Knight's Struggle: Age Of Magic - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Tales of the Wellspring Knight Book 2)

by P. J. Cherubino

  “Regroup!” Astrid shouted. “Cover us!” She brought the rope off her shoulder and charged forward, directly towards the Mover.

  Vinnie put on a burst of speed and shot out in front. He jumped up a few feet, then landed in a crouch. The ground shook and a wave rolled out from a small crater. Half the opposing force fell as the ground rippled beneath their feet. An arrow struck Vinnie in the head, its shaft shattering. When he rose, a gash streamed blood down his face. His flesh was softening.

  Astrid charged forward as Moxy ran in and vaulted off Vinnie’s shoulders as he remained in a crouch. The small woman landed on the shoulders of a huge man. She nearly twisted his head off as she snapped his neck, rolled off the ground, and leaped up again to slice the nearest throat with her claws.

  “Fall back!” Astrid shouted to Vinnie as she ran past. For good measure she added. “I mean it!”

  Vinnie nodded, then ran back towards the warehouse. He was clearly running low on power.

  Some fool lashed out at Astrid’s rope with his sword. The silksteel line wrapped around it twice and tore it from his grasp. She spun around, and the other dart caved in the side of his head.

  She let one end of the rope wrap around her again, leaving the other end to turn her left arm into a mace. Another skull exploded with the force of the dart. She brought it around again to shatter ribs, then draped it over her shoulder again to go hand-to hand.

  She was in the mix now, facing four men who slashed and stabbed. The new armor let her block an overhand strike with her arm. With the Well energy flowing through her, she barely felt the impact. She returned the strike with a fist to the throat.

  Tarkon finished her opponent with his long daggers as he moved in to assist.

  Astrid was grateful for it. They were clearly outnumbered until Moxy showed up again, vaulting over bodies and stabbing people in the face.

  Suddenly, Tarkon was gone. One second he was there, and in the next, he was flying off to the side.

  “No!” Moxy shrieked, going after him.

  It took Astrid a precious moment—an eternity in a fight—to realize a touchless strike had taken Tarkon out. Astrid rounded on the Mover as he lashed out at her with his sword.

  Astrid jumped back to get some distance and brought out her rope darts again. Her first three attacks bounced off telekinetic force. In the heat of battle, Astrid wasn’t aware of how much more energy she could draw. She had only the vague sense that it couldn’t be too much more.

  She danced to the side to kill one of the Mover’s men who rushed in to assist.

  “No!” he shouted. “Stay back and cover!”

  Even as she rushed in to kill him, Astrid respected the man and his concern for those under his command.

  She cursed herself as she overcommitted in her next attack with a broad, sloppy, right-to-left swing of the dart. The move allowed her opponent to clock her good in the side of the head.

  Unfortunately for him, the touchless punch just pissed her off.

  Astrid allowed the momentum to carry her around like a homicidal ballet dancer. Both darts came into play now; one spinning high, the other low.

  The Mover didn’t make the same mistake as his underlings. He avoided trying to block the rope, realizing blades couldn’t cut it. Instead, he ducked, then danced to Astrid’s weak side, then thrust with his sword.

  Astrid shrieked when the blade caught her in the unarmored left side between the sacred steel plates. She reversed her spin, letting the line wrap her again. Still spinning, she danced forward, letting the line in her right hand pay out again.

  She returned his hit with a perfectly-placed dart to his chest.

  “Oooof!” the Mover said as he stumbled back. Astrid brought the dart over her head and tried to bring it down on the top of his.

  She missed. Instead, the dart shattered his right shoulder. He recovered quickly with a touchless strike that nearly brought Astrid to the ground. She recovered, then charged forward with a foot sweep as the Mover came forward with a last, desperate lunge. She ended him by straddling his chest and snapping his neck with a right cross punch.

  She stood up painfully as the Well mended her broken ribs. She hoped they healed straight. She didn’t look forward to asking someone to break them again if they mended crooked. It felt like the armor was holding everything in place, though. Another bonus for her new suit.

