Fire Mage (Firecaller Series Book 1)

by Trudi Jaye

  With no other option, Jena shrugged and strode off in her chosen direction. She had to trust that it would be the right way. Thornal had taught her to believe in fate, and her choice of direction felt like a good mix of instinct and accident. But it was also a small bet on the future Thornal had predicted.

  It was a risk, but she had nothing better to go on.

  She spent several hours walking, climbing, and crawling through the dark interiors. As she walked farther into the depths of the Forest of Ghosts, the trees stopped looking blackened and dead, the mist cleared, and there were even leaves on the branches around her. It began to look less like her death, and more like a possible sanctuary again.

  She touched the ridged bark of the tree next to her, running her hand over its texture. It reminded her of an oak with its big strong branches and rough bark. But it had definite differences that made her wary. The branches were thicker and the leaves twice the size of a normal oak tree, as well as a longer piece through the middle. There were no acorns, just small budding white flowers everywhere. Jena looked for the flowers on the forest floor, but the surrounding area had only leaves and other forest debris.

  Leaning her head against the trunk, Jena sighed. All she wanted to do was to curl up and sleep. It felt like she’d been traveling for years, living on edge in fear of being found out or captured. She just needed a break for a while.

  There was a comfortable spot between the roots, so she sat down and curled her legs under her tired body, leaning back against the tree. Instead of being uncomfortable, the trunk seemed molded to her shape, one root curling under her arm, and a head-sized dent in just the right spot. It even seemed a little softer than when she first touched it. She leaned back and closed her eyes, letting out a heartfelt sigh.

  Drowsily, she wondered why on earth she’d listened to the mage. Nothing but bad things had happened to her since she’d left the cottage. She didn’t want to be in danger, and she certainly didn’t want to be in the middle of this forest. She’d been comfortable living with Thornal. All she wanted was to be back there right now.

  Her hand tightened around the hilt of the Hashishin blade and she wished for a different life.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Nate’s whole body ached and he couldn’t see anything much past his nose; the dirty sack was still over his head. He was trussed up, and had been slung across the horse’s saddle. His stomach rubbed uncomfortably across the leather as the horse walked the entire day, presumably following Argus. His bag was scrunched up uncomfortably against his side. Sometime in the last few hours, Nate had woken up and managed to calm himself, despite his swollen wrists and ankles, and his inability to get enough air into his chest.

  At least he wasn’t dead.

  And he’d been arguing to himself, Argus couldn’t possibly carry him this way the whole time. He just had to bide his time and wait for an opportunity to escape. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been warned that Argus and his master were going to betray him.

  He felt his horse come to a halt, and then the mercenary’s rough hands pulled him from the saddle. His legs, full of pins and needles from a full day tied together by rough rope, gave out under him. The mercenary dragged him to a rock and pushed him into a sitting position.

  The sack was pulled roughly from his head and Nate sucked in the first clean breath of air he’d had since they started this journey. He couldn’t seem to stop gasping in breaths, his body working of its own volition.

  Argus stood watching him. “I have no time to persuade or cajole. If you fight me, this is how you will travel every day,” he said, his face impassive. “If you behave, I will be more lenient. It’s your choice.”

  He turned away and left Nate sitting on the rock, still tied at his hands and feet.

  The big man set up camp, pulling food out of his pack, and starting a fire. Argus had found a protected campsite under an arch formation in the rocky terrain that would protect them from sight and offer some cover overnight. They were circling the edge of the Great Desert at the center of Ignisia. The Mage Volcanoes where they had started out were to one side of the sandy expanse, and it seemed they were heading to the other side, closer to the Ember Volcanoes.

  Soon the smells of a stew wafted in the air. Nate’s nose twitched and he tried not to think of the clawing hunger in his belly. With his arms still tied behind his back, he could barely feel his fingers; but all he could think about was eating the thick stew. It wasn’t as if he’d even gone that long without food. But he was determined not to ask the big man for food or even to be set free of the ropes. He didn’t want to give Argus the satisfaction. “So tell me more about Prince Lothar,” said Nate, trying to distract himself. He wiggled his fingers, trying to get rid of the pins and needles.

