She jumped, driving towards the ground elbow-first. He rolled, but too slow and caught the point in his calf. Garrett yelped, then kicked at her head.
He missed, but the distraction was enough to let him scurry away and limp to his feet. “Ye warmed up, now?" he asked.
“Aye,” she said with a terrifying grin. “Let’s show these overgrown lumps how real fightin’s done.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before she ran at him, jumping at the last moment to angle her feet into a kick.
Garrett raised his arms to block. Her feet planted on his thick muscles, using his block as a springboard as she backflipped. Garrett lashed out with a kick of his own, and Bette flung her body back until her head almost touched the ground, feet still planted solidly on the floor.
She twisted as she came up, then drove her shoulder into Garrett’s midsection. She lifted him and dumped him back, but he rolled, only just saving his head from contacting the hardwood below.
Bette threw a fist. Garrett didn’t block it, taking the punch to his gut, and he smashed his fists together over her ears.
They fought in silence, punches and kicks were blocked or parried, or withstood with quiet grunts. Julianne marveled at Garrett’s quickness, his instinctive movements that barely registered as thought.
Then, it happened. Bette caught a punch thrown at her face, pulled Garrett’s arm down, kicked his foot out from under him, and kneed him in the face.
Julianne heard the crunch even as she felt it through her connection with him. Tempted as she was to pull away, she didn’t. She had to be sure.
Head reeling, Garrett tried to drop back into a defensive stance, but Bette didn’t let him, hammering his face with blows hard enough to make his ears ring. When she finished with a solid roundhouse kick, Julianne quickly assessed the damage, then dropped the connection.
Garrett was out cold.
There was a moment of silence as Bette prodded him to make sure he was down. When she stood up and raised her fist, the villagers went wild, screaming and shouting and showering her with applause.
“I think we have our winner!” Julianne called over the noise, raising Bette’s hand in triumph.
“He flubbed it!” one of the men yelled from the back.
“No, he didn’t! I was watching!” Bastian called.
Julianne smiled at him. “So was I. He fought with everything he had. Bette won fair and square.”
The cheering intensified, until a groan from the floor made Julianne step back.
“How are you feeling?" she asked, quickly jumping back in his head. She checked his mind for damage and, as she expected, found none. Rearick physiology didn’t just cause a height difference. Their bones were stronger, especially the skull.
“I feel like I’ve been kicked in the head by a horse—by a strong and beautiful woman,” he quickly amended, seeing Bette looking down at him.
“Bloody good fight,” she said.
“Aye.” He took her hand and Bette hoisted him to his feet. “Damn, woman, ye pack a punch. And a kick, too.”
“Are you ok, Garrett?” Danil asked. “Because if you are, I’m going to hit you myself. What the hell was that?”
“What was what?” Garrett squinted at Danil.
“I thought you were going to ask Bette…” Danil looked at Bette, who was listening intently. “Uhh, something else. Who asks a woman to brawl?”
“What, ye think a woman is too precious to kick yer ass?” Bette asked menacingly.
Danil took an involuntary step back. “No! No. Definitely not. Woman are great at brawling, really.”
Garrett erupted into laughter. “Good man, ye’ve got the right idea. Never tell a woman she can’t fight, or ye’ll get the snot knocked out of ye in a hot minute.”
“It must be a rearick thing,” Bastian said. “I can’t imagine any Arcadian lady who’d go toe to toe in a fist fight.”
“Ah, the lad hasn’t met our Hannah, then?” Garrett looked to Julianne for confirmation.
Hannah, the leader of the Arcadian revolution some months back, was a lot like Bette, Julianne realized. “No, he was tucked up safe with the other initiates then.” Hannah wasn’t just the strongest magician Julianne had seen, though her mental magic could do with some more practice.
Hannah was street-smart and could fight like… well, like a rearick. Living on the streets in a slum, under the oppressive rule of nobles like Adrien would either make you or break you. It was definitely Hannah’s making.