  She caught sight of George in the corner of her eye. “Report!” she shouted.

  “The keep is secure!” George said. “We’re rounding up prisoners now. Raluca wasted half her army trying to storm the locked gates.”

  “What about the other half?” Tarkon asked. He stumbled up to them, using Moxy for support. The little Pixie woman was far stronger than she appeared. She held up her boyfriend with very little effort.

  George answered him. “They’re holding just outside crossbow and arrow range.

  “Smart,” Astrid said. “I was worried they’d just go attack Argan.”

  “She had a fifty-fifty chance,” Tarkon said. “I might have made the decision to attack Argan and let you keep this place.”

  “But you’re not a homicidal maniac,” Astrid said.

  “True,” Tarkon said. “At least, not on most days.”

  Astrid looked him over. “You don’t look so good,” she said.

  “Broken ribs, looks like,” Moxy said.

  Tarkon tried to argue, but the pain stopped him.

  “We made the warehouse into an infirmary,” one of the fighters said. He was helping a woman with two crossbow bolts in her leg.

  “Get over there, Tarkon,” Astrid ordered. “Get checked out.”

  “But—” Tarkon began to object.

  “You’re just fine?” Moxy interjected, anticipating his response. She stepped away from him and he almost fell over.

  “OK, OK,” Tarkon said. “I’ll go.”

  Astrid surveyed the scene. Bodies, both dead and wounded, littered the courtyard. She allowed the Well energy to fade. Fatigue followed instantly. She would need rest, but the prospect was unlikely. If she was lucky, she’d get a few minutes of meditation to recharge.

  Astrid turned to George and declared, “The keep is secure.”

  The smile he returned gave her the dose of energy she needed. While her body was tired, her heart felt full and strong.

  “We did it,” George breathed out, wide-eyed.

  “You say that like you didn’t believe it would happen,” Astrid replied. She punched him in the shoulder. He balled up his fist and waved it around in her general direction, mock anger competing with a stupid grin on his face.

  Astrid held up her hands, palm up, “I surrender,” she pretended.

  “Yeah, right,” George replied.

  With that, she went off to the keep administration building where she left word to meet Mr. Snowflake.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Stump Inn

  Gormer wanted to be at the keep for the fight, but Mortsen, Pleth, and Mina convinced him that he should take advantage of the chaos to head south. If he wanted the best chance to get to the Fortress Wards, everyone argued that he should do it with the crowds fleeing the violence.

  “I got some guys to send with you,” Mortsen said to sweeten the pot. He revealed more of his black-market network with each passing conversation.

  “Of course, you do,” Gormer replied.

  “These guys know how to blend in,” Mina added. “They’ve been running smuggled goods under the Assessor’s noses for years.”

  “Also,” Pleth added, “we can make contacts among the refugees.”

  “A good rumor or two in our favor will also help,” Mina said.

  “Good idea,” Pleth replied, enthused. “We can spread misinformation.”

  “Shit,” Gormer said. “The real information is favorable enough.”

  “Heh,” Mortsen scoffed. “Since when do you shy away from a good lie?”

  “This fuckin’ guy,” Gormer said. “Acts
like he’s known me his whole life.”

  “I’ve known guys like you my whole life, yes,” Mortsen fired back.

  Gormer was about to open his mouth to offer a hearty ‘fuck you,’ when Mina slapped her bony hand against the bar. “Enough with the cock jousting! Are you going or not?”

  “Going,” Gormer said. As if on cue, the door burst open, and Mortsen’s colleagues came in from the cold.

  “They took the keep,” one of the men said. His name was Dolph. “Raluca lost more than half her army and most of her Movers.”

  The second man, named Alvin, added, “Turns out all that magic isn’t much use against a hundred fighters with crossbows.”

  “They looked like pincushions when Astrid was done with ‘em,” Dolph said with a snicker.

  “Where is she now?” Gormer asked. “Raluca that is.”

  “She took over the Ale House for her headquarters.” Dolph rubbed his hands together to warm them.

