Traitor for Hire: Mage Code

by Max Irons

  "Have I missed something?" asked Atreus.

  "Galeron never sleeps the first night or two on a job," said Iven. "Paranoid or just plain crazy, maybe, but it's his thing. The good news is that we don't have to pull watch duty."

  Atreus studied him for a moment. "It is your choice, but don't try anything. I sleep lightly, and I'll know if you attempt to leave."

  "The apprentice will return," Hektor called from his tent. "Do not be surprised if she shows."

  The two retired to their tents, and within minutes, the deep rumble of snores drifted from Hektor's bedroll.

  "How am I going to sleep with that avalanche?" Iven spread his own bedroll out, using his cloak for a pillow.

  "Imagine you're supposed to be working," Galeron said, pulling sword and sheath from his belt.

  He sat on the log and scanned their surroundings, weapon on his lap.

  "Not funny."

  Galeron shrugged. "Who said anything about funny?"

  Iven wriggled and rolled onto his side, back to the fire. "Why do you keep that old thing?"

  He glanced down at his sword. "What's wrong with it?"

  "Looks like you got it from a tapestry," Iven mumbled.

  A simple tool, his sword. Black, leather wrapped hilt, straight cross guard, a solid round pommel, and a straight, double edged blade that narrowed to a sharp point. "I like it. The blade suits me."

  "You mean old and outdated?" asked Iven, speaking into his cloak.

  "Twenty-four years isn't that old," Galeron said. "You aren't that far behind me."

  "That one year's everything." Iven fell silent for a moment. "You could get a better blade with our coin. One of those fancy dueling swords or a cavalry saber."

  Galeron snorted. "I've shattered those. Too light and flimsy."

  "Hopeless," Iven muttered, before soft snores drifted from his mouth.

  A wry grin covered Galeron's face. Hopeless. A man could argue that the firelock and its lead balls made Iven's bow and arrows outdated as well. He could already hear the response, though. "Flash and noise, Galeron, flash and noise. I can kill three lockmen before they even get their dust in the pan."

  The hours crept by, nothing interrupting the chorus of snores but the crackling of fire and occasional chirp of a bird overhead. With the full moon, a horse and cart would rattle by once in a while, but they were the exceptions that tightened Galeron's grip on his sword. Better here than in the burning cold of the Njal. He tossed more wood onto the fire as a third cart trundled past, but then it stopped.

  Galeron turned toward the road. The absence of noise tightened his muscles, and he strained to hear anything of use. A few moments later, the cart rattled on down the highway, but someone crunched through the bramble and undergrowth. Galeron drew his sword, black blade merely absorbing the firelight, and held it at the ready, grip loose enough for comfort and dexterity.

  He slowed his breathing.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  His heartbeat slid from pounding war drums to steady beat. A figure emerged from the thicket, and Galeron's blade leapt to her throat.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  The woman glared at him. "Tondra Voreaux. Put that thing away before I hurt you with it."

  Galeron scowled. "You're lucky I didn't kill you."

  Tondra grabbed the blade with her bare hand and jerked the weapon from his grasp. She took his sword by the hilt with her other hand and held up the first one. No wound. Her hand was still porcelain white and unmarred. "I'm a mage, you simpleton. Don't flatter yourself."

  "I know what you are," Galeron said. "Unlike most folk, it doesn't scare me."

  She slammed the sword flat against his chest. "Then maybe you're even dumber than you look."

  He sheathed his blade. "We are allies, miss. Keep that in mind."

  "You're hired help, sell-sword," Tondra said. "Forgive me if I don't like a man who'd lend his strength to the highest bidder."

  No matter where I go, it's always the same. "I can't blame you, but it's a living." Galeron sat back on the log. "Galeron Triste and Iven Porter at your service."

  "Which are you?" Tondra rummaged through one of the sacks and pulled out a few strips of salted beef. She sat across the fire opposite him, ripping at the tough meat with her teeth.

  "Friends call me Galeron," he said.

  "You'll find no friends here," Tondra said. She brushed her long red hair out of her face and swallowed. "Especially not for people like you."

  Galeron raised an eyebrow. Bitterness was a brittle but comfortable armor. She did not wear it well. "Would you like to explain?"