  Argus looked up from stirring the stew. He watched Nate for a long moment and then looked back down at the pot. “He’s a powerful mage. It’s not widely known. He has no mage tattoo.”

  “A mage? What about the Mage Council?” Nate thought of his sanctimonious grandfather and his beliefs in the old laws. His grandfather would rather burn than forgo an old law like the mage tattoo.

  “Prince Lothar was raised in the Kingdom of Agoria to the east. His mother, Princess Margaret, was married off by her brother, King Harad, to provide an alliance for Ignisia. There are rumors his mother had learned spell casting and was his first teacher.”

  Nate sat back, shocked despite himself. “His mother? She cast spells?”

  “It happens more than you might think,” said Argus. “It is a strange law of your people, that women are banned from such a task. Among my people, women who become shaman are revered.”

  “Men are more able to take on the arduous tasks involved with being a mage,” said Nate, automatically defending a law he’d never actually thought much about. “It’s not easy to gather the energy from the earth, to wield it in a way that makes mage magic.” It was certainly difficult for Nate, at least.

  “How do you know? Are women allowed to even try?” asked Argus, his eyebrows raised skeptically.

  Nate took a breath and leaned forward. “It takes much to keep walking away from the dark and not toward it.”

  “You sound like you have personal experience.”

  Nate didn’t immediately reply, looking away into the burnt land around them, thinking of the ghosts who haunted him, the demons who hated him, and the grandfather who not so secretly wished to disown him. He’d grown up surrounded by the darker side of life, had run from being a mage because of it.

  Argus waited, saying nothing.

  “It’s just not as easy as it sounds,” Nate eventually said defensively. He shook out his bound legs, hoping that he wasn’t going to have serious repercussions from being tied up this long.

  “Nothing ever is.” The big man looked back to the stew, poking the stirring stick around so that more of the delicious aroma drifted over to Nate.

  They sat in silence for a while after that. Nate tried to forget about the pain in his tied-up hands and legs by imagining a woman as a mage and struggled to do it. He couldn’t even imagine Prince Lothar with a mage tattoo, casting spells in between his duties as a King.

  “How did Lothar become king-in-waiting?” Nate eventually asked, curious despite himself.

  Argus looked up from his cooking. “My master says his mother, Queen Margaret of Agoria, believed she should have had the Flame Throne of Ignisia instead of her less worthy brother, Harad. She was the older and smarter sibling, more able to rule a nation. She was bitter that the unbending magic controlling our succession meant it went to Harad.” Argus paused and looked out at the barren landscape next to them. “She was probably right. King Harad hasn’t exactly been... a successful king.”

  Nate nodded. Ignisia wasn’t exactly thriving. His grandfather had often ranted at the dinner table to that effect. But King Harad was dead, had been this past month. Many people were secretly rejoicing in the idea of a new king.

  Argus continued. “She fill
ed her son’s head with the same thoughts. After her death, Lothar decided to do something about it. He’s been killing his family off, one by one.”

  “Killing them off?” Nate laughed. “He couldn’t do that without raising suspicions. The Council would notice.”

  Argus shook his head. “He’s very, very clever. King Harad’s sons were all killed in terrible accidents that took place years apart and King Harad himself had a wasting disease that no one could ever prove was poisoning. Your beloved Mage Council has not said a thing; they haven’t even noticed what is going on under their noses.”

  Nate’s grandfather was stiff-necked, proud, and bound to the traditions, but the old man would never stand by while a murderer came to the throne. It showed Lothar’s capabilities, if he was able to trick the mages. “If not the Council, then someone among the Royal family?”

