Mageborn

by Stephen Aryan

  There was only one choice.

  A crashing sound and the thud of hooves made him urge his horse into a trot. The riders behind him were clearly wasting no more time by keeping pace with the others on foot.

  Knowing how the land twisted about and was riddled with tree roots, Choss kept his horse at a steady pace. His pursuers would gain some ground, but Choss wanted to make sure his horse didn’t break a leg. Moving towards the river, he heard the faint trickle of water that soon became a roar as he drew closer to a branch of the River Suzoa.

  Staying low to avoid being hit in the face by branches, Choss guided his horse carefully into a gallop, putting some distance between him and the others.

  His body was feeling heavier all the time and it was becoming a struggle to stay awake. At some point Sam had woken up but he’d not complained or asked any questions. He merely watched Choss and held on tightly, trusting that everything would be well.

  A short time later the river widened into the familiar churning torrent. No one would attempt to swim it, as they would be dashed to death on the rocks or dragged under by the current. It meant he was nearly there.

  Choss slowed his horse to a walk and moved away from the main path, following the trail he had made to the cabin.

  “Climb down, Sam,” he said, helping his son to the ground before trying to dismount. His left leg folded under him and he collapsed face down. The sound of the river was rushing in his ears or perhaps it was just the frantic beating of his heart. He didn’t know how much time had passed before he came awake with a growing sense of urgency.

  Sam sat nearby, watching him with frightened eyes. Forcing himself onto his hands and knees was a struggle. Standing upright seemed impossible. Leaning heavily on Sam and bracing himself against his horse, Choss shuffled towards the cabin. Behind him he could hear people crashing through the trees. The noises were jumbled and Choss shook his head, trying to get rid of his disorientation.

  When they reached the cabin he pushed open the door and glanced inside. “Sam, do you remember my friend Gorraxi?” Sam nodded slowly, trying not to show his fear. “Can you go inside and see if she’s in the basement?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I know, but it’s important. I’ll be right here,” said Choss, leaning against the doorframe. He could hear their pursuers getting closer but was doing his best not to frighten the boy. “All I need you to do is have a quick look downstairs, then come straight back.”

  “Promise you won’t go anywhere?”

  “I promise,” said Choss, forcing a smile. While Sam went down the stairs he risked a glance back along the path. He couldn’t see anyone yet but he knew it wouldn’t be long now. In the distance black smoke rose above the trees. The school was still burning.

  Master Farshad watched in horror as several people on the training ground were cut down by the rampaging mob. Torches were thrown onto roofs, the stables were already alight again, and now the invaders were scrambling up the stairs to engage with them on the wall. Archers beside him were still picking off individuals but at this distance they barely had to take aim. Unfortunately he knew they would run out of arrows before they ran out of targets. The notion of trying only to wound them was abandoned as members of staff now fought for their lives. The only thing they avoided was using magic, even to save themselves.

  Farshad had given up much to teach at the Red Tower but it had been a sacrifice he’d been willing to make. Many thought that, despite the unbearable heat, the desert kingdoms were idyllic, but as someone who’d grown up there he knew that was far from the truth. As a people they were simply better at hiding their problems. In the west he’d found a more temperate climate and a family that went beyond blood ties. And now all of it was at risk, but at least the children were safe. They were the reason he and the others had chosen to stay behind. The children would create a better future, one not dominated by fear of those who were born different. He had to believe it or else his resolve would falter.

  Several men and women had made it to the top of the wall in places and they were closing on either side.

  “Draw your weapons,” shouted Farshad to those around him. Instead of a sword he had chosen a mace, in keeping with his first teachers. It wasn’t quite what the Jhanidi used but it would be sufficient.

  “You know how to use that thing?” asked Samara holding a dagger in each hand.

  “Do you?”

  “I cut a few purses in my time,” she said with a shrug.

  “Purses or throats?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “Well, that would be telling,” she said. In spite of everything Farshad found himself laughing. He was still chuckling when he smashed the first man on the shoulder with his mace, shattering it. As the man tumbled out of sight off the wall Farshad punched a woman behind him in the face and shattered her right thigh with a wide swing. The woman stumbled to one knee in time for Samara to kick her off the wall.

  Seeing two of their number dispatched so quickly the other attackers pulled back slightly.

  “Come on then, you ugly bastards,” sneered Samara. “What are you waiting for?”

  Farshad found himself smiling at her fearless defiance. He knew from Master Yettle that Samara had been living on borrowed time. So whether it happened today or a month from now, lying in her bed, it made little difference to her. Each of them owed a death. Perhaps it was better to go on his feet, staring an enemy in the eye, than to succumb to the ravages of time as it decayed his flesh.

  “You heard the lady. We don’t have all day,” he said.

  Howling like a pack of wolves, the mob rushed forward. Farshad charged to meet them, lowering his shoulder at the last second. He knocked one woman off the wall, punched a man in the throat and brought his mace up between the legs of a third. With a pig-like squeal the man collapsed and fell out of sight. Something jabbed him in the stomach but he ignored it and brought his mace down on another man’s forearm, shattering the bones. On his left he could hear Samara wheezing as she stabbed and sliced, spraying blood everywhere.

