A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) (36 page)

“Eric . . .” Kasile sauntered to the battle mage and leaned
in close. “I have a feeling you don't
want
me to meet this friend of
yours.”

“T-that's n-not it, Your . . .” Kasile wagged her finger. “
. . . Kasileness.” Eric wanted to smack himself for saying something so lame,
but Kasile giggled. “It's just . . . I promised I wouldn't tell.”

“Eric, since your budding relationship has created this
space, we should put it to good use. Practice the theories I showed you
earlier.”

Grateful for the escape, Eric reached behind his back and
said, “Oh! Right, good idea.”

His staff appeared in his hands. Experimentally, he chanted
the water spell and a ball of water appeared like normal. Likewise, wind
appeared out of the gloom and earth arose from below him. When he was holding a
rock above his head, Kasile spoke up.

“Could you teach me that?”

“Princess?”

“Don't 'Princess' me!” Eric was so startled he lost his grip
on the rock. It fell out of the sky and dropped on his head. “ . . .I mean . .
.I would prefer you address me as 'student.'”

Eric rubbed the new bump. “Teach you?
Me?
I can't
teach anyone! I'm a student myself!”

“Magical flower arranging,” Kasile deadpanned.

“Huh?”

“That was my last lesson from my current teacher. I want to
learn mercenary magic.”

“But I can't-”

“'I'm just a student'.” Kasile finished. “Which is exactly
why you should.”

“Really?”

“A teacher has to know their material and be confident with
it. A student that takes on the role of a teacher takes on those qualities
because they have to explain it in a way that their student will understand. By
teaching me, you will know it better.”

Eric grinned. If she was that determined . . . “All right,
Kasile, I'll teach you.”

Chapter 13
Good Help is Hard to Find

“Dead center.”

Hatred and bitterness shone like cold flames in Kasile's
eyes. Her thirst for revenge manifested as fire darting from fingertip to
fingertip. Before her, black cloaked apparitions smoldered.

“Kasile, we need to talk.” She didn't hear him. “Kasile!”
Still no response. Her bolts grew redder and faster with each shot. “Princess!”
She stopped. The flames faded, her eyes cooled, and a hand rose to brush a
stray strand of hair behind her ears. Eric dubbed it “polite princess mode.”

“Yes . . . Eric?”

“You will wait for me, right? You won't take on the whole
band by yourself?”

Kasile grin cockily. “Afraid of losing your chance to be a
knight in shining armor?” Eric stared. “All right. I won't take on the whole
band.”

“You promise?”

Kasile put her hand over her heart and said, “I, Kasile
Landros Ataidar, promise to wait a reasonable amount of time for Eric Watley to
rescue me.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “A 'reasonable' amount of time?”

“Yes, it's been almost a month already,” Kasile replied. To
which Eric felt a great deal of guilt. “You don't have to feel guilty. I know
your promise was spur of the moment.”

“What does guilt look like?”

“Eric!” Dengel shouted. “Why aren't you practicing the new
spells?!”

“I'm teaching Kasile about mana bolts. Don't worry, I
practiced.”

Dengel couldn't see Kasile or her mana bolts and so he
insisted Eric prove his second claim.
Well, I am
supposed to be
asleep right now . . . I guess am. Aw . . . this telepathic stuff is confusing
.

One of the spells was a mana bolt made of darkness; a dark
bolt. It was thrown at the target and instead of hurting them, it would create
a field of darkness to obscure their vision. Dengel called it “offensive concealment”
and was the brand he decided to focus on for their infiltration. A novice mage
wouldn't stand a chance strong arming his way in; neither his spirit nor mana
reserves would be sufficient to challenge the older and more experienced
warriors inside.

“Eric! Wake up!” Nolien's voiced called. “We've got company!”

Eric jolted awake to a large shadowy figure approaching. It
drifted in and out of sight; burnished iron, orange and red fur, a large muzzle.
Its nose sniffed the dirt then lifted to taste the scents floating in the air.
Eric grabbed his staff and began casting the lupine—

“Don't bother,” Basilard said. His sword was drawn and his
eyes never left the monster. “I'm already using it.” The words died in Eric's
throat. “The Anacran appeared a minute ago. It stopped as it passed and draws
closer by the second.”

