Armed & Magical

Vegard looked, saw Banan, and spat an obscenity that described him perfectly. Sounded like Vegard knew Banan, too.



I could see into the collective minds of the Nightshades. Their intentions were as clear as if they had yelled them up to me. They were going to collapse the stage. They weren’t aiming for the stage itself or the dignitaries seated on it; they were going for the supports under the stage. The stage was a good dozen feet above the street. The Guardians posted around the base of the stage would be crushed under the combined weight of falling wood and people. The fall from the stage might kill some; but the Nightshades were there to ensure their two main targets didn’t survive.



Justinius Valerian and Mychael Eiliesor.



“Target?” Riston was suddenly at my other side.



“Mychael and the archmagus. The Nightshades are collapsing the stage,” I said.



And a lot of people were going to die when they did.



Vegard saw Banan’s people moving. “Riston, alert—”



Riston was already charging down the stairs. “I’m on it!” he yelled back.



I dimly heard him shouting orders. Everything below had melted into slow motion. Banan’s men stopped, and I felt their power quickly building. Armed Guardians were pouring out of the citadel, but they wouldn’t get there in time. The spells of Banan’s people weren’t silent, but there were too many of them. If only a handful of them survived, it would be enough to do what they’d planned.



Kill the archmagus and the paladin, and take a lot of innocent people with them when they did it.



I didn’t think; I just reacted. I could move small objects with my mind; the same went for stopping. That was what I could do before the Saghred. From my vantage point, the Nightshades were just small objects in need of moving and stopping. I didn’t have to break them, just their concentration. I struck, and the ones who hadn’t bothered to magically shield themselves went flying. None of them landed on their feet, and some of them were thrown against buildings. None of those got back up. That maneuver alone cut Banan’s numbers by half.



Banan laughed and applauded in the window across from me. Panicked screams came from below. The stage was collapsing on itself. My hand instinctively shot out to stop it. Four stories up made no difference. I’d always used gestures when moving anything bigger than myself; it helped me to focus my magic. The stage wasn’t a small object. The screams faded in my ears, and all I could hear was the hissing in and out of my own breathing. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to keep the stage from falling, but I suspected it wouldn’t be long. What I was doing was mind over matter. Problem was, my mind couldn’t get past how heavy that matter was. And I was doing it alone. No Saghred, just me. The new, improved, really scary me.



Mychael was helping Justinius Valerian off the stage. I had no idea how Mychael managed to steady them both on the pitching and collapsing platform, but he was paladin for a reason. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a crossbow bolt fly toward them. Valerian saw it, too. He viciously spat something at it and the bolt reversed direction and hit the sniper in the chest, sending him off the rooftop and down to the street.



The stage was coming down whether I wanted it to or not. Gravity would only be defied for so long. My hand shook violently as I let what was left of the stage come to rest on the cobbles, praying that everyone around the perimeter was out of the way. My breathing was ragged and I heard gasps and whimpers I dimly recognized as mine.



“Good job, ma’am,” I heard Vegard say. His voice was tight with awe and maybe fear.



Phaelan looked a little wild-eyed. “Shit.”



Yeah. I felt the same way.



I leaned over and rested my hands on wobbly knees, trying to get my wind back. I could barely lift my head, let alone another stage. I looked out the window.



Banan Ryce was on the street and in a big hurry to get somewhere, and it looked like that somewhere was away from me. He vanished into the student section.



I pushed Vegard and Phaelan out of the way and stumbled down the stairs. Black speckles danced on the edges of my vision and I felt woozy. I pushed that out of the way, too.



“Stop!” Vegard yelled.



I didn’t stop, but I didn’t get away from him, either. I’d just lifted a stage; he hadn’t.



He stopped me with a hand on my arm. I noticed that it was a very respectful hand, no hard grip.



“I’m going after him.” My strength was coming back, and my rage had never left me. “I’m a seeker. I can track the bastard.”



Vegard hesitated, clearly torn between duty and getting his hands on Banan Ryce.



“Go.” His voice was more growl than words. “We’ve got your back.”



I didn’t stop to ask who besides Vegard had my back. I assumed it was Riston and Phaelan. Truth was, I didn’t care. I’d have gone after Banan Ryce alone. It wouldn’t have been smart, but I was too angry to worry about smarts and my own safety right now.



