The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3

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The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 77

by Jeffrey Bardwell


  Patrice wiggled her fingers. “Fire leashes worked for the small ones. We can snare them like giant, wild dogs and—”

  “And if the magic strain doesn't kill you, the 'dogs' will.” Devin snorted. “A leash won't work, but a lure might. A magic artifact brought them here. It can lead them away. We need to find General Festus.”

  Drusilla came running. “Fangwaller died sometime during the attack.”

  Patrice looked at Devin and raised her eyebrow.

  Devin shook his head. People already say I threw him to the Black Guards. We don't need another skewed rumor saying I murdered him, too.

  Drusilla missed the exchange. “I suppose it's a mercy we don't have to abseil his stretcher down the face of the wall . . . somehow. What, have both of you forgotten about the High Guards? Jemmy says they're almost reached us. Likely all of them, thanks to the dragon.”

  Devin hefted the watches over his shoulder. “We should be thanking the dragon. Now we can escape the palace climbing down his back. I've gone up a dragon's back,” he mused, “so going down the belly should be simple. Nice, loricate scales. Good grip.”

  “Climb? Down the dragon's corpse?” Drusilla asked

  “Of course, I was burning foot holds in his hide at the time. Patrice,” he called, “you go down first. You have my permission to use magic. Burn us some hand and food holds, please.”

  Devin held a short conversation with Lord Tarbon as the merchant passed, red coat whipping in the wind. The man nodded and chuckled, and then clapped Devin on the shoulder.

  “Not just a dead, smelly dragon,” Drusilla muttered as Patrice shrugged and began descending. “Burnt, dead, smelly dragon.”

  Devin smiled. “If you need this much time to process the death of one man and one beast, then you're not the criminal mastermind I thought you were.”

  “I'm not!” Drusilla stomped her foot. “Hiring a posse of street urchins to harass fraudulent customers is just good business sense.”

  Devin pointed to Fangwaller. “And look where 'good business sense' landed our smuggler over there.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?” Devin glanced over to the door where Jemmy was still keeping watch. “Captain, it's time to retreat.”

  Jemmy sheathed his sword and began running down the length of the battlements as the door burst and a company of High Guards lurched after him. The dragon gave them pause. “Think they can follow us down?” Jemmy smiled with good humor as he jogged past. The knight stopped at the dragon's head, leaned against one of the teeth, and offered Drusilla a boost.

  Devin waved. “Let's go, Jemmy.”

  The knight shook his head. “A wooden door or a dragon's head, I am still the rear guard.”

  Drusilla waved away the Black Guard's offer of assistance and climbed to the top of the head. “The snout makes a decent enough ramp.”

  The handholds made climbing down the long neck straightforward if not easy. “How are we going to prevent them coming after us once they've abandoned that clunky armor?”

  Devin laughed. “Lord Tarbon is going to show us what happens when you fail to extract a dragon spleen properly.”

  Tarbon was waiting for them when they reached the beast's abdomen. He peered up. “The guards have already reached the top of the neck. I had better make this quick.”

  “Is it difficult?” Drisilla asked.

  “Dragons' spleens are volatile organs. Easy enough to puncture by accident,” the lord muttered. “Never done it on purpose.” He beckoned to Jemmy. “Mind of I borrow that sword?”

  Jemmy unsheathed his blade and passed it to the merchant. Tarbon muttered and paced around the dragon a few moments before grinning. “Ah, there.” He braced the sword under one of the massive scales and stabbed deep into the abdomen. Tarbon slashed and twisted the blade a few times before removing it.

  A thin, viscous substance coated the sword as he removed it. Coming into contact with the air, the sword burst into a gout of flame and then extinguished. Tarbon gingerly wiped the blade on his jacket and then laid the jacket carefully over the wound he had just created. He handed the sword back to Jemmy.

  Drusilla stared. “I was expecting something more elaborate. That wasn't blood?”

  Tarbon shook his head. “That, my dear, is the secret ingredient of good double distilled dragon rum. Similar properties to alcohol, but much more combustible before you process it. Something to do with their breathing fire, I expect.”

