Mage Strike (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 2)

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Mage Strike (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 2) Page 33

by R. K. Thorne


  She nodded, but her mind was working. What could she do that would not hurt the knights, but that would somehow allow her and Ro to pass? She’d survived her first altercation with Devoted by tunneling away—could she bury them in a cave of her own making? Something they could dig out of, but that would delay them long enough? Of course, that would also be a rather terrifying experience.

  Breaking open the earth beneath them would likely kill them. But maybe she didn’t need to actually trap them. Could she just… scare them a little? Or a lot? Enough to make them run away?

  “Maybe I can frighten them away,” she said.

  He cocked his head, eyes twinkling. “I assure you, neither of us is that mud covered or rain drenched that we will frighten anyone.” He sat cross-legged on one end of the bedroll and appeared to be waiting for her to join him on it.

  “No, I meant with magic.”

  His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth as though he might object. But then he glanced at the swamp and shut it again.

  “If we go into the swamp, I might be able to bring earth up so that we don’t have to trudge through the water, or at least less of it. But it’s not easy, and the swamp is not a great place for a horse. And I’m also not keen on disturbing the swamp. That’s against the Balance in its own way. I could try to return it to its natural state as we go, but it would be exhausting and imperfect.”

  He shook his head. “I know. I—I can’t condone using magic, but if it avoids us having to kill them, or risk Yada… that seems worth trying.”

  At least he was practical. She wanted to point out that killing them would definitely be more evil than scaring them away with a few earthquakes, but she held back. It’d be better to make such a point when she was sure her plan had actually worked. For all she knew, they could end up in an altercation anyway. She lay down on half of the bedroll beside him, knees bent and feet flat to the earth.

  A good position to connect to the soil.

  “You watch, I’ll work.”

  She had no interest in arguing the point further, since they had few alternatives, so she closed her eyes before he could respond. She sank her mind deeper into the soil, feeling the immensity of the water in the swamp that lay beside them, the way the roots of the trees curled down into the earth, the burrowing of the creatures clawing through it.

  She couldn’t quite feel the mountains, and she had no landmarks beyond the swamp’s water to work with to know exactly where the knights were while she was this deep down. A creature mage would have been able to feel them, but not her, not at this distance. Not unless they started digging a hole or something. She would just have to guess.

  She took in a slow breath, steadying herself. And then, as she breathed out, she pressed more energy into the earth, into the soil, activating it with her power. Letting it get… excited. Angry. Tense. She found the deepest plates, where the earth turned to rivers of heat that no one quite understood. Some thought this might be the first hell, but she doubted it. It felt like earth and only earth; there were no people there, at least not to her.

  She searched for a seam, a rock, an edge, a boulder in the rivers of heat and earth. There—a fragile crevice. Anara forgive me for meddling in these things, she thought. And then, with a slight inward wince, she twisted, pushed. Rock slid over rock, shuddering and skidding, breaking.

  Back in her body, she felt the ground shake. Ro grabbed her shoulder, probably out of instinct, and Yada whuffed. Horse hooves shifted uncomfortably.

  She relaxed for a minute, two, maybe longer, simply allowing her mind to ride the flows of the deep earth.

  Then again, she set one bit of the world against another, and the collision shook the ground beneath them again.

  Now she let go fully and opened her eyes. He was staring straight at her, gaping a little. When he realized it, though, he looked away quickly.

  “That was—you did that?”

  She nodded. You could do it too, she thought. But she said nothing. She sat up. “Do we have any food? Let’s eat, and I’ll do it again. Maybe it can frighten them off the path. If not—I have a second idea. But it’s best to leave it for nightfall.”

  He opened a saddlebag, withdrew something folded in waxed paper, and handed it to her. “For nightfall? Why?”

  “You’ll see,” she said and took a bite of sausage. “Don’t you want to be surprised?”

  “By something you intend to frighten them away with? I’m not so sure about that.”

