Traitor for Hire: Mage Code

by Max Irons

  Galeron bit his lip. He'd been offered a hero's rewards, to be sure. Had he taken them, he might be standing in one of the ministers' places. He'd definitely be standing next to Arlana, at any rate. He met Soren's gaze. "Such rewards are meant for a hero of the war. The real hero didn't make it back."

  The king arched an eyebrow and said nothing.

  "Keith Bane?" asked Commander Tomkin.

  Galeron nodded. "A good man, and a good friend. He was supposed to kill the necromancer."

  "That's what happens when you mingle with mages," said the adviser to Soren's right. He sniffed. "Nothing good comes from them."

  "Immaterial," said Soren. "Galeron, you have an opportunity to redeem yourself in the eyes of your king."

  "And what might that be?" he asked.

  "Your work for Atreus Luccio will be overlooked if you will hunt him down and bring him to me, dead or alive," Soren said.

  Galeron looked at the ceiling. Typical. The king assumed if he'd killed a mage once, then he could do it again. Necromancers were easy. Real mages were much harder. "What would happen if I refuse?"

  "The king would have to assume you are part of the Black Drakes," said Commander Tomkin. "You and your associate would be tortured for information and then publicly hung before a drawing and quartering."

  "And it'd be such a shame," said Arlana.

  Not much choice there. "I'll take the job," Galeron said. "There's a condition, though."

  "You're in no position to make demands," said the sniffing adviser.

  Soren placated him with a wave of his hand. "What condition?"

  "Iven comes with me," said Galeron. "I don't work alone. I want someone to watch my back."

  "What's to stop you from leaving Broton once released?" asked Soren.

  Galeron stopped. A good point. If he were smart, he'd do just that. However, there was their reputation to think about. "If a sell-sword is double-crossed once and nothing happens, word will get out, and everyone who hires us will try the same thing. Atreus betrayed the terms of the deal, murdered the prince, and left us behind. Iven and I have to send a message."

  "Lies," scoffed the adviser. "You're a sell-sword who'd say anything to save his own skin."

  "You wouldn't say that if you knew him like I do." Arlana pursed her lips, head cocking to one side. "Fierce...loyal...stronger than an ox..."

  Soren's expression soured. "You could run off. Why should I trust you?"

  Galeron sighed. "It's the nature of business. No one hires a sell-sword because they're a good person. They want the job done, and they have to fear double-crossing you." He looked back at the king. "Iven and I have a score to settle. Let us go, and you'll get your mage."

  "Your loyalty is still suspect," said Soren. "I think the other will remain here as insurance."

  Galeron opened his mouth, but Commander Tomkin beat him to it. "Sire, if I may, sell-swords can be some of the lower members of the kingdom, but they are loyal to coin. I've worked with several during my service, and as long as the contract is in place, they will do their jobs. In this business, reputation for loyalty is everything."

  The king nodded and fell silent for a while. "Acceptable terms, then. Commander Tomkin, get them down to the arsenal. Their work, however, is done at half the normal rate, as a show of loyalty to the crown."

  Galeron snarled and started to get up.

  "You have committed treason, Deathstalker," said Soren. "Be grateful I take only coin and not limbs."

  Another fair point. "As you wish," Galeron said through gritted teeth.

  "Bring me back something, Galeron," Arlana said. She waved a hand in the air. "I'm not a hard woman to please." Her wicked smile returned. "Maybe after you're done, we'll see each other again."

  "I doubt he's coming back, sister," Soren grumbled.

  Galeron's gut squirmed as he thought about it. Maybe the king was right. Man against magic, and Atreus probably wouldn't be easy to catch sleeping. Commander Tomkin summoned the guard and released Galeron from his shackles. Under his glowering face, they returned to the dungeon to collect Iven. The cell door swung open, and Iven looked from the guard to Galeron's free hands.

  He raised an eyebrow. "What did you do?"

  Galeron shook his head. "It's the king's idea. I'll fill you in later, but we can get our weapons back."

  Iven grinned. "Excellent. I want my hat, and they better have left my bow alone."