  Devin chuckled.

  “Stop laughing and start running,” Tarbon said, beckoning to the stragglers. “I don't study the beasts, I just carve them up. But once enough air enters the body cavity, that punctured spleen will turn into a bomb. You need to massage and squeeze the spleen gently underwater to release the substance safely. Even then, it's a hazard when it floats to the surface.” He wiggled the three fingers on his hand.

  “If it's such a horrible ordeal, then why keep making dragon rum?” Styx asked, nose in the air.

  “Demand is high.” Tarbon shrugged. “People keep buying it.”

  The group met at the base of the dragon's tail.

  “How far do we need to go?” Devin huffed.

  “Best double around the palace,” Tarbon said. “We don't want to be anywhere near that spleen when it goes off.” He stretched his arms. “Had a drake about this big blow up on us once. Took out an entire room. A dragon that big . . .” He scratched his head. “Might take out the back wing of the palace and a few nearby houses. What's left of them.”

  Patrice leaned against the side of the dragon. “Wait, one moment. Once my lungs stop pounding.”

  Jemmy nodded towards the line of enemies descending the dragon as he chivvied her along. “Wait too long and we'll never leave.”

  “A few fireballs will slow them down.” Patrice raised her fingers, pointing them at the lowest guards. Tarbon grabbed her hand and yanked it down.

  “Magic? Here? Are you unhinged, woman?” Tarbon asked. “Never use fire anywhere near a ruptured dragon spleen.”

  Jemmy collected a few of the watches that had been dropped to distract the beast. He tied two of them together by their chains and placed them around Patrice like a necklace. “No magic today. Don't forget that.”

  Tarbon smiled. “And we need to think about how we're going to run the government. Meeting. Finances. Work forces to rebuild.”

  Patrice sagged and flicked one of the watches with her finger. “Just like that, the revolt got boring again.”

  “Have you all forgotten we still have to deal with General-Why-Can't-I-Kill-All-The-Dragons Festus?” Devin asked. “And that's before we kill his emperor.”

  “Don't forget the actual dragons,” Drusilla said.

  Devin nodded. “Festus might be useful for that . . . given the right motivation.”

  Patrice arranged the watches so they balanced under her breasts. “I remember when mages used to fear these things. Now we're wearing them as jewelery.”

  “Such is progress toward a better world,” Jemmy murmured.

  Tarbon smacked his hand against the wall. “Keep moving. Other side of the building. Big explosion.”

  They had made their way into the inner city when a thunderous roar of flames and spewed masonry erupted from the palace. They all turned to admire the giant tower of fire as did many of the airborne dragons.

  Drusilla gave Devin a little hug. “More foundation rubble for your school.”

  Devin waved his arm to the demolished ruins of the capital. “There's enough rubble to build it several times over.”

  “Yes, but now you don't have to cart it to the palace grounds.”

  “I don't know,” Devin thought, picking his way around a collapsed house. “Even without an emperor, the palace still has its uses. We're going to need an administration building. Something familiar. Building my school there was a fantasy, a child's dream.”

  “You're not ready to build?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I'm not ready to teach. And we still have to win t
he revolt. These people don't need a school right now. They need a sane government.” A breeze blew a foul stench through the streets. His nose wrinkled. “What is that smell?”

  Tarbon sighed. “A pile of dead dragons left to rot. The work of your General Festus, most likely. If the army's not careful, they'll burn the whole damn city from the temples to the fountains . . .” He stared at one of the nearby fountains.

  Everyone stared, following Tarbon's gaze. The water within the pool was burning with translucent blue flames. The light cast a strange, shimmering glow on the broken sculptures above. A statue of the emperor, Devin saw, headless. Tarbon gave a wordless cry and ran toward the fountain.

  Where is it? Ah. Devin spied the emperor's head next to a patch of blackened grass, spat on it, and heaved the marble lump into the blue flames. Tarbon ignored the marble sailing overhead and splashing into the water. Nothing distracted the merchant nobleman as he peered into the depths of the quiet blue flames.

