Target Of The Orders (Book 3) Read online

  He had killed before.

  The idea did not bother him, now.

  What did that say about him?

  A sharp cry came from inside the stable, followed by a thump like a sack of flour hitting the ground.

  The guards came to immediate alert.

  Garrick slipped into deeper shadows to watch as two of them went into the stables, and emerged wrestling with a small form between them.

  “What is it, Peitar?” the third guard asked.

  “Just a punk,” came the reply. “Stop kicking, boy. You’re making it worse on yourself.”

  The sound of a backhanded slap cracked against the night.

  “Nooooo,” the boy whined.

  It was Will, the stable boy who had kept Kalomar.

  Will’s youthful essence overwhelmed Garrick's senses. The heat that welled across the boy’s cheek tasted bitter. He felt shame in that heat, he felt weakness.

  The men laughed.

  “Teach him a lesson, Peitar.”

  Another slap came, then another.

  Garrick moved without conscious thought, casting a net of magic that flowed over Peitar as he strode toward the group. He spoke more magic.

  The guard farthest from him swung his sword and caught Garrick high on the shoulder, but Garrick funneled the guard’s life force into his arm and the gash immediately closed.

  Peitar dropped the boy and reached for his sword.

  “Alert!” he called. “Alert!”

  Garrick cut the guard down with a blast of pure energy, causing the other guards to retreat into the manor.

  He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and lifted him to his feet.

  Will flinched, but did not run.

  A clamor came from inside. Voices called to each other. His surprise was gone. The guards would soon be accompanied by mages, and while Garrick felt prepared for them, he didn’t care to create such a stir if Will were in the middle of it.

  Stand and fight, or ensure he could save the boy?

  He was here to deal with Elman.

  Here to extract his revenge.

  But now a crimson welt glowed across Will’s cheek, and Garrick felt chaos building in the city around him. Elman could wait.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Where’s Kalomar?”

  “Follow me, sir,” Will said as he set his jaw and raced to the stables.

  Kalomar whinnied as they opened the stall.

  “Can you ride bareback, sir?” the boy asked.

  Garrick leapt atop Kalomar and gave Will a hand up.

  “I can manage,” he said, smiling despite the moment.

  He dug heels into the horse’s flanks. The boy’s life force nearly burned him as it pressed into his chest.

  “Duck down!” Garrick called out as they bolted from the stables.

  Will did as he was told.

  “Go, boy!” Will yelled to the horse.

  Mages and swordsmen poured from the manor building. Kalomar’s hooves beat upon the dirt road. Fire sizzled around them as they charged through the streets. Will leaned into the animal’s motion, and Garrick shifted around to protect the boy as well as he could.

  A shimmering blue barrier blocked their path ahead.

  Garrick pulled at his link and cast an electric burst of life force that destroyed the barrier.

  Kalomar ran harder.

  “To the hills,” Garrick said, pointing.

  Will buried his head along Kalomar’s neck and turned the animal. They charged through Caledena, out into the open, and then disappeared into the wood. A few moments later, when Garrick could see no one following, he slowed the horse to protect him from stumbling in the darkness.

  “You did it!” Will squealed. “We escaped!”

  “Don’t celebrate too quickly, boy,” Garrick said. “The orders will not be happy about being on the short end again.”

  Will tried to give a solemn nod, but Garrick saw his face was still bright with victory.

  “Come on,” Garrick said, prodding Kalomar farther. “We need to put more distance between us before morning comes.”

  Chapter 8

  Kalomar walked with a steady rhythm. His black mane shifted with his stride.

  Garrick pulled Will against him to keep the boy warm.

  They turned east after a short distance, then turned south some time later. Garrick considered casting a spell to hide their progress, but any casting was just as likely to draw attention as ward them against it. He was more worried about avoiding Elman’s magic than anything else.

  “I knew you would come back, Master Garrick.”

  “How?”

  “You promised me,” Will replied. “And I just knew.”

  Garrick laughed. The boy had an honesty about him that was easy to admire.

  “I think we’re going to be fine,” he said.

  “I heard them talking about you, sir.”

  “Oh, really? And what did they say?”

  “They said there’s a bounty on you.”

  “With any luck it will be more than ten coppers by now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Garrick glanced at the boy. Will reminded him of when he was a stable boy.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “There are things worse than having a price on your head.”

  “Name one.”

  Being invisible, he thought, but didn’t say.

  “Getting slapped around by a guard,” he finally replied.

  “Oh, that’s nothing.”

  “No it's not,” Garrick replied. “And don’t let anybody tell you different.”

  Kalomar’s ear twitched.

  Garrick pulled up short and gave a curse.

  He felt mages scattered about, fifteen—or maybe twenty. They surrounded them, hidden in the dark gullies or behind copses of trees. He could feel them all, but he could only get his bearings on maybe half at once before they started to slip away.

  “Wh—” Will’s cry was cut short, and his body went rigid against Garrick’s chest.

