The Rogue Mage (The Age of Oracles Book 1)

by Ben Hale

  “There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Alydian said. “Why guard his identity so carefully? Any captured Defiant claim that he wears his mask even among his own people. His lieutenants use masks as well, the ones known as Red and Jester.”

  Raine’s eyes widened. “Perhaps he hides his identity from us.”

  Meressa raised an eyebrow. “You think he anticipates our farsight?”

  “It could explain how he has evaded us for so long,” Teriah said.

  “An intelligent adversary,” Raine said.

  “Your point is valid,” Elenyr said. “But hiding his identity so carefully would only protect him so far. He must be making choices on impulse, preventing us from seeing the effects of his actions until it is too late for us to prepare.”

  “Such preparation indicates knowledge,” Alydian said.

  Meressa turned on her but instead of anger it was curiosity in her gaze. “Knowledge of what?”

  “Us,” Alydian said, sweeping her hands at the table. “He protects himself from those who can see the future, suggesting he knows the exact limits of our farsight.”

  Raine laughed. “Our sister speaks with wisdom.”

  “She does,” Meressa said reluctantly. “It appears the man studied our magic before becoming the Soldier.”

  Alydian caught her mother’s eye, and Elenyr gave a subtle nod of approval. Alydian realized her mother had let her speak more frequently than in the past, permitting her a chance to gain the respect of the others on the council.

  “But how did he gain such insight?” Ciana asked. “Much of the common folk consider our magic infallible.” Her comment drew a round of laughter from the others.

  “Our magic may be powerful,” Elenyr said, “but it is far from perfect. We make mistakes as easily as a common man.”

  “We are anything but common,” Teriah said. “We are the council that leads the kingdoms—even if they refuse to listen.”

  “Our place is not to lead,” Elenyr said. “It is to guide.”

  “But the kingdoms of Lumineia are always in conflict,” Teriah protested. “If we did lead them, we could bring them peace.”

  Elenyr straightened in her seat, appearing for the first time as the mighty oracle she had been in her youth. “Your proposal to usurp the authority of the kings has been denied before,” she said to Teriah. “Another attempt to speak on the topic will be met with retribution.”

  The authority in her voice echoed into silence. In the ensuing quiet Elenyr looked between the other sisters on the council, her eyes blazing with power.

  “We protect the people. We do not control them.”

  “As you order, First Sister,” Teriah said quietly, but her eyes burned with anger.

  Elenyr seemed to wilt, her power draining as quickly as it had appeared. “Now, how do we deal with the Soldier?” she asked.

  “You could encourage the Verinai to place specific guards on their shipments,” Ciana said. “If Teriah knows them, she can follow their futures.”

  “A wise strategy,” Meressa said. “If the guards are to be attacked, the streams will be obscured with uncertainty, or death.”

  With a decision made, the conversation shifted to other topics. Alydian would have liked to return the conversation to the Verinai, but after her mother rebuked Teriah she doubted anything could be gained. Resolving to speak to her mother upon arriving in Dawnskeep, she listened to the other oracles as they addressed other matters.

  Alydian was not often invited to sit on the council, but the occasion had become more frequent as her mother’s health deteriorated. Alydian spoke little, and sought to learn what she could of the customs of the council. By tradition they each held a rank, with the oldest assuming the head of the council as First Sister. For over two centuries Elenyr had guided the council with a kind yet determined hand.

  As Second Sister, Meressa was placed in the dwarven realm, only returning to Dawnskeep a few times a year. Haughty and aloof, she was sharp with tongue and wit, and Alydian had learned to avoid her when possible.

  Teriah served the Verinai, and spent the bulk of her time with Guildmaster Elsin. Teriah rarely smiled, her blue eyes dark and calculating. Alydian had only seen her lose her calm once, and the result had been frightening.