  23. DEVIN, YEAR 498

  The blue flames reflected in the merchant's eyes as he stared at the contents of the fountain. He whistled and gestured for the rest of the group to join him.

  “Oh, that's clever,” Tarbon murmured, then began shedding his shirt and shoes.

  Everyone else peered into the burning waters. A collection of reddish gray organs of various sizes shaped like wide tongues sat at the bottom of the fountain. Tarbon looked ready to plunge headfirst into the blue flames before Devin pulled him back.

  “Are those dragon spleens?” Drusilla asked.

  Lord Tarbon nodded. “An emperor's ransom in raw dragon rum just burning away.” He reached for the spleens and sighed, letting his hand drop down at his side. “You can let me go now,” he said to Devin. “Such a waste. Such a wretched waste.”

  “You people discard dragon spleens all the time,” Styx scoffed. “And bones. And eggs.”

  “Do you see the burning sheen on that water?” Tarbon said, pointing to the fountain. “Do you know how many dragon lives we could save if some enterprising soul had harvested those properly instead of burning them?”

  “Saving dragons by killing dragons?” Styx crossed his arms. “I didn't sprout yesterday, Lord Tarbon.”

  Tarbon chuckled. “How much would demand for new dragon carcasses drop if we flooded the market with rum tomorrow? People could drink it like water. The price of the liquor would plummet. The price of dragon carcasses would plummet. The Dark Cabal would die on the vine and shrink back to Corel where they belong. Now Fangwaller's gone, they might wither yet.”

  “The demand for dragons is artificially inflated anyway by the emperor,” Devin said.

  “Oh?” Styx asked.

  Tarbon waved the revelation away as he re-laced his shirt. “Everyone's known that for years. You think people pay premium price for dragon products because they like how the tiny steaks taste? Dragon meat is like dragon liquor: it gets better with age. Most dragon steaks are too small and scrawny to have much natural flavor—”

  “What does any of this have to do with finding General Festus?” Patrice asked.

  “That's a giant mess of spleens thrown away by someone knowledgeable enough to extract them yet honor-ridden enough to prefer slaughtering monsters instead of profiting from them. Sound like a high level army-type fellow to you?” Tarbon asked.

  Devin nodded. “And that dank smell in the air is from—”

  “Out gassing dragon carcasses all gathered in one neat pile,” the merchant said, nodding. “You want to find Festus, just follow the stench.”

  Drusilla walked down an alley. She returned holding her nose and beckoning. “This way.”

  They found General Festus sitting atop a large pile of dragons extolling teams of soldiers to pile the corpses higher. “Devin the Artifice Mage,” the general bellowed. “Good to see not everyone has abandoned their posts.” The general saluted the youth, his arm shaking slightly.

  “Where is Captain Vice?” Devin asked.

  “Dragon bait in the ruins of Port Eclare. That man disgraced his red uniform,” Festus said, swaying as he stood to examine his own garb. He seemed to be counting buttons.

  “Red uniform? He is a Black Guard . . . sir,” Devin said.

  “Certain rogue emperors who shall not be named requested I enroll that canny bastard in the ranks of the army. I acquiesced under protest. Then when Armand proved unfit for command, as I knew he would, I discharged him . . . into the waiting claws of a dragon.” The general smiled and hiccuped. “I am not a cruel man. Gave him a lit torch to smack the critters away.” The general roared as though he'd made a joke, but Devin missed the humor.

  “General Festus, are you drunk?” Drusilla asked as the man peered owlishly at the assembled revolutionaries and slid down the pile of dragon carcasses. He landed on his feet, back stiff as a poker.

  Festus squinted. “You're that Dragon Rabble. The ones who chased away the emperor.”

  Tarbon laughed, “No, we are the Dragon Revol—”

  Devin held up one finger. “We are the Dragon Revolutionary Party. We represent the people of the Iron Empire.

  Festus belched and his eyes narrowed. “You don't represent me.” One of the soldiers looked away as his general clapped him on the shoulder. “Have you tried the water in these fountains, private? Ish fantastic. I'm declaring partial law. Arrest these teaple for preason, won't you?”

