Mages at Large (Wine of the Gods Book 18)

by Pam Uphoff

  But after a week, they'd gotten all the gold Dobs could detect.

  And they were sick and tired of the stringy rabbits that seemed to be the only thing that Paul could get close enough to stun.

  They left the bandits camped at a stream with three quarters of their stolen gold, and rode back to Lucky Strike. Dobs settled down in the claims office and drew a more detailed and extensive map. Falco and Max guarded her from all the scruffy miners who popped in to check out the new woman in town. Marcus and Paul took care of selling the gold, and buying supplies.

  Paul smelled of cheap perfume when he waved them out of the claims office. "Let's go. We bought a wagon and team of horses, and more tools. Camping gear."

  "Food?" Dobs eyed him dubiously.

  "Yep. Flour, beans, some canned veg and fruit. Crossbows and swords. We'll need to hunt for meat."

  With swords? This is not getting better.

  They picked up the bandits and headed further east.

  Marcus talked while Paul drove. "I talked to a bunch of miners. They say that gold is most common along the contact zones between old rocks and these long strips of lava. That quartz vein with gold you found was unusually far from the contact, but otherwise pretty typical. And, of course, they pan the streams for alluvial gold."

  "What about the Rip?" Falco squinted ahead where another ridge of eroded ashstone made a jagged line on the horizon. "Shouldn't there be a whole lot of gold at the bottom?"

  "Probably. That occurred to me as well, and they said you needed deep dredging machinery, and a couple of full time hunters to kill the water lizards. Lizards, my ass. From the sound of it, there must be crocodiles in the river. I think we should take a look. Even a minor compass ought to be able to fetch up the sediments on the bottom."

  The Rip was awesome. A canyon a thousand feet deep, the cliffs of the far side miles away. Below, a river roared, spouts of steam rose from pools to either side. Long forms that moved sluggishly.

  "How big are those things, if we can see them from up here?" Dobs leaned over and studied them.

  Marcus scowled. "Getting down there is going to be difficult. And then getting the gold back up."

  Henry snickered. "If there's any in there."

  Dobs checked her map. "We came straight out the range line . . . we'll need to go at least five miles north or ten miles south to be on an unclaimed square.

  Marcus nodded. "We're near the northern end of the gold finds. I figure we can head south, with Dobs checking occasionally." He looked over at the bandits. "We've been keeping you three busy for the last two months. Do you need to get back to your . . . other friends? As soon as we stake a claim we'll have plenty of cover for other activities."

  As the air cooled in the evening, mist formed, building up and filling the canyon, lapping over. Damp and eerie.

  Falco eased out of camp and sat down to meditate. A suitable action for a young mage. But I really need to think, not empty my mind.

  A soft footstep. Dobs sat down a few feet away. "What are we going to do?"

  A dark shape loomed out of the fog. Max looked back over his shoulder. "Dad's . . . irritated. He doesn't like us all going off, out of his control."

  Falco nodded. "I'm not a criminal. Just using the gold and horses the bandits stole makes me queasy. I . . . if he doesn't decide to make money honestly, I'm going to have to leave."

  Dobs stood up and faced Max. Just looking at him silently.

  Max sighed. Nodded. "Well, then, we'd better plan on leaving before Dad leads us into a raid. I'd rather not have murder on my conscious."

  Falco nodded, relieved. "So. Let's head south and find some gold. Get enough to stake a claim, and do it in our names . . ."

  Max was shaking his head. "Dad won't let us go that easily. Dobs? When you find a good one, don't tell the archmage. Let's get a second square for him, and then we can move to ours."

  Dobs grinned. "Right, and the further away from his, the better." She walked away a few steps and sat down.

  They headed south. Into more "settled" territory, for some values of settled. A long, three story building perched on the rim. Embossed on the stone of the front "Edge of the World" and below in smaller letters, "Casino, Restaurant, and Inn."

  Marcus snorted. "Note that casino comes first. I'll bet they fleece every miner for fifty miles."

  Paul eyed it wistfully, but didn't even try to slow.

