by Amy Hopkins
A hand grabbed hers, pulling Julianne away from the door.
“Come on, they're too close.” Bastian wrapped an arm around her waist and half pulled, half lifted her towards the back of the house.
The front door slammed open and without hesitation, Bastian sent a magitech blast straight at the bearded man who filled the doorway. He was flung back onto the porch. Bastian kicked the door closed and threw the latch over it.
Moments later, footsteps thundered along the old wooden boards. “Come out, whore!” The rough voice sent chills down Julianne's spine.
She and Bastian ran along the back of the house. Fighting near the barn drowned out the voices that had joined the one in the house.
“Stop,” Julianne snapped. “We don't run from this. We fight.”
Bastian eyed her, then nodded. He lifted the weapon Marcus had given him and raised it. “Go that way. The dead tree near the barn is half rotted, hide inside it. You can see the house and the road from there.”
Julianne grinned. “Where's the fun in that?”
When the first burly guard slammed Annie's back door open and stepped outside, Julianne waved. “Over here, ass maggot!”
“What the hell is an ass maggot?” Bastian hissed.
Julianne giggled as adrenaline filled her veins. “Something a friend taught me.” She waited until the guard was halfway across the yard, then sprinted forwards. She thumped him on the head as she passed, twirling to a stop behind him. Another crack with her staff had him on the ground before he could strike at her once.
Two more people ran out of the house. “That one!” the first yelled, and two more joined them.
“This could be a little harder than expected,” Julianne muttered. “Bastian, you take the orange one. Don’t get hurt.” She eyed the robed mystic. “You don’t know what you’re up against,” she said.
Straightening from her fighting stance, Julianne whispered to herself as her eyes went white. She slammed into a solid shield. Instead of wasting valuable energy on it, she pulled back just enough to graze the minds of the guards, tightly wrapped in mental restraints.
“We're going to play it like this, are we?” Still in a trance, Julianne dropped her weight a little, balancing her staff in two hands. The attackers fanned out around her.
A guard moved in, and she thwacked him in the face with her staff, then ducked a punch from another. Her touch on their minds gave her the slightest edge as she read their intent before they moved.
“For guards, you guys are awfully bad at your job,” she said as her stick crunched against one’s fingers. He yelped and dropped his weapon, unable to move them even as his master dulled the pain. “That’ll hurt later, I’m afraid.”
“Finish her!” the mystic barked.
Three left. Julianne’s head throbbed, and she squinted past the pain, unwilling to let her mind read drop even for an instant.
A guard stepped forward and she struck out, startled when she missed. Her mental control faltered and slipped away, leaving her deaf to his thoughts. The guard stood, trembling. Julianne darted a glance at his master and saw why immediately.
The mystics blue robes were wet and brown. Blood cascaded from his throat as he stared at her, eyes wide and mouth stammering silent words. He collapsed to the ground and behind him, a feral-eyed, bearded man palmed a bloodstained knife, then hobbled away on a thick walking stick. Long hair fell in dirty knots down his back.
“Who the hell was that?” Julianne muttered. Then, she remembered the guards. “Will you stay and fight?” she asked.
They exchanged glances. A moment later, all Julianne could see was their disappearing backs as they ran into the forest.
“Dammit,” Julianne spat. A cry from the barn sent her running.
Bette and Garrett were faced off against each other. Bette scowled, carefully backing away while Garrett breathed hard, his small crossbow aimed at her. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Run, lass. Just run. I dinna think… I can’t…”
“Fight it, Garrett!” Julianne couldn’t even summon a flicker of her magic. “Bastian, find that mystic. I don't care if you have to throw rocks at their head.”
Bastian nodded and ran off. Julianne stepped up next to Bette, hands up defensively. “Garrett, you can stop them. Just concentrate. Focus inside, find your core and slam it in their faces.”
“Bullshit,” Bette snapped. “That ass wipe couldn't fight off a brass balled monkey, let alone a mystic.” Her eyes narrowed. “He couldn't even beat me in a real fight!”
Garrett screamed. He threw his arms wide, throwing the crossbow and roaring until his face went red and the veins in his neck looked ready to burst. “Like fuck I can't beat ye in a fight, rearick!” he yelled. A wide grin spread over his face. “But not today, Bette. Today, we fuck the mind fuckers.”
Bette cheered and ran over to squeeze Garrett in a suffocating hug. She punched his arm, hard, and slapped his shoulder while laughing gleefully. “I knew ye’d fight the mind-fucking shit-stain off!” She didn't see the pained look on his face, and Julianne was too polite to mention it.
A shout rang out and the thud of a magitech blast trembled in the air. “Got him!” Bastian yelled from outside.
Together, the rearick ran through the barn entry, into the battle outside. Julianne slumped against a wall, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment of meditation. The brief exercise didn’t help her headache, but took some of the tiredness that sapped her power.
New faces had appeared in the battle outside. Julianne saw a toothless old man and a white-haired woman in the fray, along with children too young to be fighting.
Just as she wondered where they’d come from, she caught sight of foppish blonde hair bouncing through the guards as they fell. Marcus. What the hell?
