Magefall

Book 2: The Age of Dread

by Stephen Aryan

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Epic Fantasy; Military Fantasy

Synopsis

The land is in turmoil. Mages are hunted by men and gods alike. Even their own kind betray each other in the name of safety and protection.

With their last refuge fallen, two young mages must conspire against a god to show the world that their abilities aren't a curse; they are the only way to ensure lasting peace. Under the threat of anti-magic fanatics, Wren struggles to find her place as a leader and to keep her people safe as they build a new home. While Danoph searches for answers on a spiritual journey, determined to find out who he really is and where he came from in an effort to calm the coming storm.

Their world has turned against them, yet only they can save the world.

Release date: September 4, 2018

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 480

Sample

The piercing scream was so loud that it rattled the windows of the tavern. Garvey ignored it but Phelon flinched and would’ve run if he hadn’t been tied to his chair.

Garvey tore the heel of bread in two and dragged half of it through the thick beef gravy on his plate. The stories about the chef at the Bronze Tiger had not been exaggerations. The food was delicious.

“It was definitely worth the trip,” said Garvey, gesturing towards Phelon sitting opposite. He watched as the Mayor tested his bonds again but the knots were tight. His wrists were already red and chafed from his useless struggles. He’d been frantic when the screaming had started but had calmed down now. “The spices are making my tongue tingle.”

“You won’t get away with this,” said Phelon.

Garvey chuckled and gestured at the room around them. “Really? And who is going to stop me? You?”

The Mayor stayed silent as Garvey finished the rest of his food, savouring each mouthful. Even the ale was good. Dark and rich with a hint of smoke, making it a perfect match for the meat. It was made in the small brewery at the far end of the village beside the river.

If not for the famous chef no one would ever visit Garrion’s Folly. It was just too small and remote. Not even the bizarre half-finished bridge that led nowhere was interesting enough to attract many visitors. A handful of academics came by every few years but it didn’t change life in the village. Over the years trees had grown up around the ruin, hiding it beneath their canopy, but for some unknown reason no lichen grew on the black stones. Despite their age they were still as hard as granite. Yesterday he’d quizzed a few of the locals about it, but not even the oldest crone had any real insight into who had built it or why. But everyone had a favourite story.

“What’s your theory about the bridge?” asked Garvey, swirling the last of the ale around the bottom of his mug. He was tempted to get a refill before leaving. After all, he wouldn’t be coming back this way again. It was unlikely that he’d be a welcome return visitor to Garrion’s Folly.

At first he thought the Mayor wouldn’t answer but with little else to do except sulk in silence he finally relented. “I think it was done as part of a wager that someone lost. There are other romantic stories about it being done for love, but I think they’re nonsense. My grandpa told me a story once, but it sounded like fantasy to me.”

Garvey shrugged. “I’d still like to hear it,” he said, moving towards the bar to get himself another drink. Phelon watched Garvey with a sour twist to his mouth as he navigated across the room, stepping over obstacles. Phelon waited until he’d refilled his mug and sat down again before speaking.

“The bridge was part of an ancient doorway.”

Garvey raised an eyebrow. “A door to where?”

Phelon shrugged. “My grandpa didn’t know that part. He just said it led elsewhere. He believed a Sorcerer built it and that the other half of the bridge is on the other side of the doorway, in some other place. I told you it was ridiculous.”

Garvey grunted noncommittally. He ran a hand through his beard as he pondered the Mayor’s words. He’d studied the bridge yesterday, noting the lack of decay and the way animals avoided getting too close. In other parts of the forest he could hear birdsong, but here they’d watched him in silence from the branches of surrounding trees as he’d paced around the ruin. It had more than a few things in common with the Red Tower. Phelon thought his grandfather’s story was just idle fantasy but to Garvey it seemed the most likely explanation. The two questions he kept coming back to were, who had built it and where did it lead?

For all of the Red Tower’s accomplishments with magic in the last two centuries Garvey sometimes felt as if he was a child trying to learn how to read and write. The Grey Councils of old, those who had built the tower itself, had known so much more. Some of their secrets had been written down and were locked up inside the tower library, but unravelling even one ancient and forgotten Talent could take a lifetime of study. There simply weren’t enough mages with sufficient skill. Today there were only a handful of magic users alive who could call themselves Sorcerers and he knew they were poor imitations of the originals.