  The blue light of Lectodinian magic glowed around them.

  Garrick was free to move, but Will was frozen solid before him.

  “We’re going to do this a little differently this time,” a mage said as he stepped into view. Several others followed in his wake.

  “Elman,” Garrick said. “I’ve missed you.”

  The Lectodinian walked with a noticeable limp, his gaze poisonous, his face freshly scarred.

  “You’re hurt,” Garrick said with deadpan clarity and with as much false concern as he could muster.

  “Yes,” Elman said, his finger tracing a long scar that ran down his cheekbone. “The creature you brought into the city killed ten mages before we could bring it down.”

  “I’ll be more careful next time.”

  Elman smirked. “As you have no doubt have already determined, Garrick, I have many mages scattered about, each with magic targeted directly at the boy. One mistake from you, and he will die.”

  Garrick set his gates, and felt the Lectodinian mages. He could handle most of them quickly, but there were too many, and—as Elman suggested—they would surely get to Will before he could take them all down.

  “What do you want, Elman?”

  “I’m taking you back to Caledena.”

  “You plan to execute me?”

  “Are you always this dramatic, Garrick?”

  Garrick did not reply.

  Elman sighed. “Personally, I think that would be the wiser path to take. But Lord Esta feels a need to speak to you personally. I hope you are adequately honored.”

  “Who is Lord Esta?”

  “Tsk-tsk, Garrick. Even the poorest of mages should know the name of the Lord Superior of the Lectodinian order.”

  Garrick stared at Elman.

  If the Lectodinian superior wanted to talk with him, he had a bit of bargaining room.

  Elman continued.

  “The boy stays where he is, but you can get off the
horse.”

  Garrick nodded.

  “Be good,” he whispered to Will as he slid off Kalomar’s back. “And don’t worry.”

  Four mages walked cautiously forward, each concentrating on the spell work that held Will frozen. One looped a rope around Kalomar’s neck, then, with a firm hand, turned the horse around.

  A command from Elman sent them back toward Caledena.

  Garrick was unrestrained as Elman led the mages and guardsmen through the woods south of Caledena, the lack of binding a message itself.

  I own you, it said. I can control you without even touching you.

  The forest was still dark and the trees obliterated much of the sky, but what little he could see was littered with stars. Lectodinian boots whipped through the dew-wet grass with a ripping sound. It was a frustrating feeling to be free to move, but to know he was truly powerless to stop the Lectodinian mage from killing the boy if that was what Elman desired to do.

  Kalomar plodded along.

  Will stayed seated, staring straight ahead.

  It didn’t take a historian to guess why Zutrian Esta wanted to speak with him. He was god-touched. Esta would offer him the chance to join the Lectodinian order.

  It was good to be wanted, he thought with no little sarcasm.

  A gnat flew in his face, and he tried to blow it away. It persisted, though, flying into his ear with an annoying vibration.

  “You’re turning into more trouble than you’re worth,” the gnat said. “Perhaps I should just let the Lectodinians destroy you.”

  Garrick’s eyes widened.

  Braxidane!

  “He will do it, you know? Zutrian?”

  Do what?

  “Kill you.”

  Garrick thought nothing for several for several moments. Then, are you always this dramatic?

  "Where have I heard that before?"

  Garrick couldn't keep a grimace from his face, but neither Elman nor the other Lectodinians made any reaction.

  “He won’t allow a true Torean to leave his sight alive, and I know better than to think you will agree to work with the Lectodinians.”

  “I’m tired of this, Braxidane. If you’re here to help me, get to it. Otherwise, get out of my ear.”

  “You’re no child anymore. I can’t help you every time you get yourself into trouble.”

  “Then leave me alone.”

  “As you wish.”

  The gnat flew off, and Garrick regretted his anger immediately.

  Braxidane! Braxidane! Come back here.

  He received no answer, and felt desperately stupid.

  An idea came then.

  Braxidane’s transition to animal form was a true change of the material that made up his body. How else could the planewalker enter his ear? And that transformation had allowed him to slip unnoticed through Elman’s defenses. Garrick didn't think he could manage the transformation process, but perhaps he could create an illusion that would work just as well.

  He channelled life force through his gates. Then he touched his link to the plane of magic and poured magestuff into that stream. It was a like pairing water and oil, but he keep them under control while maintaining his own movement. The two magics knit into a silky-smooth essence, and the faint aroma of honey grew.

  He was ready.

  He started with his feet and worked his way upward.

  When he was finished, he took a moment to gather himself. Then he stepped aside.

  Kalomar nickered, but none of the mages made any move.

  He glanced at his illusion.

  His face was so angular. His lanky body had filled in and been toughened by the road and by the battlefield. The muscles of his arms were corded and etched with a wiry strength.

  Was that really him?

  It was truly strange.

  He looked old. Like a man.

  The illusion held, though. None of Elman’s mages reacted when he stepped aside, and it continued to walk with the same fluid movement that was Garrick’s own gait.

