by Logan Knight
Copyrighted Material
War Mage Copyright © 2019 by Logan Knight
Book design and layout copyright © 2019 by Logan Knight
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Logan Knight.
1st Edition
War Mage
Book 1 in the War Mage Series
Logan Knight
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
1
I sat with one arm chained to the wall at the rear of my cell and picked at the dried blood. The wound at my wrist had bled down my arm all the way to my armpit, but the little puncture had stopped bleeding some time ago.
The door to my cell was heavy wood, reinforced with iron straps. It was locked, which seemed like an unnecessary formality. Unless I decided to chew my hand off to get away from the chain, I was trapped.
I’d tried yanking on my binding and found them as high-quality as the rest of the cell. The chain was securely anchored to the back wall, constructed of heavy stone. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pull my wrist out of the steel cuff. Even if I’d managed to, the rest of the cell was steel bars and a heavy, reinforced wooden door. So, I just sat, waiting for my turn with the executioner.
The air was thick with humidity and the odor of urine, made worse by the lack of any ventilation. Breathing was difficult, and it seemed like the air was almost too thick to inhale.
The other prisoners coughed and moaned. Some of them cried openly. I sat in silence, as did the woman in the cell to my left. She looked like she was about twenty-four years old, but her eyes spoke of experience and wisdom beyond her age.
“Bastards,” she whispered as she picked at the blood from a similar wound. “Why the fuck did they stick me with that knife? If they wanted me dead, they should’ve stuck it in my heart, or neck, or something. Even I know that. I bet everyone knows that, except them, apparently. Am I right?”
“You’re right,” I said, “which means they didn’t want you dead. They don’t want any of us dead. At least, not yet.”
She wasn’t part of the Dahani army, so far as I knew. Some of the battalions had begun accepting females into their ranks, but I’d never seen a Dahani woman whose hair was so light in color. Most were like mine, brown verging on black.
Hers was so blonde it was almost white. It fell past her shoulders in wavy strands, and I found it intoxicating. Her leather shirt and pants accentuated her slim features as well. Her eyes were a light shade of brown, which made her look even more exotic. I was entranced.
“Are you part of the army?” I asked.
“Army?” she said. “Me? No, I’m a chef. Or, that is, I was going to be a chef. Someday. I was writing a cookbook, but now it looks like I’ll never finish it.”
“A cookbook? What’s that?” I asked.
She stared at me for a moment. “Yeah, it’s a collection of papers all bound together. But instead of telling a story or some boring stuff about history, you put recipes in it, so you don’t have to remember what the ingredients are. When you get a bunch of them, or when you invent a bunch of them yourself, you can get some scribes to copy the book. Then you make a lot of money. People buy cookbooks, so they don’t have to invent the stuff themselves. It’s like a shortcut. Get it?”
“I guess,” I said. “But I think food should be simple. Salt. Garlic. Maybe one or two other herbs.”
“I had all kinds of stuff planned,” she sighed and ran her fingers down the bars between our cells, lost in thought. “It was going to be my legacy—something people could use to make great meals for themselves and others. You know—great family stuff. Grandfathers, grandmothers—the whole lot. But it’s all gone. I’m sure someone has stolen all my work by now. They probably think I’m dead.”
“Probably,” I agreed as I leaned my head back against the wall and looked at her. .
“I saw you fighting out there. You were really good.”
“We lost,” I said. “That’s why I’m here, and that must be why you’re here—because you were standing around watching. The soldiers must’ve thought you were with us.”
“Yeah, probably. It was pretty brutal. I’m not against brutality, but it didn't look like they wanted to give you the chance to surrender. It was pretty confusing, too. I’ve never seen the Xorian army fight before, but it looked like your army was fighting itself. It wasn’t until afterward that I figured it out. What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted as I shook my head. I had my suspicions, but every time I thought about the battle, and what had preceded it, I found my thoughts hit a dead end. I had no idea how they’d accomplished it.
The enemy had captured or created enough uniforms that they were able to blend into our ranks. They attacked just as we stopped to make camp. With all the confusion over who was an ally and who was the enemy, they were able to kill most of us before we knew what was happening. Out of the nearly ten-thousand soldiers we’d fielded, only about two hundred had survived. Of those, most had been killed the night before. I was among the last.
“So if they didn’t want us dead,” the woman said, “why’d they even stick us with that weird knife?”
“Did you see what they did with it afterward?” I asked, raising a brow at her.
She shook her head.
“They’ve got this big, gold-covered box. Every time that guard stuck one of us, he inserted the knife’s blade into a hole somewhere at the top of that box. After a second, they pulled it out and stuck the next person. They looked like they were being careful—like they wanted the blood—but not so much we would die from it.”
