The Rogue Mage (The Age of Oracles Book 1)

by Ben Hale

“What now?” Red asked. “They aren’t going to let the guardian go. He’s too dangerous.”

  “He’s proof,” Jester said.

  “Proof that the Verinai are twisted?” Red asked. “We already knew that.”

  “Proof of their heinous acts,” Jester said. “We knew they had secrets and now we can show them. I say we walk him right up to the oracles and poke him with a sword. They’ll be shocked and outraged. The betrayer in their midst won’t see it coming.”

  Raiden absently scratched one of his recent scars, lost in thought. “Proof he may be, but the courts are controlled by the Verinai, and we’d never make it into Dawnskeep. We need someone who will believe us.”

  “What about Griffin?” Jester countered, a smile on his face.

  “You want to take him to King Talin?” Red’s laugh was scornful. “Have you forgotten he’s hunting us?”

  “The Thieves Guild gave us pendants that can alter our features,” Jester said. “Just bring the guardian and show the king what the Verinai have done.”

  Raiden cut off Red before she could snap a reply. “It’s a bold plan,” he mused, “But very risky. The pendants are weak and won’t last for more than a few hours.”

  “You said we need allies,” Jester said. “And if we can convince King Talin of the Verinai’s true natures . . .”

  “He will turn on them,” Raiden finished.

  “Or he will have us hanged,” Red said with a scowl.

  “Which is why you won’t be going with us,” Raiden said. “We only have two pendants, and it will take both Jester and I to keep the guardian shackled.”

  Red shrugged. “Where would you have me go?”

  “We do need allies,” Raiden said, causing Jester to snort in amusement. “There are many bandit camps in the southern plains of Griffin. Find them and recruit them.”

  “You get to speak to a king while I talk to bandits?” She shrugged in resignation. “Either way I’m bound to get my throat slit.”

  Raiden grinned. “We’ll meet back at the swamp refuge in a month.”

  “As you order,” she said, and then her scowl turned into a smile. “If I leave now I can sleep in a bed.”

  Red untied the reins of her mount. Then she stepped off the wagon and mounted the steed. Turning it away, she disappeared into the night. When she was gone, Jester turned to Raiden, his features barely visible in the moonlight.

  “I didn’t expect you to agree.”

  “Impulse, not decision,” he said, causing the assassin to grin.

  For the rest of the night they wound their way north, taking turns on watch. The guardian did not sleep or eat, and made no effort to talk to them. As dawn crested the horizon they turned onto the main highway curving north to Terros.

  It was late summer and the road was filled with merchants and travelers. Raiden merged their wagon into place behind a caravan. Although his instincts told him to use back roads, he suspected the Verinai would anticipate that. Instead he chose to remain in plain sight. Several times Verinai patrols passed, but he pulled their wagon closer to the caravan so they appeared as part of it. After a week of hard travel, they reached Terros.

  As capitol to the Griffin kingdom, Terros sprawled across a series of hills. The city bordered the great Blue Sea and the waterfront extended for nearly a mile, its docks laden with goods for transport. Large walls partitioned the city into districts, with the king’s castle resting on a hill that overlooked the region.

  Much of the city was not protected by the district walls, but an expansion was well under construction. Scaffolding rose adjacent to the wall, while stonemasons worked to add height to the already imposing battlements. The district under construction lacked the wealth of the older districts, the houses smaller and of more modest make, but the expansion would eventually reach to the southern end of the waterfront.

  They guided their wagon through one of the newly constructed gates and entered the south district. Dilapidated structures greeted them, their occupants dirty and disheveled. As the largest of the districts, the southern district was home to tens of thousands. Rank water flowed in canals that originated clean and bright in the upper districts. The stench permeated clothing and people, and Raiden wrinkled his nose.

  He lifted his gaze to the wall under construction. It sloped from the old walls all the way to the ground, the stonework obscured by miles of scaffolding laden with stacks of stone. The hum of hammers and reverberated off streets and homes.

  “Ellie can house us,” Jester said.

