Gryphon (Rise of the Mages Book 2)

by Brian W. Foster

  Ada shrieked, a wail that stabbed his soul. Again, she shrieked. And again.

  No sooner had the last echo died than she charged him, stopping inches away. She pounded his chest with her fist. “Why? Why, my lord, why?”

  Xan had no answer for her. All he could do was let her hit him. He couldn’t have moved if he had wanted.

  It was the worst experience of his life.

  * * *

  Xan trudged to his quarters.

  The responsibility was too much. Guilt bore down on him like a ton of rock bound to his shoulders, grinding him to pieces. If only he could escape. Forget.

  Ada. And Hosea. And Marco. Especially Marco.

  He locked his door behind him, kinetically moved the stone bed, and opened a secret compartment he’d built into the floor. His bottle of licuna seeds stared at him, each tiny kernel an eyeball full of judgment and scorn.

  If anything were to blame as much as he was, it was that blasted drug. He’d used it hoping to gain an edge. Instead, it had cost him everything.

  He clutched the glass, prepared to incinerate the contents, but something held him back.

  The seeds sharpened his mind, which was the absolute last thing he wanted, but they also filled him with pleasure. If he could just have the bliss without the burden of thought …

  He tossed one in his mouth and swallowed. As soon as it hit his stomach, he boosted it to the fullest extent and collapsed as his muscles seized.

  As soon as he could control his arms, he did it again. And again.

  Euphoria flooded him, and he grinned, lost to oblivion.

  * * *

  Xan opened bleary eyes.

  His throne room? How did he get to his throne room?

  He shifted, his back numb. And he’d been there a while. Movement at the corner of his vision drew his attention.

  Robyn.

  Her back was to him as she walked away. Hunched over. Like she carried something she wanted to hide.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  She stopped but didn’t turn. “Nothing, my lord wizard. Just checking on you.”

  “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

  “No reason, my lord wizard.”

  “Turn! I command it.”

  Robyn slowly faced him, shifting her arms so that whatever she held stayed out of his sight. She ended up with both her hands behind her back.

  “Show me!”

  “My lord—”

  “Show me!”

  She grimaced and brought her hands around to her front. Hands holding a bottle. His bottle.

  “That’s mine!”

  “My lord wizard—”

  “Mine! Give it!”

  “Please, my lord wizard, you’re not yourself. These … these … things are making you into someone else. Let me take them away.”

  “No! Give them to me!”

  “I’m sorry, my lord wizard, but I cannot.”

  Xan snarled. He slammed a block into place, preventing her from using magic, and propelled the seeds to him. As soon as they were secure, he hurled her from the dais. She landed on her back a dozen feet away.

  “Get out. Now. If I ever see your face again, I will kill you.”

  He inspected the bottle for damage and found it, happily, intact. With a smile, he popped a seed into his mouth.

  69.

  Brant stopped and looked back, his feelings mixed.

  The Bermau border fort grew smaller with each footstep. Against huge odds, he’d succeeded at his mission, finding exactly what the duke needed—proof that Dastanar planned an attack and that they had an overwhelming force of mages.

  To have any chance of beating King Barius, they’d need to get to work. No longer would there be any question about upholding the treaty outlawing magic use. Queen Anna would approve Duke Asher’s actions. Recruitment and training of mages would be given the full go ahead.

  And Brant, fresh off such a big success, was just the man to lead the effort. He was so close to getting everything he wanted.

  At the same time, he felt terrible for betraying Tatiana. Not only had he left her behind, but there was no way to get the money soon enough to save her, since they were still several days’ journey from anywhere they could draw gold from the duke’s accounts.

  Brant had promised her a new life, and instead of giving it to her, he’d sold her up the river. And there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t help but turn and look back.

  Stokes and Raleigh were nearly out of sight ahead of him, but Ivie had waited for him. “Thinking you should have left me behind?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You seemed to enjoy her company an awful lot.”

  Brant hadn’t realized Ivie noticed the flirting between him and Tatiana. “I’m an officer in Duke Asher’s army. My decisions are not based on what I enjoy.”

  “Oh.”

  Wait. That made it sound as if he didn’t like being with Ivie. Not that what he did or did not like regarding her was of any importance. Still, it was … rude.

  “I did not enjoy her company more than yours,” he said.

  “You seemed to.”

  Brant shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.” He certainly wouldn’t admit he was trying to make her jealous, especially since he didn’t know why he was doing it.

  “You know she’ll betray you as soon as she figures out we’re not coming back, right? I would have had more reason to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Do you think I made the wrong choice?” he said. “Want me to see if they’ll trade?”

  “No.”

  “Then just be glad I decided the way I did.”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek.

  “What?” he said.

  “It’s nothing.”

  If there was one thing Brant knew about women, it was that “it’s nothing” meant “it’s something.’ ”

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “Hey, I’m just over here walking and being grateful of your decision-making prowess.” Ivie lowered her voice. “Or lack thereof.” And raised it again. “Master.”

