Mage Hunter Omnibus (Complete 5 Book Series) (5 page)

One man in particular stood out from the rest. A weak golden light flowed around him, dancing along his skin. It was magic of some sort, but the man appeared not to notice as did no one else.

“Do you see that man?” Guthrie pointed at the glowing fellow a couple of dozen yards away.

Pindle stepped nearer, as did Sagurd and Roranth. All three turned their heads to look.

“Which one?” Roranth asked.

“
The one jamming that pole into the snow,” Guthrie said.

“
What of him?” Pindle asked. “He’s a good man. Helped carry our gear all the way from our village.”

Guthrie looked to Pindle. “You know him?”

“He’s not exactly a friend of mine,” Pindle said, “but he’s lived near my village for some years. I think he used to be a merchant or sailor or something. Came up from Mas Ober a while back, said he was retiring from his old life. Took up farming a little plot a day’s walk from town. The local duke had no trouble adding another worker to the mix.”

“
What is his name?” Guthrie asked.

Pindle looked to his two partners. “Either of you remember?”

“Tack,” Sagurd said. “He once helped me put a wheel on a wagon. A good man, as far as I’m concerned.”

Guthrie saw no signs of wariness in the others. He looked to Tack and his compatriots once more. The man continued to glow even as he helped another unfold a fresh sheet of canvass.

Guthrie had to know. He took off at a brisk pace directly for the glowing man.

“
Tack!” he called out as he approached.

The farmer flinched upon hearing his name, seeming more surprised than fearful, but then he said something to his partner and stood to stare at the sergeant coming up to him.

“Do I know you, sir?” Tack asked of Guthrie.

“
You do not,” Guthrie said, “but I need words with you.”

Work had stopped on the tent. Tack glanced to his companions, the three standing there waiting, ready to go back to their task as soon as this soldier allowed them.

Movement from behind told Guthrie that Pindle and Sagurd and Roranth had followed him, likely curious.

Sensing there was something unusual going on, Tack did not waste time with his words. “What can I help you with, sir?”

Guthrie did not know what to say. How do you ask a man why he is glowing? What bothered him was no one else seemed to detect the golden hue emitting from the farmer. Was this the ice witch’s doing? Was what she placed within Guthrie causing him to see things?

He glanced about at the three who had come with him and the other three waiting on Tack. This would not be the place for asking strange questions.

“Would you mind speaking with me in private?” Guthrie asked of Tack.

The farmer appeared confused, but it was not like he could refuse an Ursian soldier, not without a strong reason. Tack glanced to his companions for help, but there was nothing to be done about it. He shrugged. “Sure. Where would you like to go, sir?”

Guthrie slowly spun around. It seemed there were people everywhere. Then he stopped and pointed toward a small group of tents clustered slightly away from the others. There appeared to be no one there. The place was possibly a latrine or perhaps some kind of storage.

“
There,” the sergeant said, then looked to Pindle. “Can you wait here for me?”

Now it was Pindle who shrugged. “I don’t see why not. The captain will want to speak with you as soon as possible, but it’s not like he knows you’re awake yet.”

“Good.” Guthrie made sure his touch was gentle as he wrapped fingers around one of Tack’s elbows and led the man away from the others and toward the group of tents.  The sergeant took his time, for it would not do to alarm the farmer.

Once apart from the main encampment, Guthrie released his grip on the other man and turned so their lips could not so easily be witnessed. “Pindle and Sagurd tell me you live in their region.”

“Yes, sir,” Tack said, his head bobbing up and down in acquiescence to the sergeant’s words.

“
But you are not originally from there.”

“
That is correct, sir.”

“
From where do you hail?”

Tack’s face grew sheepish and he turned his gaze to the ground as if embarrassed or fearful of his past. “Mas Ober, sir.”

“What brought a city boy all the way out to the countryside?”

Tack did not answer. He visibly gulped.

“If you have a past, Tack, do not be concerned,” Guthrie said. “I promise I will not be turning you over to the authorities.”

Tack gulped again. “Well, sir, you
are
the authorities, if I may say.”

Guthrie chuckled. “I suppose I am at that. But don’t let that bother you. I’m not here to arrest you or any such thing. I merely wish to know about your past.”

