Rogue Mage: Age Of Magic - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Path of Heroes Book 1)

by Brandon Barr

  Shepherd reached up and put a hand on Daeken’s shoulder. He pinched twice for yes.

  Daeken took off his cloak and wrapped the boy in it, then stood. The large gigantic form he’d spied was still visible, the head rising above the distant brush, moving toward Hargstead.

  He gave one look at the dogs and slapped his leg. “Come!” he commanded. The dog nearest him leapt up and gave a low whine then growled. The other dogs near sprang to their feet and mimicked the sound.

  Daeken turned and rushed headlong toward the giant and his army. The sound of the dog pack falling in behind him made the desperate move a little more bearable.

  For the farmers’ sake, and for the hope he still had that Payetta was still alive and that Justen might heal her—for those possibilities, he would be willing to give his life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Come on Payetta,” whispered Justen. “What would I do without your sassy smile waking me up for morning sex? I’d sleep till noon every day. I’d get lazy and soft. Probably fat too.”

  Justen stared down at Payetta’s lips, searching for the slightest hint of a smile, a twitch, anything. He looked to the awful wound, covered by his hands which were pressed tenderly against the red-soaked linen stemming the flow of blood.

  He looked out the broken window at the dawn haze lightening the sky to the east. He longed to go to the window and watch for the mage or his raiders, in case they should return as Daeken feared, but he couldn’t. Not as long as Payetta needed his healing touch, as feeble as it was. “You know Titannus is still out there,” reminded Justen. “You’re not done with him yet. His head’s still attached to his body and your foot isn’t up his you-know-what.”

  Justen gave a cold laugh. “UP HIS ASS! There I said it. Come on, you know you’re proud of me? A little baby vulgarity just for you. I know, I know, pathetic, but still. You really should reward me for it. Try and smile for me? Would you sweetie?”

  Again he watched the muscles on her face for any sign of movement. Nothing. Justen felt the hot tears come sliding down his face. He wasn’t giving up on her, but hope felt almost dead.

  He looked up again through the broken window. The clouds were just visible. “God, come on! She’s got work to do, right? You’ve got a mission for her, like those judges my father read about.”

  Justen gave a deep, painful sigh. “Tell me I’m not wrong about that,” he pleaded.

  The silence was deafening.

  He turned his head away from the window and looked to Percy lying slumped against the base of the wall. The man’s chest still heaved slightly. Justen felt a dark fury every time he glanced at the man. Some vengeful part of him deep inside wanted to look and find the man motionless, his breathing stilled.

  Maybe it wasn’t Percy’s fault for his wife’s present condition, but he’d played a role. The other part of Justen knew that wishing death on Percy was beneath him. If Daeken was right about what Titannus had done to the fool, then Percy was only guilty of arrogance and narcissism, not attempted murder.

  Payetta’s breathing was steady, for that he was thankful. He studied her face, and though it was pale, he wanted to believe he could see a peace edging her features. He couldn’t look at that face and not see the beauty of it. She looked so different when she was resting, all the hard edges smoothed and gone.

  “Payetta, Remember the night Old Ferren wet himself at Brodie’s birthday party?” Justen laughed genuinely at the memory of it—the terrified look on Ferren’s face. “You’d gotten yourself all horny on strawberry pie and honey biscuits, and the sugar was pounding in your veins. I don’t know why, but you seemed extra sexed-up that night. You always get so crazy at people’s birthday parties. Anyway, I knew it was only a matter of time before you accosted me for a quickie. We slipped outside behind the haystack. It was cloudy and darker than usual, and Ferren can’t see well anyway. He’d been having all those problems with bears getting into his feed crates, and we were doing our thing right on top of them, and somehow he mistook your grunting for the sound of a three-hundred-pound black bear eating his oats.

  “Then he came at us with a shovel because he’s blind as a bat at night. He probably would have beat us both unconscious if you hadn’t seen him coming. You jumped off of me so fast and snatched the shovel out of his hand—I swear he thought you were a black bear still until you started cursing at him for interrupting your orgasm.”

