Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2)

by Foster, Brian W.

  Dylan never should have helped free Xan from his cell, but who would have thought he was guilty? There'd been no proof provided, and Dylan had never seen any sign.

  How could they put him in such a position? An accomplice to helping a mage escape. Open rebellion to the crown. Flouting the laws against magic.

  How could he expand his family's business as an outlaw—or dead?

  His dad excelled at dealing with people but didn’t always make the best decisions. Dylan did. Profits increased by twenty percent in the two years since he’d become a full partner. Two to four percent could be attributed to normal growth. The rest came from the implementation of his ideas.

  Xan always wanted to know more than anyone. Brant sought to be able to overcome anyone physically. Both pursuits were ill-conceived.

  With enough money, Dylan could hire someone to tell him anything he wanted to know. With enough money, he could hire a team of guards to turn back any attackers short of an army. True power lay in wealth.

  He finished skinning the bear and made a few more cuts to allow the rest of the blood to drain. How did Xan kill something so massive so easily? A full hunting party would have had a hard time.

  Dylan hacked off a slab of meat. Such power had its uses. Better a dead bear than a live one chasing him. Brant leading them to shelter probably saved their lives.

  But their lives wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place if not for magic.

  Then again, if Brant could find a path through the cave, Dylan’s family would be able to bring goods to market weeks earlier throughout the winter. His house would take over Vierna.

  Without Dylan, though, because he’d probably be hanging from the end of a rope well before then, potential mage or no. He added another slab to the growing pile.

  If an alchemist can kill a bear and a masser can find his way through a cave, what could a kineticist do?

  He probably had twenty pounds of meat. How long had he been at it? Hours. Xan still appeared to be sound asleep while Brant marked furiously on a page.

  Totally opposite of normal. Lainey would think it was hilarious.

  Dylan looked all around the cave. Shouldn't she have been back?

  “Brant!” Dylan frantically wiped his bloody hands against his tunic and rushed toward the fire. “Brant! Lainey’s missing!”

  * * *

  Brant stared at the cave ceiling.

  How long had it been since Lainey left? A quarter hour? And he hadn't even managed to connect to the magic yet.

  He had to map their path out. No one else could save them.

  Just figure it out and he'd be the hero. Xan and Dylan would clap him on the back. Lainey would look at him with awe in her eyes.

  Brant stared into space.

  No route meant not going through the cave, meant they were sunk. The catcher would find them as soon as the blizzard passed.

  Brant had to find the way and do it fast. He narrowed his eyes at a rock atop of a pile of its fellows and demanded the magic show him its mass.

  Nothing happened.

  Why was it so easy for Xan and Lainey? All they had to do was focus for a second and, poof, out popped a flame.

  He jumped up. Trying to sense the weight of every stone he passed, he paced far from the light. His foot kicked a boulder, and he stumbled, nearly falling.

  “Ouch! Blast it!”

  If he’d been able to sense the rock like he should have been able to, he’d never have stubbed his toe. A dark shape, a stalag-something or other Xan had called it, loomed over the offending stone. Brant grinned. He’d have his revenge by crushing the boulder.

  As if the hanging mass were one of his father’s recruits, Brant ordered it to get heavier, but again, nothing happened. He felt no connection to the magic.

  Increase weight! Still nothing. Why was it so hard for him? Become heavy!

  He kicked the boulder. Ouch!

  Brant limped back to the fire and grabbed quill and ink. All another quarter hour of trying to sense rocks got him was an aching head and a throbbing toe.

  He chunked the feather, and it half floated, half fell, to the ground. How cool would it be to make it heavy enough to stick into the rock floor? That would impress Losa. She wouldn’t refuse his invitation to go behind the barn, then.

  Brant shook his head. Magic wasn’t needed to impress a girl. He needed magic to get through the cave and save his friends.

  His body quaked with the effort at concentration, but minutes got him no results. He watched Dylan try to field dress the huge carcass.

  Xan’s fire blast was so cool.