“May I ask why, sir?”

Good question. How to answer? Guthrie was quiet for a moment, thinking over his options. Revealing he had seen the man glowing could be considered an admission of using magic within the courts of the land. Such an admission would lead to enslavement or possibly even death. Whatever Tack’s concerns for his past, Guthrie had just as much, if nor more, to lose by spilling the truth.

“Sir?” Tack prodded.

The sergeant held up a hand to ward off the other man for a moment, giving himself precious seconds to think. Finally, “I ... noticed something unusual about you upon first seeing you.”

“Really, sir.” Tack was now looking up again, his immediate fear replaced with curiosity. “I can’t imagine what it was, sir. And I do not believe we have ever met.”

“
I’m from Mas Ober myself,” Guthrie went on, “but I do believe you are correct. I haven’t been home in years, and it’s no difficulty to imagine us not knowing one another among the million people of the city.”

“
Then what was it you noticed, sir?”

Guthrie hesitated again. He was beginning to have suspicions. There was nothing to do for it but push ahead. “Have you ever had any dealings with magic?”

The other man’s face went pale and drooped, his lids falling to the ground once more. The sergeant could see the man was visibly quaking, his fingers trembling as they grasped at one another before his belt. Whatever the truth of Tack’s past, the man had much to fear if magic had somehow been involved.

“
I swear on He Who Walked Among Men that I am not here to accuse or prosecute you,” Guthrie said.

Tack looked up. He still appeared afraid, but his shivering had stopped. The oath Guthrie had sworn was a strong one, one that could land the sergeant himself in a stockade if uttered capriciously and overhead by others.

“Trust me,” Guthrie said. “We are at war here, and something is happening ... something I do not understand. I believe you might be key in helping me to understand.”

The other fellow sucked in air, lowering his gaze yet again, but then his eyes shot up to stare at the sergeant. His words shot out of his mouth as if he wanted them finished. “I was an apprentice. But I never actually practiced.”

“Magic, you mean?” Guthrie asked.

Tack nodded.

“So you were apprenticed to a wizard?”

Another nod. “My parents sold me off to the old man when I was but a boy. I swear, I didn’t even know what was happening at the time.”

“Why did you leave him?”

Tack hesitated, but then, “My master was accused and brought before the Order of the Gauntlet.”

Such would have been the end for Tack’s former master. The Holy Order of the Gauntlet only rarely found someone not guilty of wizardry or witchcraft once that person had been captured and brought before the Swords, the judges of the order of knights.

“
He was hung,” Tack went on, “which is a rather fortunate fate for a wizard in Ursia.”

The fellow spoke the truth. Tortures and burnings and worse were not uncommon. Magic was considered the worst of heresies, a denial of all things holy before the church itself.

“And you fled?” Guthrie asked.

Tack nodded again. “I hid on the streets for a while after he was caught, but then I saw my master’s hanging. I never knew if the Gauntlet was looking for me, but I did not wait to find out. I headed north and created a new life for myself, a simple life.”

“Away from magic.”

“
Yes, away from magic. I never really wanted anything to do with it in the first place, and I never so much as tried to cast a spell. My old master, he guarded his secrets, didn’t want me learning too much, which was fine with me.”

“
Still, you must have learned some things.”

“
A little alchemy,” Tack said. “I studied some of the histories and other books made available to me, but I was never a practitioner.”

Guthrie leaned back, lifting his head to stare through his helmet’s visor at the gray sky. Again, he was merely seeking seconds for thinking. Tack had been a student, but had never actually performed any magic. Or at least that was all he would admit. Was there a connection between the man’s past and that golden aura Guthrie still continued to see floating about the fellow?

“You are positive you never practiced magic?” he asked.

“
Yes, sir, I swear.”

“
What of recent?” Guthrie asked, then waved off an immediate answer. “I don’t mean that you’ve been practicing, but have you encountered any magic?”

“
Not directly, no, sir,” Tack answered.

“
What does that mean?”

“
Well, I was with the group that traveled to the stronghold, and I saw what had been done there.”

“
Which is?”

