Target Of The Orders (Book 3) Read online

  Garrick’s gaze narrowed. “You were there?”

  Elman’s smile oozed over his face, and he raised a pointed index finger. “Somehow I missed you that time. But I’ll not make that same mistake again.”

  His eyes went to the bag at Garrick’s waist.

  “What is this?”

  The Lectodinian avoided touching him as he untied the thong and held the bag up for all to see.

  “I really wouldn’t play with that if I were you.”

  “Thanks so much for the warning,” Elman replied.

  His voice rose as he untied the bag.

  “Let’s see what we have inside, why don’t we?”

  The box slid into Elman’s palm.

  A smile unfolded on his lips.

  He placed the box on the desktop and pried open the copper latch. A brown and blue egg sat in a velvet-lined depression.

  “Very interesting,” Elman said.

  He waved his hand over the egg and whispered a few words, preening as the egg glowed with a purple sheen.

  “Yes,” he said with a cooing tone. “Interesting, indeed. Perhaps your earlier assessment will prove to be correct, Garrick. Perhaps Lord Esta will find it in his heart to give me a promotion.”

  Elman closed the box, but did not latch it. He looked Garrick in the eye, and spoke to the rest of the room with a voice that was cold, and even.

  “Kill them,” he said.

  As he spoke, the window across the room exploded inward.

  Chapter 5

  A lamp of burning oil flew across the room. Flames spewed over the table and floor before catching on the drapery and running up to the ceiling. Outside, wizards dressed in black cast magic, their faces covered with dark kerchiefs.

  A rumbling explosion belched forth from someplace distant.

  The mages in the room broke and scattered for cover, and the spell that bound Garrick tight was suddenly gone.

  He whirled and cast a bolt of energy at Elman.

  The Lectodinian matched his magic, and the two sorceries met with an explosion that rent the air and caused the box with the viceroy’s pet inside to skitter across the tabletop.

  Elman grabbed for it, but missed, and the egg slipped out, tumbling to hit the floor with a muted crunch.

  A creature crawled from the shell.

  It was small and dark, with a slick wetness to it. It smelled of rotten fruit so strong that everyone in the room gagged. The creature splayed itself over the floor, then crouched and shot forward to latch onto a wizard’s face.

  Darien, wasting no time, grabbed a wizard’s sword and swung at the Lectodinian closest to him.

  The mage cast green flame, but Darien still managed to skewer him.

  “Come on,” he cried, running to the door.

  Garrick followed.

  They found themselves outside the mages’ headquarters.

  Sorcerous fire filled the streets, and the odors of Koradictine magic merged with Lectodinian spell work, and it merged with another aroma, too; the strange and wild flavor of Torean magic that was equal parts bitter and sweet.

  Garrick set his gates and cast raw energy at mages, guards, or anything else that moved. Now that he was free, his magic rolled over him. He felt the entirety of the city as if he was everywhere at the same time.

  A black-garbed mage came through the alleyway, then another, both covered head to toe with only their eyes exposed. They moved with catlike grace and militaristic precision, exposing themselves long enough to cast spells, then ducking back to shelter before rushing to new locations.

  Toreans, he thought.

  Or at least definitely not Lectodinians and not Koradictines.

  Garrick and Darien ran.

  Citizens scurried for cover

  A fiery explosion tore through the headquarters and set the Koradictine banner ablaze. An animalistic growl rumbled from inside the building, and a terrified scream ripped the air.

  The viceroy’s pet was on a rampage.

  How quickly would it grow?

  How far would its rage take it?

  Garrick's attention was drawn by a Koradictine preparing to attack an unsuspecting Torean. Without conscious thought, Garrick loosed a bolt of pure life force, and the Koradictine quite literally disintegrated.

  A black-clad mage motioned them toward an alley.

  “Do you want to stay and fight?” Darien asked.

  “No,” Garrick said.

  They ran to the alley, and found two of the dark mages waiting with horses.

  “Mount up,” one said.

  Garrick recognized her voice, then her eyes.

  “Suni?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “So your friends are?”

  “The Freeborn, of course. Get on the damned horse.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Garrick said.

  “Get your people away from that house,” Darien yelled as he mounted. “There’s a creature in there. I have no idea exactly what it is, but I’m certain none of us want to be anywhere near it.”

  Sunathri nodded, then blew a piercing two-toned whistle.

  The Toreans fell back in a coordinated retreat.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Where’s Kalomar?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  “My horse. I promised I would keep him safe.”

  “How in the gods’ names should I know where a horse is? Now, shut up and get going!”

  “It’s important to me.”

  “It’s time to go, Garrick,” Darien said, leading him toward the horses Sunathri had provided.

  As if by its own decision, Garrick’s energy rose to scry the city. He sensed fear and confusion—but mostly he felt the cold black essence of Hersha Padiglio’s pet in the middle of the headquarters. Just the touch of the creature’s aura was enough to make Garrick want to retch. Its strength overpowered everything around it, and he could not discern anything new about the city.

  He got no read on Kalomar, however, and no read on Will, the stable boy.

  Garrick grimaced.

