Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2) (23 page)

Justav bent over a headless corpse resting in an oak chair. Only spattered blood and gray bits remained of what had been above the neck. Two more bodies, each with cylindrical burn holes large enough to stick an arm through, lay on the floor.

Drawn weapons and the resting places of the three suggested they’d all been killed in a single blast. Such a display of power.

He spun to face Eugeus. “What have you found?”

“Four men and two serving women knocked out just like our guardsmen back in Eagleton.”

Justav tugged on the decapitated body, and the carcass tumbled onto the floor. “Our quarry, just as we assumed.” He sat. “Bring in the two so-called guards you captured.”

Had the boy’s ineptitude been an act? How had untrained children—even powered ones—carried out such an attack?

Eugeus and one of the guardsmen—Marcus?—pushed in two bound men and forced them to their knees in front of the desk.

“What happened here?” Justav gestured at the bloody carnage.

“I don’t know nothing,” the one on the right said. “I was out at the road un—”

Justav nodded at Eugeus, who kicked the pathetic imbecile in the gut.

“It was a mage, my lord catcher,” the one with burned hands said. “My bow burst into flames—”

Justav nodded again. Another punch. “What did he look like?”

“Tall. Thin.”

The boy then. Since the earliest indications had been of fire magic, his being an alchemist made sense. Given the crushed door down the hall and the rocks at the cave, he had at least a masser with him and, perhaps, a kineticist as well.

And whomever they’d found at the manor was another, one powerful enough to dream. Had Justav uncovered a secret cadre trained by Bermau? That could be quite dangerous to Dastanar’s plans. But there’d been no spy reports.

Justav loathed mysteries. “Who was held here?”

Both the bound men clamped their mouths shut. Justav gestured with his finger, and Eugeus drew a sword.

The sentry’s eyes widened. “Milord, I don’t know noth—”

Eugeus plunged the sword through the man’s heart.

Blood poured from the wound. The man’s face registered confusion and pain. His mouth formed words, but no sound emerged.

The blade’s steel rang as Eugeus withdrew it, and the man collapsed forward with a thud.

“Shall we try again?” Justav said.

Eugeus wiped both sides of the steel against the man’s brown tunic.

The archer paled. “Niskma Ashley Asher, my lord catcher.”

Interesting. Justav furrowed his brow. “You’re one of Irdrin’s men, yes?”

The archer hesitated. “Yes, my lord.”

Justav pointed toward the body lying at the foot of the oak chair. “And this one, your leader, also one of Irdrin’s?”

“No, my lord. Dastanarian.”

Justav exhaled softly. The king always worked plots inside of plots. If only his view of “need to know” matched life in the field …

The archer was obviously an ally, though one of dubious use and one who knew too much. Too chancy to leave any alive who could tie Dastanar to Truna, much less the niskma’s kidnapping.

He made another quick gesture with his finger, and Eugeus stabbed the archer. They’d have to dispatch the sleepers as well. And fire the manor.

“What do you make of this?” Justav said.

“Kidnapping your enemy’s daughter before a siege is a favored tactic,” Eugeus said. “Drag her onto the field out of bowshot. Strip her. Have your men line up. Bad for morale to sit behind the walls and watch your liege lord’s daughter be defiled.”

“But why allow the dreaming every night?” Justav said.

Eugeus shrugged. “My guess? King Barius didn’t deem this mission important enough to risk a magic user.”

“If that’s the case and there was no mage here to stop her, why didn’t she escape long ago?” Justav really loathed mysteries. “Why wasn’t another catcher dispatched when I was?”

Eugeus shrugged again.

Justav could turn the situation to his advantage. If he recaptured the girl in addition to fulfilling his original mission, what would the rewards be? Maybe he’d end up ruling Vierna when Dastanar completed its conquest. Duke Justav had a nice ring to it.

A tug of power south of him drew his attention, the second since first light. The boy. The stupid boy. Couldn’t be more than a few hours ahead.

Three mages against at least three but Justav’s fully trained and with armed support. The boy and his companions would be no match. Justav would have his quarry before they reached Asherton.

Xan didn’t bother dismounting. He’d “stretched his legs” five times already, and the sun still hung well above the horizon. Granted Ashley’s muscles weren’t acclimated to long hours in the saddle, but really?

Brant maneuvered Spear next to Honey. “Shouldn’t we be moving faster, boss?”

Definitely. With Justav behind them and an enemy army moving to surround Asherton in front of them, they should be sweating every minute of delay. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in charge anymore.”

Brant frowned. “You can’t give up just because a few things go wrong. A leader—”

Xan spun his horse and rode away.

