Traitor for Hire: Mage Code

by Max Irons

  "...say something," Iven screamed.

  Galeron winced. The ringing faded, though it threatened to return with Iven bellowing like that in his ear. He pushed him away. "I'm fine. Little stunned."

  Atreus continued on, as if nothing had happened. "Camp is not far from here."

  "You left all your things with Drakes running around?" asked Iven. He whispered in Galeron's ear, "Hope he didn't lose our payment."

  "A few associates are keeping an eye on things," Atreus said. "Good people, but not warriors."

  Galeron grunted. Few men could handle themselves in a fight. Even fewer made it long in their profession. Not that he'd chosen it. In truth, the life of a sell-sword caught him napping and made him into one without much choice. He shook his head. Old memories. No place in the present.

  "Wonder what he's got with him," whispered Iven. "What'd you say? Gold, secret military orders from King Soren, or the lost armor of Artair Vaughan?"

  "Do I have to pick?"

  "It's got to be something important. Otherwise he wouldn't be offering to pay us that much." Iven licked his lips. "Do you know how many melon tarts that will buy?"

  "No."

  "More than I could eat in an entire year."

  Galeron chuckled. "Doubt that." The man could out eat nearly every person he encountered, thin or fat.

  Atreus led them along the main paved highway east of Trinetta, before he jumped off the road as it turned south. They continued into a thicket of trees, bramble that clawed at Galeron's doublet, and protruding roots. Galeron stumbled and swerved to avoid colliding with Atreus as he tripped over one of them. The musky scent of burnt wood reached his nostrils, and the thicket cleared out a moment later. A camp sat centered around a cooking fire, and a weather-beaten man poked at it from under his long brown robes. Tents sat spaced a good distance apart in the clearing, and horses cropped grass behind them.

  The man looked up, wood shavings speckling his gray-black beard. "Found them?" His voice grated on Galeron's ears, as if someone scrubbed a brush over them.

  "Hektor, meet Iven Porter and Galeron, sell-swords with appropriate skills," Atreus said, gesturing to each of them in turn.

  Hektor grunted and lowered his hood, revealing a darker-skinned face lined with creases and frown lines. "Do they understand?" He brushed a long lock of black hair into place behind his ear.

  "The full picture will be divulged eventually." Atreus glanced about the camp. "Tondra has not returned?"

  Hektor shook his head. "She has not, but the apprentice is powerful."

  "Nonetheless, she should have returned by now." Atreus turned to Galeron and Iven. "Sit, but be ready to leave if I give the command."

  They dumped their things next to Hektor, who extended a hand, dark eyes glittering. "Strength to you, sell-swords."

  Galeron clasped it in greeting. "Likewise."

  His eyes fell on the outskirts of the camp. No cargo. Three tents for three people, but no wagons, crates, or anything that might explain Atreus's reason for being in Trinetta. Perhaps they would be picking up something in need of protection.

  Iven exchanged grips with Hektor. "How could we say no? You have food and coin, and we have services to offer." He grinned. "Everyone wins."

  "Perhaps," he said. "Welcome to the Black Drakes."

  The Black Drakes? Galeron froze. The rebels King Soren crushed just hired the both of them? His stomach, so full and contented a moment ago, sank and threatened to expel the food. They had to get out now. Escorting questionable cargo was one thing. Participating in a rebellion? Absolutely not.

  "Perhaps you should find other sell-swords," said Galeron. "What you do is your business. I won't tell anyone, but I won't be dragged into another war." He turned, gesturing to Iven. "Back to the tavern."

  Iven nodded, for once saying nothing. They picked up their things and approached the underbrush when Galeron's limbs froze in place. His muscles bulged, but he couldn't make them move forward. Iven grunted, possibly experiencing the same thing. He didn't know. His head was frozen, too.

  "No," Atreus said. "I have picked you, and you will complete your jobs."

  Galeron rose a few feet in the air, propelled by some unknown force, and was turned to face him. Hektor held one hand out, palm toward them. Galeron's spine turned to ice. His luck couldn't be this bad. It just wasn't possible.

  "You can't run, sell-swords," Atreus said. "What hope do mortals have against mages?"

