Traitor for Hire: Mage Code

by Max Irons

  Galeron picked up his sword. Lonni struggled with the last rebel, who kept her at bay with the longer reach of his spear. Iven put an arrow in his back, and Lonni pounded his face with her hammer. She exhaled sharply as his corpse hit the floor. Sweat dripped off her nose and chin, and Lonni sagged, landing on one of the beds.

  "How...how do you...?" she left the question unfinished, imploring him with her eyes.

  Galeron took a long draught from his waterskin. "Drink."

  She nodded and did so from hers.

  "It's not as fun as the stories make it out to be," Iven said as he collected arrows from the bodies.

  "It takes time," Galeron said. Battle wasn't just about swinging a weapon. Fear and rage sapped strength much faster than a man imagined. "For your first, you're doing well."

  Lonni took a shuddering breath and then drank some more. "How close?"

  Galeron went back through the route in his memory. "I think the passage up ahead leads right to the cliff top. We'll know for certain in a while."

  He sat down as well, letting his aching limbs rest, and felt the back of his helmet. The morning star had crushed the metal tail over his neck. It dug into the skin on his back, but it still provided protection. If he removed the helmet, he'd never get it back on. The shield was a different story. The wood still held together, but whether it remained whole from the leather or the straps, he couldn't be sure. It would do for the time being, but one or two good hits would shatter it.

  Lonni reloaded her weapons and put them back in their holsters. "Are we going to die?"

  An excellent question. Galeron had asked that every fight he'd stepped in. Well, almost every one. Sometimes they happened too fast to think. "Every warrior wonders, but no one's ever gotten the answer until it didn't matter."

  She shot him a quizzical look. "Unusually wise words for you."

  He shrugged. "They aren't mine." His face fell. "A good friend was full of them."

  "What happened to this friend?" Lonni asked.

  Perhaps that wasn't the best tale to tell just now. "Ask me again someday." Galeron stood and walked over to her. "Ready to go?"

  "No."

  He gave her a half smile. "At least you're thinking straight."

  Iven rolled his shoulders and slipped the last arrow into his quiver. "I'm ready when you are."

  They walked out of the barracks and through the awaiting dark tunnel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Galeron opened the trap door to the cliff top and saw a vision pulled from nightmares. The rain continued to pour. Craters smoked in the earth around him, and the shattered bodies of rebel soldiers lay strewn everywhere. He stepped from the shaft and helped Lonni to her feet. She stared, mouth agape, but said nothing. Fires smoldered in patches of untouched ground, and at the far end of the scene, a massive wooden pyre rose.

  "Got a plan?" asked Iven.

  "Don't die, kill Atreus, and rescue Lattimer?" Galeron said.

  Iven chuckled. "Our normal strategy, then. Who knows what we're doing?"

  They walked closer. Galeron's grip on his blade tightened to the point that his hand ached. A lone figure stood next to the stacks of wood. Yet he was doing nothing, just standing and staring at the pyre. Drawing within a few dozen feet, a struggling form lashed to the top of the pyre stood out. Several rebel soldiers knelt before the tall form, their backs to Galeron, Iven, and Lonni. Perhaps they were not too late after all.

  Lightning flashed, illuminating the figure's burned face.

  Atreus.

  "As our fortress burns, so does the old order," Atreus said. "From fire will mages be born anew, under our new king." He raised his burned hand. "My prince, we thank you for your sacrifice. Pain is temporary. Endure it and you will forge a peace that Broton can only imagine."

  Prince Lattimer thrashed, his bonds rattling. They'd chained him to the pyre.

  "Atreus!" Galeron leveled his sword with the mage's head. "Let him go."

  Atreus, still a few feet from the point of his blade, turned. "Deathstalker. You have come to witness the moment of triumph." The soldiers stood and pivoted, leveling crossbows. Iven nocked his own arrow.

  "How much triumph will there be if he doesn't survive?" asked Galeron, keeping his eyes away from the sharpened bolts.

  Atreus sneered. "Plenty. If the prince lives, I put him on the throne and guide the reign of a mage king. If he dies, I will send his charred remains to Harracourt and crush any hope Soren has of seeing his son live. Either way, my revenge is complete."