  Dobs found many small traces of gold. One decent spot that wasn't claimed, right on the edge of the Rip. They trekked back and forth to Lucky Strike to pay for the claim, then set up a permanent camp.

  Marcus sent the bandits away, with most of their stolen gold and greetings to their leader.

  "Fifty-fifty chance they return in force to attack us," the Archmage shrugged.

  We're only a minor compass! Falco glanced northwest. "We ought to think about getting more people out of Art's Museum."

  Marcus nodded. "Yes. Next spring, I think. I want to set up a solid business, and then it will make sense, to bring in more people. Not like several hundred bewildered strangers showing up all at once, out of nowhere."

  Falco nodded. All the wives and kids that were down in the basement. Sixteen compasses of mages, and probably twenty or so witches. "We really could take over one of these ghost towns. Or start businesses in one of the larger towns." Mom's a jeweler, all this gold floating around . . . She'll be delighted. I think.

  "Umm, yes, we're setting up the basis for a society that exists in parallel with these people. They lost a lot of tech when the comet hit. We . . . need to be cautious in what we say, and take advantage of the things we know."

  Falco nodded. "Steam engines, for instance." He glanced over his shoulder to where the ground dropped away. "A pump, some sort of lift. We could really clean up. If there's gold in the river down there." He glanced at Dobs.

  She shrugged. "I can see the rock under the river, but I can't sense through water, can't see water soaked sediments. That's a mage specialty, isn't it?"

  Falco looked over the edge. "Maybe we ought to climb down and try something."

  Marcus scowled. "I hate climbing, but, yes. It's about time we climbed down there."

  It was a tough climb, just taking a bare minimum of supplies with them. But the layered lava of the wall was rough and fell back in large steps. Arduous, not impossible. They stopped thirty feet above the bottom of the canyon to study a steaming hot pool of water. Sulfurous and bubbling a bit. A sudden eruption of steam roiled the water.

  "Not quite a geyser. At the moment." Dobs sat down and started meditations.

  Falco and Max looked over the final drop. Water from the pool overflowed into a small waterfall, discolored mineral stains lining the channel all the way down to the river, where very large crocodiles lay on the bank. The canyon was narrower than usual, here. Both the river and the crocs were close to the cliffs. Our half mile by half mile claim that starts up there doesn't cover the river bed.

  "They must like the warm water." Max eyed the river. "It's over a quarter mile away. I hope those things are well fed."

  Paul strolled to join them. "They must live on fish. Maybe they won't attack us, so long as we stay on solid ground."

  Marcus snorted. "The people from Cairo said they ambushed gazelles and zebras. Of course, this is North America. Most likely a different species. Dobs, can you hold a shield while we levitate some sediments?"

  Dobs nodded. "I think there's a deep hole to the north maybe a quarter of a mile. It might be a good place to find gold. I checked, in Lucky Strike. There's no claims for three miles north or south of our claim. And nothing down here."

  "Excellent. Well, let's just see what we can do." Marcus led the way north, and then down, avoiding the largest concentration of crocodiles.

  The crocs lifted their heads. The biggest one slid back into the water and headed north. A few more slid into the water as well.

  "Well that just answered all my questions about why there weren't many mining claims
down here." Falco kept a worried eye on the ripples that were working their way against the current.

  Dobs pointed. "That hole is about there. Maybe a third of the way across the river."

  Marcus nodded and turned toward the river. He stopped a hundred feet from the bank. "Circle up. Dobs? A shield about four feet high, in a circle around us will interfere the least with what we need to do."

  She nodded. "I'll angle it out and be prepared to raise it if those thing show signs of getting over it."

  She sat, and closed her eyes for a moment.

  Falco closed his eyes and could sort of see a faint gleam. I wish I was older, more able. He turned his back on the river and took up his position.

  The hot water of the geyser pool glowed with power. The river was warm . . . :: if we pull heat from the river, will the crocs move away? ::

  :: We won't be here long enough for it to matter. Look instead for the heat of the rocks below. They are just a bit warmer than the river. Look at the shape of the water, the movement . . . that deep hole right there, sink down into it. ::

  Falco could see Marcus forming a glittering spell. Braced himself to hold it this time, to help. To not break as they lifted a volume of something, whatever was at the bottom of the hole. Pulled it upward, pulled it toward them. Falco grit his teeth and held . . . failed.