“
I think there had to have been magic involved, sir. There were holes in the walls big enough to drive a wagon through, but there wasn’t a lot of wreckage. Those holes were clean, smooth, as if they had been cut out of the stone and lumber like a hot knife through soft cheese. I’ve heard tales the Dartague have their own spellcasters, and I figured it had to have been one of them.”

It was Guthrie’s turn to nod. “They do have such. But did you notice anything else at the site?”

Tack’s head ducked once more, but he had said enough to doom himself already if the sergeant should turn against him. He looked up. “Well, old habits are difficult to break from, sir.”

“
Meaning?”

“
Well, without actually casting a spell, I am able to ascertain when magic has recently been used in a place. It’s a simple tool, more a way of thinking than anything.”

“
And you found the use of magic at the keep?”

“
Yes, sir.”

Guthrie pondered. Was he on to something now? Was he drawing nearer the answers he sought? It felt as such, but he would only know if he pressed onward. “Tell me, what is it ... like ... recognizing magic?”

Tack’s shoulders shrugged up and down. “There’s really nothing to it, sir. You just have to know what you are looking for.”

“
What
are
you looking for?”

“
A blush of light, sir,” Tack said. “Anyone or anyplace that has had magic around it of recent, it will have a shining to it, kind of like looking at gold coins beneath a blazing sun.”

Chapter 4

Guthrie was nearly rocked back on his feet. What Tack explained to him made a certain amount of sense. The ice witch had told Guthrie he would be instrumental in hunting down the Dartague witch woman, possibly bringing about a change in the witch’s own fate, her future slaying by one of Ildra’s grand sires. That gem, or whatever it had been, that was thrust down the sergeant’s throat, it must have been magical in nature, imbuing upon Guthrie the ability to see magic in others, perhaps even magic in animals or creatures and magical treasures such as swords and rings and other objects mentioned in fairy tales and histories.

Guthrie would have to test these powers he had gained, but first he would have to make sure no one else knew of his special abilities. He did not understand these powers himself, not yet, but if word got out about him, then he was doomed. Regardless of the circumstances of how he had gained his new skills, they were magical in nature. Magic of any kind could mean a death sentence for him, especially if the magic was not reversible.

A grisly thought came to him then. Would the gem pass through him? Or would it sit in his stomach for the remainder of his days? Whatever would happen, were his new powers permanent or would they pass with time? He was not sure how he felt about this. He was shocked at realizing he now contained within him a certain level of magical power, but other than his ability to see that weird glow around Tack’s body, Guthrie felt no different than he had before. When he had thought about it, he always imagined magic made one feel powerful. If not, why else would wizard’s and their ilk delve into the dark arts?

Guthrie’s shoulders shook, his nerves at work. He blinked, nervously glancing away from the fellow before him. “Tack, thank you for your ... forthrightness. I promise, your secret is safe with me. I will not tell anyone.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tack said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

The sergeant glanced toward the gathering of his newest companions and those with whom Tack had been working. As expected, they were all talking softly among themselves, obviously curious as to why Guthrie had pulled aside this peasant.

“No, thank you, Tack,” Guthrie said. “I appreciate your answers. You may return to your duties.”

The peasant’s head bobbed up and down. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Then the man shuffled away.

Shaking off his new concerns, Guthrie marched back to Pindle and the two swordsmen. “We can go on to your captain now.”

“
If you don’t mind my asking,” Roranth said, “what was that all about?”

Guthrie looked over at Tack returning to his chores. Nary a question was tossed at Tack from his comrades, but the former wizard’s apprentice shot Guthrie a nervous glance as he went back to work.

The sergeant’s eyes were hooded as he looked to Roranth. “My apologies, but actually, I
do
mind being asked. I thought I knew the man, but was wrong. Leave it at that.”

A tense moment followed, the bulky figure of Roranth tightening, straightening as if to spring into action, but then the big man’s shoulders slumped. “Very well. Figured it didn’t hurt to ask.”

Guthrie turned to Pindle. “Lead the way.”

Pindle glanced to Roranth, but seeing his companion had not taken too strongly an offense, he turned away and motioned for the others to follow.