The bridge was yet another reminder of how much they still had to unravel and yet events conspired to prevent them from gaining more knowledge. In other circumstances a mage could spend their entire life in Garrion’s Folly, studying the bridge and trying to unlock its ancient secrets. There were times when such a quiet life was enormously appealing to him. But it was far too late for that.

“If only you’d been more welcoming,” muttered Garvey, gulping down his ale and savouring the rich smoky taste. “All of this unpleasantness could’ve been avoided.”

“You’re a wanted murderer. I could not stand idly by.”

“Yes, you could. You could have said nothing. All I wanted to do was eat a meal in peace and then I would’ve left. Was it worth it?” asked Garvey, gesturing at the room around him. “Did you think you were being brave? Or perhaps it was pride?”

“You will be punished for your wicked deeds,” said Phelon with the confidence of a true believer.

“By whom?” asked Garvey, folding his arms and sitting back on his chair.

“The gods. The Maker or the Holy Mother will strike you down.”

Garvey held his arms towards the ceiling. “I’m here,” he shouted. “I’m ready for my divine punishment.”

Phelon was appalled. “You dare mock the gods?”

“Strike me down!” shouted Garvey, rattling the rafters.

Silence greeted him. He waited for divine retribution but nothing happened. No bolt of lightning. No clutching pain in his chest. No everlasting fire hot enough to melt his bones like candle wax. After a while he lowered his arms.

“I’m not worried about your gods. If they even exist, they just don’t care about us any more.”

The front door of the Bronze Tiger banged open and a man stumbled in. He was bleeding from his scalp, painting half his face bright red. There was more blood on his shirt and he had a distinct limp on the right side. His left arm was bent at a peculiar angle but the right held a dagger.

With a sigh Garvey raised one hand towards the intruder, embraced the Source and made a twisting motion. The man’s neck snapped, his head turning to look behind him into the street. With a strangled choke he dropped to his knees and collapsed onto the floor. A final breath wheezed out between his swollen lips and a deafening silence filled the tavern.

Outside smoke and ash drifted past the open doorway, bringing with it the smell of burning wood and charred meat. More bodies littered the street, bruised, bloody and silent. There were men, women and children. A stray dog trotted past, doing its best to escape the chaos before it too was struck down.

There were no more screams. That meant it was nearly time to be moving on.

Tahira came into the tavern, her grinning face smeared with ash.

“It’s almost done. Most of the buildings have been torn down,” she reported, pleased with herself. She had quite the temper but he’d learned it could be controlled if she was occasionally given free rein, like today.

“Good. And the people?” he asked.

“A few fought back but they’re dead. We’re finishing off the last ones.”

“And our people?”

Tahira grimaced. “Nillim didn’t listen to your orders and rushed in. He caught an arrow in the neck. Everyone else is unharmed.”

Garvey waved it away. “No great loss. He was an idiot. Did any of the villagers try to run?”

“A few, but we brought them down. No one escaped.”

“Horses?”

“We have enough for everyone now. The stables here were surprisingly well stocked.”

“Well, at least something good came out of our visit,” said Garvey. “Tell the others to take as much food as they can carry from the storeroom.”

Phelon looked as if he wanted to curse them, or perhaps weep for his fallen friends and neighbours. Instead he remained silent and stony-faced. He watched Garvey’s students troop into the back of the tavern and carry out sacks of food taken from the kitchen. It might be a few days before they stopped off at another village and it would make a nice change if they didn’t have to forage for their meals.

“It seems as if our time is up,” said Garvey, getting to his feet.

“You will pay.”

“Think on this, Phelon. You’re the Mayor of this village. The others listen to you. They would’ve followed your lead if you’d told them not to fight. So their deaths are on your hands. You did this, not me.”

