Gryphon (Rise of the Mages Book 2)

by Brian W. Foster

  “Frae! Frae!” he yelled. “Wake up!”

  She stirred, looking up at him with a start as she woke. “Who? What?”

  Colleen bent next to her. “This here boy can help you.”

  Frae’s face reddened as she realized what she wore, which embarrassed Xan as well. But there was no help for it. She was seriously injured. If he didn’t do something, she could die.

  “I’m afraid I need to see the wound,” he said.

  Frae looked to her mom with wide eyes.

  “Uh,” Xan said. “I’ll, uh, go over there by the fire for a few minutes. If maybe you could, uh, lower her shift to her waist, and you know, cover, uh, the front with her blanket?”

  Frae looked like she wished the ground would open and swallow her, but her mom nodded. A short while later, they were ready for him. Bloody, torn cloths lay carefully placed on a rock. Her wound was exposed.

  As soon as Xan saw the gash, all thoughts of embarrassment and modesty bolted from his head. It was bad. Really bad. “Where were you when you got this? An apple tree, your mom said?”

  “Yes, uh, master. But barely off the ground. Just a scrape, though it tore my dress something awful. When pa saw, he thought …” She blushed. “Thought one of the boys done been at me.”

  The wound swelled, red and angry, and Xan couldn’t see much beyond the exterior. He made eye contact with the mom. “I don’t suppose anyone has any sugar ash? Even frogtoe root extract or honeybud leaves would help. Anything at all to dull pain?”

  The mom shook her head apologetically.

  Blast it. The most effective way to diagnose the problem was to cut it open, but he hated to risk performing even that simple surgery without deadening the wound. He could just imagine how Buck would react to his little girl’s screams.

  What would Master Rae have done?

  He’d do it the old-fashioned way. Ask questions. Think. Figure it out.

  “Apple tree, huh?” Xan said. “Were the apples pretty much whole or mostly eaten? Rotten?”

  “Uh, some eaten. Birds, I reckon. A couple were whole. Had to take a few wormy ones. Most just rotted on the tree.”

  There was one unlikely possibility that occurred to Xan. If he recalled correctly from Master Rae’s books, minute pests that infected some fruit trees could cause a high fever if they got into a wound. He scanned her shoulder with his life sense but came up empty. That meant little, though, since he’d never tried to detect something so small. And if he couldn’t sense them, he couldn’t use his magic to kill them.

  “Is the tree near?” Xan said.

  She frowned.

  No, then, and he had little time to waste. He didn’t even know if examining the tree would help him, anyway, as he didn’t know what an infestation looked like.

  Xan grimaced. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s scorlas. They’re rare, and I’ve never personally seen anything like this.” He hated to admit that, but he needed to be honest with them. There was a big decision to be made, and he wanted none of the responsibility for making it. “But this wound … this situation … fits everything I’ve read about the little pests.”

  Colleen hesitated for a moment, considering. “What’s the treatment?”

  “Perhaps we should discuss it away from Frae?” Xan said as kindly as possible.

  The other adults followed him to the fire.

  “Spill, boy,” Buck said.

  “If I’m right … if,” Xan said, “we cut open the wound and pour poison in it. Ocinom or nelox are best if you have any.”

  “Do what?” Buck said. “Are you blasted insane, boy? Poison! You’ll kill her!”

  “Maybe,” Xan said. “It’s dangerous. She’s weak, dehydrated, and running a high fever. The poison will make the wound worse, and it’ll sicken her more as it mixes into her blood. And it’s going to hurt like everything. If she’s not strong enough, it will kill her.”

  “Lad,” Hosea said. “Do you hear yourself? How can you ask these people …”

  “Because if I’m right,” Xan said, “there is absolutely nothing else anyone can do. She will get worse. She absolutely will die.”

  Of course, he could use his magic, but enough to do any good would be detectable. He felt like an ass, but he simply couldn’t risk it.

  “Frae is their daughter,” Xan said. “I’ve given them all the information I have. They have to make the decision.”

