Page 5 of War Mage (The War Brides of Adrik #4)

Adara

“O w!” I grit out. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“Sit still,” the troll woman gently rebukes while repeatedly stabbing me with a needle of sharpened dragon bone.

“ You sit still,” I grouse back, desperately trying not to wince. Or cry. I definitely don’t want to cry in front of the queen. Or Lacrys, who stands stoically in the corner.

“A troll child would be less squirmy than you are,” remarks the troll woman, still intent on her work.

“I’m not a troll,” I mutter. “My skin is thinner.”

“And yet you are not the first human to get a tattoo,” says the trolless, teasing amusement in her voice.

I look down at my forearm, where a large rune has begun to form. It is a complicated symbol, made up of a few smaller Fae runes, intricately woven together into one image. I don’t know all the runes and their meanings, but I pick out “forbidden,” “friend,” and “fire.” The ink the troll woman is using is made of the queen’s magical blood and the gods know what else. Coming together, it effectively binds me so that I cannot use my magic against Queen Adalind or anyone that she considers an ally. A permanent shackle.

I balked when the queen first told me about her requirements for me to take off my iron manacles, but she was firm. Either I get the tattoo done by her wisewoman or there would be no deal. And I need that deal.

Freedom for the Mage’s Tower . It is always something that we mages have talked about in whispers, with longing and no hope. No kingdom is going to give up its mages. Magic is power, simply put. Once one has power, there’s no way that one will let it go. Yet, Queen Adalind has promised that she will. In exchange for my measly life and a successful assassination. A small price to pay. If she’s telling the truth.

I find myself wishing that I was an orc, with their ability to smell lies. The queen could be playing on my desperation to see my dream fulfilled, just as I am playing on her desperation to rid herself of this demon. I have no way of knowing.

The troll woman keeps at her work, my arm burning with pain. I don’t know if this is how tattoos normally feel, or if it is the blood magic in the ink, but I am having a hard time not snatching away my arm from her strong fingers, even though we are only half-done.

“Can we take a break?” I gasp out once the pain becomes too much.

“This must be done quickly, in one sitting,” the trolless explains calmly, “or the magic may not stick. You want your manacles removed and to have access to your magic again, don’t you?”

More than anything . I’ve been cut off from my mana for months, the experience painful in more than one way. It’s like missing a limb. A part of a lung, like I can’t quite breathe without my mana. But even that yearning cannot take away the agony in my arm, the burning pain that reverberates from every prick of the needle.

I look at the queen, who is looking placidly at me as I undergo this torture. I have a hard time not baring my teeth at her when our eyes meet like an angry, wounded animal. For though I understand why she is putting me through this, it’s still her fault I must endure this tattoo.

“Tell me about the mission,” I grind out of my teeth, still trying to keep my tears at bay. “The target.”

“You do not give orders to Queen Adalind,” Lacrys responds evenly before the queen can speak. “You are a prisoner, she is your queen.”

“Whether you like it or not, Urim ,” I say, emphasizing his real name that I now know, just because I’m sure it will bother him, “I am not a prisoner any longer. I am a partner, an invaluable piece of a quest that cannot be completed without me. So I can ask about the mission in any way I damn well please.”

“No bickering, the two of you,” the queen gently chides in her sweet voice. “You will need to work together before long and we can't have the mission fail just because you two cannot get along.”

Work together? With Lacrys? “What do you mean?” I ask.

The queen gives me an assessing gaze before answering. “About two months ago, Yorian’s Cabal set in motion a ritual that was supposed to give them the strength of Grazrath, Archdemon of Pain and Misery. They misunderstood the language of the ritual, however, and instead of empowering themselves, they released Grazrath from his prison. He was able to solidify his hold on this plane and cement himself into the body he was possessing and escape, but not before Lady Pellia Santir was able to wound him.”

“How did a human wound an archdemon?” I ask.

“She almost castrated him with a cursed blade,” Queen Adalind responds, with a hint of a smile.

I give a surprised bark of laughter, even as I wince with the needle.

“Hold still,” the trolless admonishes.

