Mage Strike (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 2)

by R. K. Thorne

  “So far?”

  “Well, I just told you. Let’s just say, your frustration with not knowing what’s going on is not falling on deaf ears.”

  “Truly, though, my lord—can you be sure it’s not a spell of some kind that binds you to her?” She sounded sincerely concerned.

  “Yes, yes. I can be sure. As a creature mage, she cannot do it. But obviously I can’t convince you of any such thing, because I suppose you can always wonder if I might have been enchanted to say so. Let me ask you this: am I acting any differently than I ever did in the past?”

  Toyl frowned and straightened a little. “Well—yes and no.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In many ways, no. You are much the same as I remember you, not that we know each other well,” she said.

  Aven heaved a sigh of relief at that.

  “But I can see you’ve grown,” she continued. “I see darkness in your eyes, like those who have seen and felt real pain, deep suffering. Those who have begun to understand that things do not necessarily always turn out well. You seem different now. Older.”

  Aven straightened. Was that a compliment? He liked the words, in spite of himself.

  “You have a mission now.”

  He nodded. “I do. A noble one, I’d like to think.”

  “Protecting and serving your land could be construed as simply self-preservation.”

  Aven smiled wryly. “Are you always so contrary?”

  She relented with a small smile. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I didn’t get where I am by being too agreeable.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “Freeing slaves, though, I suppose could be considered universally noble.”

  “So, do I have your support?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “We’ll see?”

  “If I vote for you—”

  “If? I’ve earned none of your support in the course of this conversation?”

  “—I expect you and your future queen to keep the secrets to a minimum. At least from the Assembly. From me. Your Highness.”

  You and your future queen. He liked the sound of that. As much as she withheld the promise of an allegiance, she hinted at it in those words. “We will do our best, I’m sure, out of our eternal gratitude. If we have your vote.”

  Toyl’s smile revealed nothing. “See you in Panar, my lord. May you have a safe and easy journey. You’ll find out my stance when you get there.”

  “You have a safe journey as well, my lady.” Whatever she meant by all that, Aven did not like the sound of it.

  As Toyl left and Fayton with her, Aven sat down at the desk and surveyed the piles and piles of remaining work to be done. This morning had been one rush of fear after another, with close brushes with death sprinkled in for good measure. Not all had escaped either, he thought, wincing at the thought of the guards who might not have made it out. He shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted.

  He should probably head back out and help orchestrate—whatever needed to be orchestrated to reopen the main gate to the outside world. His delayed work, piled up here, would probably have to wait another day or more yet again.

  And yet. He had a moment or two to rest. No one was rushing in, demanding his support. Many others were quite capable of figuring out what the hell to do next. To figure out who had survived and who had fallen.

  But he didn’t want to think of those losses now, that tragedy. He had to try to process what Toyl had said. Did he have Toyl’s support? Hard to say. He’d certainly felt optimistic at first, but then why hadn’t she just come out and given her opinion? If Aven did have Toyl’s support, why hadn’t she simply said so? If Toyl did not want to support him, what reason did she have to hide that? Why not tell him to his face? Did she fear Aven might try something while she was still inside Estun? Perhaps. Was that why she was so eager to leave?

  Certainly Toyl knew Aven and his father better than that. Didn’t she?

  Some of those Assembly members tried to keep a semblance of neutrality, of separateness from the king and by extension Aven and his brothers. Especially those that were chosen through votes among the richest families, like Toyl. They seemed driven to demonstrate that they represented those who had put them in power.

  The soft sound of a pebble tumbling off a ledge and hitting the stone floor to Aven’s right cut through his thoughts. Quiet enough that he almost missed it, but loud enough that he realized something horrible.

  There was someone else in the room. Hiding in the shadows.

  Slowly, pretending he hadn’t noticed but fearing he’d already betrayed himself with his tightened shoulders and tensed posture, Aven opened the drawer of the desk to his right on the pretense of putting a folded parchment inside.