They wound through and around more and more of the smaller tents, but eventually Guthrie spotted the largest tent yet to be seen on the end of the encampment. The tent was not ornate but it did bear stripes of faded green and red, the colors marking it as belonging to someone of import. Standing to either side of the tent’s entrance flaps were two guards in studded leather armor not that different from what Guthrie himself wore. For a moment the sergeant thought they might be Ursian military, but the two wore no special insignia or markings; likely the guards were veterans loyal to their captain.

As the small group approached, Pindle held up a hand to halt them before the guards.

“What do you have here, Pindle?” one of the two asked.

Pindle pointed toward Guthrie. “This is the army fellow we found unconscious on the other side of town. Captain Werner will want to see him.”

The guard who had spoken eyed the sergeant. Guthrie recognized the look. The guard was sizing Guthrie, asking himself how tough a character Guthrie appeared to be. But the look was not a threatening one. The guard was older than Guthrie himself by at least a decade, and there was no hubris of youth about the fellow. Guthrie realized this guard was not trying to prove himself to anyone, but was making sure the newcomer was no threat to the officer inside the tent.

“
Very well,” the guard finally said, nodding toward the flaps, “but the mace and knife remain here.”

Pindle looked to Guthrie, his nervous eyes wondering if the Ursian sergeant would balk at the order.

Guthrie smiled and held his arms out wide from his sides. It seemed ludicrous to him that a militia guard would be telling an army man to disarm himself, but this was not his camp. He would likely do the same if he had been in the guard’s position. “Very well,” he said, repeating the guard’s own words, “ but I expect them back upon my exit.”

The guard who had spoken nodded to his companion, also an older man, who rushed forward and lifted Guthrie’s mace and dagger from the sergeant’s belt.

“Go on inside,” the first guard said.

Pindle nodded his thanks and pushed aside the flaps. Guthrie followed into the darkness of the tent, Roranth and Sagurd remaining outside.

The sergeant was not surprised at the open space inside the tent, but he did find the place stifling, more than warm enough to hold at bay the winter outside. In the far back of the large room was a black iron stove, its crooked piping running up to a hole in the top of the tent. Chests and wooden boxes of various sizes and shapes were strewn along the walls of the place, but the center was tidy with a large folding table and two smaller folding chairs. Upon the table’s top were a stack of maps held down by pewter goblets at the corners, a glass ink well with two feathered pens sticking from its opening, and a wooden plate showing signs of having recently sported a meal of bread and cheese, some few crumbs and a couple of dried slices still in evidence. Seated behind the table in one of the chairs was an older man with cropped white hair and a long mustache of similar color drooping from beneath either side of his nose. The man wore a dented bronze chest plate that showed signs of age and wear despite being in decent condition. Strapped to his wide belt was a long sword and a dagger. The man himself was of about average height, but his shoulders were broad and aging muscles still showed beneath his garb as he stretched and stood to face those entering his domain.

“
Pindle?” the man asked.

Pindle rushed forward, stopping before the table as he nodded back toward the sergeant. “Captain, this is the army fellow we found on the north side.”

“Captain Werner?” Guthrie said as he approached, stopping next to Pindle.

“
Welcome,” Werner said with a curt nod. “I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you.”

“
My understanding is the entire northern force has been wiped out,” Guthrie said.

The captain waved toward the exit. “Pindle, if you would, please?”

“Yes, sir.” Pindle nodded and backed out the opening, closing the flap behind him.

Werner waited for a moment to give Pindle time to move away from the entrance, then reached over and lifted the other small folding chair next to him. “Care for a seat?” he asked the sergeant.

“No, thank you, sir,” Guthrie said. “I prefer to stand. Seems I’ve been off my feet long enough.”

Forcing a grin, Werner replaced the chair where he had found it and dropped into his own seat. “Do you know how long you were out?”

“I believe a few days, sir.”

“
Days? You must be famished. I’ll have you some food brought.”

Oddly enough, Guthrie found he was not hungry in the slightest. Had the ice witch’s gem something to do with this? Likely. He had been starving before facing the witch. He hoped his appetite would return in time.  “Thank you, sir, but I can find something later.”

Werner grunted. “You can stop that ‘sir’ nonsense in my presence, sergeant. It’s been a long while since I’ve served His Holiness in any official capacity.”

