Blademage Adept (The Blademage Saga Book 3) Read online

  Blademage Adept

  By Chris Hollaway

  Text Copyright © 2015

  All Rights Reserved

  Thanks:

  To my family, for letting me give this writing thing a serious try.

  To the gang, for reminding me I’m sane by comparison.

  To the Guild, for being an organization worthy of joining.

  To Ken and Paul, without either, I would not know any measure of success.

  Chapter 1

  “Are you awake up there?” Kevon called, leaning back and shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun.

  The crow’s nest rocked lazily, the wind and the water in an uneasy truce.

  It won’t last long, Kevon thought. I should let her get some rest, at least. He had only been sleeping well the last few days. He’d had a week of pushing back the constant press of the sea, climbing to the top of the mast to distance himself from it long enough to court a few moments of oblivion. Only the touch of iron or steel brought any lasting relief from the weight of the magic that threatened to take his sanity, or his life. Mirsa had no such relief.

  “She hasn’t stirred in hours,” Alanna remarked, emerging from belowdecks. “I’ve already been up to check on her once.”

  “How do other Magi stand crossing the seas?”

  “It’s more comforting a thought than some might imagine,” the assassin smirked, twirling a dagger absently. “We should be nearing the coast soon enough. She can rest easy then.” She clicked her teeth together at a young deckhand that passed by closer than others had dared, and he yelped and stumbled away. “They should have guessed who we were when we signed on for this voyage,” she laughed. “We have yet to eat any of them, and still they cower.”

  “Let them be,” Kevon scolded. “They’re risking their lives even associating with us, with me. After our first night on board, I’m not sure I blame them.”

  “The others were uncomfortable with the sorcery you and the witch wrought, bending the seas to make our escape. They chose to take their chances elsewhere.” Alanna shrugged.

  “In the middle of the night. Without a boat?” Kevon asked.

  “Assassins are resourceful,” she purred, her jade-green eye boring deep into his soul as her fingers twined with his.

  Kevon’s pulse quickened, and the mostly healed wound at his back ached in time with his hammering heart. The look in her remaining eye had begun to remind him more of Marelle in the previous weeks. She was still a vastly different person than she’d been the season they had met over two years ago.

  I don’t imagine she’s having the easiest time adjusting to who I am now, he thought, recalling their shared hatred of the Mage that had taken loved ones from both of them. Our roads both led to the same destination, to Holten’s destruction. That should make things easier. Why isn’t it?

  The boat rocked on a swell, and Kevon swayed into the mast. Alanna turned away at his sharp intake of breath from the light impact against his back. Her fingers slipped away through his like the last grains of sand in an hourglass.

  “I’m trying,” she said, slipping back into the passageway that led to the lower cabins.

  The Warsmith thought about following her. There was a time he would have abandoned everything to be with the woman she had been. There were still times he considered it, but there was always something that stopped him. His fear of the unknown, his duty to the Realm, the journey they had undertaken to decipher the ancient text. He took a few steps after her before succumbing to hesitation, and turned to walk to the railing and overlook the sea.

  “Ha! Ye’re a pig!” the Dwarven ambassador chortled from further down the railing. The ship pitched again, and Kylgren-Wode wrapped another loop of the rope that secured him to the ship’s side around his arm. “No, that’s not right. A turkey?”

  Kevon braced himself against the rail, and tried to make sense of the dwarf’s mumbling. “A chicken?”

  “Aye, I suppose. Why ye think a chicken is more afraid than a pig is a mystery. Never kept pigs fer their eggs.”

  I’ve given up trying to understand them, but I see what Bertus meant. Kevon smiled and shook his head. The two dwarves were the only ones on board that no one hesitated to talk with. Their easy manner and odd perspectives were an amusing combination no matter who you were.

  “Yer likely right te be afraid of that one, and she of you. There’s something te be said fer that though,” Kylgren-Wode advised.

  “Bertus said something about training?” the Warsmith asked, eager to talk about something other than Alanna.

  “How do ye think the boy is?”

  “Well, I hope. My family’s lives may depend on him.” Memories of the Sending Pholos had helped perform to transport the young Warrior to the North Valley flashed through his mind.

  There were disturbances that someone new to the Plane of Fire might have left, Pholos had told him. No evidence of Holten’s death, but surely his passage.

  Tensions had mounted after the battle near the waterfront. Kevon and his friends had barely gained entrance back into the city before accusations of heresy from inside the Warrior’s Guild were leveled. None of the guardsmen that were there that night stood against him, but few spoke out on his behalf, fearing retribution from both of the Guilds. By the time Pholos returned with his concerns about Holten, there was time to work a Sending on Bertus to see to Kevon’s family, and evacuate to this ship the others who supported the Warsmith. They’d set sail for Alcron under cover of darkness, Kevon helping Mirsa work Water magic to hasten their departure.

  “I ken show ye the basics, but I’m no Stoneguard,” Kylgren-Wode offered. “Once we’re back on solid ground.”

  “I look forward to it.” Kevon began walking toward the aft of the ship, to the higher decks, removing his steel-laced wristbands as he went. Halfway up the stairs, as the first cuff slid free, the press of the ocean’s power engulfed his mind.