  "You wouldn't care." She spat to one side. "Your only concern is the payment."

  "The world's complicated," Galeron said. Tondra clearly had much to learn. Couldn't be more than twenty years old, judging by her appearance. Assuming she survived their mission, she could still learn.

  "No, it's not," Tondra said. "The king hates us for what Delktian mages wrought. His soldiers hunt any who have magic. It's him against us. Show me the complexities."

  "The king is a man, not the wind." Galeron shook his head. "Men think, men debate, and men make choices. His mind may change, but he acts on instinct." He stared at Tondra. "Even kings have fears."

  "And what do you fear?" she asked.

  Galeron paused. Much in the world deserved a respectful wariness, but serving as an informer taught him to control the paralyzing, icy terror that got men killed. Even so, it lurked beneath the surface of his mind. Denial would keep it at bay, but only for so long. "That's a deeply personal question. If you know a man's fear, you see deep into him. Perhaps you could manipulate his actions."

  "You have no fear?" asked Tondra.

  "I never said that. I'm just not in a sharing mood."

  "I fear nothing."

  Galeron gave a low laugh. Definitely twenty years. "Wait for it."

  She scowled at him but said nothing. Atreus emerged from his tent. "Apprentice, what news have you brought?"

  Tondra whipped around and lowered her head, handing him a scroll from her satchel. "As you requested, master, the plans."

  Atreus nodded and tucked the scroll in his own garments. "To bed with you then."

  Tondra retired to her tent, and Atreus cast a glance in Galeron's direction. "Titles mean nothing here, sell-sword. I'm still watching you."

  He returned to his own tent. After a few moments, Iven spoke up.

  "Piece of work, isn't she?" he asked.

  Galeron looked over at his squinting friend. "You heard?"

  Iven huffed. "Hard not to. She didn't exactly have a calm, soothing voice. I pity the man who marries that one."

  "Passing on her, then?"

  "There isn't enough coin in Broton to convince me otherwise," Iven said, rolling over. "Boiling bones, and we have to work with her, too."

  "Maybe she'll be nicer to you," Galeron said. "You're the one with the looks."

  Iven moaned into his cloak. "It's such a burden to be this dashing."

  Galeron waved it off. "Back to sleep."

  He mumbled something indistinct before the snores resumed a little while later. The night passed without further incident, leaving Galeron alone with his thoughts.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Daybreak arrived, and Atreus emerged from his tent soon after. "Anything to report?"

  Galeron shook his head. "Nothing."

  "Good." He hung a small kettle over the fire and filled it with water and a small handful of coffee beans. "We shall let them sleep, and enjoy the last bit of coffee."

  Galeron smiled. Coffee. The Azizi might be a strange people, but they grew the only coffee beans in the world. "You're full of surprises."

  Atreus sat next to him. "I do not afford myself many luxuries, but coffee is one that almost becomes a necessity." He fingered his goatee with his good hand and spoke slowly. "I, too, often find sleep an elusive companion. Shadows of war, Galeron. They never leave men like us. The others, they try to understand, think
ing what little bloodshed they've encountered has left them scarred. Perhaps it has." He shook his head. "But perhaps not. On nights when the wraiths of the past visit me, coffee allows me to continue."

  "They say it gets easier," Galeron said, shifting away from Atreus. Only a half-truth. Why was he being so amicable? Threats one day, and coffee the next.

  "They do indeed."

  Tondra emerged from her tent a few minutes later, hair flattened on one side of her head. She yawned. "Oh, good, you've put the coffee on." Her gaze fell on Galeron, and she frowned. "Did you even sleep?"

  "Nope."

  Tondra smirked. "You're going to have a rotten day."

  "Wake Hektor and start getting ready to travel," Atreus said.

  She waved her hand at Galeron, as if brushing away a fly. "What about the hired muscle?" she asked. "Isn't that what we pay him for?"

  Atreus opened the scroll from the previous night. "Galeron stood watch all night, letting the rest of us sleep. The least we can do is tear down the camp." He frowned. "I am not an unreasonable man." After a few minutes reading, he said, "King Soren is pursuing our counterparts in the west, and the Iron Riders are with him. So far, all is as planned." He glanced up at Tondra, who still stood next to him. "Something unclear, apprentice?"