  The dagger that usually rested in that drawer was gone.

  Who had been in here last? When he and Lord Dyon had been working, had the dagger been there? Was it long gone—or was its removal more recent?

  He placed the folded sheet inside and slid it shut as casually as he could. Meanwhile, he tried to scan his peripheral vision, straining his ears for anything, any clue that would help him in whatever was about to happen.

  The attack launched from behind with little warning. How had they gotten fully behind him? He’d only heard the final step as they jumped. He tilted his chair to one side and dove as the figure collided with the wood of the chair and the desk. He rolled and scrambled hastily to his feet, back to the wall, and saw—

  “Miara?”

  Crouched behind the desk, wielding a short sword and small hand ax, was a form whose face looked just like Miara’s. Except, it wasn’t. It held an expression altogether foreign to him—a curved snarl to her lips, a vicious anger in her eyes. She had all the expression of someone intent on his death.

  Not Miara. It couldn’t be. Could it?

  Aven glanced at the wall over his head, then to his left and right. Usually, some old weapons hung here between candelabras on this wall, although they were more for honoring some distant past battle than any practical use. But the weapons were gone—and the candelabras too. They would have made a decent weapon, now that he thought about it. No matter now. Someone had cleaned it all out.

  He thought of the missing guards in front of the room. That hadn’t seemed so strange in light of the cave-in at the time. And it had been his plan to be in this room today with Lord Dyon, one of his most likely supporters.

  Or was he? Could it have been Dyon who set this trap?

  Miara—or whoever his attacker was—launched over the desk in three strides. The figure headed straight for him. He waited till the last second and spun out of the way and toward the hearth fire. He danced back a few steps, grabbing a fireplace poker mostly without removing his eyes from Not-Miara as she poised for another strike.

  After his altercation with Daes, a fireplace poker was not a weapon he wanted to use against anyone, let alone her. He shivered at the thought.

  No—bad idea. Don’t think about that shit now. Focus.

  “Miara, what’s going on?” It couldn’t be her. Unless—had some kind of spell been cast on her? Could she have been re-enslaved somehow?

  Like a prowling animal, she’d sunk into a bent crouch and was stalking to his right, toward the desk again, as if planning something. Her form moved differently, crouched differently. His attacker’s proportions did not quite match Miara’s, at times too slight, too gaunt, too gangly.

  “Miara, you don’t have to do this. Is that even you?”

  Suddenly, grumbling sounded from the other side of the door. Oh, gods, let that not be reinforcements for this assassin.

  “Where the hell—should be three—”

  The door opened, and Devol of all people puttered in. Oh, the gods were indeed on his side today.

  “Devol—” Aven started, but before he could issue any warning, a dagger hit the doorframe post behind the master at arms, narrowly missing the side of his head.

  Devol swore and duc
ked, diving toward the desk. Aven took a risk and snatched the dagger from the doorframe, accidentally knocking into the door and causing it to slam shut again. But he’d found what he needed to know. It was the dagger from the desk drawer. Which meant it was unlikely the attacker had more of them.

  He backed into his corner and looked to Devol, who was crouched on the closer side of the desk and eyeing a far dark corner. What was the attacker behind the desk waiting for? And what was Dev looking at? Dev glanced at him and then jutted his bearded chin at the darkened corner. He held up two fingers.

  Two of them. Aven barely had time to catch sight of another impossibly familiar face before the first attacker launched herself again over the desk and at Aven.

  Poker as sword in one hand, dagger in the other, he blocked her this time, parried, and engaged. Neither of them could be Miara. They were impersonating her to hide their identities. And fairly cleverly too, he had to say.

  “Dev, it’s creature magic,” he said between breaths, dodging another blow. “They can disguise themselves. Very well, apparently.”

  Dev drew his long sword from his belt and charged at the one in the corner with a vicious shout. Damn, it had been ages since he’d seen Dev really fight. He hadn’t risen through the ranks for nothing.

