Journeyman Warsmith

by Chris Hollaway

  “He may have followed me from the Palace, or before that,” Kevon admitted. “I have no idea who he is, though.”

  “He seems to like you,” she whispered in his ear, drawing uncomfortably close. “I’m a little jealous.”

  Shrugging her off, Kevon walked to the table and picked up the staff.

  The world spun madly, engulfed in a fiery cataclysm. The screams of the burning echoed in Kevon’s ears, his face flushed with rage.

  The staff clattered back to the table, and Kevon staggered, sweat beading on his face.

  “Doesn’t seem very helpful,” Alanna offered.

  The staff lay there, dormant, unnoticed by the Seeker’s magical senses, but the power he’d just felt was akin to the torrent of flames he’d watched the mysterious Mage dispatch the other two enemy Magi with earlier tonight. It felt like the staves in the armory at Gurlin’s tower, multiplied beyond his comprehension. The malevolence of the enchanter’s intent must have transferred into this staff as the others had, to a degree approaching madness. Kevon was loath to handle the weapon, let alone use it, but at some point it might be his only advantage. He steeled his nerves against the residual emotion tied to the staff, and picked it up again.

  The mental safeguards he’d erected seemed to keep at least a portion of the fury infused in the staff at bay. His pulse quickened, and the sweat already glistening on his face started flowing more freely. “Let’s find the others,” he snapped. “We’re through hiding from these Magi.”

  * * *

  The door slammed a bit too loudly for Kevon’s liking, and he tripped over a chair, bruising his shins and smacking his elbow on a table. The fury that rose-

  Isn’t mine… the Warsmith reminded himself, pushing back at his connection to the enchanted staff.

  From the shuttered window, Alanna tsk’d softly. “Almost brought that patrol down on us.”

  “I did no such thing.” The end of the staff Kevon held flared to life, lighting the darkened room.

  Turning to gaze at the barely-restrained Mage, Alanna’s glare softened, reminiscent of Marelle. “There must be a lot of anger in that, to change you so much.” Scoffing, she turned back to the window and peeked out again as the sound of hoof-beats on cobblestone grew louder once more.

  “Odd,” she said once the noise quieted down to nothing. “Haven’t seen him around in years.”

  “Who?”

  “The boy from the inn,” Alanna answered, tugging at her earlobe. “Bart…”

  “Bertus?”

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “Was there a Mage with him?” Kevon hurried to the doorway. “A black-robe?”

  “No, a guardsman.” She answered, twirling a dagger with a casual grace. “And two more following them. Is he one of the enemy?”

  The Warsmith shook his head. “He’s a good friend. And if Mirsa is in the city, she’s in danger. We have to go warn them.”

  Allana shrugged and followed Kevon’s mad rush out into the night.

  Chapter 44

  “That’s right, sir. The hostile Magi are not here on Prince Alacrit’s orders.” Bertus leaned forward over the Guard Commander’s desk, tired of waiting for the man to finish reading the missive. “They are enemies of the Realm, to be dispatched on sight.”

  “So you say,” the tired-looking man groaned. “And your friend is one of them?”

  “He is a Mage, but not one of them!” the Seeker shouted, and hands around the room moved to sword hilts. “A Journeyman, Alone. From what Alec has told me, these others move in groups, always with a Master. I’ve been here all of half an hour, and I have it figured out. You’ve been dealing with this scum for weeks?”

  “Now listen here, you pup!” the commander snarled, slapping his hands down on the desk as he stood to shout into Bertus’s face. “You can’t just walk in here and tell me what-”

  “That parchment you just read lets me do exactly that,” the Seeker responded, quieting to his normal speaking voice. “Would you like to help me, or remain here, in chains?”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Bertus rode at the head of a column of guardsmen that thundered down the smoke-filled streets. Three precinct Guard Commanders and over four dozen guardsmen and volunteers rode, crossbows at the ready. They had already slain a trio of the enemy Magi; a Master, a Journeyman, and an Apprentice, by the colors of their robes. That had been ten minutes ago, and not a soul besides the riders themselves had been spotted since.