  Justen grinned. “And that’s why I need you here, Payetta! I swear when this is all over we’ll spend a week in the mud hole and I’ll lather you up every which way you want.”

  ***

  Payetta wanted to grab Justen by the back of his head and kiss him so hard his clothes evaporated off his body. Though she couldn’t find a way to respond, she’d heard every word he’d spoken.

  She loved that big-hearted man so damn much, she wanted to spring up and pounce on him, but dammit!—she couldn’t move a muscle!

  Inside her head, she’d laughed silently at her sweet husband’s words and his attempts to rouse her from the haze she was trapped in. The healing coming from his hands tingled in her shoulder like the pleasant singe of strong ale on the tongue. Her injury throbbed horribly still, but the worst of the pain had ebbed at Justen’s magic.

  She was proud of him.

  This was no little cut, and his touch was making a difference that she could feel and sense. Slowly, her body was being repaired, and as slow as the healing was, she knew it far exceeded anything Justen had managed before. She wondered if it was not similar to her own growth in magic. Just as her encounters with Titannus had shattered her limited ability to control just a few animals, Justen was being pushed to the brink of his skills, and by what? Damn his righteous ass—it was nothing less than his love for her!

  She felt almost ashamed when she compared the motivation for her transformation to his.

  Almost.

  If hatred and a hunger for revenge were what it took to fuel her growth, then she was more than willing to feed that fire. If her mother was looking down on her now from some high heavenly place, Payetta hoped she was proud of her daughter. Proud that she was standing up for herself and others and unabashedly using her voice. Fighting back with everything she had within her, unwilling to be a silent victim.

  When it came to men like Titannus or his raiders, there was only one response.

  Bad men deserved bad ends.

  Somehow, she had to wake out of this stupor she was trapped in, hunt down and kill that rat bastard Titannus, wipe the Meadowlands clean of raiders, and then grab Justen’s ass and smack it all the way to the mud hole for her reward.

  Payetta grinned. THAT sounded like a good time!

  “You smiled!” cried Justen. “I saw it. You smiled!”

  Inside, Payetta was beaming. She tried to sit up, but suddenly pain shot like fire and ice through her shoulder and she gasped.

  “Don’t try to move,” demanded Justen. “You’re still in bad shape. Ian went to get help, we’ll have the Heroes Brigade here soon, so rest easy.”

  Payetta attempted to speak, but the burst of energy she’d had moments ago was gone, and her lips wouldn’t move. All she could do was lay there, helpless.

  She wanted to ask about Titannus. Find out what had happened. But now she’d have to wait to get her strength back again.

  A thought occurred to her. Could she still use her magic even if she couldn’t use her body?

  She maneuvered her thoughts to that place in her mind where she connected to the world around her. Slowly, she reached out with her Eartheye sensing only as far as the interior of the room around her. Her energy was so low, she almost retreated back, but she stopped short when she touched upon the third person in the room. Besides Justen, who sat beside her, another person lay against the base of the wall.

  Percy. She spat the name out in her mind like a rotten piece of meat.

  It was her own fault. No one knew what Titannus was capable of but her and Daeken. And Daeken had w
arned her to be cautious.

  She wondered if Percy had played any part in the act. The Meadow Guard Captain despised her to such a degree that she couldn’t help but ask the question. There were several little eyes in the house. The insects were not ideal for spying with their odd, eyesight that distorted shapes into a collage of images, and She Grunts was nowhere to be found. She worried a little. Was her little skunk hiding somewhere beyond her feeble reach? She found the next best creature, a mouse living in a hollowed out crack under the hearth. With it, she dashed over to a low hanging curtain and scurried up it until she reached the lip of the window ledge. She felt the cold morning draft flowing through the broken glass. The sky was brightening, and in the light, she saw Percy’s injury. It was ugly but mostly hidden by blood stained linens. Who had struck him down, she didn’t know, but his bones had protected his vital parts.

  She heard Justen’s voice again, whispering something to her. She was about to shift her attention to her human form when another sound came to her ears, pulling her from his words. Something outside the window. She sent the mouse to a shattered section of the glass and looked outside.

