Less than an hour later, the road was clear, and they continued on their way. Jeffry and Jarred gave Dylan a wide berth and held their tongues except for when huddled in intense whispered conversation.
Dylan groaned. He could envision what asking Master Greenfield for Mari’s hand would be like. “Hey, I know that, a few short weeks ago, mages were considered among the vilest of the Holy One’s creations, but we’re fine, now. Really. I promise. And oh, by the way, can I marry your daughter?”
Not that informing his parents was likely to be much easier. A farmer’s daughter as his bride wasn’t exactly their dream for him.
Great.
That night, he lay in his bedroll tossing and turning. His mind kept alternating between imagined conversations with his parents and with Mari’s father. None went well.
Sleep was a long time coming.
The next morning, Garret, who’d taken third watch, woke everyone early. The smell of smoke filled the air despite no campfire being lit.
Not good. Few things were more dangerous than a wildfire. During the hot, dry summer months, a fast-moving blaze could overtake travelers on horse, surrounding and killing them before they could react.
Being that they were in the wet season, there was less chance of thousands of acres burning, but caution was still advised. Of course, less than ideal conditions brought up the question of how a blaze might have started in the first place, given the absence of a lightning storm.
They hastily packed up camp in order to investigate and found a nearby rise that offered a view of the forest. The source of the smoke came from the middle of a heavily wooded area far down the hill ahead of them.
“I have to check that out,” Sergeant Pruitt said.
“Best take the soldiers,” Dylan said. “You don’t know what you might run into.”
The sergeant spat. “I can’t take your guards.”
“Why not?” Dylan gestured to the empty forest. “No one’s around to attack me, and even if someone did, I’m a blasted mage.”
Sergeant Pruitt was clearly unconvinced.
“Truly,” Dylan said, “we’ll be fine. I’ve traveled this road dozens of times and never had so much as a horse throw a shoe.”
“Maybe …” The sergeant let out a long breath. “Okay. This shouldn’t take long, anyway. Ride ahead. If we haven’t caught up with you by late afternoon, choose a good spot and set up camp. We’ll find you.”
“And what if it takes you longer?” Mari said.
“If we aren’t there by morning, keep riding,” the sergeant said. “Worst case, we’ll meet you in Eagleton.”
“But that would leave them unchaperoned,” Jeffry said.
Mari rolled her eyes. “You two will be with us, silly.”
“But we want to see the fire,” Jarred said.
“Just go,” Dylan said. “Like the sergeant said, you’ll surely catch us by nightfall, and even if the soldiers get held up, the two of you can find us on your own.”
With a workable plan in place, the five men galloped off in search of adventure. Dylan shook his head. Give him a quiet ride with his girlfriend over excitement any day.
He set a leisurely pace for him and Mari, not wanting to get too far ahead of their chaperons. Though the prospect of a night alone with her intrigued him, he wanted no more complications with her family.
A couple of hours later, a picturesque aqua-blue stream with sunlight dancing over its surface meandered right next to the road, and they decided to stop for an early lunch. Dylan halted his horse and stepped down from the saddle.
Something stung his shoulder through his tunic.
His hand went to the spot.
A dart.
Good grief.
The world went dark.
27.
Dylan woke, groggy and confused.
His head pounded, and his stomach alternated between nausea and rumbling. He had no idea where he was or why he felt so dreadful.
As his awareness came flooding back, he almost groaned, barely stopping himself. Someone had knocked him out with a tranquilizer dart like the ones Master Rae had given him. Making a sound would be a mistake if whoever had drugged him were still around. Better to conceal that he was awake until he learned more.
“C’mon, mage, use your power!”
Dylan didn’t recognize the voice, but it came from a fair distance away and didn’t seem to be directed at him. He risked cracking open one of his eyes.
Dense trees surrounded a circular clearing maybe fifty yards wide. On the other side, a tall, thin man loomed over Mari, who cowered on the ground with her hands tied behind her. Specks of gray peppered his dark hair underneath an old narrow-brimmed hat, and he scowled at her. Another man, no older than Dylan and with facial features similar to the other one, stood nearby. Both wore old, worn clothes. No livery. The garb of common farmers, poor ones at that.
The younger man held a blowgun aimed at Mari.
Dylan tensed.
“I swear to you, mage,” the older man yelled at Mari, “if you don’t use your magic, I will kill you!”
Something flashed in his hand. A knife.
Dylan snarled. No one threatened Mari. If the guy wanted magic, he’d give him magic.
He tried to make the blade fly away, but connecting to the source felt like trying to punch through a stone wall. His head hurt too much.
“I keep telling you and telling you,” Mari said, “I am not a mage!”
“And I’ve told you I’m tired of your lies!” The man sliced the tip of the blade across Mari’s bare arm. A streak of blood appeared.
She screamed.
Dylan clenched his hands into fists in impotent rage. They would pay for that. Both of them.
“Please,” she cried. “I’m not a mage.”
“Odd company you keep, then,” the older man said, “and you seemed neither bothered nor surprised when he used his power to move those rocks.”
“He has Duke Asher’s permission,” Mari said. “I swear it. In fact, he works for the duke.”
