Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2) (21 page)

In the militia, he’d been taught to follow orders, no matter how stupid. Even if those orders led to his death.

Brant exhaled quickly, violently.

He’d have to lay out the information about the manor and its guards to the best of his ability. The attitude had to go, too. Quarrelling over leadership hurt both Dylan and, especially, Lainey.

Just give up, though? Surrender to that know-it-all asshole? There had to be a way to get even that wasn’t insubordination.

Maybe he could find another way to compete with Xan. Maybe in an area where Brant was guaranteed to win.

He grinned.

Yes. A new contest, one with a far better prize than simply command of their little group—they’d see who could win Lady Ashley’s affection.

Brant stifled a laugh. Xan didn’t stand a chance.

Once Xan and his friends turned onto the lane near the manor, he relaxed his grip on Honey’s reins and flexed his fingers. They’d spent the entire morning at their camp while Justav surely drew closer by the minute. Worse, they’d been riding west along the main road—the catcher’s most likely direction of travel and his most obvious route.

About a mile later, Brant paused before a bridge. “This way to your dream girl.” With that, he plunged down a steep bank into nearly waist-high water.

Why had Brant called Ashley that?

Xan’s heart raced. Surely because of how he had met her. That had to be the only reason.

It was bad enough that Lainey suspecting his feelings for Ashley. If Brant did too, the big idiot might joke about it in front of her and ruin everything. Xan needed to be a strong, confident hero—not a kid teased by his friends.

His hand shook, and without thinking, he reached into his pocket for a seed. No. The last thing he needed was to be more hyper. Focus on the task at hand. There was no way the rescue would go as easy as planned.

About a half mile later, Brant led them onto the bank. “Leave the horses here. Use a figure-eight knot so you can untie the reins in a hurry.”

All except Xan—even his sister—made quick work with the rope. Did everyone know more than him? All he knew about knots was how to tie his shoe.

Letting Brant take the lead on the practical matters of the mission was definitely a good decision. Not only was he better at it, but he’d dropped the attitude as well. But what would happen when Xan started issuing the orders?

After Brant secured Honey’s reins, he led the group north single file, pointing out clear ground for their every step. With afternoon waning, it took over an hour to cover two hundred yards, and they stopped when the first hint of a wall appeared through dense foliage.

He motioned for the others to hunker behind bushes and spent the next hour removing leaves and twigs between their position and the edge of the clearing before returning to the group to wait for night to fall. Thirty minutes after full dark, he gave the signal to move.

The sliver of moon provided scant light, but at least, Xan didn’t have to watch too closely where he stepped. He rose and bumped his head on a branch. Falling leaves shattered the night’s quiet.

Brant, Dylan, and Lainey all turned to glare at him.

Xan mouthed, “Sorry.”

He had to be more careful. If a guard heard that noise, it could ruin everything. Why was he such an oaf?

His friends continued ahead, strolling as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Xan picked his way forward. They made nary a sound. He nearly tripped trying to avoid a bush, and the resulting rustling and stomping brought to mind a herd of stampeding elephants. By the time he finally reached the others, they’d been crouched in the shadow of a large pine for what had to be ten minutes.

Lainey hoisted herself onto the bottom branch of a tall pine. She winced as she shifted weight onto her hurt ankle but didn’t as much as utter an “ouch.”

Xan hated putting her in that position. Better that than inside the compound, though.

He and Brant crept to the wall and knelt beside the stone while Dylan followed her up the tree. In those positions, they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

How could an hour be both filled with tension and mind-numbing dullness at the same time?

Finally, Xan sensed Ashley dreaming and stood. Hopefully, her drawing power would cover their use of magic as they’d planned. Otherwise, they’d be signaling their presence to any mages nearby.

He hated basing their success on hopes, but what else could they do? Like Brant had said, they could only control what they could control. They just had to be ready to react if the situation changed.

Minutes passed, and Xan and Brant silently stretched their stiff muscles, waiting. Another five minutes. They didn’t have all night. Justav surely advanced steadily, and thinking he wouldn’t get a fix on Ashley soon strained the imagination.

Xan looked up and held his hands out. His sister’s pale face emerged, and she nodded. Dylan, standing just outside the tree’s shadow, furrowed his brow.

Brant flew up in a smooth motion and disappeared over the wall.

Seconds later, Xan’s clothes pulled upward. He recalled vividly both Dylan’s reluctance to use magic and exactly who kept forcing him to do so. A simple “oops” could ruin everything.

Xan’s feet separated from the sod, and his heart fluttered. Maybe they should have practiced.

Up he flew. A foot high, then two, then five. By the time he cleared the top stone, he praised the darkness obscuring the fall. If he hit the ground hard, he swore he’d burn a hole in Dylan’s favorite cloak.

