Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2) (2 page)

Justav raced against the end of night. The moonlit woods on both sides of the road passed in a blur, and still he dug spurs into Victoro. The beast would go no faster.

Not nearly long enough until sunrise.

He glanced back, gritting his teeth when he found his thirty men spread like peasants harvesting grain. “Keller! Tighten the formation.” The debasement of raising his voice to be heard over the thundering hooves galled him.

“My lord, the horses in the rear are pushing as hard as they can. Your mount is the fastest.”

“The sand spirits take your excuses!” Why had Justav expended so much gold to provide his men with the best animals if they were still going to complain? “I'll have the mage tonight.”

His sweaty stench mingled with the disgusting odor from his animal. Grime coated every part of him. Muscles throbbed from constant riding.

Twenty nights, he’d hunted his prey. Twenty nights, he’d ridden hard all the way from Sadilon. Twenty nights, he’d drawn frustratingly closer.

So much to gain and so much to lose.

There was always risk in accepting a task personally assigned by King Barius. As the ruler of Dastanar, his concerns encompassed the big picture, and the welfare of individual agents like Justav dwelled at the bottom of the priority list. But the reward …

If only an idiot older brother hadn’t made so many missteps in handling the family’s business, Justav wouldn’t have been put into the situation in the first place. No matter, though. All he had to do was kill his target. Their coffers would be replenished to a degree even Platov couldn’t destroy. Failure—

Justav refused to think about the possibility.

He drove his consciousness into the magic and sensed twin flows. Good. Not that he’d doubted the mages would dream again given the past three weeks, but it strained Justav’s mind to consider the power required. How could anyone sustain that level of draw all night every night? And who would dare?

The two must know they’d be caught and executed. Was it a sign of confidence in their strength and training? Had the imbeciles running Bermau realized their stupidity and begun recruiting mages? Could Justav be leading his men into an ambush?

Death benefits and training new recruits got expensive, but, likely, the king could be persuaded to cover reasonable costs.

The real danger lay in the mages realizing their peril and ending their nocturnal meetings before Justav reached his target. Hidden by their government and no longer using magic, they’d be impossible to find. Each night Justav didn’t accomplish his task risked the unthinkable.

And sunrise neared by the instant.

He leaned forward, “Faster, Victoro. Faster.”

If he could but locate them, no amount of power on their part would save them. Justav grinned. Working for the king was not without its benefits; he held his own surprises. His quarry would not escape.

Confidence failed to banish his concern entirely. Important information had been withheld. Who pursued the other mage? Was that one a threat to Dastanar’s ambitions as well? Would Justav’s mission be affected?

He put the questions out of his mind. It was time to end the pursuit.

Dawn loomed, but the town, Eagleton, lay just ahead if his map held a shred of accuracy. Justav would see his quarry hang.

“The meadow again,” Xan muttered.

He glanced behind him to find his footsteps had left impressions in the grass spanning as far as his vision reached. And he had absolutely no recollection of having made them. Same as always.

All the other details were the same, too—the cloudless sky painted a deep blue that only existed at the instant daylight transformed into night, the unnatural light clarity despite there being no visible source, lush grass, perfect majestic oaks.

Not that he paid much attention to those elements. A hundred yards away, Ashley waited. An unbidden smile split his face.

Stop that. Play it cool.

His attempt to vanquish the grin failed as the corners of his lips tugged upward again on their own. He exhaled sharply. Good thing none of it was real.

If the landscape hadn’t convinced him that the world was imaginary, he’d only have had to look at her. It simply wasn’t possible for someone so beautiful to exist. More so, it wasn’t possible outside of a dream for someone so beautiful to want to spend time with him.

Ashley wore her hair, the yellow of freshly harvested wheat, straight down her back as he favored rather than teased and curled like most girls preferred. A tendril of her golden locks framed her heart-shaped face and accentuated her bright green eyes.

Why—if his imagination had made her his perfect vision of loveliness in every detail—did he give her emerald eyes instead of his favorite blue?

His gaze drifted to the neckline, which dipped low enough to display a wide expanse of bare skin, including the most delightful—

Wait. What was he staring at?

He jerked back to her eyes before continuing his examination. Ribbons and lace and all manner of beaded embellishments adorned her white dress. The outfit accented her figure and drew his vision to her tiny waist.

How long had he stood there gawking at her? He raised his hand to wave.

Really? Waving to her? How lame was that?

Xan stopped mid-motion. His arm hung frozen, half-extended for an excruciating moment like that of some ridiculous marionette on display for children to laugh at. He clutched it against his body.

