Gryphon (Rise of the Mages Book 2)

by Brian W. Foster

  Lauren’s boots pounded the ground behind him. Her landings needed work, but he said nothing. It would come with practice.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  He charted the cave with his mass sense and discovered it went quite deep, and at the back, objects with a different density than the surrounding rock rested on the floor. The radiation came from one of those objects.

  The climb down was long and uncomfortably reminded Xan of his last time in a cave. No life signs, though, so he didn’t have to worry about a bear.

  Finally, after about a half hour of hiking, he came upon the first of five metal boxes, about the size of butter churns. The finish was old and dull. Vaguely silver in the light he’d created from a fire on his sleeve.

  No visible rust, either. Strange for the wet environment.

  The radiation flowed from a pile of rocks in the back corner. He removed those one at a time kinetically until he revealed a sixth box. The rocks had crushed the metal, cracking it at the seams. A different material shone through the slits. Dull and silvery grey, the strange material soaked the surroundings with radiation.

  Even weirder was a sensation unlike any he’d ever felt, like magic demanded to be poured into it. A bit was all it would take.

  He hesitated. To what effect?

  An explosion, his instincts told him. A big one.

  That was how blighters worked. Dump the tiniest thread of magic into that stuff and … boom!

  The things he could do with such weapons. Kingdoms would tremble before him.

  Wait. What was he thinking? He’d never use such a thing. Blasting an entire city? Right. What would Tasia think?

  His best bet was to destroy them somehow. After all, if he could use them, so could a blighter.

  He frowned. But they were weapons, and he needed all those he could get. Maybe take them back to the castle. Keep them safe. Secure.

  Yes. That was it. With luck, just the threat of using one of them might win a battle. His enemies didn’t have to know he’d never actually follow through.

  The perfect bluff.

  Xan moved the five clean boxes to the cave entrance, clearing off the stray radiation that had collected on them. The broken box was too leaky to transport, though, and he couldn’t just leave it for anyone to find.

  He pushed it and its contents to the very back of the cave and, shielding the material from heat, melted the metal so it formed an intact enclosure. Standing at the mouth, he poured mass into the cave’s ceiling.

  The whole thing collapsed in a tremendous explosion of dust. No one would retrieve the weapon from underneath a mountain.

  52.

  Xan flew a module to the top of the tower.

  Workers had assembled the section, six-feet tall and twenty-feet in diameter with thick walls and carved stairs, on the ground. Similar segments took a kineticist and two massers to move into place. Xan did it by himself.

  He settled the new module on mortar prepared for it atop the steadily rising construction. Another couple of days, and it would be done.

  The morning sun was behind him, and a moving shadow indicated someone approaching. He turned to find Frae.

  “Am I disturbing you, my lord?”

  “I can spare a few minutes.” After four days away from Eye Lake, his to-do list piled high, including checking the progress of his army. He’d probably need to give Gregg pointers on how to best handle combat, but that could hold for a while. “What can I do for you?”

  “Advice, my lord … about a boy.”

  And she was coming to him of all people? “Okay …”

  “A farmer, my lord. He wants to court me.”

  “I see.” Though he really didn’t. What did she want to hear? “Do you like him?”

  “He’s a good man. Strong. Hard worker. Treats me right, my lord.” She paused. “Pa likes him.”

  “But?”

  “I reckon, my lord, I just wanted to make sure … you know.” She cast her gaze downward.

  “I’m sorry. Know what?”

  Frae sighed. “Never mind, my lord.” She spun and rushed away.

  What had just happened? He’d said or done something to upset her.

  Xan launched himself into the air and landed in front of her. “Frae, I’m sorry. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

  “My lord …” She blushed. “You’ll be marrying a lady, and I’m not … but sometimes, rulers … take, uh, mistresses?”

  Oh. She was offering … Oh!

  Heat rose to his face as well. “Any man, including me, would be lucky to have you. I’m flattered.”