  Argus shook his head. “The other royals haven’t realized what he is yet. Lothar has been careful. To most, he appears a charismatic, yet serious man. He’s renowned for being a thinker. He hasn’t shown the people his true nature yet; he may not until he is king.”

  Nate considered the point. “So how does your master know Prince Lothar has been murdering his family?”

  “My master’s talents lie with foreseeing.”

  “And how do you know he’s seeing the correct future?”

  Argus let out a noise of frustration. “Even now, Prince Lothar is looking at your face in the Royal Flames. He knows where you are at all times, which means we have no time for this.” He swept out a hand to indicate their conversation. “You are the next heir to the throne. You are your father’s only son, which makes you the only son of the male line still alive. You, and only you, stand between Lothar and the throne. He has done much to get to this point. One more death will not concern him.”

  “And you think they married? That he didn’t just leave my mother to her fate?” The idea danced in front of his eyes, tantalising and just out of reach.

  “My master assures me that your parents were married in secret just before your father died. If it is not true, then why is Lothar trying to kill you?”

  Nate’s head began to spin. He tried to put one hand up to rub his aching forehead, and almost fell off the rock. He was still tied up.

  His whole life he’d been the unwanted bastard son of a fallen woman who succumbed to the lies of a philandering wanderer. The description came to his mind easily, because his grandfather had told him the tale often enough, probably using those exact words. He had grown up believing the worst, and now here was a chance to believe the best.

  He felt a small tendril of hope growing inside him; he crushed it ruthlessly back to nothing. He couldn’t believe it. The mercenary was telling lies. The worst kind of lies—the kind he wanted to believe.

  “My family would have known. They would have told me the true story.”

  “They didn’t know the true story. She obviously didn’t tell your family. She died, I believe, during childbirth?”

  Nate nodded.

  “Perhaps she intended to set everything straight once you were born. She was probably very upset.”

  “Why did they marry in secret?” Nate didn’t understand how his family could have been so wrong.

  “She wouldn’t have been a suitable match for a prince of the realm. And on the other side, I doubt your grandfather would have approved of her marrying Prince Raffeus either. The young prince apparently had a bad reputation as a womanizer, and your mother was known to be very beautiful.”

  Nate nodded absently to himself. His grandfather had always said her beauty was her downfall. “Why didn’t she tell anyone? Why would she let her family think that of her?”

  Argus shrugged. “We cannot know. All those involved are no longer with us. Maybe she didn’t care what they thought. Her husband was dead.” The mercenary’s voice had an odd flat quality to it.

  Nate thought of the years of taunting, of hiding in secret places around the castle where he had been raised, to avoid his grandfather and his cousins. “It can’t be true,” he said.

  Argus shrugged. He stood up and walked over to Nate. “Think on it. In the meantime, I am going to release your arms and legs. If you run, I will catch you. And then I will put you back in the sack overnight, and for the rest of our travels.”

  Nate nodded. Despite his determination not to ask, he would have done almost anything to get out of the bonds.

  Argus swiftly untied the ropes at his hands and then moved onto his legs. Pain roared up Nate’s arms and he rubbed his wrists, trying to calm the pins and needles that raged across his skin. His legs trembled as Argus finished untying them, and he had to shake them out vigorously to get the feeling back to his feet. When the tingling hit, they were so painful, Nate had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. He rubbed his legs, vowing that he would do whatever it took to avoid being trussed up again the next day.

  He stood, still shaky on his bruised legs and followed Argus to the campfire.

  Argus handed him a bowl of stew, and he grasped it with tight fingers. The thick, delicious aroma of meat and vegetables made his stomach rumble. Escape was the last thing on his mind as he sipped each careful mouthful.

  Leaning over to his travel bag, Argus pulled out some bread. He handed a chunk to Nate, who dunked it in the gravy and concentrated on chewing each mouthful. He jumped when Argus spoke again.

  “You understand how the Royal Flames work?”

  Nate nodded. “Of course.”

