by Amy Hopkins
Behind them, they heard a rearick battle cry.
“Suck me balls, ye hairy goat scrotums!” A kerfuffle nearby erupted as men ducked and ran.
Garrett plugged through, smacking the last man in his way with the flat of his sword. The soldier yelped and cringed, ducking as Garrett swung it again, whirling the lady before thumping the hilt into a temple.
The soldier crumpled to the ground. Garrett stepped on his back, using the valuable added inches to scan the battleground.
“Where’s that slimy mucker, eh?” he muttered.
Julianne sighed. “Garrett? We need a little help over here.”
“Aye! Who do ye want me ta hurt-without-killin’? Or, who do ye want me to kill? That’s the preferred option.” He chuckled at his own joke, then stepped off his unconscious footstool.
“Kill the ones in heavy armor,” Marcus said. “They’re overpaid, angry, and mean. Leave the ones fighting them, they seem to be Muir soldiers revolting against Rogan.” He looked to Julianne for confirmation, and she nodded.
“Just be careful,” she said. “We don’t want Rogan to die. Not yet, anyway.”
“If we’re fightin’ through that lot, let me get me girl,” Garrett said. He sucked in a breath, then screamed “WHERE’S ME LASSIE? WE GOT SOME KILLIN’ TER DO!”
A whoop and a holler bellowed out from behind, and Bette flew over a soldier, planting her foot on his face to kick off and jump over into the small area Marcus had cleared.
“There ye are, ye handsome barrel of curls,” she growled. Grinning, Bette twirled around to face a soldier who had followed her. Two thrusts of her sword and he was dead.
“Oops. Sorry, Julianne, I forgot we’re not supposed to be killin’ ‘em.” She winced apologetically.
Julianne kicked at the fallen man’s thick, shiny armor. “I think that one’s ok,” she said. “But we need to head for Rogan. You and Garrett take the lead.”
Marcus was an expert fighter, but Bette and Garrett were like heavy buffalo. They hurled themselves at the wall of men, chopping their way through, strokes flying in unison.
“They’ve gotten better,” Marcus panted. He jabbed his rifle into a man’s throat, then aimed over the rearick’s heads. “Incoming!” he yelled, firing off another round.
They filled the emptied space and continued to push through. Julianne held her own, cracking heads and shattering knees with her heavy staff. Some way in, she paused, listening to something no one else could hear.
“He’s close!” she yelled, pointing in the direction of the void she could sense.
They soon burst through, coming face to face with a cluster of scared mystics and a handful of ferocious guards.
‘Lord George’ stood in the middle of them, clothes muddied and hanging oddly from his body, part of a cloak draped over one shoulder, hiding his arm.
His guards attacked. Marcus threw himself in front of Julianne, pushing off a heavy mace and stabbing the man in the gut before turning to face the next soldier.
Julianne’s eyes turned white as she summoned her power. She slammed into Rogan’s shields and felt them buckle.
She pounded again, and his illusion fell away. She ignored the gasps from those watching as the kind-hearted lord was revealed to be his cruel advisor.
Julianne knew his shield was almost down. Just one more strike…
Someone stumbled in front of her, and Marcus jumped on him, shoving aside a spear aimed at Julianne. Rogan stepped forward.
“You’ll never take me alive,” Rogan hissed. He lifted his hand to reveal a long, thin sword. He plunged towards Julianne.
Marcus yelled. “No!” as he flung his sword out and felt it bite into the soft flesh of Rogan’s belly.
“Marcus, NO!” Julianne screamed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Marcus marched alongside the two rearick as they carried out Rogan’s body, wrapped in a torn banner that displayed Lord George’s coat of arms.
The fighting was done. A few small tousles still flared up here and there, but for the most part, the soldiers had either dropped weapons when Rogan’s deceit had been revealed, or turned on those so far gone that they still fought in his name.
