by Ron Collins
“Action-packed and thrilling, Garrick faces his greatest challenge yet in Gathering of the God-Touched.”
- Amy Sterling Casil
Nebula-nominated Author of Female Science Fiction Writer
The Saga of the God-Touched Mage includes:
Glamour of the God-Touched
Trail of the Torean
Target of the Orders
Gathering of the God-Touched
Pawn of the Planewalker
Changing of the Guard
Lord of the Freeborn
Lords of Existence
Other Work by Ron Collins:
Five Magics
Picasso’s Cat and Other Stories
See the PEBA on $25 a Day
Chasing the Setting Sun
Four Days in May
Links to these and more of Ron's work
Follow Ron at
www.typosphere.com
or his twitter feed: @roncollins13
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Copyright Information
Gathering of the God-Touched
Saga of the God-Touched Mage, Volume 4
© 2014 Ron Collins
All rights reserved.
Cover Art by Rachel J. Carpenter
© 2014 Ron Collins
All rights reserved.
Cover Images
© Prometeus | Dreamstime.com - Strong Man Photo
© Warren1225 | Dreamstime.com - Dhaulagiri Himal Photo
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All incidents, dialog, and characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Skyfox Publishing
http://www.skyfoxpublishing.com
For Tim, Mike, Jackie, and Ken. And of course, for Lisa.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Appendix
Acknowledgements
About Ron Collins
How You Can Help
Prologue
God’s Tower was a place of magic, a place of legend, a place of stark, windswept beauty.
Soon it would also be a place of war.
Alistair once told Garrick how Koradic and Lectodine, the two most powerful sorcerers of their time, met there in a council to argue over the control of magic. Those arguments, Alistair said, bore the weight of the schism that birthed the orders.
If Sunathri, Darien, and Garrick had their way, those factions would soon come to God’s Tower again, though for how long Garrick could only guess. It was telling about the nature of the human race, he thought, that the only force great enough to bring the Lectodinian and Koradictine orders together was their shared hatred of the independent mages of the Torean Freeborn.
Garrick thought of the tower often during the quiet hours of late evenings and early mornings. He thought about god-touched mages, and the open chamber inside the tower where that first caucus had been held. He thought about the devastation of Sjesko. He thought about blood and mayhem in the depths of Arderveer, and he knew the horror of those killing fields would pale in comparison to what was to come.
He thought about the life force that pooled inside him.
It was nearly balanced now.
As long as he kept himself busy he could almost forget the fact that this reservoir had come from Arianna and her family. As long as he could keep himself from remembering too much, he could continue on. But memories were everywhere. They came in aromas that suddenly overwhelmed him, in random images that flashed in his mind so boldly he had to stop what he was doing.
The hunger defined him now. It lay hidden inside, rising late at night to touch his dreams, biding its time. Waiting.
He was god-touched.
His life would ever be stable again.
And in those moments when things were at their quietest and his thoughts turned toward God’s Tower, he also thought about the other god-touched mages—those of the Lectodinian and Koradictine orders.
Did they, too, burn with this life force?
Did they carry this same blood lust?
Did they suffer the same way he suffered?
Chapter 1
It was early morning as Garrick watched Darien J’ravi, the commander’s son, climbed atop his horse. Darien's gaze flitted anxiously over the mages who had gathered around. The day promised to be cloudy, though it appeared the rain would stay away. It was early summertime, though, and the heat was already climbing. The ride would be a hot one.
To make matters worse, Darien wore black, befitting his new membership in the Freeborn house. His sleeveless shirt bared his arms and was tucked into a loose-fitting pair of trousers. His leather boots were polished. He had looped a short sword over one shoulder, a weapon that complemented the longer blade he had attached to a saddle loop.
“You don’t need to come with me,” he said to Garrick.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Garrick replied. “We’ve done nothing but make plans for three weeks now. I feel the need to actually go do something.”
Darien’s grin came from deep within a beard that had grown full. It made him look older.
“That, I understand,” he said.
“Beyond that, I may be able to add weight to the discussion with your father.”
Darien nodded, but said nothing.
There was no denying the plan hinged on Afarat J’ravi, Darien's father and Commander of the Dorfort guard. Everyone in the Freeborn camp knew it. Darien would ride to Dorfort, hoping to convince his father to throw the city’s defenses against the armies that the orders had already amassed.