  Ciana served the human kingdoms, but Alydian got the impression she despised the king of Griffin, a man that Alydian found to be smart and amusing. King Talin had shown on numerous occasions a willingness to defy tradition, a fact difficult for Ciana to accept. Alydian was just now returning from a visit to the human capital of Terros, where she’d worked with Ciana for a fortnight, studying the political and commercial facets of the sprawling kingdom.

  Alydian glanced at Raine, grateful to have an ally on the council. Alydian relished the opportunities to visit the woman in her home in the elven kingdom. The short elf maintained an air of delightful mystery that made her all the more interesting, and Alydian had shared many nights with her talking until dawn . . .

  —a scream shattered the calm, and Alydian snapped to look behind her. Then she realized the sound had not come from the within the council room, it had come from her present time, at her caravan. She missed what Meressa said as the clash of steel reverberated across the campground, and she heard the distinct cry of a mortally wounded man.

  “Alydian?” Elenyr asked, her voice rising with concern. “Is something amiss?”

  Alydian struggled to maintain her focus as another scream reached her ears, causing her to flinch. It was happening in the present, that much was certain, but the unmistakable sounds of battle could only mean one thing.

  “Someone is attacking my guard,” Alydian said.

  “Let them deal with the bandits,” Meressa said with a dismissive wave. “Unless you lack confidence in your appointed captain . . .”

  Alydian scowled. “I trust Devkin with my life. He is—”

  —her wagon heaved, knocked awry as an explosion rent the earth. She cried out and lost her link to the future, her sight snapping back to reality as the entire wagon keeled onto its side. = She struck the wall, the glass from the window shattering over her arm, slicing into her flesh. She cried out and reached for the wound, clamping a hand over the cut. Then a shadow fell upon her and she looked up, a man appearing in the window that now faced the sky.

  His features were hidden behind a silver mask. Smooth and angular, the mask was spotted with blood. Just his eyes were visible, a startling blue that held her bound. Then he drew a black sword and pointed it to her.

  “I’m sorry Oracle Alydian,” he said. “But I need the council to hear a message.”

  “What message?” she gasped through the pain.

  “That even an oracle can be killed,” he said, and dived through the window.

  Chapter 3: The Soldier

  The Soldier dropped through the window with surprising agility, and Alydian scrambled off the side of the wagon, diving through the horizontal door. Snatching at the handle, she swung it closed—but the Soldier reached it first. His booted foot came toward the wood and she flinched, her bloody hand slipping on the handle.

  The door fell open and the Soldier’s foot met empty air. Unprepared for the lack of resistance, the Soldier stumbled through the opening. Alydian retreated, tripping on scattered books and broken glassware as she sought for an escape.

  Terror gripped her breath as the Soldier rose to his feet and stalked forward. Helplessness consumed her and she stood frozen against the back door of her wagon, her hand fumbling for a latch that refused to give.

  She sought for her magic with her free hand but her fear shackled her power. Panic engulfed her and she clawed at the handle, willing it to give. The Soldier’s mask heightened her horror, the spotted blood of its last victims marring the smooth silver. Soon it would be her blood spotting his mask.

  “I’m truly sorry,” the Soldier said, raising his sword.

  Abruptly the window above them shattered and another figure crashed to the floor. De
vkin alighted and rose to his feet, his own blade knocking the Soldier’s aside. Blood streaked the side of his face and dripped down his tunic.

  “The infamous Soldier,” Devkin said, his voice laced with fury, “what kind of deviant attacks an oracle?”

  “Do not presume to know me,” the Soldier growled, and lunged for Devkin.

  Devkin parried and struck back, the wagon echoing the whirlwind of steel. Both men danced across the debris with ease, their blades clanging off armor and nicking flesh.

  Alydian felt a surge of relief at Devkin’s appearance, but saw that her captain was wounded and slowing. The Soldier seemed to recognize the weakness and drove into it, forcing Devkin back. The captain caught the downward swing of the blade and twisted, slamming the Soldier into the wall.

  “Go!” he snapped to Alydian. “Into the bedchamber! Bar the door!”

  “But—”

  “Go!” he roared as the Soldier shoved him back.