The mood was subdued, despite the victory. Both sides had taken losses, and Marcus knew the day would be remembered by all. However, it would take a very long time to be known as the glorious win that it should have been.
“You want me to take the head?” Marcus asked Garrett.
“Nay. Ugly sod is balanced just right.” Garrett sighed. “Bitch’s britches, I’ll be glad to fill me belly with drink tonight.”
“Aye,” Bette said. “Though I’ll be glad to fill me belly with rearick.” She winked at Marcus, who almost tripped over.
“Och, ye’ve spent yer life listenin’ to soldiers braggin’ about their shaggin’, lad. Don’t tell me yer suddenly squeamish!” Garrett said with a laugh.
Marcus snorted. “Sure, but the soldiers aren’t usually braggin’ about shaggin’ each other.”
“What difference does that make?” Garrett asked.
“Well,” Marcus said, casually moving a little way out of Garrett’s reach. “Bette technically outranks me, since George made her Captain. You’re just a friend. What am I supposed to do when she starts complaining about how small your dick is?”
Bette let out a bellow of laughter. “Ooh, aye, he’s got a point, love.”
“He’s got a… oh, you’re a wee bitch aren’t ye?” Garrett said with a growl. “Ye let me fill yer belly, and I’ll show ye what a real point can do.”
“Oh, hell no,” Marcus said. “Not in my hearing you don’t.”
“There they are!”
Marcus lifted his head to see Danil running towards them, Polly at his side.
“You’re laughing, so that’s not Julianne,” Polly said, panting. “We’ve been looking for you lot for ages. What happened?”
Marcus looked at her quizzically. “Why would you think this was…” He stopped. The color drained from his face as he grabbed the body from Bette and Garrett.
Throwing it on the ground, he tore at the banner. “Oh, you fuck, fucking, FUCKER!” he yelled. He threw his rifle on the ground, picked it back up, then pegged it across the field.
“Wait a minute,” Bette said. “Who the fuck is that?”
The red-haired youth Marcus had uncovered looked nothing like the man they had wrapped.
“Why, Marcus,” Danil said, wonderingly. “I do believe you just got mind-fucked. By your own girlfriend, no less.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Rogan collapsed on the ground, exhausted.
How did the attack go so badly? he wondered. Everything was planned. Everything, down to the last detail.
“Julianne.” He punched a fist into the ground. “Bitch. BITCH!”
If not for his final act of magic, one that nearly burned him out completely, he would be dead. Or worse, strung up as some kind of humiliating lesson to those who went against the Temple and its master.
Rogan pulled himself up and stumbled, forcing his feet into a desperate, clumsy run. Branches whipped at him and vines did their best to trip him, slowing his progress.
“You might be strong, whore, but I fooled you in the end.” He spat, allowing himself to bask in that one, small victory against her. I’ll go back to Muir, he thought. Start again. I haven’t lost everything, not yet. I still have Donna.
The sky darkened as the sun slipped behind a cloud. The forest clung to him, tugging at his feet and bristling in his way. Rogan shoved past the thick foliage to emerge in a clearing.
“What?” he gasped, looking around. It was the same clearing he had fallen in earlier. He could still see the gouges in the dirt where he had clawed at the ground.
“I’m turned around. I must be. She can’t get inside my head; I’m too strong,” he panted. Despite his words, panic wrapped around his chest, squeezing.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Rogan.”
Rogan whimpered, trying to sink into the ground.
“For the crime of using mental magic to harm, I find you guilty.” Julianne thumped her staff on the ground, and it reverberated through Rogan’s bones, making his teeth rattle.
“For the crime of using magic to kill, I find you guilty.” She thumped it again, and the earth shook.
“For the crimes of deceit, rape, torture, theft, and revolt, I FIND YOU GUILTY!”
Rogan fell back, screaming. A chasm opened beneath him, and he tumbled in, falling into a black eternity. His body jerked and spun, the wind whipping at his clothes and tearing at his hair.