Xan’s body shifted toward the ground, and a series of upward jerks slowed him. He slammed into the ground and tumbled down, his face sliding across the grass. Cursing Dylan, he staggered to his feet and dashed toward Brant’s hiding place between the stable and the wall.

On the side of the building, a tiny flame ignited—Lainey’s signal that the guard was coming back around.

Blast it!

They’d taken too long getting over the wall. If they got caught sneaking in, there’d be no way to avoid a fight. Without the element of surprise, the odds would really be against them.

Xan sprinted faster. The light winked out. He dove into the dark space and turned to stare at the far corner of the manor.

A tall, thin man marched into view. A broadsword swung from his waist.

The weapon drew Xan’s eyes. One wrong move and any one of them could be killed. Ashley. Lainey. Was he doing the right thing in attempting a rescue?

The guard disappeared around the front of the house, and Xan checked for magic use.

Blast! Ashley had stopped dreaming. Dylan wouldn’t be able to propel himself over the wall until she started again. And he had the blowgun to take out the sentry.

Such a moronic move. Xan should have had Dylan get into position first.

No. That wouldn’t have worked because he wouldn’t have been able to get the others over. Brant could have carried the blowgun …

Xan shook his head. No help for it. They’d have to wait. More time wasted.

He and Brant crouched in the shadows as the guard completed two more circuits, and soon after the second, Xan sensed Ashley. His hands shook. Almost time.

After an eternity, the sentry sauntered out of view, and a tiny finger of flame ignited high on the tree. Dylan flew over the wall gripping his blowgun and raced to hide behind the stable.

Less than ten minutes until they would spring into action. What if the dart missed? Even if it hit, what if the man raised a cry before he passed out?

Xan’s heart pounded.

Another of Lainey’s flames appeared and extinguished. Dylan readied the blowgun. The guard, his eyes roving from side to side, paced around the back. As he turned the corner to the front, Dylan exhaled sharply.

The dart flew strong.

Xan couldn’t watch. If it missed …

A soft thunk sounded.

The missile stuck out of the center of the guard’s neck. “Wha—” He reached back. With his hand half raised, his knees buckled, and he fell forward to hit the ground with a thud.

Xan started forward. A hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. He turned.

Brant put a hand behind his ear.

They didn’t have time to stop and listen. If the guard’s aborted shout or fall had been heard, they were sunk. Period. If not, Xan only had a couple of minutes at best to take the guard’s place before he was missed.

Xan shrugged off the grip and rushed toward the downed figure.

By the time he reached the man, Brant had joined him, and Dylan followed closely behind. The three stripped the guard’s shirt and sword.

Since Brant was much more broad chested than the man and Dylan much shorter, Xan pulled the tunic over his own. His hand trembled as he strapped the sheathed weapon around his waist.

Brant handed him the man’s hat. “You’ll be fine. Just keep calm and act natural.”

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t about to expose himself to a trained archer who’d kill in a heartbeat. A single wrong move …

Xan would die. Ashley would continue at the mercy of whatever horrible fate her captor planned for her. His friends would probably be caught.

And it would all be his fault.

He took a deep breath and hustled toward the front of the manor. The guard was already behind schedule in appearing. They didn’t want any alarm raised.

Xan stopped just before the front corner and took another deep breath. He could do it. Just a stroll across the yard … with the sharp tip of an arrow following each step.

He proceeded forward at a slow, measured pace. Two and a half minutes per side.

The tower sentry held an arrow nocked toward the north. Another man sat in a lit foyer inside the house.

Sweat poured from Xan’s face, and he clasped his hands against his pant legs to keep them from shaking. He should have come up with a plan that didn’t involve impersonating the guard.

Once in the dark shade on the other side of the manor, he exhaled. The plan might actually work. Next step, get Dylan and Brant inside the house.

With Ashley’s dreaming stopped, Xan just had to wait for her to start again before using magic. Easy. Not like he was risking his life or anything.

When he reached the back of the house, Dylan and Brant stood inside the stable beside the guard’s unconscious form. They didn’t appear nervous at all.

Twice more, he passed them. Before the third, Ashley dreamed. Just past the northeast front corner, he sprinted to the back where Brant and Dylan waited. Xan cut around a window frame with concentrated fire.

Brant tugged, and the intact wood-and-glass assembly fell quietly into his hands. He grinned. “You’re doing great.”

Just a couple more circuits. Dylan would take care of the inside guard with another dart. Brant would take that guy’s clothes and signal the archer to come down. The plan was definitely going to work.

Xan turned the front corner. He stopped cold as he stared at disaster.

The door to the manor stood open. Light streaming into the yard silhouetted a huge man.

“Time to change—Hey! You’re not Odis.” The large guard drew his sword faster than Xan could blink. “Who are you?”

Xan froze.

The monstrous guard raced across the grass, his sword held before him.