  Alydian scrambled past the duel, nearly losing her head as the Soldier’s blade reached for her throat. Devkin knocked it upward and stepped in, leveling a blow into the Soldier’s gut with his free hand. The Soldier grunted and retreated to the back door of the wagon.

  “I’ll have to kill him to get to you,” the Soldier said, panting from the exertion of the duel.

  Alydian paused in the opening of her bedchamber and looked back, but Devkin snapped to her.

  “Go,” he said, the quiet earnestness to his voice sufficient to compel her into the wagon’s bedchamber.

  The two men closed again as she reached out and pulled on the door. The sound of the latch snapping shut inspired relief—and self-loathing. She hesitated, her hand still on the latch as she listened to the duel, one thought worming itself into her skull.

  I’m a coward.

  The realization surprised her. The Soldier’s attack made her feel helpless, but she was one of the most powerful mages in Lumineia, an oracle able to use every type of magic. She did not cower in fear. Yet here she was, hiding while another fought for his life.

  She gathered her courage and reached to her arm, sending a surge of magic into her flesh, healing the wound. Bits of glass tumbled to her feet as they were pushed outward, and her skin knit together.

  She gasped, the pain bringing a sense of clarity. Then she reached for the handle of the door, intent on joining Devkin in the battle. But a growl of pain and a thud caused her hand to stop on the knob. Beyond the barrier someone had fallen, and she knew who had been victorious. Cursing her fear, she retreated from the door as it shuddered, and a muffled voice came through.

  “Your man fought valiantly,” he said, “You should be proud.”

  “Murderer,” Alydian spat.

  The door shuddered again, and the tip of a black sword pierced through. “When I have to be,” came the reply.

  Fury burned in Alydian’s heart, extinguishing her fear and bringing magic to her hands. She bent the light and cast a soldier, one the size of her adversary. The Soldier’s next blow smashed a hole in the wood and his masked face peeked through.

  “Perhaps there is some fight in you,” he said, his tone amused.

  “Kill him,” Alydian barked.

  The light entity darted to the opening and narrowed, slipping through. But the Soldier drove his black sword through the broken door, the blade piercing the light entity as it passed through the gap. The magic shuddered and disintegrated, crumbling to the floor in golden rain.

  Dismayed, Alydian realized the Soldier’s sword was fashioned of anti-magic, a gnome weapon that extinguished energy in nearly every form. The Soldier struck the door again, causing it to shudder anew.

  Alydian forced down the burgeoning sense of panic and scanned the small room, but the room was bereft of weapons. The blankets from the bed lay at her feet, the mattress leaning against what used to be the wall. A painting had broken against the chair, and glassware littered the wall at her feet. Recognizing that if the Soldier entered she would be trapped, she clawed her way upward, using the light brackets as a ladder. Then she stood on the edge of a gilded mirror and scaled to the window the Soldier had used to enter the wagon.

  She ascended to the top and turned a circle, horrorstruck at the devastation that littered the hill. Smoke billowed about her, briefly clearing to reveal the battlefield. Great holes gouged the earth and were filled with lingering flames. The other wagons were also overturned, their bases burning, their wire frames extending like ribs on a carcass. Many guards lay strewn about, their bodies twisted in death. Others lay groaning in pain as blood seeped from their wounds.

  The Defiant stalked the camp, each bearing anti-magic blades. They sought the Verinai and paused, plunging their swords into Verinai hearts. Frozen in shock, Alydian watched Hornan die under the blade of a masked woman. She pled for her life as the sword pierced her chest, and her shriek pierced the air.

  The sound galvanized Alydian to action, and she jumped over the broken window, bounding across the fallen wagon, searching for an avenue of escape. But the Soldier climbed into view before her, using the window Devkin had entered.

  Alydian turned and leapt off the wagon, casting a charm that lifted the earth to catch her. Then she sprinted away. The Soldier dropped into her wake and barked orders. Other Defiant converged on her path, with the masked woman mounting a grey stallion and surging after her. She whipped a black sword into view and angled for Alydian, red hair bouncing on her shoulders. Alydian pointed to the steed and sent a desperate plea for help, causing the horse to buck. The woman shouted in dismay as she crashed to the ground.

