Traitor for Hire: Mage Code

by Max Irons

  "Pray you never see," Hektor said. "Great tower of howling wind and earth. As loud as battlefield gets, windfinger is louder. Satisfied?"

  "I suppose so," Galeron said. He leaned over to Iven and whispered, "Your mage ever show any signs of the madness?"

  Iven shook his head. "None, and he used his powers a lot. My group was at Balder's Hill."

  He shuddered. A bloodbath where the dead covered the ground like a cake icing. "You were one of the lucky ones."

  "Too true."

  "I don't know how accurate that madness business really is," said Iven. "There are enough stories that make a man wonder if Soren isn't making it all up."

  "No, I've seen a few myself." Galeron shifted in the saddle. "Ran into some that enjoyed creating pain, and others who thought they were more than a man."

  "Well," Iven said. "No one knows for certain."

  They pushed hard through the night, heedless of any stones or holes that a hoof might trip over. Galeron's head kept drooping the longer the ride continued. Easy enough to stay awake with no sleep. It was harder to do it when a few hours had been gifted to him. Questions bubbled in Galeron's head as they pounded across the hill country, alternating the horses between canters and trots. Why were Riders patrolling that late at night? Had someone spotted them or sold them out? No one could answer. Even mages could not read minds. Maybe. At least, no one had ever heard of such a thing.

  Harracourt grew on the horizon whenever they crested a hill. Galeron's heart pounded in his chest. It had been years since his last informer mission. Did he still have what it took? He steadied his breathing, inhaling, holding, and releasing air at regular intervals to calm his mind. It didn't matter, in the end. The task would come whether he was ready for it or not.

  Galeron stared at the sheer cliffs of the necropolis one night later, the stone a bluish gray in the moonlight. Watch lights flickered off to the west among Harracourt's sprawl, casting a warm glow over the parapets and buildings. For a five-tiered city, no noise drifted back to him on the summer wind. Darkness shrouded the tombs on the adjacent hill. He scanned the horizon. No riders or other patrols. It was just the five of them.

  Iven whistled softly. "That's not a hill. It's a huge rock next to a hill." He sucked in his lower lip and leaned back in the saddle. "How are we getting up that?"

  Atreus and Hektor rode up next to them. "Tondra will see to it. She's very good with rock," Atreus said.

  "Route into the palace is very simple," said Hektor. "Scale the cliff, follow the path down until courtyard. There should be bridge that leads to Harracourt."

  Galeron nodded. So far, it seemed straightforward. "Go on."

  Hektor consulted the floorplan. "Cross the bridge, take the first right turn. Follow corridor and enter the second tower on right. Prince Lattimer is at the top."

  "That's it?" asked Iven. "I thought this would be more complicated."

  Atreus stared at the city. "There should be little resistance. Hektor and I will be causing a distraction. With the garrison low, the watch commander will pull additional soldiers from the palace guard."

  "Move when you hear the diversion," Hektor grunted. "It won't take them too long."

  "I doubt that," said Atreus. "I have a debt to settle with the king and his men. He's going to realize just what a mistake he made."

  Hektor shifted on his mount. "Perhaps."

  "Meet us at the royal crypts once you are finished," said Atreus. "Get the royal brat, and show no mercy."

  He and Hektor rode off toward Harracourt's walls.

  Tondra urged her horse down the hill. "Come on."

  Galeron and Iven followed in her wake, riding single file and slow. Horse hooves plodded softly in the grass. So far, no patrols had passed through the area, nor had any bells rung. Even still, the nape of Galeron's neck prickled. He glanced about, but there was still nothing to be seen. Shuddering, he turned his gaze back to the looming cliff. They had arrived at its base, the slick rock refusing to give up so much as a handhold.

  Galeron dismounted, gazing up and scratching his head. "How are we getting up?"

  "Thank me later, sell-sword," said Tondra. She approached the cliff face and pressed her hand into it. A slot perfect for a handhold formed under her palm, as if she worked with clay instead of stone. Tondra formed another and started to climb.

  Galeron looked at Iven, who hadn't made any moves to start scaling the cliffs. "Waiting on something?"

  Iven shook his head. "I don't like this. Are we really supposed to trust that these mage-made handholds are going to keep us from plummeting to our doom?"