  Raiden hadn’t decided on it, but agreed with a nod. Ellie had joined the Defiant over a year ago and, although she was too old to fight, she offered her meager shop to any Defiant in need of refuge.

  They drove their wagon through the cracked streets, pulling into an alley behind the weaver’s shop. Hearing the creak of the wheels, Ellie toddled into view, a smile spreading on her wrinkled face.

  “Why does an elf of such beauty grace my home with his presence?” she asked.

  Raiden grinned and descended from the wagon, stepping forward to embrace her. “We need a place to hide, and information.”

  “You know where to go,” she said, waving toward the secret room she kept for them. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Raiden nodded in gratitude and rubbed his back, grateful to be off the wagon. Then he stepped to the rear of the wagon and helped Jester undo the shackles from the wagon floor, reattaching them so the guardian’s feet remained chained to each other.

  “Where are we?” the guardian asked, speaking for the first time in days.

  “Terros,” Raiden said. “We have someone we want you to see.”

  His features lit up and then darkened. Then he shuffled after them, his hands and feet clinking in the chains. He had not asked for them to be removed, and Raiden wondered if he knew how dangerous he was.

  The man looked beaten, his clothing worn and threadbare. In any other setting, Raiden would have assumed he was harmless. But the wild glint to his gaze set Raiden on edge, and he kept his distance.

  They guided him into the rear of the weaver’s home and opened the secret door hidden behind a section of wood paneling. Then they slipped into the refuge. Although small, the space contained a trio of beds and a tiny table. Raiden sat the guardian on a bed then moved to the table, taking a seat as Ellie entered.

  The woman glanced at the guardian but did not comment. Placing a plate of steaming bread and a wedge of cheese between them, she sat on the remaining chair. As Raiden and Jester ate, she talked.

  “The Soldier is in real trouble,” she said. “His attack on Alydian has set the people on edge, and word is she refuses to leave her quarters.”

  “She’s hiding?” Raiden asked in surprise. He’d thought her stronger than that.

  Ellie shrugged. “No one has seen her in weeks, and many are saying she’s afraid of the Soldier.”

  Raiden looked away, struggling to contain his guilt. Alydian had never been in battle, yet she’d displayed a will stronger than steel, standing in defiance of death. He couldn’t admit it—especially to his lieutenants—but in that moment he’d felt a stirring in his heart. He couldn’t imagine one such as her retreating to solitude . . .

  Or had she?

  Since attacking Alydian he’d often thought of her, each time feeling guilty for what he’d nearly done. Her features and words frequented his thoughts, and he’d wondered how she was faring. If she was as strong as he suspected, she would not have cared for the feeling of helplessness. She would have sought to arm herself, and do so outside the public eye. But how? Stifling a smile, he resolved to find out, and turned his attention back to Ellie.

  She sipped her cup. “It isn’t just the Verinai that are hunting the Soldier now. King Talin has dispatched three of his legions to scour the countryside.”

  “They won’t find him,” Jester said.

  “I know that,” Ellie said curtly. “But it’s a show of force that will appease the Verinai and the Eldress
Council. Oracle Ciana meets with the king daily, demanding that he take measures to protect the people against the Soldier’s reign of terror.”

  “And the populace?”

  “Caught in the middle,” Ellie said. “Most still think he’s a hero, but they also worship the oracles. They fear that the Soldier has lost sight of who oppresses them.”

  “And the Verinai?” Jester said. “We’ve heard tales they’ve become bolder.”

  “Aye,” Ellie said. “They’ve coerced the weaver and stonemason guilds into allowing them to become advisors. The king, too, has Verinai to guide him. Those who accept the Verinai into their walls see an influx of wealth, while those who refuse see their coffers empty as they attempt to fight the higher quality goods the Verinai produce.”

  “And Oracle Ciana?” Raiden asked.

  “Helps to negotiate on the Verinai’s behalf.”

  Raiden and Jester exchanged a worried look. The news was hardly new, but if the oracles had started publicly allying themselves with the Verinai, it meant they no longer feared the people’s ire. But who was the rogue mage? And were they manipulating the other oracles as well?

