Target Of The Orders (Book 3) (6 page)

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 grimaced. “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?

Braxidane expected things.

And Darien. And Sunathri, and the men and women of the entire Freeborn camp.

He thought of Darien’s inner strength. He recalled the purity of conviction in Suni’s gaze as she pressed him to join her cause—a cause she had created wholly from within herself. He remembered the force of Will’s youthful life.

They were all so full of hope. All so certain of things.

He wished he could be that way.

They did need him, though. He felt their need, and their expectation, as if it was a stone on his chest.

Their hope was false, though. Their expectation was wasted. He had no idea how to help beat back the orders’ aggression.

And Braxidane was right about another thing, too—if the other god-touched mages were anything as powerful as he was, they could be devastating in battle. No opposing force could stand against that kind of power in the hands of a mage of real status and real experience. If the orders were planning to take the whole of Adruin, the Freeborn would be destroyed.

“I can’t join the Freeborn,” Garrick said. “But I’ll do what I can.”

“That sounds like a start.”

Garrick set a defiant jaw. “I’ll take life only under just conditions, though.”

Braxidane’s grin spread over his lips slowly. “It will go better for you if you remember there is no such thing as justice.”

“Yes, there is,” Garrick said. “Justice is the natural consequence of abusing power.”

Braxidane opened his arms to the nighttime, and gave a wide smile.

“Who am I to argue with such logic?”

Garrick glared. “I’m not doing this to give you comfort in your logic.”

“I don’t care about your motives, Garrick. But since you have decided to help, you should know that the Freeborn are in Dorfort as we speak.”

Garrick nodded, glancing south toward the city.

When he returned his gaze to the planewalker, Braxidane had blinked out of existence.

The planewalker’s disappearance left both Garrick and Will in stunned silence.

Garrick looked at the boy and tousled his hair.

“Hey!” Will called, putting his hand to his head. “Who was that, Master Garrick?”

“I’ll tell you about him later,” Garrick said. “The Lectodinians will see through that illusion soon enough, so right now we had best move.”

“Yes, sir.”

He grabbed the rope around Kalomar’s neck and stroked the horse's flank.

“But, Will.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Just call me Garrick. All right? No ‘sir’ and no ‘master.’ Just Garrick.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Garrick glared at the boy, and Will giggled. “Sorry, Master Garrick.” He giggled again.

Garrick couldn’t help but smile. It felt good to be with the boy. They mounted up, Garrick first, then Will.

“So, are we going to Dorfort?” Will asked, his smile growing wide and toothy.

“Yes. It will be good to see the city again. I have some unfinished business there.”

“I’ve never been to Dorfort. Will it be very exciting?”

“Yes,” Garrick said as the boy settled back into his chest. “I’m sure it will all be very exciting.”

Chapter 10