Broken Bones: Age Of Magic - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A New Dawn Book 6)

by Amy Hopkins

  Seeing Bastian approach, Lewis quickly wrapped up his tune and bowed deeply.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Bastian, mystic extraordinaire!" Lewis thrust his arms wide, signaling the crowd to applaud.

  Bastion resisted the urge to tug at his collar and channeled just a little of his magic into controlling his emotions. Illusion firmly in place and nerves settled into a confident calm, Bastian stepped forward.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Bastian called, tweaking his spell so that every face in the room turned his way, caught by the man in white who seemed to glow in the amber light of the flickering lanterns that filled the room. "Tonight I bring you a gift. The gift of knowledge. The gift of a story as true as it is unbelievable."

  Bastian muttered a word and waved his hands for effect. The hand gestures were unrelated to his magic, but Zoe had once told him people liked it. He stepped back as an image formed in front of him.

  It was a woman with brown hair and glowing white eyes. She wore a robe as bright and pristine as the illusion made his own and held a long white staff. The image showed Julianne as he remembered her—tall, proud, and commanding, yet kind.

  Her posture had the strength and confidence of a woman who knew she would win any battle she entered, and yet her face held the softness of someone who would never hesitate to stop and give comfort to a child in the street.

  “Julianne, Master of the Heights." Bastion called. He had to pause to allow the smattering of applause to die down. To know her was to respect her, so the response to her name warmed Bastian's heart.

  "Julianne, the great Leader of the Mystics, Warrior in the fight against the Arcadian dictator Adrien, Liberator of Tahn, and Savior of Lord George of Muir."

  The cheers rose again and Bastian grinned with excitement. He moved his hands and beside Julianne a blonde man appeared, clad in armor and holding a staff as well. The stick was shaped oddly and sported a bright, glowing jewel in one side.

  "Marcus, the Warrior—"

  "And a right good lover, if he snagged the Master Mystic," someone yelled from the crowd. Bastion stifled a snort of laughter as giggles ran through his audience.

  "And what a pair they make," Bastian agreed, acknowledging the relationship between Julianne and Marcus.

  "They were joined by another couple destined to save the world—Danil the Blind and Polly the Righteous…and by their side, Garrett the Rearick."

  As he named each member of the absent party their image appeared. Bastian knew they probably weren’t quite true to life; they stood a little taller and the faces looked to be carved from stone. No, rather than a realistic depiction of each of his friends, they appeared as he saw them in his mind. Perfect. Immutable. Powerful, honorable, and kind.

  “This brave band of warriors travels the countryside as we speak, searching for unprotected towns—like Tahn once was." Bastian ran his eyes over the crowd as he waited for them to fall silent again. "Those who lived here then know the transformation this town has undergone. From a sleepy farm village to a haven of safety and a beacon of strength in dark times. From farmers and crafters to warriors and providers for the region. This is the change Julianne and her group will help implement across the land."

  "She goes to save the world from the alien beasts!" a voice called.

  "They go to rescue the innocent and destroy the remnant!" came another call.

  Bastian nodded. "She goes to liberate people from whatever enemies they face, but primarily she goes to close the rifts; the cracks in the sky that let this vile enemy through. An enemy who has roused the remnant and sent them to ravage the countryside. She goes to save the lives under threat from the Skrima, and to restore freedom and peace."

  Bastian waved a hand again and the images changed. Instead of five people standing tall, they now posed instead for battle. The audience watched as Julianne rammed her sword into a lumbering Skrim and gasped as Danil and Polly danced around a remnant, stabbing and slicing until the beast was brought to its knees. They cheered Marcus and Garrett as each faced a sea of remnant, Marcus shooting his amphorald-powered rifle and Garrett hurling an axe, then spinning to draw a sword.

  The audience hollered, shouted, and squealed as the battling heroes took injuries while dealing death to their enemies.

  "Together, this team of warriors will free Irth of this scourge!"

  The five separate images merged into one, representing the battle Bastian knew was coming. He had seen Skrima-controlled remnant in a transmission from Julianne, so he showed this to those who watched.

