The Rogue Mage (The Age of Oracles Book 1)

by Ben Hale

  The

  Rogue Mage

  By Ben Hale

  Text Copyright © 2017 Ben Hale

  All Rights Reserved

  To my family and friends,

  Who believed

  And to my wife,

  Who is perfect

  The Chronicles of Lumineia

  By Ben Hale

  —The Age of Oracles—

  The Rogue Mage

  The Lost Mage

  The Battle Mage

  —The Master Thief—

  Jack of Thieves

  Thief in the Myst

  The God Thief

  —The Second Draeken War—

  Elseerian

  The Gathering

  Seven Days

  The List Unseen

  —The Warsworn—

  The Flesh of War

  The Age of War

  The Heart of War

  —The White Mage Saga—

  Assassin's Blade (Short story prequel)

  The Last Oracle

  The Sword of Elseerian

  Descent Unto Dark

  Impact of the Fallen

  The Forge of Light

  Table of Contents

  The Chronicles of Lumineia

  Map of Lumineia

  Prologue: End of a Bloodline

  Chapter 1: Oracle

  Chapter 2: The Eldress Council

  Chapter 3: The Soldier

  Chapter 4: The Soldier’s Refuge

  Chapter 5: A New Target

  Chapter 6: An Oracle’s Intrigue

  Chapter 7: A Daring Plan

  Chapter 8: Acolyte

  Chapter 9: The Trial of Endurance

  Chapter 10: The Secret Shipment

  Chapter 11: The Guardian

  Chapter 12: Requiem

  Chapter 13: The Trial of Unity

  Chapter 14: Rise to Runeguard

  Chapter 15: The Crucible

  Chapter 16: Ellie’s Refuge

  Chapter 17: The Accord

  Chapter 18: Madness of the Lost

  Chapter 19: Herald of War

  Chapter 20: Rift

  Chapter 21: Summoned

  Chapter 22: Alydian’s Wrath

  Chapter 23: The Soldier’s Heart

  Chapter 24: Death of the Soldier

  Chapter 25: The Living City

  Chapter 26: The Third Trial

  Chapter 27: Mistkeep

  Chapter 28: Elsin’s Offer

  Chapter 29: Greenwood

  Chapter 30: Alethean’s Choice

  Chapter 31: Seeking the Lost

  Chapter 32: Teriah’s Secret

  Chapter 33: Tidal

  Chapter 34: Consequence

  Chapter 35: A Test of Friendship

  Chapter 36: Crescent Moon Farm

  Chapter 37: Invitation

  Chapter 38: Unto the Enemy

  Chapter 39: Verisith

  Chapter 40: The Shadowmage

  Chapter 41: Reunion

  Chapter 42: Mineva’s Memory

  Chapter 43: Unmasked

  Chapter 44: Alydian’s Fury

  Chapter 45: The Soldier’s Tale

  Chapter 46: The Rogue Mage

  Chapter 47: Lost

  The Chronicles of Lumineia

  Author Bio

  Map of Lumineia

  Prologue: End of a Bloodline

  Commander Othan leaned back in his chair and examined the parchment. After six years they were finally closing in on the bandit known as the Soldier. Now it was only a matter of time before the man hung from a noose—or died on a blade. Commander Othan smiled as he imagined the impending execution and rose to his feet, stepping to the cabinet that contained his private stock of ale.

  Situated below Dawnskeep, his office curved across the edge of the foundation, one wall transparent to allow an unbroken view of the massive training hall. His collection of elven blades hung on the wall, while blue banners interspersed the weaponry. Light came from a pair of gremlins that prowled the ceiling. Conjured by his own hand, they guarded his office when he was not present.

  He picked up a crystalline glass and selected a bottle. Meressa, second oracle on the Eldress Council, had made the ale personally and gifted it to him for his service as captain of her guard. Pouring a glass of the amber liquid, he stepped to the window and surveyed the training hall.

