by Amy Hopkins
Julianne’s final defense, her last shields, crumbled.
Before Donna could force her way through, Julianne groped for a familiar presence, a mind to call to. She found it.
Now, she sent.
Donna flooded into her mind, raking at Julianne’s immediate impressions. Pain scored her flesh, and she fell to her knees, writhing as Donna’s magic inflicted sensations of burning agony on every one of her nerves.
Julianne screamed.
The pain stopped.
Donna’s presence in her mind vanished.
Julianne lay on her back and sucked in a deep gasp. Above her, heavy grey clouds banked across the sky. A snowflake fell on her cheek, a tiny pinpoint of ice that quickly melted and dripped down her face.
“Jules!” Marcus scrambled to her, his face obscuring her view of the sky. “What the fuck?”
Julianne smiled. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice weak.
“What?” Marcus slipped an arm under her and lifted, helping her to sit. “Julianne… what the fuck just happened?”
A wavering smile touched her face. “Tavich.”
Marcus looked over his shoulder at the burly rearick leader stomping towards them, barely sparing a glance at the body sprawled on the snow, red hair splayed out around her.
Marcus reached for his scabbard, but Julianne put her hand over his.
“Julianne!” Tavich reached a hand out, and Julianne took it. With a swift jerk, he pulled her to her feet.
Legs still wobbling, she had to cling to Marcus to stay standing, but a giddy giggle escaped. “We did it,” she said.
“Aye! Clever lass. Ye didn’t have ta leave it til the last minute, though!” Tavich waved his finger at her, then chuckled. “But ye wouldn’t be Selah’s favorite if ye didn’t have a touch o’ the battle fever, would ye? Well played, lass.”
“Uh, Tavich?” a rearick Julianne didn’t recognize approached, eyes darting from his leader to the Mystic Master. “Are we not going to storm the Temple, then?”
“What?” Tavich’s eyes bulged. “Don’t be a dipshit, Carrup. Storm the Temple? Fucking rearick.”
“But you said—”
Julianne interrupted smoothly. “I’m sorry, Carrup. Tavich and I worked out a plan, but it wasn’t safe to tell anyone—anyone.” Her eyes flicked to Marcus beseechingly. “Only Tavich and Margit knew.”
“Margit?” Jonsen wandered over, his face dark. “Margit is dead. Isn’t she?”
Julianne gave a polite cough.
“I was as surprised as you,” Aldred said. He rolled his shoulder, then pulled back his robe to examine the black welt from Marcus’s sword. He prodded it and winced.
“But… ah, Bastard’s luck.” Jonsen scowled. “She’d better not think she’s getting another funeral like that one. Next time she dies, I’ll box her up in cheap pine and toss it over the mountain.” He wandered off, muttering about the cost of funerals.
“Sorry about the shoulder, Aldred.” Marcus bowed his head apologetically.
“You couldn’t help it,” Julianne said. “I’m amazed you managed to turn the blade.”
Marcus rubbed his head. “Is this what it’s going to be like?” he asked. “Living here?”
“And you thought we were boring when you got here,” Julianne chided. “Now, let’s get this mess sorted out before my arm falls off.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Julianne relaxed into her thick pillows, the soothing warmth of a jug of elixir suffusing her body. Her fractured arm was splinted and bandaged and now rested on the blanket next to her, while Marcus sat at her other side, holding her good hand.
Sunlight filtered through the window, a crisp, cool light that did nothing to offset the frost speckling the edges of the window. Julianne shivered and turned her eyes towards the crackling fireplace.
“A prostitute.” Across the room, Margit perched in a high-backed chair, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t have believed that if I hadn’t seen it in your head.”
“I know,” Julianne said. “But I’m glad he’s happy.”
“And this school?” Margit took a sip from the pewter mug in her hand. “You really think that Bastian has what it takes to undertake such a big project?”
Julianne nodded. “He was so young when we left,” she mused. “But he’s grown. We all have.”