  More and more, soldiers yielded to the Verinai patrols, with the king even replacing his generals with Verinai masters. The Verinai appeared generous, even enhancing other guilds’ production with their own artisans. Within a year, the Verinai would have infiltrated every facet of guild and national leadership.

  But what were their intentions? Raiden knew little more than the people, but the sheer level of influence and control made his gut tighten. Supporters of the Verinai were vocal in their claims of the guild’s generosity, but Raiden saw the guild as a parasite that hid its vile nature behind a veneer of benevolence.

  “Can you get us in to see the king?” Raiden asked.

  Ellie’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  “We have a message to deliver,” Jester said, motioning to the silent guardian.

  She jerked her head. “The Verinai lead his personal guard. You cannot sneak in to see him.”

  “Then publicly,” Raiden replied. “Surely he still allows the public to speak in open court.”

  “Only once per fortnight,” she replied. “You’d have to wait a few days. But there might be another way. You could don the persona of a visiting noble, but your friend couldn’t be shackled.”

  “I don’t want to delay,” Raiden replied. “We can go tomorrow as a steward under Viscount Baron.”

  “You know what he did to my family,” Ellie said, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “Why use his house as a persona?”

  “Because if it comes to a fight, the king will blame him,” Raiden replied.

  Ellie smiled, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. “I almost hope it goes sour for you.”

  Raiden grinned. “We’ll sleep here tonight, and then depart in the morning. I don’t want the patrols to find us here.”

  “They won’t,” she said dismissively. “The street whelps keep me informed of the guard’s movements, and no one is smarter than children surviving on the streets.”

  Jester nodded in gratitude. “You truly are a lady.”

  The old woman laughed so hard that tears leaked from her eyes. She swept from the room still laughing, and Raiden climbed into a bunk. He slept soundly until Jester woke him for his turn on watch. Taking a seat, he watched the guardian. The hours slipped by in silence until the man suddenly looked at him.

  “Are we going to see the king?’

  Raiden saw no reason to deny it so he nodded. “We are.”

  The guardian nodded his head in satisfaction. “Good.”

  Raiden frowned, disliking the man’s tone. But further prodding elicited no response. Resigned to waiting, Raiden wondered if he was making the right decision. The guardian was proof of the Verinai’s secret practices, but would King Talin help them? Gaining the support of the powerful Griffin king would legitimize the Soldier’s efforts and potentially turn the tide. But his instincts continued to twinge, and his doubt remained.

  Chapter 17: The Accord

  They left at dawn, and used the wagon to ascend to the wealthier districts of Terros. The frequency of patrols increased dramatically the closer they came to the king’s castle, and they were forced to abandon the conspicuous wagon. Dressed in noble’s robes that Ellie had given them and with the pendants, they looked every bit the men they claimed to be. Jester even commented he liked his false goatee better than his real one.

  Out of necessity Raiden removed the shackles from the guardian’s feet. But he couldn’t bring himself to release the guardian entirely. His shackled hands hidden behind a cloak, the man walked between Jester and Raiden.

  They passed through Gold District, where shops lined the streets and venders shouted their wares. People from every race strode among the stalls, and coin clinked as it exchanged hands. Raiden spotted a pair of rock trolls and even a dark elf among the crowd. Then he passed into the White District.

  White granite formed the pristine homes, their balconies as large as Ellie’s entire shop. The District was home to Dukes, Counts, and the occasional Viscount. Patrols passed them, but the rich clothing Ellie had made provided armor against suspicion.

  When they reached the castle grounds they joined the small crowd waiting outside the gate. Comprised of various castes of people, they were all there to petition the king’s advisors. The guards spotted Raiden and motioned him through.

  “The king is expecting you,” he said.

  “Viscount Baron will be pleased,” Raiden said with a smile.

  Ellie had learned that a steward of Viscount Baron was expected to arrive in the next few days, and managed to inform the king’s advisors that the assistant steward would be arriving early. It was a risk donning the persona of an actual individual, but the opportunity to reach the king quickly was too much for Raiden to pass up.