  Miara urged Lukor into a gallop in the direction of the storm forming in the distance. The tightly clustered, swirling clouds were too small to be natural, hanging low and close to the ground, nearly covering the valley ahead.

  Aven’s quickly sketched map had worked perfectly, and she’d managed to filch a few supplies before heading out the long, narrow tunnel. Flying till she found the stables, she’d discovered only a few horses were not already being prepared for the journey to Panar, and so she’d hidden in the stable’s eaves as the horses and single carriage had been loaded and then led away. More than once she’d been tempted to see if she could spot Aven, but she’d been too wary of being noticed and imprisoned again in her rooms. She’d finally spotted him as the procession departed, riding down the long stone bridge into the early morning sunlight. Two hours or so later, she’d saddled up her gelding, the amiable and sweet Lukor, and taken off after them. The stable hands had all retired by then, as they’d been up all night preparing for the departure.

  She hadn’t yet made it all the way through the valley when the churning, bleak clouds had drifted behind a peak and faded from her sight. A column of thick smoke, dark as pitch, rose in its place, then another farther in the distance.

  Damn.

  Lukor pounded down the mountain road, fast as she dared to urge him. At the ridge just before the smoking valley, she slowed. If she simply rode straight out, she would reveal herself to gods only knew whom. What was over there? Or more importantly, who? And how could she figure it out without alerting them to her presence? She could dismount and check the place out, perhaps by creeping from the crest of the ridge to her left, but that might lose her precious time. She could transform them both, but she had a feeling Lukor was not quite ready for that yet.

  She eased her mind out into the surrounding trees until she found a nearby robin. She tried to calm herself as she whispered a soft, musical greeting, warming it to her presence. It focused on her immediately, always keen on new creatures in its territory. It huddled with a group of other robins against the icy rain that had just passed.

  It’s all right, she whispered. I just want to see over the ridge. Can you help me see what’s there?

  In answer, the little bird jumped into flight. It—no, he—was happy to help, especially if it meant keeping an eye on his woods and rocks and worms and things. They were his, of course, and he needed to watch out for other robins anyway. She hoped he couldn’t sense her amusement. The individual concerns and motivations of different animals were so interesting and unexpected to her, while at the same time universal—safety, security, companionship, curiosity. Common needs and motivations for people too.

  She followed through its gaze. Her stomach twisted a little at the movement, but she forgot the sensation when she saw the wreckage.

  A carriage lay broken and smoldering off the side of the road. One side had been smashed by a boulder that rested a few feet away. The first column of smoke came from it, twisting lazily into the sky.

  A mound of fir branches lay over a large heap to the side of the road, the typical harried treatment of a fallen comrade during a rushed battle. Or perhaps the battle continued somewhere else?

  The heap looked large enough to contain three or four bodies, maybe more.

  Stranger still, a ravine ripped through the earth and split the road down the center. No such gash had existed during her and Aven’s journey to Estun.

  What the hell had happened here? And by the gods, where was Aven? And all the others?
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  The depth of her concern for Elise, Samul, Siliana, Wunik, Thel, Dyon, all of them, even Derk, surprised her a little. She hadn’t known them long enough to realize she might care so much what happened to them.

  The robin hopped forward a few times, jogging Miara’s mind from her reflection and dizzying her a little.

  Let’s look over the next ridge too, she whispered. There’s another column of smoke. Don’t you want to see what that’s about?

  Indeed, he did, but not before he snatched a nearby juniper berry and gobbled it down.

  Over the next ridge lay an even more mysterious scene. A fire had indeed scorched the earth here. Fallen trees crackled as the hollowed shell of one collapsed into mere embers. Flame must have spread to the surrounding brush too, as much of it was blackened. The cold and rain must have eventually put out much of the blaze. Strangest of all, though, were three great black spots on the earth, each about a horse length’s width. They were all within a few feet of each other, but not touching, randomly dotting the earth among the charred trees and branches.

