Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2) (39 page)

Xan’s heart pounded.

Who would have thought Dylan would screw up? Cautious, reliable, dependable Dylan. The question was—how badly? Being summoned to Asher’s audience chamber wasn’t a good sign.

At a word from Pruitt, the sentries parted, and Xan followed him into the room. His heat sense detected scores of men behind every bolt hole and covering every exit.

So not a good sign.

Tasia rushed to him. “You’re hurt.”

He must have made quite a sight—dried blood and red stains on his ripped shirt, a nasty cut under his eye. Amazing how drained a few minutes of fighting could leave him. If only he could just find a bed and collapse. “It’s nothing.”

“Nonsense. Be still a moment.” She held her right hand to his injured cheek.

He waved her arm away. “Are you crazy? Now’s not the time to be using magic.”

She recoiled as if struck.

Blast! “Look, I didn’t mean to …”

She’d already retreated halfway across the room. Great. He acknowledged Lainey and Dylan with nods. Neither returned his gesture. Brant glared at him.

Lucan called from across the room, “I’m surprised you’re not dead.”

Xan grunted. The door on the dais opened, and Asher led out a small entourage including Ashley, Stokes, and Flynn.

Dylan stepped forward immediately. “It’s my fault, my lord. Punish me, not the others.”

If only it were that simple.

“Your actions saved your life and those of your friends and my men. I am not angry with you.” Asher paused. “That there were so many witnesses is … unfortunate. Protecting you is going to be even more difficult than I first thought.” After meeting the eyes of each mage in turn, he gestured toward two attendants, who set next to him a small writing desk with a stack of paper, a quill, and a bottle of ink on top.

So, so not good.

“Any question of mages being allowed to live will give the queen and my peers pause, but their greatest concern is unfettered magic use.” Asher held out a sheet of paper. “This document signifies your pledge to adhere to the old laws.”

“The laws in place just prior to the war?” Xan said. “My lord.”

“Yes.”

Xan exhaled sharply. He clenched his hands as Ashley turned her back to the assemblage and signed one of the sheets.

“As simple as that,” Asher said, “you no longer have to worry about a death sentence.”

Someone moved to Xan’s right. “Brant, wait.”

Without so much as a glance back, Brant marched to the table.

“He doesn’t even know what he’s about to sign,” Xan said. “You owe him that at least.”

Asher sighed. “True enough.” He gestured for Flynn to step forward.

“All magic use is prohibited except for that used under the direct command of a superior officer. Mages must seek permission to leave the facilities that will be provided for them.” Flynn looked to Asher, who nodded. “Marriage and conception must receive prior approval of superior officers.”

“In other words,” Xan said, “we’re to be little more than slaves.”

“An unfortunate way of looking at it but not wholly inaccurate,” Asher said. “It is, however, the only way to preserve your lives, and I think you’ll not find my lordship too onerous.”

Brant saluted. “You are already my liege. My life for yours.” He bent and signed.

To Xan’s left, Tasia stepped forward. He tried to grab her hand as she passed, but she pulled away.

“Don’t you understand?” Xan said. “It was the yoke of these very laws that led the mages of old to rebel. You’re creating another war.”

“The laws are benign, nothing more than thousands live under even today,” Asher said. “From the poorest peasant to the grandest baron, who could marry if I spoke against it?”

Tasia nodded, and Xan watched in horror as she too used the quill and ink.

Dylan let out a sharp breath and looked up at the dais. “If I sign, could I still … I mean, if she wants to … Mari?”

“As the girl’s guardian via surety, my consent is required in any case.” Asher smiled. “And you would already know if I viewed the match unfavorably.”

“Dylan, you can’t—”

He faced Xan with narrowed eyes. “What would you have me do? Refuse this offer? Risk my life? Give her up? I wouldn’t be in this situation if not for you.”

Lainey spoke, her voice soft and shaking. “I can’t kill anyone. I won’t do that again.”

