Page 2 of War Mage

To her credit, she doesn’t freeze in the face of her death. She holds up the paper and yells, “Layok!”

A word in Fae. If I remember my studies correctly it means “shield.”Fuck. A sparkling barrier of light appears in front of her, pushing back on my wall of flames, which stops in its tracks. I half-growl, half-yell in frustration, before tearing open the void again to teleport behind her to attempt another attack like I did with Dame Zera, but when I try to step through the shield, I am instead expelled out of the void, the shield pushing me out and blocking my rift.

My eyes flick sideways, searching for another path towards my quarry.I’ll have to go around the shield to her left, where she is weakest.But my failed teleportation has cost me precious time. Before I can even attempt to rip open the void again, a blade kisses my throat.

“Got you, witch,” the guttural voice of the orc king grinds into my ear.

I scream again, in rage and frustration. I can’t teleport through an enchanted ax. It’ll cut through my neck if I try to move, even in the void. I have lost because I didn’t know to plan for the queen’s magic.

“This is not the end!” I cry out, letting hate liberally coat my words. “There are others that will take vengeance on you! I will curse you with tragedy from the Nether!”

I don’t really know what I’m saying. My threats are largely empty. Though there are others that will want to kill the king and queen, I’m sure, but there’s no one in particular that I am thinking of. Maybe those nobles who the Mage’s Tower suspected of using blood magic. I doubt that they would be content to just roll over and be ruled by orcs.

But that’s not my problem now. I just want to leave the queen with fear and uncertainty before I go join Cara in the Nether. I reach into the deepest corners of my soul, past the self-made barriers made over long years of study and practice, where I have been commanded never to touch except in the greatest need. There, I feel the core of my flame, no, my soul; and yank on it. I’ll burn myself out and with luck I might explode, taking the king and queen with me. Grinning at the thought, I feel totally unhinged, my skin glowing from within.

The queen, however, doesn’t look even a little worried. Instead, she reaches into her satchel again. Before I can even wonder what she’s doing, she blows a puff of powder in my face.

“Sleep,” she orders grimly. What? What has she done? No!No!

But none of my panicked, protesting thoughts stop the darkness from claiming me.

Chapter 2

Urim

Isit in the back of a wagon on a wooden bench, looking down at the unconscious mage before me. She lays on her side, drooling, iron manacles on her wrists. The iron will inhibit the magic in her veins, in case she wakes up. She has been asleep since yesterday when my queen dosed her with knockout powder. I use the moment as I sit and regard her to take in details about her as she lies harmlessly unconscious. The mage’s hair is black, long, and coming loose from a braid. Her skin is a medium brown, darker than the average Adrikian’s but not as dark as a Sheaothan. From my knowledge of humans, I would guess that her family comes from the south of Teurilia. Ustreya or Briacor. Her heritage could explain her Affinity to fire, something that is not common in Adrik or the surrounding nations.

Everything about her annoys me. The fact that she is comfortably sleeping after trying to harm my rulers, my charges; the fact that she is a pretty and delicate human; the fact that she is a powerful mage, which makes her a dangerous prisoner; the fact that I know so little about her and her story. But most of all that she exists at all and I didn't know about her, didn’t plan for her, and I couldn’t stop her myself.

As the Shield of the King, it’s my duty to know about and neutralize threats before they ever trouble my king. From the time I took my position at Rognar’s side, I have never once been taken unawares. My spy network is vast, my intelligence resources even more so. I have a knack for ferreting out plots. I have killed more assassins than I can count, most before they even had time tobeginto implement their plans. It is not arrogance to say that I have been one of the most successful Shields in history.

It doesn't matter that I know that I am not a god. I’m not all-seeing or all-knowing. It doesn't matter that it is true that a lone magical assassin, with no regard for their own life and no political, trackable agenda is practically impossible to plan for. What matters to me is that I failed. That my queen was almost killed.Would havebeen killed if she hadn’t had the foresight to prepare defensive runes for herself. I would have lost my king's mate, made him watch her die right before his eyes, all because I was unprepared.