The world lurched as he stepped toward her, but he ignored it. After reorienting himself, he continued forward. A total of six footfalls brought him to stand at arms’ length from her.

“My fair maiden Ashley.” He fell to his knee and reached for her proffered hand.

In his mind, he’d thought kneeling would be debonair, courtly. But, in the reality of the moment, he felt like a complete fool. Warmth spread to his cheeks. Embarrassed by a construct of his mind. He was such an idiot.

“My fair prince Xan.” She smiled, clearly amused.

The delicacy of her skin amazed him. He grazed her fingers with his lips. At least he didn’t slobber all over her.

He dropped her hand in horror at the prospect and managed to rise without further humiliating himself. “Have you waited long?”

“I don’t think so.” Her forehead wrinkled, and she shook her head as if dispelling a painful thought.

Her memory loss again. Why did she struggle so to remember any detail save her name when he had perfect recall?

Oh. Yeah. Maybe it was because there was nothing for her to remember since she didn’t exist and all.

Ashley smiled. “It’s so beautiful here. Come, let’s sit.”

She slid to the ground and rested her back against a gnarled old oak without an apparent care for mussing her dress. When settled, she patted the grass beside her.

Xan swallowed hard. That had never happened. They always stood and chatted. Could he sit that close to her? What if he started sweating? What if his stomach growled?

He eyed a tree several yards away. Lot less chance of humiliating himself over there. But how could he politely refuse her clear request?

She slapped the ground emphatically, her expression demanding obedience.

After a last longing glance at the other trunk, he moved toward her and stumbled. Of course. He had to brace himself against the tree to keep from falling on top of her. It was a blasted dream. Couldn’t he at least be graceful in a dream?

Xan sat, somehow managing not to imperil her further with his clumsiness, a good foot away from her. She promptly shifted so her right side rested against him from shoulder to leg.

The softness of her dress and the warmth of her body thrilled him almost as much as it terrified him. More heat engulfed his face, and his palms grew sweaty.

Ashley hooked her arm around his and drew herself tighter to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Did she not sense his discomfort? Or did she think more contact would set him at ease?

She sighed. “I could sit like this forever.”

So could he. When he sought to tell her that, though, words fled his mind. He merely nodded.

Discerning the passage of time proved impossible. He couldn’t tell if minutes or hours passed. Gradually, the silence, and the feel of her against him, grew more comfortable.

He closed his eyes and imagined putting his arm around her. Goose bumps rose on his skin. What if she pushed him away? What if she laughed?

After all those nights of talking, his first time touching her was at her bidding. Twenty nights of yearning to kiss her, wishing for confidence, and still he hesitated. He hated himself.

Coward! Brant would go for it. Blast it, even Dylan would.

Xan couldn’t move his arm without disturbing her. Ashley stirred as he raised it, lifting her head. He reached his hand above him, feigning the need to stretch. She moved no further.

Did she actually want him to do it?

Her head leaned forward in invitation. Ready to pull back at the first sign of displeasure, he lowered his arm and laid it across her shoulders. As it settled onto her, he tensed.

Instead of rejecting him, she snuggled against him. They sat, not talking, Xan barely daring to move, for time immeasurable.

All too soon, there was a jolt, and vivid colors swirled.

“Get up, Xan!”

He shielded his eyes from bright light gushing through his window. “Lainey? What?”

Smells of porridge and frying bacon wafted up from downstairs, causing his stomach to roil. Had the potion made him ill?

Wait. Breakfast was ready? But it was his turn to cook. “Why didn’t you get me up earlier?”

“I tried. Three times. You kept begging for a few more minutes, and I didn’t want Papa to leave for work hungry.”

Crap! Xan buried his head in the pillow. So much for promising her that he wouldn’t oversleep again.

“Any chance of you getting up this time?” she said.

He peeked at his adoptive sister. Had he really slept through three attempts to wake him? “I’ll be down in a second.” His stomach settled a bit at least. The nausea was probably just a result of his exhaustion.

She turned to leave.

“Thanks, Lainey. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Xan couldn’t blame her for being irritated. How many times had she covered for him so he could sleep late? How many chores had she done for him? How many promises had he broken lately?

He groaned. The potion hadn’t worked! What was he going to do?

The only positive about the situation was Ashley. He’d put his arm around her. She’d snuggled against him. They were practically courting.

Great. As long as he was happy with an imaginary wife and an imaginary family and an imaginary future, he was all set.

Was he that desperate? That much of a loser?

Xan groaned again. He did not want to even consider the answers to those questions. There had to be something he could do about the dreams.

He reached for a shirt but stopped. Was it the one he wore yesterday? What was yesterday? Tuesday? No. Wednesday.