  Darien was right, they had to leave now. But he would come back after things had settled, and he would find both the horse and the boy if he could.

  He mounted up, then dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and hung on as they raced through the streets. Another blood-curdling screech came as they reached the outskirts of town.

  The confusion of the moment made their retreat easier than it might otherwise have been.

  They entered the woods, and rode even farther before Sunathri brought them to a halt. With a moment to breathe, Garrick and Darien found there were just five Torean wizards with them.

  “Five mages can create such a stir?” Darien said.

  Sunathri removed her wrap. “Surprise can be a powerful advantage if you use it well.”

  Darien nodded. “And I would say you did just that.”

  “Not well enough,” she said as she turned to Garrick. “We lost two men. I hope you’re worth it.”

  Chapter 6

  The Freeborn moved through the forest like ghosts. They were alert to each wild call, noted each bird that flitted from branch to branch, and examined each print of a rabbit or doe or creature of prey that crossed over this ground. Darien, too, worked the woods, merging easily with the band of mages.

  It left Garrick feeling alone, again. Isolated, and out of place.

  They arrived at the makeshift camp at the Freeborn had pitched at the juncture of two creeks and the Blue River, and in a clearing made amid a rugged ring of oak and evergreen trees. A stew-pot dangled over a smokeless fire, its aroma rich and tantalizing. The men and women of the Freeborn gathered around as they entered camp, maybe fifty in all. They looked at Garrick with a sense of expectation that left him feeling naked. These expressions said he had been rescued for a purpose, that after a long fight against overwhelming odds the Freeborn were desperate for hope.

  Sunathri dismounted.

  “Welcome to our hom
e,” she said with thinly disguised sarcasm. “Get some food and we can start planning.”

  “Thank you,” Darien replied.

  He and Garrick dismounted and walked toward the kettle.

  “You see it, don’t you,” Darien said.

  “See what?”

  “The way they look at you.”

  “Yes, Darien. I see it.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t start this again.”

  His partner’s silence was sharp as a blade.

  They served themselves as the stewpot. The broth was filled with venison and rabbit, tubers and wild scallion. The broth boiled at the edges of the pot. They took their bowls to a quiet creek bed and sat down.

  Springtime had turned to summer, but the breeze here was cool and fresh. Water slid over slick stones of brown, red, and orange.

  “I’m sorry,” Garrick said. “That was uncalled for. I didn’t ask for this, though. It's all too much. I’m not ready to be the Torean leader.”

  “The Freeborn would accept you as Sunathri’s champion.”

  “That’s not how it works, and you know it. I’m god-touched. If I join the Freeborn, I’m the leader.”

  A crooked expression came to Darien’s face.

  “I see,” he said.

  “You see what?”

  “How could I have missed it before?”

  “Missed what?”

  “You're probably telling the truth about being afraid to lead, but that’s not why you’re avoiding the Freeborn. You’re ducking this because you're afraid to commit to anything larger than yourself. It’s easier for you to just complain about everyone else than it is to do what you think is right.”

  “Is that what you think?” Garrick replied.

  “I see it all over your face.”

  “We are only a half-day’s ride from Dorfort,” Garrick said.

  “And?”

  “Will you go see your father?”

  “What does my father have to do with this?”

  Garrick scoffed. “How can you can sit there and tell me about my inner demons, when you’re afraid to deal with your own?”

  “My issues with my father are different,” Darien said. “Even you can see that. The Freeborn is different.”

  “You should join them yourself, then.”

  “I think I will.”

  Garrick raised an eyebrow. “You’re no mage.”

  “They won’t care, and I find their cause just.”

  “There is no just cause,” Garrick said, feeling strange as he finished the thought inside his mind, only actions and consequences.

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “I don’t know what I believe, Darien. But I know I don’t want to rely on anyone, and I don’t want anyone relying on me.”

  Darien’s face grew clouded. He stood deliberately, cradling his bowl.

  “Tell that to your new superior.”

  He strode away.

  Garrick spooned stew and tried to settle down again. He leaned back against the tree trunk.

  Darien didn’t understand—probably couldn’t understand—but, nonetheless, who did he think he was telling Garrick what he should and shouldn’t do?

  Footsteps rustled behind him.

  This time is was Sunathri who sat down, her forearm brushing his. The contact was brief, yet still felt warm, and still felt intimate.

  “Caledena is an example of what it will be like if the orders take control.”

  “Caledena happened because the orders were looking for me. That’s all,” Garrick said. “That’s why our path to the city was so simple. The orders decided to wait for me, rather than attack straight away when I might actually be prepared for them.”

  “That’s true enough as far as it goes, Garrick, but you’re missing big parts of the picture and your view is short-sighted. That the orders were able to take Caledena so easily shows they have the ability to take what they want, and that they did take it shows they will continue to do so as soon as it meets their purpose.”

  Her eyes were dark, and her hair hung to her shoulders. She kneaded her temple.

  “We need you, Garrick. History is filled with lessons taught by short-sighted people. Don't be one of them. You’re god-touched. We desperately need you.”

  “I have other things I need to do.”

  “I know,” she said. “You intended to fight the orders on your own.”