  I shouldn't be surprised. His luck could, in fact, be that bad.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Well," said Iven. "That's unexpected."

  "White Mountain was a problem," Hektor said.

  Understatement. Galeron struggled with the invisible bonds to no avail. "The criers said no Drake escaped the fight."

  "Don't believe everything you hear," Hektor said.

  "Soren killed most of them, but not all," said Atreus. "He's occupied with another group to the west now, which makes our mission easier."

  "Mind putting us down?" asked Galeron. Food and coin weren't worth an early death.

  Hektor frowned. "I could crush you with a thought."

  "Then you'd have done it already," he said. "Though why you need us, I don't know."

  "Because I tend to stick out," Atreus said.

  He pulled his hood down. The left side of his face looked like a melted candle, drooping and sagging red skin with his left eye partially obscured. Various knots and wrinkles in the flesh streaked across his cheek and chin. Fire lay in his past.

  "If something must be done in daylight, I rarely get to act," he said. He spoke out of the right side of his mouth. The left portion of his lips seemed to have fused together. "The two of you will cause less of a scare in public."

  "Didn't stop you today," Galeron said.

  "Trinetta isn't known as a refined city," said Atreus. "Plenty of strange people walk in and out of the Broken Blade." He nodded. "Put them down, Hektor."

  The bonds vanished, and they hit the ground. Galeron put a hand to his sword hilt.

  "Drop your hand, sell-sword," Hektor scoffed. "Steel won't serve you so well against magic."

  Never did well taking orders. He gritted his teeth and drew the blade. It emerged with a faint metallic ring, scorched black steel glinting in the afternoon light. "Let me be the judge of that."

  Hektor paused, glancing from the sword to Galeron's face and back again. He lowered his hand. "We want your services. You're no good dead."

  When he didn't move, Atreus approached, regarding Galeron with an iron gaze. "Put it away. You don't have a choice in the matter. Accept it, but if you continue to resist, I won't kill you. Hektor will bind you again, and I'll burn your companion in front of you." He drew closer. "Then, I'll gouge out your eyes myself. Your last vision will be of your friend's flesh melting from his bones. After that, I'll go find a new sell-sword." He held up a hand, and a flame burst into being at the center of his palm. "Have I made myself clear?"

  Galeron scowled. There was no fighting here. He and Iven would just have to look for another opportunity to break free, but fire and ice waged war in his gut all the same. "Very." He sheathed his sword.

  Atreus nodded and sat on one of the logs near Hektor. "We wait, then."

  An uneasy silence permeated the camp for a while. Galeron leveled his gaze at Atreus, but he refused to meet it.

  "You're Commander Luccio, right?" Iven asked after a while.

  Hektor nodded. "Atreus Luccio, the most powerful mage in Broton."

  Galeron sat on one of the logs around the fire. He pulled out his ax and slammed it into the wood. "If he's that powerful why does he need us?"

  "Do you insult him, sell-sword?" asked Hektor.

  Iven extended a hand. "Easy, easy. He's a bit slow in the head. Talks to himself an awful lot, but he does make a good point. Why do you need us if you have him?"

  "Have you ever kidnapped someone?" asked Atreus.

  "Nope."

  "I doubt you'll top your fi
rst, then," he said. "Our target is Prince Lattimer himself."

  Galeron put his head in his hands as Iven laughed.

  "Bold humor. I like it. Who are we really going after?"

  No one spoke. Galeron stared at the ground through his fingers. Too good to be true. His fear had been right, and he'd ignored it again. Easy enough to recognize after they were in too deep. Rebels were one thing, but kidnapping the prince? Farming sounds good about now. No wonder Atreus offered so much coin. He wouldn't have to pay up if the mission soured, and that was as guaranteed as the rising sun. Still, he needed answers.

  "How?" he asked, looking up.

  "That will depend on Tondra." Atreus folded his burned and good hands. "She meets with an informer now to procure information."

  "Informer? Like you, Galeron?" asked Iven.

  "Aye, like me," said Galeron. Years had passed since someone last called him an informer. Too many close calls between then and now. Atreus raised an eyebrow. "I was conscripted in the Delktian Wars. I spent a nice chunk of my service in the far reaches of the north spying on troop movements."

