“Well, let’s hope we don’t get attacked by drauglics before you catch up.”
Farson coughed, and Rezkin glanced over to see his former trainer’s telling look. It was one he had seen often as a small-man—one that meant he had forgotten something. Mercenaries liked to gloat.
“I ain’t yer nursemaid,” he said, “I seem to remember you sayin’ I was the kind to give mercs a bad name.”
Rezkin was never in the mood for banter, but on this day he was feeling uncomfortable with his chosen course of action. He knew he should just kill the prisoners. Letting them live was to leave enemies at his back. It was a mistake, but it was one he had to make if he desired to preserve his friends’ honor—and their respect.
“Yer a right cocky bastard,” said Orin, “but I guess you got reason to be.” The man collected his pack with his one good hand and limped toward the door. He paused and said, “You just remember, the bigger yer head, the easier the target.”
Rezkin grinned and nodded appreciatively, but Orin scoffed at the perceived sarcasm. He followed the two mercenaries and Farson into the adjacent room, and they all continued out the front door while Rezkin remained behind with Wesson. He watched out the window as his friends mounted their newly acquired horses and started down the road. Farson did not go with them. He waited at the edge of the property with Pride and Wesson’s mount. Rezkin had thought the journeyman, who had once aspired to be a life mage and had shed tears for a donkey, would have wanted to choose his own horse, but Wesson had shown no interest.
Once they were gone, Wesson looked up at him. “I don’t like this,” he said.
“I know, but the alternative is death.”
“This might be worse. I do not know for sure what will happen. I have never tried this spell, and normally I would never test a spell like this on a person. Actually, I would never use a spell like this on a person even if it were tested and accepted.”
“You are the one who suggested it,” Rezkin said.
“Well, yes, I know, but it was just an idea. I did not think you would approve.”
“You have seen the spell used before on other things?”
“No, not exactly,” Wesson replied as he glanced away. He sighed heavily and said, “I made it up. I have been studying the structure of the citadel and considering the shielreyah. I mean, this really has nothing to do with that, but it was what gave me the idea. The mage academy would say it is impossible. It requires mixing two affinities in a way they are not supposed to be combined.”
“But you think you can do it?”
“I … um … maybe. It might work, but not necessarily in the way I expect—or they might explode.”
Rezkin raised an eyebrow. “Explode?”
Wesson scratched his head and wrung his hands since he could not fidget with his robes as usual. “It uses mostly constructive power, and it is new and probably a little beyond my ability to control, considering my affinity for nocent. Also, I will be performing it on living beings who are not willing participants.”
“That makes a difference?”
“Yes, it can. Mundanes also bear the power of will. Even healers have trouble treating patients who do not desire aid. It is one of the reasons life mages are not great in battle. Can you imagine? Besides battle mages, they would be the most powerful on the field if they could simply change a person’s body in the midst of a skirmish.”
“I see your point. Are you ready to perform the spell?”
Wesson nodded. “Yes, I have been practicing all night. If these men can avoid the fate of the purifiers, I will do what I must. It is worth a try.”
The courtyard was an outdoor space in the center of the building with a perimeter of potted plants and flower boxes. In the center was a swirling design made of flat paving stones. Although it was open to the sky, it was partially covered by an overgrown trellis. The splash of color from the fragrant red blooms was the most vibrant ornamentation they had seen in Gendishen thus far. The tables and chairs that had previously occupied the courtyard had been stacked in one corner, and the ten Gendishen soldiers were tied in a line down the center.
Rezkin paced around the group once and then said, “We are going to allow you to live.”
There was a collective sigh of relief, and the younger soldier’s shoulders shook as he began to sob.
“We cannot let you go now, obviously, since you will return to your fort and report this misunderstanding in your favor.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” said one of the men closest to him. “We’d tell them what really happened. The dergmyer messed up. We know it.”
“It no longer matters. Whatever you tell them, they will come after us, and we do not have time for that. It would be equally tiresome to have to needlessly kill more of your comrades. So, you all need to consent to what we are about to do so that you can remain alive.”
“What are you gonna do?” the man asked.
“It does not matter. You choose, alive or dead.”
The youngest soldier sobbed harder, and Rezkin wondered how he had ever made it through basic training.
Rezkin shook his head and said, “Here is what is going to happen. We are going to untie you and give each of you a sword because you may need them later. If you make trouble, I will kill you, and believe me when I tell you that the two of us are more than enough to handle the ten of you.”
The men appeared to contemplate the claim and seemed to accept that Rezkin could do some damage, but they glanced at Wesson doubtfully.
“Give them a demonstration so they do not do anything foolish,” Rezkin said.
Wesson nodded and then snapped his hands through the air. A raging stream of fire burst over the soldiers’ heads, singeing the leaves on the trellis as the golden flame exposed the terror on their shadowed faces. Shouts of scourge and afflicted and demon could be heard under the thunderous roar of flame.
Rezkin looked at the mage and said, “That was a little dramatic.”
Wesson grinned and met the most determined soldier’s anxious gaze. “Sorry, I tried to rein it in, but I got excited.”
“Where are the purifiers?” shouted one man.
Wesson glanced at Rezkin and then said, “The purifiers are dead. They were given a chance to repent, but they could not be swayed.”
Rezkin and Wesson untied the soldiers, who each hurried to put distance between himself and the mage. They were instructed to collect a sword from the pile and then stand in a circle in the center of courtyard facing outward. Once the men were in place, Wesson began weaving the difficult spell. Rezkin watched him with interest, the process seeming needlessly complicated. To the mundane soldiers, the mage appeared to be erratically waving his hands in the air as he muttered; but, when Rezkin focused, he could see the complex tapestry of vimara that started with Wesson’s hands and then expanded outward and around the entire room. Wesson began cinching it inward, the weave getting tighter as it wrapped around the soldiers.
“Uh, Rez? You might want to leave,” Wesson said, the waver in his voice baring his concern.
“What is the problem?” Rezkin said.
The men began to panic, even more so once they realized their feet were rooted to the ground.
“Well, um, you kind of got wrapped in the spell, and … um … I am not sure you can get out of it.”
As Rezkin stared, he noticed a small splotched cat had come to sit beside the mage. It watched the proceedings with interest and did not seem concerned in the least by the commotion.
“It will be fine. Continue,” Rezkin said.
“I appreciate your confidence in my abilities,” Wesson said through gritted teeth, “but this would not be the spell with which to test yourself.”
Wesson threaded the last strand into the spell, splitting it into multiple lines and attaching one end to the trickle of vimara within each of the men. The soldiers’ vimara began to seep into the spell, keeping it powered as Wesson withdrew his own. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Rezkin, who was wrapped in threads as well.