Xan couldn’t tear his eyes from the sharp, gleaming metal tip. It jerked and danced as it sped toward him.

How could it move so fast? That guard was ridiculously huge. He shouldn’t be able to walk, much less run.

His momentum would carry the full length of the sword through Xan. He’d be impaled. Killed. All hopes of rescuing Ashley doomed.

Xan’s mind blanked. He should do something. But what? He’d run out of time. The tip of the sword was only feet away.

Unbelievably, the man somehow stopped his huge bulk before impaling Xan. “I said, who are you?”

Xan should have burned the man’s clothes. Drew his sword. Anything. Better than being captured and have the plan go to crap.

He had to get things turned around. “What the blast, man? I’m just doing a solid for my cousin, Odis, and this is how I get treated?”

“How did you get in?” The huge guard didn’t look like he’d bought a word of the story.

So not good. Besides the blade, the bowman in the tower had noticed the commotion. He sighted a nocked arrow.

With Xan’s opponents so far apart, he couldn’t burn both at once. Even if he could somehow get past the sword without being run through, he’d be stuck like a pincushion.

His only chance was to stall. Maybe he’d spot an opportunity to escape or Brant and Dylan would find a way to help. Not that either seemed likely. “Odis had me climb over the wall in the back not five minutes ago. Man. I told that idiot this was a bad idea, but no, he just had to sneak out to see Francie down at the tavern.”

The man shook his head. “Turn around!”

With no other choice, Xan spun. Two mitts grabbed his arms and tightened a coarse rope around his hands behind his back. Odis’ broadsword cleared its scabbard hanging at Xan’s waist and clanged to the ground. Meaty fingers seized his upper arm in a vise-like grip and steered him toward the open door.

Dirc. Keller. Brant. Xan had promised himself he’d never let a bully beat him up again, but at the first sign of trouble, he’d put himself at another’s mercy. Had he really thought he could save Ashley?

He didn’t know what he was, but it certainly wasn’t a hero.

At the manor’s entry, the blade pricked his back, and he arched away from it. He tripped on the threshold and sprawled onto the floor inside, rolling so his side took most of the impact.

“Get up!”

How was Xan supposed to do that with his hands tied behind him? A stairway rose to a second floor landing on his left. He wedged his shoulder against the bannister and, after much effort and grunting, eventually gained his feet.

The big guard thrust him toward a doorway to the right.

If Brant’s diagram was correct, the storeroom he and Dylan had entered lay at the end of a hallway on the other side of the framed opening. What if they waited in the middle of the corridor?

There’d be little cover, so they’d surely be seen. Best case scenario, they’d be able to overwhelm the big guard with numbers, but Xan couldn’t imagine an alarm not being raised.

He dragged his feet. Any delay would give his friends extra time to hide.

The guard shoved Xan. He pitched forward and banged his head on the opposite wall.

Lit by a single lantern in the middle, the hallway stretched the length of the house. No sign of Xan’s friends. Good that they weren’t in danger. Bad that help wouldn’t be coming in the immediate future.

The guard kicked a closed door. Twice. Two booming thuds filled the house.

So much for stealth and surprise. With every minute, they faced more people waking up. What could Xan do about it, though?

Lighting the guard’s clothes on fire was likely to get Xan stabbed and wouldn’t stop an alarm. His only other option was to kill the guard, but was he ready for that? Probably best to wait. Maybe he’d still be able to talk his way out of the mess.

The door swung open to reveal a gray-haired woman with disheveled hair and rumpled clothing.

The guard’s voice boomed. “Get Irwin and Arron. Then wake Master Morav.”

Xan should have struck as soon as they entered the house. He couldn’t kill the old lady.

The guard pulled, and Xan stumbled back. He slipped. The blade sliced his shoulder. Sharp pain flared.

Xan gasped. The hurt drowned everything else from his awareness. He fought for breath as he was pushed into the foyer, and a long while passed before he could think straight.

Footsteps approached from the corridor, and the old servant soon appeared and rushed up the stairs. A minute later, two more guards popped through the casement.

“Irwin, do a patrol loop. Arron, follow me,” the large man holding Xan said.

“I’m on it, Tomas.” The smaller of the two new men dashed from the house.

The situation was getting out of control. Xan had to do something. Set them up for Dylan to knock them out. Even burn them. Something.

Tomas gripped Xan’s bloody shoulder and pulled. Xan screamed as he spun, stumbling and falling with a thud. His face slammed against the stairs.

Pain pushed out all thoughts of plans and strategies and magic.

“Up!”

A humongous hand lifted Xan, but he struggled to get his feet under him. His legs shook, and his right cheek throbbed. The coppery smell of blood assaulted his nostrils.

No tears. He couldn’t bear the humiliation. Focus on something else. Revenge. Tomas would pay. Suffer.

A salty trail streaked down Xan’s cheek. Suffer a lot.

