Death Mages Ascent: Revised Edition (Death Mage Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Dradon and Azuria have started moving north,” the King said without looking up, his voice quiet with rage.

Dradon and Azuria were Ale’adaria’s southern neighbors. The two kingdoms had been allies for generations, even in the midst of war. The southern kingdoms were not as fertile as Ale’adria, with its many rivers that sustained the land even in times of drought, and they had always been envious. Even without the alliance, they had never dared to attack for fear that other kingdoms would join against them to protect the abundant trade they enjoyed with Ale’adaria. With the other kingdoms preoccupied, they must have decided to make their claim on the more prosperous northern lands.

“When?” Jaxom asked.

“Five days ago.” Corin looked up. “If they’re making good time, they’ll be at our border in nine. Nelix, assemble the army and inform the mages. Their services will be needed.”

“Already done, Your Majesty,” the general replied.

“Good. Send messengers to the southern nobles with orders to gather their men–at-arms and provincials. Instruct the nobles to bring them to the capital. From here those not essential to the war effort will be sent to other holds that are not in harm’s way.”

The general paused. “Some of the nobles will not leave their holdings without a fight, your majesty.”

“I am their King, and they will obey!” Corin snapped. Nelix showed no emotion at the outburst. The king stared hard at the older man for a moment then seemed to snap himself out of it. “Forgive me, Nelix. Convey my message.  Those who do not comply will be dealt with at a later date. If they survive.”

“As you command, your majesty,” the general said, turning on his heel to leave. Half way through the door, Nelix paused and looked back. “You get your temper from your father. He, too, often spoke in anger. However, he never apologized when he saw the fault in his words. I am proud to see that the son has surpassed his father as a leader.”

After the general was gone, Corin looked to Jaxom. “Well, my friend, are you ready for this? I doubt any man, soldier, or mage will have ever seen your type of casting before.”

It was true. Many knew he was a death mage, but few even among other mages had ever seen his true abilities. They may have heard stories or read books on what such casting was capable of, but reading and seeing were two different things. As far as he and Corin knew, Jaxom was the only living Death Mage. The line was thought to have been wiped out during the Mage Wars.

“Whatever comes, I’ll be where you need me. Besides, you know what you’re like when I’m not around,” Jaxom said. “Without me to reign you in, you’d charge into the evil horde alone, and Ale’adaria would be short one foolhardy king.” Jaxom laughed at his own joke.

Corin joined in. “Says the man who once thought it was a good idea to sneak into the great hall, so we could sit on my father’s throne.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Jaxom replied.

“Father was so angry,” he paused, his laughter fading. “You know, he considered you a son. He would not have punished you himself had he not. Just as I consider you my brother.”

Jaxom knew that and was grateful for it.  He had been found on the side of the road by the king while traveling to one of his noble’s holdings. The monarch had taken in the small, raggedy boy, about five years old, with no one around to claim him. Messengers had bent sent to search the surrounding towns for Jaxom’s family, but none was ever found. After that, the king had raised him as his own.

Jaxom had discovered that he could cast around his fourteenth year. Those born with the ability were a part of a bloodline passed down from their ancestors. It was the first clue as to his ancestry.

The first time it happened, he and Corin had been in the palace gardens playing near a large pine. Corin had discovered a dead squirrel at the base of the tree. Being boys, they had examined its still body, wondering what had killed it. Jaxom could feel something, an energy vibrating around its small body. On instinct alone, he tried to touch what was there and found he could pull that energy into himself. Not understanding what he was doing, he directed what he had gathered back into the squirrel. Both boys started from shock when the remains began to twitch. Soon the squirrel was standing on its four small paws.

  Because the last death mage was believed to have died hundreds of years before, the king assigned a storm mage named Elaine to instruct him in how to control his gift. A kind woman, Elaine did what she could, teaching him how to draw energy, an ability common to all mages, and telling him what she knew of death mage stories that had been passed down from mage to mage. Jaxom still thought kindly of her for the compassion she had shown him, though it was obvious that he sometimes made her uncomfortable. After that, Jaxom had learned what he could on his own. He practiced his new abilities away from other people so as to not upset them, discovering the limits of the energy and his own body. Over the years, he learned more control and subtlety, gaining confidence in his skills. Traditionally, mages were tested by others of their school to determine whether they were ready for the title of Magus. When he brought the matter up to his adoptive father, the king said that Jaxom would receive the title when he felt he was ready. Three years later, after endless hours of practice and experimentation, Jaxom said that he was. On the following day, the King called his court together, inviting all the mages in his service to attend and decreed by royal proclamation that Jaxom be given the title of Magus. Only Elaine congratulated him.