He fell, shrieking, as two glowing eyes stared down at him.
You are mine, Rogan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When Julianne went back to the field with Rogan trailing behind, wrists bound with a rope that dangled from her hand, the reactions were mixed.
Though she did her best to drain away the desire for violence, a few rotten bits of fruit happened to land on his face, and more than one person spat on him. Others ignored him and focused on his captor, cheering Julianne and whistling as she passed them.
How about an honor guard? she sent to Marcus. I don’t want an accidental spear slipping past to undo all our work. She stayed on the fringes, waiting for him to gather some trusted fighters to help.
Then, to Danil, I need you to calm the crowd. No fighting. No sudden moves.
Oh, sure. I wouldn’t go near Garrett, though. He’s still fuming. Julianne could feel the relief in Danil’s thoughts as he subtly checked that she was unharmed and safe inside her own mind.
Thanks for the heads up, she replied. Everyone ok back here?
For the most part. A few bumps and bruises, but no one on our side died, miraculously. Julianne felt Danil’s brain tick over as he thought about that. I think the worst of the fighting was near the Rogan himself. Not a single Muir fighter left, they all stayed to fight back.
Julianne hadn’t anticipated that. She thought the civilians would take Adeline’s request to heart. It warmed her to know they had such dedication to their city and their leaders.
Once the crowd was stilled, and those from Muir, Tahn, and anywhere between had stepped back to let her guards pass, Julianne led Rogan into the city and up to the watchtower.
Side by side, they looked out over the mingling group, Julianne tall and proud, Rogan cowed and hunched.
“Rogan,” she said, loud enough that those close could hear her. “Tell these people what you did. Make sure you speak clearly.”
“Yes, Master,” he said, adoring eyes looking up to her. “I tricked them. First, I used magic to brain wash some of the soldiers and the household staff. I made them adore me.”
“Why?” Julianne snapped.
“I wanted Muir for myself! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I displeased you.” He sniffled, but Julianne ignored it.
“Then what?” she pressed. “Tell me about the last few weeks. Begin with Lord George.”
“I threw him in a dungeon. I cast illusions and altered memories to make people think he was still around, then I took his place. I wore his image and pretended I was him.” Rogan hadn’t taken his eyes off her. It made Julianne’s skin crawl.
“And all this?” She gestured out towards the army waiting below.
“My idea! When Adeline escaped, I was so angry. I don’t know why I wasted my thoughts on her, Master. You are the one, you are the only one.”
Julianne’s eyes flashed white and a bolt of pain shot down Rogan’s spine. It wasn’t excruciating—Julianne didn’t believe in torture—but it was enough to stop his blathering.
“I told Muir she was kidnapped!” he cried. “I asked them to ride with me, to take vengeance. When you brought her to the wall, I made it look like you killed her, only, it wasn’t her, and it wasn’t you. Oh, Master, please!”
He fell to his knees, sobbing.
“And then you ran like a coward. You faked your death—did you kill that young man yourself?”
Rogan shook his head, snot running down his lip. “I made him. I gave him a sword and made him fall on it.”
“Rogan, tell these people why you’re crying,” Julianne's said coldly.
He sobbed once. “Because I want to please you, my lady. I want it so much I can’t breathe. I only want to please you.”
“Do you feel remorse for what you did? Or understand why it was wrong?”
“Would it please you if I did? I will, for you.” He wiped an arm across his face.
Julianne turned to the silent men and women below, They watched intently, entranced.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I am a mystic from the Mystic Temple in the southern part of the Arcadian Valley. I am a mental magician just like Rogan.” She waited for the gasps and whispers to subside. “Unlike Rogan, I’m not devoid of empathy or a conscience. In fact, one of the main tenets of the Temple is to care for our fellow man—to protect them from people like this.”
She pointed at Rogan, and he cringed.
“I would give him to you, to let you exact justice…” A few men cheered, but the rest sensed more was to come, and waited. “Unfortunately, Rogan cast a spell that would wreak havoc if he is killed.”
