Mage Strike (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 2)

by R. K. Thorne

  Vines continued to coil around the creature mage, another layer and another, but another avian shriek rang out. Amazing. Her falcon had indeed come looking for her near Panar. She spared an expensive glance back at the fierce creature arrowing in a steep dive toward the road, likely at one of the two mages.

  Probably hoping for a duck leg this time. Or maybe something bigger. He’d get it too, if she ever got the chance.

  She found the nervous mage staggering back, uncertain. Run, she shouted at him. Or I’ll do the same to you. If she could scare him off, that might leave them with only two pursuers. A vine snatched the bow from his hand, and she felt his energy bolt in the opposite direction, beyond where she could feel him.

  “Let’s go,” Miara said quickly. “I’ve tried to slow them down, but it won’t last. On the horse, both of us.”

  Samul swung himself up. “Get in front,” he grunted. He relinquished the stirrup so she could mount.

  “No, you’re the king—”

  “And you’re the only one who can heal me.”

  “But—”

  “You can’t heal me if you’re dead. Now get on.” When she hesitated, he added. “That’s an order, mage.”

  She nodded briskly and hiked herself up. Riding in such close physical proximity to Aven’s father was definitely something she’d hoped to avoid. But survival would be nice too.

  She urged Lukor as fast as he could manage. Not long now, friend. They were almost to Panar. If they could just make it the last few miles… Miles of unfortunately open, grassy fields upon which they were easily visible and even more easily targeted.

  17

  Impact

  All eyes rested on Aven, on the king of Akaria, and they waited for his last few words before their voting began.

  Members of the Assembly circled the tan stone table, wide and pitted with age in the center of the tower room. Well, all the members except Lord Sven, who had still refused to appear and had sent his daughter, the priestess Niat, instead.

  On all four sides, graceful arches framed dramatic views of the city, bitterly bright in the morning sun. Advisors, arms masters, and Alikar’s precious archivists and chroniclers hovered near the walls; his mage friends Jaena, Tharomar, Wunik, and the others were among them. The mages didn’t necessarily need to be here, but he preferred having them close by, particularly with Jaena carrying the brand. This situation had the potential to devolve into chaos, and if that happened, it would happen fast.

  When Aven had first joined them, striding in from the vicious brightness, he’d arrived without his father and wearing the simple crown of platinum and sapphire on his brow. The room had fallen silent, still. He’d hardly needed to explain. The faces of those who hadn’t yet heard wore grim recognition, sorrow, a touch of fear.

  Troops from Ranok had swarmed the place, searching for potential assassins and other betrayals. Aven didn’t have much hope that they’d find anything, even if threats awaited them, but the soldiers that staffed Ranok were some of their best, specifically chosen from their own Elaren Territory for their loyalty to the king. With the king living in Estun, they’d so rarely seen combat on his behalf, but Aven was glad to have them with him. Daes likely now had his hands full with the aftermath of last night’s chaos, but any attack he made on this meeting had likely begun days ago. It would shock Aven if Daes didn’t try something.

  The room secure, the Assembly of Akaria had been called to order.

  They’d taken his news as well as he could have asked, listening tensely as he explained their journey, the king’s disappearance. Dyon and Asten’s eyes had locked as they discussed the news received from the watch towers—siege troops were approaching the city and would reach them soon. Surely Asten and Dyon wanted to be elsewhere, preparing for battle. So did Aven. But they had business to attend to first.

  He’d hardly slept three hours, let alone had time to think about what he was going to say. And yet, he knew what he needed to say. He’d known from the day he’d stepped foot in Estun, and his only regret was that he hadn’t been more determined to say it sooner.

  He took a deep breath and began.

  “Before you begin your vote, I have one more matter. Many of you know I returned from Kavanar with a companion, Miara. We’ve received word she has disappeared from Estun. We are not sure of her location or if she is even alive.”

  A quiet stillness settled further on the room.

