Traitor for Hire: Mage Code

by Max Irons

  "This Spirit has gifted you with what, exactly?" he asked.

  "Great Spirit pressed his wind finger on me during a storm," Hektor said. "He offered me a decision: travel to the spirit realms, or return with his gift. I made the choice, and I came here. Your king would not listen to words, so I will open his ears with deeds."

  Galeron nodded. Yet another story of how mages got their powers. Everyone seemed to have a theory, each as unproven as the next.

  "What of Tondra?" he asked. "What did Great Spirit gift her?"

  Hektor scowled at him, face falling into well-used wrinkles. "You ask too many questions for sell-sword."

  "That's just it." Galeron matched his gaze, keeping his stomach from quivering as he did so. "I'm no ordinary sell-sword."

  "Gifting is personal," said Hektor. "Man discusses his own, but not another's." His eyebrows arched down. "You lack fear. Avonaco say that a man with no fear is a man with no spirit." He poked Galeron's chest. "Spirit guides and keeps man alive. You lack spirit, so I will tell you. Betray the Drakes, and you will not live to regret it. Make questionable actions, and I will destroy you."

  Hektor increased his pace and rejoined Atreus and Tondra without another word.

  The rest of the day passed without incident, and they set up camp around twilight at the base of a hill, Trinetta far behind them. No trees in sight. Cold rations that night then. Galeron dropped his pack and shield, and Iven wandered over to lay down his gear.

  Galeron took a sip from his canteen. "See anything interesting?"

  Iven shook his head. "Sadly, no damsels who needed my ministering. Aside from two deer and a lot of frightened rabbits, I'd say we're the only ones wandering this part of Broton." He waved a hand northward. "If the hill's tall enough, you can just see Harracourt in the distance, but it's only a speck." He leaned close and whispered, "Learn anything about our patrons?"

  Galeron shook his head. "Hektor's a skylander, but that's nothing we couldn't put together. They made little chatter." Unless a man counted Tondra's complaints or Hektor's threats, but he did not.

  "No surprises there. If I lost a lady I loved, I wouldn't be in a speaking mood either." Iven tossed his hat atop Galeron's pack and pocketed his bowstring.

  "Nor I," Galeron said.

  "I don't know if I'd notice," said Iven. "Maybe if your brooding was heavier."

  "Too many years as an informer," Galeron said, giving him a half-smile. "Lonely business."

  Iven nodded. "Speaking of which, are you still fine with this job?"

  Galeron frowned. "We don't have a choice. We already tried leaving, and if we do it again, they'll kill us."

  Iven dropped his voice further. "That's not what I mean. Boiling bones, Galeron, we're committing treason here just by going along with the plan. You sacrificed a lot in the war, and now you're turning on the royal house. There's got to be some conflict in you. I know I'd be puking right now."

  "You served, too," he said. What was Iven trying to get at? He'd been discharged from service and left to his own devices. The king couldn't recall him through his old oath.

  "I'm not a Broton, I'm Rayan." He put an arm around Galeron's shoulder. "And there's a huge difference between archers and informers. If it's anything like home, the king picks you and makes you swear an oath of loyalty to him. There's a bond, understanding, and trust. That's a far cry from a conscripted archer, wouldn't you say?"

  "Yes." Galeron stared at the darkening horizon for a moment. He had sworn fealty, but that was twelve years and one king ago. "Soren is nothing like his father. King Beltane was a rare leader with more mercy than a man would expect. He understood people and their needs, dispensing justice but holding no grudges."

  "Then there's King Soren, who saw the Delktian Wars and assumed all mages are exactly the same," said Iven. "If he'd go visit Raya, that thought might change. Most of the mages I met are just regular people."

  Galeron bit his lip. Men often feared the unknown or the powerful. Soren, king or not, was still just a man and subject to the same trepidations. A simple man's fears brought him a queasy stomach or the jitters. A king's fears infected his kingdom like a plague. Rebellion was but one symptom.

  "If you've got hesitations, that's fine," Iven said. "I need to know that you're not as focused as normal."

  "I'm fine, Iven," Galeron said. "A little strained, but that's it. My oath died with King Beltane."