  He sprang from the cell, and they followed the guard through a few winding passageways to a huge, low-ceilinged room filled with weapons of all shapes and sizes. Spears stood in large barrels, bound together with rope. Swords, axes, and shields hung from the walls in no particular arrangement. Other barrels contained reservoirs of arrows or crossbow bolts, corresponding weapons stacked nearby. A portly man sat behind a large desk in the center of the room. He glanced up from scribbling in his book.

  "Who do you have there, Alonzo?" asked the man.

  "A couple of sell-swords being released," grumbled Alonzo the guard. "They need their weapons back."

  The man consulted his book. "One sword, one shield, one war ax, a great yew bow, forty arrows..." He glanced back up and squinted at Galeron. "Well, well, if it isn't the Deathstalker."

  Galeron frowned. "Do I know you?"

  "No, I don't suppose you do," he said. "I remember the first day you walked in here. I was only Platt's servant back then."

  Of course. Platt had been head of the Harracourt arsenal during the war. This must be his replacement. "You've a good memory."

  "That's why they put me here." He produced Galeron's weapons and set them on the desk before turning to look for Iven's things.

  "Don't forget my hat," said Iven. The arsenal master flipped the hat over his shoulder. Iven caught it and pulled it into place. "That's better."

  Galeron strapped his sword and ax to his belt and tossed the shield over one shoulder. We're still missing...

  He froze as Iven collected his things. "Our packs are on the horses."

  "Boiling bones! They're long gone with the others." Iven slammed his boot on the ground. "There goes the food and bowstrings."

  "That's your problem," said Alonzo.

  Iven glared at him. "Not all of us live in a nice palace."

  Galeron put a hand on Iven's shoulder. "Let's go. We'll figure it out."

  Alonzo escorted them outside the palace walls, landing them at one end of Harracourt's merchant district. The gates slammed behind them, giving way to the shout and clatter of a market in the throes of business. Harracourt's grand square sprawled before them. Rectangular stone buildings, topped by red clay shingles and outlined by a series of arches and pillars about their perimeters, formed the outline of the square. A large metallic and wooden sign proclaimed one building as the Broton headquarters for the blacksmith's guild. Another structure, dotted with iron barred windows and small ports, served as a branch of a Rayan-based bank.

  Merchants milled about the square, most with their pop-up shops and carts, hawking wares at anyone brave enough to venture close. Silks, weapons, cloth, iron and metal fixtures, and other assortments all lay within easy reach. Unfortunately for Galeron, he and Iven had exactly zero coins to their name.

  "Where are we going?" asked Iven as they walked through the crowds.

  Galeron quickly explained the king's demands.

  "And we thought Hamish and Atreus were bad," he said, shaking his head slowly. "We can't just hunt down and bring in a mage. If there ever was a job too big for us, I think we found it. Not that we had a whole lot of choice."

  "What about the firelocks?" asked Galeron.

  "No. They work wonders on the battlefield, but only in huge numbers and close range." He scowled. "You get one round ball smaller than your thumb. It's all flash, smoke, and noise. You have to be right on top of your target with just one, and that brings you in range of magic."

  Galeron sidestepped an aggressive salesman shaking his silk wares in their faces. "Stealth, then, is our best
weapon."

  They cleared the square and progressed further down the main thoroughfare. Stone mansions, sitting as rock islands among a moat of green grass, towered three floors high, front porticoes lined with massive columns. The outside walls sported pilasters in between the glass windows, and iron gates and fences prevented unwanted guests. The occasional sell-sword, much better dressed and fed than either Galeron or Iven, paced up and down the inside perimeter.

  "Where are we going to find him?" asked Iven.

  Galeron shrugged. "Time for one of my old tricks." He looked around. Doubtful any of the passersby would be involved with the Drakes, but a man never could tell. "We need a worm."

  "Care to explain that one?"

  "Someone who knows something. The lower down, the better."

  Iven adjusted his hat. "Where do you find one of those?"

  "Trinetta. Atreus got his floor plans of the palace from an informer there. We're going to pay him a visit and see what he knows."

