Luther, Magi: Blood of Lynken II

by Geoffrey C Porter

"I don't know what I seek," Victor said.

  "Travel into the heart of Tercia. In the center of our capital, Terc, you'll find Rivek."

  Victor smiled, which bled across his face like the brush of a truly wild painter. Who was Rivek? How did this Necromancer read him so easily? He left the building and hopped on his horse.

  The capital glowed with life. A mausoleum stood on almost every street corner. Victor found his way to the center of the city. A Necromancer waited at the door to a huge structure made of the same white stone.

  The inside smelled like fresh blood and decay. It warmed Victor's heart. He was led into the bottom of the crypt. Hovering in the air, just a few feet off the stone floor, a rotten, half-eaten torso glowed a faint red.

  The Necromancer said, "Rivek."

  Victor knew he was home. "Where is the rest of him?"

  "Hidden."

  We should find him. Put him back together. "I trained to be a Magi."

  "Only a Magi can scry the rest of his body."

  "I have no power."

  Within a moment, ten Necromancers entered the room. How they were summoned, Victor didn't know. One said, "Lie on the altar."

  Victor did as he was told. The Necromancers attached his wrists and ankles with leather straps. The one who kept speaking said, "You'll learn to summon magic and burn your way out of this crypt. Or you'll die of thirst. It's up to you."

  You're in my power now, boy.

  The Necromancers all left. Victor asked, "Rivek?"

  Yes.

  The candles lining the room went out. Total darkness surrounded Victor.

  Summon magic or die.

  "I don't know how!"

  Silence filled the room. The darkness crept into Victor's heart. He tried every method he knew for summoning magic. His will repeated the cycle. In his mind, he tried the methods backward. He noticed thirst.

  Fatigue got the better of him. He woke to silence, filled with darkness. His throat was parched.

  He shouted, "Teach me Necromancy!"

  First, you must learn to be a Magi. We need a Magi far more than we need another Necromancer.

  Victor struggled against the bindings. He focused harder than ever before to summon magic. It was no use. He whimpered like some kind of weakling, making noise just to have some sound.

  A vision appeared of a man wearing a golden robe and crown. Victor had no reason to believe he was anything but a God if he could simply appear and fill the room with a kind of twilight.

  "Do you need help?" The new man asked.

  "I need to learn how to summon magic."

  "I have a technique, but the cost is high."

  Victor didn't care. "I'll pay."

  "Your spirit will be mine when you die."

  "Agreed."

  "Imagine yourself drifting down into the earth. Into the rocks. Imagine there's a faint glow of red."

  Victor did as he was told.

  The God of Greed spoke again. "Pull magic into yourself from in between the rocks and dirt in this nether world."

  Power flowed into Victor like a fountain. He burned the bindings holding his wrists and ankles. The God of Greed disappeared. Victor stood before Rivek.

  Find my five parts, then we can rebuild.

  "Your goal is to kill Juxta?" Victor asked.

  We'll send Juxta to Hell to be tortured for all eternity.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Simon ran home. Heather was tending to their garden. She asked, "What wrong?"

  "Jason has been exiled."

  "Exiled! What!"

  "He killed a man. Let's wait and get the story from him."

  They went into the house. Simon paced back and forth in their kitchen. Heather brewed pot after pot of tea. "When will he get here?" She asked for the fifteenth time.

  "He'll be on foot. The rogue scout who brought the news was on horseback."

  Before she could ask again, where were they? He said, "They were stationed at Raleg, and it's a three-day ride."

  "There's no reason to pace back and forth then. It could be days."

  Simon was pretty sure in his heart that once Jason got moving for home he wouldn't stop for much. The door jumped open. Jason's smiling head poked in.

  "Come in, boy," Simon said.

  Jason stepped into the house. "I haven't eaten."

  Heather said, "I'll get a chicken ready."

  "And some of your potatoes."

  Heather headed out back.

  "What are you going to do?" Simon asked.

  "That kind of depends on how many coins you can spare."

  "I've got coins for you, yes. That's a given."