  The glowing, swirling battle scene showed Julianne and her friends fighting a horde of possessed remnant, flicking away attacks and dodging old and rusted weapons. Bastian showed them fighting...and winning.

  The illusory battle soon ended and Julianne turned back to face the crowd, piles of dead at her feet flickering into wisps of smoke as Bastian struggled to hold the image.

  He flooded the room with pride and hope. He made them believe that, against all odds, good would triumph over evil. He knew the effect wouldn't last, but right now they needed what little he could give.

  He knew there was a chance, however small, that the story he had told tonight would take wings. It would spread throughout the region as rumors and fireside tales, traveling the lands to give hope to terrified strangers and desperate villages waiting for rescue. He felt the weight of the responsibility and hoped he had lived up to it.

  The crowd erupted into cheers, startling Bastian so much so that he jumped. That wasn't an emotion he had crafted. Wild joy and heartfelt adulation filled the crowd as his images faded.

  Bastian sought Tansy. Almost hidden in the crowd, she stared back at him, eyes wide and filmed with tears.

  I love you, she mouthed. You did well.

  Bastian's heart swelled as he stepped off the stage and made his way toward his lover through the press of bodies on the dance floor. He could tell by their faces that he really had made a difference. The townspeople and the refugees exuded new purpose and determination, and the underlying fear and despair had all but disappeared.

  A shrill bell pierced the babble of conversation that filled the hall and a thick silence blanketed the room.

  "Attack!" Carey yelled, confirming the bell’s warning.

  The silence was quickly filled with babbling voices and the clatter of movement. To Bastian's surprise the reaction was not one of fear, but of excitement.

  "To the wall!" an elderly lady at Bastian's elbow called. She shot him a cheeky glance. "You gave us a taste of the fight. Don't tell me you expect us to stay behind now?"

  "Maybe you'll get one of your own this time, Esme, instead of trying to claim my kill," an elderly man remarked to the woman he'd been dancing with.

  "That was my spear sticking out of his belly, Arnold." The woman smacked his shoulder roughly, though she grinned with excitement as she did so. “And don't you be telling anyone otherwise. You're as useless on the battlefield as you are in the kitchen!"

  Arnold grumbled but gave up his argument. He grabbed Esme’s hands and pulled her toward the door. "Well if we both kill one this time there won't be any arguing. Hurry up or there'll be none left for us!"

  Bastian looked for Tansy in the crowd. She had jumped on top of a long table, and was gingerly stepping across the mess of plates and cups to make her way toward him. She hopped lightly to the ground and ran over.

  "I thought I was going to get trampled in the stampede," she said. "I've never seen a bunch of geriatric villagers run so fast toward a fight. What did Bette do to them yesterday?"

  "She showed them what they were capable of," Bastian responded with a grin. "Are you coming? I want to see this for myself."

  "Wouldn't miss it for the world." Like the older couple who had left earlier, Tansy grabbed Bastian's hand and dragged him toward the exit, jostling past the people hurrying to find weapons and make their way to the wall.

  "I hope you don't expect to find a spear," Bastian called to Tansy. "At this
rate there’ll be none left."

  "Forget the spears; there won't be any remnant left to throw them at. I don't think our skills will be needed. I just want to watch."

  They hurried after the crowd of eager fighters but stopped at the bottom of the watchtower ladder in dismay.

  "No more, no more!" Bette yelled from above. "The wall’s at capacity. Any more bodies up here and the whole thing will come tumblin’ down."

  "Then open the gate," an old woman called, and Bastian winced. She had to be at least in her seventies and leaned heavily on her cane

  "Not a damned chance, ye silly old goat," Bette responded. "If ye want ta fight the remnant, turn up ta weapons trainin’. I'm not lettin’ any o’ ye out there until ye’ve shown ye can hold yer own in a fight."

  Bastian's heart fell at the dismayed grumbling around him. "We can't fight," he called, "but we can watch."

  Bastian pulled himself up onto the bottom rung of the ladder so he was standing just above the others. He let out a slow breath, hoping he had the energy left to master the spell he was about to cast. He muttered a word and his eyes shone.

