Rogue Magician (The Magician Rebellion) (40 page)

“
Sleep!
Sleep! Sleeeep!” It was Minnie again. To Byrn's left the other assassin he hit
with the bubble a minute before fell at his feet apparently in a very deep
sleep.

In
the meanwhile the war wraiths made short work of their opponents; finishing off
the last of the assassins by trampling them under their nightmarish mounts
hooves. Seeing that the battle was done, Vailon's warriors relinquished their
forms breaking down into clouds of smoke that dispersed into the air with the
breeze.

The
Moran's Circle fell and the school magicians rushed to greet their friend.
Relief became fatigue now that the threat had passed and Byrn suddenly felt
like his limbs were very heavy. Looking at his fellow magicians Byrn saw they
were just as worn out as he was.

Turshyn
came forward and drove his staff's spear end into the sleeping assassin
followed by the one with a bruised skull. “You never did have a stomach for
killing, Byrn.”

Turshyn
looked like a worn doll. He had several cuts on his arms and legs as well as a
serious gash on his shoulder and a bandage on one hand and forearm. Byrn
smiled, “I cannot leave you alone without you getting yourself half killed. Can
I?”

“
There
will be time for male bravado later,” interrupted Avelice although her tone was
more exhausted than harsh and she could not help smiling. She too felt the
relief of victory. “We need to check on the others.”

Suddenly
Byrn's eyes went wide and he fell forward into Turshyn who awkwardly caught
him. He clutched at the necromancer’s cloak, but his grip was weak and he
started to fall. Turshyn grabbed under Byrn’s armpit and roughly yanked him up.
Then Minnie gasped and pointed at the elementalist. The bolt from a crossbow
protruded from his lower back.

“
Not
to worry,” Bertran hissed as he loaded another bolt in his crossbow. A dark
blood thirst mixed with unchecked hatred tinged his words. “The ones inside
have no more need of your help.”

Ten
more assassins poured out of the cabin and ran toward the tired and wounded
magicians. Turshyn quickly, but gently laid Byrn down in the dirt. The
necromancer was determined to defend his friend, but could not carry the dead
weight. Turshyn grabbed one of the assassins in mid-charge and began to drain
his life force even as another stabbed him through the side, but Turshyn
refused to let go. Instead he grabbed the other assassin by the face and began
to absorb his energy as well using the spilled blood all around him to power
his magic. Pain and rage were etched on the necromancer's face as he was determined
to see these men dead before him.

Minnie
cried out as a pair of the assassins grabbed her. She attempted to cast an
enchantment, but a third assassin took a sword to her throat and slashed it
open spilling blood down her neck and chest before they let go of her, leaving
her body to bleed out in the grass.

The
master of necromancy, Avelice Necros, screamed in rage as her students fell
before her one after the other. Dark tendrils of energy grew out of Avelice's
body giving her the look of a mad demon bent on delivering mayhem and
destruction. The tendrils danced around her keeping the assassins at bay at
first until it was clear that none of the Kenzai were going to come within
reach of her. Then without warning the tendrils struck out wrapping around most
of the nearby assassins and holding them in place. The trapped men moaned
lightly as the tendrils leeched the very life from them and transferred their
strength to Avelice to rejuvenate the weakened magician.

“
Kill
the witch!” Bertran commanded signaling the bowmen to attack. The three
remaining archers along with Bertran loosed their bolts and to a man hit
Avelice in the chest. She fell to her knees, but would not drop her prey. She
centered a look of grim determination at Bertran and sneered at the killer. The
once calm and composed woman was gone; replaced by a being of death and malice
as she saw her own end drawing near.

Bertran
ran at her with a dagger in hand and dashed past his dying men, paying them no
mind. With a leap he buried the blade in the necromancer's heart and twisted it
for good measure even as black tendrils wrapped around his arms and legs. The
tendrils vanished with Avelice’s dying breath and her prisoners were released.
Their bodies were weakened and weary, but they lived to the man.