  What could Brant have done to kill the bear? Thrown a rock at it and increased the stone’s weight a hundredfold before it hit. Better than uselessly swinging a sword.

  He let out a sharp breath—if he’d had hours to access the magic. What did it say about his strength that it was so hard for him? Would Xan and Lainey always ...

  Brant slapped the ground. Enough! He had to map the blasted cave.

  A few minutes later, a dragon dove at him from the cloudless sky. He ducked the flame and chucked a handful of pebbles into the air. The serpent passed under them as it circled around for another run. Brant made the pebbles heavier than horses, crushing the dragon to the ground.

  Weak-willed wimp! Daydreaming about imaginary creatures when he had actual heroics to do. The catcher could be getting closer by the second.

  Brant touched both palms to the cave floor. Feel the connection. Sense the weight.

  Weapons training, no matter how tedious, never caused his mind to stray. What was his problem with magic?

  Finally, power surged into him, and he swam toward the ocean of magic. All around him, he sensed mass. Felt it. Knew where every object as tiny as a pebble lay.

  Brant drove his awareness deeper into the cave, sensing the voids that told him where the hollow spots were. He switched his mind to each offshoot until he reached its end, often first having to run down offshoots splitting from it and offshoots splitting from that one and so on. By the light of his torch, he drew a line representing the main path and forks each time he encountered them.

  The tedium wore at him. Branch after branch ended in bare stone. After what seemed like forever, he found a route to the other side of the mountain.

  But he’d forgotten to check the size of the openings along the path. He quickly guessed at the height and width of the narrowest points. Dylan would have to crawl. No way they’d get the horses through.

  “Argh!” Brant retraced the path.

  He found a side tunnel off the original route. If they backtracked a bit, they could bypass the low portions. As he worked to confirm there were no obstacles along that route, a shout disrupted his concentration.

  The magic vanished.

  He opened angry eyes to see Dylan running, his clothes rust-stained with blood.

  “Brant! Lainey’s missing!”

  Xan still lay on his side sleeping, but there was no sign of her.

  Brant’s legs were stiff, and his butt ached. Only coals remained in the fire pit. How long had he been sitting? She definitely should have been back.

  He jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword, his muscles taut with the need to act.

  27.

  Xan opened dreary eyes. A swirl of motion made his still aching head pound harder.

  Brant marched across the campsite, using one torch to light another. He chucked the new one to Dylan, who snagged it from the air while struggling into his heavy cloak.

  “What the blast are you two doing?” A dagger shot through Xan's temple at his shout.

  “Lainey’s missing.” Brant swung a pack over his shoulders.

  Xan’s jaw went slack. He stared at the pile of glowing embers near his feet. How long had he been asleep for the fire to burn that low? And Lainey still wasn’t back?

  He sought the magic through the fog of sleep and ache, gaining it on the first try for once, and quested. After the embers, he sensed only a pale r
eflection of a massive bonfire toward Eagleton that he assumed to be Justav. No magic use.

  Where was the signal she’d promised to light?

  If anything happened to her, it would be his fault. He’d given in to her demand to collect the firewood instead of forbidding it. He’d decided to go to sleep instead of going with her. He’d been too weak to force her to go back to her father’s house.

  Brant and Dylan finished their frantic preparations and hustled toward the front of the cave.

  “Wait!” Xan struggled to his feet, finding in the process that every part of his body still hurt. He drew a horse blanket around his shoulders and conjured a large flame on a piece of firewood he’d snatched from the dwindling pile.

  The three dashed toward the cave mouth, every step bringing Xan pain. They had to hurry. Even if Lainey had managed to find shelter, being outside when it was so cold was dangerous.

  By the time they finished their near sprint to the edge of the overhang, Xan struggled to draw breath, and the frigid air pounded his chest. Great wet flakes filled the sky. He shivered as gusts bit deeply into his flesh through the thin blanket.