  Lightning had struck here. Three times.

  Or more precisely, a mage had caused lightning to strike here. The real question was: to what end, and had they achieved their purpose?

  She had rarely seen lightning spells cast, at least not of this magnitude. What occasion did anyone at Mage Hall have to practice magic on that scale? The lightning must have been brought down from the storm, which had now dissipated, leaving weak, late-day sunlight shining down on this desolation.

  What the hell had happened here?

  Whatever had happened, no one was left. She reached out more broadly across the valleys, sensing the usual mix of mountainous forest life, but no humans. She could ride on safely and investigate.

  Thank you, she whispered to the robin, and he burbled a bit of song as he flew back to join his flock. As concerned as he was about his territory, it was cold, after all.

  Now she urged Lukor around the bend of the road. Tackle the toughest thing first. She headed to the fir branches, her mind probing for life. Nothing, save a few flies. Death was the last thing she wanted to see. But hesitating would not bring whoever was under there back to life. Get it over with, see what worlds had been destroyed this day.

  Who had fallen?

  Could one of them have been Aven?

  If the crown prince had died, the Akarians would have spared more time for a true burial, wouldn’t they have? Or taken him with them? He could not be dead and just lying by the side of the road here for her to find.

  Could he?

  What if he had been betrayed? What if all of them had been betrayed? What if Alikar had taken control of the procession somehow, and she found the whole royal family cast aside here in a hasty coup?

  By the gods, she hoped not.

  She dismounted and strode to the heap, flinging back a branch and refusing to let herself slow or hesitate. If he was here, she needed to know. Whoever might have fallen, she needed to know. Hesitation would not make it easier.

  A horse. Chestnut colored and finely bridled, much like the mare she’d seen Aven riding into the distance.

  They hadn’t even taken the bridle.

  Gold inlaid into the supple leather shone in the weak sunlight. Not a piece readily abandoned. Had they been in such a hurry? Or was this a matter of burial rites, of leaving some fallen warrior’s weapon behind? Clearly they could have left the horse where it fell, but it looked like it had been dragged here. There were many footprints leading from the road and a wide trail of mud she hadn’t noticed initially.

  So the Akarians must have been attacked. The gash in the earth, the lightning strike marks, the strange vanishing storm—all these indicated magic at work.

  Perhaps the mages that had caused the cave-in had followed the procession once it left Estun. Was it possible someone on the inside had told them when they were leaving and which road they were taking? And—then what? How could she divine what had happened from what she could see?

  The Akarians must not have fallen, or their bodies would be strewn around the road, right? Instead, they’d had time to drag this horse aside and give it some burial and honor. But not a complete burial. And she was only a few hours behind them, so they could not have dallied long. But they had paused. Why? Had it been only for the horse?

  She left Lukor looking for nibbles of grass while she strode to the rift that gashed across the road. Nothing about it was natural. If the same mages who attacked Estun were involved, likely many of them were earth mages capable of this sort of thing.

  Water from a nearby river flowed into the bottom of the ravine. At the bottom was the murky outline of another fallen horse. Or was that her imagination? The weak sunlight did not adequately reach the bottom of the newborn canyon.

  She traced the edge of the ravine down toward the river, whispering to Lukor to follow. Footprints covered the banks of the small river, perhaps the length of four horses across. People had searched here for something. Something had been lost in the battle.

  Or someone.

  She looked down the river, where willows dipped and hung lazily over the flowing, now unusually shallow water. What troubles would be wrecked on the animals living in the river by this sudden offshoot? Those mages should be ashamed. The gray willows swayed, peaceful and relaxing in a lulling scene of tranquility, the former chaos of battle indicated only by the altered water level.

  Upriver, the water ran more normally, spilling down violently around a few boulders when it hit the detour of the ravine. The forest grew denser uphill. The river flowed out of the next valley to the west. Two smaller streams combined in a marshy area a bit up the hill.