  He staggered, dropping his grip, and turned in time to see the avalanche falling from the sky. It hit midway between them and the river, an explosion of mud and water, a wave rushing at them . . . Dobs' shield flashed higher, she was knocked backwards and Falco threw his hands up as he tried to shield . . . pushed frantically at a flying crocodile, was rolled by a wave of sloppy mud across a bed of gravel. He shoved himself upright, and grabbed Paul and heaved him away from a thrashing reptile. Max grabbed Dobs and they retreated to the nearest high ground.

  The rock flat along the river was covered with mud and gravel, being cut into channels as the water drained and flowed back to the river. Fish flapped and jumped. A few crocs lay dead among the fishy mess, but more of them, of all sizes, righted themselves and fled to the river.

  Falco swiped mud off his face and stepped into muck to reach for a faint gleam. A gold nugget the size of his thumb. "Well. That worked."

  They collected several hundred pounds of nuggets before they remembered they had to carry it all to the top. Without containers of any sort.

  Several treks up and down with every sack and pack they had, and they headed for Lucky Strike. First the claims office, where they beat the Friday deadline by a few minutes. Then the assayers. The nuggets raised plenty of eyebrows, and lots of taking note of the squares they had claimed. Then the hotel, real baths. A restaurant, quite good. Shopping. Miners watched them, every time they stepped away from the hotel. Noting everything. Especially the number of empty bags they purchased. All the claims around theirs were snapped up, the following Friday, and they had company on the three week trip back to their camp.

  Marcus gave their fellow travelers a dark dangerous glare where they turned off toward their camp. The other miners moved on. Marcus stood quietly for a long minute, then looked back at some rough rocks. "Henry, you and your friend can come out now."

  Two friends, actually. A large muscular man, and a blonde woman.

  Falco stared at the woman. No longer young, but magnificent. Crystalline blue eyes in a smooth tan complexion, silky white-blonde hair hanging loose down her back. Locked in a stare down with the archmage.

  Magically, he couldn't tell she was there . . . for a second. Then she must have lowered mental shields. Falco closed his eyes and backed up a step. "Glow" was much too tame a word to apply to the woman's aura. Eye searing power, sparks and flashes of probes aimed at Marcus.

  And Marcus was shielded, but probing mentally.

  "Good afternoon. I am Archmage Marcus Olsen."

  "I am Auchel Ibrah." The big man crossed his arms.

  Figurehead. She's the power behind the throne, so to speak. I wonder how many "bandit kings" she's been through?

  Her eyes flicked over to meet his gaze. "Three."

  Falco backed even further away, trying to raise his shields.

  Marcus nodded politely to the man. "I am new to the area. And on encountering Henry, here, I thought I could use him to introduce myself to the local . . . powers." He nodded toward their claim. "While I've been successful at mining, I think I'd prefer to go into business. Possibly set up as a gold buyer, or something of that nature. These claims will . . . get me into a good solid financial position to start purchasing directly from . . . miners. So they don't have to leave their claims for weeks at a time."

  "I can take everything of yours, Blackie. Including the pretty little girl." The big man loomed.

  "Shut up, you idiot. He's exactly what we need. A fence for stolen gold." The woman eyed Marcus. "We'll send Henry back in a month, to see how you're doing. Archmage." She turned and walked away. South. No doubt to a place they'd left their horses.

  Ibrah glanced furiously from Marcus to the woman, growled angrily and stalked off after the woman.

  Falco swallowed nervously. "Probably with a new Auchel Ibrah. In town they said he was captured and hung a year ago."

  Marcus snorted. "Again. And no doubt this one dreams of finding a new witch to hide him from the cavalry." He glanced at Dobs.

  She shook her head. "She wasn't a witch. Possibly a wizard, but she sure didn't feel like Falco's Mom."