  Mages and regular people alike looked at him reverently, almost like he was a god, and perhaps, they were right. In so many ways, he was much more than a mere man, able to accomplish things others couldn’t even imagine. Wizard. Ruler. Most powerful person alive. Maybe the most powerful person in history.

  She was right about people like him taking mistresses, too. Maybe …

  “But?” she said.

  “I don’t even know if I’ll ever see Tasia again, but if I do, I don’t want anything to mess up whatever slim chance I have with her. Me having a … relationship … with someone else wouldn’t help my cause.”

  Her face fell. “I reckon that’s kind of what I thought.”

  His hand went to a purse attached to his belt, and he fumbled for coins. Four gold gryphons. No, five. He pulled them out, all engraved much better than the crude scrawl he’d started with, and pressed them into her hand. “Here. Now, you don’t have to worry about a dowry.”

  “My lord! I …”

  She stared at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher. Probably too grateful to put thoughts to words.

  “It’s okay. I am the wizard Gryphon, Lord of Eye Lake. That’s just a taste of my generosity.” He waved at her and launched himself over the lake.

  His reflection raced through the water below him. He still looked like the same old him. Scrawny. Hair that sprouted every which way. Clothes more suited to a craftsman than a world leader.

  Certainly not like a god.

  But why couldn’t he make himself look the part? Shape himself to be physically imposing? Magic had taught him about the processes his body used. Enhancing chemical reactions in the right place would grow muscles. Of course, he’d have to be careful, but no reason he couldn’t make his body more like Brant’s. And without the hassle of doing actual work.

  He added that to his list, along with building his empire and bringing three monarchs to their knees before him. Things were going so fantastically. Construction continued on the castle, and there were even usable rooms. The flow of citizens pouring in had slowed to a trickle, but he’d exceeded six hundred in such a short time. And his latest recruitment efforts resulted in his mage force increasing to forty-four, with Tina not even back yet. That was surely more than Asher or the queen had managed.

  He flew toward the training grounds and sensed the life of the crops as he passed over the fields. They’d harvested twice, and the third round was getting close. But something felt off. The life was weaker than it should have been. Not disease, though.

  Ahh. Lack of nutrients.

  He spotted a stooped, white-haired old man issuing orders to everyone and hovered above him. “Three yields is too much for the land. We should be okay this go around, but next time, find a new field.”

  Poor guy wasn’t used to growing crops so fast. Good thing someone was there to tell him what was what.

  Xan launched himself straight up, and as he neared the apex, popped another seed, boosting its efficacy as soon as it hit his system. He closed his eyes and let himself fall.

  Such a rush! Wind rushed passed him. His stomach sunk as he tumbled downward.

  Incredible.

  He reveled in the sensation. Life was grand.

  Shouts, though the noise barely registered. Watch out? Who? For what? And what danger?

  Xan was having too much fun to care.

  Something tickled his
mind, though. How high up had he been when he started falling? How long had he been falling?

  Xan opened his eyes. The ground was close. Too close.

  He laughed.

  How funny! He’d almost died. How silly would it have been to have forgotten to open his eyes?

  Farm laborers stared at him in horror.

  Inches above the ground, Xan halted his momentum and touched down softly enough not to disturb the dirt. He grinned and waved to the workers.

  Some cheered. Others just gawked open-mouthed.

  What had he been about to do? There was somewhere he’d been going. Hmm.

  Oh well. Whatever it was could wait. He’d burn off energy by pouring magic into the crops and then go take a nap.

  * * *

  Xan’s eyes snapped open.

  A cold sweat soaked him.

  He was in his bed, but he’d no recollection of how he got there. The light coming through his window indicated late afternoon.

  Where had the day gone?

  A memory hit him. Falling. Nearly dying.

  Surely that had been a dream. He hadn’t really been so reckless. Surely!