  The patrol rode into the Market Square, and Bertus turned to address the three ranking officers while the others fanned out, eyeing the rooftops and the side streets.

  “Their supposed headquarters was empty, but they had been seen coming and going, at least in the area, for weeks?” The Seeker sighed, and glared at the precinct’s Commander. “Do we need to swing back north and search building by building to the east until we flush them out?

  “There are only a handful of places…” the targeted Commander shook his head. “I’ll take two squads north and sweep them, to the east, as you suggested. The other two should ride east and fan out to the north and wait. If they’re there, we’ll get them.”

  The precinct Commander that Bertus had first spoken with motioned for the Seeker to follow, and twenty men rode east after them, leaving the other two Guard Captains and roughly thirty other guardsmen to begin the sweep north.

  The choking fog still rolled in from the south, not quite strong enough to overpower the salt air as they rode closer to the sea. Five streets down, the Commander wheeled his horse around and addressed Bertus.

  “We’ve enough men to stretch to the waterfront from here. You can wait-”

  “I’d rather ride than sit,” Bertus answered, edging his mount to the north. The more ground I cover, the more likely I am to find Kevon, he added mentally.

  “Alec, stay with him.”

  “Yes, sir!” The young guardsman broke ranks and rode to Bertus’s side.

  The Seeker began leading the column up the darkened roadway, watching the shadows and the rooftops for any signs of movement. Crossbow at the ready, he paused at each intersection for a full minute, making sure the riders behind him had fully examined the path behind. He cast an appraising eye down each corridor, alert for anything that might seem out of place in the city that had been his home for so many years.

  There should be movement, even at this hour, he thought, remembering back to the days he had worked at the Maiden, and the nights he had prowled the streets with Alec and some of the others their age. He would not have missed a fire in the middle of the night for anything, though it might cost him a beating at the hands of his former employer.

  “Not a single soul,” he whispered, glancing up and down the side streets at the third intersection they passed through.

  “Only guard patrols brave the darkness here these days, for what good they are.” Alec confirmed. “Sailors stay on their ships, or at inns. It’s…” he bit his lip. “An uneasy peace.”

  The fifth street was the track above the waterfront. It angled from northwest to southeast, curving with the bay to the outskirts of town to the north, to the grand Myrnar embassy that extended into the sea to the east.

  “End of the road,” Alec announced. “Nothing to do but wait.”

  The riders behind shifted to spread out evenly, bunching closer together only at the intersections. Bertus and Alec sat side by side twenty yards from the next nearest patrolman.

  Bertus.

  The Seeker heard his name in a whisper that could have been his own thoughts, but the nudge on his shoulder could not have been his imagination. Scanning the roadway, he noticed a flicker of light to the east.

  “Wait here,” he told Alec, reining the mare toward the alleyway. He waved off the guardsman’s initial protest, and rode around the corner into the darkness.

  “Bertus,” Kevon whispered, dropping the deepened shadow Illusion that he’d used to cover himself and Alanna.

  The Seeker
’s horse shied at their sudden appearance, snorting nervously until Kevon reached out and scratched its muzzle.

  “Is all of this your doing?” Bertus whispered, swinging down from the saddle to clasp Kevon’s arm in greeting.

  “Some,” the Warsmith chuckled. “Not all. I had help.”

  “I see that. Who is…” His hand froze in mid-greeting.

  Alanna’s grin widened as recognition crept into the Warrior’s face.

  “Marelle?”

  “Not exactly,” Kevon sighed. “There’s no time to explain now. The enemy Magi are on the run, we’ve nearly wiped them out.”

  “The city guard is helping now,” the Seeker commented, gaze still riveted on Alanna’s face. “They’re sweeping through the streets, trying to drive them toward us.”

  “I’ll have my men move to the rooftops, then,” the assassin purred. “We’ll close this noose once and for all.”

