Target Of The Orders (Book 3) (2 page)

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. And 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.”

“I’m glad you can laugh about it, Garrick. There is hope for you yet.”

“There is that.” Garrick hesitated, knowing he was coming to the hardest part of his tale. “Once I saved her I discovered that the spellwork left a gap inside me. A hunger. Very deep. I discovered then that I needed to take another’s life to fill that opening.”

For a moment the only sound was the clopping of hooves on hard-packed ground.

“So, you’re in a cycle? You steal life force, use it until it’s gone, then steal it back again?”

Garrick nodded.

“And how are you today?”

“Filled to the brim and spilling over. Magic is almost too easy.”

To prove his point, Garrick waved his hand at the path before them and cast an absentminded spell. A rose plant sprung up, complete with crimson flowers. The plant would die quickly in the desert heat, but now it was fresh and its aroma flavored the air.

“That seems unfair. Did you know you would be in this fix when it all started?”

“Of course not. Though, I suppose I could have thought it out. I would have agreed to anything to save her, though.”

“It seems an odd coincidence that Alistair was killed the very night of your … adventure,” Darien said. “There’s got to be something going on. The orders are involved somehow, and I’m sure you’re aware that politics between the orders are more blood than sport. What do you think this means?”

Garrick shrugged. He was unhappy in the heat, and this conversation wasn’t helping anything.

“I don't know. I’ve been thinking about it all night, but I admit I have no idea how it goes together.

“Add the fact that Braxidane has triggered my first barrier—which means I am now also a full-blooded mage—and you’ve got a puzzle that’s bigger than I can comprehend.”

Darien did an actual double-take. “You have a god as a superior?”

“Braxidane is no god.”

“What is he, then?”

“He is a planewalker—simple as that, one of the creatures that live in the spaces between the planes. That makes Braxidane powerful, but it does not make him a god.”

“Does the difference matter?”

“It does to me.”

An awkward silence rose.

Garrick shaded his eyes and scanned for scouts. “Why are they not hunting us?” he said.

“Let’s not be upset by good fortune.”

Garrick chuckled. He was surprised to find he felt better.

“Regardless of anything else, Darien, this means you need to be careful around me. Braxidane’s magic has a will of its own. As my reserves fall, the beast gets hungry. I can calm it, but after a point I will lose control.”

“I thought as much.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think you’re particularly cunning about that?”

Garrick reddened with the accusation. “Yet you’ve stayed around?”

“There is something about you, Garrick. I felt it the moment I met you. Using sorcery at a gaming table is not a normal thing to do.”

“I told you, I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, Garrick. I smelled it. Your spell work was unmistakable.”

“I was healing the man next to me,” Garrick snapped.

“Healing?”

“Yes, healing.”

Darien broke out in an obnoxious guffaw that dredged up memories of young boys who poked fun at him as they trudged to their studies and he went off to the stables.

“Healing? At a gaming table? You may be a full mage by power, but only an apprentice would be idiotic enough to use magic at a gaming table and not try to fix the odds.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sorry,” Darien said, still grinning.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be broken, do you, Darien? You don’t know what it’s like to be without?” His anger spilled over him then, and he let it roll off his lips. “You know exactly who you are. You know who your father is. You know what your brother did. You have an entire history behind you, and yet you despair over something as trivial as whether you will rate against that same brother. But, let me tell you about not rating, Darien. Let me tell you about not having anyone to turn to, about growing up away from your mother because your baron owed coins to a sorcerer, or about cleaning stalls, or about not letting yourself grow close to anyone because you’re just going to leave again soon.”

It felt good to say these things out loud for once.

It felt freeing.

It gave him a new sense of power.

“I’m sorry,” Darien said softly. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Garrick nodded then, gathering himself together as his anger wound down.

“It’s all right,” he said to Darien. “I just needed you to know.”

Darien's beard bristled at his chin as he pursed his lips. They rode in silence for several minutes before coming to an opening that led to the opposite side of the range.

“This way,” Darien said, pointing.

“About time,” Garrick replied.

He wiped his brow and guided his to follow his friend into the pass.

They emerged several hours later on the eastern side of the mountains. It was cooler here, and green everywhere. It smelled of the forest, of peat, leaves, and wet rain. He had forgotten how much he liked the color of trees.

They made camp in a copse of sycamore and elm. Darien built a fire that warmed them, and they cooked the quail that Darien had taken shortly after they stopped. Garrick ate for taste and companionship rather than for hunger, though he had to admit the bird was delicious.

“It feels good to be out of the desert,” Garrick said.

Darien nodded.

On the other side of the mountain, a rose plant covered itself against the nighttime chill.

Chapter 3