  "Get moving," hissed Tondra from above their heads. "We don't have a lot of time."

  Galeron waved Iven forward. "Let's go."

  Iven's face turned slightly green in the moonlight. "I hate high places."

  His fear was getting the better of him. "So, go first," Galeron said. "I'll catch you if you fall." Iven scowled, and Galeron added, "You can't back out now."

  He shot Galeron a soured expression. "Boiling bones, but my love of coin is going to be the death of me." He turned to the cliff and started to scale it.

  Galeron followed behind him, slipping his hands into the slots and hoisting himself up after him. He slipped his boots into the holes as he pressed on. The cliff seemed to go on forever. As they moved upward, a strong desire to look back over his shoulder gripped him. Galeron gritted his teeth and ignored it. He couldn't succumb to the feeling. It would just make him sick.

  His hands ached from the effort. Just a little discomfort. He could deal with it. Galeron focused on reaching for the next slot, on pulling himself ever higher. Good thing he traveled light. The carved stone bridge spanning the gap between palace and necropolis came into view as they ascended. Small dots of light flickered at Harracourt's end. Someone sat watch over the dead.

  "Shifting right," whispered Iven. "We're moving away."

  Galeron reached for the next hole to the right as their ascent slid towards the south, out of view of the bridge. One by one, they clambered over the top of the cliff and landed on the paved pathway winding up the rock formation. The plain sealed entryway of a tomb loomed out from the shadows. Iven leaned against one of the carved pillars, patting it gently with one hand.

  "Never been so happy to see this," he said.

  Tondra stifled a moan and curled up in a ball. "My master must hate me. Just hurry back with that royal sot." She drew long shuddering breaths as she reached into her satchel and produced a small ceramic orb. "This will make the prince sleep. Throw it in his room and count down from two hundred. If you open the door sooner, the mixture will affect you, too."

  Iven picked it up and looked it over. "Interesting concept."

  "Are you all right?" asked Galeron, kneeling down beside her.

  "Just a price for magic," she mumbled. Tondra stared up at the sky, breathing heavily. "Power comes from within, and I'm tired. Go, curse you."

  Galeron checked the straps on his shield and sword. Secure. He flipped up his cloak hood and turned to Iven. His bow was still unstrung. Galeron walked over to him, pulling the ax from his belt. "We've got a job to do."

  Iven shook his head. "Right. Sorry. Just really didn't like that climb."

  Galeron patted him on the shoulder. "String your bow. Be in and out before you know it."

  He pressed on down the path, sticking to the shadows and holding his ax's long spike at the ready. Galeron passed numerous identical tombs, their occupant's names lost to the weather and the ages. Statues of long-dead kings on the edge of the path peered at him with darkened imperious glares. Lightning flickered some distance away. Galeron frowned and glanced at the sky. The moon remained uncovered, but a storm rumbled up from the east. It had better be farther away than it looked.

  Galeron reached a stone courtyard cut out of the hill that narrowed to the bridge. One torch flickered at either end of the causeway. His eyes narrowed. A soldier for each side. One stood at the far end near the palace, and t
he other stood at the entrance to the necropolis, just underneath the ruins of an old gatehouse. Galeron squinted. The closest guard faced the palace with his back to him. That might mean the other guard faced the palace, too, or maybe he faced the necropolis. No way to know. Both men had to be taken down at the same time or they'd alert the garrison.

  A hand touched his shoulder. Galeron turned. Iven stood beside him, glancing nervously at the drop off to their left.

  "What's the plan?" Iven asked, keeping his voice low.

  Galeron pointed to the bridge. "Two guards. One facing the palace, one unknown position at the other end. We have to take them at the same time."

  Iven stared into the distance. "I can't tell which way he's looking either. I can see the outline from his torch. Boiling bones. Plate armor. He's too squared to have anything else."

  Galeron suppressed a smile. Iven's eyes could see twice the distance of his. "If you got to the top of the gatehouse, could you make the shot?"

  Iven groaned. "I can make it, sure, but how many times I hurl up there is the real question." He placed a hand on his belly. "Do we have to kill them, though? They're just doing their jobs. Thankless life, being a sentry."

