Gryphon (Rise of the Mages Book 2)

by Brian W. Foster

  A small strip of bushes isolated his campsite from the nearest other one. Just as he laid down, someone or something rustled the prickly limbs. He sat up, ears alert.

  “Lad? You here?” Hosea’s voice.

  Xan groaned. He just wanted to sleep. “Yes?”

  Hosea burst into sight.

  “You eat yet?” Hosea said.

  “Kind of.”

  “Glad you haven’t,” Hosea said. “You’re coming to my fire for dinner.”

  “I am?”

  “Ada didn’t give me much of a choice but to fetch you back. You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble with her, would you?”

  Yeah, like the two of them ever exchanged so much as a harsh word, but Xan didn’t see a way to politely refuse. “Fine.”

  He sat on a downed log, sullen, as he watched the family. Marco, probably sensing his sour mood, played with his younger brother, Ramon, and Dea weaved in and out of everyone’s legs. Xan’s main focus, though, was on Hosea and Ada.

  With the onset of colder weather, Ada had a flare up of arthritis, and she struggled to peel potatoes. Hosea gently took the knife from her. She smiled at him and went to check on the horses, since his eyes didn’t spot everything they once had.

  Throughout the whole of preparation, the two moved around each other in something resembling a dance, with each knowing what the other needed while not speaking a word. They weren’t all over each other like Brant with a barmaid, but a glance here and a lingering touch there displayed true affection, true tenderness.

  Xan’s memories of his parents were too fuzzy to know if they’d been that much in love, but he certainly hoped so. He’d not seen any other happy marriages. Master Rae had been a confirmed bachelor, and Lainey’s dad had lost his wife to the plague, never remarrying. The only other examples Xan had observed up close were his friends’ parents, and those …

  He grimaced. The Reeds might as well not have been together for all that Brant’s mom was always—always—at her parents’ house in Kaicia. That left Dylan, and his folks treated their union more as a business arrangement than something involving love.

  If Xan had a choice, he’d certainly rather have what the Stouts had than the other marriages he’d seen. He wondered what their secret was. Not that he was anywhere near ready to consider a relationship.

  In fact, he needed to stop thinking about such. No more fantasizing about Tasia. Period.

  He spent the next half hour playing with Dea.

  “Want play horsy,” she said.

  That would mean crawling all over the place, getting his only pair of pants that much dirtier. “Not today.”

  “Want play horsy!”

  He groaned. “Fine, but just for a few minutes.”

  Her face lit up as he got down on his hands and knees. He was such a pushover. When—if—he became a father, he would have to be tougher.

  Dea climbed atop him and yelled, “Giddup!”

  Starting slowly, he made lap after lap of a small circle, going faster and faster as she yelled. He bucked, raising his back just enough to make her start but not fall off. After a quick yelp from her, he did it again. She laughed and laughed.

  Xan grinned. Not much could be better than making a little kid happy. Except maybe it might be better if the kid were his own. And Tasia’s.

  He grimaced. So much for not thinking about her.

  Luckily, Ada called a halt to the horsing around, so everyone could get cleaned up for dinner, a surprisingly tasty vegetable stew. He tried not to wolf down the food as he drained his bowl, and as he scraped out his last spoonful, he glanced at a kettle suspended over the fire on a makeshift tripod.

  “Go ahead, lad,” Hosea said.

  “I couldn’t.” No one was exactly starving, but neither did they have enough for seconds.

  Xan hated the situation. Hosea and his family were good people. The best. They’d worked hard all their lives and, at the whim of a noble, had been forced off their land. With winter fast approaching, starvation wasn’t far off.

  Someone should do something. Someone who had the power to bring dukes and queens and kings to heel.

  Someone like a wizard.

  But hiding was still his best bet. He was no match for the whole of the three kingdoms. All fighting would get him was more pain and more isolation.

  “I reckon a lot have commented that you barely eat anything,” Hosea said.

