Authors: Victor Gischler
Ink Mage
INK MAGE
INK MAGE
by
Victor Gischler
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2013 Victor Gischler
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
eISBN: 9781477899304
Cover Illustrated by Chase Stone
Cover design by Sam Dawson
FOR JACKIE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
MAP 1
MAP 2
EPISODE ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
EPISODE TWO
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FORTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPISODE THREE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPISODE FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
EPISODE FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
EPISODE SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
EPISODE SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
EPISODE EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KINDLE SERIALS
Tazio Bettin
Tazio Bettin
The fortified watchtower overlooking the Eastern Sea was officially called Ferrigan’s Tower for the engineer who’d built it, but to the miserable soldiers stationed there, the post was known as the Snow Devil’s Asshole. The tower sat on a narrow peninsula of rock that jutted out to sea like an open palm, the rocks around it battered constantly by the tossing, foamy sea. When the wind howled, it drowned out the crashing waves.
And the wind always howled.
This night, small, stinging snowflakes rode the wind, coming in sideways. Tosh and the other four soldiers huddled around the fire pit atop the tower. They were “keeping watch,” which meant that about once an hour they’d take turns grudgingly rising from the fire to walk to the parapet and glance at the empty sea.
It was a dull, cold, unhappy posting, generally reserved for soldiers who’d messed up in some way.
Tosh had gotten drunk on his night off and had vomited into the carriage of a minor nobleman. The next day, he found himself with his pack slung over his shoulder, marching with the rest of the replacement garrison to the Snow Devil’s Asshole with the rest of the screw-ups.
“I’d fuck Berrig’s wife.” Tosh had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. “I don’t mind a big fat ass.”
The others laughed, including Berrig.
Berrig said, “If you’re daydreaming about my Luwilla, it just proves you’ve been up here too long in this frozen shithole.”
They laughed again.
And that’s how they passed the bleak months until they were relieved—telling soldiers’ jokes, trying to keep warm, and keeping careful watch on a rocky stretch of desolate shoreline that hadn’t needed watching in thirty years. When Tosh had first arrived, he’d taken some comfort in the salt smell of the sea, which he enjoyed. But that small enjoyment had waned quickly as the tedious weeks dragged on. He held tightly to one small ray of hope. In four days, his tour of the Snow Devil’s Asshole would be up. The relief garrison would arrive and he could go
home
. And he could get a
woman
. Even one as fat as Luwilla would do.
Twenty men, three horses, one tower. All grinding time slowly and eventually into dust to be blown away by the howling wind. All twenty men thought the same thing every day:
Get the hell out of here and don’t screw up again. Don’t get sent back
.
But not yet. Four more days. And it was Tosh’s turn to go glance at the ocean.
He heaved himself up and staggered away from the fire. The cold had settled into his bones. It was an easy thing to happen if you didn’t move, didn’t keep the blood circulating. He briefly stomped in a circle before finding his way to the parapet. The feeling came slowly back into his feet. He yawned and looked out to sea.
Nothing.
Well, not
entirely
nothing. He did note with mild surprise that a thick fog had descended. Visibility came to a sudden halt a quarter mile out to sea. After that it was all pea soup. These weather conditions were not unheard of at the Snow Devil’s Asshole, but they were unusual. Above, the clouds moved away from the moon which beamed brightly down upon …
Tosh blinked.
Something in the sudden moonlight, a shape in the mist. He squinted, leaned forward.
The prow of a ship coming through the mist.
Tosh opened his mouth to raise the alarm, hesitated, not sure if he saw what he thought he saw. He was wrong. It wasn’t a ship.
It was two.
No, three—five—a dozen …
He stopped counting. There were far too many. He froze, utter disbelief. At the same moment, another part of his brain reached back, groped for stories the old timers told at the tavern about Perranese raiders who’d hit the coast, loot and plunder and then flee back across the ocean. These ships had the same low, lean look and strange square sails he’d heard in the stories, with accordion folds so they could be raised and lowered like expensive window blinds. But this wasn’t a raiding party.
It was an invasion.
Tosh drew a lungful of air, turned back toward his comrades and yelled, “Alarm! Alarm!”
They turned, gawked at Tosh.
What?
“Ring the fucking bell!” Tosh screamed at them.
One ran for the bell and immediately began ringing it, the crisp, clear sound cutting through the noise of the wind. They’d hear it downstairs and saddle the horses. Berrig and the others joined Tosh at the parapet, bringing torches. They looked with bewilderment and terror at the approaching armada.
“Dumo, save us,” breathed Berrig. He leaned out, looked over the side of the parapet.
Tosh wasn’t very religious, but he’d gladly go to temple if Dumo appeared now and blasted the invaders with divine fire.
Berrig said, “Wait, is that—?”
Something flashed silver in the moonlight and buried itself into Berrig’s left eye. Berrig screamed and twitched.
“Berrig!” Tosh moved toward the man.
A large metallic star with four, six-inch points. Tosh had never seen such a weapon. One of the six-inch blades had struck deep into Berrig’s eye, reaching his brain. Berrig twitched once, opened his mouth as if attempting to say something, then collapsed dead at Tosh’s feet.