“Didn’t you hear me, Jaxom? I asked why you have never wished to take our surname.” Corin’s question brought Jaxom out of his ruminations.

“You know why, Corin. I’m not of your blood.”

“That’s a weak excuse. Everyone in the kingdom knows that. They also know we were raised as brothers and would think nothing of you taking my name.”

Jaxom shrugged. He could barely admit to himself that he still held out hope, however small, that one day he would find his family. Corin let out an exasperated sigh. “Very well, I’m sure you’re tired after your journey and would enjoy some sleep.”

“Yes, I would.”

“There will be a war council in the morning. I assume you’ll be there,” Corin said.

“Of course” he said, standing.

“Good, this council may be part of the decision as to whose kingdom Ale’adaria will be,” the King said.

“You have a poor sense of humor, but I guess even the threat of war can’t remedy that.”

Corin chuckled as he turned back to his desk and the reports. Jaxom let himself out into the quiet halls. Turning a corner, he ran into something slight and soft that gave a startled yelp. The young woman who had fallen unceremoniously onto her rear looked up at him, piercing blue eyes regarding him with a look of irritation and annoyance. Even on the ground with her long blond hair in disarray and her dress crumpled beneath her, she maintained an air of elegance that marked her for a lady of the court. 

“Well, are you going to help me up?” she demanded.

On her feet again, she smoothed the nightgown and gave him a glare that could wilt flowers.

“I heard you were back, so I came all the way down here to welcome you. The first thing you do is knock me down without an apology. I swear, Jaxom, it’s like you leave and come back with no manners at all.”

Jaxom waited a beat to make sure she was finished.  “Hello, Celia. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“Oh, so now I’m beneath your notice.”

Jaxom let out an audible sigh. “It’s not like that at all, and you know it.”

“I suppose I can forgive you,” the scowl gave way to a smile. “I guess you’ve just come from my cousin. I swear to the goddess, he can put anyone in a foul mood lately. I bet he didn’t even tell you I was here.”

“No, he didn’t, but I am glad to see you,” Jaxom said truthfully. When he was younger, Celia had been often at the castle, learning the ins and outs of court life. Lately, she spent most of her time at her father’s hold, learning how to run his lands. An only child, she was expected to marry and secure her family’s holdings. At twenty-three, she had so far avoided an arranged marriage: what she termed a fate worse than death. Her father had decided that if she would not marry, she would have to learn how to lead. “So what did the King want?” she asked.

“My report from Denra.”

“Of course. Not even considering how exhausted you must be,” she said annoyed.

Jaxom hesitated.  “It was just as well. He received a message from a scout while I was with him. Dradon and Azuria have declared war. They began marching north five days ago.”

Celia stared at him as if he had sprouted another head. “What does he intend to do?”

“He’s holding a war council tomorrow.”

Celia settled her shoulders. “You’ll need your rest, then. I’ll see you tomorrow at the council.”

Before he could explain that she was not invited, she turned and began walking away down the hall. Jaxom shrugged. She was the king’s cousin, and he could deal with her. Entering his room, Jaxom removed his boots and pants before falling into bed. Sleep quickly found him, but rest brought him no comfort as he dreamed of dead men in a field, calling out his name.

Chapter 3

              Jaxom jerked awake at the sound of the alarm bell and found himself sitting upright in his bed. The castle was under attack. He quickly dressed and retrieved his sword from the armoire. Securing the belt around his waist, he rushed through the door and out into the hall. The bell continued to ring as he ran toward the king’s quarters. Members of the Guard ran past him in different directions. Rounding a corner, he encountered men engaged in battle. Six of the castle Guard faced four men in black. Eight men of the Guard were already down, the floor slick with pooling blood. The black figures moved like smoke, their attacks flowing around the Guards’ defenses.

              Drawing his sword, Jaxom advanced through the hall. In the stories, men raised their swords and yelled as they charged the enemy line. However, this was not the stories. You killed your enemy quickly, and if he never saw you coming, so much the better. As Jaxom snuck up behind one of the black clad men, he turned. Raising his curved blade, the invader moved to meet Jaxom, slashing down and forcing Jaxom to block the attack. Before the weapons made contact, the curved blade changed direction, going wide of Jaxom’s defense. He barely managed to deflect the blow. The shade recovered with impossible speed and slashed at Jaxom’s side, forcing him to jump back.