  Tondra pursed her lips and stalked off to Hektor's tent. Galeron picked up a stick and lobbed it at Iven, hitting him in the thigh. "Up we go."

  Iven grunted and rolled over. "Quit. You're just showing off."

  Atreus lowered the scroll. "What does he mean?"

  Galeron gave the bleary-eyed archer a sour smile. "I'm still awake. Iven would've passed out hours ago."

  "And been happier for it," Iven mumbled. He staggered to his feet and sniffed the air. "Ah, coffee. Haven't had that since our last trip to Azizi."

  "Don't remind me," Galeron said. Setting foot in their territory again was at the bottom of his job list. "I'm never going down there again."

  "Do you hold a grudge against them?" Hektor emerged from his tent and stretched his arms.

  "Their women certainly liked me," Iven said, puffing out his chest.

  "As dinner," Galeron said. "I didn't know you could run that fast."

  Iven laughed and started rolling his bedroll up. "So, there we were, Hektor. Two sell-swords and a minor lordling, Thomas Hamish, in search of the armor of Artair Vaughan."

  Hektor snorted and pulled his own bedroll from the tent. "A northerner's fable."

  "Lord Hamish insisted that one of the Azizi tribes had it on display as a trophy, or some such thing. Anyway, more money than sense, he hires me and Galeron to go down with him and get it out. 'Course, we don't speak the language, and we stick out like a watch beacon in the night. He didn't care. Swore up and down it would bring us all fame and glory." Iven tied a rope around the bedroll. "We get down there, and he insists the armor's in the first village we encounter. So, we go, and no one has any idea what we're saying or want, but Hamish insists that the shaman had it locked up in his lodge."

  "You forgot the part where you made a pass at every Azizi woman who didn't have a man with her," Galeron said.

  Iven glared at him. "Who's telling this story? You or me?"

  "Finish the tale, or shut your mouth," Tondra said.

  "All right, calm down. We get to the shaman's lodge, and there's a bunch of tough-looking men standing around in just their loincloths, faces painted in some odd zigzag pattern," Iven said. "By this point, the entire village's gathered around us to see what's going on. Galeron tells Lordling Hamish we shouldn't just barge into the shaman's lodge. It'd be like kicking down the doors of a king's throne room. Just a bit disrespectful. Hamish doesn't listen and, sword drawn, cuts his way through the men and goes inside. There's a lot of screaming, and Galeron and I give each other nervous looks for a while, trying to figure out what to do next, and then--"

  "Enough, sell-sword." Atreus cut across his story and folded the letter. "Hektor, Tondra, we will not be headed for Ormod first. The bodies have been used as fuel in the forges." He growled deep in his throat. "They burned her, used her to make their weapons." His frame shook. "She was no animal. She deserved a proper burial."

  "Great Spirit weeps for you and your kin," Hektor said.

  Atreus nodded, staring at the ground.

  Galeron stood and walked over to Iven, helping him gather the rest of his things. Whatever was going on, Atreus could probably use the space, and he didn't want to be around an unstable mage.

  "Who's this 'she' we speak of?" asked Iven.

  Galeron elbowed him in the gut. "Not now."

  "His wife, Raina, sell-sword," growled Tondra. "We were supposed to rescue her first."

  "It was always doubtful," Hektor said. "Too many days since mountain fight."

  The ground rumbled beneath their feet. "I swear on my life," Tondra said. "I will make Soren pay for what he's..."

  "Tondra Voreaux, control yourself." Atreus stood, stone faced and rigid, glaring at her. "You are a mage, not a child who lost her sweetbread."

  She glowered at the ground, but the shaking ceased. "Yes, master."

  There was a long silence, and no one moved. Iven leaned over to Galeron's ear. "Shaman lodge."

  He nodded. It did feel about the same. Unknown territory with unknown people. The pieces of the letter fit together in his mind. Ormod, the infamous firelock factory and coal mine, housed thousands of the king's enemies, but anyone who entered there never came out again, or so the stories said.

  "What now?" asked Hektor.