Tomas shoved him up the steps. Xan stumbled again. His injured shoulder hit the wall and exploded with fresh agony. He hustled to gain the next stair before Tomas could add to the torture and humiliation.

Where were his friends? Had they deserted him? Fled?

Xan staggered onto the upper landing. Another corridor ran the length of the house on the second floor, and Tomas shoved him toward a lighted room a couple of doors down.

Just before the three reached it, the serving woman exited and directed a curtsy to Tomas. “Master Morav asks that you wait in his study.”

Tomas pulled Xan out of the way so she could get to the stairs. What if Brant and Dylan were down there?

Xan gritted his teeth and feigned tripping. He lurched into her. “Watch where you walk, woman, or I’ll kick you down those stairs!”

A fist struck Xan’s wounded shoulder.

“Quiet boy!”

His entire world turned to pure agony. He teetered on the edge of blacking out.

A hand drove him toward the study, and he fell to his knees before being dragged back to his feet. He could barely breathe through the pain.

Gradually, the throbbing torment subsided enough for him to think. He stood before a large mahogany desk with Tomas and Arron positioned to each side behind him. Empty shelves lined one wall, and a window occupied most of another.

In Xan’s mind, his friends crept up the stairs and stood at the door. Dylan would aim the blowgun. A couple of darts, and Xan would be free.

That hope dimmed more with each passing minute.

Where were Dylan and Brant? Maybe they really had fled. Xan would have to find a way to get himself free.

A pair of light sources illuminated the room—two fires just sitting there waiting to be used. He couldn’t use the desk lamp since he was positioned between it and Tomas. A lantern hanging near the entry provided much better targeting angles.

If the men could detect magic, they’d kill Xan immediately, but he had no choice. He poured power into the lantern while slamming a shield into place to contain the energy. The light went black. He tensed.

“Why’d the lantern go out?” Arron said. “No breeze in here, and I filled it before going to bed.”

“Shut it!” Tomas said.

Xan choked back a relieved sigh and continued adding energy.

An older gentleman, frail with shaky hands and wearing fine clothes, stepped into the room. Without any sign he sensed Xan’s magic use, he eased into a massive oak chair behind the desk. “What have we here?” He clipped his words and emphasized odd syllables, an unfamiliar accent not shared by the guards.

“Caught this kid sneaking around and wearing Odis’ tunic and weapon,” Tomas said. “Claims to be a cousin taking his place.”

Morav’s eyes narrowed. “I find that unlikely.”

“Yes, sir,” Tomas said. “Irwin is searching the grounds.”

Xan poured more power into the fire. “Please, sir, I’m a refugee. I saw the rich house and thought I might be able to find valuables. My family, my baby sister. They’re hungry, sir.”

Morav leaned forward. “Pity, but I don’t think that’s it either. Arron, this young man needs motivation to be truthful.”

A rasp of metal announced a sword being drawn from a leather scabbard, and Xan tensed again. He couldn’t bear another stabbing. More pain.

If he aimed precisely and guessed really well at where the two behind him stood, the fire didn’t have to be lethal. Maybe. But there was a lot of energy stored in the lantern. Had to hold most of it back if he weren’t going to kill.

Xan visualized the locations for three openings in the globe containing the magic.

Intense pain erupted in his lower back. All thoughts of restraint fled. He arched away from the blade and opened three holes.

Glass shattered. A thick, glowing beam burned itself into his eyes. Morav slumped onto the desk with most of his head missing. Two thumps shook the floor behind Xan. He gagged at the stench of burning flesh.

Movement at the doorway. Burn it. Dylan stepped inside, and Xan barely checked his impulse.

“What did you do?” Dylan’s face paled, and he wobbled on his feet.

Xan had killed. Three men. Sons. Brothers. Fathers?

He’d seen corpses but none like these. Though the high heat had cauterized the wounds, there was still a lot of blood, and gray matter spattered a wide area behind Morav.

Xan fought against throwing up. He blinked. The carnage didn’t go away.

Dylan steadied himself on the doorframe and unsheathed his knife. “I’ll get that rope.”

What rope? Xan tried to move his hands. Oh. “No need.” A quick flow of conjured fire freed him. He felt at the stab wounds. “What about the other guards?”

Dylan held up his blowgun. “Except for the archer, we knocked out all the ones here at the manor.” He paused. “Are you okay?”

“Hurt’s like crazy,” Xan said, “but the wounds can wait until after we get Ashley out of here.”

At the mention of her name, she became that much more real. He was so close to seeing her. Surely, being her hero would be worth the pain. The killing.

Behind Dylan, Brant appeared, grinning widely. “Deal with the wounds, now. I’ll get the girl.” He snatched the still-burning lantern from the hook and disappeared down the corridor.

In the direction of Ashley’s room.

No.

“Brant!” Xan yelled. “Wait!”