  They unloaded in camp, then paced the perimeter of their new domain. Their new neighbors were doing the same, stacking pyramids of rocks at the probable corners. They were close enough to their own estimates to be acceptable.

  One of the other miners grunted. "You can go to a judge—if you can find one—and get a proper survey run. Or hire one of Laughlier Mining's teams. Never heard that it changed much."

  "Indeed." Marcus nodded. "With the ten mile posts, it isn't hard to be reasonably accurate. And those nuggets we sold? We dredged them out of the river. With magic."

  The man laughed, clearly not believing them.

  They checked their compasses and walked east.

  Peering over the canyon edge, they spotted two men down in the Rip, snatching gold nuggets from their levitated mud as they retreated from some hungry crocs.

  Marcus snorted. "And that, Falco, is how honest your hard working miners are."

  Falco kept his mouth shut. But there's a big difference between opportunistically snatching a few nuggets, and stealing everything, horses and supplies and all. Not to mention how many miners are killed by the bandits.

  They built a tower of rocks on the lip of the canyon, where it could be clearly seen from below, then grabbed sacks and climbed down. Paced out the distance, checked that it agreed with their pyramid of rocks up above, and set out a line of rocks across the flats to the river to mark the claim boundary. A good hundred feet north of their dredging. They filled bags with nuggets and discouraged a few reptiles then formed a chain to hand fifty pound sacks of gold up the terraces of the cliffs.

  In camp, they circled up briefly and Marcus showed them how to set an alarm perimeter a hundred yards outside their camp.

  They settled into a routine, Falco, Max and Dobs going down every day, trading off croc patrol with picking up gold, and as the obvious bits were taken, digging through the detritus and finally dragging sacks of dried mud up to the hot pool where it was safe to pan.

  Paul helped, off and on, but took up hunting as his preferred occupation.

  The three of them collected enough gold dust on their own to sell separately, and on their next trip into Lucky Strike, registered a claim ten miles north, in their own names. All without letting Marcus or Paul know.

  Does that qualify as stealing from the company that we are, theoretically, a part of? Well, it's not like I'm stealing from an honest man.

  Chapter Six

  Fall 1393

  Gold Rush Territory

  Marcus enjoyed the cool breeze. Gathering en
ergy by stripping the heat out of the air, while letting the kinetic energy remain was an old mage trick, and one that was practically a necessity out here in the desert. Hopefully in another month it would start cooling off.

  His budding business was looking good. A score of bandits were selling him all the gold they stole, completely oblivious to how he was skinning them. Anything else they had to figure out how to sell themselves.

  The kids were putting on a good show of industry. Now that they had gleaned the majority of the gold, he ought let them keep anything else they discovered, so their claim had an authentic working mine look to it when an Army patrol swept through the area. And no doubt the patrols had talked to their neighbors about those suddenly rich people from Scoone. And gotten an earful about gravel banks full of nuggets. They'd had to discourage thieves a couple of times, but from the faintly heard screams at night, the crocs were doing most of the work for them.

  Surviving down in the canyon was good magic practice for the kids, too. Lord, the crocs were bad. About the time you thought you had them cowed, a new giant would come swimming up from the swamp. He'd bought them all crossbows, as backup. A bolt down the throat of an open mouth was usually enough to send the croc scuttling back to the water, hopefully to die.

  The clink of hooves pulled his attention back to the here-and-now, as a small band of raiders walked the horses warily up to his shady pavilion. From what he'd heard, he'd have to build walls and a fireplace this winter, and something better than canvas for the roof. But for now this was all the shelter they needed.

  "Good afternoon, Henry. Mining doing well?" Must keep up appearances.

  "Great, Mister Olson." Henry kept almost looking behind him.

  "What have you got for me?" Marcus pulled out his rusty scales, and as Henry balanced a bag in one side, Marcus loaded up stamped, numbered gold bars on the other. The banks registered the little bars, trying to track stolen ones. These were legitimate, and if Henry didn't realize the scales were balanced so he was getting only three quarters as much gold as he gave, well, there was a reason he was down on the bottom level of the food chain, living by the sword.