  He was such a coward, risking the death of an innocent girl just to protect himself. In the past, he would have lied to them, taken all the responsibility on himself. Fixed her no matter what it cost him.

  But that was how he ended up locked in a tower and then laying alone, near death, in a haystack. No more trying to save everyone. Hiding was the right call.

  Buck turned to Hosea. “What do you think? What should I do? Surely this boy …”

  “I reckon he’s young, but he sure seems to know a sight more than you or me.”

  Buck looked Xan up and down. “Fine, go see what you can scrounge up, but I want him to stick around one way or the other. If’n she recovers, I’ll pay all I can. If’n not, I’ll see I pay him for that, too.”

  4.

  Xan studied a pine.

  Just an ordinary tree like innumerable others he’d seen in his life. No knowledge could possibly be gained from inspecting it. All the same, his attention didn’t waver as he mentally catalogued each leaf, each branch, each knot.

  Anything was better than having to meet Buck’s anguished glare as they waited.

  When Hosea returned after approximately forever, he held up a half full bottle of nelox, a common insect poison. “Is this enough?”

  “Perfect,” Xan said.

  “That will save my girl?” Buck said. “You’re sure.”

  Xan shrugged. He’d reiterated his recommendation a half-dozen times, being careful to offer no guarantees or even mild assurances. In fact, he’d emphasized how unsure he was.

  Buck clenched his hands into fists. “No! I can’t risk my daughter’s life on a guess.”

  “That’s your call,” Xan said. “You’re the father.”

  He winced internally. The old him would have fought and argued and cajoled, whatever it took, to convince the man to listen. Instead, Xan was really going to let Frae die because of his need to hide. Master Rae would have been so disappointed in him.

  “I reckon the boy’s right. It’s up to you,” Hosea said. “We’ll be at my fire if’n you change your mind.”

  He and Xan didn’t get far before Buck called them back. “Do it.”

  Xan shut his eyes for a moment before he turned. “Give me the bottle.”

  “No,” Buck said. “ ‘Tain’t proper. You might see her … private bits. ‘Tain’t proper is all.”

  Xan grimaced. Better for him to do it so he could channel more healing magic into her, enough to dull the pain and speed the recovery, anyway. There’d be no convincing Buck, though. Kicking up a fuss wouldn’t accomplish much.

  Colleen took the bottle, and Xan gave her clear, step-by-step instructions on what to do.

  As she walked toward Frae, Hosea said, “I reckon it’s probably best if we make ourselves scarce.”

  Xan eyed Buck, who paced the site muttering to himself. There were going to be screams. Lots of screams.

  “Yeah.” Xan said. “I think you’re right.”

  They left at a fast walk toward Hosea’s fire but didn’t make it before the first yell echoed through the camp.

  Ignorant fool! Just had to have Colleen apply the poison.

  If Xan had been allowed to do it, he could have eased some of the pain. Frae’s suffering was on her father.

  No. That wasn’t right.

  Xan sighed. He couldn’t hide from everything. If he’d come up with a plausible reason, he could have performed the procedure. The fault lay with him.

  Her suffering was all on him.

  Instead of fighting for what he knew was right, he’d not even tried. He was such a blaste
d coward!

  Hosea greeted Ada with a kiss, but before she could so much as ask about Frae, there was a shout behind them. Xan spun.

  Buck ran toward them. He didn’t look happy. “I’m going to kill him!”

  Hosea stepped in front of Buck and was bowled over. Both men sprawled to the ground, but Buck staggered to his feet first.

  The need to not attract attention was one thing, but Xan had promised himself he’d never yield to a bully again. But he had to do just that. If he drained life, he’d be found by enemy mages. Besides, the rest of the group wouldn’t accept a magic user in their midst.

  What was a beating compared to that?

  Buck’s face twisted into a mask of murderous rage.

  Of course, concerns of the future were pointless if one were about to be killed. If only there were a way …

  “Buck!” Ada yelled. “What’s happened? Is Frae … Did she …”

  “The pain! You wouldn’t believe …”

  At least Frae hadn’t died. Yet.