“Bette has spoken to me about it, a little. She’s been waiting for Garrett to finally work up the balls to ask her to duel.”
“You knew this would happen?” Danil asked, wondering if it was too early to feel relieved.
Julianne nodded. “It’s a tradition amongst the men, mostly, to establish hierarchy. In most cases, position in a team is determined by seniority and competence, but sometimes there are disputes.”
“So, they settle it with a cage match.” Danil’s voice was flat, and he said it as a statement, not a question. He was beginning to wonder if he’d been played.
“We’re not animals, Danil. Who’d wanna fight in a cage, anyway?” Bette chucked him over the shoulder, a friendly jab that made him wince nonetheless.
“So, if this fight was always going to happen, I’m off the hook for instigating it?”
Julianne regarded him coolly. Still shielded, face calm, she didn’t answer until his face had paled. Then, she burst out laughing. “I think I’ll let you off, this time. But for Bitch’s sake, don’t get involved with things without asking questions first, ok? You’ll get a reputation for being a literal blind fool if you’re not careful.”
“Ha fucking ha. I’m going to get a drink.”
Danil stomped off, planning to get well and truly shitfaced before the evening was over. Now that the entertainment was at an end, people were starting to go home and the number of children running around had dropped noticeably.
Just as well, Danil thought as he caught the words to a scandalous ditty the banjo players were singing.
“…and just as her dress flipped o’er her head
And her lover fell flat on the prostitute’s bed
Only then did his wife throw the door open wide
And drag him downstairs by the hair on his hide…”
Sitting back on a bench, eyes closed, Danil didn’t bother to rouse when Bastian and Garrett came to sit next to him. He could see just as well with them shut anyway.
“Thank ye for settin’ me on the straight, Danil. No better feeling than this.”
“No better feeling than getting the snot kicked out of you?” Danil asked, bemused.
“Aye. Now, she knows I respect her and I know she respects me slightly less. As it should be.” Garrett took a long pull of his drink. “Did I ever tell ye about a lass—”
The doors to the hall burst open, and through his mental vision, Danil saw Marcus with one of his soldiers. He looked pissed.
Chapter Fourteen
“Julianne!” At Marcus’s urgent yell, Danil’s eyes shot open. He reached the soldier a moment after his Master did.
“Which gate?” Julianne asked, and Danil realized she had already read the emergency from Marcus’s thoughts.
Rather than plough through an untrained mind looking for details, Danil went straight to Julianne.
A small army, headed for the town. They’re threatening our guards, asking for the mayor. Something about taxes, but there’s too much shouting to know more.
Julianne sent the information with words, filling in the blanks with quick images and sounds. Danil picked out one man who seemed to be leading the group, dressed in polished silver armor and decked in ribbons and finery.
“He looks like a right prick,” Danil muttered.
Marcus, used to the silent exchange of information, laughed. “That he does, one with a right sharp stick up his ass.”
“Come on,” Julianne said. “Let’s go find out what he wan
ts. Bastian, Garrett, stay here and make sure no one follows us. I don’t want this getting out of hand.”
Since the town’s enslavement and consequent liberation from the New Dawn, Tahn had no elected officials. The townspeople had been working together so well, no one had even thought about replacing the deceased mayor.
Julianne kicked herself for not seeing to it earlier, but figured that, as the evening’s ‘guest of honor’, she may as well earn her keep. Besides, after all they had been through, the last thing these people needed was another headache.
Making their way to the eastern road into town, Julianne soon saw the commotion. The soldiers were riled up, and she could feel the tension in the air. If someone didn’t diffuse this situation, it would get ugly, fast.
Danil, calm them. She sent the message silently, on the hopefully small chance that the newcomers had a mystic with them.
Her shoulders dropped as anger and fear was sucked out of the air. Not too much—Danil left them enough unease to keep them on edge, alert for danger—but enough that a wrong word shouldn’t start a war.