  Iven clapped him on the back. "That's what I needed to hear."

  "Sell-swords, collect your food before Hektor does it for you," Tondra called.

  Galeron and Iven grabbed a few strips of salted beef and carrots each from the pack horse. Atreus lay off to one side, staring up at the just-visible stars. Hektor sat next to him, munching on his beef and pouring over the scroll with a furrowed brow. Galeron returned to sit with his things. He tore off a piece of the meat with his teeth. Tough, salty, and almost like trying to eat a leather jerkin. It took a lot of chewing to soften the meat and get to a swallowing point. By the time he'd consumed the strips, his jaws ached from the effort. He took a sip from his canteen, swishing away the salt residue.

  "Ever been to Harracourt?" Iven asked.

  Galeron swallowed. "Few times. King Soren decommissioned me there."

  "What's it like?" asked Iven. "No city can hold water to Keenan Caffar, but we can't all be a mighty Rayan metropolis."

  "Nothing incredibly special, " Galeron said. "It's perched on a hill with layered defensive walls. The palace sits at the top, and there's a necropolis on the hill behind it."

  Iven grinned. "A real city of dead men? Do they roam the streets at night?"

  "It's just tombs, graves, and the royal crypt. Only children believe stories of walking dead coming to eat them."

  "A mage could make them, if she wanted." Tondra spoke up, glaring at them as if inviting a challenge.

  "Mages are powerful," said Galeron. "But even they can't raise the dead." Never missed a chance to show off the mages' power, that one.

  "It has been done before," she sniffed.

  "And it is also against the senate's rules," said Atreus.

  Mages had a senate? That was new. "I've never heard of them," Galeron said.

  "It's in Keenan Caffar," said Iven. "Well, technically it's in Aleor, which is in Keenan Caffar." He sighed and drew in the ground with his knife. "See, Keenan Caffar is here." He crafted a large circle. "And inside it, on a hilltop is Aleor." Iven traced a smaller circle inside the large one. "The king rules over the outer circle, but not the inner one. Aleor's its own little kingdom."

  "They probably knew that," Galeron said.

  "Sorry. Guess I'm just wishing I were back there," Iven said. "A man starts to miss home after a while."

  "But raising the dead has been done before," insisted Tondra.

  Galeron scowled as thoughts of a ragged and rotting army on the march surfaced, and he shoved them back under. He'd done that a lot lately. Too much talk of the Delktian Wars brought up bad memories. "That doesn't count."

  "What Delktians call the walking dead and the stories you know, apprentice, are very different. Mindless thralls are not living men," said Atreus. "That ends the discussion."

  "I have the way" Hektor said. They turned to look at him, and he flashed his crooked teeth, pointing at a spot on the scroll. "The necropolis. We enter through there."

  "What of the walls?" asked Galeron.

  "Walls mean nothing to me," Tondra said. "I'll get us over them."

  Galeron glared at her. "Thick skin won't get us over unseen."

  Tondra snorted. "You know nothing of magic. My powers come from the earth itself. If it's made of rock, I can bend it to my will."

  "Why the necropolis, Hektor?" asked Atreus.

  "The two hills are connected by stone bridge with a direct route to the throne room," Hektor said. "Who would suspect an attack from the dead at such height?"

  Atreus nodded. "Easier access for royal or military funerals, but perhaps lightly guarded.
We minimize time in the palace itself and have an escape route. With the king out west, the garrison will be lightly manned. A mage assault on their front gates should pull most of them away from Prince Lattimer's rooms."

  "The sell-swords will be the ones to kidnap the prince?" asked Tondra. "What if they alert the guards and turn on us?"

  Iven snorted. "Please, Tondra. If we did that, Soren would have our heads for even coming this far." He pointed at Galeron. "Besides, we'd never be able to convince them with this scoundrel hanging on my arm."

  "Are you satisfied?" asked Galeron. She was almost as paranoid as he was.

  Tondra said nothing in response.

  "Apprentice, a word," Atreus said, waving her over.

  Tondra skulked to him, and they moved off a distance speaking in low words.