“I don’t care what—”
“Wait!” Mari yelled. “If you saw him use magic, you saw he traveled with three of the duke’s soldiers, so you have to know I’m telling the truth. What the blast is your problem?”
“My problem is that he’s a mage, and that you’re a mage,” the older man said.
“But I’m not!”
“C’mon,” the older man said, “since your friend has the duke’s permission, I’m sure you do as well. Why not just use your powers? It’ll help you out of this mess.”
Mari was clearly exasperated. “Are you deaf or something? I. Am. Not. A. Mage.”
“Dad,” the younger one said, “she should have broken by now. I think she’s telling the truth.”
“You’re probably right,” the father said. “We’ll deal with the other one and then decide what to do with her.”
“What are you going to do to him?”
“String him up,” the son said.
Mari’s eyes widened. “But the duke … Please!”
“Using magic is against the law anywhere in the three kingdoms,” the father said. “Punishable by death. And that’s as strict and solid as laws against rape and murder. Even Archduke Asher doesn’t have the authority to pardon a mage.”
“You’re just going to kill him? You can’t.” Tears ran down her face. “We’re going to be married.”
“Look girl, I’m a mage hunter. I’m paid to enforce the law.” The father’s tone softened. “His fate is sealed. You should worry about your own.”
Catchers were generally taken at their word regarding bounties. Magistrates tended to be more skeptical with mage hunters, requiring signed statements testifying either that the hunter had seen magic being used or that the mage had confessed. Between the dangers of capturing mages and the difficulties in getting paid, it wasn’t an easy way to make a living.
“But you told me you believed me,” Mari said.
/> The father fixed her with an expression that evinced no sympathy. “It’s against the law to associate with someone you know to be a mage. I could hang you.”
“You can’t … You wouldn’t …” Mari pulled against the rope binding her hands.
“I’m not paid to kill associates. I’ll likely turn you over to the nearest magistrate.”
“Duke Asher will just let me go,” Mari said. “And he’ll be furious with you. In fact, what’s your name? I want to make sure he punishes the right person.”
The man tipped his hat. “Myles Mathis, mage hunter, at your service.”
“The duke will find you, Myles Mathis, and I promise you I will be there to watch life drain from your body. When your last breath leaves you, I’m going to laugh.”
“I will never apologize for following the law. For doing right. Nor will I fear those who break the law or those who seek to stop me from enforcing it.” Myles paused. “As for your duke, the queen will see to him soon enough.”
Dylan closed his eyes. He didn’t have to worry about them hurting Mari, at least. All he needed was his head to clear so he could use magic.
“You want me to give the mage another dose?” the younger one said.
“The notes in the old apothecary’s journal claimed we’d have the better part of a day before he wakes,” Myles said. “Let’s not waste our supply.”
Old apothecary? Master Rae? Myles and his son must have heard about the darts used on the guardsmen. Probably broke into the shop and took the potion.
But Dylan was awake already. If they’d stolen Master Rae’s mix, he shouldn’t be as, judging from the position of the sun, less than half a day had passed.
So what the blast?
The tunic!
Myles had shot him in the shoulder through a thick, expensive tunic. The dart must have barely penetrated his skin. They probably didn’t deal with people who could afford clothes as expensive as his. Dylan knew his taste for finery would serve him well.
“Ready?” the son said.
“Sure.” Myles grabbed a rope from the ground. “Prepare the horse.”
As he tied a noose and tossed it over a huge limb, his son saddled Clover.
Dylan’s heart pounded. They were going to hang him. He was so close to dying. His only chance was to use his magic.
He tried to connect, but his head was still too foggy.
The son positioned Clover under the noose and tied the reins to a tree.
Dylan struggled to access the magic, but it wouldn’t come. So many times he’d cursed the ability, but he’d give anything for it to work once more.
As the two men approached, he closed his eyes and let his body go limp. One grabbed his legs and the other under his shoulder. They carried him to Clover and draped him over the saddle, positioning him so he slumped over the pommel.
Dylan was desperate to see what they were doing, but he didn’t dare risk a peek. If they discovered he was awake, they’d put another dart in him. Keeping his eyes closed and his limbs as loose as possible, he kept trying to connect.
Still nothing, but it felt … closer … somehow. Unless it was just his imagination. A wish.
A rope went over his neck. Footsteps moved away from him. The noose tightened.
Dylan battered at the wall separating him from the sweet, life-saving magic. He had little time.
More footsteps, one set toward the front of the horse. Probably untying the reins. Another set stomped toward Clover’s rear.
One swat, and the horse would bolt. Dylan’s neck would be snapped.
He risked a peek.
The son stood out of Clover’s path at the front. He had his blowgun, but held at his side instead of at the ready.
“Hey,” the son said. “Is his eye open?”
Time to move. If magic failed again, Dylan was dead.
He embraced the magic. Instead of a solid stone wall, he encountered one that felt made of mud. Penetrating it wasn’t easy.
But it was possible.
“Shoot him!” Myles yelled.
The son raised the blowgun to his mouth. A dart flew from the end.
Too late.
For the mage hunters.
Grasping the magic was like holding a greased pig, but Dylan managed it.