“Yeah, okay, but why?”
“I think it was a religious thing,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t understand what it was for, but it looked ceremonial.”
“Hmm. So, where are you from?”
She was friendly for someone who only had hours to live—maybe less—and talking to her helped pass the time.
I turned to face her and folded my arms over my bent knees. “The Kingdom of Dahan.”
“Never heard of it. What’s it like? Where is it?”
“It’s about twenty days’ sail to the east,” I said. “We have cold summers and even colder winters, but it’s home. I’m a farmer when I’m not killing Xorian soldiers.”
“Sounds better than this place,” she said, gesturing at her surroundings.
When they first brought us to the fortress, the guards brought most of the other prisoners and me to the fortress’s courtyard. The rest of us got to watch as, one by one, prisoners were wrestled onto a short, stone pillar with their chests pointed at the sky.
A man with a goatee and colorful robes stabbed each of my fellow soldiers in the chest with what looked like a hooked dagger. Then he proceeded to cut each man open before he cracked his victim’s ribs, reached in, and cut out his heart. He did it three times before the rest of us were spared the sight of it anymore. We were
jabbed with a little dagger and locked in our cells.
The only thing keeping me going was my silent vow to kill the next guard who got within reach. Even with one hand secured to the wall, I would do it. I’d already planned how it would happen, and even if I were cut down before making a kill, at least I would have tried.
“Do you mind talking?” the woman asked.
I offered her a small smile and shook my head.
“Thanks, kind of nervous. You know, with the heart-stabbing, screaming, stinky air, and the ritualistic sacrifice.”
“We are in a pretty bad situation,” I agreed.
“Do you think if I explained things, they’d let me go?” she asked. “I only saw your army because I was collecting ingredients to make a meal.”
I could barely see her face in the guttering torchlight, but she looked hopeful. Adding to her false hope would be cruel though. “No,” I said. “These people are fanatics. They won’t care, or they’ll think you’re lying. You should do what I’m going to do. Act like you’re too tired or sick to fight back. As soon as the guards remove your cuff, fight with everything you’ve got. Go for the eyes, groin, and throat. Kill as many of the bastards as you can before they take you out.”
“Sounds like you’ve put some thought into this,” she said, smiling.
“Nothing else to do in here but think.”
“And worry,” she whispered. “Aren’t you worried?”
“No. Each of us dies someday. It isn’t how I wanted to go, but at least I’ll have one more chance to save my people. The one or two guards I kill might make the difference, though I’d give anything for a chance to kill more.”
An icy breeze suddenly whipped through the prison, blowing one of the dozen torches on the opposite wall out.
The woman looked around. “What was that?”
“I don’t know.” My arms and the back of my neck broke out in goosebumps, even though the oppressive heat had returned. I waited for it to happen again, but it didn’t.
“I haven’t heard anyone get executed in a long time,” she said. “What are they waiting for? Why don’t they just get it over with?”
“Maybe they’re waiting until nightfall. It might be part of a Xorian ceremony. If so, it’ll start again soon. People like the Xorians like following routines. If something works, they’ll keep doing it forever. It’s served them well enough in battle, so I guess that’s why they sacrifice people at night.”
“Who do they think they’re sacrificing us to?” she asked. “One of the old gods? I didn’t think anyone believed in them anymore.
I thought about it, but before I could answer, a door at one end of the corridor that ran in front of the cells opened. I felt my heart begin to pound against my ribs. I was ready to fight.
Instead of the normal four guards who would come to prisoners for execution, there was only one, the man with the goatee.
He was wearing his colorful robes, as usual, but this time the torchlight sparkled off a pendant at his neck, which appeared to be shaped like a bat in flight. A small, red gem at its center seemed to glow with an inner light.
He also carried his ceremonial dagger in a scabbard on his belt. The handle and cross-guard were both visible and distinct from any other knife I’d seen before. Far from utilitarian, it was finely crafted and appeared to be designed more for looks than function. It was a sickening waste of talent.
The priest paused at each cell, inspected the prisoner within for several seconds, then walked to the next one. He repeated the process until he stopped in front of the beautiful woman’s cell. “What a pity to sacrifice one as beautiful as you. Your sacrifice will be the highlight of our ceremony. It is too bad you are a heretic and unworthy of life. Otherwise, I would teach you obedience, and you could be one of my wives.”
His voice was unnaturally high for a man, and I found myself searching for his Adam's apple.
When he looked into my cell, I launched a loogie at his shoe and was pleasantly surprised when it landed where I’d aimed. His look of shock and disgust gave me a sense of grim satisfaction. Even if I didn’t kill anyone on my way to the pillar, it would be a long time before he forgot me.