  An objection rose to Xan’s lips, but he squelched it. Worse than using more food than necessary was someone suspecting why the duke’s soldiers were after him. He couldn’t risk anyone finding out what he was. “Maybe just a little bit more …”

  He slowed as he ate the half-bowl of seconds and had to admit filling his stomach felt nice. After he completed that portion, though, he tried to excuse himself to go back to his bedroll.

  “Good idea,” Hosea said. “I’ll walk with you.”

  Great. Maybe it would be a silent walk. Had Xan believed in praying, he would have prayed for a silent walk. Instead, he just wished heavily.

  Alas, it was not to be.

  “I reckon you’ve seemed a mite quiet today,” Hosea said as they traipsed through a clearing.

  Xan shrugged.

  “Perhaps if’n I knew what weighed you down …”

  Xan stared straight ahead. “I’m fine. Truly.”

  “If’n it’s about the duke’s men, no one here thinks less of you for that. And none would turn you in.”

  “It’s not that. I trust everyone here.” Being arrested would be a disaster, though. He’d have to reveal his power. People would die.

  “Is it a problem with a lass, then?” Hosea said. “Frae? Her pa would support the match. Comes from a good family, and she’s got good bones—”

  “Bloodlines and bones? She’s not a blasted horse!” Xan yelled.

  Hosea grinned. “I reckon at your age everything with girls is so … big. I remember those first few glorious, wonderful, miserable weeks of courting Ada.”

  The man wasn’t going to give up.

  “It’s not Frae.”

  “I see.” Hosea frowned. “Not many other girls your age around.”

  Good grief! Xan was not going to talk about Tasia. A change in subject was in order. “I meant, my problem isn’t about a girl at all.” He paused. “You and Ada. Marco. Dea. Ramon. All these good people. No one is looking out for you.”

  “I reckon a man has to look out for his own.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Xan said, “but the nobles bear some responsibility. All their wars and fighting for control, not caring who they hurt.”

  Hosea shrugged.

  “What if it didn’t have to be that way?” Xan said. “What if there were someone who had the power to change things?”

  “I reckon I’d like to meet that someone.” Hosea chuckled.

  “What if that someone could do something but chose not to? Then isn’t everything that happens to anyone his fault? Isn’t he, in fact, a worse person than the men who started the war in the first place?”

  Hosea took a while to consider, his face taking on a serious cast. “I reckon each of us can only do the best we can, make our choices, and live with what happens.”

  Xan frowned. That didn’t seem right, but then again, Hosea was a farmer, used to the whims of weather deciding his fate. Plant your seeds and hope. Too much rain, and the kids go hungry. Too little rain and … same thing.

  “I’m pretty sure that, if a man can do something to help others, he should,” Xan said.

  Hosea shrugged again. Regardless of what should or shouldn’t be done, Xan wouldn’t risk himself. Not again. No matter the consequences.

  15.

  Xan wrapped his blanket tighter around himself and pretended to shiver.

  Over the previous week, the temperature had steadily grown cooler. His heat magic, of course, kept his skin toasty, but he couldn’t let the rest of the group discover that. Worse than having to hide—having to lie—was the guilt that st
abbed his heart every time he saw a kid suffering from the cold.

  If he could reveal his powers, he could help them. But he couldn’t.

  Or wouldn’t.

  With the changing weather, food became scarcer as well, and considering the group had swelled to over fifty people, finding enough to stave off hunger pains grew problematic. They had practically no trade goods, and stores were running low throughout the camp.

  They wouldn’t last the winter without help.

  The only bright spot was that they neared Calkirk, a walled city just across the Kaicia border. Their hopes rested on finding aid there, and if the troubles caused by the siege of Asherton hadn’t reached so far, such assistance shouldn’t be hard to find.

  Ominously, though, every farm they passed was stripped bare and deserted. Bringing the farmers inside the walls meant they’d seen their share of troubles, making them less likely to welcome strangers with open arms.