Garvey glanced around the tavern one last time, staring at the dead faces of the other patrons in the room. Most of them had died at their tables, although one or two had tumbled to the floor. The owner was dead, his body slumped forward over the bar, and in the kitchen the chef lay dead beside his famous creations. The owner’s wife had fallen against a wall and seemed to be asleep, her head resting on her chest. The only sign of her death was a small trickle of dried blood from one nostril. None of the others bore any visible wounds. Their deaths had been quick if not entirely painless.

While the Mayor shouted curses at his back Garvey stepped over villagers’ dead bodies and joined his followers waiting for him in the street. A month ago they had been children idly daydreaming in classrooms. They had been students seeking knowledge and the ability to control their burgeoning magic. Now they were refugees from the Red Tower and day by day were transforming into something else. A month of constantly being on the move, pursued by enemies, had stripped away most of the fat. Those who remained were lean, scarred from their experience and willing to do whatever was necessary to survive. Each of them carried a weapon on their hip and they all understood the importance of steel, even for those with magic. A few had tried to give the group a name, but he’d stopped that straightaway. This was not a game for children and they were not folk heroes. It was a fight for their lives and their existence as mages.

“Step back,” warned Garvey, gesturing at Tahira. She and the others dismounted and led their horses further down what remained of the main street. On either side of the tavern the buildings had been smashed to pieces until nothing remained except a few broken stones. Every beam of wood had been shattered. Every window ripped apart. Every door and floorboard crushed into kindling. Blood was liberally splashed among the ruins from those too slow to escape the buildings when they collapsed. It wouldn’t have mattered. Anyone who made it outside had been killed in the street. Garvey could see dozens of bodies with various wounds from where he was standing. Over a hundred people had lived in Garrion’s Folly when they’d first arrived.

The rest of the village was the same. The houses, the mill, the temple and the village hall were all gone. Even the brewery beside the river was nothing more than a pile of tumbled stone. Only the Bronze Tiger remained, although without its famous chef it too would quickly be forgotten. As Garvey drew power from the Source he heard Mayor Phelon screaming from inside, cursing him to damnation for all time.

Reaching deep into the ground beneath the tavern he drove tendrils of his will, shattering buried stone and gouging at the earth. At the same time he focused on all of the tiny fissures in the stone walls, pulling them wider until they ran wild like cracks on a broken pane of glass. With a rumble that shook the earth beneath his feet, the walls of the tavern collapsed inwards while the building sank into the fissure. A huge cloud of dust rose up in the sky as the stones fell and the roof broke apart. The sound was deafening, startling birds from the trees, which swayed in the sudden wind from the building’s collapse. Slowly the dust cleared and all that remained of the tavern was a few rocks and roof tiles poking out of the ground.

A profound and deep silence returned, enveloping the area. Somewhere nearby a small bird chirped. In time the forest would reclaim the village until it became nothing more than a few piles of mossy rubble. But for now it would serve as another stark reminder for those who thought mages could be eradicated like a disease.

Garvey mounted up and looked around at what had once been Garrion’s Folly.

“Let’s hope the next place we visit is more hospitable,” he said to the others.

“There’s a farm a few hours’ ride to the west. We could be there before dark,” suggested Tahira.

He considered it but shook his head. “We’re not going to run and cower in the countryside like common bandits. All we did was defend ourselves.”

“There’s another village a couple of days’ ride to the east,” said Tahira.

“I think we should head north,” said Garvey. “I could do with a bath, clean sheets and somewhere a bit less rustic.”

They all knew what he was suggesting. The border wasn’t too far away. If they carried on north the villages would soon give way to towns and then a city in Zecorria. It was more than a little reckless. It was also the last thing they would expect him to do.

“Let’s see if they’re kinder to strangers in the north,” said Garvey, nudging his horse forward.

The others followed in his wake, leaving behind a village full of dead bodies.

Tammy stalked through the halls of the palace, barely noticing the rich decorations all around her. Despite seeing them regularly over the last few weeks she still thought they were gaudy and mismatched. The palace decor reflected none of the character of Perizzi, the capital city, or its people. As the trading heart of the west, Yerskania was a melting pot of cultures, with thousands of visitors passing through every day.

