Gryphon (Rise of the Mages Book 2)

by Brian W. Foster

  Xan clasped his hands on his pants to keep from wiping the smug look off Pate’s face. Only the thought of what might happen to the kids held him back.

  “I was wondering, sir?” Xan sure as blast wasn’t going to refer to him as a noble, but he could at least be civil. “Since you’ve found three new valuable craftsmen, perhaps you could spare some supplies for the group we left?”

  “That was never our deal, and you know it,” Pate said. “We’re being quite generous to take in your miserable offspring.”

  “You—”

  “Think before you speak, young man,” Pate said. “You have a family to think about. The blacksmith and the wainwright have families as well.”

  Xan bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep his mouth shut. He had a few ideas about exactly what Pate could do with his “generous offer,” but the mayor was right about Marco, Ramon, and Dea.

  Argh!

  Then again, no! Forget that. Xan knew all too well the pain of being separated from one’s parents, and he refused to be the cause of it for those kids. There had to be some other solution. If nothing else, his magic could grow enough crops to feed a small family throughout the winter. It wouldn’t attract notice if he used small, short bursts.

  But his place wasn’t to ruin things for the Hunts and the Durans.

  “If I were to leave,” Xan said, “what would happen to the blacksmith and the wainwright?”

  Pate frowned. “Their places are assured regardless, but you need to think about—”

  Xan held up a hand, channeling his best imitation of Ashley’s imperiousness. “I’m sure your insignificant town—Cowpot was it?—is a fine place, a fine place indeed, but the people, present company included …” He shivered. “I’m sorry, but I find you … unsatisfactory.”

  The mayor’s face reddened, and one of the militia men grabbed Xan by the shoulder. He knew he should have tried harder to be civil, but it was completely worth it.

  Xan shook off the hand. “Believe me, you don’t want to trifle with me.”

  At one look at Xan’s face, the militiaman stepped back. “Out! Now.”

  Hosea’s three kids waited for him outside the office, and Xan ordered them to follow him from the building. Outside, the captain, backed by four more militia men, met them.

  “I don’t want any trouble out of you,” the captain said, his hand tight on the hilt of his sword. “Your choice to leave, and we’re letting you go.”

  “No trouble,” Xan said. “You made a fair offer. I simply chose not to accept.”

  The captain nodded, relaxing somewhat, and he and seven men shepherded Xan and the kids toward the gate. As they neared, Xan spotted something weird—a wagon that looked really familiar.

  He never paid much attention to wagons, but he was almost positive he’d seen an identical burn mark on the one the Kinney’s used. And a cart held a bent plow exactly like the one belonging to the Stouts.

  Xan glanced back. Marco’s eyes were wide. The boy had noticed as well.

  “Captain,” Xan said, “You didn’t, by any chance, change your mind about allowing our entire group to stay?”

  The militia members looked at each other. Metal scrapped against leather scabbards they drew bare swords.

  16.

  Xan eyed the armed men facing him.

  Eight on the ground, all with weapons drawn and ready to use. Another half-dozen, less than two score yards away on the wall, looked on with interest.

  There was no way to win a fight against so many without using enough magic to be noticed all the way in Sadilon. Not if he wanted to keep Marco and the two little ones safe.

  “Wait!” Xan said. “Thievery is one thing, but surely you won’t murder innocent kids!”

  “Simply keep walking,” the captain said, “and we’ll have no need to kill you or the children.”

  Xan stared at the line of wagons and carts that had been stolen. They were full of what meager food remained and tools and cookpots. And what was that partially hidden in the shadows of an alley? Horses. Even the Stouts’ old nag.

  The scum had taken literally everything of value.

  “Did you even leave us a bow for hunting?” Xan said.

  A few of the men had the decency to look chagrined.

  “You may not have killed us outright,” Xan said, “but the result will be just the same. And a bad death at that, starving before we reach the next town.”