  Atop a rise overlooking the city from about a quarter mile away, the group stopped, and the men gathered to discuss their options.

  Hosea turned to Xan. “What do you think?”

  Though Xan still wasn’t used to older men deferring to his opinion, he liked that they listened. “The city’s big enough to support us if they’re willing, and as much as I don’t relish begging for charity, I see little choice.”

  A short discussion followed, mostly voices objecting to asking for a handout, but even hardworking, proud men will accept food when not doing so means their children go hungry. While the group set up camp at the spot where they’d stopped to rest, Hosea, Xan, and Buck approached the city.

  As the three walked within easy eyesight of the gate, members of the town’s militia appeared at the top of the wall. They wore green tunics over makeshift armor, and no two helmets were the same style. Not nearly as polished as Captain Reed’s men but reasonably well equipped. Few places put as many resources into defense as Eagleton.

  “Ho, there!” Hosea yelled when they reached the gate.

  “State your business,” one of the men said.

  Xan enhanced his sight to get a better view. The guy’s shoulder bore the insignia of a captain.

  “We’re seeking refuge, my lord,” Hosea said.

  Okay, so maybe giving the leader of a town militia the deference reserved for the nobility was pouring it on, but sometimes flattery was the only way to go. Xan was just glad it wasn’t him having to kowtow to the man.

  “Do you have money or anything of value?” the captain said.

  “No, my lord,” Hosea said. “Sorry, my lord.”

  “How do you propose to pay for food and lodging, then?”

  “The Holy One teaches all men should care for their fellows,” Hosea said. “We seek shelter. We have families.”

  “And if we took in every peasant who asked the same, we’d all starve,” the captain said. “I ask again, how do you propose to pay for food and lodging?”

  “If’n you’re in need of some form of service, my lord?” Hosea said.

  The captain eyed them skeptically. “Farmers by the look of you. We don’t need any. Nor woodsmen or tanners.”

  “This young man is an apothecary.” Hosea pointed at Xan. “And we have a blacksmith and a wainwright.”

  The captain frowned. “Fine. If they are skilled, they will be granted refuge along with their families. Only them, mind you.” His head disappeared back behind the wall.

  “I reckon that’s it, then,” Hosea said. “Nothing for it but to go back to the camp and let everyone know what happened.”

  “I don’t like the feel of this,” Xan said once they’d gotten out of earshot of the wall. “And what would us leaving the group gain the rest of you, anyway? The city certainly won’t take everyone in.”

  “Maybe you and the others can earn some food for the rest of us, enough to see us on our way, anyhow,” Buck said. “Better than nothing.”

  Hosea shrugged. “I don’t know what else to do, lad, unless you’ve got a better idea?”

  Xan sighed. That was the exact problem; he had no better plan. His best option probably was to do as Buck had suggested.

  As they walked, Hosea grew silent for a while, something clearly bothering him.

  “What is it?” Xan said.

  “Nothing.”

  “Problem with a girl?” Xan hoped the teasing would cheer the older man up but no such luck.

  “I ain’t good at asking favors,” Hosea said, “and this one is a heap.”

  “I owe you much,” Xan said.

  Hosea stopped, and the other men passed them. He wouldn’t meet Xan’s eyes. “I can’t reckon how it came to the point of this …”

  “Whatever it is,” Xan said. “It’s okay. Really.”

  “Take Dea and my boys with you,” Hosea said. “Make sure they’re safe.”

  Xan’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t be responsible for … for …

  Hosea grimaced. “It’s not right of me to even ask, lad, but I’ve got no way to take care of them.” He paused. “Look, you’re good at what you do. Those Calkirk folk will take you in with no questions. Claim Dea and the boys are your family.”

  “But they need you. And Ada.”

  “I reckon they need food in their bellies more.”

  Hosea and his family had been the only bright spot in Xan’s life. As unimaginable as becoming a substitute parent was to Xan, he couldn’t easily refuse the man who was more a father to him than anyone since Master Rae.