  “You’ve heard about her role in my rescue. She has provided valuable intelligence to us on Kavanar’s mage troop preparations, as well as what we can expect from mages in the coming war. But there is more to our story. Miara is not only a talented mage, but she is also one of the strongest women I have ever known. In slavery, her moral fiber has been tested to a level most of us have never experienced, and I trust her as much as any member of my family. While on the course of our journey together, I fell in love with her, and I have asked her to marry me.”

  The room’s silence exploded into a flurry of murmurs tinged with excitement, outrage, shock.

  “I think her strength and experience will make her an excellent queen, should you all choose to support me.” He stopped again to let it sink in. Beneral’s and Asten’s eyes were wide. Toyl smiled, looking pleased. And if he didn’t know better, Aven would mistake that look on Dyon’s face for pride. Directed at him?

  “If I can find her,” Aven added.

  Alikar was smirking. “As if one mage wasn’t enough, now we have two.”

  Aven ignored the comment. “Begin, and have your vote.”

  He hadn’t intended to imbue his voice with any emotion, but the final words came out edged with disgust. That was how he felt, but he hadn’t meant to share it. He took a step back, ceding the meeting to the Assembly with a nod to Dyon.

  Dyon nodded in return. “All right then, Lord Alikar. You heard the king, the ballistae approach even now. Let us go with haste.”

  Alikar straightened. “You all know why I have called you here. Our finest religious leaders, our priests and priestesses, our clerics and scribes, all agree on this matter. Magic is a perversion of the world, an abomination, a twisted abuse deeply against the Way.”

  The first time sunlight had filled him with the power of magic flashed through Aven’s mind. The joyous elation, the way his soul had soared, the way Miara had laughed at his exuberance. His gut twisted.

  “Magic is a power humans are not meant to wield. As such, no man who chooses to wield this power should lead our kingdom. Nefrana condemns it, our priests condemn it, and you should condemn it as well. I call on all of you to make the difficult choice in this matter, the choice of light, the choice of heaven, lest we lose the favor of the gods. I called you here to vote on this man’s fitness to be our crown prince, but the situation is now even more dire, as he already holds our throne as king. I now request your vote. Do you find this mage fit to be our king, to support with gold from your treasuries and troops from your lands?”

  Warden Asten glared at the last bit— by no means did she control her territory’s treasuries or troops, exactly, although others like Dyon did. Of course, Beneral had glared through the whole thing. Perhaps having Alikar saunter into his own city and piss all over it with his foul words was making Beneral rethink his decision to keep his magic secret. Either that, or he didn’t realize he was scowling.

  “I’ll start,” Alikar said. The Gilaren lord almost glowed with even this slight bit of control. Did he really hope to gain any power from this spectacle? “I find any mage unfit to be king of Akaria. Gilaren withdraws financial and military support while Aven Lanuken sits on the throne.”

  Aven gritted his teeth. Of course, this was unsurprising, but his father’s disappearance had escalated things. Aven hadn’t expected him to formally withdraw support right away. It had seemed more likely that Alikar would have waited to see the result of the vote and his father’s—now Aven’s—reaction to it.

  “Lord Dyon—your vote.”

  Dyon�
��s slightly raised eyebrows indicated he was a little surprised by the severity of that statement too. “Liren supports the throne unequivocally, as we always have. Our king cares more about the Akarian people than all of you combined. That alone will make him an excellent ruler, even if he wasn’t so well qualified militarily and diplomatically. Far more prepared than any of his brothers, cousins, or any of us, I might add. I find him very fit to rule. I would support no other, in fact.” The threat in his words didn’t seem to register with Alikar, but Aven did not miss it. Dyon beckoned civil war if the vote failed.

  Alikar waved off Dyon’s words as if he were a doddering old man. “Priestess Niat. Your vote.”

  She sat frozen, tense, eyes the size of saucers. Of course, Alikar presumed he knew her vote would be against Aven, and that was why he’d chosen her to go second, to weaken the impact of Dyon’s words. Lord Sven’s bigotry was also the only vote Aven was certain of beyond Alikar’s as well. But the poor priestess did not understand any of that. She looked discomfited at having been given such a very prominent position in the order of votes.