  "You assume I'll let you burn him," Galeron growled.

  "You don't have a choice," he said. "You're the only one with a shield or any real armor. My men will shoot when I light the fire, regardless of what you do. Can you hide Iven and the girl behind that shield? Perhaps. You can't save them if you're fighting me. Will you sacrifice two of your own for the prince?"

  Galeron didn't move. Atreus had him. He could protect Lonni, shield her with his own body if he had to, but he couldn't be in two places at once. Impossible. He couldn't sacrifice them. He'd made a promise to Rand, and Iven was his friend. He gritted his teeth. Prince Lattimer was going to burn if he didn't do something, and do it soon. Atreus would light the pyre any moment now.

  What could he do?

  If he moved, the soldiers would hit his friends.

  If he didn't move, the prince would burn.

  Lattimer hadn't asked to be involved in all of this. He'd done nothing more than be born to a royal father. Galeron swallowed. Iven knew the risks. Iven had willingly given up a chance at escape to ensure that Galeron could get help for one reason: rescue the prince. That help was here, if far below them, but Lattimer's life still hung in the balance. Despite his promise, Lonni had volunteered. She knew the dangers, and she came anyway, put herself in harm's way, to ensure the mission went ahead.

  They all sacrificed, that Lattimer might live.

  Blast them and their nobility.

  Galeron snarled. "I'm going to kill you."

  "Shoot," Atreus said. He unleashed a long stream of flames on the pyre.

  Crossbows clacked as they fired. Galeron stepped in front of Lonni, shield raised. The bolts thudded into the splintered wood, driving deep and heads protruding out the back. One bolt burrowed its way deep into the wood and through his arm. Galeron choked back a cry of pain. His left hand froze in the straps. Warm blood oozed out of the wound and down his sleeve.

  "You all right?" asked Iven.

  "Get the prince," he gasped. "I'll corner Atreus. Get to me as quickly as you can."

  Lonni drew her pistolettes and started firing. Two rebels dropped to the ground. Atreus stared at her, eyes wide, and he turned and bolted.

  Galeron blinked.

  "He's running," Iven said. "We--" His bow string snapped, and he cursed. "Too wet, and I don't have a spare."

  "Grab the mace." Galeron raised his arm to allow access to it.

  Iven pulled it from his belt and hefted it in one hand. "So...primitive."

  Lonni poured dust into her pistolettes. "Quit whining and go hit someone." She slammed the firing locks shut and scowled at the dark clouds. "Blasted rain."

  Galeron left them to it and tore after Atreus. He dove and speared him in the back with his shoulder, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. The bolt tore at his arm, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it, hauling himself back up. Atreus spat mud from his mouth and a swarm of fire rushed out of his hands. Galeron ducked behind the shattered shield. Soaked through with water, it didn't burn, but the material steamed and smoked as he pressed forward. Galeron thrust the blade toward Atreus's stomach, but he leapt aside.

  "It doesn't matter now, Galeron," he said. "I've won either way." Night dust roared behind them, and he flinched but forced a laugh. "Desperation doesn't become you. Bringing a woman to the battlefield. It's bad luck."

  Galeron ignored him, swinging his sword wildly. He had to kill Atreus fast and get back to the pyre. The scent of burning wood r
eached his nostrils. The flames had taken hold. Atreus seemed to realize this, and he refused to stand his ground, continually backing up and running from Galeron in a chase about the cliff top. He wasn't going to make a mistake like this. Things were likely playing out as he planned them, but if so why was he ...

  Aha!

  Now it all came together. His mind rushed through the past two months as he sprinted. Ormod, the kidnapping, Elrik. It all made sense. Atreus never fought when he wasn't assured victory. He confronted Harracourt's garrison, but he'd thought the Iron Riders were out west. Atreus fought Galeron, but it had been a three-to-one advantage outside Trinetta, until Iven shot him.

  After that, it was always a fight by proxy. He used Elrik on the road to Azura, Tondra at the Consortium, and Hektor just a little while ago. Galeron's first venture to the Drake hideout had been a trap. Atreus presumed victory, so he fought. Now, with no other mages and Lonni's firelocks, he fled.

