for Payetta.”

  “Where’s Titannus?” growled Ferren.

  “We don’t know. He fled. But we think he’ll be back for Payetta. That’s one of the reasons I’ve come. She needs us—all of us.”

  Ferren knew exactly what Ian meant. It was time for the Heroes Brigade to rally around Payetta. The young woman had done more to protect the Meadowlands than any native had ever done. Ferren remembered well the day he met the wild young fourteen-year-old when she and Justen walked out of the woods and came knocking on his door. The story of their devastated community had shaken him, for unlike many of the farmers, he had a healthy fear of the mages running through his veins. When she demanded an army be raised to go and fight Titannus, he’d convinced her to bide her time, warning her that the Meadowland farmers weren’t ready to fight…not yet. Little did he know how unready they were.

  Now, four years later, the tables had finally turned.

  “There’s another issue,” continued Ian. “Half of Titannus’s men weren’t here for our attack. If they show up now, and Payetta isn’t here to help the fight, we won’t stand a chance. Justen and Daeken gave the orders for them to run if they come under attack.”

  Ferren gave a grim nod. “They’re right. If those raiders in Hargstead knew Payetta wasn’t here, they’d plow through our untrained farmers easily enough without any need of the other half of Titannus’s forces.” He glared at the walls. “The problem is…without Payetta…” His voice trailed off, letting the implications sink in.

  Jax grunted. “Without Payetta, we’re head high in deep shit,” he concluded, finishing Ferren’s unspoken warning.

  Ferren turned to Mayor Brundig. “Can you lead the farmers away in the case of an attack?”

  “Of course,” said the mayor, “But where should we run? Is North Meadow still standing?”

  Ferren realized the mayor knew nothing of the circumstances outside of his besieged village. “Most of the North Meadow farmers have fled farther north. Those that stayed are here at Hargstead.”

  “Come on,” rushed Ian. “We’ve got to get back to Payetta. I think the mayor can lead a retreat without a pep talk.”

  Ferren gripped the mayor’s shoulder. “There’s no telling what might happen. Be smart and don’t lose hope. Payetta’s a fighter. I can’t see her dying—even if they cut her head off, she’d just grab her own melon by the hair and use it as a mace. She’s that ornery.”

  The sting in his eyes returned. He wanted to believe his own words. His unruly step-daughter, as he affectionately liked to call her, was in peril, and he would give his life for her gladly.

  Ferren gave a solemn nod to Jax and Kinwick. “Let’s go. Ian, lead the way.”

  ***

  The path into the woods was not too difficult in the dark, but having to keep up with the pack of dogs while carrying Shepherd on his back was beginning to wear on him. At least the rain had ceased, but the cold night air hit his wet cloak, shirt, and leggings like ice, bringing a chill into his bones.

  Shepherd on his back was the only source of warmth combating the cold.

  Ahead, the sound of the forest was alive with movement, but Daeken could only see the dim outlines of a few dogs directly before him. Every now and again, the dog in front of him would stop and turn to look at him, then as soon as Daeken neared, would take off again.

  “Are you too cold, Shepherd?” asked Daeken in a whisper, worried the boy might find the night air unbearable in his own wet clothes. “Pinch my shoulder once for no, and twice for yes.”

  A moment later, Daeken felt a single pinch on his right shoulder.

  He suspected the boy was only being brave. Though they’d only entered the woods less than ten minutes ago, Daeken had no idea how far their destination was, or what it was.

  Justen trusted that the dogs had something of worth for Daeken to see, but Daeken wouldn’t be convinced it was significant enough for him to leave Payetta’s side until he saw what the threat was—if it was a threat at all.

  Another question chewed at him with every step, making his mission to follow the dog pack all the more a mission against his will. What if Titannus returned for Payetta while he was absent, or before the Heroes Brigade returned. The mage could be there at this very moment. Justen would be helpless alone against that kind of power and Payetta would be as vulnerable as a sleeping child.

  The possibility of Titannus finding and killing Payetta so easily enraged him. The young woman represented a hope for civilization that less than a week ago he hadn’t thought possible. He thought of his great-great-grandfather, Terry, and longed to be like him. What would his legendary ancestor do? Turn around to protect the young mage, or pursue this unknown threat at the risk of losing her?

  The shadowy form of the dog cutting through the brush ahead halted, then crouched low to the ground. Daeken felt a measure of relief as he lowered Shepherd off his back and wrapped him against his chest, placing his cloak around the boy to keep him warm.

  Squatting low next to the dog, Daeken listened in the fresh silence. Had they arrived at their destination?

  Rising like a jagged sheet of metal in the dist
ance was the pinnacle of a mountain, and behind it, the faintest trace of dawn’s light was beginning to show itself.

  Minutes passed with no sound but the occasional soft whine of a dog somewhere in the distant darkness. Daeken was growing impatient when the relative silence was broken by the distant thrash of many bodies cutting through brush and bramble. Fallen branches snapping under a heavy footfall, the scrape of loose dirt under a boot.

  Daeken peered out from behind the brush that concealed the dog trail. The pale predawn light had grown strong enough to bathe the woods in a ghostly haze, revealing the source of sounds Daeken had heard.

  The forest was astir with bodies, each with the darkened outline of a blade jutting from their hands.

  It was impossible to count them in the dim light, but the numbers were dishearteningly large. At least forty, probably more. As they begin to pass, a massive form rose above the rest. At first, Daeken thought it was some kind of animal walking on its hind legs, but the shape was somehow human—despite the size.

  He’d only met two men taller than himself in his entire life, but this figure dwarfed them all. As the horde of shadowy men passed, Daeken found himself face to face with a dire set of choices. These brutes were almost certainly coming to Titannus’s aid, sent from what spawn of hell mage, he couldn’t say. Should he follow them and try and decipher some plan of action along the way? Did he attempt to race ahead and warn the farmers who were sure to find themselves targets?

  Or did he dare try and take them on himself? There was the dog pack with him. He glanced up the trail. In the gathering light, he saw a long line of dark canine forms hunkered low. The Granite Ridge Pack, Justen had called them, and had offhandedly mentioned that they were the largest pack in the mountains.

  But the question remained, would the dogs help in any way? He wasn’t Payetta. He didn’t have any special relationship with them, or the ability to communicate like she did. He couldn’t expect them to fight. But even if they did. Men with swords would make a quick slaughter of them. To have any effect, the dogs would need a force two or three times the number of men.