She picked out their leader simply by seeking the arrogance that leaked out of him. Determined not to give him the upper hand, she strode directly up to him, head high. Even looking up at him astride a stunning horse, she managed to tilt her head back enough that she was looking down her nose.
“Is there a problem?” The man was probably a noble, but as Master of the Mystic Temple, Julianne held a rank at least equal to his, if not higher.
He sneered down at her. “You’re the leader of this pathetic rabble? Control your men. If they act like whimpering dogs, they’ll be bitten by my wolves.”
The men behind Julianne bristled, and she felt for Danil. Controlling the emotions of a crowd this worked up wasn’t easy, but she didn’t want to distract herself by helping him.
“These are the men of Tahn. They are their own people; I am just an emissary from across the Madlands.”
“I thought as much.” The man spat on the ground. “You look too clean to be from this shithole. Name’s George. Of course, that’s my father’s name, too. I’m George the Third.” He leaned forwards with an outstretched hand. Julianne didn’t need magic to know he was looking straight down her top.
She didn’t react, ignoring his hand and looking at his men. Her eyes misted over for the briefest second; then, as she altered her appearance just the tiniest bit, they turned her regular shade of green.
It was an old trick the mystics often used in public, though it was of little use amongst themselves. Covering their white eyes made outsiders more at ease, letting them think the mystic wasn’t using magic at all.
It was a practice Julianne avoided on principle. She didn’t like hiding her powers out of courtesy, but right now, it was all she could do not to kick this man in the teeth. Hiding my eyes is about as courteous as this meeting will get, I suspect, she thought to herself.
“What is your business with Tahn?" she asked.
She already knew—she had pushed past his surprisingly strong shield to read his mind, and knew someone had sent him to investigate the area and see what had happened to the New Dawn stationed here.
The figure that gave his orders was blurred out in his mind, along with any more specific compulsions. Julianne’s hackles were raised, but she steadied her heart rate with careful breaths to cover her revulsion.
Dropping his hand with a scowl, George looked her up and down.
“You speak for them, do you?" he asked.
“I do.”
“Well, you should know your crappy little host town owes fealty to Muir, and its lord. That lord would be my father, by the way.” He cocked an eyebrow, and Julianne caught a fleeting expectation that she would be impressed. “George the Second?”
She stifled a snort. Nothing about this little shit kicker was impressive. “You’re here to collect taxes?" she asked, catching onto his cover story.
George Junior’s mind raced as he realized he could not only complete the job he was asked to do, but fill his pockets, too. “Yes. They’re late, by a month.”
“And these taxes are for?” Julianne raised a bored eyebrow.
“What all taxes are for.” George’s irritation showed as he sucked at a tooth. When Julianne motioned for him to continue, he added, “You know… roads, protection, schools. Those things don’t pay for themselves.”
“Oh! So, you’re here to pave the roads and build a school for the hardworking people of Tahn? Because you’ve sure as hell done a piss-poor job of protecting them.” A few cries of agreement went up from the Tahn soldiers.
George reddened. “The people of this shit-hole town couldn’t muster up the brains to make a school worth it. And why would we pave the roads? Not like the place will be any cleaner. It might stifle the dust, but the place is full of lice.”
“We’ve spent the last two seasons enslaved by a bunch of mind-fuckers,” one of the men behind Julianne called out. “Where were your fancy soldiers then, aye? Off sucking their mamas’ teats? They sure as fuck weren’t protecting anyone.”
She narrowed her eyes, waiting to see if the little pustule had an answer for that. She couldn’t read it before he spoke. He didn’t think much before opening his mouth.
“Maybe you were better off, then,” he said. Julianne’s anger rose. “At least the tithes were coming through.”
She pushed harder, rifling through his memories. The man was too stupid to sense it. He was speaking the truth. Cart after cart, laden with the best produce of Tahn, had flooded in over recent months.