“Cowardly pig!” someone called out. Cries of assent nearly drowned out her next words.
“That doesn’t mean he will live.” She turned to Rogan and untied his hands. Quickly knotting the rope again, she looped it around his neck.
“Stand.”
Rogan stood.
“Over there.” She pointed, making sure she was standing back far enough that those watching could clearly see Rogan standing on his own, out of arm’s reach. They had to see Rogan acted alone, to stop the death spell activating.
He moved to the edge of the wall, looking down, the wind flapping at his clothes. Swaying a little, he jolted in fear, but didn’t step back.
“Please, no,” he whimpered.
Julianne stared him down, then whispered one last thing to him, her words just loud enough to carry over the stiff breeze.
“Rogan, jump.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Julianne caressed the smooth tabletop. The knotted wood was worn from many years of use, so old it was almost imbued with the history of the small house it lived in.
“You know there will always be a room for you here,” Annie said. Her voice was rough, and she didn’t try to hide the red that rimmed her eyes.
Julianne smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, Annie. If Bastian really wants to do this, I’ll need to make more than one trip back here.”
“This school,” Artemis said. “It will need teachers, yes?”
“Artemis, I told you. There’s no room for a crotchety old man on our staff,” Bastian said.
“I’m not crotchety!” Artemis protested.
Silence dropped, so pure Julianne would have heard a pin drop. Then, the entire room burst out laughing.
“Och, yer a shit and ye know it, Art,” Bette said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.
“It’s ok, Artemis,” Bastian said. “I was only joking. We’d be honored to have you teach our mental magic classes.”
“As long as yer not taking the fire-casting class yerself,” Garrett pointed out. “Or ye’ll have ta run the lessons underwater, so ye don’t burn the school ta the ground!”
“What about you, Danil?” Julianne asked.
He was the only one who hadn’t said anything about staying in Tahn or returning to the Temple.
He smiled quietly and shrugged. “I haven’t decided,” he admitted. “I’ve finally found something—someone—that makes me want to see more of the world than stone walls and drunk mind-readers.”
Julianne reached out to squeeze his hand. “I’m happy for you, Danil. And there’s no rush. Well, not
much of one. We’re not heading back for another two weeks.”
She had to form a treaty with George, on behalf of the Mystic Temple. The Temple would pledge a certain amount of funding to Bastian’s new school, and Muir would match it. The details still needed to be worked out, though.
“I’m glad we’ll have those two staying,” Annie said, nodding her head at the two rearick. “Be good to have some strong hands and level heads around, now we’ve got people coming and going all the damn time.”
Bette had already received her official badge as the leader of the Tahn guard. The ceremony had lasted two days, and included Julianne, Danil, and Marcus’s designation as honorary citizens, and an official welcome for Bastian, Garrett and Bette, who were staying in the small town.
Capped off with Jakob’s proposal to Adeline, the ceremony had finished with a street performance by the theatre troupe, where Francis attempted to juggle fireballs with Trini and almost set himself on fire in the process.
Then, food, drinking and lots of music and dancing had kept them going through to the next evening. Julianne had snuck away halfway through, to take refuge in Danil’s house while it was empty.
Marcus had joined her, slipping into the spare bed beside her and finally allowing her into his mind, wholly and completely. They had stayed there for several hours, though neither slept, and Julianne had spent the rest of the week with a pink glow to her cheeks that even Danil had to admit he had never seen before.
Julianne let out a long, contented sigh. “I’m going to miss it here. I almost wish I didn’t have to return.”
“You could abdicate?” Danil suggested.
“Sure,” Julianne said. A yawn interrupted her before she added, “I hereby designate you as leader of the Mystic Temple, Danil.”
“Oh, fuck that, Jules. Get your ass back there, now!” he said. More laughter circled the table.
“You all look like you’re in need of a soft bed,” Annie said, standing to clear the table.