  “Fine,” Xan said, “but only until we get you back on your feet.”

  There had to be a way to salvage the situation, but for the life of him, Xan couldn’t see how.

  * * *

  Xan stared up at the parapet atop Calkirk’s gate.

  He clenched his jaw. The militiamen had taken their sweet time responding to calls, and when they finally appeared, they were in no hurry to let Xan and the others inside.

  To make matters worse, Dea was upset about having been taken from her parents. Even with Marco and Ramon trying to comfort her, she wailed and screamed for her mama.

  Xan picked her up, but it didn’t help. His inability to make her feel better only contributed to his overall feeling of being powerless.

  And did nothing to improve his mood.

  Kenton Duran, standing to the side with his boy, and Bar Hunt, with his wife and their young daughters, looked on with tolerance. The captain, on the other hand …

  He poked his head above the wall. “Keep that brat under control or we’ll turn away the lot of you!”

  With a thought, Xan could burn the whole city to ashes, but that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Well … except for him. He’d definitely feel better. Well, not after burning the whole city, of course, just the leaders.

  Everyone was counting on him, though, so he had to check himself.

  If Dea didn’t stop crying, she would ruin their meager chances for surviving, not to mention that her screaming for her parents would give away his lie that they were his kids.

  He rocked her in his arms and hummed what he hoped was a soothing lullaby. Slowly, and feeling like the worst person in the three kingdoms, he drained her lifeforce until she passed out.

  “There!” Xan yelled. “Happy?”

  The captain barked out an order to someone behind the wall before yelling, “Throw down any weapons and stand waiting for inspection.”

  About time.

  Xan discarded his belt knife, and the blacksmith’s hammer and wainwright’s tools soon joined it on the ground. Otherwise, they had no weapons, having decided swords and bows would be better left with the group.

  When the last “weapon” had been thrown down, the gate inched upward, finally finishing its slow journey several minutes later.

  A short, well-dressed rotund man waddled outside, escorted by a dozen armed militia. “I’m the honorable mayor of Calkirk, Wade Pate. You will refer to me as Master Honorable Mayor Pate. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  Xan gritt
ed his teeth, wanted so badly to mouth off to the man. He held his tongue, though. Barely.

  The mayor’s beady eyes took each of three families facing him. “You’d be the blacksmith, then?”

  Bar nodded.

  “Step inside the gate with your family but leave your belongings here,” Pate said. “Assuming you haven’t hidden anything and there’s no treachery, your things will be returned to you. Do a good job, and we’ll keep you and yours fed.”

  Bar nodded a grim farewell to the others and disappeared behind the wall with his dependents in tow. After a few moments—which Xan assumed were utilized by the militia to check Bar and his family for “treachery”—the mayor repeated the procedure with the wainwright.

  The mayor finally turned to Xan. “Be assured, young man, that we will test that you are what you claim. This is your last chance to back out. If we catch you in a lie, it will not go well for you!”

  What an odious man.

  “I’ve earned my letter,” Xan said. “Test me however you will.”

  After both Xan and his new wards were thoroughly searched, he was led to a nicely appointed house off the main street and escorted upstairs to a man lying on a bed. Xan did a quick examination while being watched by three armed guards and two older men.

  “Brownboil fever,” Xan said after a few minutes. “Boil some water strained through greyheart flowers. Give it to him once in the morning and once in the evening. He’ll be fine in a few days.”

  One of the older men, wearing a stuffy brown suit with gray patches covering worn spots, turned to the others. “That is correct.”

  With that pronouncement, Xan was summarily escorted from the house and taken to the mayor’s office. Pate looked at him like a piece of rubbish trapped on his foot, but one that might, somehow, be worth a copper or two. “Surprisingly, you appear to be what you claimed. Thus, as long as you do as you’re told and provide service to this city, we’ll feed you and your … whelps … siblings … cousins … whatever you claim them to be.”