Target Of The Orders (Book 3) Read online

  “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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  www.typosphere.com

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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.

  Skyfox Publishing

  http://www.skyfoxpublishing.com

  For Tim, Mike, Jackie, and Ken. And of course, for Lisa.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Appendix

  Acknowledgements

  About Ron Collins

  How You Can Help

  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, thoug
h 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

  Garrick let Darien sleep longer than he had planned. The orders didn’t appear to be pursuing them, and he was glad for the extra time.

  It bothered him that the orders had not come after them. He was not fool enough to think that the timing of the orders’ attack, just as he and Darien had arrived at Arderveer, was pure coincidence. The orders should be hunting them now, though clearly they were not. He didn’t like that. It didn’t feel right.

  To avoid detection, Garrick and Darien had made their camp—consisting of only a small fire with its now burnt-out ash—in a quiet depression in the foothills of the massive Blue Mist Mountains. He sat cross-legged on a rock, thinking about the orders and watching as the sun came over the mountain peaks to paint the Desert of Dust with elements of dun and harsh green.

  The new life force inside him twisted and turned.

  The first time he had dealt with so many lives at once, he nearly choked. The lives of Sjesko's villagers had played through his thoughts in solid swells and sudden runs. Absorbing them had been like breaking a fresh colt, like roping a whale and riding it to exhaustion.

  But the life force he had taken from Arderveer’s battlegrounds did not swell or run so much as it scrubbed and burned. It stretched his muscles and made him think his skin might burst into flames. It scoured his throat and brought tears to his eyes. He calmed it as best as he could, learning more about it each time the energy rose, and coaxing it down as it fell. He was learning. There had been moments throughout the night when he thought he understood everything about this glut of magic inside him. At one point he even thought he could trace its link backward to a source outside the realm.

  Could he follow that link?

  What would he find if he did?

  What was it like in the realms outside of Adruin itself?

  These questions made him think of Braxidane and of other planewalkers.

  He didn’t want to face them right now, but the questions stuck in the back of his mind like tree pitch.

  For each lucid moment there were many more where he struggled. By the time the sun had risen high enough to turn the desert its dusky shades of brown, however, Garrick thought he had finally gained an upper hand.

  Only then did he slide off the rock and wake his partner.

  “Are you ready, yet?” Garrick said as he prodded Darien with his foot.

  “Wha-t?”

  Darien rolled over, still groggy.

  “I said you sleep like a rock.”

  Darien groaned, then sat up, squinting into the cloudless sky as he ran his hand through his tangle of dark hair. He gave a catlike stretch.

  “Damnation,” he said. “I was hoping it was all just a nightmare.”

  “No, Darien. This is no dream. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me again.”

  Darien glanced toward the underground city of Arderveer. Convinced that none followed, he rose to his feet.

  “There’s been no movement,” Garrick said. “It appears the orders are not mustering a pursuit.”

  “Or they’re just biding their time.”

  Garrick nodded. “Possibly, but the orders don’t seem to be the types to bide time.”

  Darien rummaged through his knapsack to gather a breakfast.

  “You stood guard all night?”

  “Guilty,” Garrick said.

  He lifted the small box that contained Viceroy Padiglio’s pet. After the chaos of the past few days it was easy to forget that Garrick and Darien were under contract to deliver the box back to the viceroy as soon as practical. Takril, the now-expired mage of Arderveer, had said it would hatch soon, and that they should protect it well.

  “I assume we’re going to return to Caledena,” he said.

  “That would be wisest,” Darien replied as he chewed a piece of dried venison. “I would prefer the viceroy not put a bounty out for us.”

  “I think that’s the least of our worries,” Garrick said.

  “Probably fair enough to say,” Darien replied.

  Darien eyed Garrick as he chewed.

  How much did his friend remember of yesterday?

  Did he recall that Garrick had saved his life down in the city’s deep tunnels? Could he recall how it felt when Garrick poured the very last of his own life force into his friend? Did he know that Garrick had reached so deeply into Darien's essence that he had read Darien's entire being, that he had seen the valor in Darien’s heart, and had felt the raw need Darien had for respect? Did he know that Garrick had felt the joy Darien took at simple things like the roll of a dice?

  He found it awkward to know this much about somebody else.

  How would it feel to be on the other side?

  “You’re a strange creature, Garrick,” Darien finally said. “I think you’re good to have around, but I admit you scare me to death. I don’t know what to think about this whole thing with you and your god-touched mages.”

  “You sound wise to me, then.”

  “Hmmm,” Darien said. “I think you’re holding out on me, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sunathri said your magic is god-touched, and Takril more than confirmed it. But I don’t know what that means, and … then we come to yesterday and you …” Darien looked out across the desert. “… I see … I feel …” he looked at Garrick. “You know what I mean?”

  “Yes,” Garrick said, and this time he was the one who diverted his gaze. “I know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you told me everything about this magic of yours?”

  “That’s a fair request. But I don’t know if the orders will leave us alone here for long enough for me to tell it all. I suggest we find water for the horses and get on the road. We can speak of my magic while we travel.”

  Darien nodded. “That’s a deal.”

  By early afternoon, they were following what Darien called a trail, but what Garrick considered to be mostly a random pattern through the foothills. He was hot, and he became more aggravated with their lack of progress as the minutes passed.

  Why weren't the orders chasing them? The battle at Arderveer had been hard and bloody. He expected to be chased, but still his life force sensed nothing coming from the desert. That annoyed him in ways he couldn’t fully explain. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  Garrick wiped sweat from his eyes.

  “Where are you taking us?” he asked with more spite on his voice than was called for.

  “We’ll be there soon,” Darien said, peering through a high sun. “You promised to explain your magic to me, though. Seems like now’s as good a time as any.”

  “I thought you might forget about that.”

  Darien laughed.

  Garrick really didn’t want to talk about it now, but having seen the true nature of his friend, he knew without doubt that he could trust Darien. An
d if nothing else came of it, he wanted Darien to understand there would be times he should stay away from Garrick. It was a strange feeling— trust. He wasn’t sure he could get used to it.

  He examined Darien. His partner guided his horse, scanned the horizon, then peered up into the mountainside looking for this hidden pass of his.

  “I was trained by Alistair,” Garrick started, “a Torean who was killed by the orders.”

  “I know that.”

  “What you don’t know, though, is that the same night he was killed, I found myself in a situation where someone important to me was dying.”

  “The girl?”

  Garrick looked at Darien.

  “You said there was a girl involved some time back.”

  “Yes,” Garrick said, giving a smirk that was a mere curling of one side of his face. “Her name was Arianna.”

  “What did she look like?”

  Garrick grimaced. “Do you want to hear this?”

  “I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

  “Anyway, Arianna was dying, and I needed help to save her. I didn’t know was happening then, but it’s clear now that Braxidane—the planewalker—offered me his magic.”

  Darien gave a low whistle and scratched his jaw.

  “I took it, of course. And I used it to give Arianna part of my life force so she could live.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “Yes, it's true. I carry a planewalker’s magic. These kinds of things are possible.”

  “Oh, I can believe that part.”

  “Then, what’s so hard to understand?”

  “I can’t believe someone with your conceit would give any part of your life for someone else.”

  Garrick whipped his head around to find Darien smiling brightly at his own joke.

  He was so shocked he actually laughed. It was a sound that felt equal parts strange and good.

  “Yes, that is clearly the most surprising thing about this whole situation.”