Julianne took a steadying breath, then reached out to Bastian and Danil. Time to light a fire under these bastards, she sent. She slipped deeper into her meditation then, fortifying her strength as much as she could.
She worked an image, sending thin tendrils of smoke up from the nearby wood. It thickened, darkening the air even as flames began to lap the trees and grass. The army began to dissipate and some turned to run back down the road they'd marched on less than a hour before.
That's when it came. The big green beast rose from the trees on wings the size of wagons, its tail lashing angrily. He opened his maw and belched out a breath of burning flame. Julianne dropped her illusion and staggered back, raising her arms over her face as the creature turned its great head past her.
“Dragon!” The scream pierced the air and the last of the army fell, quivering in fear of the monstrous beast.
The townspeople cheered, weak voices sending out a frail cry that lifted her heart nonetheless.
“Hurry up, I can’t hold this bloody thing all day.”
Julianne spun. Behind her stood a grey-haired man, eyes white and face dirty. By his side, Marcus grinned.
She blinked. “Artemis?” she gasped.
“Yes?” He blinked back at her, waiting for a question.
“No, I mean…” Astounded, she looked towards the soldier instead. “Marcus, what the hell?”
Marcus chuckled. “Found him. Well, Annie did. I left her and Lilly in an old ruin. Her husband used to shelter there when he was on a hunt. Turns out old Artemis here had claimed the place as his own.”
Artemis frowned. “No, I didn't. I was just living there. Never said it was mine.”
Marcus gave him a sideways glance and nodded slowly. “Anyway, I thought I'd come back and see if I could help. Art wanted to see what was going on.”
“Artemis,” the old man grumped.
“Sorry. Artemis. Anyway, what are you going to do with all them? Surely you can't hold that dragon illusion up forever?” Marcus ran his eyes over the cowering army.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“I still don't understand why you let them live,” Marcus said. He gripped his empty cup, turning it in his han
ds.
Julianne plucked it out of his hands and set it firmly on the table. “Because we don't really know if they deserved to die,” Julianne said. “Many of them were brainwashed into thinking they were serving a greater good. This leader of theirs really knows his stuff, I don't know how long it'll take to undo what he did. Or even if we can.”
“It takes approximately three days to reverse the spell, then twelve more weeks for full rehabilitation,” Artemis said, coming in. He dragged off his coat and looked for a place to put it. Not seeing anywhere good enough, he shrugged and dropped it on the floor.
“What do you know about it, mystic?” Marcus asked.
“I taught it to him. It wasn’t hard. The shielding, too.”
“To August?” Julianne struggled to put the pieces together in her mind.
“Don't be an idiot. August doesn't have a talented bone in his body. I taught Rogan, and he spread it to the rest once they were his. Or he tried to. Or maybe he didn't. The techniques these people used were crass and inefficient, though perhaps they have a more sustained effect. I really should look into that.”
“Who's Rogan? And why the hell would you teach him how to control people like that?” Marcus picked his cup again, this time gripping it almost tight enough to crush the ceramic.
Julianne snatched it back. “Artemis, he's right. Rogan is Master of the Dawn, he’s the leader of this damned cult. He's making people into slaves! You don't condone that, surely?”
Artemis gave an exasperated grunt. “I didn’t mean to. I was researching. You can’t study a spell without a subject. I didn't think he'd do… well, all that.” He frowned, the long hairs of his brows drooping sadly. “He said he just wanted to be my friend. He probably didn’t mean it. Most don't.”
Julianne rubbed her head. “So, you can undo the spell that made them his lackeys? Free these mystics and the rest of the town?”
Artemis sat up. “The town? Oh no. They'll need more healing than a few weeks’ worth. The mystics, though, he just used plain old magic on those. Feedback loop. Pretty simple when you think about it. I wonder why someone didn’t come up with it before this.”
“You'll help us, though?” Julianne asked, leaning over the table. “Help us undo the damage he caused?”
“Well, on account of it being my fault, I suppose I must.” Artemis dug in his beard, scratching his chin. “Then what?”
Julianne fell silent, thinking it through. “We take in those who will help, rehabilitate the town. Once that's done, we can hunt down August—he wasn't among the dead, or those we captured—and try to find Rogan. And we deal with him—permanently.”
“And the rest?” Marcus asked.
Julianne nodded gravely. “They have one chance. I hope that most of them acted outside of their own will, but any who didn't won't get the chance to do this to anyone else.”
“Good, good. I'll teach you the trick of it, and how to link up for shielding, too. Designed that one myself, of course.” Artemis nodded, eyes focused on something distant. “You do have them locked up, don't you?”
Julianne nodded. She, Bastian and Danil had locked the rogue mystics in the barn and sent Bette and Garrett to stay with Annie and Lilly until the problem was sorted. Until the spell was broken and the victims sorted from the perpetrators, Julianne didn't want anyone around who didn't have a rock-solid shield.
Reflexively, she checked Marcus. So far, his shields had held. One day, she’d get to the bottom of that. “Three days. You think you'll be ok that long, soldier?”