  “Darien’s lips are too loose.”

  “Let me help you. I know where the orders’ weaknesses are. I have people in important positions. We can do this together.”

  Her eyes blazed, then.

  He could get lost in the depths of those eyes.

  She was attractive in a way beyond physical, a way that dug under his skin. But as he looked up at the darkening sky, and as he felt the featherlike tickle of his hunger stir inside him, he was suddenly afraid for her, afraid for what he could do to her and for what, in turn, that would once again do to him.

  “It’s not a good idea, Suni.”

  “We can’t win if we don’t have you on our side,” Sunathri said.

  Garrick did not reply.

  After several moments, she sighed and, like Darien before her, walked back to camp, her boots whipping through the grass.

  It rained the next morning.

  The camp woke up wet, and went about their well-practiced ritual of loading supplies and preparing their animals. The dampness around them muted all sound.

  Garrick sat beside the creek and ate stale bread.

  Sunathri came to him. She said nothing, merely sat silently beside him until he finished eating.

  “It’s no use,” he finally said. “I’m going on my own.”

  “We’ll leave you a horse,” she replied.

  “I don’t want one.”

  “You’ll need to move quickly.”

  “I intend to go back to Caledena and gather back the one I left behind.”

  Sunathri’s silence grew awkward once again.

  “Don’t you have to go?” he asked.

  “I’m not leaving until you do.”

  Garrick gave a soft chuckle. “You’ll make me be the one to walk away, will you?”

  “Does that threaten you?”

  “No,” Garrick said. But inside he felt pressure. A band of fifty people would not move until he left them behind. Action and consequence.

  “The Torean House needs to be together if it is to survive,” Sunathri said in a soft tone. “And together it needs to stand for something. What we stand for, Garrick, is the freedom of each person to find who they are for themselves. You may not believe this, but look around us. Nothing holds these people here but that thought. You can leave us, Garrick. But we will never leave you, nor will we fight you unless you take an active side against us.”

  “I understand.”

  Garrick stood and helped her up.

  “Where will you go?” he asked.

  “The less you know of us, the less danger we can put you in.”

  “And the less danger I can put you in,” he replied.

  “That, too,” she said.

  He nodded. “Good luck.”

  “Luck to you, also.”

  Sunathri’s eyes blazed with fierce pride.

  In the distance, Darien stood with the Torean wizards, his arms crossed, and his father’s sword sheathed along one leg.

  Garrick turned away and walked into the forest heading northward, walking alone and back toward the city where he had a promise to keep.

  Chapter 7

  When Darien asked if Garrick was going to become a vigilante, the question had irked him.

  Vigilante—the word itself seemed sharp and ugly. It held a sense of danger, a hazy aura of radicalism that didn’t appeal to him. The concept of vigilantism felt unyielding and rash. Vigilantes were angry people. Unpredictable. Not swayed by fact. Vigilantes, by definition, were not rational.

  But by the time he returned to Caledena, G
arrick had decided Elman would die.

  What unnerved the most was how at peace he was with the idea.

  He had never made such a cold-blooded decision before, but Elman had killed Alistair, and he would have killed Garrick and Darien if it weren’t for the Freeborn rescuers. Call it justice, call it self-defense, or call it a natural consequence of action, it didn’t matter to Garrick.

  The orders weren’t going to let him simply fade into the woods to live the solitary life he wanted to live, and since he didn’t plan to be tied to a group, he couldn’t see a different way out. So he would become a vigilante for as long as he needed to be one—which he assumed would be until the orders stopped chasing Toreans.

  And Elman would be his first target.

  Yes, Elman had to die.

  So Garrick walked through patches of thicket, dense woods, and little worn trails with nothing but the calls of birds and the scurrying of rodents as his partners. He got a late start, so the nighttime sky was crystalline and dark by the time he arrived again at Caledena's gates. The song of cicadas filled the air, and dim moonlight made the city was more shadow than passage. His skin tingled in the chill despite—or maybe because of—his body’s adjustments to keep him warm.

  He cast magic that silenced his footsteps, and he slipped through the woods at the edge of the city, pressing against walls of dry wood and gliding through alleys and across rutted streets as silently as a cat. The city smelled of refuse. It felt like a cancer.

  A derelict slept fitfully at the mouth of a nearby alleyway. Garrick’s life force wanted to reach out to the man, but he was not here for charity. He pushed himself to focus on Elman and his Lectodinian siblings. With the mage’s headquarters in shambles.

  Hersha Padiglio’s old mansion was the most likely place for Elman to be.

  A few minutes later, Garrick stood in the shadows of an alley just outside the manor. Lights blazed from the building. Three sentries standing inside the surrounding fence confirmed his assumption that Elman moved in.

  There would be more sentries, of course. And mages.

  A horse whinnied nearby, and the earthy scent of manure brought a grin to Garrick’s face. The stable was occupied.

  He set a mage gate and let his dark energy free. One sentry was hungry, another was thinking about a woman he had seen earlier in the day. Garrick held the guards’ life forces in his mind as if they were clay. One thought, and he could kill these men. One thought, and he could step unimpeded into the Lectodinian’s headquarters.