“The problem is, we have been using artifacts to accomplish anything of value. Our mages aren’t as strong as we wish, and the fact that we only have two who are barely master rank makes this all harder,” Stenson stated.
“Barely a master, he says,” mocked Vella. “The truth is, we only have a collection of nobles' children and those who answered the call. None of them has had enough time to grow into the mages we need. Anyone with fifty years of magical training and practice has long since avoided our call for help.”
Francis kept playing the part he had been prepared for by the general and his daughter. Ten other officers were surrounding the large table in the battlefield.
“I still can’t understand why the King hasn’t forced them to come,” Francis said.
A grunt came from both father and daughter.
“I’ll share a secret most wouldn’t want me to tell you,” Stenson said after clearing his throat. “You being willing to stay here and offer help as a sage is… remarkable. Almost anyone with your kind of power wouldn’t be willing to do so. Once a person reaches a certain rank, they can claim a level of independence. As such, the mages we wish to come don’t. Instead, they send us their students, saying it is as if they are here.”
“And where are all the noble children?”
Francis again saw disgust appear on all the faces of the other officers gathered around the table. All of them looked ready to spit. A couple even let out a growl.
Stenson and Vella knew they would react like this… this whole game… this farce… what have I gotten myself into?
“You wouldn’t know… being a ninth son,’ Vella said. “Most of them aren’t worth their weight in a battle. Only a few are beyond the proficient breakthrough point that we could force them to come. For all the training they receive, there is little incentive for them to push themselves.
“Even the attempts at tournaments, rewards, and other perks from our King have done little to invoke a sense of concern about what we are facing,” she continued. “Do me a favor and answer this question honestly, Sage Francis. Did you gladly sign up for this fight, or were you forced to join?”
His stomach still clenched at that question even though he had already answered it earlier in private. Every time he thought about it, he felt ill.
Forced to sign up for this battle, none of which was what I wanted. Even Michael knew we had no choice, no matter how it was spun. I never would have dreamed that one decision to stay would have landed me here. Six months ago, my freedom was stripped from me.
***
“You two! Stop!”
Both froze, having tried to escape out the back of the building the moment the guards had entered the rundown inn.
The sounds of thuds and a few cries from the exit they had been moving toward told them all they needed to know.
“Sounds like the guards were already waiting back there,” Michael muttered.
Nodding, Francis stood upright, no longer slinking or trying to hide, as he moved to a nearby chair.
The trio that strode in wearing chain armor and a red wolf emblazoned on their chest moved as one, splitting the room into three as they blocked the entrance.
“I was trying to take a piss, I told you!” a voice cried from behind.
Glancing over his shoulder, Francis saw another pair of boys being forced back into the main room through the dark hallway they had been headed toward. Both of their faces had a few red spots forming along their forehead. They stumbled as the pair of guards shoved them into the room.
“Perhaps we should have listened to that woman’s advice and left yesterday,” Michael whispered as he shifted closer. “Rumors appear to be true. The king is collecting everyone.”
Inside the dimly lit, rundown tavern, the dozen-or-so old men had all moved along the walls, ignored by the guards. The twenty or so younger men and teens, like themselves, however, were herded together—they’d all come because the food and drink were cheap.
“Harvest season… bah, we got screwed,” the black-headed boy who nursed his jaw complained. “We’re the ones getting harvested.”
“Shut it, or I’ll smack you again,” ordered the grizzled veteran, his helm hiding all but the scruff on his face and the pair of blue eyes that glared at the two they had caught.
“Seat taken?” the black hair boy asked.
Michael shook his head, and both boys joined them around the rickety wooden table.
“Gregory and the ugly one’s my brother, Henry,” Gregory said.
“You have the same problem?” Francis asked, flashing a grin. “I’m Francis, and this ugly one here is my brother Michael.”
Ignoring his older brother's gesture, Francis studied the pair of dark-haired teens and realized why they looked so familiar. “You’re the assholes who took our job!” he exclaimed.
Both boys frowned and held up their hands, their mouths moving, as a fist slammed down on the table, cracking it.
“Shut your pie holes,” the older guard growled, “or so help me I will shove my fist so far down your throats the four of you won’t need to worry about what comes next because when I pull it out, your heart will be in my hand.”
None of them said a word; their jaws snapped shut. The blue-eyed guard huffed, moving back to stand by his friend, who was now smirking at them.
A minute passed, and silence reigned until a blond-haired woman walked in. She was wearing a set of purple leather armor that stood out against the men in armor. Her hair was braided, and on her hip wasn’t a sword but a wand tucked in a special holder Francis had only seen once.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
A mage… here? Why?
Francis watched as her blue eyes scanned the room. After a few seconds, she smiled, her plump, red lips looking softer than any fabric he had probably ever touched.
“Men of Reevotort. Our nation needs you. King Baxter has personally sent me to come and ask you to join the war!” she said with a smile, her voice sounding like what was being presented was the greatest gift, even better than food, money, or land.
A few chairs creaked, and everyone leaned forward.
It was like Francis couldn’t look away. Her voice drew him to her. Something was intoxicating about her beauty. The rank odor of the inn, sweat, cheap ale, and unwashed clothes vanished, replaced by something he had only smelled twice in his life.
Vanilla?
“I have before me a letter, a guarantee from the king himself,” she said, holding out a rolled-up piece of parchment. “Join the king, be trained and given gear, and you shall be fed and paid. Fight alongside us to overcome the threat, and when you walk away, you will be rewarded with gold for you and your family. For once, you can be a man, no longer looked down upon, no matter what number son you are.”