Marcus smiled. “As long as I have you by my side.”
Julianne reached under the table and took his hand. “Three days. Then we start it all again. You sure you want to stick around for this?”
He winked. “Someone’s gotta keep you outta trouble. Or help you get into it.”
FINIS
Author Notes - Amy Hopkins
Written September 21, 2017
Whew, what a whirlwind couple of months! I’m quickly scribbling these notes down in between tweaking some book two scenes and getting ahead on book three. I’m also checking in to my first appearance on the Facebook pages - you guys are all so sweet!
Putting work out is really nerve wracking, but the kind and supportive comments from the fans (who haven’t read a thing I’ve written yet, mind you) have been amazing, so thank you.
Anyway, I guess you want to know a little about me. I’m an Aussie mum with three kids and a passion for writing and reading. Growing up, I was the ‘weird kid’ who walked around carrying books too big for my gangly arms and who could navigate the whole school without looking up from the pages my face was buried in.
Now my days are spent frantically scribbling words between bites of weetbix, cleaning up spills, breaking up fights and debating whether using mental magic to send naughty kids to bed would be unethical, if it were an option. It’s hard - really hard, some days, but it’s also the most fun I’ve ever had. To be able to create my own stories is a dream come true!
Speaking of dreams, this seems like a good time to drag Michael in. I remember when my first book came out. It wasn’t doing great. I was a nobody in this huge group of writers that were making pots of money. I didn’t feel like I had much to offer, but Michael still took the time to pull me in on a voice chat, making a space in his already packed schedule to offer advice and support to this fledgling writer.
I’ve never forgotten that first talk, or the way he offered so much of himself to so, so many people.
Fast forward a year and a bit, and my good friends Chris and Lee interviewed Michael on their podcast. Next thing I knew, they were jumping into the KGU and asking if I wanted to join them.
The Age of Magic channel in our Slack group (the program we use to talk, organize and track all the details that keep the worlds running) is like a close knit family. I knew good things about Brandon and had vaguely heard of PT and Candy before joining. Justin and I had spoken a bit before, so I knew I was in good company. I didn’t expect it to be this much fun, though!
Anyway, I’ll sign off now because I can get a bit rambley when I’m not following a scene by scene outline! And I know the consequence of wasting time when I could be writing more books.
I’ll see you guys in a couple of days, when I write the notes for book two!
-Amy
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Written September 28, 2017
First, THANK YOU for not only reading this book but reading all the way through to the Author Notes as well!
I only vaguely remember speaking with Amy (this would be over a year ago, I think) on that first video call. What I remember at the time (other than working to answer some questions) was “WOW, I’m speaking to an author that lives down under!”
It doesn’t take much for me to feel impressed by speaking to others in foreign countries.
Later, I listened to the Part-Time Writers podcast with CM Raymond and LE Barbant (See it here: http://www.parttimewriters.com ) and they mention Amy every few podcasts. Usually, because Amy was giving them some shit, and Chris is so willing to share all the stuff in their path to becoming full-time publishing authors.
Even the bad stuff Amy would tell them.
Somehow, these three became a trinity of friends giving each other a healthy dose of reality (which I secretly believe Chris thrives on. The worse the reality, the more he likes it.)
Amy speaks in her Author Notes about the guys having me on their podcast, then poof they were writing in The Kurtherian Gambit.
I was on their podcast and challenged them to realize that from what I understood, they didn’t know what their mountain (their goal) was with their stories. They firmly had one foot in the literature camp, and one foot in the fun-stories, pulp type genre.
They tried to do a mash-up, and it wasn’t succeeding too well. Then, they were off on other trials and tribulations, but ALWAYS they were looking back, longingly, to their literature roots.
So, fast forward
like a month. It’s Christmas time 2016, and I get a request to chat from Chris - He’s asking (because he is in the 20Booksto50k group and knew of some of the people I was collaborating with) if I was open to another collaboration?
Damn! What an honor to be asked.
We agreed to push the discussion until after Christmas, but that we were absolutely going to go forward, details to be figured out later.
Then, I hit them with a “What do you guys think about running the Age of Magic?” as we were working out the details… They accepted, and I was fist pumping -“WOOHOO!”
Fast forward a couple of months, and they said they had one particular author they wanted to bring with them…
Enter Amy Hopkins.
It was serendipitous that we all traveled in these circles, and that people that care for each other have the opportunity to help each other. We have processes to do our best when on boarding a new author and the guys have the responsibility to make sure we stay on track, pleasing the fans (JIT).
I had trust in them, they had trust in Amy, and now we have a new series and another author who is biting her fingernails hoping, no praying, that all of you like her books and characters… Or is she the one that is going to be the first to fail?
I don’t think so, Amy - so you can stop biting your fingernails.
THANK YOU ALL for helping this self-professed nerd/geek girl with scrawny arms, who would read books walking down the school hall to provide you with a few of her own stories…
Just like you did me, a little less than two years ago.
Ad Aeternitatem,
Michael
Amy Hopkins
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