Ignoring the wisewoman, I ask the queen, “And nearly cutting off his cock didn’t kill him? Aren’t there major arteries near there?”

She shakes her head. “It appears not. His immortality protected him and he flew away.”

“And the cursed blade?” I press. “Could it not be used to attack him again? Why use me when you have that?”

“The blade is gone,” she says simply. “It was imbued with so much dark magic, it was too dangerous to allow it to exist. And making another is out of the question. It would require hundreds of human sacrifices.”

I hold back a shiver at the thought. Though I have studied dark magic in theory, in practice it is an abomination. “Then where is Grazrath now?”

Queen Adalind answers,“We did not know that for quite some time, but a few weeks ago Barakrin suddenly declared war on us.”

“Barakrin? The country of vampires?” I ask, dumbfounded. The vampires of Barakrin have been peaceful isolationists for hundreds of years.

“Yes,” confirms Queen Adalind. “Grazrath created the vampires millennia ago to be his soldiers and he has claimed their loyalty again. He has killed their king and has taken over, mobilizing the Barakrini armies against Adrik and Orik. Their goal is to conquer and keep the sentient populations as blood slaves. From there, they will spread over the continent like locusts. No one is safe until Grazrath is back in the Nether where he belongs.”

“Is Grazrath leading the vampires in their attacks?”

“No, our intelligence states that he never leaves the castle in the capital of Evernight. He prefers to stay there to indulge in sadistic pleasures.”

That could be a problem. “How will I get close enough to him to be able to attack him with my soulfire if he’s safely ensconced in his castle then? I am not truly an assassin; I have not trained in stealth to be able to sneak close to him.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” the queen tells me. “We have a plan. Urim?” She turns to the emotionless orc standing at her side. He delays for a moment, then finally starts talking.

“We received communiques from a resistance movement in Barakrin, giving us shipping routes for slave transports. With this, our navy intercepted a shipment of slaves from Terria on its way to Barakrin, transported by a slaver-pirate by the name of Vargan the Honorless. They have opened trading relations with that country because of their thriving slave trade. It is how they have been getting their sentient blood slaves. We have freed the slaves on the ships and taken the slavers and . . . interrogated them. Apparently, Grazrath has put a premium on unusual or powerful slaves. Especially mages. They are to be earmarked for him and him alone and Vargan had twenty such slaves in his ship. One was an air mage. We will use that to our advantage. I will pose as Vargan, and you as the air mage. We will slip into the country under the cover of a summoned storm and tell everyone that our ship went down at sea and we are the only survivors. That should get you delivered right to the demon, where you can strike the killing blow.”

“But you are an orc,” I say bluntly. “Not a Terrian. Why would they believe that you are Vargan?”

“Vargan is an orc,” Lacrys replies evenly, surprising me.

“What?” I ask. “But everyone knows that orcs don’t keep slaves.”

“Some do and Vargan is one,” the orc explains. “It is where his title comes from: ‘the Honorless.’ Those who violate Orikesh culture in unforgivable ways are called Honorless and are banished without mercy. Slaving is one of the surest ways to become Honorless, though there are others. A decade ago, a clan of orcs, the ka Grishna, were found to be dealing in slaves in secret and the whole clan was banished. A few of the ka Grishna found a new home in Terria when they were expelled and became prolific orc flesh peddlers. Vargan has become their leader in recent years and it is he who we captured, along with his crew. I will pretend to be him.”

“How will you pretend to be him, if he is well-known?” I challenge. This plan seems flimsy to me. “Has he sold slaves in Barakrin before this? Would he have repeat customers that would know his face?”

“Our intelligence says that he has only sold the slaves through intermediaries in the past month,” Lacrys tells me. “This shipment of exclusive slaves for Grazrath would be his first visit to the country in person. He has a signed contract with Grazrath that allows him entrance to the country that we recovered when we took his ship. With that, my identity as Vargan will be believed. I will only need to imitate his recognizable features, like his Honorless brand.”

“A brand?” I question.