  "What makes you think that he's just going to give us Atreus's location?"

  Galeron shook his head. "He's not. I doubt he even knows where to find any Drake hiding spots, but he's our only link to them." He gave Iven a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I can be very...convincing when I have to."

  "Sounds like a weak connection," Iven said. He shuddered. "And quit doing that. I hate it when you grin with that face."

  "Sorry, but it's better than wasting weeks lingering in taverns just to find out who knows something," Galeron said, returning his face to normal. "Arlana's in Harracourt."

  Iven grinned at him. "Oh? How was she?" His voice carried an air of forced casual conversation, but the raised eyebrows said everything.

  "The same," Galeron said.

  "Can't believe you turned her down," said Iven as they passed under the gatehouse and into the merchant district.

  "I had a promise to keep," he said. "Can we not talk about it?"

  Iven shrugged. "You brought her up. Shouldn't be surprised to find her here, especially not after..." His voice trailed away.

  "She wants a token from the job," Galeron said.

  "We're going about this all wrong," Iven said. "We need to impress her. Maybe she'll demand that you marry her, and you can be king after Soren dies."

  Galeron snorted. "Not in your lifetime."

  "Which might be pretty short if we can't find Atreus."

  They emerged into the outer districts, the crowds less cumbersome and the streets narrower. Wooden buildings with thatch or wooden shingle roofs stood three and four floors high, crowding over the streets, and cast a twilight feel over everything. Galeron and Iven worked their way to the main gatehouse and exited the city entirely.

  "I suppose we're just going to have to walk all the way to Trinetta," said Iven.

  Galeron spread his arms. "See any horses?"

  Iven sighed. "Just when things were going our way, they aren't."

  They started walking back across the rolling hills outside Harracourt.

  "Galeron?"

  "What?"

  "I'm hungry."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Unlike stalking a mage, the problem of food was easier to fix. Just outside of Harracourt lay several farming hamlets in desperate need of workers. Much to Iven's loud protests, Galeron struck a deal with one of the farm wives to help harvest their midsummer crops in return for a portion to get them underway.

  The hot sun seared across the back of Galeron's neck all morning. He wiped sweat from his brow with a forearm and dumped another potato into the wicker basket. A cloud of dirt showered around him. He blinked it from his eyes and looked up. Iven's scowling and earth-streaked face glowered at him.

  "I think we should just head for the border," Iven said.

  Galeron grunted. And abandon the job? What kind of mercenaries would they be then?

  "It's two mortals, that'd be us, against three very powerful mages. As much as I don't like to admit it, we're really underwater here," Iven said.

  Galeron dug for another potato. "We're not abandoning the job."

  "I admire that stubborn streak, I really do, but how do you propose to take down three mages?" Iven spat dirt from his mouth. "Think about it. We barely lived through the last encounter, and we got lucky. We're too few, and we don't even know if your plan will get us anywhere."

  "Our reputation's on the line," Galeron said. "You want to be looking over your shoulder at every job from now on?"

  "Our best bet is to head for Raya." Iven clawed through the earth with his hands. "King Soren can't reach us there, and we can start all over."

  Galeron turned to him. "And leave Atreus wandering Broton? The man killed Prince Lattimer just to get revenge on his father. I'd hunt him to the ends of the earth if he were just a mortal. I can't let him walk free with those powers. I couldn't live with myself." He stared at the ground. "Besides, he double-crossed me. Broke his word. I don't like a man who does that."

  Iven groaned. "Boiling bones, you and your sense of morality. How did you ever make it as an informer?"

  He glared at him and resumed digging. "Because however much I hated spying, I knew the alternative."

  "You think Atreus free is a worse situation than hunting him and getting yourself killed?" asked Iven. "Not just yourself, me included. You're dragging me through this mad quest as well."

  "I can't do anything else," Galeron said. "Some men need killing." He stopped. "If you don't want to come, I'll understand."

  Iven snorted. "As if you could get rid of me. That's as good a death sentence as any."

  "If you're going, why are you protesting?" asked Galeron.