  She raised her chin and recovered her composure. “My father regrets he cannot be with you today,” she said. Her voice rose in volume, as if she was picking up courage as she went. That did not at all sound like something Sven would say, so Aven guessed she was adding that bit on his behalf. “And he thanks you in your understanding for accepting me, his daughter, in his stead.” She unrolled a small piece of parchment, as if that somehow made her word more valid or more directly from Sven. Had she embellished this too? The parchment was unsealed or unstamped in any way, as any kind of official document would be, especially coming from one as grandiose and pompous as Sven. “His vote is no, a mage is unfit to be Akaria’s crown prince and heir.”

  Alikar gave her a withering look. “The vote has changed, as you well know. We’re voting on our support for the king. Or haven’t you been paying attention?”

  Aven was rather sure that Alikar knew she had been paying attention, that he just wanted to see her squirm. Part of the power trip?

  “I can’t—”

  “Amend the vote.” Alikar’s eyes hardened into black coals.

  When she hesitated, Dyon lowered his chin and folded his arms across his chest. “He sent you in his stead. That’s what he gets. You are his representative, you choose your vote.”

  She glared at him, then glanced with concern at Aven. Ah, that was exactly the problem wasn’t it. She had counted on awkwardly relaying her father’s vote. She was even less comfortable with insulting the king to his face, not when he had the power to have her hanged.

  Alikar narrowed his eyes even further, as if he wanted to pin her to the wall and force her to vote. “Now, please, before we all get pummeled to smithereens by the approaching catapults.”

  Catapults. Aven had been very careful to say siege machines. Dyon had repeatedly said ballistae, for some reason, even though he’d seen the enemy’s forces via farsight this morning too. None of the oncoming troops were in sight of the city yet, especially not from this room. And all of them were catapults.

  Alikar already knew what type of troops approached the city. And how could he know that? Aven had never had such concrete proof the bastard was a traitor. Had Alikar given the Masters this location? Or did he hope to escape himself before some kind of attack? Damn it.

  She lifted her chin even higher, defiantly glaring at Alikar. “My father votes no, he is not fit to be king.”

  Alikar nodded, looking round the table, as if he wanted to highlight Sven’s agreement.

  “Asten—your vote.”

  Did he choose her next because he knew her vote? Was he trying to alternate between positive and negative? How many of these votes did Alikar feel confident in? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. They can all vote no, and technically it doesn’t change anything.

  Except the armory budgets, or where troops are assigned, or…

  Asten looked at each of them in turn, then at Aven for a long moment. The length of her stare rattled his nerves, and his stomach sank lower each moment she stared at him. Was that apology in her eyes? She looked back at Alikar.

  “Aven is already our king, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Slag off, Alikar.”

  The rage that filled Alikar’s face was even more intense than Aven had expected. “Shansaren will regret this. How—” Had he struck some kind of deal? He had expected her vote to go another way, hadn’t he?

  Asten dropped her chin, glaring at Alikar and leaning forward on the table. “The use of magic has already provided invaluable aid to us in this war so far, and yes, it is a war. From healing to attacks to intelligence to planning for the oncoming siege weapons.” Was it Aven’s imagination, or was there an emphasis on the final words? “We would be fools to turn away mages even just as weapons when such weapons are being turned against us. And they happen to be good and honorable people to boot.”

  Alikar pressed his lips together and acted as if she hadn’t spoken. “Beneral.”

  “I believe a mage is especially qualified to be king in a time such as this. I find him a fit prince, king, and leader.”

  “Toyl.”

  Three in favor, two against. And Alikar had chosen her last. Why exactly had Toyl withheld her vote from Aven? The question haunted him. She had acted friendly, on Aven’s side. Perhaps she was no enemy to Aven but a friend to money. Asten would be hard to buy, and yet it seemed that Alikar had tried. Toyl could be much easier, as trade agreements would benefit both her and her people far more than they would a warden.

  Toyl glanced at Aven, her dark eyes glittering, then to the others.