After getting dressed, he trudged down the stairs. Lainey’s dad was sure to comment on Xan not making breakfast, broaching the subject of his sleeping habits yet again. If he had to face another well-meaning lecture, he was going to scream.

Peeking around the corner of the door to the kitchen, he found that Master Diwen hadn’t made it down yet. Xan sighed. About time he caught a break. He ladled a bowl of porridge and took his seat at the table.

Across from him, Lainey watched with an expression wavering between annoyed and worried. “Dreams again?”

Xan nodded.

“Same girl? Any changes?”

“Same as always.”

“And it’s no one you’ve ever met? Not even someone who might have passed through town?”

“I wouldn’t forget seeing her.” The words came out harsher than Xan intended.

“Are you sure you’re not remembering your mom?”

Xan shuddered. Gross. “Get off that already! I’ve told you Ashley looks nothing like me. Blonde hair, green eyes, remember?”

Lainey flicked her raven hair as she glared at him with dark brown eyes. “Yes, every boy’s vision of loveliness.”

He got her frustration. Eagleton’s scarcity of residents their age made finding a romantic prospect almost impossible for him, and Lainey had it even worse. Dylan and Brant were such close friends that they might as well be her brothers, too.

“I’ve seen the looks you’ve been getting from the militiamen,” Xan said.

Her face lit up. “Looks? From militiamen?”

“Yes, blast it! Ask Brant to tell you about the fight he nearly got into over it.”

“Fight? Who—”

“May I please eat in peace?” Xan stuffed most of a piece of toast in his mouth, which served to shut her up. Finally. He enjoyed the peace for a few minutes.

Master Diwen entered with a smile. “What were you two discussing so vigorously?”

Xan rushed to answer before Lainey. “Boys.”

“I see.” The master’s grin widened. “Continue then. I think I should like to hear that myself.”

As Lainey served her dad his plate, she fixed both him and Xan with a glare.

“You look tired, son,” Master Diwen said, “and we missed you at dinner.”

Great. Xan bit the sides of his cheeks to hold back a retort. “Just a bit of trouble sleeping.”

“Seems like you’ve been sleeping plenty—all weekend, night and day,” Master Diwen said. “You were better Monday, but you look run down again. I keep telling you—”

Xan couldn’t take it. There had to be something he could say. “Master Rae’s books say boys around my age can suffer periods where so much life energy is devoted to growth that the body is left tired.” He didn’t even have to lie.

Lainey tried to speak, but Xan cut her off with a sharp look. “How are things at the bank?”

The question elicited numerous anecdotes about his guardian’s business, and Xan grinned internally at how well his tactic worked. By striving to appear interested and not let his eyes close, Xan managed to avoid any more mention of sleep or his health before Master Diwen left, but as soon as the door closed behind her dad, Lainey released her tongue.

“You can’t keep dismissing this problem,” she said. “You need help.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Really? What happens if you’re so tired you make a mistake with a potion and kill someone?”

Xan’s heart thudded. Had she heard something about yesterday?

“You’ve been absentminded enough around here,” she said.

Part of him wanted to tell her what happened, but she’d never let it go. “I’m good at my job.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Lainey …”

“If you don’t tell someone, I will.”

“Lainey—”

“This can’t go on. I can’t imagine why you don’t want Papa to know, let alone Master Rae. If anyone can fix you, it’s him.”

Xan ran his hand through his hair. “I know all the potions he does. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve tried.” He pounded the table. “It didn’t work. Nothing works!” He directed an icy glare at her. “And your nagging makes it worse.”

She recoiled, and her face twisted in pain.

He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to hurt her. “I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t right, Xan. We’ve got to do something.”

“I’m sure …” His voice came out squeaky, and he cleared his throat. “I’m sure this is a normal thing.”

“Normal? Nothing about this is normal. No one dreams about the same thing every night for three weeks, remembering every vivid detail as if it had happened in the light of day.” She gestured wildly, and the serving spoon in her hand slung clumps of porridge everywhere. “You will tell Master Rae. Today!”

“I can’t … Look, just give me a little more time. If it doesn’t stop by next week, I’ll go to him.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think …”

“Please?”

She had to know how much he hated begging.

“One more day. That’s it!” She fled the room in a swirl of skirts.

Perfect. There was exactly one person in the world who he could kind of talk to, and he’d managed to make her mad. Regardless of his feelings for Ashley, he had to find a way to end the dreams. It wasn’t fair to his patients, and it wasn’t fair to Lainey.

He grabbed his pail to pack his lunch and found two sandwiches and an apple inside. “Thanks, Lainey. I’ll make it up to you.”