The monster was mere yards away. It was easily bigger than a
Xethras in every respect. If it stood up straight, its head would bump the ceiling.
Maybe that's why its nose is always to the ground . . . and why it depends .
. .
The iron chunks were part of its body; molding over its limbs and back
and head like armor. Black stains coated them, but nowhere more than the claws
and mouth.

“My spell is slowing it down, but it will know exactly where
we are any time now. This, Miss Anuzat, is why I told you concealment spells
were unreliable.”

The merchant crossed her arms. “It's buying us time.”

“It has our scent. It will follow. Besides, I already have a
plan.”

Basilard held his sword vertically before his face, closed
his eyes, and began to speak. Unlike the silly rhymes in his book, this was a
true magical incantation. Every cell in Eric's body resonated with it. The
ground below him, the air around him, the entire world seemed to listen.

“Source of my blood and its destination, giver and taker of
life, founder of our clan, I beseech thee.” The blade shined blue. “Grant your
power to this sword . . .“ The blue shifted to blood red.

The Anacran was in striking distance. It looked directly at
the sapients and licked its lips.

“And destroy those that stand before me!” Basilard opened
his eyes and pointed his sword, now crackling with power. “BLOOD'S ANCESTOR!”

A flood of red light consumed the Anacran. When the spell
faded, there was nothing left of it, not even ashes. The passage was bigger!

“Can you say 'overkill'?” Tiza asked.

Basilard nonchalantly sheathed his sword. “I felt like
redeeming myself.”

“Redeeming yourself,” his novices repeated.

“Yes,” Basilard said with a shrug. “The first time you see
your mentor in action, he almost dies. I can't expect you to take me seriously
after that.” He gestured to Anuzat. “She didn't.”

“I never did.”

“But, Daylra! It was a pack of xethras using that 'Soul
Union' thing! I didn't lose faith in you.”

“Thank you, Eric, but it's more than that.” He patted his
sheath.” Maybe now I can stop talking about—and using—concealment spells.”

“You can start telling me why you didn't use
that
spell,” Anuzat replied.

Basilard grinned. “The Trickster made me do it.”

Eric gasped. The locals groaned.

“I
did
use it,” Basilard continued. “After I finished
the xethras, something else attacked me.” Basilard paused to stab and spell a
four-mouthed megaworm that burst from the ground. As it shriveled, he plucked
its fangs. “My priority was getting you out of the danger zone.”

“Where was my caravan in your plan?”

Basilard shrugged and gave her the worm fangs.

Eventually the ground curved upwards and Eric's heart leaped.
Only hours to Ataidar and days to Roalt and then he could
finally
get
Kasile's rescue underway. Of course, the curve meant walking uphill with a
heavy pack, but Eric was too excited to notice his legs screaming at him. At
last, they emerged from the cave into the golden light of the morning sun. The
sea of grass awaiting them was a welcome sight after the sea of sand they'd
been in for the last three weeks. A cool breeze blew by.

“Finally,” Anuzat muttered. “I'm ready to put this trip
behind me.”

Only a few more days until I can begin
. Eric repeated
it over and over again. Dengel told him to stop because it was giving him a
headache.

Four days later, Roalt's East Gate came into view. The last
time Eric saw it he didn't know the wall designs were runes; now he knew the
meaning behind twenty and what was powering them. The sun set on his back in
this final leg home.

Tiza giggled; a bloodthirsty giggle that sent a chill down
Eric's spine. She was admiring the horns on her new necklace. Unlike the
outgoing trip, Anuzat had no guards to defend her from the monsters between the
Yacian Mountains and Roalt. Tiza jumped at the chance. After she killed a
Horlf, Anuzat taught her to transform it into wearable battle trophies. Nolien
was content as well; his teammate's blood had been on those horns.

The gate opened with minimal fuss and swiftly closed behind
them. Anuzat sighed as they crossed the threshold. “At last I can make some
money . . . Maybe.”

“You still have to pay us,” Basilard said.

“I know!” Anuzat snapped.

“Uh . . . Miss Anuzat . . .”

“What!? You'll get the extra too, so what is it!?” Eric was
intimidated by her shout, and the way her legs were twitching, but continued
with encouragement from Dengel.

“Have you seen the xethras use soul union before?”

“Of course not! If I had, I would l would have hired
regulars.”