The sound of boots striking the wooden floor and chairs sliding backward and falling over echoed throughout the room.
Why the hell am I standing?
His eyes scanned the area, and Francis saw that every teen and even some of the older men were on their feet, ready to charge forward.
“Excellent!” she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling blue for a moment like a star at night. “Form a line, one at a time, and no fighting. I shall write your name down, and you shall be on your way, ready to be a man worthy of my time someday!”
As if a dam had broken, everyone moved, fighting to be the first.
Standing there, anxiously waiting his turn, Francis could see Michael before him, bouncing up and down in anticipation.
The entire time, his brain itched weirdly.
Why? Why would I want to do this?
***
The memory faded as a cough came, and he frowned.
“If you call someone using magic to force me and every other man in that room to race to sign up for our death, being given a choice, then I guess I did volunteer.”
Stenson and every other gathered person in the tent spat on the ground.
“I heard they were using such things. A horrible method and not one I approved of, but still I understand the need,” the general stated, his tone matching the words he spoke. “Much has been done that I do not agree with, and yet we are still alive, barely surviving.”
The general motioned to the table with his only hand.
“Tell me, Francis. You saw the lines and how we were formed up. Where were our mages?”
“Besides the one next to the king?”
“Besides those, yes,” Stenson replied.
“I have no clue,” Francis said. “I saw a few spells come from the lines, but most of what I witnessed were the siege weapons.”
“That is because we only have a few, as you already just learned, and none of the nobles can be coerced like you were by simple magic. Sure, the king could come and force their hand, but doing so puts us in an awkward position.”
“Because the blood of the first three carries all the power?” Francis asked.
Massaging his temple, Stenson nodded. “And yet before me… somehow the ninth son has more power than any noble I have met in all my life. Perhaps…” Stenson paused and didn’t finish his thought, though it was clear the other men and his daughter were all waiting to hear what he would say.
“No… Now is not the time to dwell on such things,” the general continued. “Instead, we need to consider the plans you think might work and give the king one last option to swing all this in our favor. Vella, bring me a piece of torch paper and a pen. I need to write down a few things before we destroy it.”
She motioned to a man, who nodded and jogged across the small room. He opened a metal tin, pulled out a single piece of paper, and brought it with a writing tool.
“Torch paper?” Francis asked, still playing the fool.
“Forgive me,” the general said as he took the offered orange sheet of paper. “It burns completely, leaving no chance of magical reconstruction. Even getting it within a foot of a flame will destroy it. A powerful tool in carrying a message, especially when warded against being opened by someone other than the intended recipient with a fire enchantment.”
In a single day during this loop, Francis had learned about things no one had ever told him. What had made it even crazier was that everyone in this tent acted like what was being discussed and told was common knowledge.
Ignoring the expression on Francis’ face, the older man bent over and began to write quickly. Even with only one arm, Stenson could write without any problems. Stenson paused a few times, tapping the pen against his lips before continuing his list. When he was done, he turned and handed it to Francis.
Francis felt his eyes widen, partially because of the way Stenson had written. Like someone had spent days crafting each stroke, the man had just jotted down a long list in a minute and made it look like a work of art.
“You can read?” one of the officers asked.
The tone made Francis groan inside just as it had the first time.
“I can. Forgive me, I’ve never seen such elegant writing before.”
Laughter came from Vella, and her father glared at his daughter. “She mocked me over the years, each time I told her that using a pen was as important as a sword. If you think I write well, you should ask her to make you a list.”
“There is no time for that,” snapped Vella. “What does the list say?”
She moved behind him, looking over Francis’ shoulder as he stared at it.
*****
Brimstone Rain - 1 mile in length, twenty-five yards wide. Summons flaming stones from the sky like a hailstorm. Half a mile range. - 1 cast
Frozen Boulders - hundreds of man-sized ice stones that can be sent at different angles. Like a siege weapon. A 1 Mile range allows for a variety of areas to be covered, depending on the density of use. - 2 casts.
Quicksand shift - five-hundred-yard area long, forty yards wide. This causes all things in the area to sink quickly, up to six feet. Hardens after a minute like stone. Three-hundred-yard range. - 1 cast.
Thorn Barrier - 2 miles max in length. Thirty yards wide, it creates a wall of razor-sharp thorns. It takes twenty seconds to grow up to eight feet tall. It can be burned and chopped down. Half a mile range. - 1 cast.
*****
“Thank you for saying what these did,” Francis said as he pretended to read over the list twice. He already knew all Stenson would share about the spells, having been told about them all earlier when Vella and the general had taught him their plan. “This is all you have available right now?”
“Until the artifacts can recover the energy for the other specific spells, yes. After that, we have other spells that can be cast, but you’re looking at three weeks of waiting before it's worth discussing.”
“Shit, we don’t have anything of worth,” Vella muttered, turning back to the table. “Two rows of warriors left, some crappy spells that won’t do much during a real fight, and no reinforcements for at least a month.”
“Call it what they are,” Francis said. “Simply a line to slow down the enemy before being crushed beneath it.”
One of the advisors said something, and Francis turned, glad to have heard it.
Stenson said someone might pick up on that clue.
“What was that?” Francis asked.
“Uh… me?” the advisor said, glancing around as everyone started looking at him.
“Yes!” Francis exclaimed.
“I just mentioned how they could be used for walls, good to funnel or block off a portion of the army. The general had tried to get us to use them for that before, but the idea was always shot down.”
“I mean, if you could cut off a section of their warriors, wouldn’t that be a big help?” Francis asked.
Stenson chuckled suddenly, and people began to shout out ideas.