  Great. He’d made her mad by … choosing her over Tatiana. “For the love of the Holy One, just blasted tell me.”

  Ivie frowned. “Fine.”

  Brant waited, but she said nothing else. “Well?”

  “It’s just … why did you keep me instead?”

  “Ivie, you’re … I mean, you’re …” Brant had no idea where he was going with that.

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re … a mage.” Finally, the answer had come to him. “And we need all those we can get.”

  “Oh. Okay. That makes sense.”

  Her expression remained stoic. Normal. No sign she was upset. Not that she had cause to be, but he got the feeling he’d missed something.

  He sighed. It would be a long trip back.

  And it was.

  * * *

  Brant strode into General Flynn’s office as a conquering hero.

  The journey to Asherton had taken over three weeks, and they’d only just arrived, a silent, dirty, road-worn crew. Brant, Stokes, and Raleigh weren’t even given a chance to wash themselves before being summoned.

  “I got your dispatches,” the general said. “You truly have proof?”

  “Yes, sir,” Brant said.

  The general looked to both Stokes and Raleigh, who nodded.

  “Following Lucan’s guidance, we’ve stepped up recruitment,” General Flynn said.

  Brant hid a scowl. Surely, they wouldn’t give Marshal of the Mages to a Dastanarian, no matter how much help he’d been.

  “We’re scouring the city searching among the population for more who have potential. Announcements have been made and posted informing our citizens that the Prohibition Against Magic Decree has been repealed.”

  “And the mage corps, sir?” Brant said.

  “Fifteen soldiers were found to have potential but no officers. Unfortunately.”

&n
bsp; Brant held back a grin. He was still in the running for the position.

  “So far, we’ve discovered five more with potential among the citizens of Asherton. Of those twenty total, we’ve only gotten half to surge, but they’ve begun training. Almost as good, Dylan reported finding sixteen in Eagleton.”

  Counting Ivie and the six mages they’d had from the start, Duke Asher could field forty-three, a formidable force … unless you compared it to the twelve-hundred that Dastanar had.

  “Has a commander been chosen, sir?”

  General Flynn grimaced. “The first time I put you in charge of anything, you allowed six enemy mages to survive. I’d sooner a wet-behind-the-ears private run things than you.” He removed a case from inside one of his desk drawers. “But I have been overruled. In light of your success with your mission, Duke Asher had ordered that you, Sir Brant Reed, be made Marshal of the Mages.”

  Brant reached for the box but hesitated before his hand closed around it. As much as he wanted to take it, he couldn’t. “I have something to add to my report, sir.”

  The general looked at him expectantly, hoping for a reason to give command to anyone else. Speaking was foolish. The correct move was to shut up and take the blasted box.

  Unless, of course, one was trying to do the right thing like one’s dad had always taught.

  Brant sighed. “I did something wrong.”

  “I see. Continue.”

  Brant swallowed hard. “I broke my word, my solemn oath as a knight under service to Duke Asher. I impugned my honor and, by extension, his, sir.” He told the story about his promise to Tatiana and how he failed to uphold it.

  “So if I understand correctly,” the general said, “you made a promise to a commoner … No, less than that, even. A slave. Then, while under threat from the enemy, you broke that promise in the course of continuing your mission.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  General Flynn frowned, clearly disappointed. “I don’t see the issue.”

  “But sir, I gave my oath. Knights do not break oaths. Period. And I could have left Ivie behind instead. In fact, both Sergeant Stokes and Private Raleigh advised me to do just that.”

  “Sir Reed, I realize you’ve only recently been given titles, but you must know that matters of honor lie only between nobles. You can no more impugn your honor dealing with a commoner than I could … could breathe water like a fish!”

  “But I didn’t have to leave Tatiana behind, sir.”

  “Did you believe your decision the best one?”

  “Yes, sir, I did. And do.”

  “Then, command is yours … unless you don’t want it?”

  Brant hesitated. His honor had demanded he admit what he’d done wrong. He’d done that. The rest wasn’t up to him.

  He saluted. “I accept the promotion, sir.”

  The general returned the gesture with a sigh before handing over the box. Brant opened it to find the medallion that had been given to Xan.

  The hard work. The sacrifices. Torturing Michal. Risking life and limb. Tatiana. All had been worth it.

  Brant grinned. Command was his, and he vowed to do a much better job than his predecessor. “What are my orders, sir? More recruitment?”

  “Get your force together and train. Fast. Send a letter ordering Dylan back with his mages. You’ve only got a couple of weeks.”

  “And then, sir?”

  “You’re to take every mage you have to Eye Lake.”

  Brant swallowed. He didn’t like where that was going. “And once there, sir?”

  General Flynn met his eyes. “Kill the wizard.

  70.

  Dylan clutched his medallion.

  “What’s wrong?” Mari said.

  He stared out the window of the Angry Egg’s common room. A rider wearing bright blue-and-gold livery dismounted.

  “Messenger from Duke Asher,” Dylan said. “Might be my orders.”