That willnothappen again.Never again,I vow to myself as we arrive at Garden Manor, which has a small, yet serviceable dungeon where we will be putting the would-be assassin. There, she will be under my control and I will get all the answers I require from her, through whatever means necessary. Well, perhaps notwhatevermeans necessary. Queen Adalind asked that I go easy on the mage, that I don’t torture her unless I deem it strictly necessary. She still sees the mage as a resource that can be useful. Useful for what? I’m unsure, but our new queen is devious, always planning five steps ahead. It’s just as well. I do not enjoy torture, though I am adept at it. In this case, however, I don’t think I will need it. I have broken more hardened criminals than this now-magicless mage through psychological means alone.

I push her limp body with my foot, but she doesn’t stir. I push a little harder, but still no reaction. That knockout powder my queen used was potent. I weigh my options, as I often do. I could wait for her to wake up by herself so that she can walk of her own power to the dungeons, but she may try to struggle or run, which would be aggravating. The other option is to carry her to the anti-mage chamber myself. Though I have no desire to do so, it would seem that it is the best option.

I lift her and find that she is a bag of bones, barely any weight to her at all. I have marched with knapsacks on my back heavier than she is. The robes she wears hide the fact that her bones are sticking out sharply under her skin. That’s not too surprising, however. She said that she was one of the mages conscripted into service by King Yorian. If she was at Fort Attis before it fell, she would have had to survive a months-long siege. The humans at the fort were weak and malnourished when we finally broke through their gate. Except King Yorian, who was slightly plump when Rognar took his head. I file away the observation. It is merely another clue to the puzzle that is the mage.

Normally, coming across a woman the size of an urchin would stir something in me. A need to care and provide, to fatten her up and make her strong again. I know what it’s like to go hungry, that gnawing pain in the belly that makes it impossible to think of anything else. Orik was not kind to orphans when I was young. But in the case of this mage who I will need to break, it just gives me another weapon in my arsenal. A way to reward as well as punish. A way to draw out the information I need from her.

Entering the anti-mage chamber, I place her on the floor. The chamber is similar to a normal prison cell, with a cot, a chair, and lumen crystals embedded in the walls, but there are runes carved into every stone in the wall and floor. There are ten notches in the door that activate the room’s runes when touched. The notches only react to one that doesn’t have magic in their blood, so the mages within can’t tamper with them. The room is strong enough to nullify the power of five mages at a time when fully activated. Though she is powerful, activating three of the runes should be enough to contain her magic. Any more runes would start to be painful to her and I don’t need her in pain.Yet.

After undoing the iron manacles on the mage’s wrists, I grab the chair and sit with my back to the door. And I wait.

???

The sun is almost setting by the time that the mage finally stirs. She groans, a pained sound, before pushing up to a sitting position. Her eyes narrow as she looks around at her new surroundings. She doesn't seem to notice me yet.

“Ahh,” she groans again. “That bitch. . .”

My lips twist in a frown. She speaks of my queen, I’m sure. “It won’t help you to speak poorly of your queen. Your circumstances are of your own making.”

The mage turns sharply toward me, with an audible intake of breath. Her eyes round as she takes in my face. I know that I am not one of the more handsome orcs. Though my father was a human, I take more after my orc heritage with big tusks, a strong brow, and deep green skin. I also have a hideous, jagged scar down the length of my left cheek, a mark I gained as a child on the streets. I look neither welcoming nor attractive unlike my counterpart, Gunag, the Axe of the King. He is what many orcs call elf-pretty, though I would never make the mistake of saying so to his face. But I do not mind. My appearance makes me more intimidating, something that has served me well in my role as Shield.

“Who are you?” breathes out the mage, the shadows from the dim room highlighting how hollow her cheeks are.

“I ask the questions here,” I say evenly. “And you will answer them or be punished. Do you understand?”

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