Target Of The Orders (Book 3)
Read Target Of The Orders (Book 3) Online
Authors: Ron Collins
“With the ultimate power, Garrick comes into his own as a man and a mage. Garrick's story is a fast-paced, elegant and brutal fantasy about the power of life and death and the price of freedom. Impossible to put down. This is why Ron Collins is a favorite writer.”
Amy Sterling Casil
Nebula Award nominated author of
Female Science Fiction Writer
The Saga of the God-Touched Mage includes:
Glamour of the God-Touched
Trail of the Torean
Target of the Orders
Gathering of the God-Touched
Pawn of the Planewalker
Changing of the Guard
Lord of the Freeborn
Lords of Existence
Other Work by Ron Collins:
Five Magics
Picasso’s Cat and Other Stories
See the PEBA on $25 a Day
Chasing the Setting Sun
Four Days in May
Links to these and more of Ron's work
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Copyright Information
Target of the Orders
Saga of the God-Touched Mage, Volume 3
© 2014 Ron Collins
All rights reserved.
Cover Art by
Rachel J. Carpenter
© 2014 Ron Collins
All rights reserved.
Cover Images
© Choreograph | Dreamstime.com - Halloween Day Photo
© Andreiuc88 | Dreamstime.com - Strange Man Person Walking In A Dark Forest Photo
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All incidents, dialog, and characters are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
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For Tim, Mike, Jackie, and Ken. And of course, for Lisa.
Table of Contents
Prologue
It was one of Garrick’s earliest memories.
He was four, or maybe five. It was before his mother came to Dorfort, so they were living in the south of the marshlands, down where the air was always wet and where it always smelled of sugar cane and sweat.
Master Unzi, the man who ran the stables, found him and another boy of the house currying the horses. It was not their job to be with the animals that day, but they were tired of scrubbing the floors and taking straw to the guest chambers, so they slipped away to be with the broodmares who Garrick knew were always appreciative of a soft comb along their flanks.
Unzi made them pay the price of three lashes each. Garrick still remembered the whooshing crack of the sapling as it raised welts on his back. But what he remembered more than anything was that Jakob got the call, rather than Garrick, when it came time to pull a new stable boy out of the house.
Garrick loved horses, and he wanted that position so badly he would have gladly taken an afternoon’s worth of lashes to be given it.
He cried that night.
He buried his head in his mother’s side as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“I don’t understand,” Garrick sobbed. “I curry better than Jakob. And I handle the shoes. And I … I …”
His mother sat with him for a very long time. Finally, after Garrick’s cheeks dried and he gathered himself together well enough to sit up—though not well enough to meet her gaze—she said:
“You do all of thos things better than Jakob, but Jakob is the baron’s bastard.”
As if that explained it all.
Which, he supposed, it did.
There was an order to the world, it said. Everyone gets their place, and never shall they step out of line.
And, yet, a month later when Master Unzi needed a boy to help him calm a damaged animal, he called Garrick to the problem, not Jakob. And when he needed help getting one of the mares to eat properly in the later times of her carrying, it was Garrick again that Master Unzi called, not Jakob.
He should have seen it then, Garrick thought.
He should have known.
A man, it seems, has a place that’s given, and a place he belongs.
This memory stayed with him throughout the long night after the battle at Arderveer.
It came as he sat on a desert rock that radiated the day’s heat. Darien slept, of course, and the horses stood in silence, grateful for the respite after yesterday’s hard service. He recalled the faces of the soldiers and the slaves and the mages who had died in the rocky caves of Arderveer, faces of the men and women whose life force now rolled in the nearly endless waves of power that pooled inside him
This memory of his mother struck him with a force as strong as the twin magics he carried inside him. It struck him as he ran his hand over his shoulder, where, if he looked closely enough he could still barely make out the scar that Master Unzi’s sapling had left behind.
Yes, he thought.
A man has a place he’s given, and a place he belongs.
But the two are not always the same.
Chapter 1
Zutrian Esta tightened his shawl around his shoulders as he tried to find the right words to express his displeasure. He looked into the basin’s smooth surface. The face of Yorl Maggore, the Koradictine mage responsible for the Arderveer fiasco looked at him from one section, Ettril Dor-Entfar, the mage superior of the Koradictine order, filled the other.
“So,” Zutrian said. “The Torean god-touched mage has escaped.”
“That appears to be true, sir,” the Koradictine replied.
“Appears to be?” Ettril responded.
Maggore’s face fell.
“I apologize for my lack of precision, Lord Superior. Garrick has escaped. The
Lectodinians
reported him dead, so we diverted resources to taking Arderveer—which we accomplished quickly. Somehow, though, Garrick and his companion fought their way out of the tunnels and escaped the
Lectodinian’s
net.”
“Do not bring Lectodinian magic into this,” Zutrian said. “You were commander in charge.”
Ettril Dor-Entfar interceded. “Yorl reports only the facts, Zutrian.”
“And I have addressed our portion of that failure. I expect the
Koradictines
to take similar action.”
Zutrian suppressed a frown. Cara had been a rising mage, but she made an egregious error in Arderveer. He didn’t know how she would fare on the dark plane he had banished her to, but it was certain to be an unpleasant existence at best. If she survived, however, she would be a stronger mage for it.
Ettril nodded his understanding. “You are dismissed, Yorl. I will contact you when we are finished.”
Yorl Maggore released his link.
The Koradictine superior waited until he was certain they were alone.
“I will discipline my commander in the privacy of our order. On that I give my word.”
Zutrian pursed his lips. Ettril’s word, though of little value, was as much as he could ask for.
“It is acceptable.”
“What do you suggest we do now?” Ettril said, his eyes narrowing.
Zutrian breathed the nighttime air. It was always cool in the mountains. That was one of the reasons he liked being here in the Vapor Peaks.
“We look for him,” he replied.
“I have a better idea,” Ettril said.
“Oh?”
“We wait for him.”
Zutrian thought for a moment before he realized what the Koradictine was proposing. A reluctant smile crept over his lips. “Yes," he said. "I think that is a very good idea.”
“I thought you would.”
“But I want a Lectodinian in command this time.”
The discussion lasted long into the evening.
They reviewed logistics and plans and methods of capture. There were many compromises, but in this question of leadership Zutrian was steadfast. There would be a Lectodinian mage at the helm when they finally took Garrick down.
He knew the exact man he wanted for the job.
And in the end, he got his way.
Chapter 2