As they circled each other, Jaxom peered at the man’s face, trying to discern his features. At first, it appeared that the man wore a cloth mask of solid black that clung to his face with no obvious holes for him to see or breathe through. Looking closer, Jaxom could see that it was not cloth but pure shadow that hid the man’s features. Someone had molded darkness itself into a disguise. Jaxom swung his sword in controlled strikes, which the shade easily blocked. Continuing the flurry, Jaxom worked the shade’s blade a little higher and out, slowly forcing his opponent’s guard further away from his body. When the opening he had created was large enough, Jaxom lashed out with a boot meant for the knee but struck only air. The man seemed to flow back a step without moving his feet. The shade chuckled behind his curved blade, a wispy sound like wind down an empty hall. His anger building, Jaxom raised his hand and channeled at the body of a guard near the shade.

The dead guard’s hand flashed out from the ground, grabbing the shade’s ankle. The shadowed figure slashed down, severing the hand, but it was too late. Jaxom advanced, swinging his sword in arcs and forcing the shade to block his attacks as the dead guard rose to its feet. Thrusting with the tip of his sword, Jaxom aimed for the man’s heart. His opponent moved to block the thrust, but this time he was too slow. Jaxom’s blade slid halfway into the man’s chest. The man fell to the floor in a heap, gasping a few more short breaths and then going still. The dead guard stood staring blankly at Jaxom, awaiting instruction. Looking into the bloodied face of his creation, he was thankful it was not someone he knew.

His animation picked up a fallen sword in its good hand and turned to the other shades. Two more of the guards had already been killed, and the rest would soon join them. Instructing his creation to attack, Jaxom left the risen guard to use the skill and knowledge of fighting it had known in life to fight his killers. Jaxom could control every movement if he wished, but it would be a waste of his concentration to do so. As one of the shades turned to meet the attack, Jaxom drew the energy of death into himself. Raising a hand, he cast out to the other dead men in the hall. Five more of the fallen guards began to rise, grabbing up weapons from the ground as they did so. His first animated soldier had already lost its other hand. The shades had quickly discovered that stabbing and slashing would not bring it down. Even handless, the risen guard continued to attack, swinging its stumps as clubs and forcing the invaders to defend themselves.

His newly raised army moved against the shades. They fought now without fear or hesitation, taking grievous wounds that easily would have killed them a second time. With the enemy’s concentration divided, the living guards harassed the shades from the rear. Attacked from two sides and with no room to move in the tight space, the shades could only defend.  One of the shadowed invaders took a cut across the back while another’s arm was flayed open. A risen impaled by a sword took no notice of the wound, instead exploiting the opening left in the shades’ defenses. With the sword still embedded in its stomach, the dead guard brought its own weapon down on the invader’s shoulder, smashing through the collarbone before finally stopping in the upper chest. The fight was over quickly after that.

It had not taken considerable effort for Jaxom to maintain control over the risen. He kept them animated with a constant flow of energy. That connection would continue even during sleep or until Jaxom cut it. As long as their minds were intact, he could give them simple instructions and letting them carry out his orders using their own memories to guide their actions.

Bleeding from many wounds, the remaining guards eyed their not-so-fallen comrades nervously. The risen had simply stopped once the fighting had ended and awaited further commands. The first to rise had lost both hands, another a leg, and the one who had been impaled now had entrails looping around its feet. He could repair the damage, but it would take time and energy, maybe more than he had. Jaxom directed those of the risen too damaged to fight toward the walls and then withdrew his power, letting them rest once more.

With his three remaining risen in tow, Jaxom passed the guards on his way towards the king’s quarters. One, a middle-aged man with a well-kept beard, placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. A long cut down the right side of his face bled freely. “Thank you, Magus. If you had not come when you did, we would be dead.”  Jaxom nodded and moved on, uncertainly. No one had ever thanked him for casting before. Mostly they just avoided him altogether.

As Jaxom neared the king’s chambers, he heard yelling and the clang of steel on steel. In the wide hall housing the royal rooms, he found twenty of King Corin’s personal guard positioned in front of the royal chambers, just barely holding their own against eight shades. Commanding his risen to move forward into the fight, Jaxom was raising his own sword to attack when he heard a woman scream in anger. Swearing to himself, he charged toward the sound. In a sideroom, he found Celia in a nightgown, her back to a wall and a long dagger in her hands. A gash ran down her thigh. Across from her loomed a shadowed figure whose left arm showed a bloody tear in the sleeve. The shade turned to regard him. 

“What are you waiting for? Kill him!” Celia yelled.

The invader lunged forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc at Jaxom’s head. Meeting the blow with his own blade, the resulting impact sent a vibration down Jaxom’s arms that nearly cost him his grip. The shade shifted to the left without moving his feet and swung again. Jaxom met the attack once more, parrying and slashing. Back and forth they went. The shade managed to score a long deep cut on Jaxom’s leg, slowing Jaxom considerably. Seeing the advantage, the shade attacked, swinging furiously. Jaxom was forced to give ground until he was backed against a wall. The shade swung his sword to the right, forcing Jaxom to parry, and then rammed his shoulder into Jaxom’s chest. The blow knocked the wind from his lungs as Jaxom collapsed to the floor. Stunned, Jaxom was only vaguely aware of the shade approaching to finish him.

