Rogue Magician (The Magician Rebellion) (18 page)

After
a minute they came to another cluster.

“
Anyone
in here?” asked Tell.

Several
eye slits were pulled open simultaneously and the magicians were greeted by
shouts of agreement. There were five magicians in this cluster and the group of
escapees became ten. At the next cluster they picked up four more and so on
until there were over thirty admittedly underpowered magicians roaming the
halls of the prison before they were confronted by a group of seven armed
guards. For a tense moment Xander was unsure how the conflict would play out.
The guards were outnumbered four to one, but the magicians were unarmed and
most were probably unaccustomed to fighting without magic.

It
was Fredrik that led the charge brandishing his new sword and bellowing out a
war cry, followed shortly behind by Ryonus, Tell, and more than a dozen other
magicians overwhelming the guards. The guards fought bravely and managed to
fell four or five of the magicians, but they were quickly overwhelmed arming
seven more men with the clubs used by the prison guards. Only the warden had
apparently been aloud to carry a sword within the prison’s confines.

Making
their way through two more cell clusters the breakout added another twelve
magicians to the escape. With so many of his fellow magicians freed a spark of
hope that his rebellion could be reborn began to burn in the old necromancer's
heart. All they had to do was get out of the prison's influence and their power
would quickly return.

The
ear piercing sound of an alarm whirring broke Xander's train of thought.

“
It
sounds like they are aware of our escape,” gasped Mantellus, his breathing had
become labored. Holding his bleeding side he added with a slight chuckle, “I do
not suppose there are any necromancy based healing spells known to a
grandmaster...”

“
There
is in a manner of speaking,” Xander frowned, “but it would take twenty years
for you to learn it. I think you are better off seeking a more traditional
remedy once we get out of here. Maybe we could kidnap a priest.”

A
few minutes later they reached the main entrance to be confronted by
three-dozen guards surrounding them on three sides. Xander realized that every
guard in the prison must have converged on this location once the alarm
sounded, waiting for the prisoners to arrive. The main entrance was much larger
limiting the effect that wards here had. The gathering of magicians could feel
their powers returning ever so slowly. If they could hold back defeat off long
enough, they might be able to make good on their escape.

“
Surrender
now and we will spare you,” said one of the guards confidently, “Challenge us
and you will die.” As if to confirm this every guard drew a sword from their
scabbards. Clearly they had an armory nearby filled with the lethal weapons in
case a prison break like this ever happened.

The
blades glowed in a faint blue hue, drawing what little energy the magicians had
recovered. As the small energy that the necromancer managed to recover started
to drain away he knew defeat was inescapable. The only question was whether or
not his fellow prisoners understood this and would surrender or fight and die
in vain.

Ryonus
stepped back with his hands raised in a sign of surrender. A pragmatic man he
could always be counted on to make the smart decision, excluding the lapse in
judgment that ended his father's life. “This fight is lost,” he whispered to
Xander and Mantellus, “but that does not mean we have to lose everything.”

The
master of manipulation placed his hand on Mantellus' injury and spoke a minor
incantation causing a sharp pain to shoot through the wounded man’s body so
fast the elementalist did not have time to scream out before the pain had
dissipated. Xander was about to ask Ryonus what he had done when the battle
broke out.

Fredrik
and Tell charged forward weapons at the ready. In their desperation half of the
prisoners sought to overwhelm the guards despite many of them still being
unarmed and no longer having greater numbers.

The
massacre was swift. Any magician that raised a hand in defiance was cut down.
Tell was the first to fall getting caught by a sword in the side and Fredrik
was not far behind him receiving a blade in the back from one guard as he faced
another. The rest soon followed.

In
the end there were less than ten magicians still alive by Xander's reckoning,
which was admittedly rushed as the guards hurried the survivors back to some
nearby empty clusters so they could sort out exactly what had occurred. One of
the guards took Mantellus from the grandmaster's grasp and tossed him into a
cell. The fire bender fell flat with a labored grunt of pain.

“
He
needs a healer!” Xander told the Kenzai.

One
of the guards spoke up. From his tone he sounded like someone of authority,
“Injured in a riot probably killing one of our men. He will sit as is until I
hear word from the warden on what to do.”

“
The
warden is dead,” Mantellus spit out. He added, “I killed him,” with a sense of
pride.

“
Then
you will join him,” said the guard in charge as he closed the door to
Mantellus' new cell.

The
elementalist was paralyzed as the guard carried his body away. Mantellus was
slumped over the man's shoulder like a bag of dirty laundry. He wanted to
scream or wiggled his finger. He wanted to do anything just to prove he still
had some control, but no matter how hard he willed his body it refused to move.

“
We've
got one more for the grave, Ethan,” said the guard as he unceremoniously dumped
the apparently deceased magician on top of the pile of his brethren resting on
a horse drawn cart. Lying amidst a mound of corpses was not a particularly
uncomfortable experience for Mantellus in and of itself. As an avid
practitioner of death he was well acquainted with the lifeless husk of a human
body. However, he would have preferred to be laid face up so he could breathe
fresh air instead of nose deep in slowly rotting flesh being baked by the
midday sun.

His
eyes began to water from the smell and he realized that he was staring into the
face of his old friend Fredrik, the lightning elementalist and former pirate
captain, who was now just another piece of rotting meat. It never ceased to
amaze him how someone could be a person in one second, a living, breathing,
eating, coupling thing, and a meaningless object the next no different from a
chair or plate.