It was perhaps the only place in the world where you could see pale-skinned Zecorrans, horned Morrin, shrewd Drassi, burly Seves and even a few Vorga trading peacefully with one another. Golden-skinned merchants from Shael were dotted throughout the crowd and sometimes a dark-skinned easterner from the desert kingdoms could be seen haggling with the stout locals. With goods from all of those nations it made the port in Perizzi arguably the busiest in the world and yet the city had a unique flavour not found anywhere else.

Perizzi had once been her home, but for the last decade Tammy had been working abroad as a Guardian of the Peace. The Guardians investigated all serious crimes in Yerskania, but they were also unique as other nations sometimes called on their expertise to solve difficult or unusual crimes. Travelling through other countries had given her a deeper understanding of several cultures and, despite their many differences, it allowed her to recognise the commonalities between vastly different human races. She’d spent very little time among the Morrin and no Guardian had ever been invited to the Vorga homeland. Aspects of both races and their cultures remained shrouded in mystery, particularly the savage Vorga, as no outsiders were allowed in their country. Thankfully they tended to keep to themselves and spent as little time in the city as possible, preferring open spaces to the crowded streets.

As the Khevassar, leader of the Guardians, her days of travelling abroad were over and she was slowly becoming reacquainted with the rhythms of the city. As a child she’d run through its streets totally unafraid of the dangers she now realised were lurking in dark corners. That innocence was gone, but her underlying intuition was slowly coming back. It seemed as if it had never really left, merely been buried, gathering dust for many years. For all its flaws she liked her city and in time Tammy hoped it would begin to feel like home again.

Now she was neck deep in the city’s streets, soaking up the crime and chaos, wading through the rivers of information swirling all around her.

Every day she heard fresh rumours about a turf war erupting between the crime Families who controlled the city’s underworld. The stories were vague but nevertheless she listened keenly. Ordinary people were often caught up, on the fringes, of such a violent conflict and she wanted to avoid the death of innocents.

Recently there’d been a lot of talk about groups of people roaming the streets, searching for mages hiding in their midst. There had been a few beatings and one murder of an innocent woman thought to be a Seeker. A few angry groups had even broken into homes, ransacking them in a desperate search for a golden mask. Her Guardians had made several arrests, coming down hard on the ringleaders, and for the time being the problem seemed to have gone away. But she knew people’s resentment of mages ran deep and suspected it had merely gone underground. No one spoke about magic any more but she knew it was still on everyone’s mind. It lay at the heart of many problems that cropped up in her city.

The threat of widescale violence and fear of the unknown. Everything was tied together like a giant invisible web hanging over the city. Pull on one thread and the effects of that decision would be felt in another district. There was a complex pattern behind it and she was trying to become as adept as the Old Man had been at interpreting and even predicting what was about to happen. She had no doubt it would come with time, but even so that didn’t make it any less frustrating. At the moment all she could see were disparate threads in the chaos.

The Khevassar was the hub through which all Guardians communicated. She didn’t see every single report, but received daily summaries of minor cases from which she could still discern relationships. While dealing with all of the local issues, there were ongoing problems abroad, some of which were more pressing than others. Such as the continuing issue with Seekers, the recent destruction of the Red Tower, and the ever-scheming Regent of Zecorria.

It was late at night for a meeting with Queen Morganse but she had asked Tammy to visit her to discuss the mage situation. Dorn, the Queen’s chubby secretary, was yawning as she entered the outer office. His eyes were heavy with sleep and he waved her towards the Queen’s office, not bothering to get up and announce her. His lax attitude irked her but she let it pass, knocked loudly and went inside.

Queen Morganse of Yerskania was sitting behind her desk but for once she wasn’t reading one of the many papers scattered across it. Much to Tammy’s surprise the Queen was knitting. For other grandmothers of her age it was probably a common pastime, but this was the first time she’d seen Morganse aping them. It was more than a little disconcerting to see the Queen doing something so ordinary.

“Please, take a seat,” said the Queen, setting her needles aside. She caught Tammy’s glance at the knitting and offered a wry smile. “Some people pray, some exercise or meditate. I find knitting allows my mind to wander while it keeps my hands busy.”