Something flashed behind his intended executioner who spun about to face Celia, still holding the dagger. That was all the time Jaxom needed. He raised his hand, releasing a flow of gray and black twirling smoke that stretched out before slamming into the shade’s back and enveloping him. For the first time since the fight began, Jaxom heard a shade scream. Everywhere the smoke touched, the man began to rot, as if years of decay had come all at once. The end came quickly. His head throbbed from the impact with the wall, and the casting left him drained of energy. Gripping the wall for support, he struggled to stand. Celia helped him, still holding her bloodied dagger.  Celia began cutting away strips of her nightgown and binding her leg, then cutting away more to do the same for him. Once, she caught him staring at her exposed leg. He could swear he saw the hint of a smile before she tightened the strip down on his leg a little more roughly than was needed.  

“You’re not very good at rescuing ladies in distress, are you?” 

              “Show me a lady…” Jaxom replied under his breath. Celia punched him in the arm.

              While Jaxom caught his breath, Celia grew still, staring at what was left of the shade--a pile of flesh, rotted cloth, and bare bone. “I didn’t know you could do that,” she said.

              “I’m sorry,” he replied.

              She put a hand on his face, drawing it closer to her own. “Don’t be sorry. You saved my life. I know you think everyone is afraid of you… but I’m not.” She kissed him gently on the cheek and smiled, then glanced toward the door. They could hear the sounds of battle through the heavy wood. “Are you ready?”

              Taking a deep breath, he nodded. He hefted his sword and moved to the door, only to have her grab the knob first. He gave the disheveled but still beautiful woman a stern look, which she returned with one of her own.

              “He’s my king as well.”

              Beyond tying her up and leaving her defenseless in the room, Jaxom doubted that he could keep her from following him. “I go first.”

              She nodded, dropping her dagger and recovering the dead shade’s sword. Opening the door, she followed him out into the hall. The king’s personal guard were not faring well. More had arrived to protect the king, but the shades had received reinforcements as well. Of the three risen, only one remained, fighting tirelessly.

Through all the shouts and sounds of battle, he heard a roar come from the other side of the king’s chamber door. “I command you to stand aside!” Within seconds, the double doors swung open, revealing the king and four guardsmen. Brandishing his falcon pommeled short sword and a round shield, he strode forward. The shades surged toward Corin, but their charge was short lived. Corin slammed his shield into the first then tore a bloody furrow down the shade’s chest. The line solidified once again with
Corin at its center.

              Gathering the power of death, Jaxom looked over his shoulder to ensure Celia was still behind him. She gave him a grim nod and adjusted her double-handed grip on the recovered shade’s sword. Raising his hand, Jaxom channeled his magic to the many dead lying about the large hall. Twenty
began to rise, three of which were dead shades. He could feel his strength draining quickly from animating so many at once. Then the room turned to chaos. Jaxom’s newly animated shades led the attack, slashing at their former comrades. One of the risen shades got too close to a living guard and got its arm hacked off with an axe. A risen shade shifted suddenly. Through the strain of maintaining the magic to keep them all fighting, Jaxom was shocked to see that it kept its abilities and the memory of how to use them. It was something to think on if he survived the night.

              When a shade rushed toward Jaxom, catching him by surprise, Celia blocked that strike and the next, which quickly followed. Jaxom took direct control of a risen guard nearby and charged the attacking shade, tackling him to ground. The shade swung wildly at the risen’s face and neck. Then Celia appeared, slashing down to cut the enemy’s throat. Releasing his control of the risen guard, Jaxom realized that the enemy was retreating through doors and down adjoining halls.

Ten of his risen remained capable of fighting and stood awaiting further commands. Jaxom released the flow of magic, and they fell to the ground like puppets with their strings cut. Collapsing to a knee himself, he panted from exhaustion. Celia tried to support him, but he did not have the strength to stand. He had never channeled so much in such a short time. Corin came to his other side, pulling Jaxom’s arm over his shoulder and lifting him up. He was vaguely aware of being carried into Corin’s chambers and laid down on one of the couches. Jaxom struggled to keep his eyes open.

“His leg’s still bleeding,” he heard Celia say. “It’s deeper than I thought.”

“Send to the temple for a priest. Tell them to come at once,” Corin said, probably to one of his men. “Stay with us, Jaxom. I can’t reward you properly if you’re dead.” Jaxom tried to think of something witty in return, but all that came out was an incomprehensible mumble before exhaustion finally overtook him.