  Their brutal assault made those on the wall pull back again. Their rage would only take them so far and now they were not fighting enemies who cowered or held back. They still had homes, lives and families to return to after this. Farshad had nothing.

  The cloud of smoke was spreading. A thick patch drifted across the wall making him and everyone else splutter a little. Samara used it as an opportunity to rush forward and he followed, determined to drive the others back. Fighting in near blindness he rhythmically brought down his mace on anything in front, feeling it connect with bone and muscle. His shoulder was burning from the effort and his eyes were stinging but he crept forward, ignoring the growing pain in his side.

  Time lost all meaning and he didn’t know how long he fought. Muffled screams filled his ears and suddenly he was out the other side of the smoke, his mace coming down on nothing but thin air which sent him off balance.

  Farshad stumbled to one knee but when he tried to stand up his legs didn’t seem to be working. Looking down he saw something pink and purple poking out from between the folds of his shirt which had turned red.

  “That looks nasty,” said Samara, limping up beside him. One side of her face was covered with blood and she had an arrow buried in one shoulder. She’d lost her daggers but somehow acquired a hatchet.

  “I’ve had worse,” he said, forcing a grin. She offered a hand and, leaning on her, Farshad slowly managed to pull himself upright. It was then that he noticed a trail of bloody footprints behind Samara.

  Seeing where he was looking she shrugged. “I’m not done yet.”

  The wall in front was clear of the enemy apart from several wounded, squirming bodies. Moving slowly, they shuffled past the injured, ignoring their curses although Samara did pause to spit on one woman who’d said something particularly unpleasant.

  There were still pockets of fighting here and there across the school, but the fight was nearly done. Every
where he could see buildings on fire and the roofs of several had already collapsed. Bodies littered the wall and school grounds. Farshad recognised many of them and took a moment to whisper a prayer to guide their souls.

  They’d been outnumbered from the start and now the odds had finally turned against them. A group of at least twenty bruised and bloody figures were coming up the stairs towards them.

  “I can’t say this is how I planned today,” said Farshad. The men and women were creeping closer with spears and pitchforks held out in front.

  “It could be worse,” said Samara.

  “How so?” he asked.

  She glanced up at the sky and beyond the smoke it was a bright and beautiful day. “It could be raining.”

  Farshad was still laughing as the mob raced towards them.

  Sam came running back up the stairs from the basement shaking his head. “There’s no one down there. Just some old smelly fish.”

  Grimacing against the pain, he used the broom by the door as a crutch and together he and Sam slowly made their way down to the pier.

  “Daddy, you’re bleeding,” said Sam, pointing at his leg.

  “I know. Cover your ears,” he said when they reached the end of the pier. Taking a deep breath he bellowed as long and as loud as he could for Gorraxi. He didn’t know if she was close or beneath the waves beyond his hearing, but he was out of time and out of options. His strength was almost gone. The wound in his leg was more severe than he realised and the world kept turning black for a few seconds at a time. Any moment now those in pursuit would come bursting through the trees and then it would be over.

  Again and again he shouted for his friend, a wordless cry composed of his frustration and rage. The well inside ran deep, giving his voice power that carried it across the water, startling birds from the nearby trees. It gave him a burst of energy but it was only temporary. Despite covering his ears, Sam’s face was scrunched up in pain from the noise. The shouting from his pursuers had stopped. They’d been scared or intimidated by his cry, but he knew it wouldn’t last. They had come this far and would not turn back without finding their prey.

  Choss felt his legs begin to tremble and he nearly fell into the water. He managed to correct his balance at the last second but at that moment he knew that he was done. Even his anger would not sustain him this time. It had burned out altogether.

  Someone broke through the trees behind him and he heard Sam gasp in surprise. Just before he turned around Choss saw a pocket of bubbles breaking the surface of the river. At first it was only a few but then it became a flurry which slowly made its way against the current towards him and the pier.

  “There’s nowhere left to run,” said a voice behind him. Choss shuffled about on his good leg, leaning heavily on the broom which was about to break under his weight. The rider wasn’t familiar but the soot on his clothes confirmed that he’d been among the mob at the Red Tower. Armed with an axe he stood beside the cabin, seemingly happy to wait for the others. Two more riders came through the trees and they quickly dismounted and drew their weapons.

  Behind them Choss could hear the crash of people hurrying towards them through the trees. The riders didn’t turn but one of the men did call out to his friends to guide them.

  Choss stumbled to one knee beside Sam, who had started to cry again. “I want you to promise to always be a good boy. And I need you to remember something very important. Can you do that?” he asked, waiting for Sam to nod before continuing. “Remember that your mum and I love you more than anything.”

  Over his shoulder Choss saw nine men and women break through the trees. They were all out of breath and red-faced but each carried a weapon. That made it a dozen people he was facing. Even at his best he couldn’t defeat that many by himself.