  She almost missed it, but then—up along the mountain, a weak column of smoke.

  A campfire. Could surviving Akarians have retreated there?

  Or their assailants?

  Stay here, she whispered to Lukor. Going to check this out, I’ll be back. She had to go as quietly as she could, and no horse would be anything close to quiet in the forest underbrush. If he could even fit under all that. He huffed a quiet acknowledgment. For a moment, she missed Kres and wondered where he was and who was taking care of him. Damn, now was not the time to get emotional. Focus.

  She muffled her footsteps to some degree and began picking out a path toward the smoke. After a dozen steps, she caught the presence of a fox nearby and slipped into a similar form, careful to get it right and hold onto her clothes and equipment. Being smaller and lighter would make her both quieter and faster—and if she were spotted, not such a concerning sight. Just a fox, really. A wandering forest creature, nothing more. With the dried leaves crunching underfoot in spite of her best efforts, she was going to need all the help she could get. The mages—if they were who awaited her up the mountain—would have to be paying close attention to notice anything more than an ordinary forest denizen.

  As she got closer, three voices caught her ears and were making no effort to keep quiet.

  “We should head back now. We’ve lost too many.” A man.

  “But what about him?” A woman with an unfamiliar accent. “We can’t just let him go. We got lucky.”

  “Not lucky. Nefrana blesses us.” A different man now, older and with more gravel in his throat.

  “Oh, shut it. Lucky, with six of us dead? That’s not what I call it.”

  Miara reached the edge of their gathering. Three figures sat around a campfire, while one stood pacing back and forth. She inched closer, squinting at those seated. Hmm, this fox’s eyesight was blurrier than expected.

  The woman shook her head, running a frustrated hand over fair skin and blond hair. The gravel-voiced man stroked a braided, straw-colored beard. The pacing one was jittery and nervous and pacing so fast she couldn’t get a good eye on him, nor the fourth figure farthest away. This fox’s eyesight was not its best quality. Perhaps she should have found a model creature that had sharper eyes, or simply improvised. Her vision could likely be tweaked an
d fixed, but there were also other things to spend energy on.

  “Let’s take him with us,” the woman suggested. Miara struggled to place her accent but came up with nothing.

  “On foot? With no horses? We wouldn’t make it far.”

  “With so few of us, we should just head back. We’ve more than completed our mission. We’ve got no supplies for transporting a prisoner.”

  Prisoner? So the fourth one she couldn’t make out was an Akarian? Miara wanted to snort to herself, but she kept quiet. The cowards were whining away about how hard it would be to keep the prisoner, and there were three of them. Alone, she had kidnapped Aven just fine. Although she hadn’t had to do it on the spur of the moment.

  She was a little too familiar with the task they were considering. Time to get more rescues than kidnappings under her belt.

  “Plus those Akarians are still out there,” the cautious, pacing one continued. “You want to run into them again and get toasted too? I’m not even sure how far inside Akaria we are, but we still have to get out.”

  Miara skirted the clearing as silently as she could. The mages did indeed seem familiar, probably warriors she’d passed within Mage Hall. The Masters would be proud; this nervous one was certainly a fine example of what they looked for in warriors—someone with absolutely no taste for battle at all. Hopefully that would come back to hurt them.

  None of the mages turned out to be as familiar as the fourth figure. Getting closer, she finally made out who it was. Sitting silently beside them was Samul. His hands were bound with the heavy vine of a creature mage’s making, no doubt. His majestic armor was smeared with smoke and soot and blood, and his hair and beard were slicked flat to his head. His helm was gone, and blood soaked the left side of his face and into his beard. He looked a decade older, and his eyes stared into the distance as if ignoring these mages. She could not tell visually if they had healed him and just not cleaned him up or if he was still injured. One of his legs jutted out at an odd angle, semi-straight, and she had a bad feeling it, too, was injured.

 

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