  "I'm guessing someone's getting a good talking-to," Iven said. "Honestly, selling out our patrons? What kind of sell-swords would we be?"

  "The dead kind," Hektor said.

  Iven wagged his finger at him. "Ah, no. We'd be the coinless kind. Some of our jobs are questionable, I won't deny that, but no one's going to hire a sell-sword who betrayed a patron." He smiled. "'Sides, after this, everyone will want to hire us. Fame and riches."

  "Fool's prizes," Galeron said. "Already did that once. Not worth it."

  Iven scratched his head. "If it helps, I'll take all the credit, and we'll tell anyone who asks that you watched the horses."

  Galeron snorted. Everything was a joke to him. "You do that."

  "I've got first watch," said Iven.

  Galeron looked at the sky. The sun had vanished completely, leaving only a reddish haze on the western horizon. Stars winked at him from the darkened heavens to the east. Time to turn in for the night. His eyes weren't heavy at all, despite the lack of sleep. Even after ten years, sleeping under the open sky proved a difficult task. If not tonight, then tomorrow night unconsciousness would finally claim him. He laid his sword and ax out beside him and unfurled his bedroll. The low whispers of Atreus and Tondra, along with the knowledge that Iven stood guard, dragged his eyelids down.

  More tired than he realized. Using his cloak for a pillow, Galeron lay down, and the darkness claimed him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Someone shook him awake. Galeron sat up. The moon spread a dark silver coating on the hills and the faint outline of someone standing above him. Galeron stood, shaking his head. What was going on? He rubbed his eyes and licked his lips. Had he been sleeping that long?

  "Listen." It was Iven who whispered. "Hear it?"

  Galeron took a few deep breaths and concentrated. Nothing. The night was still, save for the creaking of crickets and other night animals. "Nope."

  "Try again. Focus north."

  Galeron turned his attention northward. A faint rumble, like very distant thunder reached his ears. "Storm coming?"

  "It's too consistent for thunder," Iven said. "Hoof beats more like. I thought I heard them several times tonight, but I wanted to make sure I wasn't just imagining it."

  Galeron frowned. "What's wrong? You do this all the time."

  "Don't know the land, and it's dark," Iven said. "We're farther north than I've ever been without the Rayan army."

  The hoof beats grew louder. "Probably just a passing patrol."

  The clatter of metal joined the thunder of horses. "Or not," hissed Iven.

  "Iron Riders," Galeron said. "Get the others up. Hurry!"

  Galeron lashed his sword to his belt, slid his ax into its loop, and picked up his shield. Only Iron Riders wore plate armor on patrol. Any other horseman doing rounds would be wearing much less, more for speed and running down bandits. How was a Rider patrol here? They should have followed the king westward.

  "Are you sure it's Riders?" Atreus asked in a low whisper.

  "Listen for yourself," Galeron said, jogging up one of the hills.

  Atreus cursed under his breath. "They've got to be mad, riding in the dark. Hektor, Tondra, gather our things and get the horses."

  Galeron crested the hill. The Riders' bobbing torches moved a short distance away. It was too late. In moments, they'd be right on top of them. He squinted at the lights. If every man carried a torch, then at least ten men rode in this group. He winced. Two to one ratio. Not good. Atreus had better be in his best persuasion mood, and Tondra had to keep her mouth shut.

  Perhaps he could use them, maybe sneak away and let Atreus and the Riders tear each other apart. No, that wouldn't work. Iron Riders were famous for loyalty and fighting skill. Anyone within shouting distance of a mage might as well be one in their minds. He bolted back to the others as the Riders streamed around the hill and surrounded their makeshift camp. The men dismounted as one, plate armor and mail ringed shirts clattering and clanking.

  "What business do you have here?" boomed a Rider from behind his visored helm.

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

  "If you transport night dust, then where is it?" asked the Rider.

  Atreus gave a long, pitiful sigh. "Alas, it was destroyed when foul rebels set fire to the Trinetta arsenal. We are on our way to Rabican to order a new shipment and explain things to the buyer."

  The Rider took them all in. "You're two people over for your dust permit.

