Welcome To The Age of Magic

by C M Raymond et al.

  “A worthy one, at that,” Vinnie said. He hurried over to Gormer, drew his dagger, and cut the ropes at his wrists and ankles.

  “We need horses,” Gormer said, standing up. He stumbled about the cell trying to regain his balance. “Fuck, I can’t tell which end is up.” He rushed over to the guard and almost kicked him before Vinnie pulled him back. “You hung me upside down for hours, you fucking asshole!”

  “You got off light, criminal,” the guard said with obvious disgust.

  Astrid almost kicked him herself.

  “And I need my weapons and armor,” Tarkon said. “I am nothing without them.”

  He snatched the keys from Astrid before she could react, then tore deeper into the basement.

  “No time for this shit,” Astrid grumbled as they all followed Tarkon back to a steel door.

  “This must be it,” he said, trying all the keys in turn. When he couldn’t find any one that worked, he threw them down in disgust. “Stand back,” he said. “It might get hot around me.”

  And it did. Tarkon’s eyes turned black, then glowed bright orange as he lifted his palms to the heavy plate of steel that protected the lock mechanism. The metal glowed, then melted seconds later as the rest stepped back to avoid the heat.

  The compact man gripped the still-dripping metal of the hole he had made and yanked the door open.

  The room was crammed with shelves. Tarkon closed his eyes for a moment, then darted left and ran down the narrow space between shelves.

  “Hurry up!” Astrid said. She couldn’t see him, but she heard rustling. She popped back out into the room to see if anyone else was coming. Their luck still held, though the commotion outside increased.

  “We need horses,” Gormer said.

  “I only found two,” Vinnie said. Astrid raised her eyebrows and Vinnie added. “They’re probably trying to catch the rest now.”

  Gormer looked the big man up and down. “Smarter than you look,” he said. “We’ll need help from my friends.”

  “No,” Tarkon said, finally emerging from the store room. He was clad from head to toe in black. He wore light armor, with some sort of old-world material making up the sleeves, with hard, black plates attached at the chest, shoulders, and forearms. His thighs and shins were similarly covered. The plates didn’t look like metal, but Astrid had no time to wonder.

  She did, however, wonder about the two curved, club-like objects, each about eighteen inches long, that hung at his hips. She guessed they must have been his weapons, but they didn’t look very effective at all.

  “All black,” Gormer smirked. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Tarkon just growled and pushed past them all. “Don’t mock the Sacred Steel,” he ordered.

  “Where the hell is he going?” Gormer asked.

  “How should I know?” Astrid replied. “He’s your cellmate.”

  “You’ll never make it alone,” Gormer called to Tarkon’s back.

  Vinnie rushed up behind Tarkon and the rest followed through the cell block and back out into the yard.

  The chaos Vinnie created was a form of magic in and of itself. One of the warehouses was burning. Men ran around chasing horses while a pitiful-looking bucket brigade attempted to put out the warehouse fire.

  Two horses stood placidly by the door. Astrid was certain which one Vinnie had selected for himself. He walked over to the quarter-horse and hopped up on her back without a saddle.

  “Damn, fat boy,” Gormer said. “You’re kind of nimble.”

  “Get on,” Vinnie grumbled.

  “Wait,” Gormer said. “I need to call some friends. We won’t make it without them.”

  His eyes rolled up in the back of his head, then glowed white. He stumbled on his feet, then blood ran from both nostrils. “That’s all I can do,” he mumbled woozily. “I think they heard me…”

  Vinnie guided the horse over to Gormer and scooped him up by the collar before he fell. He hauled him up easily and laid him down across the horse’s neck.

  “He uses mental magic,” Vinnie remarked, checking Gormer’s pulse. “But not well at all. Using the power wounds him.”

  “I told you,” Tarkon hissed. “He’s a criminal. He’s corrupt, so the magic rebels inside him.”

  Their eyes darted upward as their luck suddenly ran out. Shouting in the distance grew louder as it was directed toward them. Several guards near the gate pointed their way and moved toward them across the yard.