Turshyn
was kicked to the ground as he was overwhelmed and forced to release the men he
held in a death vice. He hit the ground with a thud and found that he was lying
face to face with Byrn who was still alive, but struggled to remain conscious.
The last necromancer's body was broken and he had surely lost too much blood to
hope to survive the night. Both men knew this was to be their end.

Byrn
rolled to his side facing the leader of the assassins as best as he could with
a bolt sticking out of his back, “Wait, I have something to say before I die.”

Bertran
laughed derisively. “Why would I care what a magician has to say?”

“
My
name is Sir Byrn Lightfoot, knight of Warlord Ethiel Nightwind, ruler of the
Western Province,” Byrn struggled to breath as he announced his title, “and you
should heed my words.”

Bertran
approached the downed magician and crouched so that they were face-to-face. The
assassin grabbed Byrn by his tunic and held him up. He made no move to hide his
self-satisfied smirk. “Indeed? My prince told me of you, although I did not
expect that we would meet so soon. What would you tell me before you die?”

“
I
will see you again in the underworld!” Byrn touched the man's face and released
a wave of burning energy charring the assassin's flesh. The master assassin
fell back in pain with a shriek and a curse on his lips.

The
remaining assassins advanced on Byrn and Turshyn, then they heard the utterance
of a single word: “Magicians.” The tone was calm and sweet, but forceful and
sure like some wonderful song was hidden in that one word, but what happened
next was neither sweet nor wonderful as the assassins turned on one another.

It
was a scene of total pandemonium as one Kenzai assassin killed another and a
third attacked the first. Byrn silently wondered what madness had overtaken
them to make the men turn on each other. One by one the assassins fell at each
other’s hands until only one bloodied warrior stood triumphantly alone
surrounded by the blood soaked bodies of his allies.

“
Congratulations,
soldier, you are the last survivor,” said the voice once more, this time
straining to sound comforting. Byrn arched his head up and to his left to see a
raven-haired beauty hidden in the night by her black cloak. “Now hold your
knife to your throat.” The last assassin did as he was told, but his hand shook
visibly as he tried to resist. Whatever illusion he had been under a moment
before was now gone, but the man still found he was unable to ignore the
woman's command.

“
You
will not be escaping my hold,” said the enchantress stepping in front of him
and staring him in the eye. “Look at what you have done.” She gestured to the
dead and wounded magicians lying around her. “You have killed my mother and her
pupils, some of whom were children. They were good people who would have caused
you and yours no harm had they been left alone. Unfortunately, I am not nearly
as kind as these people were.” To make her point she balled a fist and punched
the frozen assassin in the nose bloodying his face, but the assassin never took
the knife away from his throat.

Turshyn
tried his best to sit up, but could not find the strength to do so. Lying there
he looked up at the sky and said, “You are Alia? If you torture this man, then
you dishonor your mother.” Turshyn groaned and clutched at his stab wound.
“This is not what she would want.”

The
dark haired beauty whirled on the downed necromancer. “Who are you to lecture
me on what my mother would want?” For a moment she looked at Turshyn with
glaring hate in her eyes, but when he did not try to defend himself and his
words sunk in, Alia relented. “She would not want that,” the woman sounded
defeated. She waved off the enthralled assassin dismissively and said, “Slit
your throat,” but there was no longer any anger in her voice, just a deep
sadness.

The
Kenzai did as he was commanded and died before his body hit the dirt. “I could
not let him live,” the enchantress said almost apologetically. She ignored the
two wounded magicians and went to Avelice kneeling at her side.

Byrn
sat up with considerable effort. The arrow was securely lodged in his back and
he feared pulling it free would tear the wound open and cause more damage. He
looked at Turshyn and fumbled through his pockets and pulled out his rune for
the Lion's Landing temple. “We need to take you to a healer.”

Turshyn
grabbed Byrn's hand, “We do not have time. There is much I have to tell you
before I die.” Byrn was about to protest, but seeing his friend’s eyes growing
dimmer by the moment, only nodded.