  He grimaced. The more he thought about it, the surer he became that it had happened.

  The seeds were way too dangerous. He’d lay off them for a while. And probably not fly for a little while, either.

  A walk. Yes. A nice walk to clear his head.

  Maybe Marco would join him. Xan couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen the boy.

  * * *

  Xan plucked an apple from a tree and bit it.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” he said. “Three weeks ago, this was only a seed.”

  Marco grunted noncommittally. He hadn’t uttered two words since leaving his house, which wasn’t like him. And Hosea had been forced to order him to come along.

  “Tell me,” Xan said.

  “What do you mean, my lord wizard?” Marco spit out the title.

  “Something is bothering you.”

  “Nope.”

  Great. “Come on, something is—”

  “I said no!”

  “Okay, forget I asked.”

  They walked silently until coming across a guy hoeing a row in the dirt. Xan didn’t recognize him, but considering all the new people, that wasn’t a shock. A scan of the surroundings detected four more men in the trees over a small rise. None were mages.

  “Almost lunch, isn’t it?” Xan said.

  “Y-you’re the lord Gryphon?” The guy seemed terrified. Weird.

  “I am. Did your friends break early?”

  “How did you … I’m sorry, my lord wizard.”

  “For what?”

  “They’re not lazy, my lord. I swear it! It’s just that we had a hard journey. And we only got here last night. And we didn’t have much food. And—”

  From the heat signatures, his friends appeared to be lounging on the ground. Maybe sleeping.

  “I’m not mad,” Xan said. “And don’t worry. No one will turn you out for taking a break every once in a while.”

  “Y-yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

  “Well, carry on, then.” Xan moved to walk away.

  “Uh, my lord?”

  Xan turned back to the farmer. “Yes?”

  “It’s, uh, a hot day out, my lord wizard. Would you care for a drink of water?” The man held out a wineskin. “It would be an honor to serve you.”

  Xan wasn’t thirsty, but sometimes one accepted hospitality to be polite. “Sure.” He took a sip. “Thanks.”

  Marco, still in a sullen mood, refused. Xan would have to deal with the attitude, though he had no idea how.

  The man bowed, a smile on his face, making Xan feel quite magnanimous.

  As he stepped away, though, his mouth went numb. His throat burned. Pain erupted in his stomach and spread to his arms and legs.

  Something attacked his body.

  Poison.

  He poured life magic into himself, trying to stem the flow from his body.

  The man pulled a knife and lunged.

  Xan launched him thirty feet high. When the assassin came down, he was fifty yards away and landed with a thud. He did not survive the fall.

  Everything inside Xan hurt. The poison was spreading. Fast. Though he channeled all the life magic he could handle, he didn’t know if it would be enough.

  “My lord wizard,” Marco said, “what’s wrong?”

  Something caught the edge of Xan’s vision.

  No, not something. Some things. Arrows. Four of them. Moving fast toward him and Marco.

  “Get down!” Xan yelled.

  He thrust himself into the kinetic magic and tried to divert the missiles. Three arced wide and missed, but the third was too close to deflect.

  The tip sliced Xan’s thigh. Blood flowed. More life drained from him.

  He wasn’t replacing it fast enough as it was.

  Another flight of arrows launched.

  Xan flung them into the dirt. His thoughts clouded at the twin tasks of dodging arrows and pouring life into himself.

  He dove to the ground between two long rows of dirt and kinetically shoved Marco back a dozen yards.

  Spots danced in front of Xan’s eyes. Life flowed from him too fast. Healing himself required all his concentration.

  He only had a minute. Two tops. If the tide didn’t turn before then, he’d lose consciousness and die.

  The pain in his stomach flared, and he clutched at it. His head swam as he poured more and more life into himself. If he kept using magic at the rate he was, he would pass out, and if he passed out, he’d die.

  But if he stopped the magic before neutralizing the poison, he’d die that way, too.

  Time was not on his side.