  Unashamed, the captain locked eyes with Xan. “You and your friends won’t last the month with or without the material we seized. Better me and my people benefit than random scavengers or bandits.”

  “You have no right—”

  “This isn’t a debate, son,” the captain said. “Decide now—leave or die.”

  Xan glanced over at the kids. If he fought, they might be hurt, but if he didn’t, he risked losing them to future starvation. There had to be a way to make the townspeople see reason. “What does your tender think of this?”

  An older gentleman holding a long sword with a serpentine blade waved. “Alright by me.”

  Blasted corrupt clergy. Xan had clearly made the right choice not to contest Dastanar’s invasion. Most of the people in the three kingdoms weren’t worth saving.

  “We didn’t hurt your friends, just took their supplies,” the captain said. “Leave without causing trouble, and no harm will come to you.”

  Xan grimaced. Walking away was the easiest thing to do. The best thing to do. Hide. But letting such injustice go unanswered burned him up inside. “Give us the stuff back, and you’ll get no trouble from me.”

  The captain actually chuckled. “And if we don’t?”

  “I will kill you, captain, and that’s a promise.”

  An empty one, though. Xan couldn’t bear the thought of Marco seeing him kill, not to mention the prospect of being exposed as a wizard.

  The captain rolled his eyes. “You’re outmanned, outclassed, and outthought. Take the kids and leave.”

  That was exactly what Xan should do. The safe thing. The prudent thing. But he was sick of hiding. Sick of smug attitudes of small-time thugs who thought their positions of minor authority gave them the right to condemn others to die.

  He embraced the magic. “Marco, take Ramon and Dea and run to the wagons.”

  The captain lunged.

  Xan ducked as the blade sliced past his shoulder. He gave his left forearm a kinetic burst, slamming it into the captain’s wrist.

  The sword flew out of his hand. A quick burst altered its trajectory, and it slammed through the thigh of the tender.

  He let out an ear-piecing shriek.

  Xan made his right fist as heavy as a brick and slammed it into the captain’s jaw. The sound of bones cracking rewarded his effort.

  As the captain sank to the ground like a stone, Xan hurled himself at his next objective. Before he could reach, though, he sensed two projectiles coming at him.

  Arrows.

  He grinned.

  Two more bursts sent the missiles angling toward new targets.

  Plop! Plop!

  Each arrow buried itself mid-shaft into a militiaman.

  Perfect. Four down and the hits should discourage the marksmen on the wall from shooting again.

  Xan spun toward his remaining opponents but found only two in range.

  “Basil!” Marco yelled.

  One of the men held him with a sword at his neck. Another had Dea wrapped in his arm with a blade pointed at Ramon.

  “Surrender!” The one holding Marco yelled.

  With a single thought, Xan could fire them or drain their lifeforce, but that would light the flare. He’d be hunted by Dastanar and his friends and whatever the queen had put together.

  There had to be something he could do, but he couldn’t figure out what.

  17.

  Xan’s shoulders slumped.

  Rescuing the kids without revealing himself as a wizard was impossible. His only choice was to surrender. To hide.


  He lowered his arms to his sides. “Release them and let us leave, and I won’t hurt any more of you.”

  “You crushed the captain’s jaw!” the man with a blade at Marco’s throat said. “No way you’re getting out of here alive.”

  Xan met his eyes with a cold glare. “I’m almost positive I can kill the lot of you before any of these kids are so much as scratched. But I am, after all, only almost positive. That’s the sole reason I’m willing to spare your life. Do not press me.”

  The man’s arm tensed, and Xan prepared to kinetically rip the sword from his grasp.

  “Cam,” the militiaman holding Dea said, “I’m an innkeeper. You’re a blasted baker. We don’t need this fight.”

  “But—”

  “Our orders were to escort this young man from town. He’s willing to go. I say we let him.”

  Cam deflated visibly. “Fine, but I’m holding onto this one until he’s cleared the gate.”