  Aven put up a fairly good fight, but the ax as a secondary weapon was a lot of trouble, and his weapons were not well suited to blocking anything, let alone axes, especially since fireplace pokers didn’t come with handguards. Or at least, this one didn’t.

  I should really get back into the habit of actually wearing a weapon, he thought. He hadn’t done it in ages, since he’d begun officer school. But perhaps he had been ignoring some practical realities. Estun had always seemed so safe.

  The other mage did not appear to be fighting Devol, or at least not with weapons. No clangs came from that corner, and although he feared the worst, he could not tear his eyes away.

  Finally, finally, he gained one slight opening and jammed the dagger toward the attacker’s kidney.

  It was stupid, but he flinched. He could not stand to see Miara’s face twisted in pain he had caused. He did not need the memory of injuring or killing her. Certainly he wasn’t killing this mage. If they were creature mages, they could heal themselves. But if they were creature mages, why wasn’t this one using any creature magic at all? Was the disguise that demanding?

  Or perhaps one was the mage, the other an assassin?

  Before he could unpack this further, his attacker spun off the blade and toward the door. Devol swore as Aven realized his partner, too, had made for the door, now with a hood drawn. The hooded one flew out into the hallway, the injured one after her, clutching her side.

  He and Devol raced to the door and out after them. Just as Aven came round the corner, he heard the kathunk of a crossbow firing and veered erratically to one side.

  Not far enough to the side, apparently—a sharp pain sank into his left bicep. But his bicep was better than his chest.

  He did not slow down. Lady Toyl was still in the hallway, speaking with Lord Alikar and Dvora Renala a few dozen feet from the door. Aven collided with Renala but spun her around, leaving her upright. Unfortunately, Devol was less lucky and sent Alikar reeling. The master of arms kept running and didn’t look back, though. Probably glad to have an excuse to knock the bastard around a bit.

  There were no longer two identical figures racing away down the hallway. Instead, two black birds flew faster than Aven’s feet would take him.

  He raced around the corner of the hall, heading away from the cave-in, the birds putting distance between them. What kind of birds were those?

  They turned another corner. Several precious moments later, he turned after them.

  Nothing. The hallway was completely empty.

  Aven ran anyway, his eyes searching, desperate for some clue. Dev caught up with him.

  “Gone? Really?” Devol panted. “I ran all that for nothing?”

  “They have to be here. Maybe they’ve become something very small—like a spider or something.”

  They searched up and down that hallway and a piece of the next. Toyl, Alikar, and Renala strode up as they searched, looking at their frantic, panting forms with confusion.

  Finally Dev said, “I don’t see anything. There’s nothing here.”

  “Was that—did they just try to kill you?” blurted Renala.

  Aven nodded, too exhausted to form words for her.

  “And you lost them?” Alikar said matter-of-factly.

  “Was that—who I thought it was? I thought—” Renala started.

  “Creature mages,” Aven panted, cutting her off. “Both disguised. Probably hiding now. Tiny. Fly or something?” From the bewildered expression on their faces, Aven did not think they understood, nor did he care to explain it.

  “Well, this is a hell of a day, isn’t it?” Devol grumbled.

  Yes, what a coincidence the cave-in happened so closely timed with this attack. Sure. Or—more likely—it was no coincidence. But he kept those thoughts to himself.

  From behind Toyl, he heard footsteps. They all turned to see Miara and his mother approaching. “What’s going on?” Elise started.

  “Aven—what happened?” Miara lurched toward Aven, spotting his arm.

  Lord Alikar stepped in front of her. “Wait just a minute. I know what I saw.” Alikar leveled a dark glower at Miara.

  “Guards,” called Toyl.

  “Take her into custody,” Alikar ordered.

  “Now, hold on there—” Aven started.

  “What are you talking about, Vitig?” Elise glanced around, deftly invoking Toyl’s first name.

  “My lords, there is more to this—” Devol started.