The square was chaos. Wading through a crowd of panicked people was bad enough, but multiply that times ten when those people were magic users. They were scared, they were angry, and they were looking to protect themselves. The magical distortion from their shields should have negated any tracking I could do. It didn’t. Banan Ryce’s magical scent rode the air. Time to remind the bastard just how good a seeker I was, new powers or not.



I tracked Banan to a side street that was little more than an alley. He wasn’t trying to hide; he was trying to run. I didn’t blame him. You didn’t try to kill that many people and hang around for kudos.



“Wait,” Vegard told me. He scanned the crowd over my head. “Jori!” he bellowed.



Moments later, a young Guardian pushed his way through the crowd to us. His eyes were borderline panicked. “Sir Vegard, what happened? Who—”



“Later,” Vegard yelled over the screaming and shouting people surging around us.



The kid had a crossbow. He didn’t look old enough to use it. I was, and better yet, I had a target. I didn’t need magic to take out Banan Ryce.



“I need your bow,” I told him.



The young Guardian looked to Vegard.



“Give it to her,” Vegard ordered. “And your bolts, too.”



He obeyed. Vegard was getting downright handy to have around.



“Riston and Captain Benares are somewhere behind us,” Vegard told him. “Find them and tell them we’ve gone in there.” He jerked his head toward the alley. “We want backup.”



The young man’s eyes went wide. “Benares?”



“Yes, that Captain Benares,” Vegard barked. “Get over it.”



“Yes, sir. Over it, sir. I’ll find Sir Riston.”



Vegard and I crossed the street and stopped with our backs against the wall leading into the alley. I knew Banan had stopped somewhere in that alley. I could feel him. Turning that corner just might get our heads blown off.



“How many ways out of that alley?” I asked Vegard.



“One exit, one courtyard.”



I somehow knew Banan wasn’t going for the exit. “He’s in the courtyard waiting for something, and I don’t think it’s us.”



Vegard drew his ax off his back. His hands and the ax blade flickered with blue fire. Now that’s what I called backup.



I checked around the corner. The alley was empty. We went in. The entrance to the courtyard was about halfway down the alley.



The heat from two furnaces against the far wall hit us head-on. Leaning against walls and lying on tables were mirrors in various stages of completion. There were piles of sand for making them, and crates for shipping them.



A mirror factory. Just my kind of place.



Some of the mirrors were man height. They could have been mirrors to admire yourself in, or they could be an exit for Banan—or an entrance for his backup. I hated mirrors.



Mirror magic took a lot of discipline and a lot of concentration, and could make a lot of trouble if the mage were so inclined. Mirror mages could use mirrors to translocate people, manifest creatures, or move objects from one place to another. Then there was the spying and peeking that could be done from any bespelled and unwarded mirror. I was sure there were perfectly moral mirror mages—I just hadn’t met any.



Banan was there and he wasn’t alone. He could never resist leaving a crime scene without a souvenir. In this case, his souvenir was also a hostage.



She was young, blond, and terrified. From her age and the simple robes she wore, she was probably a student.



As leader of the Nightshades, Banan had spent a lot of time outdoors and looked it. His dark hair and tanned face were a startling contrast to his pale green eyes. He was rugged, he was handsome, and he knew it. He also fancied himself a ladies’ man. Unfortunately the ladies he fancied didn’t always fancy him back, and that was just the way Banan liked it. Murder was his job; rape was what he did for fun.



Banan didn’t look concerned in the least to see himself on the business end of my crossbow. “Ah, Raine, you found us. I should have known you would sniff me out. You were magnificent back there. You performed just as I’d expected—and as my clients were promised. Everybody’s happy.”



The bastard had set me up. Someone wanted to see what I could do, and Banan had set up the audition.



“Well, almost everybody.” Banan’s grin was crooked. He thought it was charming. “My two targets survived, didn’t they?”



“They did.”



The elf shrugged. “Well, if at first you don’t succeed…”



I pushed down the urge to pull the trigger. The girl was too close to Banan for comfort, either mine or hers. The urge didn’t go without a fight. That was fine; I didn’t plan to keep it locked down for long. As soon as I could get her out of my line of fire, I’d give Banan a performance I could be proud of. I’d even put a little magical something extra on the tip of the bolt that’d slice through his shields like hot butter.



I gazed down the bolt’s shaft. I had a gratifyingly clear shot at the space between Banan’s green eyes. He pulled the girl tighter against him. Vegard growled low in the back of his throat, and his magic clawed the air with the sound. Banan ignored him, all of his attention on me. He didn’t consider Vegard much of a threat. His mistake.