When the others caught up with him a half hour or so later, Ashley lectured him on the irresponsibility of riding off on his own. He mostly ignored her by reciting to himself the ingredients to obscure potions.

Late in the afternoon, they reached a clearing unpopulated by the growing stream of refugees heading toward Ruferburg. Ashley declared a seventh stop.

“Might as well camp for the night then,” Xan said.

“You mean sleep on the dirt?” Ashley looked at him as if he were the village idiot.

Xan’s fingernails dug into his palms as he clutched his hands. All he’d wanted was for her to like him. He’d settle for her not hating him. “If your majesty has a better suggestion, I’m all ears.” According to their map, they were nowhere near an inn.

“As I’ve already told you, ’my lady’ is the appropriate form of address.” She stared at him.

Silence hung in the air. She was going to make him say it?

He sighed. “My lady.”

“Choose the house of a wealthy landowner and instruct them to host us for the night.”

Sure. Just tell some rich guy to “host” them. Xan shook his head. If that’s what her majesty wanted …

Ramshackle houses sat in the middle of fields for the poorer farms along the road. The nicer ones used rail fences to separate the crops and wood barriers to guard cart path entrances. Only one family they’d passed thus far had been affluent enough to afford a simple iron gate.

Late in the afternoon, they encountered a lane off the main road with a fence sporting decorative stone posts supporting wood slats. Sculpted flowerbeds outlined the entry. Open iron grating led to a stone-lined path.

Speaking of wealthy …

“That one should do,” Ashley said.

Of course.

With the exceptions of Dylan and her majesty, they looked pretty road worn. What would the owners of such a spread think of them? Xan and his group would probably be attacked on sight.

No help for it, though.

For a quarter mile, the lane wound around picturesque curves and scenic hills, well-manicured grass and gardens lining both sides. How much money was required to tend such a long stretch?

Finally, they topped a rise, and the house came into view. Even given the previous signs of wealth, Xan didn’t’ expect a three-story residence larger than The Angry Egg. The place’s color rivaled anything on Merchant Street, and a huge red structure stood to the side. Who was rich enough to paint a barn?

Yep. Definitely going to be attacked.

Brant caught Xan’s eye. “Want me to knock on the door?”

Great idea. Sending the big guy who looked like he could kill without a second thought would put the family living in the house at ease. Better would be either of the ladies, but that wouldn’t be appropriate. Dylan, easily the least threatening of the guys, would be the best choice, but he didn’t look willing to volunteer.

Xan sighed. “I got it.” He trudged to the front of the house and rapped on the solid mahogany.

A portly man with touches of gray at the edge of his hairline opened the door. His face held a kind expression, and a wide-eyed girl who looked around Lainey’s age peeked from behind him.

“Good evening, sir and miss,” Xan said.

Should he lead with the fact that they escorted the niskma? Was that something they wanted spread around? Would they even be believed? Maybe best not to mention her.

Fidgeting, Xan cleared his throat. “Could you spare a room or space in your hayloft? We have coin.”

The man eyed the group and frowned. “I’d like to help, son, but neighbors have been robbed.” He glanced back at the young lady. “And I have family to think of.”

Xan nodded. He understood completely, though he had no idea how to explain it to Ashley.

“Perhaps the Sanders a few houses down might be of aid.” The farmer moved to close the door, but the girl stopped him.

She pointed her finger at Ashley. “Papa! Look!”

The man lifted his gaze, and his mouth gaped. He pulled back the girl’s arm and slammed the door.

What the blast? Xan turned and walked toward the horses. “Well, that went better than I expected.”

The clang of a bell erupted from the house. Three muscular fieldhands holding pitchforks charged from the barn. Sounds came from behind Xan.

Brant vaulted from Spear, landing and drawing his sword in a graceful motion. He sprinted toward the house. Xan spun.

With the farmer watching from the front stoop, two boys ran with blades thrust outward. The point of the younger’s weapon pierced Xan’s shirt and pricked his skin. Brant’s hard steel struck the two blades down, ripping the front of Xan’s tunic with the tip of the boy’s sword.

Pain flared. Xan retreated, his left hand going to his injury. Blood met his grasping fingers. He was blasted tired of people sticking him.

His sword. He fumbled with his hilt. It slipped from his grasp.

Brant parried the boys’ blades and forced both of them back several steps.

That left the three men rushing at Ashley and Lainey. Dylan frantically dug in his saddlebag.

Xan accessed magic to call fire but hesitated to use it. His sister wasn’t going to like what he was about to do. But he had no choice.

Ashley glared at the farmer. “I am the Niskma of Vierna! How dare you draw against my retinue?”

“Stop!” the farmer yelled.