  “Your men?” Bertus sputtered, looking over to Kevon. “Who are her…”

  The Adept glanced to where Alanna had been standing. “She does that now,” he shrugged.

  “You’ve got to come with me,” Bertus declared, climbing back on his mare. “We’ll get through this togeth-”

  “No.” The Warsmith shook his head at the Seeker, and backed further down the alleyway, clutching the staff. “I’ve got to stay with her, see this through.” He formed the runes for Darkness and Illusion in his mind. “I’ll see you when this is over.” He fed the runes power, and melted into the shadows to begin his search for Alanna.

  Chapter 45

  “What was it?” Alec asked as Bertus rode back to the waiting line of guardsmen.

  “I found my friend,” he chuckled. “I feel sorry for any of those Magi that get past us. We also shouldn’t have to worry about watching the-”

  A strangled cry came from above them, and a red-robed figure toppled from the roof to land only feet from where Bertus and Alec waited. A stubby feathered crossbow bolt protruded from the Mage’s chest, the fabric of his robes stained a darker crimson radiating from the anchoring projectile.

  “The rooftops,” Bertus continued, “Are secured by marksmen. Reasonably effective ones, at that.” He leaned over to make sure the fallen Mage was dead. “I suggest we hold here, and prepare for the worst.”

  “Something is happening,” Alec whispered to Bertus minutes later, pointing along the waterfront road to where they could just now begin to see the other guard units sweeping toward them.

  Cries of fear and anger threaded their way through the dimly lit streets, quick flashes of light illuminating the guardsmen on the road before they charged back to the south.

  Alec wheeled his mount around and started to ride toward up the road to where the others had disappeared.

  “No!” Bertus called. “We hold here!” He looked down the line of troops to the south. Most of them were having trouble controlling their horses, which were infected with the excitement and confusion of the night’s events. “We hold here!” the Seeker thundered, causing more than one steed to rear up before it could be brought back under control by its rider. In the span of time it took for Alec to return to Bertus’s side, the rest of the guards on their street had settled back to an uneasy watchfulness.

  “You’ve changed more than I would have thought possible these last few years,” Alec observed, turning so that he could see the streets running to the south and west before loading his crossbow.

  “I’ve seen some of the faces of war,” Bertus shrugged. “Not the ones you hear of in the songs, with lines of men arrayed against each other, fighting for what they have been told to, or what they believe is right. No…” he stared down the street to where the guardsmen had returned and were advancing toward them once more. “I’ve seen men cultivating weapons they cannot control, growing armies that would be the ruin of us all. Powerful Magi stalking down darkened corridors like thieves in the night, slaughtering innocents.” He drew the regal blade from its scabbard at his side, regarded it a few moments before returning it. “If we cannot stand fast against that, we are lost.”

  Alec said nothing, nodding once, and resuming his watch of the advancing guards and the surrounding area.

  I’m not the only one who has changed these last few years, Bertus thought, replaying the scene in the alley with Kevon and Marelle over again in his mind. Everyone thought her dead, but here she is, scarred, capable, elusive… The corners of the Warrior’s mouth turned up in the hint of a smile. And she has… men?

  The sounds of the oncoming patrols had quieted down to nothing. Lost in thought, Bertus had not followed Alec’s gaze to the deepening shadow moving almost unnoticed past them in the street.

  “There’s no clouds,” the guardsman commented, looking up at the unobstructed moon, then back to the wavering miasma that was nearly across to the building between them and the rest of the approaching guards.

  “It might be Kev-” the Seeker halted mid-word as he noted the poor quality of the magic. The illusion dissolved and his gaze locked onto the eyes of the black robed figure that resolved before them. Unreasonable fear swept through him, but vanished as he gripped the hilt of the sword at his side. His horse and Alec’s both collapsed out from under them with simultaneous sighs. Bertus rolled free, springing to his feet, sword drawn, cringing at the mangled crossbow beneath his fallen steed. He bellowed a fearsome war-cry, but the Mage laughed, glancing to where Alec had fallen, and lay unmoving. Bertus ventured a quick glance at his downed friend, and back up the street to where the rest of the guard waited, oblivious to what was transpiring not a stone’s throw from their positions.