  “I have no particular love for mages. I have worshiped at Nefrana’s feet, as she teaches us the error of those ways.” A small smile grew on Alikar’s face as Aven’s stomach sank even further. But didn’t that contradict what she’d said in private? And she’d admonished him for lies. “I do, however, have love for my coffers. And also for those who tell the truth. I would never deign to side with a man who could be bought by our enemies, even if I thought a mage would make a terrible king.”

  Alikar stilled, his expression frozen. “I fail to see what pertinence these preferences have to this vote—”

  Calmly, Toyl turned and accepted a dark canvas sack and a scroll from an attendant. At the same time, Asten beckoned a soldier forward and did the same. Alikar’s eyes grew wide with some recognition Aven didn’t understand. Lady Toyl continued, “As a matter of fact, these preferences are highly relevant. How did you know that catapults were approaching the city?”

  Hope flickered in Aven’s chest.

  Alikar scowled. “Aven said as much.”

  “The king said siege weapons approached,” Asten said coldly.

  “And I said ballistae. Not catapults.” Dyon unfolded his arms and leaned forward over the table too, balancing on his knuckles.

  “It does not matter, I just assumed one siege weapon over another. Your vote, my lady.”

  “You only had one way of knowing if they are ballistae, catapults, or bears riding horses,” Toyl snapped, “and that’s because you knew of them in advance. But you are right, that could be excused as an honest mistake. Perhaps that does not matter. This, however, does.”

  She dropped the sack to the table, the sound of coin clinking like a slap across the face. Asten followed suit, tossing the sack like a gauntlet thrown. Beside it, she placed a scroll with a broken seal of scarlet Kavanarian wax.

  Alikar froze.

  Toyl folded her arms across her chest. “Assembly members, I submit to you that last evening, Lord Alikar approached me with this bribe and message from King Demikin of Kavanar, attempting to purchase my vote.”

  “I received this offer as well, as Lady Toyl warned I would,” said Asten. “She suggested we both accept so as to offer the Assembly this proof. Their offer stands in writing in these scrolls.”

  “Clever,” said Beneral. “I rejected the fool. Never though
t of accepting to acquire proof.”

  Dyon snorted. “Well, now I’m starting to feel left out.”

  “Oathbreakers,” Alikar spat at Toyl and Asten in turn, ignoring the men. “Nefrana will not forget this. The gods will curse your souls.”

  Toyl laughed in his face. “You accuse me of breaking oaths? And yet you’ve betrayed us all and your sacred duty to the people of Gilaren. This morning, you also sent more than a dozen messages by servant in less than an hour once we’d learned the final location of this meeting. I charge you with treason, for your bribery and sharing the news of this meeting’s location with those who would kill us all.”

  Well, by all the ancient ancestors. Aven’s mouth fell open. The Assembly itself had beaten him to the punch. He’d thought to wait until after the vote. He’d had no real evidence, and he hadn’t wanted to look like he was bullying them out of their say.

  Aven stood. “I’ll add to those charges of treason that I believe he shared the location of the king on the journey here with our enemies, quite possibly resulting in his death.”

  Alikar took a step back, then another, scowling like cornered prey. Thel and several nearby soldiers began to approach and circle him. Alikar’s attendants tensed behind him, and hands reached for sword pommels.

  “But if you insist on my vote, I find King Aven perfectly fit to rule,” Toyl said, smirking.

  “Seize him,” Beneral ordered. “Take him to the—”

  But the lord of the White City never finished that sentence. And in fact, the troops never quite reached Alikar.

  A slight whistling sound was the only warning preceding the boulder. Rock smashed through the tower wall, glowing with heat. Rubble tumbled down around them.

  Kae stared down at the worn parchment of the leather-bound book with wide eyes. By Nefrana’s blooms. He’d found it.

  Dozens and dozens of pages scrawled in an antique hand detailed in excruciating, mournful detail how the original brand had been created. A gathering of thirteen mages of specific types in a specific configuration, activating the right magic in the right order. Elaborately complex, technically beautiful, morally horrifying. He’d found it—the process the Dark Master was searching for.