  Walking out of Calkirk was the most wretched, miserable experience of Xan’s life. Though the kids were released without harm, Marco and Ramon barely held back tears. Dea was nearly inconsolable. Only constant assurances that they were on their way to her parents granted even a brief respite from her wailing.

  Darkness approached, bringing with it a renewed chill in the air. Xan draped Dea over his shoulder and marched silently back to the group’s camp. Without the wagons and supplies, everyone crowded around a single campfire, not even bothering to post a guard. He made it through a few layers of ringed people before anyone paid him any attention.

  Once someone spotted him, though, murmurs spread through the crowd fast. Bodies parted, making way for him until he reached Hosea.

  His face fell at the sight of Xan, morphing into an utterly crestfallen mask of disbelief. “You … you brought the kids back?”

  “Hosea … I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t. It wasn’t right.”

  “But we have nothing. Nothing!” Hosea buried his face in his hands. “They’ll starve.” He dropped his hands. “Is it too late? Can you take them back?”

  Unable to find words, Xan gave his head a curt shake.

  “I trusted you, lad, and …” Hosea sighed. “But it’s not your fault. My kids, my duty, I reckon.”

  Xan had thought fleeing those militiamen had been the most miserable experience of his life. The disappointment pouring in waves off the group made that moment feel like his best day at the spring festival.

  “Four more mouths to feed,” Buck said. “Not that I begrudge you, Basil, after you saved my Frae. Nor your young ‘uns, of course, Hosea. But … What are we going to do?”

  “We pick up at first light and get a move on,” Xan said. “Without supplies, we’ll move faster. Maybe the next town will help us. Or the next. We just have to go far enough from the troubles.”

  “Aye,” Hosea said, “we’ll be leaving at first light. But not forward.”

  Xan frowned.

  “Our minds are made up, lad,” Buck said. “We’re going back Asherton-way.”

  The pit dropped from Xan’s stomach. “But that’s the absolute worst place possible. War is coming, and Dastanar has attacked there once. The duke won’t likely hold out the second time.”

  “What choice do we have, lad?” Hosea said. “We were fools to think anyone would take in a bunch of worthless, penniless beggars.”

  Xan bristled at the thought of his friends, or any man, being worthless. “And Duke Asher will treat you any better?”

  “That’s the thing with nobility,” Buck said. “They owe their vassals. Just as we give him part of our earnings as taxes, he protects us. He has to take us in.”

  “But—”

  “Look, I reckon we believe you about how dangerous this will be,” Hosea said. “Not even thinking about bandits, we have almost nothing left. We’ll have to forage as we walk, and frankly, I don’t see how we make it back with no one starving.”

  “And then what?” Xan said. “Survive on what limited charity the city provides until it’s sieged again? What kind of safety is that? What kind of future?”

  “You’re a smart lad. Maybe you’re right, but it’s that maybe versus the certainty of dying if we go any other route.”

  “Hosea, listen. You just can’t. I can’t …” Xan’s voice choked. “I can’t go back there.”

  The man held Xan’s eyes. “I know you can’t, lad, but we’ve no choice. We’ve nowhere else.”

  Xan ran a hand through his hair. If only he could admit to being able to use magic to grow food and to protect them. For that matter, he could take over Calkirk. But the consequences …

  To defend the group, he’d be forced to take on all comers when they attacked him, and there was no guarantee he’d win. Dastanar surely outnumbered him. Blast it! The duke’s forces probably did as well. And the queen’s.

  Maybe he should surrender to her. But his experience with the duke had soured him on the nobility, not that he’d been all that enamored with them in the first place.

  Death lay down every road he could choose, and Xan was sick of killing people. More so, he was sick of the way people looked at him when they found out what he truly was.

  Hosea smiled, but the expression didn’t touch his eyes. “Cheer up. I reckon everything will be fine. Maybe we can get on our feet during the winter and leave the city before an attack. Maybe meet up with you some other time, some other place.”