  "We are brethren, then," Atreus said.

  "We are no such thing."

  The jibe went unanswered. "I, too, served with Soren's father. A good man. A good king." His face darkened. "The same cannot be said of his son."

  Galeron rubbed his sword's pommel, the only holdover from his informer days. "The good men die first."

  "Some of them," Hektor said, sitting down.

  "Is it a crime to be born, Galeron?" asked Atreus.

  "A man doesn't have a choice," Galeron said.

  "Indeed not," Atreus said. "I have taken up my path, desired to do good for my homeland, and because of my gift, they call me a daemon. I did not choose this power. A Delktian mage burned it into me during the war." He spat on the ground. "No man asks for it. Do you think any of us would take up the mantle if we could help it?"

  "Then why not just ignore your powers?" asked Iven. "I've known plenty of mages who rarely used magic."

  "You may as well ask a swordsman to throw his bouts." Atreus stared into the fire for a long moment. "These gifts, or curses, have been bestowed for one reason or another. Why should we hide in the shadows, ashamed of what we are? A man's skill with a blade is praised, but if that skill lies with fire, he is executed. Explain how that is fair. Explain how that is just."

  Iven shrugged. "It's the normal way of things, the rules of power. Whoever has the power makes the rules. Why not move to Raya? Magic isn't outlawed there. I mean, there's an entire city of mages within its borders."

  "And leave others to rot under Soren's hand?" Atreus glared at him. "No. He passes judgment thinking only of the Delktians who ripped apart the north. Such a narrow-minded king has no rights to the throne, and I will be the one to take it from him."

  Iven swallowed and blinked. "Glad we have that straight."

  "I have my mission," Atreus said. "I will not allow it to be compromised."

  Galeron nodded, cringing inwardly. He was a nut, a madman. How were they going to get out of this one alive? Hordes of angry Azizi tribesman didn't seem so bad now.

  "Where did you serve, Galeron?" asked Hektor.

  "The Njal Mountains," he said, pushing away the surfacing memory of a white wolf and crimson blood on snow. "Very cold. Very windy."

  Hektor gave a slow whistle. "The Thunder Walkers prowled that region. Even my people know their name. How long did you follow them?"

  Galeron scowled. Good men died during that war, and it was a common enough thing to discuss, but still. Some wounds never healed. "I served to the bitter end."

  The fire hissed and popped as the men fell quiet. The furrow in Galeron's brow deepened, and his stomach twisted into a tighter knot. The invading Delktians had stolen everything from a great many on their rampage south. He gritted his teeth and pushed memories and feelings away. Old history. It happened, it was done, and it was time to move on.

  "Where does Iven come from?" asked Atreus, moving his eyes from Galeron to his partner.

  "Why do you care?" Galeron asked.

  Atreus met his gaze again. "I like to know who I'm dealing with."

  "Rayan by birth," said Iven. "Grew up on a farm watching sheep." He smiled. "Just me and a herding dog for days on end. Those were the good years. Three brothers and two sisters, all older than me, and they never let me forget it. Then came the war, and the Rayan legions got me to be an archer for them. Of course, if you were a shepherd, you got put in archer's boots."

  "And why was that?" asked Atreus.

  "Raya has this problem with big cats and their taste for sheep," Iven said. "Every shepherd who wanted to live carried a bow and was more than a fair shot." He ran a hand up his bow shaft. "Broton doesn't have those cats, and good riddance, I say."

  The brush rustled behind him. All four men turned to look. Soldiers, clad in a mixture of plate and cloth, emerged and surrounded the small encampment, polearms at the ready. Galeron sighed. That hadn't taken very long. He glanced back to Atreus, who stood and pulled up his hood. He walked toward a grizzled soldier wearing a surcoat emblazoned with the symbol of Trinetta's baron, a screeching eagle, and a feathered, open-faced helm.

  "Captain Henri, what brings you to my humble camp?" asked Atreus. His entire demeanor changed, face brightening as much as it could, and his eyes twinkled.

  Henri frowned, bushy mustache quivering. "Have we met?"

  Atreus shook his head. "I have only heard stories in the way-stations and then saw your garb just now."