  Below, pressed against the wall of the farmhouse were three men. A half-second was all it took to identify the man in the middle, flanked by two of his raiders.

  Titannus.

  His hand sprang for her and before she could dart away, he’d clutched her in his fierce grip.

  Then he began to squeeze.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Payetta felt dizzy as she lost the mouse, crushed in the mage’s bone-popping grip. Her heart was pounding, and her mind screamed for her to jump up, to protect Justen from the threat he didn’t know waited just outside.

  “What are you doing?” snapped Justen. “Don’t move, you’re still bleeding badly.”

  Infuriated, she tried to calm herself, knowing what little strength she had must be saved, and instead of using her body, she turned again to her Eartheye.

  Titannus remained outside, but he was standing now beside the window looking in. Percy’s crumpled form lying against the baseboards began to stir. The injured captain gingerly reached out his arm, then slowly—as if trying not to make a sound—raised himself to a sitting position directly behind Justen.

  Payetta wanted to leap out of her skin and find some animal form that was strong and powerful, but there was nothing of that kind in the farmhouse. She was trapped in her wounded body, constrained by her torn shoulder and loss of blood.

  Desperately she clung to her magic, which was only a little less feeble than her physical strength.

  Titannus was on the move.

  He was making his way around the side of the house toward a door that led into the room she and Justen were in. There was something odd to his movement. It was labored, as if he were weary. His shoulders drooped and his footsteps barely shuffled above the dirt. How much strength did he have? Clearly, his ride on the stretcher had only been a ploy to draw her out, and he had used Percy as his weapon of choice. But now, he seemed genuinely injured, or was it extreme fatigue?

  A thought occurred to her—had he expended his energy taking over Percy? She knew only what it felt like to command animals. It was draining, especially the predators that fought against her. But he had taken over a man, and she calculated that it would take far greater energy to hold the will of a human in check.

  But was this the case? She had no way of knowing if Percy was fighting against Titannus, or had surrendered willingly to the mage’s commands.

  Titannus’s movements came to a halt, as did the two raiders who had followed close behind him. The creak of a door opening sounded at the back of the room and she felt Justen’s hand tense.

  Payetta couldn’t hold back any longer. Justen was hopelessly outmatched, and Percy…he’d retrieved his sword and was creeping up on Justen’s back!

  With a scream of pain, Payetta wrenched herself onto her side. “Justen,” she gasped, “Behind you!”

  Steel on steel rang in her ears. A chilling sound, marking in her mind the true intentions of Percy. Unless Titannus had retained a grip on the captain’s will, the man was a traitor to all that was good.

  Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up with her good arm and sat, fighting the rocking sensation in her head. Her eyes felt as if they were spinning in a whirlwind.

  “Duck Payetta!” shouted Justen.

  She obeyed, letting her body fall back onto the floor. A deadly SWISH cut the air just above her as the back of her head smacked against the wood floor planks. The jolt vibrated through her body, pulsing through her wound. She ground her teeth then cursed at the pain.

  A crash sounded in Justen’s direction, followed by the pounding of heavy boots on the floor. Payetta felt completely disoriented and blind to the chaotic movement in the room. The threat of a deathblow swinging down on her from Titannus or the two raiders seemed like an all but certain promise if she didn’t move. She had to do…something!

  Fighting the swaying motion in her head, Payetta rolled onto her side and pushed herself up.

  The deafening ring of blade on blade sounded just above her. She looked up to see Justen, sword extended over her head where a grizzle-faced raider pressed against it with his own steel.

  Another sword struck out at Justen from a figure out of sight and he barely evaded the tip with a quick turn of his body as it slashed inches from his stomach.

  Selflessly he was risking his neck just to keep her alive.

  There was no way in hell she was going to let her husband fight this battle alone. Where was her damn sword?!

  Voices, strangely familiar burst into the room. She turned and saw Jax, Ian, Kinwick, and Old Ferren rushing toward her and Justen’s position.