  "I was thinking. A mercenary needs armor. I've got a blade. A horse would be good, too. I was thinking I might travel to Weslan. Find Luther. I bet he's got connections with the High Council. Maybe I can get a job guarding caravans or something."

  "You've been thinking." Simon smiled. "Hopefully you haven't been thinking of a deed of heroics."

  Jason shook his head. "If we were at war, I'd consider it. Lop off the head of some major Necromancer like Rivek or Balron, but there simply isn't that option."

  "Good. You're thinking straight. Mercenary work is likely your best bet. If you wanted to take on an apprenticeship?"

  Jason pointed at his heart. "I'm 19. An apprenticeship would never work. I'm way too bull-headed."

  Simon laughed. "We'll see about chainmail tomorrow. A shirt would be enough. Leggings would just slow you down."

  "Yes, I was thinking just a shirt. I hear they're warm in winter."

  "Cool in summer, too."

  "Yeah, I believe you."

  Heather joined them. Simon said, "He's going to Weslan to look for mercenary work. After we get him a chainmail shirt."

  "Oh, good," Heather said.

  "Performing some great heroic deed might restore my rank," Jason said, "but that path is death, and we aren't at war."

  Heather patted him on the leg. "Good."

  Jason ate the whole chicken and all the potatoes. He slept in his old bed, but he hardly slept. He wept for hours. It was good to be home and be loved, but he knew that he could not dally. He had to leave Lynken and stay gone.

  The next day, they wandered from smith to smith. The third one had a shirt of finely woven links that was perfect for Jason. Simon bought him a horse, too. Simon gave the boy 20 silver pieces and a handful of copper. The father looked his son in the eyes. "Half of those coins are to pay to send us letters and keep us up to date."

  "Yes, the postal service between Weslan and Lynken is very reliable," Jason said.

  "A Ranger carries letters between them at least once a month."

  Jason wiped a tear out of his eye. "I'll write, father. I promise."

  "Do it for your mother, not me."

  Jason said his goodbyes to his mother and sister. He rode out of Lynken into a blazing sunset. That night, he stopped at a farmhouse and slept in their hayloft for a copper piece. He traveled this way for over a week.

  Weslan was a big city, and Jason had no idea how to find Luther. He asked people who looked like they were in uniform and got directions.

  Jason pounded on the door to a big house. Luther opened the door. "Jason!"

  "Yes."

  Luther took a look at his friend. "No Ranger's leather?"

  "I've been exiled."

  "Shit!"

  "I killed a man."

  Luther said, "Did he cheat at dice?"

  "No, he sodomized cadets."

  "And they kicked you out for killing him? That doesn't sound right."

  Jason shrugged. "The cadet lied about it. I should've killed him, too."

  "So what are you going to do?"

  "First of all, I was hoping you have a spare bedroom?"

  "Of course," Luther said. "I'm sure you can stay. But I mean, long term."

  "Mercenary work seems my best option. Guarding caravans. That kind of thing."

  "They have been sending caravans back and forth through
the Southern Badlands, into the lands south of that. Those caravans pay a small fortune if you can make it home."

  Jason raised one eyebrow. "South of the Southern Badlands?"

  "Aye."

  "What's for dinner?" Jason asked.

  "You'd have to ask Mom. She's at the temple."

  Jason started cracking his knuckles.

  "Isn't there something in the Ranger code?" Luther asked. "A heroic deed or something?"

  "That has worked for three Rangers in a thousand years, and two of those Rangers got their rank back after death."

  "It's still something to consider."

  "Lynken's not at war. Even if I killed fifty Necromancers in Tercia, it wouldn't be considered heroic unless I killed the next Rivek or Balron."

  "I have an idea," Luther said.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jason twitched a bit.

  Luther said, "Come inside."

  Jason stepped in the main hall. "I kind of had my heart set on finding a nice caravan to guard. Maybe a wench on the side."

  "Do you know who Quintak is?"

  "No."

  "Quintak leads the Southern Badlands."

  Jason said nothing.