  "Aye, we hired extra sell-swords from Trinetta. We have no night dust to transport, so I didn't think anything of it." Atreus spread his hands. "We have violated no strictures of dust trading, and it is a simple matter to have the powder master of Rabican update our permits."

  "Everything seems to be..." The Rider's voice trailed away. He raised his visor and squinted at Atreus. A young, clean-shaven face, not much older than Iven, but worn with battle scars. "Your hand, what happened to it?"

  Atreus folded his hands into his robes. "The dangers of the trade. I burned it some years ago, but it never fully healed."

  "Lower your hood, old man," the Rider said.

  "That wouldn't be wise," said Atreus, his voice ice cold. "That same accident also burned my face. Unless you want it to haunt your nightmares, I--"

  "Lower your hood, or I will do it for you." The Rider pulled a war hammer from his belt loop, a long weapon with two faces, one blunt and the other pointed.

  Galeron swallowed. They were losing control of the situation. He looked at the Rider standing across from him, face unreadable through his steel helm. Plate armor covered the vital areas over his chest, back, legs and arms, with chain mail filling in the gaps at the armpit, neck, and groin. His sword was useless here. The plates curved, so his blade would glance off them, and its point wasn't narrow enough to pierce the mail rings. He'd have to use the war ax if it came to a fight and hope to drive the spiked end through one of the weak points.

  Atreus nodded. "You." He drew back the folds of his hood, revealing his burned face.

  "You are no Picard. Atreus Luccio, Drake leader, tonight you will die for treason against the king," the Rider said. To the others, he instructed, "Kill them all."

  The Riders drew weapons and pressed the attack. Galeron raised his shield, and white fire erupted from the ground, consuming the Rider in front of him. He looked around, suppressing bile at the stench of cooking human flesh and molten steel. All of the riders blazed in an inferno, screaming and howling as they roasted in their armor.

  Atreus grabbed the lead Rider by the still-burning throat with his mangled hand. "Now you glimpse my pain. Should your wraith find its way back to the king, tell him this before you depart: Atreus Luccio will make him suffer."

  If the man understood him, he gave no indication of it, continuing to scream until the flames ended his life, and Atreus dropped his blazing corpse to the ground. He turned to face them, brow lined with sweat and his face contorted in anguish. His eyes flickered to Hektor, who nodded.

  "Gra
b the Riders' horses," Hektor said.

  Galeron took the bridle of the nearest mount, who followed his lead without fuss. He stuffed the contents of his pack into the barren saddlebags. The Rider hadn't come from very far away, then. The horse shied away from the blackening corpses but let him mount easily enough. Iven trotted up on a dapple gray, glancing at the carnage.

  "Thought we saw the last of this in the war," he said.

  Galeron slung his shield onto his back. "I wish, but this is the way of the world."

  He looked over at the others. Hektor pushed a now-shaking Atreus into the saddle.

  "Price of magic," said Iven.

  Galeron frowned. "What's that?"

  Iven gestured towards the Drake leader. "Some mages are tight-lipped about magic, but I'm told that the bigger the event, the more it drains you."

  "How do you know that?" asked Galeron as they set out in the darkness.

  "Raya has a mage attached to every archer division," Iven said. "Mine was overly chatty."

  Galeron raised an eyebrow. Iven thought the mage was overly chatty? The man must have never stopped talking.

  Iven gave him a mock scowl. "Don't give me that look. Yes, he talked too much." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, he told me once that most mages awaken their powers by nearly dying. How accurate that is, I don't know because even he heard different stories. Some people get their magic early on, others later in life. Not everyone reports the same experience, but usually the magic matches the way you almost died. Even the mages at Aleor aren't really sure how it all works or why that's the case."

  Galeron grunted. "Guess that makes sense, looking at Atreus."

  "Aye, but how does a man gain command of the air?" asked Iven.

  "Great Spirit put his windfinger on me," said Hektor.

  Iven blinked. "You heard all that?"

  "I do not appreciate gossiping behind my back," he said.

  Galeron watched the bobbing back of Hektor's head in front of them. "The unknown is always worth gossiping about."

  "What's a windfinger?" asked Iven.