  Mortsen looked startled. “The bartender…” he said.

  “Got away,” Dolph added. “I know he’s a friend of yours.”

  “Thank you, Dolph,” Mortsen said, sitting down heavily.

  “Well, we have a covered wagon outside,” Dolph said. “Are you two ready?”

  “Yeah,” Gormer said. “We better get moving before the snow gets heavier.”

  “The roads are barely passable as it is,” Alvin said. “If we get more snow on the way, some of the escapees might die.”

  “Most of them are loyal to the Protector,” Dolph said. “So, we’ll have to be careful.”

  “What about the rest?” Pleth asked. “Why are so many leaving?”

  “It’s war,” Mortsen answered. “You’ve never been in war, have you? People just flee.”

  “I’ve seen war,” Gormer said. “We should bring extra supplies. A lot of people will be panicked. Might not bring what they need.”

  Mortsen began to object, but Pleth shut him down. “We can buy some trust with the loyalists that way. Maybe get some insider information.”

  “Good idea,” Mortsen replied.

  Pleth jumped at Gormer’s voice inside his head. “Good work,” he said telepathically.

  Pleth stared at Gormer slack-jawed for a moment, then smiled. Gormer checked his nose. It wasn’t bleeding. He also didn’t catch a splitting headache like he used to when using mental magic. He did want a drink though, but he needed to stay sharp.

  “Let’s go,” Gormer said, grabbing his rucksack. “We’re burning daylight.”

  They all stepped out into the gray winter dawn.

  Keep 52 Ale House

  First Lieutenant Raluca stood outside the Ale House watching men walk along the top of the Keep 52 wall. They’d stopped showing her their middle fingers. She could only guess it was Astrid who had stopped them from doing that.

  Although Raluca had painted her enemy as some kind of degenerate to her troops, she knew the opposite was true. Astrid was smart and principled. In fact, it seemed Astrid was smarter than her. That possibility was something she had to consider if she wanted to get herself out of this mess.

  She’d lost half her Movers to death or serious injury trying to get back into the keep that was somehow taken from the inside. They’d managed to tunnel under the walls. She was left to assume that was due to the magic of the fat man.

  She should have known. She should have been prepared. She had reports that the fat fuck could open up holes in the ground. She should have looked into his abilities. She had made too many strategic errors. She had but a handful of choices left.

  More importantly, how did Astrid know precisely when to attack? Spies. Spying and treachery. The civil guard had turned on her. Once inside, they turned their weapons on her soldiers. More shockingly, the civil guard were willing to shed the blood of their former colleagues.

  At the end of the day, Raluca knew she alone was to blame for underestimating both the level of discontent within the Protectorate and Astrid.

  “I should have known,” she said, thinking she was alone.

  “You couldn’t have known,” her First Charge said. He adjusted the bloody bandage on the side of his face. It looked like a sword wound.

  “It’s my responsibility,” Raluca said. “I’ve lost.”

  She watched her medics haul more wounded into the Ale House that was already crowded with casualties.

  “We lost,” the First Charge said.

  Raluca turned and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t coddle me,” she said with a crooked smile. “I’ve never coddled any one of you.” He looked down at his bloody boots. Her eyes grew misty. “My Estate is finished. There’s no need for any of you to go down with it.”

  “What are you saying?” the First Charge asked, his head snapping up. His startled gray eyes met her icy blue.

  “I have to leave you with honor. I’m challenging her to single combat,” Raluca said.

  “We won’t serve her,” the First Charge hissed. “You know the code. If she defeats you—”

  “Of course, not,” Raluca replied. “I won’t make that part of the terms. If she agrees to the Single Combat Clause, I’ll ask her to release you from service with honor. You’ll all be free to go to another estate.”

  “But you’re talking like she will kill you.”

  “It’s likely,” Raluca said. “I have no illusions. I’ll make her pay for it, though. If I win, I plan to release you all from service, so you can find another Estate. I lost this keep. Lungu will strip me of power, anyway.”