  Unprepared, the Mage stumbled, and thrust his arm back into the wristband, wiping away the forces that had nearly overwhelmed him. He finished the climb to the highest deck, and sat in the center on the polished wooden planks to think.

  First the ring, and now these? More prepared, Kevon removed the wrist braces and felt the swell of power beneath him, held more easily at bay by the extra yards of distance and focused concentration. He reached out and took some of the magic, pressing outward along the surface of the waters for miles, until he tasted the dank sand and felt the sea slapping against the insolent shore that rose from it to the east.

  “Almost there,” he whispered, pushing away the magic before he was tempted to drink more deeply from the offered power. He slipped one cuff back on, and was still fighting the press of the sea from below. He poked at each of the strips inside the remaining cuff. Four had no effect, the remaining two shielding him completely from the magic like he’d come to expect them all to do.

  If this pattern holds, they will not protect me as I require for much longer. The exhausted Mage stood and gazed toward the eastern horizon, hoping the land he’d sensed was not too far beyond it. Tomorrow, the day after at the latest.

  Chapter 2

  The protection afforded by the bracers ended in the middle of the night. Kevon woke screaming belowdecks, drowning in power that tossed the ship like a toy upon the sudden waves.

  The Warsmith struggled out of his twisted bedroll, looking for something to latch onto to quell the madness. His sword skittered across the floor as the craft rolled, and after it slid past his flailing grasp three times, he snatched the hilt. Absorbing the shock of the now familiar jolt, he wrapped himself around the scabbarded blade until the ship, and h
is mind stilled.

  He prowled the hall, blade in hand, checking on the rest of the passengers and crew. Aside from bruises and scrapes, no one below had any injuries. Kevon climbed the stairs to the deck, and opened the door.

  “Haul on that like it was yer life, not his!” Kylgren-Wode called, grinding his iron-shod boots against the deck at the end of the stout rope that looped over the railing.

  Kevon rushed over, steadying his mind in preparation for releasing the sword to help with the rope. He let go, pushed back against the sea, grabbed onto the rope, and pulled with the others.

  The shaken sailor latched onto the railing as he reached it, taking the weight off the rope. The nearest crewmen leapt forward to complete the rescue, Kylgren-Wode among them.

  “Clear skies, calm seas, and then this?” The ship’s captain muttered from behind Kevon. “I’ve half a mind to dump all of the Kærtesian scum overboard.”

  “One more day,” Kevon snapped, turning to glare at the captain, motioning for Alanna to stand down. “Another day and we won’t need you, or your ship.” He recovered the sword, shouldered his way past the irritated sailor, and headed back belowdecks.

  * * *

  Mirsa sat in silence, letting her mind wander only far enough to skim the surface of the ocean’s power. The spell Kevon worked churned ocean water heavily against the vessel, shoving them along with furious speed. He drew power from the depths of the sea, and from around her, leaving a small bubble of calm where she could keep watch for hostile magic that could interfere with his concentration. The steel laced armbands he wore kept the magic he worked hidden from her senses, but the pressure against the hull was more than enough evidence. Vast amounts of power were being used to speed them toward their destination.

  “An hour more, at this pace,” she announced. “Still no signs of other Magi, but we should be within sight of other ships very soon.”

  “Sails?” The captain asked.

  Kevon shook his head. “Ready them; wait until you spot another ship.”

  Twenty minutes passed before a shout from the crow’s nest signaled contact with another vessel.

  Opening eyes that would have only distracted him moments before, Kevon shifted his focus to easing the ship’s speed without capsizing it. He funneled away more of the energy surrounding Mirsa, and pointed to the top of the mast.

  “I’m all right,” the Master Mage argued. “The deepest part of the ocean is well behind us. As long as I do not seek it out…”

  The Warsmith had wondered as much, if the lessening of the sea’s insistence had been a product of his increased skill, or the shallowing of the ocean floor. “As you will. Be ready.”

  Kevon finished easing the surrounding seas into normal currents, and signaled the captain. Shouts rang out, and sails unfurled to catch the breeze that angled them on toward their destination. He ended the spell, and grasped the hilt of his sword to disconnect himself from the magic completely.

  Mirsa felt the power of the sea press up against her, but stop at a manageable level. Her breath quickened, then fell back into its normal steady rhythm. The nausea returned, but she focused on her breathing until it passed. When she felt more composed, she stood and made her way to look over the upper deck’s railing, ahead to the shore that lined the horizon.

  Chapter 3

  Bertus poked at the fire, stirring the coals before adding a few more broken branches. The skewered rabbits on the crude spit above it were nearly ready, but the hunt and their preparation had cost him the greater part of the day.

  Savage, he mocked himself, looking at the bloodied stone shards he’d had to use to clean and skin his meal. He crowded closer to the flame, feeling the chill of the evening beginning to settle in again. At least they let me bring my bedroll.