The fieldhands halted a good dozen yards from the girls. The two boys engaging Brant withdrew a step, though all three kept their swords up. Xan released the magic.

“My lady,” the farmer said once all had calmed for a few breaths, “we’d heard of your kidnapping and thought to rescue you.”

Ashley smiled, and Xan lost sight of everything else. It was like the Holy One’s radiance shone on her. Her face beamed, transforming mere beauty into something beyond.

Xan couldn’t imagine refusing her anything. He’d slit his own throat were she but to ask. And no small part of him hated himself for it.

She’d treated him as lower than filth. Had ground his feelings into the dirt. How could she still hold such power over him? Why did he allow it?

“These four preceded you.” She gestured like a queen singling out her favorite servants. “They are escorting me back to the duke.”

The farmer, Hobert Greenfield, stammered further apologies until Ashley assured him of her forgiveness. He introduced the two boys with swords as his sons, Jarred and Jeffry, and the girl who started the commotion as his youngest daughter, Marisol.

After greetings were exchanged between the two groups, Master Greenfield called for everyone’s attention. “Tonight, we host the heir to the Duchy of Vierna, the daughter of our liege lord, who is safely returned by the daring of these three young men. Tonight, we feast in celebration!”

The last thing Xan wanted was a drawn-out meal. In fact, he didn’t feel like eating at all. He slunk off to the barn’s hayloft to sleep. With any luck, Justav would catch him soon. Anything, including hanging, would be better than his present misery.

Preparation for dinner took hours, and a long tour of the farm gave Brant plenty of time to think. Maybe he’d been wrong to pursue Lady Ashley. Xan looked so down. Broken.

But not all of that was Brant’s fault. He’d expected a contest.

Xan had talked like he and the Lady Ashley had some kind of bond, but she hated the shit out of him. Had he imagined a relationship or, more likely, done something to screw it up?

Either way, Brant could hardly be blamed. Right? But he had made sure to be the one to rescue the girl. He had actively flirted with her.

Lady Ashley was an absolute babe, but Xan was one of his best friends. Always choose a buddy over a girl. He should talk up Xan’s role in the niskma’s rescue. Lay off the snuggling. Give the guy a chance at least.

After seeing more crops and harvesting equipment than Brant cared to know about, he and Dylan were escorted back to the house where they cleaned themselves and dressed in their nicest outfits. The delay was made worth it, though, when Brant entered the dining room.

His mouth watered at the smells. Beef. Pork. Turkey. Chicken. Fish. Not to mention still-hot bread, practically every side possible, and another table just for sweets.

The last time he’d seen so much food was … never. It was going to kill him to wait for dinner to start. His stomach rumbled.

All he could think about was eating. Until Lady Ashley, Marisol, and Lainey entered.

Was there anything better than girls all dolled up for a party? Even Lainey wore a dress. A boring one that showed nothing—not that he’d think of her that way—but a dress nonetheless. Marisol’s gown, likewise, didn’t reveal anything interesting—too puffy and covering all skin below her neck, including gloves on her hands.

Lady Ashley, though. Wow.

He’d never seen a dress like hers. Hadn’t known such even existed. Had never considered that girls might be able to expose so much in public. If her garment was what people wore at court, he was going to enjoy Asherton.

The neck dipped so low that the full top and insides of her breasts were on display. How would she keep from falling out completely?

And the waist. It cinched to a tiny circle that flared tight over her hips and hugged her legs. With all eyes on her, she spun in a circle, and the material outlined her bottom perfectly. Not only that, but the hemline stopped well short of her ankles.

She made Becca Smith look like an old, ugly maid.

Lady Ashley was so out of his league, and he, at least, had some game. The thought of Xan and her was impossible. Ridiculous. Kind of pointless for him to even get a shot.

No. That was a bad thought. A buddy would make sure Xan had a chance no matter how silly the odds.

Brant half expected Lady Greenfield to escort Lady Ashley outside and give her a good talking to. That was what would have happened back in Eagleton, duke’s daughter or no. Instead, the woman simply curtsied.

Lady Ashley strolled to the chair next to Brant and waited. He bowed briefly and, in his best impression of a courtly gentleman, pulled the seat from under the table. As she sat, her dress gapped away from her chest. Far away. From his viewpoint, she might as well not have been wearing a top.

A normal girl would blush and hurry to cover herself. Instead, she bent further and calmly smoothed her stocking. The front of Brant’s trousers tightened. He couldn’t seem to move his eyes.

She looked up at him. “It’s customary for the gentleman to push the lady’s chair back in.”

Crap. How long had he been staring? “Yes. Uh. Sorry.”