  Tarkon looked around with calculating eyes. “I’ll get us out of here,” he said, then hopped up on the remaining horse.

  “Hey!” Astrid shouted and jumped on just as the horse took off.

  This one wore a saddle, but Astrid sat just behind it, forced to hold on to Tarkon as he pushed the horse toward the back gate.

  “It’s a dead end!” Astrid shouted.

  “Let go of me,” Tarkon said, loudly and calmly. “Grab the saddle.”

  “You don’t like the touch of a lady,” she teased.

  “Just do it!”

  The gate came up on them fast. Astrid did as Tarkon said, gripping the leather. The small man somehow came to a standing position on the saddle. He let go of the reins five feet from the gate. The horse stopped, and Tarkon crouched down and jumped.

  Not much surprised Astrid, but the sight of the man jumping off a horse to reach a height of ten feet certainly did it. Tarkon straightened his body like an arrow pointing toward the moon. Flames erupted from his cupped hands.

  The man rocketed forward to land on the top of the wall where the gate mechanism was. The doors opened in seconds as the guards ran up behind them.

  Vinnie charged through the gate, and Astrid followed. Tarkon hit the ground beside the horse and shoulder-rolled with an “OOMF.” It looked like a bad landing, but he hopped right back up and ran after Astrid’s horse. She reached out an arm, which Tarkon grabbed to haul himself up behind her.

  They ran into the forest, leaving the confused keep behind.

  8

  The Forest, Between Argan and Keep 52

  Gormer groaned on the horse, but Vinnie held him on as he stirred.

  “Upside down again,” he moaned “What the hell… ”

  “You’re on a horse in the woods,” Vinnie said. “You passed out.”

  “But I’m still upside down. Stop the horse,” Gormer said. He pushed himself off as soon as the animal stopped.

  He landed on his ass and propped himself up with his arms, feet splayed out in front of him. “How long have we been riding?”

  “Less than a half hour,” Astrid replied.

  “They should be here by now,” Gormer said, looking around.

  “Who?” Tarkon asked, shifting uneasily behind Astrid’s saddle.

  “My friends. I reached out to them telepathically,” Gormer replied, rising shakily to his feet. He peered into the shadowy, moonlit woods. “Unless they’re already here.”

  Something crackled and snapped in the woods. Astrid perked up and Tarkon hopped down off the horse and raised cupped palms as he slowly circled.

  “Relax,” Gormer called out. “That means all of you!” Gormer shouted.

  Several dark figures emerged from the woods. Only one came out of the shadows while the rest lurked near tree trunks. A large man stepped forward with a wood axe over his shoulder. A wild, bushy red beard obscured most of his face, but couldn’t hide the scar that rose from his left cheek and ended above his left temple.

  “You have some nerve calling on us, Gormer. I should strip you naked, rob your friends, and leave you in the woods.”

  “Well, now,” Astrid said, “I might not have an issue with item one, but you wouldn’t want to try the second part of that proposal.”

  The man’s cold, blue eyes turned to Astrid slowly. He looked her up and down, then took in the rest of the crew. “You all look but a trifle to me and my crew.” He raised a hand and at least a dozen more figures appeared from the woods.

  Astrid hid her concern be
hind a wise-ass comment. “Well, since you put it like that, let’s talk.”

  The man gave a brief, gruff chuckle and Gormer seized the moment. “I got caught, yes,” he explained. “But I didn’t give you up.”

  “You got caught because you tried to make off with our share of the coin. Probably to buy opium,” the man said.

  Damn it, Astrid thought, a junkie is the last thing I need.

  “Well, yes,” Gormer replied. “I was hoping you’d understand. I needed to get some medication for my… condition… I just didn’t have time to explain it to you.”

  “The only reason I’m not beating you to a pulp,” the burly man said, shifting his axe from one shoulder to the other, “is because you did us right on a bunch of raids. I’m just here to tell you that your time is over. Don’t darken my doorway again.”

  “But you haven’t met my new friends,” Gormer said, sweeping his hand toward the rest. “And you don’t have a doorway to darken.”