  Atreus Luccio, leader of the Drakes, was a coward at heart.

  But what good was that information?

  "Think like an informer."

  Iven's words reverberated in his skull. Atreus planned on his acting like a sell-sword, solving problems at the end of his blade, but that wasn't the way out of this. Informers knew their enemies, exploited their weaknesses, and didn't fight fair. He had to embrace that. Make it his own.

  "Give up, Deathstalker," Atreus said. "I know you better than you know yourself."

  Galeron smiled. "You only know what I let you see."

  "I've predicted every move you made." Atreus snorted. "You're an easy read. Sell-swords are all the same."

  "Are we? I brought Lonni for a reason. I trust her." He looked about quickly, still advancing on his foe. "Where are those you trust? I captured Tondra, I killed Hektor, and now I've come for you. What makes you think you'll fare any better?"

  "They were weak to fall to the likes of you," Atreus said.

  "Because you abandoned them," Galeron snarled, swinging for his head. "Just like you abandoned your wife."

  Atreus dodged the strike and sent a blast of fire at Galeron' face. "Don't you dare speak of her."

  Galeron weathered the flames, but his shield started to smoke. "You can't face the truth. Your wife was dragged off to Ormod and worked to death. What did you do? All those months you could have attacked, but you didn't. You ran. You ran like the coward you are. Revenge does nothing but shield your spirit from the truth."

  "Liar!"

  "Who ran at the sound of a firelock?" asked Galeron. "Who let others do the fighting? Surely, you know."

  The flames increased, and Galeron's shield burst into a conflagration. The stench of burning leather reached his nostrils. He had only seconds before the fire reached his arm. Gritting his teeth, he wrenched his arm free from the bolt. The weapon's head tore flesh as it ripped out, and he hit the ground, fighting to stay conscious as waves of agony crashed over him like the surf below. Sweat poured down his face, and his heart roared in his ears.

  "She wasted away." Galeron lurched to one side. "Probably wondering why you abandoned her, thinking you never really loved her."

  Atreus was on top of him now, pummeling him savagely with fists coated in fire. Each blow seared his skin, and the sickly-sweet smell of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils.

  "I loved her," Atreus shrieked as he pounded away. "I would have done anything for her. Anything!"

  Galeron's nose crunched under the blows. He shoved his knee into Atreus's stomach and hurled him off. Breathing coming in ragged gasps, Galeron propped himself up on one arm and staggered to his feet, swaying. His sword hung loosely in his grip. His body craved to just lie down and pass out. Eyesight blurred, but he willed himself to stay focused. He couldn't fall now.

  Atreus screamed and rushed for him. Another piercing shriek cut him to the bone.

  It was coming from the pyre. Someone was burning.

  Atreus extended his hand, fingertips glowing orange. In a moment, the flames would take him away, scour his bones until nothing remained if he did not move. His arms wouldn't respond, as if they belonged to someone else. Had he finally reached his limits? Death would not be so bad. He'd almost died once, and it hadn't been that painful. He'd suffered enough, hadn't be?

  The scream came again. It was a long way off this time, but it was still there. Someone needed him. What if it were Lonni, or Iven? He made promises, sworn oaths to them, had he not? Lonni would get home safely, and the prince would live. He'd said those things. He, not Atreus, would decide when he died.

  His senses came rushing back, and his fist clenched over the hilt.

  "Burn, Deathstalker," snarled Atreus.

  The flames leapt.

  The black blade struck.

  Atreus's arm, severed at the elbow, spun away, fires dying as the limb vanished in the dark. He sank to his knees, eyes wide with shock and burned hand clamped to the stump. Galeron leveled the sword point at his throat. He swallowed, shaking hard.

  The mage gave him a weak sneer. "Do it."

  "Galeron!"

  Iven.

  He whirled around to see Iven struggling atop a towering inferno with the chains binding the prince. "I need help. Get up here."

  Galeron looked back at Atreus. He could end it. Atreus could die right here. Job done, and coin in pocket. His weapon quivered in his grip.

  "Kill me," he wheezed. "Take your revenge."

  "I don't look good as ash," Iven yelled.

  Lattimer was in danger. Galeron had a job, but he also had a conscience.