All eyes watched him as he shoved the chair. The chair he’d been standing behind. The chair that had covered the tent in his pants.

Shit. That was embarrassing.

He bent forward and stumbled to his seat.

Lainey shook her head. Dylan chuckled. Lady Ashley didn’t bother to hide her smirk.

That girl was something else. If she was so brazen during a formal dinner, how much fun would it be to spend some quality alone time with her?

No. He had to stop thinking that way. One session with him, and she’d definitely never give Xan a shot.

The lady of the house tapped a wine glass with a silver fork, signaling they could dig in. Finally. As everyone served up their plates, Master Greenfield asked how four young people managed to rescue the niskma from her captors.

That was Brant’s chance. “Xan planned it and did most of the heavy lifting.”

Lady Ashley inched her chair next to Brant’s and placed her hand on his leg. “You’re the one who saved me.”

Most girls waited until the guy made a move and, even after that, pretended not to be interested. He didn’t know what he should do next. Move her hand to where he wanted it? But he couldn’t do that with everyone watching.

No. He needed to do his duty for his friend.

She stroked the inside of his thigh, moving her fingers ever further upward. How far would she go? “My hero.”

Yes. Yes, he was.

No. Xan was the hero. Focus.

“If not for Xan, you’d still be in that cell,” Brant said. “He faced three bad guys who had him at sword point and killed all of them. Quickly. And you saw him take out the archer.”

Jeffry’s eyes went wide. “Xan? The tall, thin one? But he didn’t even draw his sword earlier? I mean … no offense.”

“Truthfully,” Brant said, “I’m surprised you’re alive. When I saw you drew blood, I figured he’d—”

Dylan cleared his throat.

True. Shouldn’t mention magic. Brant shrugged.

“How many guards were there?” Jarred said.

Brant thought a second. “Eight armed men, two servants, and an old guy who was in charge.”

“And none of you injured?” Master Greenfield shook his head.

“Xan’s too tough to make a big deal out of it,” Brant said, “but he’s got two pretty nasty wounds.”

Lady Ashley frowned and her hand stopped massaging him. “You make it sound like he was solely responsible.”

“Well,” Brant said, “we couldn’t have done it without Lainey providing a lookout.”

Sure she’d be happy to be given credit, he glanced at her. Instead, she glared back at him. What was her problem?

“Anyway,” Brant said, “Dylan is pretty good with a blowgun. Knocked one guy out from a good twenty yards in one shot. And we did have surprise working for us.”

“I’m sure your skill with a sword didn’t hurt.” Lady Ashley moved her hand further, resting it at the base of Brant’s crotch.

“Uh … I guess not.”

Her pinky lightly traced a sensitive part of his body, and he jumped. If she kept that up, he’d embarrass himself more than just a little, but it wasn’t like he was going to ask her to stop.

“So modest for a man so … big.” She grinned. “Luckily, I have days to coax all I can out of you.”

He gawked at her. Had she meant to sound so bawdy?

Something changed about her face. It glowed. She was so incredibly hot.

He wanted her. All of her. Forget Xan and friendship.

The two Greenfield boys tried to pump Brant for more details, but he was too focused on Lady Ashley to answer their questions. Their mother finally told them to leave him alone, and the talk turned to other matters for the rest of the meal.

Once excused from the table, he walked Lady Ashley to the base of a stairway leading to the upper floors. She tilted her face up and puckered her lips.

Brant didn’t even try to fight. He leaned in and gave her a long, slow kiss—contact that hinted at much more to come.

“That’s the man who rescued me,” she said.

Yes, it was. A hero but a horrible friend.

They finished their goodbyes, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her delightful rear end climbing the stairs until it disappeared from view. Such a horrible friend.

He could live with that.

Dylan waited for him outside the house. “Guess it’s the barn for us.”

As Brant nodded, a thought struck him. He didn’t have to be a complete jerk to everyone. “Xan and I are going to Asherton.”

“The deal was the garrison!”

“We have to go all the way, but you don’t.” Brant paused. “Look, staying with us was the right thing to do. A man sticks by his buddies.” Should stick by his buddies.

Dylan grimaced.

“But there’s no reason for you to come with us any further,” Brant said. “The best thing you can do for us now is get Lainey to safety.”

“But—”

“Go to Welloch. If things work out for us in Asherton, I’ll send word or come get you myself. If not …” Brant shrugged again. “Stay with us until the garrison. Our reward should be enough gold to set you and Lainey up.”

“Why does everyone keep trying to get rid of me?” Dylan said.

Brant slapped him on the shoulder. “Just trying to keep you alive.” And making sure he didn’t end up screwing over all his best friends.