  The hall filled the breadth of the fortress, extending all the way to the foundations of the outer wall. The vaulted ceiling made the cavernous space majestic and open, while ensuring the Runeguard with magic had room to train. Although the hall contained the requisite training circles, forges, and armories, his gaze was drawn to the secret that made the Runeguard legendary, the Requiems.

  Othan took a sip and savored the drink, his thoughts returning to the Soldier. Six years ago, the Soldier had launched a private war against the guild of Verinai. Comprised of mages with multiple talents, the powerful guild should have crushed him with ease, but the man proved elusive. Those dissatisfied with the guild flocked to his banner, joining his band of Defiant. He wore a mask and kept his identity hidden, even from his own people. Othan scowled, wondering how the man had evaded the oracles’ magic.

  Since the Dawn of Magic, five oracle bloodlines had guided kings and commoners alike. They could use every type of magic, granting them farsight, the ability to see glimpses of the future. Revered for their power, wisdom, and benevolence, the oracles were the protectors of the peace, the voice of reason between nations. They had never failed . . . until the Soldier.

  Othan’s scowl deepened and he returned to his desk. He was a Runeguard, sworn protector of the oracles. But he was Verinai first, and he’d taken secret oaths to the guild that superseded his rank and office. He took a final swallow from the ale and placed the glass on the desk. Then he reached for the quill to sign the orders.

  The ink rippled.

  Othan paused, his eyes on the ink as it stilled. Dawnskeep had been built by dwarven artisans and the guild of Verinai, and he’d never felt a tremor. He frowned as he watched the inkwell, wondering if the earth was shaking as it sometimes did on the South Sea islands.

  His desk shuddered again, more violently than before. The vibration passed through his chair and into his body, bringing him to his feet. He had four talents to his credit, and sent a burst of magic into the stones at his feet, searching for the source of the tremor, but the trembling did not come from beneath.

  It came from above.

  He came around his desk as the entire room shook, the inkwell sliding off the desk and shattering on the floor. Confusion and urgency filling his veins, he reached the door just as it swung open.

  “Commander,” Lieutenant Jallow exclaimed, breathless, “an oracle has been attacked.”

  “Where?” Othan demanded.

  A piercing shriek shattered the calm. Through stone and flesh the sound reverberated throughout the fortress. The unholy sound carried the timbre of anger, pain, and fear. Othan pushed past Jallow and sprinted for the stairs, fear spiking in his gut.

  The curving steps brought him to the main level of Dawnskeep, a great hall for receiving dignitaries and kings. Marble pillars rose to the ceiling, their polished curves reflecting the enchanted figures dancing on the walls.

  Othan sprinted toward the dwarven ascender at the edge of the room, other guards converging from the wings. Dressed in the flowing white and blue armor of the Runeguard, they rushed for the dwarven ascender that connected to the upper floors.

  “Which oracle is under attack?”

  “No one breached the wall!”

  “Is it the Soldier?”

  The questions were laced with fear and desperation,
punctuated by more tremors through the citadel. Five oracle bloodlines had existed since the Dawn of Magic, but currently only one had a daughter. If an oracle perished without an heir, an entire lineage would be extinguished. Othan skidded to a stop at the ascender as the men yanked on the controls. A grinding of gears came from the machinery but the platform did not rise.

  “It must be damaged!” one of the guards shouted.

  A great cracking came from the ceiling and Othan’s head snapped up. He shoved Jallow out of harm’s way and launched himself in the opposite direction. He landed hard and rolled as an enormous section of the ceiling came free and plummeted to their former position.

  It struck the polished floor with brutal force, sending cracks spiderwebbing outward. Fires and molten stone lined the surface of the fragment. Coughing in the dust and smoke, Othan came to his feet and looked to the hole it had left.

  Visible through the gap, the bookshelves of the library were wreathed in flames. Glimmers of light sparkled in the inferno, charms activating to protect the valuable tomes. A bookshelf succumbed and collapsed, sending sparks and books tumbling into the great hall. Another scream echoed, furious and defiant.