  "We move onward," said Atreus. "Ormod no longer serves any purpose. To burn her body in the forges, though?" He bit the good side of his mouth until blood flowed. "She deserved a proper burial, not... no, I'll make Soren regret the day he crossed me."

  "We can't help the dead," Hektor said.

  "But we can avenge them," said Atreus. "The king will ache as I ache. His heart will tear as mine does. This I swear to you."

  "Truth," Hektor said. "To Harracourt." He resumed packing his tent.

  "What are we going to do about them?" asked Tondra, jerking her head towards Galeron and Iven.

  Galeron frowned, and his gut squirmed. "You hired us."

  "You've no mount of any sort," said Tondra.

  "We all walk, then." Atreus put his mug back in his pouch.

  "This turns two days into four," Hektor said.

  Galeron strapped his sword back to his belt and collected his ax, sliding it through the belt loop on his right side. He grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee, smiling at the rich, bitter scent. A terrible day just got a little easier.

  "Unless either of you have improved your stamina, we will need them," said Atreus. "Think what you will, but the rest of the sell-swords were far more brutish and thick-headed."

  Galeron had heard worse insults. A man didn't become a sell-sword to be thought smart. He downed the last of his coffee and shook his head. The drink bit back with a strong aftertaste that set up permanent residence in his mouth. Perfect. The others loaded the tents onto the lone pack horse, and Galeron grabbed his pack, swinging it over his shoulder.

  Iven grinned. "We're going to live like kings after this."

  Galeron bit his lip. Assuming they lived through it. "As long as you don't drink it all."

  Iven put his bowstring on his head and donned a brown wide-brimmed hat, one side upturned, over it. "Please. I think it'd take me a while to drink my way through that."

  "Look through this as we walk." Atreus handed a scroll to Hektor. "Find us a way in."

  Hektor grunted.

  Tondra tossed a bucket of water over the fire, and they departed. Iven loped ahead of the group with horse-like strides, bow in one hand, and Galeron took up a position in the rear of the party, under Atreus's watchful eye. The rest of them led horses by a halter rope. They emerged from the thicket after a few minutes and continued moving north through rolling green and brown hills.

  "Iven scouts and watches for riders," Hektor said. "A
s the distance closes, so will patrols."

  "Especially since someone detonated their arsenal," said Atreus, casting a glance at Tondra.

  "You said to create a distraction and cause chaos," said Tondra.

  "A distraction is setting fire to a blacksmith's shop or a tavern," Atreus said. "The arsenal is a military target. It screams of rebels, of us." He snarled. "Think with your mind, not your magic."

  Galeron looked around him. They walked a good league or two from the paved highway through a sea of grass, but bandits could still rove the hills. Too many hidden places to relax. What was Atreus's plan if they were discovered by patrols? The dust courier trick might not work a second time with less distracted men. Then again, both Atreus and Tondra could wield magic. Boiling bones, the woman could grip a blade with her bare hand. Patrols might be the least of their worries, and yet, watching Tondra fidget made his muscles tighten. If a man believed tavern tales and town criers, that was the first symptom of the mage madness. Magic was like drink. Some folk had a head for it, and others were caught in its grip, never to surface again.

  His left hand rested on the pommel of his weapon, and he caressed the cool steel. If it started, if she went mad, he'd have to take her out. Surely Atreus would see that a mad mage endangered the mission. Galeron set his jaw. It wouldn't be the first time.

  Hektor and his mount drifted to walk beside him. "You are attached to that sword," he said without looking away from the scroll.

  Galeron scowled. "I carried it all through the war and beyond. I trust my blade."

  "Man who loves weapon thinks with it, too," said Hektor. "An unwise trait with Drakes."

  "I'm not a Drake," Galeron said. "Neither are you. What's a man from the skylands doing this far north?"

  "My people are Avonaco, and I am only half," said Hektor. "North men assume all skylanders are the same."

  He'd never heard of the Avonaco tribe, but to have Hektor here was still a feat. They never ventured beyond their flat homeland on the southern continent--not usually, anyway.

  "Why are you here?" asked Galeron. "This isn't your kingdom."

  "Soren slays those Great Spirit has gifted," Hektor said. "Magic is from him, but your king sees it as a curse." He glared at Galeron. "He will learn not to test Great Spirit's grace."