Why? His mind had so many blank spots she was surprised he could still function. The answer to the shipments was hidden in one of them, she was sure.
When the lordling touched his temple and squinted, she pulled back. Anyone with a sensitivity to mental magic would feel a buzzing sensation in the temples and forehead when being mind-read, and she cursed her luck that he was one of them.
“If you have time for festivities, you clearly have time for work. Pay the money owed by week’s end. If your little town is too piss poor to make tithe, you can make it up with fine women and serving girls. No ugly bitches—only the best. We’ll take them by force if we need to.”
George spat again, but this time, he missed the ground. A stringy dollop of phlegm hung from his shoe. One of the villagers laughed, and more than one of George’s men had lips tightly pressed together.
“Shut up!" he yelled. He tried to kick the stringy goop off, but only managed to swing it up onto the hem of his pants. Letting out a growl of rage, he shoved his foot along his stirrup, trying to wipe it away. The horse, taking his motion as a cue to bolt, darted forwards. It wasn’t just the villagers laughing now.
George sawed on the reins, and almost toppled off as his horse reared. “You fucking peasants!" he screeched, face crimson. A fat vein throbbed at his neck. “My father’s army will burn your shithole town to the Bitch-damned ground!”
A quick touch on two of his soldiers’ minds showed that was false. Julianne read them easily. The main thought on both minds was a frustration they were out here at all. This group of soldiers was employed by the city—a mission like this one should have been handled by the young lord’s personal guard.
Beyond that, they were bored, embarrassed by their dick of a temporary leader, and uncomfortable with the presence of George Senior’s new advisor. They were aware he had suggested this trip, but didn’t know why, or why this unit was sent instead of the other.
Come to think of it, Julianne realized, they don’t even know what this new advisor looks like. How strange.
One of them was already thinking of the hot dinner and warm bed that waited for him at home. An errant thought about how George the Third would spend his homecoming gave Julianne an idea.
She deftly entered George’s mind again. When you’re fucking your prostitute tomorrow night, tell her everything you did when you got back. She put the suggestion in his mind with a weighty compulsion,
then added, and from now on, pay her triple for her time.
One of George’s men gave his stallion a sly jab in the buttock and, already unsettled and probably relishing some revenge on his inept rider, it took off. The young noble gave up trying to control the beast and let it have its head, forcing his companions to catch up.
A few of them shot sympathetic looks to the townsfolk before turning their horses to trot back the way they came, seemingly unworried about keeping pace with the now-galloping horse at their lead.
“Well, that’s one for the books,” Marcus said. He pushed a hand under his helmet to rub his head. “What a prick.”
“It’s his prick that’ll get us to the bottom of this,” Julianne said. “Danil, you read the soldiers?”
Generally, the strongest mystic in a party would read the mind of the most important person present. This time, that meant Julianne was pushing on George. It automatically fell to Danil to examine the other minds surrounding him.
“They support him out of loyalty to his father, who they think is an honorable leader. They think the little dipshit needs a good thrashing. But, they wouldn’t commit treason against their lord, no matter how much of a dick they think his son is.” Danil spoke out loud for Marcus’s benefit. “Jules, something is going on in their city. I bet it’s the New Dawn.”
“Oh, it’s them alright,” she said. “Phlegm face is a sensitive, so I didn’t push too hard. His mind is patchy, too.”
“Drugs?” Danil asked. Opiate use could cause a mind to resemble a block of holey cheese.
“Could be, but I’d wager it’s too much magic. If he’s a sensitive, and they’re shoving compulsions and false memories onto him, it could cause similar damage.”
Marcus watched the exchange. “So, what now? If he came back with an actual army, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“We take the fight to the source,” Julianne said, thinking about the strange advisor nobody liked, but no one remembered ever seeing. “I’ll go to Muir. I’ll bet you any money Rogan is there. If I can take him out and neutralize the threat, you won’t have to worry.”
A New Dawn- Complete series Page 27