Asher nodded sympathetically. “I do not seek more than you can give. There are many ways you can serve.”

Her signature left Lucan and Xan facing the dais. The black-cloaked man stepped forward.

“You too?” Xan said.

Lucan shook his head. “I know, but I’ve made choices I must live with. If you stand against this, it will be alone.” He turned to the duke. “Neither will I take life.”

“I understand.”

Leaving only Xan remaining on the lower floor, Lucan trudged up the three stairs and took the quill in hand. He paused for nearly a minute before making his mark.

Xan had never felt so alone. He cast his gaze at the ground. “My lord, I can’t.”

“You must, son. There is no other option.”

Xan met the noble’s eyes. “And still I can’t.”

Ashley stepped forward, her posture resolute and her face harsh. “You would refuse my father in this? You would refuse me?”

“Ashley? Don’t you understand what I’ve done for you to get to this point? What I’ve become? Please trust me?” Xan winced at the pleading in his voice.

“Sign it. Now!”

Two paths stood before him. If he took the easy way, he’d have everything he ever wanted. Ashley. It would take time, but he’d eventually even win her love. And Asher would keep him in command of the mages. His silk restraints wouldn’t even chafe all that much.

If he took the other way, he’d accomplish … what? His refusal meant nothing, really. Mages would still be enslaved.

“Sign it, and you’ll have all of me.” Ashley’s finger drifted to the soft velvet of her scarlet dress and idly traced the corseted curve of her waist.

Xan’s face heated. “You don’t fight fair.”

“I fight to win.”

“I don’t want to fight at all.”

She smiled. “Then sign the agreement.”

“I can see exactly what’s going to happen,” Xan said. “Every duchy in Bermau and Kaicia will race to recruit mages. And truly, I believe Duke Asher will be a faithful lord and treat us with the utmost dignity and kindness. But others won’t.”

Xan turned to Asher. “I know you feel you don’t have a choice, but you do. The actions you take today will result in ruin. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not even for your grandchildren. But they will lead to chaos and war and death and destruction.” He clasped his hands in supplication. “I beg you, please don’t do this thing.”

“I’m sorry, son. I must.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Xan said. “I can’t sign.”

“I told you I’d make a good wife for you,” Ashley said, “but I gave you a condition. Do you remember it?”

Xan’s voice came out strained, barely a whisper. “Be loyal to you and your father.”

She walked toward him, her left hand covered her right, and it took him a moment to figure out what she was doing.

“No! Ashley, please!”

Her hands parted, the left one holding the engagement ring. She took his clenched fist and pressed. Unable to resist her further, he allowed her, once again, to do as she willed. He opened his palm and stared at the gold band with the sparkling diamond.

Asher signaled a page at the back of the room who disappeared out the door. Seconds later, a score of soldiers rushed in.

The duke pointed at Xan. “Guards, arrest him.”

Xan followed Pruitt up the stairs with Lucan and a dozen guards at his heels.

The journey could have lasted a few minutes or a few hours. Xan was too numb to notice. He’d been so close to having everything he’d ever wanted. Where would he rather be—courting Ashley, maybe even getting a kiss, or on his way to being locked in a cell? His choice. Pick either one. And his decision was what again?

Blasted idiot!

But what about her? Did she have any obligation to do what he wanted? Should he sacrifice everything and her nothing?

Ashley was beautiful and the niskma of Vierna. Any guy in the three kingdoms would want her as a wife. And who was he? Someone who couldn’t even get village girls to go out with him.

Maybe he should just do what she wanted, but it didn’t seem right.

At a top landing, a narrow corridor transformed into a confining antechamber. An iron door stood open at the other end, and stone walls more than a foot thick framed the casement. Xan traipsed after Pruitt into the cell.