  Others shouted and closed the gap, and Alydian cast her magic on the earth itself, shattering the surface of the hilltop, sending cracks blossoming away from every step. Men cried out as they tripped on the suddenly uneven ground and fell to their knees. The sheer power of the magic surprised her, and the shock cost her.

  A third masked figure stepped out from a wagon directly in her path. On instinct she cast a gust charm, the wind striking the wagon with enough force that it rolled over the edge of the hilltop and tumbled down the slope. The man swung his sword, cleaving the gust of wind in two and stepping into the gap. He caught her arm and spun her about, bringing the sword to her throat.

  “I hate to mar such a beauty,” he said, his tone regretful. “But you are the target.”

  “Jester!” the Soldier shouted, slowing to a halt. “Stay your hand. It’s my burden to bear.”

  “Do you have a betrothed?” Jester asked Alydian. He released her but kept his blade at her back, forcing her to walk to the Soldier. “Or are you unattached?”

  “You’re about to kill me and you want to know whom I love?” she demanded.

  “That’s a no,” Jester said, the smile evident in his tone. “So I have a chance.”

  Shocked by the man’s comments, Alydian threw him a sharp look, and behind his mask he winked at her. His ensuing laughter was light and confident, as if he were speaking to a girl in a tavern. But his sword did not waver.

  “You’re mad,” Alydian said.

  “But what would an oracle like in a courtship?” he mused. “Fine cooking? Mead? Or do you have richer tastes?”

  He was tall and well built, his armor more expensive than the others, tailor made. Dark and bearing mirage charms to alter color and style, the armor marked him as a man used to subterfuge. In addition to the sword, he had a coiled black whip at his side. Then she spotted the slight indentations on the spine of his sword, each notch a kill. Alydian swallowed as she realized the man was a member of the Assassin’s Guild, the very guild the Verinai claimed to have hunted into extinction five years ago. Confusion and fear robbed her of voice, and she turned to the other Defiant, silently pleading for aid.

  The men and women looked away and would not meet her gaze. She’d expected hatred and scorn, but she was unprepared for the regret and pity. Tears welled in her eyes but she clenched her jaw and straightened, coming to a halt. Jester’s blade dug into her
back but she refused to budge.

  “Whatever you came to do,” she said, “do it and go. There’s no need to harm more of my guard.”

  The Soldier raised his sword and approached, and out of the corner of Alydian’s eye she spotted the masked woman approach as well. She rubbed her backside, cursing Alydian under her breath. Her mask was red and shaped like a skull, while Jester’s was a dark version of a jester’s hat, with black and deep red instead of yellow and blue. None of the other Defiant wore masks, and members of the assorted races were dressed in makeshift armor and clothing, the only unifying feature a band of silver on their arms.

  “Just kill her,” the masked woman growled. “The oracles must learn that they are vulnerable.”

  “I know, Red,” the Soldier said, raising his sword and placing it on Alydian’s heart.

  “What do you intend for my sisters?” Alydian asked, grateful her voice did not tremble.

  Through the mask she watched the Soldier’s dark blue eyes. “It depends on them,” he said. “If they continue to support the Verinai, they will have to be eliminated.”

  Alydian’s eyes widened. “You would destroy the Eldress Council? They have protected the people for three senteniums.”

  “And now they oppress them,” Red said.

  “They do not hunt and kill the helpless,” Alydian snapped, her voice rigid with heat.

  The Soldier regarded her for several moments, and then he stepped close. Alydian steeled herself for the killing blow, but the Soldier’s blade did not pierce her flesh. When he spoke it was with curiosity.

  “Are you truly unaware of what hides on your council?”

  Alydian jerked her head. “The council protects the people and leads the kingdoms,” she insisted. “It has always been so.”

  “Not anymore,” Jester lamented from behind her.