  Styx casually backhanded the soldier when the man approached his father.

  “Thank you, Son,” Devin said. “In the absence of true justice and impartial laws, we are the new government—the People's Government—until such time as a new leader is chosen. The reign of tyranny is over.”

  The words rang hollow. It was a short, pretty speech, which was supposed to be delivered to a humbled emperor in chains, not a drunk general. In the absence of the emperor, Devin felt he had to give it to somebody.

  Festus laughed. “Decided that all on your own, did you? A handful of guild members and commoners running the country. 'People's Government,' feh. People are good for turning food into shit and precious little else. Undisciplined rabble.” He glanced at the pile of dragons parts behind him and grimaced. “Are you a pack of civilians or proper soldiers?” General Festus yelled at his toiling soldiers, bracing his hand above his head. “More. Higher. Bigger.”

  “Trouble solving the dragon problem you created by bringing an ancient artifact into a crowded city?” Devin shook his bag. “These will even the odds. If you can accept help from the rabble.”

  “They weren't supposed to be here,” the general cried. “No civilians. Just the mages, the criminals. I never thought the emperor's plan would work so . . . fiendishly. He was supposed to evacuate the city into camps. There were no camps. I just wanted to teach the wretched citizens of this city a lesson. Maybe destroy a few houses. They sat in their comfortable homes while my boys marched and died for people who would spit in their faces. Your precious people needed to learn the meaning of honor, of humility.”

  Devin shrugged. “Most of their homes and valuables have been reduced to burnt shells with them inside.”

  The general winced. “I was going to build a monument. A statue for my men. For all the brave souls who died to dragons and,” he glared at Devin, “other evils.”

  “I think you're a better man than the emperor deserved. But you let his craziness infect you.”

  “I was under orders,” Festus said, wiping the sweat off his brow.

  “Bad orders from a crazy emperor. Why didn't you depose the man yourself, General?” Devin pleaded.

  “Tried that once,” Festus said quietly. “Sane or insane, he was my emperor.”

  “Such an emperor doesn't deserve your loyalty.” Devin held up his hands. “You don't have to condone what we're doing, but at least recognize the political hole we need to fill.”

  “You spread treason like rot spreads flies. You're just in it for plunder. A pirate government,” Festus snorted. “You think life will be better if your
little guilds and common folks take a crack at running the world?”

  “They won't. Our first act will be a diet to choose a new emperor. But he won't be appointed by the five gods, the guild, or the damn bureaucracy. The person will be selected from the people by the people to serve the people: mages and commoners alike.”

  Drusilla's jaw dropped. Patrice laughed nervously. Styx and Jemmy both looked mildly interested and Tarbon just scowled. Devin was walking into uncharted territory. The Dragon Revolutionary Party had made almost no plans as to what would happen after they'd secured the capital, which a point of fact had yet to be secured.

  We would have eventually agreed on something like this, Devin told himself.

  Festus still looked skeptical. The soldiers had stopped working and gathered around. Not threatening, just listening.

  “Will you suspend the threat of martial law until we've had a chance to organize the city?” Devin asked. “Consider it time to clean up the rest of the dragons after we lead the bulk of the catastrophe away from here.”

  General Festus quirked one eyebrow. “And how do you plan to do that?”

  “You will surrender the artifact to the Dragon Revolutionary Party as representatives of the interim capital government and in exchange I shall show you how to kill a dragon with a pocket watch.”

  “One of the Black Guard's little talismans?” Festus asked, smiling.

  Devin threw the sack down. “A whole bag of them.”

  “Show me.” The general stroked his beard. “If this is another magic trick . . .”

  “Merely skill and coordination.” Devin bowed. “The party works as a team, General Festus. Much like your soldiers. If we cheat and use a single spell, then arrest the lot of us as mages and traitors.”

  “You have mages working for you, too, eh?” the general mused.

  Devin spread his arms. “Mages are people just like anybody else.”

  Devin elbowed Patrice as they each collected a handful of watches. “Ready to sling these again instead of fireballs for awhile?”

 

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