  “I saw it with my own eyes. She tried to assassinate the prince,” Alikar said, his words slow and measured.

  Trap. This was a trap. Alikar hadn’t been outside that door by coincidence, had he?

  “It was not her, the mages were using her as a disguise,” Devol said. “There were two of them that looked identical. At the very least, one of them was a fake.”

  “Release her now,” Aven started, but he suddenly felt weak. He sagged against the wall, closing his eyes. An icy cold blossomed in his chest—was someone draining his energy even now?

  “Let me heal him!” Miara’s voice was savage. A scuffle sounded, and Aven tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy.

  “Stay away from him.” Alikar’s voice, by contrast, was calm, collected, a man full of hate.

  “Come, now—two of them!” Dev pressed. “Looked just like her. And neither of them as bloody, by all the ancient ancestors. There’s magic afoot, they’re trying to impersonate her.”

  Aven reached out into the air around him, snatching a bit of energy to replenish whatever had been ripped away. He would really need to learn to not allow that to happen. Soon. He opened his eyes again, feeling a little stronger.

  Lady Toyl had sobered and frowned, seeming to consider the situation. Aven took it as a good sign that she seemed to be defending him, or trying to. Why bother helping an heir if you didn’t want him to sit on the throne? He supposed it could be just human decency or faith in the rule of law—no one deserved to be outright murdered, even if you didn’t want them as your king. But then, Alikar’s presence made him wonder. Could they both have somehow been involved? Was it all a ruse to distract from that fact, or to get a secondary outcome they wanted? Toyl angled to get him in the right place, and then they both waited to see the job had been finished? Toyl did not seem the type to work with Alikar, though, or take orders from anyone like him, but Aven did not dismiss the possibility. If Alikar could be bought, a merchant from Dramsren should have a price too, shouldn’t she?

  “It would still be prudent to arrest the mage until we sort this out,” Lord Toyl said finally.

  “Please—let me heal him first,” Miara insisted.

  Aven finally managed to speak up. “I’m getting better, Miara. I
t’s all right, just a momentary weakness. Toyl, do you really think that’s necessary?”

  “My lord, it is up to you,” she said, finally showing a bit of deference. “I won’t go against your wishes, but for your safety, I think we must understand this situation more fully.”

  “We must detain her in the dungeon.” The dark tone to Alikar’s words twisted Aven’s stomach. In the dungeon, others could gain access to her… in a variety of ways. They shouldn’t, but guards could also be bought. Drugged. Hit over the head.

  “Detain me all you like, but I’m a creature mage,” Miara reminded him with disdain.

  “I believe you’ve only just started my lessons on just exactly what that is, mage,” Toyl replied sourly. Was there a hint of disgust in calling her a mage, or was it simply this situation?

  “Creature mages can shift into any animal or plant. I didn’t demonstrate it today because it’s energy intensive and only really good for close-contact fighting. Not in a war. So for someone who can shape-shift into a mouse, bars are not a very reliable restraint.”

  Alikar scowled. “Doesn’t sound like there is a reliable restraint for you.” Aven couldn’t shake the impression that he said the words with a bit too much relish, too much desire to restrain her. Was this just some barely hidden lust, or did he have more of a plan?

  “You won’t be able to trust or prove that I haven’t escaped and returned, so that won’t help you understand our situation any better. I wouldn’t escape, mind you, but if you don’t trust me not to have tried to kill Aven, then I don’t expect you to trust me with that either.” Her voice tensed over his name, crackling with an energy that those paying attention might understand. It gave away everything if one listened for such things, and indeed Toyl’s eyes caught on his, holding nothing but concern. Miara’s tone said, Aven of all people, Aven who I’ve risked my life for, you stupid fools. He didn’t mind hearing it after seeing that twisted, snarling apparition of her face. This was the real Miara, here before him. He toyed with pointing out she could have also killed him a dozen different ways on the way here but hadn’t. So that hardly made sense either. She was just a perfect disguise.