The outer wall followed the curved exterior of the tower, and the inner wall extended only a few inches on each side of the door. He could cross the room in two and a half strides, and the width barely exceeded his armspan. An arrow slit provided the only light, and the only furnishing was a stone bed with no mat.

“No,” Xan said.

The sergeant spat. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I don’t see that you have much choice.”

Xan narrowed his eyes at the disgusting glob of saliva and tobacco littering his floor. A fireball erupted. Pruitt stepped back.

“I could burn every soldier in your army. Turn Asherton into a blasted inferno,” Xan said. “Make no mistake, the only thing holding me back is my rapidly dwindling loyalty to my ex-fiancé.”

“And me,” Lucan said from behind him.

Xan tried to access fire and, as expected, found himself blocked. He still had access to heat, however. “Justav underestimated me, and the only thing left of him is ashes.” He met Lucan’s eyes. “Remove your block or you die.”

He really was willing to kill the man. When had he gotten so cold?

Lucan cocked his head to the side.

“One,” Xan said. “Two. Thr—”

“Okay,” Lucan said.

Xan turned back to Pruitt. “Get me a mattress, a desk with a chair and lamp, and reading and writing materials.”

“I’ll take your demands to the duke.”

“Better not waste any time.”

Pruitt spun and marched away. Lucan followed him. The heavy door slammed shut followed by the sounds of the cross beam being set in position and heavy iron locks being engaged. Xan sat on hard stone.

Behind the arrow slit, the sun continued its inexorable fall below the horizon, and the room darkened and cooled. He lit lint fished from his pocket in order to see, willing energy into the flame so it consumed little of the material, and infused the walls with heat to bring the temperature to a comfortable level.

Staring at the wall made for a long wait.

Apologizing for his tardiness, the sergeant returned after full dark. Soldiers carrying furniture and dinner—a beef stew and roasted potatoes—followed him. They dropped off their load and left.

Xan’s stomach growled. Like he would eat anything they provided. How naïve would he have to be to succumb to poison?

He covered the plate with paper. At least he didn’t have to look at it, but the smell taunted him. Should he call for the soldiers to take it away? Just admit he was too weak to have it in his cell? Really?

He slapped his forehead. Bodies ran on energy from food via chemical reaction. If only he were an alchemist with the ability to add energy to chemical reactions.

Oh wait. He was.

Xan concentrated on the processes his body used to turn the tiny amount of food remaining from his lunch into fuel and magically boosted them. His stomach still felt empty, but he didn’t have to worry about starving. Water would eventually become an issue, though. Something to deal with later.

After all he’d done for the duke, it was so ridiculous for Xan to be locked up, hungry and alone. He’d ordered men to do monstrous things. If not for him, Asherton would have been overrun. How much did he have to sacrifice? Was a cell his just reward?

“Screw Asher!”

Xan paced the room, barely getting a good stride going before having to pivot.

Why couldn’t Ashley have just sided with him for once? He’d rescued her, killing men in the process. His plan against the enemy had worked to perfection. What more did she want?

All he’d done was love her, and all she’d given him was rejection. Moisture welled in his eyes.

“Screw her, too.”

Xan fingered the ring weighing heavily in his pocket. Only one person hadn’t really turned her back on him. He rushed to the desk and dipped the quill in the ink.

“Too impersonal.” He scratched out the name.

“Too personal.” He scratched out that line, too.

Xan smiled.

Why did his every thought sound so trite and inadequate when put to paper? He crushed the sheet and launched it into the air. Flames devoured it. Gray cinders of ash fell.

He grabbed a fresh sheet. The quill dulled as he bore down.

“Short. To the point. Perfect.”

He folded the paper into a pouch, placed the hated ring in the center, and sealed the outside seam with wax. The message slid easily under the door, and he yelled at the soldiers to have it delivered.

When he laid down on his mat to sleep, his eyes popped open. Maybe proposing by note wasn’t the best way. She’d understand, though. Wouldn’t she?

What was the worst that could happen?