“Nothing stays the same forever,” Marcus commented.
Margit’s eyes flashed. “That’s true. I’ll wager you’ll see some changes around here since our last little adventure.” She snorted. “My little trick seems to have put everyone in a snit. Do you know, Jonsen wouldn’t even bring me dinner to my room last night?”
Julianne chuckled. “They’ll come around. You did it to help keep the Temple safe, Margit.”
After faking her death, the old woman had walked through early snow and treacherous darkness to slip past the Craigston orders and tip Tavich off about what was happening. They had kept Margit’s information secret, to prevent Donna from realizing she had been found out.
“What was your plan, anyway?” Julianne asked. “I never did figure it out.”
“Oh, she was showing all the signs of burnout,” Margit said. “When we planned that so-called attack, we figured she would try and brain-wash the whole damn army to stop from being handed over.”
“You were hoping she would magic herself to death?” Marcus asked.
Margit nodded. “Failing that, Tavich would have done what he did yesterday. There’s no mind-magic that a swift knife to the gut won’t stop.”
Julianne blanched at the memory of Donna, convulsing on the hard stone as she died, blood spreading beneath her to stain the pristine snow.
Julianne briefly closed her eyes, and opened them when one of her guests rustled paper. When she looked, neither had moved.
“Did you hear that?” she asked. Marcus was just shaking his head when something scrabbled again, a skittering, mouse-like sound.
“Don’t tell me those damn rats are back,” Margit growled.
Julianne sat and swung her legs over the bed, eyes roaming the room.
Julianne?
Her heart stopped as she watched a bit of paper twirl on her desk.
Yes, Bastian? she replied distractedly.
You won’t believe this. We found a portal! Or a door, I don’t know. It’s big and red and… things are coming out! Little armored creatures, with big front teeth and—
And glossy red skin? Julianne asked dryly. Creatures that eat paper, and curl into a perfect ball when they’re scared?
Um… yes, actually. How did you…
Julianne watched the tiny beast scrabble at the desk, pointed nose twitching as it tried to find more paper. It came to the edge and tumbled off. Marcus snatched it from the air before it could strike the hard floor.
When he opened his hands, the small rock Julianne had carried with her all the way from Tahn was just that again—a rock. She tore a scrap of paper off the pile on her lap and reached out.
The rock trembled and slowly unfurled, snatching the paper from her fingers. The scrap wobbled as the little beast chewed it quickly.
“Well, that explains why it kept coming back after I left it behind,” Julianne murmured. “And where all my papers went.”
Master… Bastian sent the plea with all the awed confusion she felt herself. What are they?
I have no idea, Bastian. She reached out a finger and stroked the little animal’s hard shell. But I think… I think this is going to change everything.
FINIS
Author Notes - Amy Hopkins
Author note: 12/17/17
Hi guys! Wow, what a whirlwind of a book! It was a little slower than expected in coming out, thanks to a crazy couple of months building, moving, and putting in some time helping out a few friends with various things. Still, I think it’s the best in the series yet. Julianne, Marcus, Danil and the rearick are like old friends now, and having them around is easy. They know where the coffee cups are, and they know I don�
��t like it when Danil leaves crumbs on the floor.
This is my birthday book. By the time you read this, I’ll officially be 35. A pretty great age, actually. Too old to think drinking until vomiting is fun, too young for the arthritis to have fully set in yet. And always, ALWAYS young enough to dig at Michael for being older.
Next time I write one of these, I’ll be doing it from my beautiful new house, on the shade of my verandah, listening to the chooks, the kookaburras and the babbling creek. I’ll try get a sound bite of that for you to listen to. That way, if my next book takes three years, you’ll know it’s because I’m so relaxed, I’m asleep :D (I promise I won’t actually do that. Probably.)
Goodbye for now, I’ll see you all in two months or so. I can’t wait to see what happens next!
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
12/18/2017
First, THANK YOU for making it all the way to the back of the book, where the cool authors hang out…Or, at least one of us is cool, the other is ‘older.’