  Atop the wall, Sharne grinned at the familiar presence in her mind. She scanned the battlefield, obeying Bastian’s silent request to give him the best view in the house.

  Back on the ground, squeals of delight drowned out the noise of battle as the image sprang to life. The inside defensive wall now acted like a screen, displaying the view Sharne was sharing. Instead of a towering wall, those watching saw a steep drop and a horde of remnant in the distance. Their movements were illuminated by the brightly shining moon and the lanterns that dotted the wall surrounding the village.

  "Look, someone threw a spear already!" a young girl called.

  "Waste of a bloody weapon," another yelled. “Don't they know they have to wait until the enemy is in range?"

  As the remnant drew closer conversation increased, dotted by the occasional yell of advice from the ground to the fighters on the wall.

  "Throw it harder!"

  "Aim the bloody thing before you let it go."

  "Look, there's one trying to sneak off to the side"

  The sly remnant who had tried to peel off from the rest of his group was quickly speared and the audience hooted in joy. Any meaning in the babble of conversation was lost in the throes of excitement.

  Tansy gave Bastian an exuberant squeeze around the middle. The earlier celebratory mood had only increased in the face of the unexpected attack; the people who had arrived in Tahn broken and afraid were now fighting back.

  Those without spears wielded a more powerful weapon—hope. They held it high and proud, and thrust it into the faces of the enemy with yells of delight and cries of encouragement.

  The remnant quickly realized there would be no penetrating this well-protected village. One and then another began to run, their retreat followed by the bulk of the attackers.

  They didn't get far. Thanks to Bette's foresight in providing as many weapons as could possibly be made, the villagers and refugees were able to pin the fleeing remnant to the dirt by raining spears from the sky.

  "Stop!" Bette's panicked holler cut through the din. "They're all dead! Stop wastin’ me bloody weapons, ye fools!"

  Nervous laughter spread through those on top of the wall. Bastian wondered how long it would take for the newcomers to fear Bette's tongue-lashings more than whatever the enemy might present at the gate. It certainly hadn’t taken her soldiers long to realize that the stout young woman commanded far more power than the rabble they fought.

  Bastian let the image of the now-quiet battlefield fade way. "Mac, open the gates," he called weakly.

  The small posse of soldiers who had gone out to face the enemy entered to the cheers and handshakes of those waiting for them.

  Lewis caught Bastian’s eye and frowned. "We didn't even get a kill in," he complained, "but they're treating us like heroes."

  "You’ve killed enough of the bastards over the last year to deserve the title," Bastian assured him kindly.

  Lewis shrugged again and wandered off into the crowd, enduring the claps on the back and the occasional grandma who swooped in to kiss him on the cheek.

  The crowd slowly dispersed and people began to wander back to the Hall.

  "Not twenty minutes ago we were facing an attack by a horde of remnant," Tansy said, "and now everyone is heading in for dessert. Not an outcome I ever expected."

  "You and me both," Bastian said. "But if we don't move fast, that cheesecake will run out faster than the remnant did."

  "Then what are you waiting for?" Tansy asked, yanking his arm to hurry him up.

  Bastian trotted back toward the Hall and the celebration that had already resumed inside. Idly, he wondered what Julianne and the rest of his friends were up to on the road. He felt almost guilty for filling his belly with Annie’s cheesecake, knowing that Julianne would likely be living on hard jerky and old bread.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Julianne gratefully accepted the bowl of stew in one hand and a warm, fresh bread roll in the other.

  "What did you add?" Marcus asked through a mouthful of food. "This has spices I didn't bring with me. I don't think I've even tasted them before.”

  "I’m glad you like it," Megan said. The young redhead had introduced herself as Jackson's youngest daughter, and apparently, she'd been in charge of preparing their meal. “It’s an herb that grows like a weed around here. Tastes just fine…until it's the only damn thing in town left to flavor food with. After tasting it every day for three months, it makes you start to wonder if flavoring your meals with cow dung might be nicer.”