Unsure of how to respond to that she said nothing. Despite her increasingly long hours Tammy made sure that her exercise regime had not changed. She ran for an hour every morning before breakfast and sparred twice a week with a Drassi Swordsmaster. She knew almost nothing about him and they barely spoke, making him the perfect opponent. They had no emotional attachment to one another which meant she didn’t hold back because of some anecdote he’d told about his family. After a lifetime of carrying a sword he was far more skilled than she, but he helped her stay sharp and in shape. She would never be able to beat him—he was a master of his craft with decades of experience—but that didn’t stop her from trying.

The Queen was looking at Tammy expectantly, waiting for her to say something. Perhaps to reply with a personal anecdote about her hobbies. “I don’t think knitting would suit me” was all she said.

“To business then,” said Morganse, clearly disappointed by her response. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t necessary for them to be friends in order to work together. “Although it does make things easier if we have a rapport,” added the Queen.

“I disagree,” said Tammy, earning another frown.

“Do you have something you want to say?”

“No, your Majesty. You asked me to come to the palace for this meeting. I’m here to talk about magic.”

“Don’t stop there,” said Morganse, sitting back in her chair. “Tell me why you disagree.”

Perhaps it was because she hadn’t slept properly since taking on her new role a few weeks ago. Or that she was afraid of not living up to the Old Man’s reputation. Perhaps it was because there was so much to do each day and not enough hours. Or perhaps it was simply because she disagreed with banning all Seekers in Yerskania. So, for once, Tammy decided to be totally honest and open with the Queen.

“My predecessor has great affection for you. So much so, that I think he was too lenient and it clouded his judgement when it came to his dealings with you.”

“Is that so?” asked the Queen.

“Did you speak to him before signing the national ban on Seekers?”

“I did, and he strongly advised me against it.”

Tammy was appalled. “And yet you still signed it?”

“I weighed his opinion against all of the facts and my other advisers. It was not a decision I made lightly,” admitted Morganse.

“It was a mistake. You panicked and rushed the decision because you were afraid.”

“Careful,” warned the Queen. “There’s a difference between offering your opinion and insubordination.”

Tammy would not be intimidated. “If you expect me to agree every time you ask for my opinion, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

“The Khevassar’s opinion is one among many I consider. Talk to me again about this when you’ve my experience with politics.”

“I’d say the same thing when you’ve my experience with mages,” replied Tammy. She knew the Old Man would have spoken to Morganse about who would replace him one day. Which also meant the Queen would have studied her history in depth. She knew where Tammy had been and what she’d experienced in the last ten years. “Banning all Seekers in Yerskania was the wrong decision.”

An awkward silence settled on the room. Neither was willing to admit that they were wrong. She knew the Queen had rushed into it to give the people the impression of taking affirmative action.

There was a loud knock on the door and a moment later Dorn sidled into the room carrying a stack of papers.

“My apologies, your Majesty, but I have an urgent—” the secretary trailed off as he noticed the frosty atmosphere.

“What is it, Dorn?” asked Morganse, breaking eye contact.

“An urgent report, Majesty. There’s been another attack by the rogue mage, Garvey, and his followers.”

He passed across a small rolled-up note that must have come from the aviary. The Queen scanned the contents and her frown deepened.

“Thank you, Dorn. That will be all.”

He bobbed his head and scuttled out of the room as fast as possible, not wanting to get caught in the middle of their disagreement.

“Garvey has destroyed a small village in the north. He was last seen by a patrol heading towards the border and Zecorria.”

“How many are dead?”

“All of them,” said Morganse, rubbing her temples. “He wiped the whole village off the map. Flattened every building. Killed every man, woman and child. About a hundred people lived in Garrion’s Folly.”

Tammy took a moment to think about the dead and the repercussions of what had happened. It seemed hard to believe that only a few weeks ago he’d been a member of the Grey Council. A trusted figure that leaders would call upon for aid in the most dire of circumstances.

“I’m considering sending soldiers after Garvey and his followers,” declared Morganse.

“I would advise against that, in the strongest possible terms,” said Tammy, trying to keep her voice calm. “It wouldn’t help, it could provoke him and even make things worse. We both know what one competent Battlemage can do against an army. He’s a Sorcerer. Garvey is also said to have a dozen or more followers with him. It would just be another bloodbath.”

