The Rogue Mage (The Age of Oracles Book 1)

by Ben Hale

  Chapter 19: Herald of War

  With fear raising the hackles on Raiden’s neck, he crawled away from his hiding spot, slipping behind one of the few intact pillars as the guardian rounded the corner. Light shimmered in his palms as he looked upon the spot Raiden had been. Then he pressed on, his disturbing song reverberating through the now quiet great hall.

  Raiden dropped to the floor and worked his way to another pile of debris until he spotted his discarded sword. Before he could reach it a burst of light shredded the floor around the sword, sending an explosion of stone and dust into the sword, knocking it away. It bounced against the wall and disappeared again.

  “It’s not nice to stab,” the guardian scolded like a mother to an errant child.

  Raiden rolled in another direction and sat up behind the foundation of a pillar, trying not to look at the charred remains of a Verinai nearby. The guardian continued to stalk the room, occasionally sending bursts of light into the stone. Raiden remained in place, struggling to control his breathing. Then he heard a scuff nearby and whirled.

  Jester slid to a stop beside him and sank into a seat. “Only the Verinai would create such an abomination.”

  “He used to be a man,” Raiden murmured.

  “Anything human died in the enchanting,” Jester said. “We need to kill it.”

  “Where are the king’s soldiers?” Raiden whispered.

  “Outside,” Jester said, “trying to find a way in, I suspect. Last I saw the entrance was a pile of stones.”

  “We should never have brought it here,” Raiden said.

  Jester threw him a sharp look. “The Verinai built it.”

  “And we wielded it,” Raiden said, his tone harsh.

  “You didn’t kill these men,” Jester said. “That thing did. And it’s going to kill more if we don’t end it.”

  Raiden heard the crunch of rock as the guardian ambled in their direction, and he fought to put his guilt aside. There would be time to dwell on his mistakes later. If he survived. Wiping the blood from his mask, he nodded.

  “Where’s my sword?”

  “In the dust by the west wall,” Jester said. “I’ll try to keep the guardian occupied while you find it.”

  “And then?” Raiden asked.

  “We cut it to pieces.”

  The force to his statement was sufficient to drive Raiden to his feet. Jester stood as well, and then drew a throwing knife from his chest. With a flick of his wrist he sent it spinning into the cloudy air. It pinged on the other side of the hall, and the guardian swiveled in that direction. Without breaking his song, he glided toward the sound, his voice drowned out by the sudden crackling in his hands.

  Raiden sprinted toward his lost sword and dived to the ground. Apparently hearing the motion, the guardian rotated and sent light lancing at Raiden’s back. The magic seared a line across the wall, tearing through a decorative shield like it was parchment. As the shield clattered on the ground, Raiden dug through piles of dirt, desperately searching for his sword.

  Jester darted through the smoke, cutting a line across the guardian’s arm before disappearing. The guardian spun but wasn’t fast enough, his strike missing Jester by inches. Instead of going after him, he continued his advance toward Raiden, still singing.

  “Little fleshy, little fleshy,” he sang. “I will kill you like the resty . . .”

  Raiden shifted a stone, grunting from the effort. Then he dug into the dirt and rubble, his fingers clawing through bits of stone. His efforts turned frantic as he heard the guardian’s footsteps approach, and this time Jester could not distract him.

  The guardian appeared around a pile of stones and spotted Raiden—just as Raiden spotted the glint of black in the dust. Diving for it, he yanked the sword free and fumbled for the hilt. His fingers closed on the steel and he spun, but the guardian was already pointing to him, his eyes alight with glee.

  With no time to evade, Raiden raised his anti-magic sword. The searing lance of light blasted into the weapon and sheared apart, sending rays of magic arcing away. The impact drove Raiden’s feet across the floor but he grimly held on, knowing that if he lost his grip he would be consumed.

  The light brightened as the guardian advanced, forcing more magic into Raiden’s sword. The black of the blade began to brighten, the enchantment unable to withstand the sheer volume of power. Recognizing he had only seconds, Raiden leaned into the attack and pressed forward, closing the gap.