  "I see." Henri glanced about. "Who are you? What are you doing camping here?"

  Galeron shifted on the log. Maybe he could alert the captain to their plight. If he could just...Hektor glared at him across the dying fire, flexing a hand and shaking his head ever so slightly. Galeron stilled. There went that idea.

  Atreus reached into the folds of his robes. "Friends call me Atreus Picard, night dust transporter." He produced a worn envelope and handed it to the captain, who opened it and scanned the contents. "We are due to pick up a cart of eight kegs for delivery at Rabican in a fortnight."

  "Hmm, your permit only mentions one sell-sword, not two," said Henri.

  Atreus nodded. "I'm sure you saw my scars when you arrived. My previous sell-sword was careless with his pipe and dust kegs. You can imagine what happened next. I picked these two up at the Broken Blade, but they insisted they go as a pair. It'll be no trouble to get the permission adjusted at Trinetta's arsenal."

  Henri winced. "Sorry to hear about that. Least you survived, but you'll be waiting a lot longer for that night dust. Someone set fire to the arsenal this afternoon. Destroyed everything. You haven't seen anything suspicious around here, have you?"

  Atreus shook his head. "We arrived perhaps an hour or so ago, set up camp, and then the explosion happened. My associate and I have been waiting for the crowds to calm before we tried to make our next move. Was it an accident?"

  "No. Drake activity, most likely." He spat to one side. "Flea-bitten rebels. White Mountain should've knocked them out of my area. We're hunting for them now. Keep your eyes and ears open, Master Picard. Don't want to get your throat slit in the night."

  Henri handed the letter back to Atreus. He motioned to his men to follow him out of the clearing, and they crashed back through the undergrowth. Galeron sighed. The last hope of his and Iven's salvation wandered off into the brush, completely unaware he'd just had an amicable chat with the rebels he hunted.

  "To avoid carnage, don't try to alert anyone to our mission," said Atreus. "I have an appropriate story for every encounter, and if you say otherwise, I will kill all present. You, Galeron, hold their lives in your hands."

  Galeron nodded and ground his teeth. There would be a way out. He'd find it.

  "It shouldn't be that hard," Atreus continued. "If you were an informer, you know how to lie."

  "Glad I never had to do that," Iven said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Both of you must have hearts
of stone."

  Hektor grunted. "It takes a man long to get used to it. When we were in Sacripant a year ago..."

  The chatter over war stories continued for a while longer, but Galeron blocked it out. The Delktian Wars linked every man, woman, and child across four kingdoms, but camaraderie did nothing to purge the terrors of the battlefield. Not when they lurked in the mind, like wraiths over a funeral pyre. As the sun set, Atreus and Hektor pulled out the cookware for supper. Not tavern food, by any stretch, but having salted beef and vegetables available in a watery soup eased a bit of the knot in Galeron's stomach.

  Galeron and Iven gathered more wood for the dwindling flames, but by the time they returned at twilight with stacks of wood and kindling, the fire had cooled.

  "Boiling bones, we have to light it all over again," Iven said. "Someone got a tinderbox?"

  Galeron dumped his pile a good distance from the fire ring. "Not that hard, Iven." He sprinkled the kindling and brush onto the smoking embers. "At least it's not green wood."

  "Stack all your wood on the fire, Iven," Atreus said, walking over to the ring.

  Iven grumbled and did as he was told. Atreus knelt next to the pile of wood and extended his burned hand. He closed his eyes and a bright orange flame leapt from his palm and onto the stack, taking hold and crackling away. Iven's face split into a wide grin.

  "Handy," he said.

  Galeron nodded. Parlor trick, compared to magic on the battlefield, but still useful.

  "Magic is a tool, just like any tinderbox," Atreus said, wincing. "The same flame that wards off wolves can scorch flesh and take a life." He flexed his scarred limb. "The user is the one to be feared or admired. Galeron, you are on first watch."

  "I'll just do all of it," Galeron said. Sleep was a luxury most nights. Judging by the ice still in his belly, he wouldn't be affording that one tonight.

  Iven sighed. "You're doing that thing again." He scowled at Galeron. "On your own head be it, then, and don't come fussing to me when you get grumpy midday tomorrow."