  Luther continued, "When they invaded Lynken last time, how many men and women of Lynken died?"

  Jason frowned. "Three hundred at least."

  "I say we kill him for it."

  "Just us two? To kill a king?"

  "Timothy Drakkar will join us. With you standing in front, with two healers backing you up, we can take on an army."

  Jason took off his chainmail shirt and threw it into the corner. "We can't take on an army."

  "We won't have to. Quick and surgical strike. Kill Quintak and flee."

  "Yeah, with the whole army of the Southlands on our trail."

  "You've got to get your honor back. Your rank."

  Jason looked his friend in the eyes. "No, I don't."

  "Think about it."

  "It's been a long journey. Is there a tub I can use?"

  Luther reached over and picked up the chainmail shirt. "We have a tub. I'll show you to your room."

  The two men made their way through the house. Luther hung the chainmail on a hook in the spare bedroom on the first floor. "Your room. The tub is in the barn."

  They went out back. Jason hauled buckets of water to the tub, and Luther stacked wood underneath it. The room with the tub had a tiled floor and a drain. Luther lit the fire. "Use soap."

  "I always use soap," Jason said.

  "When we were kids, you always said you had an allergy to soap."

  "We're still kids, and I have broken out in hives with the wrong bar of soap."

  It never mattered what kind of soap it was. Just, I'm allergic. Luther left his friend alone after fetching a clean towel.

  He slaughtered a chicken. He put a little bit of Weslan spice on the meat and started it roasting. At least three hours until dinner, and Jason likely needed food.

  Jason walked through the house with a towel wrapped around his lean belly. "I have a fresh change of clothes in my saddlebags."

  "I'm roasting a chicken."

  "It smells good."

  Jason went to the front of the house. He hauled a bag into his room. He emerged wearing clothes that really weren't clean, but he was clean and smiling widely. They split the chicken, with Luther eating one wing and a leg. Jason said, "Let's get drunk!"

  "You've got to start planning your future. You can't just get drunk every day."

  "I'm not saying every day. Just today."

  "Today quickly becomes a long journey."

  Jason picked at a piece of chicken stuck between two teeth. "Do you really think we can do it?"

  "Kill Quintak?"

  "No, I meant can we drink every day."

  "We have three kegs of distilled cider from our fiefdom."

  Jason squinted his eyes. "They're distilling cider?"

  "You've had it a hundred times at my house: you just think it's a sweet whiskey."

  "You've been lying to me all these years?"

  "By the time we're into the cider." Luther sighed. "You don't care what we're drinking. Focus, man, Quintak."

  "How big are these kegs you have?"

  "Five gallons each."

  "We could be drunk for weeks!"

  "Quintak!"

  Mom's voice spoke from the doorway. "Boys."

  "Hi, Mom," Luther said.

  "Hello, ma'am," Jason said.

  "I've never seen a Ranger not wearing leather," Mom said.

  Jason dropped his eyes to his feet. "Exiled. I killed a man."

  "You killed a man!"

  "He sodomized a cadet. I caught him in the act."

  Mom nodded. "You should say you killed a rapist, not a man."

  "Perhaps, ma'am."

  "Why was the name Quintak spoken in my house?"

  Luther let out a little whimper before speaking. "I can't lie to you, Mom, but I can ask you to keep my words secret from Juxta."

  "I'll do as I will, young man."

  "We're going to kill Quintak, ma'am," Jason said.

  "Are you some kind of addict? You make one stupid mistake, and you're forced to keep making them?" Mom asked.

  "It was my idea," Luther said, "and I don't want you to tell Dad until we've left to pick up Timothy."

  "So it's going to be you three? This is going to kill Juxta. Simon is his best friend. Timothy Drakkar is the first boy he taught magic to. This is going to kill Juxta more than if you plunged a knife in his heart."

  "We're doing this for the people of the Southern Badlands. They're slaves. Something like half of their people are slaves to Quintak. This'll break the Bractar that hold them hostage."

  "This is about glory and foolish quests." Mom shook her head. "This is about making a name for yourself instead of being in your father's shadow."