  As Raiden entered the grounds his gaze was drawn to the castle. Set on a hill overlooking the city, the fortress had been built of darkstone, its walls littered with enchantments to brighten the exterior.

  The turrets lacked battlements, and instead contained finely carved wood for a roof. The keep rose behind the great hall, the windows glimmering in the sun. More enchantments had been added to the castle grounds, causing the birds to sing and the trees to sway in beautiful patterns.

  Statues danced in the gardens around the castle, the stone figures spinning and twirling. Instead of the cheaper light orbs produced by the elven people, the grounds contained birds of light. The entities fluttered from branch to branch, their golden rays further brightening the pristine gardens.

  Instead of peace, the tranquility of the gardens inspired foreboding. Raiden hadn’t visited the king in years, but he saw the handiwork of the Verinai. He wondered if he was already too late. Perhaps the Verinai already owned the king.

  He glanced at the guardian and spotted the gleam of madness in his eyes. His instincts twinged again. Loath to ignore them a second time, he drifted closer to Jester, intent on ordering him to withdraw. Before he could, a patrol of Verinai appeared.

  “Viscount Baron’s steward?” the captain asked, dismounting his steed.

  “Fell ill to fever,” Raiden said. “I’m his assistant. Is something amiss?”

  “No,” the captain replied, “But the king asked to see you directly.”

  “Of course,” Raiden said. “Lead the way.”

  Jester and Raiden exchanged a worried look as the Verinai took up position around them, leading them toward the main entrance to the keep. Raiden cast about, measuring routes to escape, but they were already committed. Surrounded by Verinai they would never make it to the fortress wall.

  “The king is pleased that Viscount Baron agreed to sign the treaty,” the captain said. “I assume you brought the signed Accord with you?”

  Raiden paused, feigning confusion as he patted the pouches at his side. “I fear I left it in the inn with the servants,” he said. “Perhaps I should go retrieve it
before I speak to the king.”

  “We’ll send someone to retrieve it immediately,” the captain said, and waved to one of the guards. “We cannot allow others to find its contents,” he added with a nervous laugh. “Where were you staying?”

  Raiden provided the name of an inn as he glanced at the man, marking the Verinai colors on his shoulder and the spark of fear in his eyes. As the Soldier, Raiden had been acting on impulse for years, and knew the signs of an opportunity. He had no doubt his persona would not hold up to scrutiny for long, but perhaps their visit could bear fruit after all, even if it wasn’t the flavor he’d anticipated.

  He glanced at Jester and the assassin brushed the hilt of his sword. Raiden gave a slight shake of his head, obscuring the motion by rubbing his nose. If the king was signing secret treaties with the other nobles, he wanted to know. But they would need an escape route, and he needed to deal with the guardian.

  He glanced back at the man—and his eyes widened. The guardian had begun to fidget, the wild tinge to his eyes bordering on madness. Some of the guards cast him strange looks and instinctively shied away. Noticing the movement, the captain raised an eyebrow.

  “Who is your companion?” he asked.

  “The Viscount’s nephew,” Raiden said, and then lowered his tone, leaning toward the captain. “He is unwell, but family.”

  The captain threw the guardian a doubtful look but nodded. “Every family has its odd ones,” he said uneasily. “But I think it best he wait outside. It would not do for your conversation to be overheard.”

  “My attendant will remain with him,” Raiden said.

  Jester took the hint. “As you order.”

  They reached the main entrance and passed inside, where most of the guards came to a halt. Jester caught the guardian’s arm as Raiden and the captain passed through another set of doors. Raiden noticed the tension to the assassin’s shoulders, the caution in his eyes.

  The main hall of the castle was vaulted and wide, with enormous windows lining the walls. Dwarven cut pillars supported the buttresses, and polished marble reflected Raiden’s entrance on the floor. Their boots clicked across the surface as they advanced, and at the other end of the hall the king sat on his throne. Surrounded by guards and advisors, the man had been speaking with another steward. Upon Raiden’s entrance, the king smiled and stood, motioning to the woman before him.