  That didn’t help the situation with Buck, though. There had to be something Xan could do that wouldn’t give him away.

  “You didn’t see her face. This boy will feel what she felt!” Buck cocked his fist.

  Viewed through magic, he moved like through molasses. Xan had plenty of time to consider his option. Drain life. Throw him backward. Create a wall of flame between them.

  All things that would reveal him to be a mage.

  Or maybe he could use magic on himself.

  A burst of kinetic energy flung Xan to the side. The punch hit empty air. He added another burst to his hands as he shoved the man’s back.

  Buck stumbled and went down, sliding face first into dirt and leaves. He quickly jumped to his feet, even angrier.

  “You’re scared for you daughter,” Xan said, “but that doesn’t give you the right to strike me. Stop now, or I will hurt you.”

  Buck snarled and lunged forward, his hands outstretched.

  Xan clenched his fists and darted aside at the last instant. As Buck’s momentum carried him past, Xan made his hand weigh as much as a brick.

  Propelled by a burst of kinetic energy, he struck.

  Thump!

  His fist connected with Buck’s cheek.

  Crack!

  Buck dropped like a sack of potatoes, unconscious.

  Xan scanned him. A fractured cheekbone and a mild concussion. Buck would recover.

  Hosea and Ada stared at Xan with a mixture of surprise and fear.

  “I warned him. I tried to …” Xan sighed. He had to hurt Buck, right? But that wasn’t what Hosea’s eyes said. “I’ll be back tomorrow to see how Frae is doing.”

  As he turned and left, his stomach rumbled, but there was nothing he could do about that until—unless—Frae recovered. The haystack it was. Hungry. Alone.

  Again.

  He woke early the next morning, shivering after a miserable night. His magic warmed him, but crumbs were all that was left of the bread. With a sigh, he tossed them in his mouth and swallowed. Combined with a burst of power, the meager bits would give him enough energy to function, but the meal did nothing to fill the aching void that was his stomach.

  Time to go back to the camp. If Frae was visibly better, he’d get a meal. A real meal. One that would fill his belly. If she wasn’t better, Buck would probably try to kill him again.

  Xan sighed. He’d have to abandon his efforts with that group and start over with other refugees. Who knew how long it would be before he got real food.

  And if Frae died, he’d have to live with that guilt.

  Expecting the worst, Xan returned to the camp. The sentry smiled at him and clapped him on the back. Hosea greeted him warmly and escorted him to the Kinney’s campsite. There, they met a very different Buck, smiling despite his bruised face and black eye. And a different Frae. She was on her feet, fever gone.

  “Boy,” Buck said, “I reckon I was wrong about you.”

  Xan hesitated. The polite thing, the gracious thing, would be to accept the words as an apology for the incident at Hosea’s camp. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t, tolerate being bullied. “If you ever try to lay a hand on me again, I will kill you.”

  Buck grimaced. “Aye. ‘Twon’t happen again.”

  “Good.” Xan eyed a pot boiling over the fire. “Is that porridge?”

  “Aye. I reckon it is.” Buck paused.

  Xan tensed. If the man reneged on his promise of payment, there wasn’t exactly a lot that could be done. He didn’t want to take on the entire group.

  Buck broke out into a smile. “Join us.”

  Xan grinned and sat as Colleen handed him a bowl. He tried to remember his manners but failed spectacularly, shoveling porridge into his mouth as fast as it was given to him. By the time he’d emptied his bowl thrice, even the men were looking at him funny.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “If’n you’re done,” Hosea said, “I reckon we have some things to discuss.”

  Xan nodded, curious, and the three of them walked through the camp gathering four more men. When they’d gotten everyone, Hosea led them to the bank of a stream.

  “I reckon young master Basil has proved his worth,” he said. “Right handy to have someone with us who knows medicine. I can spare supplies for him.”

  Murmurs of assent rippled through the gathering. A man offered a bag of grain and another a cart and a few vegetables.