The Queen took a deep breath and their staring match resumed before she replied. “Then what would you suggest?”

“Reach out to Balfruss and ask him to help.”

Morganse snorted. “Did you see the report about what happened at the Red Tower?”

“I did, but you weren’t responsible and he knows that, too. Without help from other mages, I’m not sure what could stop Garvey and the others.”

“Do you really think Balfruss would turn on his friend?”

Tammy shook her head. “I don’t know, but Garvey is killing innocent people. Balfruss won’t stand idly by and let that continue. It goes against everything he is.”

“I hope you’re right, because I agree with you. Without some kind of magical intervention, the bloodshed will continue.”

This was a situation neither of them could have predicted and had never dealt with before. Normally at a time like this they would have reached out to the Red Tower who would dispatch someone to deal with the magical threat, but that door was closed. Even if it weren’t, Tammy wasn’t sure they would send someone to help. After all Morganse had brought in a nationwide ban on Seekers. But something needed to be done and Balfruss was their best chance of stopping Garvey.

The situation also made her wonder how something like this had never happened before. With the exception of the Warlock, she couldn’t remember any major incidents where a mage had gone rogue, working against the wishes of the Red Tower. Not every mage went to the school for training and yet there’d never been such a killing spree before. She made a mental note to look into it later. There might be something in the Guardian archives about it.

“In the meantime,” Morganse was saying, “I must be seen to be doing something. I’m going to increase the number of soldiers in the north. It will reassure the local people, if nothing else, unless you object?”

“No, your Majesty.”

“Good. How is the investigation into Habreel’s network?”

Now it was Tammy’s turn to rub her temples. “We’re making progress and have removed several key people. Unfortunately the real target, Akosh, remains hidden and information about her is sketchy. I have some of my people following up on leads.” It felt strange to say that, her people, and it had been even harder to send others out to do the work on her behalf. Normally she would have been one of those riding out of the city to gather information. It was going to take a while for her to get used to delegating as well as who was reliable and who wasn’t trustworthy. “Do you want a full update?”

Morganse waved it away. “No. I just hope that the next time Balfruss makes contact with one of us, we have some good news to share with him about Habreel. It might make him more amenable to your request.”

“I hope so too, Majesty.”

“I have some news from my agents, although I’m not sure if it’s good.” Morganse fished around on her desk until she found a particular letter. They had spoken little about the Queen’s network of spies, but every now and then she would share news from one of them. “The number of attacks on Seekers has fallen across the west, although that’s to be expected given the widescale ban. There have also been no reports of children in Yerskania dying in accidents because of their magic.”

As Tammy’s experience with angry mobs in the city had shown, the decrease in attacks on Seekers meant very little. Any real Seeker with even a drop of common sense would have buried or melted down their golden mask by now.

As for the children many communities liked to deal with their own problems and in the past children were drowned, stoned or hanged if they showed any signs of magic. Without the Seekers there was no way to know how many children were being born with the ability. Out of a sense of shame whole communities swallowed the guilt and buried the truth. It was a dangerous time to be associated with magic in any way.

“I’ve also heard a rumour,” admitted Tammy, deciding to share something although the Queen had not asked. “The Regent of Zecorria is considering a national ban on all mages.”

“There’s truth to that rumour,” said Morganse. “And there’s a note on my desk from him encouraging me, and other leaders in the west, to do the same. ‘To unite against a common and vicious enemy,’ as he puts it.”

“Do I need to tell you what my opinion is of that idea?”

Morganse smiled wryly. “I think I know what you’re going to say. Besides, on that at least we agree. The problem with Garvey needs to be addressed, and soon. However, the ban on Seekers was a temporary measure at best. Banning all magic is a ludicrous idea. It won’t stop children being born with magic.”

“I agree, your Majesty.”

The silence that settled on the room was less painful than before. They might not be friends but perhaps there could be common ground between them.

“It’s late and I think we both need some sleep,” said Morganse. “Keep me updated on any pertinent developments.”

Tammy took the hint and moved to the door, but she paused on the threshold and turned back. “I hope you will also do the same, Majesty.”

T