  “We were friends once,” the ax man said, letting sadness enter his voice.

  “I’m a shitty friend,” Gormer confessed. “Story of my life. Sorry. It’s who I am, but look: this woman and this fat guy just broke me and this glum fucker over here—” he pointed to Tarkon“—out of jail. They set a warehouse on fire and stole two horses. The keep didn’t know what hit it. Literally. I still don’t know how they did it.”

  While Gormer spoke, the big man’s lips parted slightly and his eyes widened a bit. He lowered his ax head to the ground and leaned on the handle and said, “You don’t say… ” Then, he smiled. “I’m listening.”

  “They’re standing up to the Protector’s goons,” Gormer said. “They’re gonna need all the help they can get.”

  Tarkon lurched forward and opened his mouth to object, but Astrid silenced him with a hard glare. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the big man.

  “This one doesn’t seem to like our kind,” Red Beard said. “But I’d be willing to work with the fat one and this strong-looking woman.”

  Astrid gave a reserved smile to the yellow-toothed grin of the bandit leader. “My name is Astrid. What’s yours?”

  “They call me The Woodsman, but my friends call me ‘Woody,’” he replied.

  “OK, Woody,” Astrid said “If you—”

  “Call me Woodsman for now,” he interrupted.

  Astrid frowned, disappointed that she fell for that cheap head game. “Right, Beard,” she recovered. “You help us out, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  “You gotta do better than that,” Woody said.

  A coin purse hit him in the chest. Vinnie adjusted himself on his horse. “I have a bit more where that came from. It’s not the coin of this land, but it’s solid gold.”

  “Gold?” Woody asked. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and brought the ax back to his shoulder. More bandits emerged from the shadows, faces cloaked in shadow beneath hoods.

  “You just fucked up,” Gormer muttered, backing away.

  “Well, now,” Woody said. “Maybe we just take that gold, and we don’t need you.”

  Vinnie became a blur. One second he was on his horse, the next he stood inches from Woody, nose-to-nose. The ground rumbled.

  “You wouldn’t want to try that,” Vinnie said. “Do not test my generosity or my kindness. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of either.”

  Woody swallowed and took a few steps back. He gave a crazy, stressed laugh. “Oh, this will be interesting. I like this one. You have a deal.”

  “This is a mistake,” Tarkon sidled up to Astrid and muttered.

  “Only one way to find out,” Astrid replied. “Are you in, or not?”

  “I’m still in. Said I was. My word is steel,” Tarkon said flatly.

  Drama queen, Astrid thought to herself. “Good,” she said aloud as she dismounted.

  Astrid walked over to Woody and stuck out her hand. The grip she found was calloused, firm, and unwavering, as were his eyes.

  As if the handshake was a signal, the rest of the bandits came out from behind trees and from under the brush. Astrid was shocked to see how many there actually were.

  About half of them were women. Most had small hatchets hanging from their belts, but the majority of the women carried bows and quivers full of hand-crafted, river cane arrows.

  Woody whistled, and his companions did the same. A few seconds later, the forest was full of the sound of galloping horses. A herd of lean, powerful steeds each found a person, and all the bandits mounted.

  “Even their horses are stealthy,” Tarkon said with admiration.

  “Where to?” Woody asked. He climbed on his horse, with its light-brown coat and a white diamond on its forehead.

  “The village of Argan,” Astrid said. “We need to get there quickly, before the Compliance Officers return.”

  “Are you sure they ever left?” Vinnie asked.

  “You drew a compliance check already?” Woody asked. “I am impressed. It means you’ll probably lose, but I’m still impressed.”

  “If I lose, you lose,” Astrid said.

  “As long as we get paid, I don’t give a fuck,” Woody said. “Follow me. I know a quick path.”

  On horseback and on a wider trail off the main road, the trip took just two hours. They arrived back at the village around two in the morning. Astrid had the bandits recon the area before they went in.

  Just as she had wagered with herself, Jank and his men were gone. They had all run to respond to the horns from the relay posts up and down the Toll Road.