  A sudden yank on her hair brought her back upon the floor. A face loomed over her head, its long white hair draping over, brushing against her skin. The cold, dark eyes of Titannus stared down at her like sightless stones. There was no emotion—no hint of the smug condescension that had always been present before. His arms wrapped tight around her, squeezing her wound in agony. She clenched her teeth against the horrific, fiery sensation, unable to do more than close her eyes and let out a painful cry. Black spots spread over her thoughts, like holes where dark, slithering fingers sprang out to pull at her consciousness and drag her down into a helpless void.

  Her only defense was to breathe. Her lungs full of air fought off the darkness.

  As she inhaled and exhaled, her mind returned to her, but with it, the sound of swords clashing and men shouting sounded from very far off. Beyond the walls of the house.

  Where was Justen? Where was the Heroes Brigade?

  Slowly she opened her eyes. Titannus’s face only inches from her own obscured her vision. They were still lying on the floor, but she was wrapped tight in his morbid embrace.

  Then she realized what he’d done…what he was doing now. It was the reason his eyes held nothing in them. Every last ounce of energy outside of his hold on her was focused toward deceiving her friends.

  The distant sound of swords could only mean one thing—Justen and the Brigade had left the farmhouse in pursuit of an illusion.

  ***

  Beyond extending his own life for a few more minutes, Daeken saw little sense in delaying his confrontation with the giant figure and his horde of fighters.

  A few days ago, he wouldn’t have had reason to commit himself to a fight with such ugly odds, but now that he had a cause worth dying for, he found his desire to fight for the Meadowlands and his desire to live to be Shepherd’s father tugging his heart in opposite directions.

  But Daeken never gave his heart the final word. That honor belonged to his rational mind. And right now, reason told him that if he turned back for the boy and left the Meadowlands to its fate, his time as Shepherd’s father would be spent on the run from the same ill-bred men he now pursued. Like the speech he’d given in the North Meadow town of Sumarice, he needed to stand up and fight, or forever live in f
ear.

  “You looking for me!?” roared Daeken at the top of his lungs.

  The giant stopped and turned, as did the mass of men surrounding him. Sunlight illuminated the forest, though its source was still hidden behind the looming mountains at Daeken’s back.

  A knot twisted in Daeken’s stomach as he realized an unfortunate miscalculation. The horde accompanying the giant were not raiders as he’d blindly supposed, but a contingent of brutals.

  “Delightful,” he whispered under his breath.

  And then there was the giant himself who was no longer hidden by shadows. Daeken quickly observed that the enormous man wore only pants, his naked stomach and chest rippled with bronzed muscles. Two thick arms hung from his broad shoulders like a pair of bulging marble columns Daeken had glimpsed amongst the ruins during his travels. A bemused scowl marked the squat, disproportionate face that stood like a bright red tomato atop the thick neck bulging with veins.

  Two lopsided ears stuck out from the funny looking head.

  Surrounding the giant were the brutals, forty or fifty strong he estimated. He’d never known brutals to follow the orders of anyone but their barbaric clan leaders and he wondered if it was mind control or fear that kept them in check…or perhaps some reward of food and plunder.

  They were dressed in all manner of ragged clothing with the exception of a handful that were completely naked, their manhood dangling from their nether regions like limp fingerling squash. All had a weapon strapped to their back or side.

  Standing beside the giant were two men clearly distinguishable from the brutals. They were dressed in the traditional attire of raiders: leather leggings, tunic, crude metal armor affixed over their vital points. But there was something about one of the raiders that made Daeken’s pulse rise into his throat.

  He recognized the man. A face impossible to forget. It was the man who’d murdered his grandmother. Tanner Morgan.

  Tanner stood, wide-eyed, a mixture of horror and shock paling the owl-faced man’s hollow cheeks. He’d aged in the fourteen years since that day his bloody boot prints were found on his grandmother’s floorboards. Cheeks more hollow, his reddish brown hair salted with grey. Daeken’s eyes tore into the man like daggers. It took all of his strength to turn away from the face he’d been hunting after for over five years.