  “I’m curious, boy,” the white-haired wizard chuckled, “As to who you thought I might be, that did not concern you as much as is proper.”

  “He thought you might have been me,” Kevon answered, stepping into view from the corner of the building behind Bertus. “Master.”

  Confusion clouded Holten’s face for a moment as he recognized Kevon, and saw the sword at his side. “No matter,” the Master Mage laughed. “I don’t know how you survived abandoning the Arts, but it will not be for much longer.”

  The Warsmith drew his wooden sword, angling the blade to produce the loudest rasp possible as he did so.

  “You know as well as I that two blades are no match for my magic,” Holten gloated.

  “That may be true,” Kevon shrugged, and began circling to the right, as Bertus advanced to the left.

  The Master Mage began his assault with fireballs, hotter and faster than anything Kevon had witnessed his former Master perform while he studied with him in Laston. Bertus knocked aside the blazing spheres aimed at him with the ancient sword, and Kevon severed the power behind the attacks with spells of his own as they reached his wooden blade.

  Holten’s attacks intensified as his attention was split between the two attackers and their widening angles of approach. Cobblestones scraped free from their places in the street, and hurtled at the Warriors. Kevon shifted his attention to severing the connections between the stones and Holten, rushing the Mage to further tax his concentration.

  Realizing the interference had to come from Kevon, Holten split his focus and drew a whole section of street up between himself and Bertus, each stone supported by its own Movement spell. With an arcane word and a flinging gesture from the Master Mage, the wave of flying stone sped toward the Seeker faster than Kevon could manage to counter.

  The Warsmith concentrated on breaking apart as much of the spell-driven flood of rocks as he could, but the Illusions he’d been keeping up all evening, and the exertions of the last minute or so had taxed him to the limit. He countered less than a third of the cobblestone projectiles, which slowed only slightly at that.

  Bertus leapt and rolled, to the weaker side of the onslaught, but forward, and over many of the flagging projectiles. Several of the cobbles still struck him, and he staggered to his feet, sword knocked free, lost amongst the scattered stones.

  “No.” Kevon
spoke in a commanding voice, stepping forward and pitching the wooden sword end over end in an arc that targeted his former Master.

  Panicked, Holten shifted to the side, lurching clumsily at the sudden application of his Movement spell to himself.

  Kevon used the moment of distraction to his advantage, having decided that Holten was a bit much for himself and the now shaken Bertus to handle alone. He used most of his reserves to end the Illusion the Master Mage had been holding to keep the other guards oblivious of the battle. He reached behind his back to grasp the staff, and brought it to bear on Holten, who eyed the alarmed guardsmen who were beginning to ride toward them from down the street.

  Flames brighter and hotter than those Holten had just flung at the Warriors spewed from the end of the staff, enveloping the Mage.

  He laughed.

  The rage that poured from the weapon fueled Kevon’s attack, building power until he could feel his fingers blistering at its touch.

  Flames wrapped around the Master Mage, spinning like a fiery whirlwind, his long white hair whipping about as if it was nothing more than a dust devil in a freshly plowed field, rather than a raging conflagration that engulfed him.

  Holten’s arm shot out, directing some of the gathered flame to lance at Bertus, who staggered mostly out of the way, but still collapsed, tunic smoldering.

  The night brightened as an increasingly familiar sight rent apart the fabric of reality. The crippled Mage who had given Kevon the staff stepped out, his own weapon pointed at Holten. Flames poured from both staves, but the besieged Mage only laughed louder.

  “Here’s a trick I learned a few years ago, at the tower,” the twisted Mage rasped, and the flames ebbed from his staff, from around Holten.

  The Master Mage started screaming.