The
cart shifted as two bodies climbed into the driving bench from opposite sides.
With a crack of the reins the cart got off to a bumpy start and Mantellus
thought he might slip loose, but settled into place soon after. The cart
bounced along the rode for a few minutes at most before coming to an abrupt
halt.

Another
shifting of weight indicated that the guards exited the bench and not long
after the carriage driver known as Ethan turned the unmoving magician over so
that he was finally face up and pulled him off the cart grabbing him under the
armpits. The first guard grabbed Mantellus by his feet. After carrying him no
more than a few feet the guards began swinging the stiff magician back and
forth. “On three,” said Ethan and the other guard nodded.

“
One...”

The
swinging got more rhythmic as the guards began to swing as one.

“
Two...”

Mantellus'
body was going higher as he picked up speed in the men's arms.

“
Three...”

The
men let go and tossed Mantellus into a large hole dug six feet deep. He landed
with a hard thud and smacked his head on the hard packed earth causing him to
see double for a minute.

His
vision returned to normal just in time to see the Fredrik husk being thrown in
after him. Mantellus desperately tried to turn his head or at least close his
eyes but his body once more refused to answer. Fredrik landed high on Mantellus
so that the elementalist's face was buried underneath his dead friend's back.
At least when the guards started filling in
the hole I will not get dirt in my eyes,
he thought miserably,
at least not for a while.
More bodies were thrown on or around him making the
magician long for the time not long ago when he was only buried nose deep among
the dead.

A
long forgotten tingling sensation went through his body and for the first time
in years the killer felt whole. He could feel the magic slowly beginning to
rebuild in his bloodstream. Normally magic was quick to return once a magician
was no longer under the influence of the dreaded wards, but in his current
state the regeneration was taking much longer.

Mantellus
blinked his eyes and felt a sense of relief that the spell Ryonus cast was
beginning to wear off. Ryonus had called it Faded Life, a poison of sorts or
rather a suggestion of a poison deep in the brain that separates the mind from
the body and lowers breathing and blood flow effectively simulating death.
Given the slow acting nature of the spell its uses were fairly limited, but
Ryonus was not a master of his chosen path for nothing.

Mantellus
thought that movement may be impossible, but maybe a simple spell could be
activated through a force of will since his mind was still active. Projecting
his will to surround himself in a small orb of protection was simple enough.
Although after a few seconds he began to feel light headed and a noticeable
throbbing from his side forced him to stop. The Firekin was still gravely injured
from the escape attempt and if he continued to exert himself by using the blood
source directly he would kill himself in the process.

***

Night
fell on the magicians' gravesite.

All
was still as death, but if someone looked closely at the mass grave they would
have seen a slight shifting of dirt. Slowly the dirt heaved and grew in a small
spot until it fell away and a finger emerged that was soon followed by a whole
hand and an arm. The arm grasped at nothing at first, but settled on digging
its fingers into the dirt in an attempt to grab a handhold and began to pull
something up. The gasping head of Mantellus Firekin was revealed followed by
his other arm and shoulders seconds later.

The
magician coughed and spat dirt and mud that had filled his mouth while the
guardsmen buried him alive.

Hauling
his body up, Mantellus pulled himself from the grave. As he lay in the dirt
panting he checked the bits of torn shirt he fashioned into a bandage before
Ryonus' spell took full effect back in his cell. They were covered in grime,
but otherwise held in place.

In
the distance he saw the flicker of torchlights. Colum.

Byrn
woke for the third straight day with the sun in his face. The gentle warmth was
an unexpectedly glorious feeling. Compared to the prison of Baj the domain of
Ilipse was like a paradise. Byrn could roam the community freely, eat different
foods, and do whatever he wished.

The
irony of living in a town filled with magicians where no one could use magic
was not lost on him. There were wards everywhere preventing spell casting and
Kenzai in their more traditional brown cloaks and light armor were posted
around the inside of the perimeter walls serving the function of guardsmen to
uphold law and order, but more importantly to act as jailers. It was a nice
place to live, but Byrn could not ignore the fact that behind the niceties
Ilipse was still a prison.

He
could not stay here. Eventually someone would track him down. Sane would track
him down. Surely someone would have noticed that he escaped Baj by now. Sane
would find one of his rune markers missing and then it was only a matter of
time before the sorcerer would find his way here. On horseback it would take
nearly two weeks to get from Mollifas to the border of the South Lands. Byrn
was unsure just how far into the South Lands Ilipse actually was, but he was
certain that his master, former master, he corrected himself, had another rune
marker that would be within a few days travel. Sane could be on his way to
Ilipse right now.

***

Sane
winced at the accusation.

“
You
helped your apprentice escape!” raged Prince Janus throwing his arms in the air
and pacing the court.

Normally
the court was filled with courtiers intent on earning political favor, but now
it housed just three people of high standing: Sane the sorcerer, Prince Janus
Aurel, and his father, King Kale Aurel. The king's royal guard was posted
around the room, their swords at the ready. They were some of the finest
warriors in the kingdom, trained by the best sword masters in Aurelia. They
were also well versed in the arts used by the Kenzai to suppress magic.

The
royals wore grim expressions. Prince Janus was hotheaded, even for a young man
of twenty-five years, but it was King Kale's judgment that Sane truly feared.
The prince hated magicians and he was not shy about expressing his opinion by
making suggestions that the entire group should be cleansed and every child
should be tested at birth and drowned if they were found to possess magic as
they do in Antellia on the northern continent. However, his power was
limited... for now. One day Janus would be king and it would be within his
right to exterminate all magicians if he wished.