  Marcus winced in sympathy. "Well, as someone who is trying it for the first time, it definitely tastes better than that stuff.”

  "The lad’s right; it is a good feed. We really can't thank ye enough." Garrett clapped a hand over his mouth to catch the spray of food that flew out when he spoke. It didn't seem to bother him—he licked his lips, pulled the chunk of potato from his beard, and popped it in his mouth with an expression of joy.

  "Garrett's right," Julianne said. "We know you're struggling to provide for your own people, let alone feeding us.”

  “You seem to be forgetting that it was you who provided the meat,” Jackson reminded her. “We just added a few ingredients to fill it out and threw in a bit of herb. We figured you wouldn't be as sick of it as we are."

  "Are you really going to take us with you?" Megan asked quietly. "Somewhere safe? I don't even remember what it's like to go to bed and not have to wonder if I'll still be alive in the morning."

  Julianne's face creased with sympathy. "We will take you with us—all of you. We won't abandon you, and we won't leave you anywhere we can't be sure you’re completely safe, even if that means you have to come all the way back to Tahn with us."

  "We'd even take ye back ta the Arcadian Valley." Garrett wiped some gravy from his mouth before continuing, “Hell of a trick that’d be! Ye’d have ta cross the Madlands; a place the remnant call their own. Not ta mention the mountain!" Garrett's eyes shone as he remembered his home. He raised a hand and slowly drew it across the sky as he described the place he’d grown up.

  "Imagine a mountain stretching so far inta the sky the top is tipped with clouds.”

  The villagers nodded, and more than one darted a glance at the nearby range. It was tipped with clouds for most of the day, but they let him continue.

  “When yer there on a stormy day, yer livin’ right in the guts o’ the clouds. On those days ye can look out the window and not see the far side o’ the street. Ye have ta be careful on days like that." He opened his eyes wide, warning etched on his face. "Ye can be walkin’ on the road, puttin’ one foot in front o’ the other; as blind as Danil here without ‘is magic. One wrong step—” Garrett slammed his palms on the dirt. "Splat! Hell of a fall, and I guarantee ye wouldn’t survive!"

  Julianne's eyes scanned the faces around her, worried that Garrett’s somber warning migh
t be too much for their already fear-worn companions. However, after what these people had gone through, a quick death from dropping off a cliff seemed benign in comparison.

  Garrett continued his story, moving on to talk about the sheer majesty of the Heights. He told them of the beautiful views on a clear day, the bright stars that seemed to hang within arm’s reach, and the pristine blankets of snow that covered the mountains through most of winter. His speech was so heartfelt that Julianne found herself warding off a pang of homesickness.

  Marcus rested a hand on Julianne's shoulder. His face was creased with sympathy, so she quickly checked his shields to make sure she hadn't been leaking her thoughts to him. Relieved to find them intact, she reached out to Marcus questioningly.

  I can read you like a book, Marcus sent to her. It's written all over your face. You miss the Heights when Garrett talks about them like this.

  Julianne gave a small nod of confirmation. As much as she enjoyed traveling the land, a part of her would always belong at the temple.

  "But Julianne can tell ye about that." Garrett looked at Julianne expectantly, and she realized that she had missed whatever he had said.

  "Go on, Julianne," Megan prompted. "Tell us about the temple. What's it like?"

  A blissful smile touched Julianne's lips and she told them of the grand stone building set into the side of the mountain, built so long ago that it almost looked as if it had risen from the rocks. She told them of the walls that held the heat from the fires to buffer them against the icy winters, and the high ceilings that made even the smallest room seem majestic.

  "Our meals are taken in the great hall," she said, closing her eyes and remembering the joy of meeting with her fellow mystics over a hearty feast. "The windows are mottled glass, and they stretch four times as tall as any man. The lanterns are hung from the ceiling, on great chains that can raise them to the ceiling if needed. Our tables are crafted by rearick from ancient trees, sanded and buffed until they're as smooth as glass. The stone floor is streaked with the paint of ancient pictures that wore away and were repainted, then wore away again."