  “The other ascenders are blocked!” someone shouted. “We need another way up!”

  Othan stabbed a finger at the gap. “We have one. Fire mages with me, stone mages, lift us up!”

  He darted to the great ceiling fragment and caught the side, scaling the broken stone to the top. When he encountered flames he extinguished them with a burst of his power, the flames answering his will.

  Guards ascended with him, reaching the top as other Verinai surrounded the burning rock. They cast their collective magic and used the floor beneath to lift the section of ceiling. Then it gradually rose into the air.

  “Who’s the attacker?” Othan demanded, but none had an answer.

  As the fragment of ceiling lifted toward the opening, another crack echoed. Someone shouted in warning and the guards scrambled away as another chunk of the ceiling tumbled down, bouncing off a pillar before embedding into the floor.

  “Lieutenant, reinforce the ceiling!” Othan barked, and guards leapt to the pillars.

  As he neared the opening Othan gathered the magic beneath his feet, reaching into the stone. Instead of rigid and heavy, it felt smooth and liquid, and he bent it to his will. The stone flowed upward, carrying him on a finger of rock through the hole and depositing him on the floor of the library.

  He shielded his eyes from the flames and spread his other hand, drawing the heat into a tight ball, condensing and shaping it so it could be extinguished. As the brilliant light faded, his eyes widened in shock.

  Bookshelves were demolished and broken, leaving the floor littered in burning tomes. Those not protected by charms were charred beyond recognition. Tables and chairs were shattered, the wood snapped like kindling.

  One of the great trees that had graced the interior had been uprooted and turned into a treewalker. It now lay on its side, its trunk on fire while the branches were broken and twisted, extending through a broken window.

  Shouts of alarm echoed from outside, and he realized the entire city would be watching the fire and billowing smoke. He glanced back and called an order to close the fortress gates. Then he advanced through the fire, searching.

  A giant lightcast bird glided through the smoke, its wing broken, causing it to list to the side. The entity collided with a bookshelf, knocking it down. Othan flinched as the bird burst into sparks. Spotting the ascender doors blocked by debris, he picked his way through the piles of ruined books and burning shelves, listening for signs of combat that would indicate the oracle was still fighting. The crackle of flames and shouts from the other guards filled the library, until someone cried out in dismay. Othan whirled and leapt toward them, sliding to a halt when he saw the body, joining those who stood in stunned horror.

  Othan stared at the twisted form, numb with disbelief. The other guards converged on the location, their questions falling on deaf ears until they saw the body and joined the silence. Tears flowed, and hardened warriors trembled with shock and rage.

  “An entire bloodline, gone,” one muttered.

  “Who would do this?” another asked.

  Othan could not tear his gaze from her lifeless form, his questions unable to find his tongue. There were no bodies around the oracle, indicating the oracle’s killer had been alone. Few had the power to stand against an oracle and all were powerful mages. All were sworn to protect the oracles.

  “Who could kill an oracle?” a guard asked.

  “A betrayer in our midst,” Othan said, finally tearing his gaze from the body to look at his lieutenant. “A rogue mage.”

  Chapter 1: Oracle

  Six Months Earlier

  Alydian leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes, struggling to contain her irritation. Like all oracles she’d spent the first fifty years of her life in study, and then assumed the role of apprentice oracle. Thirty years later and her mother continued to assign exhaustive lists of tomes for her to read. She knew it was due to her mother’s failing health but still found the weight to be stifling.

  Leaving the desk, she stepped to the table and poured herself a glass of mint water, draining it before turning to face the desk once more. Leather-bound tomes lay scattered across its polished wooden surface, obscuring the parchment with her notes.