“When an Honorless is banished from Orik they are given a brand on their forehead that marks them as being unable to return to their fatherland. An Honorless that attempts to re-enter Orik would be killed on sight.”

I raise a brow. “You’ll be branded with this symbol of banishment? How will you return to your homeland then?”

“It will be an illusion,” the queen responds, interjecting into the conversation. “Urim will receive a magic tattoo like yours that will allow him to make slight changes to his appearance. It is necessary for Urim to go with you, as Vargan, to make sure you are sold directly to Grazrath. There’s no other way. Once you’re in Grazrath’s bevy of slaves, you’ll be able to get in front of the demon and can use your soulfire against him.”

“I don’t hear the part of the plan where I am to escape afterwards,” I comment wryly. “Is this truly to be a suicide mission, then?”

“Can you not use your voidwalking to escape?” the queen asks curiously.

“I could,” I acknowledge. “But voidwalking is tricky in buildings. I could kill myself by teleporting into a wall or out a window on a higher floor. I would need to learn the layout of the castle in order to get out without dying.”

Lacrys and the queen exchange a glance, having a silent conversation. “We can get you a map,” Queen Adalind finally says. “Urim still has a contact in Barakrin’s resistance movement who can procure such a thing. If you study a map, would that be enough to help you voidwalk out of there?”

“It could only help,” I reply. “It would need to be very accurate, distance-wise, but if it is, I should be able to calculate how many steps to take in the void and what direction to go.”

“Good,” responds the queen. “You will also have to take Urim out with you. His survival is important.”

I don’t stop my lip from curling in distaste. “Oh, I’m sure that Urim can take care of himself.”

“I can,” Lacrys replies bluntly before the queen can speak. “And it is likely that you won’t survive the soulfire and I’ll have to make my own way out anyway.”

I roll my eyes at him. “So comforting. Do you also go around telling the sick how long they have left to live?”

“Peace, peace you two,” breaks in Queen Adalind. “But let me make something very clear, Adara. Urim is important, both to the kingdoms and the Crown personally. I am sending him on this mission only because that gives it the highest chance of success. If you have the opportunity to escape with him at the end and leave him to die, the consequences will be dire. I would consider our deal void and you would have to answer for his death.”

“That is unfair!” I protest. “This mission is dangerous, with many opportunities for things to go wrong. What if he dies and it’s not my fault?”

“Then you will be brought before a tribunal of orcs to tell your tale,” Queen Adalind responds calmly. “Where they will determine if you are lying about the circumstances of Urim’s death.”

“Great, so let me make sure I have this all correct. On top of assassinating an archdemon, I’m also this orc’s keeper and need to make sure he survives this mission? Assuming my soulfire doesn’t kill me immediately, of course,” I say with sarcasm.

“Is there truly no way for you to use your soulfire without ill effect?” the queen asks, ignoring all my other points. “Perhaps if you practice . . .”

I sigh. “Practicing is impossible. I only have so much of my core soul to give and once it is gone, I’m dead. Erased from existence, without even a ghost to go to the Nether. No, I’ve only read of one way and it’s not something we can do at this point.”

“What is that?” questions Lacrys, his face still impassive.

“A soultie,” I say. “When two souls are bound together, the mage who uses their soul element has twice the core soul to use and won’t over-tax their own. But unless you know someone willing to let me bind our souls together forever . . .” I trail off, letting the impossibility of what I’ve said hang in the air.

“Binding souls?” asks Lacrys, “like with a mating bite?”

“That’s one of the easiest ways to bind souls,” I acknowledge. “But I doubt you can find an orc that would be willing to mate with me just on the off-chance that it would help me complete this mission without dying.”

Lacrys looks thoughtful, but Queen Adalind shakes her head. “That’s out of the question. I’m sorry, but orcs can only mate with one person for life and suffer a wasting sickness if they lose their Claimed mates through desertion. I will not ask any orc to give up their chance for a family and children to mate with you for our convenience. Especially since, if you did survive but left them after the mission was complete, it would be a long and torturous death awaiting them for their sacrifice. I’m afraid we’ll simply have to risk you casting the soulfire on your own.”