  Iven gave him a wry smile. "So I can insist that I thought this was a bad idea when things go terribly wrong, and they will. This time you can't blame me chasing a woman."

  They lapsed into silence and continued tearing up their plot of the field. At long last, they reached the end of the row, covered by a cloud of hot dust that coated Galeron's tongue and teeth.

  "Next time I say I'm hungry, I'm just seducing another woman," Iven said, looking back at the harvested trenches.

  "It wasn't that bad," Galeron said.

  "I can't believe you almost married into this life." Iven sank to the ground amidst the potato craters and huffed out a large breath. "What was she feeding you?" He held up a hand. "No, better question, what were you drinking to want this?"

  "It's honest work." Galeron picked up his full basket and headed towards the barn. "And it wasn't warfare."

  Footsteps pounded behind him, and Iven caught up, swinging his own teeming basket to one side. "You would have been bored."

  "Bored, but happy."

  Iven scoffed. "No such thing."

  "Maybe I prefer that life to this one," Galeron said. He dropped the basket next to the five others they'd already collected.

  "Ah, no...not for me." Iven set his load next to Galeron's. "Give me a good scrap any day." He shook his head. "I grew up with stuff like this. It'll wear on you after a while. Turns your brain to pudding and makes your eyes dull."

  "So, it makes me into you, then?"

  "Dull eyes? I could pin your hat by the brim from a hundred paces."

  "I'm not wearing a hat."

  "But if you were, I could do that." Iven muttered under his breath as Galeron approached the leather-faced farm wife, who handed them both satchels of vegetables from the harvest and a waterskin each.

  "We appreciate your kindness," Galeron said.

  "And I your help," she croaked back.

  Galeron slung the pack over his shoulder and turned southward. "Was it that bad?"

  Iven adjusted his own satchel. "My fingers may never be the same again."

  "You're fine."

  They continued south towards Trinetta.

  "How do you kill a mage, Deathstalker?" asked Iven.

  "I hate that name."

  "But it's yours, whether you want it or not.

  Galeron glowered at him. "A title. I don't
do titles."

  "Regardless, how do you kill a mage?"

  Galeron shrugged. "Same as any other man. Shouldn't you know this?"

  "I've only ever seen mages kill other mages, or large formations of lockmen do the job."

  "They aren't other beings. They're men, just with more abilities."

  "So, how'd you kill the Delktian necromancer?"

  Galeron shoved away the images of tides of shuffling thralls pounding through a mountain pass. "He fell asleep. I snuck into his camp and ran my sword through his heart. The end."

  "You know, you tell that story really poorly," said Iven. "There's no drama to it. No action. You act like you just walked into his camp, found his tent, and killed him."

  "It happened just like that," said Galeron. "Anyone could have done it."

  Iven sighed. "I...why do I bother? You do realize that tale might actually get us free food or a roof over our heads for a night. People like to associate with heroes."

  "The only hero is the one who didn't come home," Galeron said.

  "Fortunes of war, my friend," Iven said. "For every heroic Drystan, there must also be a tragic Keith Bane."

  "I'll work for my food, just as any other man."

  "Does this common man have any idea where to look for the informer?"

  Galeron didn't respond. There were a dozen different locations an informer might hide in. Taverns, brothels, merchant shops, maybe even the towering houses of the rich. They would have their work cut out for them, that much was certain.

  They arrived back at Trinetta on their fourth day of travel. With the sun dipping behind the horizon, they crossed back into the city gates, passing through a full formation of the king's soldiers to do so. The sergeant at the end of the formation searched their bags and belongings, but waved them through after he'd studied the carrots and potatoes long enough.

  "What did he think, that we were hauling magic in a hollowed-out potato?" asked Iven.

  "Just doing his job," Galeron said.

  Glancing about, he realized this gate put them in the rich quarters. The streets were wider and small mansions, similar to the ones in Harracourt's merchant district, towered a mere two stories into the air above them, built of fine marble, granite, and limestone. Twilight reflected off the columns, making the area round them glow in an amber light. Given Trinetta's lackluster reputation for legitimate business, the rich folk here might qualify as moderately well-off in Broton's capital.