Turshyn
reminded him of the Festival of Sunshillah when Mellani was kidnapped by a
group of Kenzai warriors and they put a collar on her and the powerful hold it
had over her. Then he told of the attack by the fire magician who also wore one
of those collars and how it disappeared the next day. Finally after much
labored breathing and a fit of vertigo, Turshyn told of the attack by Bertran
the Silent and his subsequent capture.

“
Everything
comes back to that collar.” Turshyn squeezed Byrn’s arm as if to make his
point. “With a few hundred of those collars there would be enough to put one
around the neck of every magician in the kingdom. We would become prisoners not
in cells or domains like we are now, but in our own minds as we watched
ourselves jump at the whims of our captors unable to control our own actions.
We would be nothing more than the weapons they make us out to be.” Turshyn’s
grip on Byrn's arm tightened with his last ounces of strength. He did not have
much time left. “You have to make sure that does not happen. You are the only
one left who can.” The grip on Byrn's arm loosened and Turshyn's hand fell to
his side. His eyes closed as his last breath passed his lips.

Byrn
involuntarily shook as he tried to suppress the feelings of anger and loss he
felt in that moment as he watched his best friend pass into the next world. He
began to smell the faint odor of something burning, but did not care enough to
find out what was causing it until he saw smoke wafting off of Turshyn's body
and Byrn knew that he was the one doing it, but found he was no longer able to
stop himself. First the necromancer's clothes were on fire, then his skin was
ablaze, but Byrn could not let go of the body anymore than he could stop the
blaze erupting around him.

From
far away Byrn heard a woman shouting. His vision was blurred from tears that
felt hot against his face as if they were made of fire themselves. He looked up
and the world became all the more bleary as darkness encroached from the edges
of his vision, but he could almost swear as the darkness overtook him that the
death goddess, Kassani, stood over him with arms outstretched, calling him
home. It was time to pay his debt. He killed the assassin, Bertran.

“
Tomlin,
get this cage open!” screamed Alia Necros desperately.

The
bard jumped at the unexpected shriek. A moment earlier the cell was empty as
Tomlin waited impatiently for his master to return from her mission to aid the
Lion’s Landing magicians with their Kenzai problem. However, he never expected
Alia to return in such a state clutching the bloody body of a stranger wearing
little more than rags. Tomlin fumbled with the cell’s key before roughly
shoving it into the lock and turning it with an audible click. The door swung
open effortlessly and the bard rushed into the cell.

Tomlin
went to take the man from Alia, but pulled back once he made contact with the
body. It was burning hot to the touch, but Alia held onto him as if there was
nothing the matter. “Let go of him!” Tomlin shouted and pulled her hands free
of the body’s fraying cloak and tunic. “Touching him is like sticking your
hands in a burning hearth!”

A
few seconds passed as the two enchanters stared at each other. Then Alia
blinked as if waking from a dream. “Thank you, Tomlin,” she said breathlessly,
“I lost myself for a moment in my grief.”

“
Who
is he?” asked Tomlin. Then he noticed, the bolt sticking out of the man’s back.
“Or should I say, ‘who
was
he?”

“
I
put him under a sleep enchantment. He lives, but I am not sure for how much
longer.”

Taking
the cue Tomlin got up from the floor beside Alia and told her, “I will fetch
Father Skynryd,” and with that he left Alia alone with the unconscious
magician. When she was sure that he had gone, Alia pulled her knees up under
her chin and rocked back and forth. Memories of her mother flashed in her mind
and for the first time that she could recall since she was a young girl and her
father was taken away, Alia Necros cried.

I
hope you have enjoyed my premier novel,
Rogue
Magician
, the first entry in The Magician Rebellion series. This is the
second edition and it was updated prior to my decision to release it on
Smashwords. The changes were done mainly to improve prose and for some
additional editing, but nothing fundamentally was changed regarding any of the
characters or the story.