“
Yes, sir ... I mean, yes.”

Werner grinned again. This time it was less forced. “I’m glad you’ve made it. I’ve needed to talk with someone who was in the north when the troubles began. Someone official, that is, and military. Most of my sources of information have been damned thin so far, but I’ve kept my eyes open and my riders tell me much.”

“Have you been able to get anything out of the two soldiers who survived at the stronghold?”

The captain grimaced. “Sorry, lad, but they didn’t make it. One succumbed this morning, the other just an hour or so ago. You’re welcome to see them, if you like.”

“Did you know their names?”

“
Sorry. No.”

Two more of Guthrie’s comrades were dead, men he had likely known by name. How many more would have to die? The sergeant had no clue. This seemed the beginning of a new campaign, not the end of one. There was likely to be much more Ursian blood spilled, perhaps for years and years.

“So, you were stationed at the keep?” Werner asked.

“
I had been there a few years. Actually, I’m surprised you’ve not set up camp there instead of here.”

“
Not much of the keep left, to be honest,” Werner said. “I’ve a dozen men still there taking care of those who fell, and cleaning up somewhat. Also, Herkaig is further north, closer to the mountains and the Dartague themselves. If they’re going to attack again, I want to see them coming, not wake in the night to find myself surrounded. Are you thinking I’ve picked a bad spot?”

Guthrie shook his head but otherwise ignored the question for the moment, glancing around the tent’s insides once again, the few candles on the table providing light but not quite reaching into the darkest corners. His gaze eventually returned to the captain. “From the looks of your armor and tent, I would guess you were an officer.”

Werner brushed off the remark. “That was a long time ago, before you were born. Since then I’ve been cooling my heels as captain of the guards for the duke over in Corvus Vale. Easy enough job, the pay is well, but not a lot of action. I regret what has happened to our countrymen here in the north, but I’m glad to be on the march again, even if it is just as leader of militia.”

“
Your duke didn’t mind losing you?”

“
He’s busy bringing up auxiliary troops from the south,” Werner said, “but a lot of good it’ll do all of us. I was sent ahead with the militia to salvage what we could, but that seems to be precious little. The Dartague have had this planned for some while, that much is evident. It must be a strong chieftain to have gotten them to work together.”

“
Not a chieftain,” Guthrie corrected, “but a wyrd woman.”

The captain’s eyes went wide. “
Really
? Now that is a different threat. The priests in Mas Ober will be pissing themselves with glee when they find out there’s a witch behind all this.”

“
Perhaps two witches,” Guthrie said.

“
How do you mean?”

Guthrie told his story of Ildra and the ice witch, how he and his squad were pulled forth by the initial raid of the village Herkaig, then the larger attack had taken place. The sergeant guessed many smaller raids had  taken place early on to draw out some of the troops and to separate them from the safety of the larger garrisons. He freely gave Ildra’s reasoning for sparing his life, but made no mention of the bauble the ice witch had stuffed in his mouth nor the powers that seemed to have emanated within him since. He ended by telling a partial lie, that the ice witch had attacked him and knocked him unconscious.

“Yet she did not slay you,” Werner pointed out. “Odd that. And my reports tell you were found in a bed with a covering of furs over you. Seems the woman wanted you alive for some reason.”

“
Perhaps the same reason as the wyrd woman,” Guthrie said.

“
Possibly.” The captain nodded. His eyes glazed over as he stared at the pile of maps before him, the man apparently deep in thought. When he looked up, his features were grim.

“
We cannot win this, can we?” he said. It was a blunt observation, one that likely would not have come from a younger, less experienced officer. It also happened to be one with which Guthrie himself agreed.

The sergeant nodded. “I see a rather many border clashes in our future.”

“Likely the rest of your lifetime,” Werner said with his own nod.

“
Yes, sir, and perhaps beyond. The Dartague don’t have the initiative to try and invade the rest of the nation, nor would they have the numbers, but their mountain ranges keep us from attempting the same to them. This wyrd woman obviously has political clout, which I guess goes along with her magical abilities, but it would take more than one or two powerful witches to stand against our armies.”