Garrick could never fully understand what this mission meant to his friend, but he knew it would come at a cost. Having already lost one son, Afarat J’ravi had blocked Darien’s path into the guard. Rather than accept his father’s desire, Darien had run off. Though Garrick had traveled with Darien for months, he knew only that Darien's return to Dorfort as a leader of the Freeborn would carry baggage that he couldn’t even pretend to guess at. The pressure of soliciting his father’s help had to be gnawing at his friend’s thoughts.
“All right, then,” Darien finally said. “Let’s go.”
Garrick smiled, tugged on the cuff of one glove, and climbed onto his own horse. It was a brown charger that had been with the Freeborn for many months—it was a good steed, sturdy and dependable, but it felt odd to be without Kalomar.
He wore a blue shirt and a pair of riding breeches that were faded from weeks in the field. His gloves were thin and made of soft leather that fit tight to his hands. Sunathri had offered black garb of the Freeborn, but he refused. Symbols of color were the first vestiges of ownership, and he would not be owned further than he already was.
“Will!” Garrick called to the boy.
Will came to his side. His sunken eyes and unkempt hair told
of fitful sleep.
Garrick wanted to talk to Will because the boy’s confidence and sense of joy had was flagging. Will knew something big was happening, even if he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. Garrick was leaving him alone too long, and Will was missing Kalomar, too—even more than Garrick did. In the horse’s death, Will had lost a home. It was a feeling Garrick understood.
Garrick leaned over his steed’s neck. “I’m going into Dorfort with Darien.”
“Can I come along?” Will asked.
“No,” Garrick said. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise. I need you to look out for Suni. Help her where you can, all right?”
The boy drew a sigh and nodded as if giving himself strength.
“All right,” Will said. “I’ll look after Miss Suni for you.”
“I’m counting on you,” Garrick said, tousling the boy’s hair. Then Garrick sat up in his saddle and smiled. It did feel good to be doing something for a change.
“Come on, Darien, what are you waiting for?” he said.
Darien spurred his horse on, and the two headed for their meeting with Afarat J’ravi, Commander of the Dorfort guard, and Darien’s father.
It was time to gather their army.
Chapter 2
The reception from the people of Dorfort was not particularly warm, but it gave Garrick a sense of comfort to realize he no longer really cared.
His life force was strong enough that he felt the city as he and Darien proceeded over streets that the dry weather had turned into ribbons of hard-packed, reddish clay. The town was in full mid-morning churn, but he felt everything as it moved around him. An essence of concern permeated the city, sticky and tasting bitterly of angst. It reeked of possible magewar. And amidst that concern and fear he sensed the edge of distrust brought on by rumors of Garrick’s own sorcery, distrust that was caustic and carried the faint smell of distant lightning.
Garrick heard whispers as they passed, though he could not say if the whispers were real, or were merely fearful sighs caught in the web of his god-touched magic.
There was no doubt, however, that the people of this city were anxious and wary. They knew why Darien and Garrick were here, and they didn’t agree the quest was needed. The Freeborn’s concern was a squabble between mages, they said. It had no effect on the world as they knew it.
Garrick understood better, though. The citizens of Dorfort may not see the truth properly, but that didn’t change that truth. And the truth of the day was that two armies of mages, each led by god-touched wizards, were preparing to sweep across the plane of Adruin. This truth—and the fact he was hot and uncomfortable from the ride—were the only things that bothered him right now.
Did that mean he was growing up?
Perhaps.
But rather than worry about it, he spent his time thinking about the task.
Darien had been quiet throughout the morning—something out of character. The air of disdain the city held for them seemed to bother Darien more than it bothered Garrick. He looked downright grim, and spent most of the trip chewing the inside of his cheeks and glancing up into the sky.
Of course, everything in the Freeborn’s plan depended on the argument Darien would make to his father this morning. Without Dorfort's might behind them, Garrick and the Freeborn would fail. The pressure had to be intense.
“I never knew my own father,” Garrick said, hoping to find something to keep Darien’s mind occupied.
Darien gave him a sideways glance.
“I don’t know what it’s like to live in a shadow like that,” Garrick continued. “But I do know what it’s like to be seen as an apprentice in a world of mages. Perhaps it’s similar to what you’re working through today?”
“What are you saying, Garrick?”
He shrugged.
“I always feel … incompetent … when I’m around real sorcerers. Like they've done so much more than I have. They always seem to know so much more, seem to be so comfortable.” Garrick waited a moment. “But things, they seem to happen however they were fated to.”
Darien laughed, and Garrick felt better.
“I’m not worried my father will think me incompetent.”
“What are you worried about, then?”