  "What do you suggest we do?" asked Galeron. "I can choke out one of them, but the other will see."

  Iven stared at the ground and thought for a moment, and then his teeth flashed in the dark. He bent down, rubbed his hands in the dirt, and smeared his face with it. "I can get them both over here." He laughed into his arm to stifle the sound. "Don't you ever tell her, but Tondra gave me the idea."

  He stepped from cover and shuffled toward one of the guards, dragging a foot behind him. Iven moaned and reached an arm forward. "Sir, sir, can you tell me where I am?"

  Galeron blinked and watched him. What's he doing?

  Metal clinked as the guard took notice. "What are you doing up here?"

  "I...I...well, I just woke up in one of those stone beds," Iven said. "Where am I? I...I'm so confused."

  The guard thrust his torch closer to Iven's face. Iven shifted his eyes, making them slide out of focus and giving him a strange, disjointed look.

  "What the...Vaden, come see this," the guard said.

  Galeron tightened his grip on the ax, stomach doing somersaults. He slunk through the shadows, hugging the various tombs and crevices on the courtyard approach. Once there, he padded to the ruins and pressed his back against them, flatting his profile into the darkness. He was almost in position. Galeron inched forward, slinking ever closer to the entrance. He slowed his breathing. Panting would give him away.

  The entryway came within reach. His left hand brushed against the crumbling edge of the door frame. His heart pounded in his chest. He'd fallen out of practice with this sort of thing. Metal creaked and squealed as the soldier shifted positions just a few feet from him. The wind picked up, whistling in from the east and bringing a sweet, pungent odor to his nose. Lightning flashed again.

  The other guard, Vaden, arrived across the bridge. "What are you going on about?"

  The necropolis solider pointed at Iven, who was still staring off into space. "Him. He says he just woke up in one of the tombs. He got up and wandered out here."

  Vaden scoffed and stared at him. "He's probably just some drunk who happened in."

  "Into the crypt?" The guard rounded on Vaden, turning his back to Iven. "With only one bridge? How?" He pointed over his shoulder, voice growing higher in pitch. "The dead are walking, Vaden. There's magic afoot. We need to tell the king."

  Thunder growled, and the earth shook as an explosion somewhere in Harracourt lit up the night sky. There it was. The guards turned to look, and Galeron pivoted, wrapping his arm around Vaden's neck in a choking grip. The guard thrashed and gasped, but he tightened his hold. Vaden finally fell silent, and Galeron caught him by his armpits and dragged him to the foot of the wall, out of view. Iven deposited his guard next to the other. They lived, though aches the next morning would make them wish otherwise.

  Bells rang out in the night. Galeron looked back across the bridge, but no one rushed to cross it. Iven stared at the long plummet below, visibly shaking.

  "Swallow your fear," Galeron said.

  "Easy enough for the man who fears nothing," Iven said, producing a weak grin.

  "So you tell the ladies." Galeron started across the bridge, taking small quick steps. His footfalls barely registered in his own ears. "Don't look down."

  "Not sure which is worse." Iven's voice came directly behind him. "Looking down or looking at the back of your ugly cowl. At least it hides your face."

  Galeron crouched as they approached the entrance to the palace. Large oak doors barred the way. He tugged on one of the iron rings that served as both knocker and handle. The door swung open without incident. His stomach sank. Surely guards wouldn't be so careless with security when the prince lived here.

  "Guess they weren't expecting trouble," Iven said. "No one up here but us dead men."

  Galeron peered over the edge of the door. Torches blazed in their brackets at a T-shaped intersection of corridors. The marble flooring caught the light and glowed a dim orange. No harsh pounding boots or screams echoed down the halls. Two right turns, and they'd be halfway done. Galeron eased himself through the doorway, allowed Iven to pass, and then slowly closed the doors again.

  They passed frescoes of Broton's history as they crept down the hall. The life-sized figures stared out from the walls, bodies distorted and ghostly on the flattened surface. Galeron adjusted his cowl. Thunder rumbled.

  First right turn, second tower on the right.

  He repeated the directions over and over in his head. No one approached them, and when they reached the spiraling stairs to the prince's tower, no guard stood watch.

  "Atreus must be really convincing," said Iven.