  “Well, Basil,” Hosea said, “I reckon it’s up to you, now? Will you join us?”

  Faced with the exact offer Xan thought he’d wanted, doubt crept in. “What are you going to do? How are you going to survive long term?”

  “No one bothers us here,” Master Hunt said. “Things’ll return to normal after a while. We’ll resettle our farms.”

  “And the winter?” Xan said.

  Hosea grimaced. “I reckon the duke’ll help.”

  “I barely escaped Asherton before the siege,” Xan said. “Lots of rumors. Some people say it wasn’t just a skirmish. Some people say Dastanar was behind the attack and will attack again.”

  “Duke Asher is a good man,” Master Hunt said. “He’ll see to his people no matter what.”

  Xan nodded. “He is a good man. Always has treated everyone, even commoners, as fair as possible.” He paused. “Only as fair as possible, though. If he has supplies to give you, he will. But what if he doesn’t?”

  He’d expected the men to reject his arguments out of hand, to see him as a kid who had no idea about the world. Instead, he saw lots of nods. Agreement.

  Respect.

  Xan liked that. The duke had never valued his opinions that much and certainly had never held him in anything approaching high esteem.

  “I reckon you have a thought about what we should do?” Hosea said.

  Xan laid out both choices—wait, hoping the duke eventually helped them resettle, or move, hoping to find a new place far from troubles. He clarified that neither option was all that good.

  “Which should we do?” Buck said to Xan.

  The group paused, waiting for his answer, apparently ready to listen. If he gave his advice and they took it, their fate was his responsibility.

  “Where would we go?” Xan shrugged. “Where is safe?”

  “Nowhere, if’n there’s to be war.” Buck shook his head. “But if’n we move, at least we’ll get away from bandits.”

  Xan sighed. “Moving on is the best call.”

  More discussion was needed before anything was settled, but eventually, the group determined they’d head northeast toward Calkirk. Maybe set up farms near there.

  Xan had his doubts, and he was sure the same thoughts were on everyone’s minds. Winter was approaching, and they weren’t exactly long on supplies. They had only enough food to survive on severe rations for another few weeks. Even coats and blankets were severely lacking. Who would take them in and provide those things?

  Bad times were coming, and their little group couldn’t
escape. And since he’d been the one to convince them to move, everything that happened would be his fault.

  5.

  Ashley stomped through the castle corridors.

  She didn’t have much time until her caravan was to depart for Escon, but had she finished preparing? No. Had she gotten a good night’s sleep before her long, and sure to be arduous, journey? No. Had her father taken the value of her time into account? No.

  A mirror caught her eye, and she stopped to stare at her reflection. Her hair was tangled, barely brushed, and her eyes were red. She looked … haggard.

  Servants were seeing her like that!

  She didn’t even understand why she’d cried so much. After all, the wound of her mother dying wasn’t fresh. The death had happened so long ago that she’d thought her tears had already been used.

  So she didn’t have a mother. That was just the way it was. What was she supposed to miss? A woman who she had no memory of? Someone to argue with and dictate her choices like the mothers of her ladies-in-waiting?

  No thanks.

  Her emotions made no sense.

  She considered smashing the mirror into a billion pieces, but it wasn’t at fault. Her father was at fault.

  Besides, such displays weren’t fitting for one of her station.

  Calm. Serene. In control.

  Ashley curled her lips up. More a grimace than a smile, but it would have to do. Not far to go.

  At the door to her father’s office, an impulse struck her to barge in without knocking. To do so would be an unseemly display of emotion, more befitting a commoner than a lady. But her father would hate it with every fiber of his being.

  How satisfying it would be!

  She gave three short, small knocks and was rewarded with a “Come.”

  “Ah, my dear daughter,” the duke said, seated at his desk, “I see you got my message to attend me before you left.”

  He’d summoned her like she was a mere servant to do his bidding. Did he think she wouldn’t comply? How inane to even mention it.

  “Yes,” she said. “And?”

  “Is there a problem?”