  “The only way the Royal Flames would consider you to have rescinded your claim to Ignisia is for you to die. They will use every means in their possession to call you to the throne. You have no choice.”

  Nate grimaced. If it was true—and he wasn’t completely convinced it was—he was in his worst nightmare. He couldn’t be king. He didn’t know how, hadn’t been trained to it. Didn’t want to be king. He didn’t understand, or even care about, the political maneuvering that so engulfed his grandfather. Didn’t want to understand it. “Couldn’t I just pass it on to someone else?”

  “The Flames won’t let you. You’re either the king or you’re dead. We know which option Prince Lothar would prefer.”

  “So Prince Lothar is watching me through the Royal Flames right at this minute?”

  Argus nodded, his eyes glittering with an emotion Nate couldn’t name.

  “Why aren’t we being attacked? Why hasn’t he sent more creatures to kill me?”

  “He has. Whatever he’s sent just hasn’t reached us yet.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jena’s head sunk lower and lower, and she was almost asleep when there was a sharp peck on her skin. Terrible images burst into her sleep-fogged mind of the tree sucking her into its trunk as she desperately struggled and kicked.

  Opening her eyes in fright, she leaped up, heart pounding. Standing with her legs wide apart and her arms out ready to fight, she waited for some reaction from the tree. It stayed silent and still, mocking her sudden movement. Even the small head-sized indent stayed the same. Jena narrowed her eyes, her arms still upraised, her heart thumping in her chest. Jena took a deep breath and slowly lowered her arms. She was overtired. Maybe she had imagined it.

  But it had come from the raven, and a feeling of certainty overcame her; she wouldn’t have woken from her sleep if the bird hadn’t warned her. She sent thoughts of gratitude toward the place where the raven resided inside her head, and felt it acknowledge her thanks. It was the strangest form of communication she’d ever encountered.

  Wide-awake now after her fright, she continued walking, and soon found another big almost-oak tree. She was careful to keep away from the roots and branches, stepping slowly and watching the tree with suspicious eyes. It appeared to be the same as the other tree, and again the white flowers were scattered around the branches of the tree but were nowhere on the ground.

  She was curious enough to reach up and attempt to grab one of the flowers where it bloomed on a branch just ab
ove her head. She stood on tiptoe and tried to reach her arm up just a little bit farther, stretching skin that didn’t want to stretch any further.

  Just as her balance failed her and she tipped forward, she was grabbed from behind around the waist, a hand roughly covering her mouth. She screamed as she was tipped off her feet and lifted from the ground in one swift movement. She kicked and punched at her attacker, but he held her from behind, and all she could tell was that he was huge and strong. Jena bit the large fingers still covering her mouth until she tasted blood and slammed her elbow into the solid frame behind her, but he didn’t even seem to react. She kicked again, this time aiming for his shins, and he grunted, but didn’t loosen his grip.

  He lifted his hand from over her mouth and tucked her over his enormous shoulder, her arms pinned to her sides by one large arm and her head hanging down his back. Her tattoo was firmly captured between her stomach and his shoulder. Her legs were firmly clamped down under his other arm. She couldn’t move, and her head was dangling uncomfortably upside down, the blood rushing to her head.

  “That’s right, missy. Don’t fight me. I don’t mean no harm. I just got to take you for your own good.” The voice was friendly, jovial even, and definitely a man’s. He began walking with massive steps that were the same as two or three of her own.

  Jena didn’t reply. The arm holding her securely over the shoulder was dark brown and thick with corded muscle. She could only think how large they were, the biggest arms she’d ever seen. Jena pushed at him again, trying to wriggle free, but he didn’t budge.

  The forest floor continued to whip past from her upside down angle. Her heart beat in time with his steps and the blood started pounding in her skull, and there seemed nothing to do but wait and see where she was being taken. A small part of her was glad to have company after all this time; and ever since he’d spoken, she’d been convinced he meant her no harm. At least, not long-lasting harm.