  The Seeker rotated the sizzling carcasses a quarter-turn, and looked around. He strode over to the base of a large tree at the edge of the clearing, and grabbed on to a low-hanging branch. He pulled himself up, and spotted another branch that would hold his weight. The effort required was negligible. He had not climbed a tree in years, but his Warrior training had hardened most of the correct muscles.

  Twenty yards from the ground, a glimpse through the foliage brought both him and his youthful daydreaming to a halt. A farmhouse with smoke rising from the chimney lay to the north, something he had not seen before he’d left the track to search for food earlier in the day.

  I couldn’t possibly make it there tonight, he decided. The smell of roasting rabbit wafted up and mingled with the pine. His gurgling stomach reminded him that he had other obligations to fulfill. He noted the direction of the dwelling, and climbed back down to his dinner.

  * * *

  Bertus’s stomach growled in protest as he pressed on past midday, emerging from the forest onto the track within sight of the farmhouse. He hoped that the owners had supplies and equipment to spare, and would deal in coin. He unstrung his bow and tucked it under the strap that held the quiver of arrows at his back.

  * * *

  The Warrior waited while the farmer leaned on a shovel and looked him over. Deciding that Bertus was all right, the man called the baying mastiff to heel, and motioned the Seeker to follow him to the house.

  “Weapons outside,” the man cautioned as he leaned his shovel against the wall and opened the door. “Ma never held with them, I reckon we won’t, neither.”

  Bertus nodded, lifting the quiver-strap over his head and lowering his gear to the sanded wooden deck. There was only one person in the valley he had cause to distrust, Holten. He left behind everything but his coin pouch.

  “Comp’ny!” the man shouted ahead as they walked through a formal room and down the hallway past several closed doors. “Set ‘nother place!”

  The table, a monstrosity at least six feet wide and well over twenty feet long, was larger than any Bertus had seen outside the palace in Navlia. Half of the available space was taken up, and one of the women who were bustling about was just placing an extra plate on the end when he and his escort entered the room.

  “Welcome,” she said over the murmurs of the others at his appearance in the room. She cast an appraising glance, and smiled. “You’re new.”

  Familiarity tickled the back of the Seeker’s mind, the speech and features too similar to ignore. “You’re Alma.”

  Too famished to explain, Bertus refused to answer questions until after the meal was over and he’d helped clear the table and clean up the kitchen. Most of the family returned to their outside duties, and the Seeker was left with Alma, one of the other women of the house, and another fellow that refused to wander far from Kevon’s sister’s side.

  “Who are you, and how do you know Alma?” the other man demanded, as soon as they had taken seats in the living area after the meal.

  “Martin, calm down,” Alma advised, smoothing her skirt and lifting her gaze to Bertus. “He’s going to tell us.”

  “First of all,” the Seeker began, “I must know. When was the last time any of you saw Holten Magus?”

  “Almost three years a…” Martin started. “Kevon! You know Kevon! Wait…” Martin bit his lip, thinking. “A Warrior. The last Warrior that came to this valley was before…”

  “Yes,” Bertus admitted. “I’m a Seeker. Kevon sent me here, to find you, Alma. And your mother.”

  Alma’s eyes dropped. Martin frowned. “Last winter…” he began.

  “I’m sorry. I understand. As awful as it sounds, it makes things easier. We need to leave here, at once.”

  “Now see here…” Martin stood and took a step toward Bertus. “You know nothing of what-”

  “You may not know me, but I know you. You’re a better fisherman than I am, though not as good a cook.” Bertus turned to look at Alma. “She is the finest seamstress in the valley, perhaps even before her mother’s passing. Kevon rode out of here more than two years ago on his father’s mare. He needs you to trust him, to trust me. You must leave this place, to journey across the Realm, acro
ss the seas, to him. To safety.” Bertus stood and squared his shoulders toward Martin. “He is my best friend, and I will see this done as he asked.”

  “I believe him,” Alma said, standing beside Martin and sliding her arm around his to clasp his hand. “We need to go.”

  “Yes,” Martin agreed. “We do.”

  “I have enough coin to buy just about anything we need, but we need horses more than anything right now.” And a sword, Bertus thought, longing for the weight of the ancient blade he’d grown so used to carrying at his side.

  “Coin is not as precious here as it may be in the rest of the Realm,” Martin cautioned. “We have something better.”

  * * *

  “The whole farm?” the boy asked, eyes scrunched up in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Martin sighed. “And all of the sheep. We only need three saddle horses, three saddles, a sack of oats, and all the food and water your father can spare. Quickly.”

  “I’ll tell him,” the boy said, wheeling the borrowed horse around toward the road. “I’ll probably get a whipping though, for lying.”

  Bertus flipped the boy a gold coin from his pouch.

  The boy caught it, looked it over, and tossed it back. “That’d get me a whipping for stealing. No thanks, mister.”

  The Seeker laughed as the youth galloped down the road to try and convince his family that they were trading into a new farm.

  Martin had Bertus help saddle their plow-horse and load it up with supplies they already had on hand. Alma brought out changes of clothing and blankets, along with an assortment of knives from the kitchen. She handed Bertus a long, sheathed skinning knife, which he immediately affixed to his belt, giving a different kind of comfort than the simple iron band that he wore on his right hand.