Then it must be a rare phenomenon, something new, or
something few live to talk about . . .

Under Anuzat's direction, they carried her merchandise to a
small shop in Merchant Town. Although every other one was built with wood,
stone or metal with a solid coat of paint this one was made of clay with odds
and ends poking out. Standing on top of the building was a wooden sign:

Motsuc's Workshop

Medicine, Clothing, Tools,
and Everything Else

All custom made to your
specifications

The walls were indeed made of junk; everything from scrap
iron to driftwood, chariot wheels, trash cans and even a kitchen sink! The
desk, however, was a real desk and a finely made one too. Eric expected
something outlandish like a bathtub. Behind the desk, and beyond the back door,
was a great racket; a clanking and clattering and general ruckus.

 Anuzat pounded on the desk. “Motsuc! I've got a delivery!”
Two zlenkies slithered through air, hit the floor, and kept going.
Mine would
never do that. Are they magic?

“Beep! Sorry, I can't come to the desk right now,” the zlenkies
said. “I'm in the middle of a important order and thus I cannot be disturbed.”

Anuzat's hind legs twitched. She grabbed the zlenkies,
twisted them together, and threw them into the back room. “Motsuc!!! Get out
here right now or I double the rate!” The ruckus suddenly ceased and footsteps
hurried to the desk.

A tall and lanky man appeared in the doorway. He was very
pale and wore denim overalls stained with oil, dye, and food. His hair was up
in a similarly messy band. “How's my favorite nomad?”

“I've told you a thousand times, I'm
not
a nomad.”

“You travel a great distance, in a regular pattern, to make
your living. Isn't that nomadic?”

A furry foot flexed over his face. “One more word and it's
triple.”

Motsuc held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all
right! What do you have for me this time?”

With great relief, Eric dropped his bag. Anuzat heaved them
all on the desk and pointed to each one in turn as she listed off its contents.
“Bones, iron sand, pelts, crystals, clothing, and herbs.”

Motsuc examined each and nodded in approval. Pulling out
several bags of coins, he set them next to Anuzat's merchandise.

“I'll make great stuff with this. As always, it's a pleasure
doing business with you.” The merchant and craftsman exchanged bags. “Oh and
you all!” he said to the mercenaries. “I make weapons, armor, and accessories
too! Come to me and I'll give you a great deal.” Without waiting for them to
respond, he dragged the supplies to his workshop and the ruckus started up
again.

Anuzat rubbed her forehead. Gathering her resolve, she split
the coins bags between her profit and expenses. The former was disappointingly
small. “Escort and transport.”

Basilard bowed his head. “Like Motsuc said, it's a pleasure.”

 Anuzat ignored him, walked straight to Tiza, and gave her a
hug. What surprised Eric was that Tiza hugged back. “Promise me you won't go
pulling tails off boack again.”
Tiza lopsidedly smiled. “I promise—I'll slice them off instead!”

Anuzat smiled and shook her head. “You are indeed crazy,
little mercenary.”

The boys stared in amazement. Basilard stared at his book.

“What!” Tiza demanded. She didn't look as threatening as
usual, being as she was enveloped in a hug, but the boys still sputtered, “N-nothing's'.”
Anuzat chuckled and drew away.

“Make sure you keep these boys in line,” Tiza responded with
a scary smirk. “Oh, and one more thing.” Anuzat loomed over the novices. “If
any of you ever tells
anyone
the password I told my old man, they will
hunt you down, rip out your intestines, and suffocate you with them.” The boys
gulped and nodded their heads in agreement.

 “I thought you weren't a nomad?” Tiza asked.

“I'm not, but it's nomad tradition. They're bending the
rules allowing
me
to use it. If outsiders banded it about, I'd be
exiled! Not that I'm not! It’s just that . . . my dad . . .he's ah . . .”

“We get it.” Tiza said.

“You do?” Nolien asked. Tiza stomped on his foot. “We do.”

Much later, Eric traveled the basalt tunnels to the Squad
One Lounge. After reporting to Mia and getting their pay, he asked Tiza to
guide him there. She reacted with great annoyance, but then said she was going
there anyways. However, when they arrived, she immediately left for the
training hall. Eric shelved that puzzle for a later day.
It shouldn't be too
hard . . . just look for the giant—
He stumbled over a hairy body.