  He spread his spell work over Will and Kalomar. The horse’s ears twitched, but the beast remained silent. Once he was certain the illusion was in place, he turned Kalomar toward the deep forest.

  The movement transferred the mage's hold from Will to his doppelganger, and the boy's eyes grew wide.

  Garrick pressed a finger to his lips.

  Will showed his understanding.

  Garrick led Kalomar away, taking pains to avoid any accidental brush against the attendants. When they were free from the pack and a safe distance into the woods, Garrick brought Kalomar to a halt and let the boy down.

  The Lectodinians continued on

  The morning grew still in the small clearing. A stream gurgled nearby, and the rhythmic cadence of insects calling rose through the wood.

  Garrick let out a sigh of relief.

  “All right, Braxidane,” he said aloud. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter 9

  A pinpoint of golden light appeared in the middle of the clearing. It expanded, becoming a gleaming globe, then dissolved to reveal Braxidane's willowy form—a young man, this time, wearing a green tunic, leggings, and a thin rapier that hung from his belt.

  Will clung to Garrick’s side like a frightened cub.

  He put his arm around the boy’s shoulder.

  “That was nice work, Garrick,” Braxidane said. “You are learning well. Someday you’ll come to trust that your magic is bound only by your imagination.”

  “What price do you pay for intervening here?”

  Braxidane chuckled. “You truly are learning, aren’t you—or did you just guess that?”

  “I believe you are the one who taught me there are only actions and consequences.”

  “Apparently you have a brilliant teacher.”

  “So, I ask again, what consequence do you suffer for your action of interfering with me?”

  “You are the consequence, Garrick.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I didn’t start this chain of events, but I would be a poor example of a god if I didn’t take advantage of such an opportunity.”

  “You are no god,” Garrick responded, quoting his now old teachings from Alistair. “You are nothing but a creature that can move between the many planes of existence.

  “But,” Braxidane spoke on, “you are correct in one way, you see. Gods cannot easily intervene in the activities of individual planes. But sometimes one of us desires some specific power, or just grows interested to the point they are willing to pay the price to enter a plane. And when that happens, he—or she—opens the gate for others to follow.”

  “Don’t be so convoluted,” Garrick said.

  “I apologize. I forget your need for simplicity.”

  “You’re saying,” Garrick replied, “that when a planewalker crosses into a plane, others can follow.”

  Braxidane’s expression was a look of ebullience.

  “There is hope for you, yet, Garrick. One god opening a path makes it easier for others to follow—the need for balance in all things is a natural one, you see? Actions and consequences.”

  “Yes,” Garrick said. “I see.”

  “You must work harder to understand this, Garrick. This need for balance permeates everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Indeed.”

  Braxidane hesitated then, waiting, his expression sharp and questioning, as if wanting to see what Garrick might say.

  A truth built within him.

  “The orders obtained their god-touched mages first.”

  “Yes, Garrick, there is indeed hope for you. If others of my ilk hadn’t provided the orders with their mages first, I would not have been inclined to give this power to you. You are the balance, you see. You are the consequence.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Yes, lucky you.”

  “Why me? Surely there were better options.”

  “You made yourself available.”

  Garrick gri
maced. “I’m not naive enough to think you would choose an apprentice based on mere convenience.”

  “Do not sell yourself short, Garrick. I’m pleased. You are so much bolder today than the mere lad who cried out for help a few months ago was.”

  “That’s no answer.”

  “I feel no need to answer such a senseless question.”

  “A magewar is brewing, Braxidane. There are no senseless questions.” Garrick stopped then. A sudden chill ran up his back. “You’re all just playing with us, aren’t you? The planewalkers, that is? You're just dallying. A war between us wouldn't bother you at all.”

  Braxidane smiled.

  “The other god-touched mages came from other planewalkers. And it was those planewalkers stepping into Adruin who gave you permission to follow. But when you add it up, you're all just playing a game.”

  Braxidane shrugged. “We play only those games the people of the planes play themselves. My brothers and sisters are the ones fostering the mage hunt. I'm helping you. But none of these things seems foreign to your people.”

  Garrick paused, letting this idea sink in. Thoughts jumbled as he looked at the planewalker, but he could not form a proper question.

  “It all seems so senseless.”

  “You want senseless, Garrick? I’ll tell you what senseless is. Senseless is the Freeborn being obliterated by the orders’ champions without your help—that is what senseless is.”

  “You want me to join them?”

  “It seems prudent.”

  “What will happen if I don’t?”

  “Your friends will die.”

  “Why should you care?”

  “The question, Garrick, is: Why do you care? And the question is how long can you persist in thinking you don’t matter?”

  Anger spiked in him then.

  Garrick was nobody. He had always been nobody. He was barely out of apprenticehood. A neophyte. Yet, now he actually had the ability to change things, and for the first time his gut was telling him he could make a difference in the world. But how much of this feeling was actually his? Braxidane owned him, after all. This conversation alone told him that much. How much of this thinking was his own?