  The storm left them little in the way of light, and wind pushed a swirl of snow that limited visibility to mere yards. A white carpet covered the mountainside, leaving not a hint of Lainey’s passing.

  “What now?” Xan said.

  Brant pointed at a faint shadow of an indentation. “We follow her tracks.”

  “Shouldn’t we take the horses?” Dylan said.

  Brant stepped into the snow. “They’ll only slow us.”

  High drifts piled around the outside of the overhang, and snow overtopped Xan’s boots, melting and soaking his socks again. Magic flowed easier through him than earlier, but energy drained from the flame on his stick as fast as he could add it, forcing him to abandon the endeavor lest he pass out. Better to conserve his strength.

  Tongues of fire clung to the wood for a few minutes until the bombardment of sizzling pinpricks finally killed them. Even the oil on his friends’ torches strained to withstand the dampness.

  Brant bent to inspect the ground and shook his head. “She went the wrong way.”

  What did that mean? Maybe it was a good sign. Perhaps she just got lost and couldn’t figure out how to make it back. Or, blinded by the snow, not familiar with the surroundings, she’d fallen off a cliff.

  No. She was just lost. Brant would find her wandering around, and they’d all make fun of her. Lainey would fume and say she’d meant to go that way to find better wood.

  Every few minutes, Brant slowed to check the ground, and Xan suffered each delay in silence. Even while Lainey surely suffered, best to take the time to ensure they went the correct direction. If Brant had any idea what he was doing.

  Xan didn't see any tracks. What if …

  No! He wouldn’t even consider the possibility.

  Eventually, the storm slackened until only flurries fell. The improving weather would make it easier to find Lainey and, hopefully, bring warmth.

  But better weather also meant Justav would likely be able to move from wherever he'd camped. How long would it take to find Lainey? Would the catcher reach them before they got back to the cave?

  A half hour into their trek, every part of Xan felt cold and wet. He shivered and cast jealous glances at the others. Brant hid every square inch of his skin under fabric and held his torch through the pocket of his cloak. Only his eyes peeked out. Dylan wore a fur-lined skin made by the tribes for use in high-mountain conditions.

  Another frigid blast tore through Xan's porous blanket as if it didn’t exist. His teeth chattered, and the trembling spread until his entire body shook. He had to do something.

  Xan lit the bottom of the blanket, instinctively forming a barrier that followed the contours of his body. Protected from the heat, he ignited the entire surface of the fabric. Flames enveloped his torso and lapped his face.

  He imagined the shield to have miniscule perforations to let in the warmth, and within minutes, he grew nice and toasty. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

  Dylan glanced back and stopped. His eyes went wide, and he made the sign of the Holy One. “What the blast are you doing?”

  The idiot really needed to grow a pair.

  Yelling that wouldn't accomplish anything, though, and Lainey would want Xan to be conciliatory. “It was either this or frostbite.”

  Dylan huffed and sputtered before stilling his tongue, and after another quarter hour of travel, they halted near a rock shaped like an elephant.

  “She realized she wasn’t heading toward the grove and went that way.” Brant pointed across the mountain to the left.

  “At least we know she was fine at this point,” Xan said between labored breaths. “Otherwise, she would have turned back.”

  If she weren’t twice as stubborn as a mule. She had to be okay.

  Brant grunted and set out again.

  It wasn't easy traipsing across a treacherous mountain while wielding so much magic. Shortcuts helped. Instead of taking two steps to cover a dip in the rocky terrain, Xan skipped over it with his long legs.

  His foot found uneven turf. Overextended and off balance, he stumbled. Twisting to avoid going face first, he landed on his side. Pain stabbed his ear. He rolled downward.

  Solid white filled his vision. Each tumble sped his descent.

  Xan thrust his hands out to clutch at everything they brushed. Finally, his grasping fingers found an unyielding boulder, and he wrenched to a halt.

  “Rads take it!”

  With his magically fed flame long gone, his hands burned with cold, and quivering and shaking, he wrapped them in the blanket.