I have a long memory Amy (no, he doesn’t), so you should be worried about the repercussions about sassing your elders. (Seriously, I doubt Mike will think about his ten measly seconds after he finishes his Author Notes.)
So, be worried. Be very worried indeed. (He is such a liar! See notes above.)
I’m 50, so I know all the crafty ways to get back at people. (He doesn’t know dick about getting back at people, plus he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, so don’t worry.)
I know I’ve mentioned it somewhere before, but if we could copy out some of Amy’s comments in the Slack channel for the Age of Magic authors, she would have you in stitches. (At least this is actually true.)
Then again, her stuff makes ME blush. I presume it’s the Aussie sense of humor and as an American, it’s funny as hell, but my Puritan roots are showing.
(Whatever.)
If you want some interesting info on Amy, ask her HOW F#CKING FAST her builders are getting her house to go up. She showed us some pictures and I’m thinking, ‘DAMN! You guys need to come to the US. You don’t screw around.’
I’ve had three houses built in my life. The first one was back in 1999 and it started off great, then slowed… Then fast…Then slow again. If memory serves, it was a 2,900 square foot house (4 bedrooms) with one floor and took eight months.
Our second home was already six months completed, and took another three months so nine months in all.
Our third house, unfortunately, is in another country and will take at least two years. Don’t add ‘upgrades.’ What it means here in America translates to ‘push the house completion date back nine more months’ in Cabo San Lucas.
I think it will be something like two and a half years minimum on that house. Possibly three years.
If we get it first quarter 2019.
On the plus side, we get free rooms at the resort every three months to so we can visit our dirt. The dirt is in a very pretty location, so that is nice. However, it’s still just dirt.
As I mentioned above, I’m now fifty. So, I’m kinda feeling a kinship with the dirt with this whole age thing. (He doesn’t think he is old until he feels the bones creak when sitting in a position too long, or a backache when sitting Indian style on the floor to wrap presents.)
Well, it’s time I give you back your focus, so you can go and find the NEXT Kurtherian or Oriceran book to read ;-)
Ad Aeternitatem,
Michael Anderle
CHAPTER ONE
Julianne and Marcus walked down the familiar path leading into Tahn. They’d dismounted some time ago, letting the horses rest after a frantic trip through the Madlands.
“I could have taken him,” Julianne said.
Marcus blinked, as thoughts dragged back to their earlier conversation after a period of weary silence. “I told you, that remnant was too big. He’d have squashed you.”
“You’re not actually any taller than me,” Julianne noted. “Well… maybe a finger-width, but not enough to make a difference.”
“It’s not about height.” Marcus patted his rifle, now securely strapped to his saddlebags, and straightened his shoulders. “It’s about strength, dexterity, precision in the face of—” His words stopped short as he stumbled on a rock, hidden by the lengthening shadows and washed out colors of dusk.
“You were saying?” Julianne asked with a laugh. “Tell me again how precise you are.”
“Shut up.” Marcus focused his eyes ahead, trying to will the heat from his cheeks. “You know what I meant.”
“You meant that you were too scared to take the beast on in a fair fight, so you assumed I would be, too.” Julianne lifted her hand and rubbed her thumb across a jagged bit of nail on one of her fingers. She’d broken it in the fight earlier. “You know what they say about people who assume things?”
“That Marcus is an ass,” he grumped. “Fine. Maybe you could have taken him. But why? This rifle isn’t for decoration. If we’d waited for you to fight off old fish-breath, we wouldn’t have made it out of the Mads until well after dark. And blow a fair fight—I’m dying for a soft bed, Jules.”
“Well, it’s all behind us now,” Julianne consoled him. “We’re past the big mean remnants keeping you from your beauty sleep. We can—”
A hiss cut her off, and her horse skittered to one side as a figure leaped out from behind a tree.
“Dinner!” The red-eyed beast bared his teeth and growled.