  His sword shimmered, the anti-magic brightening, the hilt turning warm. Ten paces became two, and then Raiden caught a glimpse of the guardian through the blinding streaks of light. In a single motion Raiden dropped into a crouch and spun away, the light exploding past him to detonate against the wall, leaving a hole to the gardens.

  As the guardian swiveled to him Raiden kicked off the wall and slashed his sword across the guardian’s hands. Veined with light and steaming, the anti-magic sword passed through the guardian’s hands without cutting.

  His hands went dark, the blast of light sputtering into sparks and ash. The guardian screamed in pain and turned, but Raiden did not stop. Swinging his sword across one of the guardian’s legs, he cut a line of darkness in the light. By then Jester was on the opposite side, and together they attacked the guardian.

  He retaliated with a fury. Light flowed from his flesh to form shields and swords, the lightcast blades held by hands of light conjured from the guardian’s body. Relentless, Raiden stood his ground, deflecting the swords to find openings in the shields, driving his still-steaming sword into the guardian’s body.

  Each cut darkened his form, each wound killing part of his magic. Sensing defeat, the guardian stumbled away, attempting to retreat. Jester cut him off, his sword swinging for the guardian’s throat. He managed to block it with a shield, but Raiden came from behind, striking deep into the neck.

  The guardian crumpled, the light of his body flickering and dying. With dark wounds littering his form, the guardian collapsed to the floor, his shields and swords disintegrating. The magic drained away, the body turning back to flesh. Without wound or mark except for blackened skin where the anti-magic blades had cut, the man appeared oddly serene as he closed his eyes.

  “Thank you,” he breathed, and finally went still.

  Raiden leaned against a fallen section of wall, his chest heaving. On the other side of the body Jester did the same, and for several moments the two gasped for breath. Raiden stared at the body of the guardian, his guilt slowly churning into rage.

  Jester was right. Raiden had made a mistake by bringing the guardian here, but the Verinai had created an unstable weapon, one powerful enough to withstand even anti-magic weaponry. One was dangerous enough, but if they had an army of guardians . . .

  “We must go,” Jester said.

  Raiden looked to him, and then heard it as well. Shouts and the distinct clatter of tools came from outside. A burst of magic echoed, and then sunlight filtered through the smoke near the front entrance.

  Raiden wearily nodded and turned to the gaping hole the guardian had created it in the outer wall. Stumbling through the opening, they exited the castle into the gardens that surrounded it. Shouts and cries of alarm rang out, and thousands of soldiers struggled to shift through the rubble that blocked the entrance. Others raced about the gardens, their expressions panicked.

  Raiden turned away from the army and slipped into the trees, working his way around the outer wall of the gardens to one of the gates that led to the city. He expected sentries but the gate was abandoned, and dozens of men and women stood on the threshold, gawking and pointing at the smoke rising from the king’s great hall.

  A woman squeaked in fear and surprise when Raiden stepped into the open, and the rest of the spectators surged back. Raiden ignored them and strode through the crowd. They recoiled, scrambling away.

  Covered in burns, dust, and blood, Jester was hardly recognizable. His mask was cracked as well, and through the gap a cut marked his chin. Parts of h
is tunic were shredded, revealing burns on his torso. Raiden numbly wiped the dirt from his mask, but his hand had so much dirt that it merely smeared it.

  “It’s the Soldier!” someone cried out.

  “Is it really him?”

  “I don’t believe it!

  “What happened?”

  Jester came to a halt and turned to the crowd. “The Verinai forged an abomination with their magic,” he said, his voice gravelly from the inhaled dust. “It killed the king’s advisors and destroyed his castle.”

  “And King Talin?” a woman asked in a shrill voice.

  “Dead,” Raiden replied. “By Master Mineva’s own hand.”