  Rather than enter the village in darkness, Astrid decided to camp out in the woods. Vinnie stood watch until morning.

  Lungu Fortress and Environs, Shores of Lake Bicaz

  Krann always enjoyed seeing the Fortress City. He considered it a personal achievement by extension. He remembered stories from his great-grandfather describing how his father before him helped collect the tribute for the first stones to be laid.

  It was different today, though. The Fortress and the might of the family it stood for seemed different. The system Krann was born into and raised to serve, preserve, quantify, and analyze seemed to face a challenge he had never dreamed of. That challenge took the form of one woman.

  The numbers in his ledgers were the same as they had been for the past thirty years. Tribute was up in some places, down in others. Some villages needed punitive measures, others got rewards. But the system he thought was perfect, when faced with someone like that terrible woman, seemed to break down.

  Krann thought about all of this as his horse-drawn coach glided through the orderly grid of streets just inside the Fortress wall. The sun was shining on the shops and all those spending money. Fall fashions were on display—all representing the economy that Krann considered his personal achievement.

  The streets cleared for the Commissioner's coach all the way up to the Fortress proper. Its towering stone walls rose a hundred-and-fifty-feet above the one and two-story buildings.

  At the gate, Krann exchanged a series of passphrases to get his wagon through. They checked the driver’s credentials and those of the four crossbow-armed guards who rode on the outside of the coach. They had stood on those narrow platforms for fifty miles, all the while on high alert.

  It took ten minutes for Krann and his driver to finally reach the atrium of the Protector’s offices. When they did, the driver nearly collapsed from hauling behind him the steamer trunk full of records that Krann brought to present to his Protector.

  When one of the secretaries came to ask who he was, Krann was surprised to see the look of shock on his face. The slight little man scurried off and disappeared through the doors at the back of the high-ceilinged hall.

  The guard arched his eyebrows. “That didn’t look good, boss,” he said.

  Normally, Krann would have chewed the dolt’s head off, but he couldn’t because he happened to agree with the guard.

  A minute later, the secretary came back with two of L
ungu’s personal detail. The warriors and secretary whisked them away through the atrium and into the Protector’s office past rows of benches on which petitioners of every description glared jealously.

  “I’ve been waiting for three hours,” Krann heard one of them complain as he walked by.

  “Consider yourself lucky that you have good news,” Krann replied, not bothering to turn his head.

  The doors closing at the back of the room sounded ominous. The guard behind him had trouble putting one foot in front of the other.

  Lungu swept into the chamber with his short, red cape flowing behind him. His broad chest was covered in brass chainmail. He had a brass helmet tucked under one arm and a blunted training sword on his belt.

  “Commissioner Krann,” Lungu said, his voice surprisingly high for such a tall man. “I understand you have dire news for me.”

  “Yes, Protector,” Krann said with a bow. “Last night, Keep 52 was attacked… ”

  “Yes, yes,” Lungu interrupted. He made two gestures and attendants scurried forward from the borders of the large room bearing two chairs. “This was in your emergency report. It’s details I want right now. We should sit for this, you and I.”

  Lungu waved his hand at Krann’s driver, who bowed jerkily and stumbled over his feet as he scurried away. Krann was honored at the great sign of respect Lungu showed him by sitting down with him. Normally, those in service were required to stand.

  “What… what is that?” Lungu asked, pointing at the chest. “What is he leaving behind, Krann?”

  “The annual reports of Keep 52,” Krann said, proudly as he sat. “While I was here, I thought… ”

  “Very good, Krann. Very good. I’ll look at them later.” Lungu practically groaned at the thought of paperwork. Another wave of his hand made the attendants hustle away with the steamer trunk.

  “Tell me about this woman who assaulted you,” Lungu said. “I understand she was seven feet tall?”

  Krann scowled. “I estimate her to be about six feet even. It seems that men beaten by a woman feel the need to justify their defeat.”

  Lungu gave an easy chuckle, then set his steam-shovel jaw. “Let’s hope she doesn’t meet my men anytime soon. We haven’t sent first-order agents into the villages in twenty years. I don’t want to start now.”