  Her quill shifted when the wagon bounced on a rut, a subtle reminder that she was moving. Unlike traditional wagons, hers had been constructed by magic. The wheels were encased in aquaglass, softening the bumps and ruts of the road. Spacious and long, the wagon contained a private bedchamber, a study, and a dining area at the rear. Windows allowed the afternoon light to cascade into her study, and she stepped to the largest, gazing wistfully at the passing terrain.

  She’d left Terros days ago and entered the rolling hills of southern Griffin. Trees dotted the rocky slopes, and mountains rose into the distance. Spring had drawn flowers and brush from the earth, brightening remaining patches of lingering snow.

  A soldier rode past her wagon and he turned the reins to ride up a nearby hill. She felt a spark of envy over his freedom. The tattoo on his neck marked him as Verinai, a mage with multiple magics. The powerful guild of Verinai now controlled much of the magical industry, even directing the lower guilds that trained mages with single abilities. The wagon she rode in had been built in one of their cities.

  Turning away from the view, she stepped to the center of the wagon and blinked into her magesight, and the wagon burst into color and light. Energy filled her vision. The darkwood floor was a dim brown, the water in the pitcher a shimmering blue. Her own body reflected a grayish hue, contrasting with the bright red of the fire in the small hearth. The light orbs bracketed into the walls cast a brilliant yellow.

  As an oracle she could see and manipulate all types of magic, but her skill in each varied. She reached for the fire in the hearth and drew on the flames, causing them to twist and curl. Extending from the hearth, the flames shaped into a tiny soldier bearing a sword. The entity of fire swung its blade and bounded to the table, pacing about as if eager for battle.

  Alydian lifted the pitcher and poured it on the table. Instead of splashing about, the water flowed into the shape of a beautiful woman. The fire soldier noticed her and strode forward, bending down to offer his allegiance.

  The woman smiled and shook her head, raising her hands to craft a sword of shimmering blue. Lunging forward, she swung a playful swipe at the soldier, who reluctantly blocked. Goading the man forward, the woman swung again, and the soldier parried. Then the man recognized her desire and began to teach, leading the woman through a training regimen.

  Alydian sighed as she watched the two entities duel. She was not supposed to train with higher order spells until she entered her second century—still twenty years away. She sank into a seat, watching the duel but not seeing it, wishing she could learn more of the battle magics.

 
Entities were the most common spell for combat mages, and involved casting energy into a shape that mirrored consciousness. It was temporary and linked to the caster’s will. The larger the entity, the more discipline was required to cast it. Most mages gained enough discipline to cast a wolf, lion, or bear, while the more disciplined could cast a warrior to fight for them. An entity with a sentient mind like a human or reaver made it far more versatile, but also more difficult to conjure and control.

  Alydian’s mind was drawn to her mother, the only one to ever cast a phoenix entity. The image of Elenyr wreathed in light and fire was awesome and inspiring. The sight of her soaring into the sky was a supreme reminder of an oracle’s power, but it had been many years since she’d been able to cast such magic.

  At eight hundred years old, Elenyr was the oldest oracle on the Eldress Council. The other four oracles each had a seat, with the youngest being well into her second century. As yet, none of the others had birthed a daughter, leaving Alydian to shoulder the weight of instruction from all five on the council.

  A knock at the door snapped her from her thoughts, and she guiltily dismissed the entities. The fire dissipated from sight and the maiden flowed back into the pitcher. She’d been on the verge of victory, and cast Alydian an accusing glare as she faded away.

  “Next time I’ll let you beat him,” Alydian murmured with a smile.

  She stepped to the door and swung it open to find the captain of her guard on the small porch. Human and grizzled, he was a veteran of countless wars. His grey hair was cropped short, and his white uniform was visible beneath his blue and white armor. The reins of his horse were tied to the side of the wagon.

  “Oracle Alydian,” he said, bowing, “my scouts have found a suitable camp just ahead. We’ll bring the wagon to a halt so you can join the council.”

  “Thank you, Devkin,” she said, addressing him by his first name.