“Shit!” Julianne squealed. Her horse agreed and reared back on two legs with a high-pitched whinnie, almost kicking Julianne in the head in its distress.
The remnant took advantage of her distraction and lunged forward. Julianne grabbed at the bridle, fending off her attacker with a clumsy kick. The remnant barked a short laugh and tried again.
This time, she was ready. The big, white horse came down, eyes wide and flank twitching. Julianne, now able to use the slack in the reins to move more freely, met her attacker with an elbow jab to the face, followed by a swift punch to the gut.
It made little impact. Yellow, cracked nails clawed at her face and fetid breath washed over her as the remnant opened its mouth, trying to snap crooked teeth at her neck. The remnant’s face brushed hers, and Julianne felt the greasy, white face paint it wore as it smeared onto her skin.
A pulse bounced through the air that could be felt more than heard. The remnant convulsed and coughed, blood-filled mouth spattering Julianne’s face with warm liquid.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Julianne spat. “Ugh, that’s disgusting.” She dabbed her eyes with a sleeve and opened them again.
“Let me guess,” Marcus said. “You could have taken him?”
“Don’t be silly.” Julianne patted the horse’s neck, soothing him. “I was busy with old ‘fraidy-pants here. What took you so long, anyway?”
“What… Gah!” Marcus threw up his hands and turned away, missing the glimmer of mirth in Julianne’s eyes.
“Thank you, dear,” she called after him. “And sorry for being a crotchety old woman earlier.”
“And?” Marcus prompted.
“And?” Julianne repeated, not willing to give him too much ground.
Marcus sighed. “You’re never going to admit I was right, are you?”
“Of course, I am,” Julianne quipped. “As soon as you actually are right.”
Marcus prodded the dead remnant with the toe of his boot. “What’s he doing this far from the Madlands, anyway?”
Julianne shook her head worriedly. They were too close to Annie’s for comfort. “Bastian said they’d been infesting the area, but I didn’t realize they’d come this far. Did you see the face paint? It’s not one of the Madlands pack members.”
Marcus nodded. “Well, that’s what we’re here to fix.” He left the still-warm corpse and mounted his horse. “Let’s ride the rest of the way. I want to make sure these pricks haven’t been bothering Annie.”
Julianne nodded absentmindedly as she slid a hand into the deep po
cket of her robe. Inside, her fingers brushed a small, round object, hard as stone and cold to her touch. She stroked it gently and felt it shudder, then unfurl.
Tiny claws clutched her middle fingertip, and a dry snout wrapped around it. “Sorry, little one. No treats just yet.”
The tiny creature soon grew bored with the lack of offering from Julianne. It pulled away, wriggling around to wedge deeper into the cloth. A moment later it began the rhythmic, telltale shudder that signaled it was asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
Julianne rapped on the wooden door, fresh white paint glowing in the brightly-lit night. She rubbed her eyes as she waited for it to open. Behind her, Marcus shifted irritably.
“Hush,” Julianne admonished. “And for Bitch’s sake, wipe your feet before we go in?”
Marcus eyed his boots. Mud was caked around the edges of each sole, one of the boots sporting a smear up the toe where he’d tripped on a clod of dirt. His gaze slid to Julianne’s pristine leather shoes. “Why are yours so clean?” he grumbled.
Julianne knocked again, this time smiling when a grumpy, “Hold your horses!” called from the other side.
“I cleaned them in the creek,” she explained. “And then I rode through the swamp, instead of clomping through the mud like an idiot.”
Marcus opened his mouth to protest—she had been the one who’d asked him to lead her horse through a particularly swampy field of grass—but he was cut off as the door swung open and hit the wall behind with a thump.
“I don’t know what business you have at this time of night, but—” Annie looked up, her eyes widening and words faltering as she recognized who stood on her tiny front porch. “Well, Bitch bless me!”
She slapped a hand to her mouth at the words. Annie wasn’t one to take the Bitch’s name like that, but damned if she wasn’t shocked to her bones to see these two standing there.