  For over two months since the debacle with his parents, they’d stayed at the inn—occupying separate rooms, of course. His mission hadn’t taken a lot of effort. He’d devised a “market survey” for a fictional product, a flimsy pretense for him to test if a person could become a mage. By offering a copper to anyone willing, he’d overcome legitimate skepticism and confirmed that the nine people who hadn’t been sickened by the plague still living in Eagleton did, in fact, have potential. After checking every new citizen of the town, he’d even traveled to surrounding communities and found five more with ability.

  “Finally,” she said. “Anything’s better than sitting around here worrying.”

  The queen could order that the law was to be upheld and mages be put to death, jeopardizing his and his friends lives, or she could violate the treaty, meaning war was coming. Which also meant his and his friends’ lives would be jeopardized. Neither option made it likely that Dylan could get married and live a long, happy, prosperous life.

  No use upsetting Mari with any of those thoughts, though.

  “I suppose,” he said.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he glanced up. Myles and his son descended.

  “Heard the rider,” the mage hunter said. “This what we’ve been waiting for?”

  Dylan shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  The messenger burst through the door, and Dylan tensed. His life was at stake. And Mari’s. And his friends. That was bad enough, but he’d also recruited sixteen potential mages, counting the two Myles had brought back. If they were killed in battle or executed, Dylan would be to blame, and they didn’t even know about their ability, much less the danger. He’d convinced the seven from out of town to stay with him by paying them in return for a vague future service. The ones in Eagleton had no idea they’d tested positive for anything.

  “Dylan d’Adreci?” the messenger said.

  “Here.”

  The man pulled a sealed letter from a satchel. Dylan’s hands trembled as he opened it.

  Dylan,

  Things are bad. I can’t put numbers or tell you our exact plans in this letter, but Dastanar is planning an attack. They have a lot of mages. A lot. The queen has given her blessing for our operation and is openly recruiting mages in and around Escon. King Wybrande is doing the same.

  The duke needs … I need … your potentials. Get them to Asherton as fast as possible. Train them if you can, but speed is more important.

  Sir Brant Reed

  Marshal of the Mages

  “Your face just turned about four shades whiter,” Myles said. “What is it?”

  “War.” Dylan handed over the letter.

  No more searching after wealth or a chance for a peaceful life somewhere. He was to be a soldier and a mage. Life would become an endless series of battles … if he were lucky. King Barius’ force apparently outnumbered them by so much that a quick death was more likely.

  “I guess you were right, kid,” Myles said.

  “Huh?”

  “About the mages. About everything,” Myles said. “Glad I didn’t kill you.”

  Dylan just stared at him.

  “Guess you’ll be heading back to the city soon, then?” Myles said.

  That was the question, wasn’t it?

  Dylan frowned. He’d be crazy even to consider going to Asherton. Run. Send the recruits on without him, lying that he’d catch up with them after making fictitious stops to gather more mages. Set up a life with Mari in a remote village. Hunting a rogue mage wouldn’t be a high priority. They’d be safe while they waited for things to blow over.

  “Kid?”

  He rubbed his temples. How could he ask others to do what he was too afraid to do himself? What would Mari think of her fiancé? Would she even marry such a coward?

  “We’ll leave in the morning, I guess,” Dylan said.

  Myles grinned. “I expect you’ll really be needing all the mages you can get now, huh?”

  Considering that the survival of every person on the duke’s side depended on battling enemy magic
users, a truer statement had never been spoken, and Dylan didn’t even know how he’d get the potentials he’d already found to volunteer to fight in a war.

  “You have a line on more?”

  “A few rumors,” Myles said.

  “By the time you track them down and make it to Asherton, it might be too late.”

  “But it might not be. The amnesty makes my job a lot easier. Don’t have to watch them to see if they use magic. Just come right out and ask … as long as you’re willing to pay, that is.”

  “Two silvers for every one you deliver,” Dylan said. “That’s double what I gave you before.”

  “Nope. I want a gold.”

  “We’ve been over this—”

  “And we’ve also both read the same letter.” Myles crossed his arms across his chest, a smug look on his face.

  Dylan opened his mouth to object but stopped himself. He had more important things to do than watch out for the duke’s money. “Fine, but get to Asherton fast.”

  If only all his problems could be solved by throwing money at them. Somehow, he doubted that any amount would buy loyalty from the recruits. He had to find a way to convince them to come with him.

  71.

  Dylan waited for Mayor Williamson to finish reading Brant’s message.

  Again. For the third time. Studying each word as if new information would somehow appear between the lines.

  “And you’re positive there wasn’t another letter? One from the duke?”

  “The messenger left as soon as I told him I didn’t have a reply, your honor. He didn’t give me anything else.”

  Sergeant Pruitt spat. “Nothing for me, either.”

  “My report was important, blast it!” the mayor said. “At the very least, I need men stationed at Eagle’s Keep.”

  Maybe the duke had more pressing matters on his mind than a single barbarian who died as soon as he arrived in Eagleton. Sure didn’t sound like much of a threat to Dylan. “With respect, your honor, there’s a lot going on right now.”