  A cold knot formed in Galeron's gut. Perhaps too convincing. He was missing something, something obvious, but nothing came to mind. Surely, he would be fine. Even with the attempt to assure himself, a whisper in the back of his mind wouldn't go away. They ascended the winding stairs. The tower's architect had left the walls devoid of arrow slits, leading to a stench of mildew and stale air.

  Iven coughed. "This is why I don't live in a palace."

  "Besides the fact that we can't afford it," Galeron said.

  "Right, but we won't say that part."

  The door to the prince's chambers lay in front of them. Galeron stopped and stretched his hand behind him.

  "One sleeping bomb," Iven said, dropping the orb in his hand.

  Galeron wrenched open the door. The prince's four poster bed lay towards the back, a pile of pillows and covers that exploded at the noise. A sandy haired adolescent sat bolt upright, eyes wide and mouth agape. Galeron hurled the orb at the foot of the bed and shut the door. He and Iven leaned hard against it.

  "Two hundred, one hundred ninety-nine, one hundred ninety-eight..." Iven began the countdown.

  Prince Lattimer banged against the door. "Let me out." He hacked and spluttered as the mixture took effect. "Guards! Guards!" More hacking and pounding ensued for a while before all sound and action ceased.

  Galeron sat down while Iven continued to count. One half of the mission complete, one more to go. If infiltrating was any example, this might be the easiest bag of coin he'd ever made.

  "Five, four, three, two, one." Iven breathed a sigh of relief. "Safe. Let's get out of here."

  They opened the door. Prince Lattimer lay sprawled in his white nightshirt in front of them, his breathing deep and slow. Faint traces of the gas floated around the room in yellow pockets, but nothing rushed out to meet them. Iven picked him up like a sack of straw and slung him over one shoulder.

  "Guess we're lucky his highness doesn't sleep naked," said Iven as they descended the stairs.

  "That might be uncomfortable for both of you," said Galeron.

  "Only because they'd never put our deeds in a fresco." Iven muffled a laugh. "Can't say that any king
would approve of that image."

  Thunder roared. The storm had gotten closer. They rounded the last curve and spilled out into the corridor. Galeron looked left and right. No one. He shook his head. Easiest payment ever. They hurried back along the route they'd taken and spilled back onto the bridge. Rain poured from the sky, soaking all three of them in an instant.

  "Stop!"

  Galeron turned around. Soldiers pounded down the corridor, plate suits shattering the stillness of the palace.

  "Our luck just ran out," Galeron said. "Run."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He and Iven took off, the ground vibrating as the storm raged. They reached the necropolis's stone courtyard. Tondra stood a distance away, facing the path back up the hill.

  "Boiling bones, girl, move!" roared Iven.

  Tondra thrust out a hand, the ground rumbled, and muffled screams came from somewhere in the darkness ahead. "Soldiers. Iron Riders were waiting for us at the royal crypt."

  They knew. Somehow, somewhere, the king had figured it out and sent some of his men back to Harracourt. No sense worrying over that now. They were well and truly stuck.

  "What now?" asked Galeron.

  "I think..." Her voice trailed away as a blue-white stream of fire erupted from the sky. Galeron shielded his eyes and coughed as the sudden heat roared over him, a shocking contrast to the cold rain.

  Atreus dropped from the sky and landed among them. Galeron blinked. No, that wasn't right. Hektor was drifting along in midair and had just plopped Atreus down with them. Hektor landed and placed his hands on his knees, breathing in great heaping gasps.

  "We've been compromised," Tondra said.

  "My eyes work, apprentice," said Atreus. "Iven, give me the boy."

  Iven handed Prince Lattimer to him, nocking an arrow with his now-freed hands. Galeron unslung his shield, clenching it in his left. He put away the ax and drew his sword, an almost invisible weapon in the night. His fingers fit into the worn channels of wrapped leather. He smiled. The blade was an extension of his arm.

  Galeron pressed his back to Iven's, watching the soldiers cross the bridge and spill into the courtyard, taking up ready positions a few feet from them. Rain plinked off the gathering of steel, like a thousand dancer's drummers. His heart pounded in his chest, and his muscles trembled. Unnumbered fights, and it was always the same anticipation.