  “Are you okay?” The words sounded muffled and hollow.

  Xan contorted to see Brant and Dylan standing upslope from him. “I’m fine.” His teeth chattered as he spoke.

  Several agonizing moments passed before normal feeling returned to his hands. His ear stung, and he discovered it to be filled with ice. He clawed with numb fingers for an eternity to clear it.

  Slowly, ensuring the stability of his footing, he rose. Nothing hurt more than it had prior to the accident, but snow coated him and stuck to his skin and his clothes. Worse, it bored underneath his tunic and breeches. Cold and damp sank into his bones.

  Even with his body trembling, he accessed the source quickly and tried to light a flame on the blanket. The magic filled him, but the fabric wouldn’t ignite. He tried to force it but stopped with his head spinning and spots dancing before his eyes.

  “You’re freezing,” Brant said. “Go back to the cave.”

  “No! Lainey first.”

  Brant frowned.

  “We’re wasting time she doesn’t have,” Xan said.

  Shaking his head and muttering about stubbornness, Brant turned and continued walking. Wet and with no fire, Xan suffered the bite of the wind’s vengeance, refusing to trade the blanket for either of his friends’ gear.

  Not that Dylan offered.

  The ground leveled, and Brant sped his pace. Xan limped after him, staring intently ahead. The visibility had improved with the slackening storm, but the gloom remained.

  Brant bent yet again to check a track.

  Xan squinted. Was that something moving in the distance? A large shape?

  He walked ahead of the others until his mind interpreted what his eyes saw. “Cuppy!”

  Brant cried for him to stop, but Xan slogged faster through the snow.

  The horse stood upslope against the gloom, and Xan rushed toward it. As he lumbered up the hill, he shouted, “Lainey!”

  She didn’t reply.

  The lack only spurred him faster, and he neared Cuppy at a flat-out run. He topped the rise. A black pit, a chasm, stretched immediately in front of him.

  Crap!

  He jumped, trying to stop by digging his heels into the ground. His legs slid.

  28.

  If Dylan had a couple of the merchant guards he and his f
ather used on trips, he’d have them tie Xan with a rope and haul him back to the cave.

  Didn’t the idiot know how dangerous it was to sprint across a snow-covered mountainside?

  Brant, playing the hero as always, had rushed after him.

  Dylan understood their excitement at seeing Cuppy but still. Wary about jostling his torch, he picked his way toward them, barely glancing up from placing his feet in the depressions Brant had left.

  “Lainey!” Xan shouted.

  A good twenty-five yards ahead, Xan charged up a hill. Upon reaching Cuppy, he made an awkward motion that could best be described as a jump-hop.

  With Brant a dozen yards back, Xan’s legs slid.

  His arms flailed about, and he pitched forward. Just as it looked like he would tumble, he caught hold of Cuppy’s saddle. He clung to it, his legs hanging limp for a moment before he found his feet. Brant caught up right after and pulled Xan into an embrace.

  Strange.

  Dylan didn’t understand until he reached them. They stood before a six-foot-wide chasm with depths disappearing into the darkness. No telling how far down it went.

  Xan’s face paled to match the snow. “You don’t think … She couldn’t possibly …”

  Brant held his torch over the edge of the crevasse. “Her tracks end here.” He pointed at a groove in the snow. “Someone fell.”

  Stunned, Dylan peered into the blackness. He’d talked to Lainey just a few hours ago. She couldn’t be dead.

  No one could have survived a drop into that hole.

  He gripped his medallion through his cloak and tunic. The hard edges dug so hard into his hand that it hurt.

  Her death was on Xan.

  “Give me that!” Xan snatched the torch from Dylan’s hand.

  The fire surged. Red and orange tongues engulfed Xan, covering his body from his boots to several feet above his head. A wave of heat assailed Dylan, and he backed away.

  Only a blurry image showed through the mass of flame.

  Brant likewise stepped back. “You don’t think he’s burning himself up?”