  “We would rather fight to the last,” the First Charge said.

  Raluca sighed. She’d trained them all too well. The Protectorate system had conditioned them to serve blindly. Up until now, Raluca exploited that conditioning perfectly. But her game was drawing to an end. She had but one move left. She was willing to gamble her life on it. If she won against Astrid, so much the better.

  She had considered simply running away. Unless she wanted to live in the woods like a hermit, there was nowhere for her to go. Some fates were worse than death. She’d rather go out fighting.

  “In this case,” Raluca said, “there is no point in that. It would just be wasteful.” She was totally honest and forthcoming with her First Charge for the first time, ever. “Don’t forget that I became head of our Estate because Lungu ordered my father to die for a single battle. The fight wasn’t even critical to his overall strategy. He asked my father to die to make a point.”

  “I don’t understand,” the First Charge said.

  Raluca got angry. “Of course, you don’t. You’re not supposed to. So, let me make this an order. That, you can understand. I will challenge Astrid to single combat at dawn tomorrow. You are not to interfere. Got that?”

  The First Charge nodded his head and left to implement Raluca’s orders.

  Lungu Fortress, Later that Evening

  Keep 52 is lost. Rebels in control of keep. Challenging Astrid to Single Combat at dawn.

  First Lieutenant Raluca

  Lungu read the parchment over and over. It felt like a recurring nightmare each time he reached the signature line.

  “How can this be?” he asked the dead body of the messenger who brought the parchment.

  He’d asked the messenger to remain, thinking he’d send a reply to the urgent letter. Instead, he found himself staring into Raluca’s face. When the scream came with the sound of snapping vertebrae, he realized the messenger wasn’t Raluca at all. It was just the messenger. Now he was dead, and Lungu found himself living a cliche.

  He’d literally killed the messenger.

  “Attendant!” Lungu shouted.

  Instead of his attendant, Treasurer Brol poked his head into the room.

  “How may I serve you, Protector?” Brol asked. His voice was flat.

  “Where is my attendant?” Lungu asked.

  “She is fetching more wine,” Brol replied, “just as you instructed her to do.”

  Lungu stood up from behind his desk
. His eyes turned black. Brol braced himself. The combination of physical magic with at least a gallon of wine was truly frightening. Alcohol poisoning was not a thing, given the ability to heal rapidly. Insanity was, however. Lungu just kept drinking.

  “Don’t remind me what I told her to do!” Lungu shouted.

  “Of course not,” Brol said, stepping into the room. He held up his hands. “We strive to serve you, Great Protector.”

  Lungu relaxed just a bit, and his eyes returned to their bloodshot normal. “Then call my valet,” the Protector said. “Have him prepare my wagon. I am going to Keep 17.”

  “Tonight?” Brol asked.

  “Of course, tonight!” Lungu boomed. “Do as I say! The fortress is in your care until I get back.”

  Brol turned and left the room.

  “Is everyone around me incompetent?” Lungu asked the dead messenger. He got no reply.

  Keep 52

  Astrid sat behind the desk occupied by the late Commissioner Krann. Chief Commissioner Brovka stood where she once did just a couple months earlier. She’d climbed through a window in the hallway to get into the room then. Now, she walked right in because the office, and the entire Keep, were hers.

  “Commissioner Brovka,” Astrid said when the tall, portly man entered the room. He strode over to the desk surrounded by the air of his own authority. “Please, have a seat.” She motioned to a chair.

  They shook hands briefly, and Brovka fixed his eyes on her appraisingly. Although he was about sixty years old, he still carried a strong physical presence.

  “Let’s discuss transition plans,” Brovka said. “We are grateful to you for taking the keep. Now it is time to restore it to lawful order.”

  Astrid leaned back in the office chair and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “Lawful order,” Astrid said, drawing the words out. “I’m not sure what that looks like in these lands. On this desk, right now, I have a letter from First Lieutenant Raluca. The letter asks me to fight her to the death in single combat.”