  "I've got to do something with my life."

  "So you're choosing suicide."

  "It'll be a hero's death."

  "We'll have three Cuts-metal blades, in the hands of experts. Two healers to keep me and each other whole. We'll be unstoppable, ma'am," Jason said.

  Mom started to cry, but she quickly stopped. She pointed at Luther. "You, I should have kept with the priesthood. You could be a priest right now."

  Luther smiled.

  "Boys of Lynken," Mom said. "You'll be our doom."

  Chapter Forty

  "Wish us luck," Luther said.

  "You best hurry and get out of town," Lisa said, "before your father gets home and tans your hide."

  The young men raced about the house gathering things up. They rode to the east at a gallop. Lisa sat quietly in their dining room and waited, playing little wrestling matches with her thumbs.

  Juxta stepped through the front door. Lisa looked up at him. He leaned in and kissed her. "Where's the boy?"

  Lisa went back to wrestling with her thumbs. "Off to kill Quintak, with Jason and Timothy."

  "Have you been in the incense?"

  "No, but maybe I should. Jason murdered a rapist. He came here. I think it was all Luther's idea."

  Juxta rubbed at his chin. "Well, it's about time he grew some balls. I was truly beginning to think Luther was just lazy."

  "What are you talking about? Our son, your best friend's son, and your apprentice, are going alone, into the Southern Badlands, to kill a thousand-year-old king. They're going to die, you idiot."

  "Jason is one of the finest swordsmen the Rangers have ever produced. Timothy casts from the heart. Luther is like me."

  "I don't agree with you."

  "Quintak is going to die."

  "You've got to start saying the right things and soon."

  Juxta tilted his head to the side and began to think. "I'll start planning a rescue. I need to find a way to stop their spell caster's disease or plague or whatever they threw at us. We'll get Kirl, and I'll grab Simon. You can figure out how to summon water in the desert."

  "Now
you're making sense! And I learned that prayer already."

  "Their spells are crippling, though, and we must find a counter to them."

  * * *

  Luther and Jason camped just outside of Weslan's capital. They gave a farmer two copper pieces for dinner and breakfast. Ducks and geese died by their arrows as they traveled.

  Within a few days, they approached the border with Lynken. A small town to the north of the road became Jason's temporary home, since he could not pass into Lynken. Luther stepped into Timothy's castle. "Timothy Drakkar!"

  Men came running. Timothy was the last to show himself. "My friend! Prepare a feast!"

  "I'm not here to feast. I'm here to set you on a path."

  Timothy's face lit up for the first time in ages. "A righteous quest?"

  "Quintak invaded Lynken and killed hundreds. He made slaves of our women."

  One of Timothy's soldiers said, "So? Lynken killed hundreds, too."

  Luther started saying the words of an ancient prayer. Timothy began to smile widely.

  "Quintak must die," Timothy said.

  A soldier said, "We'll raise an army!"

  "No, this is my death oath, not my army's. A surgical strike will be best."

  "Jason son of Simon is joining us. He waits in Weslan," Luther said.

  "Jason?" Timothy asked.

  "He was exiled. He fights for his honor."

  "Splendid. Let us feast and be on our way."

  They feasted into the night. Dawn's early light graced their passage out of Timothy's stronghold. They rode hard to Jason's sanctuary.

  The three of them grabbed a table at a pub in the town. "We need water skins," Luther said.

  Jason said, "Wineskins would be better."

  "I agree," Timothy said.

  "We'll need water, or we'll be stone-cold drunk and undefended," Luther said.

  Timothy laughed. "Are there pubs in the Southern Badlands?"

  "I don't know if our coins will be any good. We need jerky too. There are no ducks or rabbits."

  Jason said, "They have those centipedes."

  "You want to eat insects?"

  "We'll need grain for the horses, too."

  Timothy let out a massive sigh. "We can't carry enough water, grain, and jerky, to make it there and home."

  "I can summon water," Luther said. "There are villages."

  Timothy started counting off on his fingers. "Waterskins, jerky, dried apples, grain, what else?"