  He thrust the black sword in the ground, point first. Blast it, but the mage could wait. It would all be for nothing if the prince burned. He rushed to the burning wood and scrambled to the top, fingertips singed on the wood. The flames took his breath away, baking his eyes in his skull, but he ignored it. In fact, he couldn't feel any pain now. He'd absorbed too much.

  Iven wrestled with the chains keeping Lattimer horizontal. "There's no way to unlock them. Don't know who has the key." He pointed to the space between the two chains. "Stand there. Pull up. I'll drag him under it."

  Galeron positioned his feet and knelt down. He grabbed the chains, one in each hand. His palms sizzled as he closed his grip. Flesh burned, but he couldn't feel it. This had better last.

  "Now!"

  Galeron heaved up on the chains, his muscles bulging and straining with the effort. The bindings rose a few inches, and Iven grabbed Lattimer's legs and dragged his face under the first chain. The prince screamed as his nose got caught on the hot metal, but Iven kept pulling. Galeron's arms shook as he held the chains up. His left leg quivered and threatened to buck, but he kept himself upright.

  Halfway there now. Iven jumped off the pyre and continued pulling the prince from the ground. The flames grew around them, and Lattimer wailed in panic as one of his sleeve caught fire. Galeron dropped the first chain and took hold of the second one with both hands. He wrenched up on it, screaming with the exertion. His neck bulged, and his heart raced in his ears, skipping every other beat. The prince was almost out. First his neck passed under, then his chin, his nose, eyes, brow, and finally his hair slipped from under the chain, and Iven pulled him to safety.

  Galeron dropped the iron bands and sagged, energy rushing from his body. He felt lightheaded, and the sky spun above him. He toppled from the pyre and collapsed on the ground.

  Someone screamed his name, but he couldn't find the person who wanted to talk. It must not be that important. Maybe he was hearing things. It was certainly that. He felt the coolness of the ground seep into his skin. Was the prince safe? He didn't know, and frankly, he didn't care. Darkness absorbed his mind, and he knew no more.

  The first thing he noticed was the pain. Naturally. There was always pain. Every bone in his body felt as if it were submerged in liquid fire. Galeron pulled himself up and frowned when his arms didn't move. He hadn't moved at all, in fact. What was wrong with him? He opened his eyes, but found they wouldn't obey,
keeping his world in darkness.

  A sense of panic sank into him. Had he gone blind? He thrashed about, feeling for something, anything that might confirm he was still in the land of the living.

  "He's up!"

  Something pressed against his chest, and he struggled against it.

  "Boiling bones, Galeron, keep still."

  Iven. Galeron gasped and sank back down. The back of his head hit something soft. He was lying down. That was new.

  "You've got bandages over your eyes," Iven said. "Don't panic. You aren't blind, but you had a lot of burns around them and your nose. Probably from that beating you took. Orson's going to pull them off in a minute, but you need to lie still until then."

  Galeron grunted. His voice didn't seem to work, probably having to do with a desert forming in his throat.

  "By the way, I'm not impressed with your collapsing on me like that," Iven said. "We had to wait for the grumpiest marine I've ever met to get to the top of the cliff and get the prince, all so I could haul your lazy carcass down to the boats."

  Sounded like he was doing just fine.

  "When did he wake?" There was Orson.

  "Just a moment ago," he said.

  Hands grabbed at his skull and tugged at his skin. Strips of light filtered in through cracks until a dimly lit room came into view. Iven, face covered in mild burns, grinned down at him. Orson joined him in the field of vision a moment later.

  "Perhaps it's best if you don't look at your reflection for a while," he said.

  "Bah, if anything, he's improved a little," Iven said.

  Orson forced a bitter liquid down Galeron's throat. He coughed and retched, but it stayed down and helped soothe his parched mouth. "Consider yourself lucky, Galeron. Few men can take such punishment. Fewer still can do it again."

  The pain ebbed away, and a warm and fuzzy feeling swept over him. Blasted poppies, but it still felt nice. He looked at Iven again.

  "Where are we?"

  "Azura infirmary. You and about a hundred other marines."

  "How...how did you live?" he asked, his voice a pale imitation over its usual rumble.