  That was a lot of “maybes” to base the lives of children on, but Xan kept his mouth shut. He’d chosen to follow and to hide, and he’d abide by that decision.

  Their well-being was their responsibility, not his. He’d see the group to close to their destination. When they neared Asherton, he’d slip away. Having done all he could for them, his conscience would be clear.

  Right?

  18.

  Brant whistled as he rode.

  Being on Spear, having the open road before him, forest embracing him on both sides, the wind in his face. He eased back in his saddle. Nothing better than being outside.

  “Brant!” Stokes yelled.

  “What?” Brant frowned. He’d gotten used to people saluting him and calling him by title. Too bad they were on a covert mission.

  “We need to keep a sharp lookout for danger,” Stokes said. “That racket you’re making isn’t helping.”

  Both Raleigh and Ivie nodded.

  Duke Irdrin’s army had scattered, and with no one paying them, some had taken to banditry. Brant and his crew had passed three groups hidden in the woods.

  “No one is likely to attack three armed, obviously dangerous men,” Brant said. “Unless there’s an entire platoon hiding out there, we’re safe, no matter how much noise we make.”

  No one objected since he was, after all, in command. He stopped with the whistling, though.

  A while later, they rounded a bend. About a furlong ahead, five men dressed in ragged burgundy livery surrounded a dark-haired man who looked to be in his thirties, a comely woman of around the same age, and a teenage girl.

  There was no question what would happen to the family if no one intervened.

  Stokes pulled up, and the rest of the group halted next to him.

  “What’s your plan?” Brant said.

  “Take to the woods and give them a wide berth,” Stokes said. “They might turn on us if we get too close on the road.”

  Brant’s hand tightened on his hilt. “We have to do something.”

  “Our mission—”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about our mission right now,” Brant said. “Someone has to help those people.”

  He met Ivie’s eyes, but she shrugged as if to say, “Not our problem.” Of all of them, he’d have thought she would be on his side given what was likely to happen to those women.

  “That girl can’t be more than fifteen!” Brant said. “The three of you would leave her to those … those …”

  He couldn’t find a word vile enough to describe them. If there was one thi
ng that disgusted him, it was men who took advantage of women. Sure, he dazzled them, sweet-talked them—okay, flat out lied to them—to get them into bed, but he’d never use force.

  “It’s three against five,” Stokes said. “Even if we end up beating them, any of us could be severely injured. Think about having to return to Asherton under those circumstances.”

  Brant grimaced. He could just imagine the tongue-lashing he’d get. His dreams of becoming Marshal of the Mages would be sunk. Crap, he might be court martialed. Best case, he’d never be given a command of his own again. Not to mention that the information he was seeking was crucial to the duke.

  Possibly, the fate of the entire three kingdoms rested in his hands. “You’re saying that, in order for our side to have a better chance of winning, we need to sacrifice these innocent people.”

  “Yes,” Stokes said.

  “If we’re not willing to risk ourselves for these people,” Brant said, “how are we any better than Duke Irdrin and King Barius and his ilk? Who cares if we win if we’re no different than the people we’re fighting?”

  For the first time since he’d met the man, Stokes had no easy response, and even Raleigh had the decency to look chagrined. Ivie’s face stayed completely expressionless, but Brant got the feeling he’d pleased her.

  That was all the encouragement he needed.

  “I, for one, am a good man, and I, for one, will do my best to save those people.” Brant urged Spear to a gallop.

  There were no sounds behind him of the others following. One against five, then. A tough battle but one worth fighting.

  As he drew to within fifty yards, details grew clearer. Two of the outlaws had the teenager on the ground. The crying parents were each held by one of the outlaws while the final one yelled at them to surrender their valuables. Spear’s thundering hooves echoed off surrounding trees, and the bandit spun from bullying the couple.

  Brant leapt from the saddle. He pulled his sword free of its scabbard mid-flight.