The dart reversed course midair and stuck the son in the neck, where darts were supposed to hit. His eyes went wide before they closed. He collapsed.
Myles raced to Clover and swatted his rear. Hard. The horse darted forward.
Dylan launched himself from the saddle, nearly hitting the limb above him. He grasped it before he fell.
The mage hunter spun and ran toward the edge of the forest.
“I don’t think so,” Dylan said.
He shoved Myles with a burst of magic. The mage hunter sprawled face down into leaves and brush.
Dylan kinetically popped open the dart case and hurled one at Myles, hitting him in the neck.
That was the way to do it.
28.
Xan flew high above Calkirk.
The early morning sun cast deep shadows over the dozens of buildings inside the wall, and few people walked the darkened streets. A dozen militiamen wearing green tunics patrolled the parapet, their eyes roaming between the cleared area outside the gate and the city within.
His life sense indicated scores of groups, ranging from less than ten people to a population in the hundreds, dotting the forest for miles around. Refugees.
Victims.
Wind whipped past him as he fell. As he neared the top of the highest tower, he directed a burst of kinetic magic at himself. His momentum reversed, and he lurched into an upward arc.
The herky-jerky motion ruined any pretense of soaring gracefully. Of being master of the sky. And Hosea had drilled into him the importance of appearances.
Hmm.
Xan chewed the inside of his cheek. Instead of making himself fly in huge, arcing trajectories, what if he applied a series of constant microbursts?
Worth a shot. He reached the apex of his flight, and as he started to fall, he pushed himself up. Just a tiny shove.
Relax. Shove. Relax. Shove. Relax. Shove.
He bounced up and down within only a few inches. Not too bad. A completely stable position would have been better, but the new technique approached the hover he desired.
The downside was that it also required more concentration.
Oh well, he’d gotten good at splitting his focus. Besides, experience had taught him that practice would make it easier.
Satisfied with the impression he’d make, he amplified his voice. “Citizens of Calkirk, I am the Gryphon—wizard, the lord of Eye Lake, and commanding general of battle mages.”
Those last two were a stretch, but Hosea had insisted the titled always added extraneous nonsense at the end of their names.
“Your thievery ends today,” Xan boomed.
Two of the militia on the parapet raised bows in his direction. One actually shot.
Idiot.
The arrow didn’t come within fifty yards of Xan, and he didn’t even have to use magic.
“Drop your weapons and open your gates,” he boomed. “Send Mayor Pate and the militia captain outside the gate.”
Doors to homes across the entire city flung open. Scores of men in green tunics stormed out, rushing toward the town square. Ready to fight.
Xan narrowed his eyes. A more inspiring demonstration of his power was in order.
He eyed the town square, looking for a suitable target to destroy. Too many people occupied the building housing the mayor’s office. The church, on the other hand, was empty, but he was sure Tasia wouldn’t approve of him firing that. A grain silo was out as he couldn’t let anyone starve.
The wedding arch wasn’t as imposing a structure as he’d wanted, but it had the advantage of being symbolic and was placed such that its burning wouldn’t impact anything or anyone else. Xan called upon his magic and unleashed fire upon it. White flames burned
it to ashes in minutes.
The militiamen stared at each other, most of their faces frozen into masks of terror.
“You have one hour to comply with my demand,” Xan boomed.
More doors opened as curiosity overwhelmed caution. After a minute or two, the city looked like an ant nest that had been kicked. Hopefully, the citizens would do the right thing.
If not … Xan would have to figure out something. He flew back to the group, setting up camp a few miles away, and tried not to think about how badly things could go. Militia might be killed.
Townspeople might be killed.
When he returned to the city an hour later, no one waited outside the gate. Either the citizens were too cowed by Pate to challenge him or they were too complicit in his immoral actions to judge him.
The hard way it was, then. Xan amplified his sight and scanned the city. A figure atop the highest tower moved. The mayor, shaking his fist. The captain stood beside him, equally defiant.
“I ordered you to surrender the mayor and the captain,” Xan boomed. “You will be punished for your failure to comply.”
He needed a suitable penalty, one that would frighten the townspeople and impart real consequences but not overly endanger them. Hmm.
“You think you’re safe inside your wall,” Xan boomed. “You’re not.”
He concentrated on the stones at the top of the wall near the gate, slowly increasing the weight of individual rocks. Cracks formed, splitting in jagged lines for dozens of feet in each direction. The entire structure groaned.
Xan poured in more magic.
Men on the parapet threw down their weapons and ran—in some cases, dove—away from the danger. The gate, and ten feet of wall on each side, collapsed. Those militia too stupid to flee fell with it.
Two bodies lay mangled in the debris. Another man was critically injured.
Xan grimaced. Killing had not been his intention. He poured life into the third man until his health stabilized.
Dozens of defenders scurried about the undamaged sections of parapet. Though they presented no threat to a wizard, Pate used them to keep the townspeople in line, so Xan would have to do something about them as well. He drained their lifeforce a score at a time until they fell unconscious, leaving Pate and the captain the only ones on the wall who were awake.
Gryphon (Rise of the Mages Book 2) Page 18