  With the last of his flagging strength Choss forced himself to stand. Stretching to his full height he dropped the broom and cast his weapons aside, waiting with empty hands to see what they would do next. Their anger had kept them going this far, but now that they were facing an unarmed man they hesitated. Killing someone in a fight was one thing. Cutting him down in cold blood was something else entirely.

  “Give us the boy,” said one of the men, “and you can go free.”

  “He’s a mage. He has to die too!” said someone else.

  “He doesn’t look a mage,” said one of the riders.

  A frantic discussion ensued but Choss wasn’t listening. The words were all jumbled and he had difficulty following their conversation. Behind him he could hear something moving through the water and feel a huge presence drawing closer.

  The argument subsided as the anger drained away from their faces and was replaced with sheer terror. Scooping Sam up in both arms Choss spun around to face the river.

  Rising up out of the water was a huge green shape, standing motionless in the middle of the churning river. The water flowed down Gorraxi’s body on all sides and she seemed to float upon the surface. From where he was standing Choss could see a massive black shape just beneath the water, but to those further back it would seem like magic.

  “I love you,” said Choss before throwing Sam with the last of his remaining strength. The boy sailed through the air, over the water and straight into the arms of the Vorga. Choss fell to his knees, unable to stand and barely clinging to consciousness. He heard screams of terror as many of his pursuers ran away but someone came forward, the wooden boards of the pier creaking beneath their weight.

  They were too late. Cradling Sam in both arms against her chest, Gorraxi began to sink beneath the waves. It took only a moment and then she and his son were gone. The water churned unbroken over that spot and there were no ripples or bubbles on the surface to show where she’d been.

  Choss was so tired and his body felt so heavy. He could hear voices nearby but they weren’t important. All that mattered was that his son was safe and Munroe was far away.

  All these years later he could still remember her smile from the first time they’d met. She’d said something in her usual ribald manner which had made him laugh. He normally left being witty to others but his blunt response had surprised Munroe and she’d grinned. A smile touched his face at the memory and then the darkness claimed him.

  CHAPTER 35

  As Akosh scraped blood off the bottom of her boot on the dead man’s back, she found herself missing Habreel.

  Without him to coordinate his network of followers it had fallen to her but the transition process was not going smoothly. His lieutenants, six former Guardians from his old days on the job, normally received weekly missives and when one failed to arrive they had assumed the worst. None of them knew where he’d gone or what had happened and they couldn’t find him via their contacts. Now it was taking her an awful lot of time, and effort, to persuade them to carry on as normal in his absence and that she was now in charge.

  Akosh refused to travel around the west, visiting each of them like a wandering tinker, but had compromised by coming to Perizzi. The six had agreed to meet her in the city and she’d been forced to make the journey.

  She’d been here almost a week now and, despite keeping a very low profile, not even once starting a brawl or kicking someone in the face for being ugly, there was an itch between her shoulder blades. The others had sent Vargus to look into the cause of the current issues and she knew he often prowled Perizzi. The sooner she was on the move again the safer it would be.

  A couple of her people came into the room, glanced at the corpse and dragged it away without comment. Akosh thought something was stuck to the sole of her left boot and a closer inspection revealed a bloody piece of scalp wedged between the treads. Before she had time to pick it out Dannel came into the room, pausing briefly to stare at the drying blood.

  “How many is that?” asked Akosh. She’d lost count and was bored and anxious.

  “Four, Mother. But there’s just one more to see,” he said, stepping over the blood. “The final Guardian has agreed to serve without an audience.�
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  “Some good news at last,” said Akosh, scraping her boot on the leg of her chair but it just wouldn’t budge. It was worse than getting a seed caught between her teeth.

  “I believe a suitable replacement can be found for that one,” he said, gesturing where the recently deceased had been.

  “Good. Any news about Habreel?” she asked and Dannel’s face fell. It was something she asked every day and so far he’d continually let her down. If Dannel hadn’t been one of her children he too would have been decorating the bottom of her boots by now.

  She wasn’t in the mood for another of his apologies and held up a hand before he started. “Just send in the next one.”

  Normally the private dining room held a large table and several chairs but Akosh had ordered it cleared of all furniture apart from her throne-like seat. She enjoyed being slightly above everyone’s eye level when sitting down.

  The owner of the Pony and Cart tavern was one of her children and this was the first time Akosh had called on the woman to serve. Rohita’s surprise had been familiar but not the indifference that followed. It was as if she’d stopped believing, or perhaps, after so many years with no contact, she’d thought Akosh a myth. But some faiths had endured for centuries without any direct contact and not even a whisper of a miracle. It made her wonder if Rohita made a monthly donation to the orphanages in the area. It was something she would have to check with her money spider in the city before heading back to the north.

  A short time later Dannel came into the room ahead of a tall Yerskani with unkempt blond hair and piercing green eyes. She noticed the stiffness of his back and the way he studied the room, taking in everything from the stain on the floor to the dried lavender in the rafters.

  “Mother, may I introduce, Pavel, formerly a Guardian of the Peace,” said Dannel, gesturing at the newcomer.