The man’s sneer twisted into a wicked grin. “Spit all you want. You’ll be dead very soon and I will still be among the living. I will drink wine, sacrifice heretics, and sleep soundly in spite of your disgusting behavior. Your army has been destroyed, and soon the entire kingdom of Dahan will be as well. Did you know that? No, of course not, because you’re here instead of protecting your people in Dahan. Sadly, I won’t be joining the army when they sail. I would have loved to hear the lamentations of your women and children as we sacrificed the men. It would have been glorious.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, doing my best to keep my voice even and calm. I’d already clenched my fists but decided I liked them that way.
“What I mean, prisoner, is that the armies of Xoria will be invading the kingdom of Dahan.” He bent low and brought his face close to the bars of my cell’s door. “Then we will do as we always do. We will burn your villages to the ground. We will occupy your castles, keeps, and watchtowers. We will make them our own and use them against any survivors who try to eject us from our new lands. Every single citizen will be killed, either in battle or in sacrifice to our god. How does that make you feel?”
“It makes me feel sorry for you,” I said, doing my best to sound disappointed. “For all your army’s prowess in battle, I didn’t realize they were stupid. What are you trying to do, resurrect one of the old gods? They’re not real. They never were. You’re a fool.”
“Perhaps,” the man said, standing. He tapped a finger on his chin for a moment before continuing. “If that’s so, then your people are weak and deserve to die anyway. We have defeated you in every battle. We have you in our prison now. Our god has seen to our victory, despite what you think of him. And soon you will die. Your blood will feed our god,” he whispered, bending low again. “Your soul will spend forever in his service. I will own your rotting corpse, and it will do my bidding until its presence no longer amuses me. Then I will pass it on to one of my acolytes, and you will serve him, and so it will be for the rest of eternity.”
“You might find that a little difficult,” I said.
“Oh?” he asked. “And why is that?”
“Because I’m going to escape. And when I do, I’m going to find you. Then I’m going to wrap my fingers around your throat and squeeze until they touch. See if your god saves you from that.”
“I do not fear death,” the man snarled. “For us, death is only the beginning.”
“I’ll make sure I don’t disappoint you,” I sneered.
The man stood and brushed a bit of dust off the front of his robe. “No one has ever escaped Black Citadel. And it will never happen. Our god has seen to it. But try if you like. Keep your hope, heretic. It will make your sacrifice all the more satisfying. For now, though, I have preparations to make. Please enjoy your stay. You won’t enjoy what comes next.”
The woman in the next cell turned her eyes toward mine. She was scared. I was angry. Seeing her lips curled down at the edges gave me yet another reason to want the priest dead.
I watched the man saunter away, inspecting the other cells like he hadn’t a care in the world. Maybe he didn’t, but when his eyes bugged out and he struggled to stay alive, my breath would be the last thing he’d hear.
A minute later, he exited the prison using the door on the other end of the hallway and slammed it behind him.
“That guy’s an asshole,” the woman whispered. “I hope you do kill him. I want to be there. Oh, and if you really do get out, please don’t forget about me. Seriously—I can cook some awesome food. I can fight, too.”
If I managed to escape the prison, I would also do my best to free the others as well. There was no way I’d leave them in their cells to suffer at the hands of the goateed man who thought himself a priest.
“You’ve
got a deal,” I said as I settled myself against the wall and tugged at my chain again. The threats and insults I’d traded with the priest had put me in a good mood.
Another cold gust of wind swirled through the prison. I snapped my eyes open and noticed small bits of decayed wood and dust swirling through the air. A moment later, they settled to the floor and the oppressive heat returned.
“That was weird,” the woman said as she stood and looked around. “Did you feel—”
I waited a second for her to finish her sentence. When it didn’t sound like she was going to, I turned and found her standing completely still.
“Hey,” I said, “what are you doing?”
She didn’t respond.
The man in the cell to my right looked like he was frozen, too. The coughing, crying, and complaining had stopped as well. It was as though time had stopped for everyone but me.
“What the hell is going on?” I whispered.
The temperature in the room began to drop rapidly. Within moments, I could see my breath—the only thing moving in the room beside an iridescent, silver cloud that had formed outside my cell. As I watched, mesmerized by the multitude of colors, it began to resolve into a shape that resembled a man.
“You are unique among the living,” a voice said from the freezing, swirling mass. Its words seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It felt like ice water against my skin and caused me to gasp.
I began to shiver against the cold. The tip of my nose and my fingers started to ache.
“What are you?” I asked. My voice seemed to fall to the floor the moment it left my lips. I heard myself speak, but the words sounded hollow and dull as if the rules of sound—how echoes worked and what was natural—had suddenly been set aside.