  Stunned to silence, they stared at him until Jester added, “The Soldier slew the guardian abomination—but the Verinai have crafted more.”

  “What will they do?” a woman cried.

  “They will kill us all!” another shrieked.

  “Will you save us?” a man in a merchant’s clothing asked, stepping forward.

  “I cannot,” Raiden said. “Not from what comes. The people must rise up against the Verinai . . . or your children will become their slaves.”

  Someone cried out, and then another began to shout. Raiden turned away as the crowd dissolved into fearful argument, but a woman in a fine emerald dress hurried to catch up. She caught Raiden’s arm and retreated when he turned.

  “Where will you go?” she asked.

  Raiden noticed others listening for his answer and said, “To expose the Verinai as traitors and tyrants,” he growled. “Even if it must be by the sword.”

  Beyond the crowd a soldier appeared, and came to an abrupt halt as he spotted Raiden and Jester. He shouted for aid, and in seconds a score of soldiers rushed into view. Many in the crowd shifted to block their path, and the soldiers got lodged in the press.

  Raiden nodded his gratitude and turned on his heel, striding into the street. Drawn to the spectacle, more and more people filled the streets of Terros. They parted for Raiden and Jester, whispering and pointing. Raiden had already sown the seeds of his own rumor, so he held his tongue.

  A group followed them all the way to the southern district, and only stopped when he climbed to a roof. In the confines of the buildings they leaped to adjacent roofs, working their way to Ellie’s shop. Once they had ensured they had not been followed, they dropped into the alley behind her shop and removed their masks.

  Ellie appeared when they entered, her features lit with worry. Beckoning them to follow, she led them to the basement, and filled two tubs with hot water. Fretting like a nervous mother, she helped them remove their outer clothing and clean their wounds.

  Wincing as Ellie stitched a gash, Raiden’s thoughts turned to the king. After three years of striking from the shadows, the guardian’s assault on the Terros castle could only be seen as a call to war. But would the people support Mineva’s version? Or the Soldier’s? More importantly, who would the princess follow? Raiden recognized the signs and knew the truth.

  War was coming.

  Chapter 20: Rift

  Alydian’s death in the Requiem lasted only a moment, but Holan’s punishment lasted for two days. Devkin still fumed at his betrayal, and tried to get him dismissed. Commander Othan refused.

  They probably expected Alydian to come back timid and afraid, but when they next fought she did so with a fury. Sensing her desire to retaliate, Grogith allowed her to lead the charge in subsequent Crucibles. The defiance of their patrol did not earn the respect of the other Verinai acolytes, and instead it seemed to incite them to greater anger.

  Against Devkin’s advice but with his aid, she began sneaking into the training hall at night. With Devkin manipulating the memories, she fought against foes of every type—especially Verinai. She even took the role of the bandits in order to fight Verinai soldiers. Holan may have tried to intimidate her, but she was no longer the woman the Soldier had attacked. Alone in a Requiem she could unleash her full might, and cast spells that Alethean could not.

  Within the Requiem she fought against Holan and his fire reaver, and his entire patrol, punishing him for his betrayal. She cast her memory of the Soldier’s attack and fought him as herself, now powerful and fearless.

  During the day she kept herself rigidly in check, but at night she unleashed Alydian. With Devkin’s private lessons she learned how to fight with bows and knives, swords and spells. She began to wonder if someday she might one day match her mother, and cast a phoenix.

  In an attempt to heal the widening chasm between the acolytes, Commander Othan placed all the acolytes into an elven training hall. Inside the Requiem the detail of the wood was flawless, the walls covered in a variety of ancient elven weaponry. Commander Othan spoke as he walked among them.

  “Every magic has its weakness,” Commander Othan said for the thousandth time. “Light cannot be cast in darkness, and plant magic is useless in a desert. You must learn to adapt to your surroundings as much as harness the magic—and you must learn to respect the power of your Runeguard companions, even if you do not care for them.”