I sigh again. “I figured that’s what you would say. I wouldn’t want to be bound to an orc for life anyway.”

Now that I’ve heard the whole thing, I can admit that it’s a good plan, just not for me. It shows that they don’t see me as anything more than a pawn that can be sacrificed. Sure, they’ll give me a chance at survival, but it’s obvious that my living to tell the tale is not a priority. And if I am not alive, there will be no one who can ensure that the queen will keep her promise to free the Mage’s Tower.

Continuing, I say, “I want it in writing that if I succeed in killing the demon, even if I die in the process, that you will give the Mage’s Tower its sovereignty. Then I want that written contract to be given to one of the mages at the tower to hold, so that the Crown can be kept to its promise.” My voice is firm as I say this, but the effect of my confidence is a little ruined as I wince at the end, the needle becoming especially painful for a moment.

“That can be done,” Queen Adalind says, not looking upset at my demand. “I can have it signed and sent to the Tower by tomorrow.”

“Good,” I reply, then take a steadying breath. I look down at the progress of the tattoo. It doesn’t look much bigger than it did when we started talking. Damn, this is going to take forever.

“Are you going to tell her the whole truth?” The troll woman asks suddenly, breaking into the conversation, still working on my tattoo.

The queen looks suddenly nervous. A strange expression to see on her usually confident face. “No. It’s not important right now.”

The trolless looks up, light censure in her eyes. “Adalind, I’m sure she would disagree. She is going to be risking life on this mission, for the safety of both Adrik and Orik. For the survival of all Anar’i. She deserves to know everything.”

It’s interesting to me that the troll woman speaks to the queen without titles and feels comfortable enough to admonish her. Who is this wisewoman? But it is her words that take most of my interest. “What is she speaking of? What truth?”

“It’s nothing,” insists Queen Adalind. “A translation issue, that’s all.”

“Adalind . . .” the troll woman says, more firmly. “Tell her, or I will. Be better than our enemy.”

“You said that we need to be honest with each other,” I point out, using her words against her.

“Fine,” the queen bites out, obviously annoyed. She takes a deep breath and blows it out before hesitantly saying, “There isn’t a . . . guarantee that you can kill the demon.”

“ What? ” I sputter. “But then, why are we even doing this in the first place?” I gesture at the tattoo forming across my forearm.

“The queen means that the text we found says that soulfire makes a demon’s host vulnerable ,” Urim explains. “Those are the exact words. So it isn’t clear what vulnerable means, exactly. That could mean that it can kill the demon, and the host they are in, or it might just mean that it weakens them so that they can be killed. There’s no way to know for certain without more information, but records from the God War are rare. The scholars are scouring the archives for more information, but it’s likely they won’t find anything before we leave on the morrow.”

“So I could go through this entire mission, succeed in getting in front of the demon, hit him with my soulfire, give up my life, and still fail?” I am aghast. They would have truly set me up in such an impossible way and not told me if it weren’t for the trolless? I mean that little to them?

“It is possible ,” agrees the queen reluctantly.

“Then, I want to renegotiate the deal,” I declare. “I’m not going through all of this just to fail because of a misinterpreted scroll.”

“What is there to renegotiate?” Urim asks in that even tone of voice of his. “You either do this mission or you die.”

“But as I’ve said before, you need me more than I need you,” I point out. “If I’m going to die anyway, whether now or on this mission, I don’t have anything to lose, do I? But you all, you have your lives and your freedom and your country.”

“What are you saying?” asks Queen Adalind calmly.

“I want the success of the mission to be redefined. If I get in front of the demon, as long as I hit him with my soulfire, I want it to count as a success. Even if Grazrath doesn’t die outright. The Mage’s Tower is to be freed if I can do this. That would make it still worth doing.”

The queen and Urim exchange looks again. Then Queen Adalind turns to me, looking at me with a searching gaze. I meet her eyes with determination, letting my will battle hers.

A minute, maybe more, passes, but I don’t back down. Everything important to me depends on me winning this battle. Then she finally nods in acknowledgment.

“So be it.”