  A flight of arrows plunked into the surrounding dirt. And another. Still no hits, and thankfully none near Marco.

  Another.

  An arrow struck Xan’s leg, and a fresh wave of agony hit him. More life lost. But that pain was nothing compared to the poison burning his gut.

  Thousands of points of light danced before his eyes. Almost blacking out.

  But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Marco’s life was on the line, too.

  The flights of arrows stopped. The assassins must have decided Xan was too hard to hit on the ground. He peeked above the dirt mound.

  The four from the trees sprinted toward him, blades bared.

  Argh! He didn’t have energy to spare for them, but he didn’t have a choice. If the men got to him, he’d be killed that way, too.

  He launched them a hundred yards into the air.

  The world spun. More spots. Too much magic.

  Four lethal thuds cheered him, but he had little consciousness remaining. And more life still flowed out than the magic replenished.

  Seconds slowed to eternity. The edges of his vision went black. So close to passing out. To dying.

  Wait. The life flowing out of him slowed. A tiny amount less, if he wasn’t imagining it.

  No. Slower. Definitely slower. And slower still.

  The pain coursing through him eased. Some. Not a lot. But some.

  He eased up on the amount of magic he channeled, keeping the flow in just greater than the flow out.

  “Xan! Xan!” Marco said. “Are you okay?”

  “Getting there,” he croaked.

  Minutes passed, and the poison’s effects diminished enough to let him slow his magic use to a sustainable amount. The world stopped spinning, and eventually, he sat up, getting better by the instant.

  “I need a while longer.” His throat was parched. “Can you get me water? And not from that guy’s wineskin!”

  Marco turned and ran. Xan propelled the arrow from his leg.

  Assassins. He stared at the dead men. Someone had sent assassins after him.

  Xan had been expecting an attack for a while, though he’d not known what form it would take. He should have been more alert. More cautious.

  He’d grown too complacent
about moving around without a guard. In the future, he would not leave his castle without one. More than one. Two men-at-arms and ideally, a mage as well, though he didn’t know how he could spare any from their duties.

  Too much to do, too few resources.

  And who sent them? Dastanar? Or the queen? Or Asher? Or Kaicia? Could have been any of them, or worse, all of them acting together.

  By the time Marco returned, escorted by three mages and a half dozen men-at-arms, Xan was fully recovered. He directed his men to examine the dead assassins, but truthfully, he doubted they’d find anything to indicate who had sent them. Even if a clue was found, he’d not trust it as it could just have easily been planted to frame someone else.

  He’d have to put up with not knowing. For the moment. One day, though, he’d find out, and he’d make them pay.

  53.

  Brant plucked at the sleeve of his coat.

  Nothing about his situation felt right. Pretending to be Michal. Carrying a giant purse … satchel, whatever. And the ridiculous clothes, though not as bad as the ones that Lady Ashley had made him wear to meet her father. Way too tight. He didn’t even know if he could swing a sword.

  Not that he had a sword since messengers didn’t carry them. Only a tiny belt knife.

  Maybe that was for the best. Given the situation, he’d not likely have much luck fighting his way out of trouble if he got into any. With the others waiting for him a few hours ride away, he was on his own while in Bodbridge Hold.

  Before reaching the keep, though, he had to pass through the village that surrounded its walls. A stinky, poor, broken-down village. As he walked the dirt paths winding through it, he couldn’t help but be repulsed. Refuse and human waste littered the ground. No sewers. Most of the houses were made of grass. The nicer ones, constructed of wood, weren’t even up to the standards of hovels in Bermau. None were stone. Not a speck of paint to be seen.

  Even Bermau had poor areas, though, if not usually so near a major castle. What made the scene so bleak were the people.

  Brant caught the eye of a pretty young woman. She looked away from him quickly. Not shy or embarrassed or playing hard to get. Scared. Like she feared abuse. There was no light in her eyes. No happiness.