  Alydian had heard before, so she pulled on the floor, causing it to swell and lift her a few inches. Earlier that day a dwarven Verinai had used his magic to glide around the training hall, the stone lifting and carrying him like a wave of the sea.

  “Combat is movement,” he’d called as the stone threw him into a flip, catching him and curving him in another direction. “Standing still can get you killed.”

  Like the other stone mages, Alydian had been instructed to attempt the spell, but she’d found it difficult to do so. Each time the stone lifted her off the ground, she felt the urge to panic and her magic dissipated. She was so focused that she didn’t hear the approaching footfalls.

  “Am I boring you, Alethean?” Commander Othan said.

  She looked up and found him glaring at her. “No,” she said hastily. “I just wanted to practice the glide spell from earlier.”

  Othan stabbed a finger toward the front, and Alydian heard snickers and laughter from the Verinai as she made her way to the front of the group. Coming to a halt at her side, Commander Othan gestured to the group.

  “Since you apparently know everything about the weaknesses of magic,” he said. “Perhaps you can instruct us. What is the weakness to body magic?”

  “Temptation,” Alydian replied. “Frequent uses—especially when combined with other body spells, weakens the flesh of the caster.”

  “And healing magic?” he asked. His tone was casual but his eyes were hard, indicating the threat was yet to come.

  “Magic cannot be transferred,” Alydian replied. “So a healer cannot use their own health to knit a wound. They can only draw on the energy within the wounded’s body.”

  The questions came faster now, bombarding her with the other types of magic. She answered them all, and tried to keep the smile from her face. The commander had no way of knowing how much she truly knew.

  “Fire is unpredictable and difficult to contain,” she said, answering his latest question. “It can spread easily if the caster is not focused, and can even kill them.”

  Commander Othan folded his arms and regarded her. Then he asked, “And what is the weakness of combined magics?”

  “Magics may be fused by a Verinai, or different casters,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “For example, I can cast a stone golem and Toala can add a banshee hex to the stone.”

  “And anti-magic?” he asked, his tone still mild as he began to circle around her. The Verinai acolytes began to smirk.

  “The most complex of the common magics,” she said, her lips twitching as she glanced at Grogith. “Anti-magic absorbs all types of energy, but it requires enormous effort to shift it into solid form, or enchant it into any form of permanency.”

  “You clearly know the common magics,” Commander Othan said with a humorless smile. “But what about the rares? Lightning, for example.”

  “No one studies the rare magics,” Ferin protested. �
��You can’t expect her to know anything about lightning.”

  Alydian did know about the rare magics, and uniques. Her studies had included every known branch of magic, even the ones that were considered myth. From birth it had been made clear to her that she would need to understand every type of magic, even if she was only skilled in a portion of them.

  Alydian actually knew a great deal about lightning magic, and had begun to harness it in her nightly training with Devkin. She’d nearly lost her head for the initial efforts, but now she’d begun to control it. Unpredictable and almighty, lightning magic hadn’t been witnessed in centuries. It would have been a unique except for the handful of documented casters in Lumineia’s history.

  “As a Runeguard you must know every type of magic,” Commander Othan admonished, his expression triumphant. “And be prepared to stop them all. Since Alethean clearly has fallen to arrogance and believes she knows everything about magic, she will spend the rest of the day in the archives until she learns the weakness of lightning.”

  Alydian knew from experience that only a handful of tomes in the archives even mentioned lightning magic, let alone in detail. Fortunately, she’d read them all.

  “Lightning magic harnesses a difference in power between the earth and the sky,” she said, unable to keep the smile from her face. “The powers change constantly, making it nearly impossible to control exactly where lightning will strike unless one has tremendous focus and skill.”

  Her patrol stifled laughs while Commander Othan’s face darkened with fury. Holan and his Verinai friends scowled. Alydian realized the commander sought to pull her from the acolytes in order to diminish the conflict. His effort to do so had been thwarted, and his nostrils flared. He took one step toward her but a woman spoke from the doorway.