“I’ve gone against his wishes.”
“So you think you’ve let him down?”
“Maybe.”
“You think he’ll be angry.”
They traveled farther without speaking.
“No,” Darien said. “That’s not it.”
“So, what is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“I see,” Garrick replied, though he most definitely did not see.
“What if he doesn’t even grant me audience?” Darien finally said.
Garrick gave a grunt in return.
“He will be angry,” Darien said. “It’s certainly possible he won’t want to see me.”
“Your father loves you, Darien.”
“No. My father loved the boy I was. I have no idea what he thinks of me now.”
Garrick brought a gloved hand up to scratch the side of his cheek. “Well,” he said. “I suppose we could just skip it all. Just head back to Caledena, hit the Dragongriff tables again, and put it all on griffin five.”
Darien laughed again.
“Only if you use your sorcery right and proper this time.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
A short while later they came to their destination.
The wall surrounding Dorfort’s government center was impressive, a thick and impervious barricade made of mortar and stone. Heavy oaken doors blocked the entrance, and guards stood between crenellations at the top of the wall. The university center, brilliant in its whitewashed splendor, rose to the sky to Garrick’s right, a granary complete with its water-driven millstone was built to his left.
Garrick had spent hours at the university center over the past weeks. He had picked through hundreds of scrolls and diaries that were filled with musty ruminations made about the orders. Yet, he didn’t feel any wiser for them.
Their horses approached the gate.
“Greetings, Harol,” Darien called to the guard.
“Darien,” Harol replied. “It has been too long.”
“I need to see my father.”
“With whom do you ride?”
“This is Garrick, a Torean mage. I vouch he has no ill intentions.”
“Aye,” Harol said. “Your word is good.”
The door rumbled and creaked open with the strained sound of taut rope.
Darien gave the guard his weapons, and Garrick promptly did the same. After stable workers took their mounts, they followed Harol as he escorted them across the manor yard and toward the inner castle. Women stopped their washing as Garrick and Darien passed. A young boy tending goats leaned on his staff to stare at them. Guards watched their every step.
It was Darien they were looking at, Garrick realized.
“You’ve created quite a stir,” he said.
“Yes,” Darien replied. “It’s not every day that the commander’s boy comes home with a demon mage in tow.”
Their boots rang out against the stone walkway.
As they approached the central manor, the door swung open to reveal an old man, draped in blue robes, standing in shadow. He was tall, with silvery gray hair that swirled around his head. His eyes were the same green as Darien’s. His body was aged, but still carried a heft that spoke of his robust youth.
The man took a breath. “Darien,” he said.
Chapter 3
“Father,” Darien replied.
Garrick’s heart pounded as they stood apart. For a moment he thought either of them might turn away. Instead, Commander J’ravi stepped forward and they embraced.
“You must be Garrick,” the elder man said.
“Yes.” Garrick replied as he clasped the commander’s extended hand. Despite J�
�ravi’s age, the grip was firm and dry.
“Come in, then,” Afarat J’ravi said, guiding them through the doorway. “Let’s have a talk.”
Darien walked with easy steps beside his father, and Garrick followed. The hallway was lined with swaths of colored cloth, and the floor was padded with rugs. The commander led them to a comfortable room where sunlight streamed through an open window. A tray of bread sat on a small table—overflowing with thick cuts of ryes, wheats, and barleys that smelled good.
Darien tore a piece off as they sat down.
The commander’s lips looked as if they were permanently too dry. He licked them and peered at his son.
“Wine?” the commander offered.
“No, Father. We cannot stay long.”
“I assumed as much.”
Garrick felt suddenly out of place.
“I heard you had left the university,” the commander said. “But I didn’t realize you had aligned with the Toreans.”
“We need your help,” Darien said.
The elder J’ravi shook his head gently. “I’ve always found that meddling in sorcerous concerns is better left to the wizards.”
“In this case, Father, the concerns of those sorcerers bleed into those of the rest of the plane. You know that, don’t you? The orders will turn their attentions to the rest of the plane when they are finished with the Toreans.”
The commander stood and walked to the window.
“Our scouts suggest as much, but I’m not sure how much trust to put in them.”
Darien came to stand beside his father.
“Your scouts speak true.”
The commander raised a questioning eyebrow.
“It’s time to do something.”
“I don’t know, Darien,” his father replied. “Dorfort has shed so much of its young blood. How much of that has been necessary? Do you really know how deep the effects of war can be? Do you really know how many lives we have given in efforts that gained us nothing?”