Traitor for Hire: Mage Code

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Traitor for Hire:

  Mage Code

  Max Irons

  Copyright © 2017 Max Irons

  All rights reserved.

  For Jack.

  You always believed, and now I've done it.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Galeron Triste was hungry. His stomach gurgled and growled as he sat at a small table in the low light of the Broken Blade Tavern. He watched the other patrons devour their orders of roasted duck, breads, piping-hot soups, and cold tankards of drink from the deep cellar. He gave an occasional glance at one of the barmaids delivering seared beef, steaming from the flames. The savory aroma reached his nose, and for a brief moment, he tasted the meat on his tongue, thick and juicy with just the right amount of chewiness. Then, it was gone, and his stomach rumbled.

  "Need a bib there, Galeron?"

  Galeron scowled across the table at Iven Porter, fellow mercenary and food watcher. "I'm hungry. What did you expect?"

  Iven chuckled and leaned back in the chair, rumpling his sandy hair. "A little more self-respect out of a hardened killer like you. Yet here you are, drooling like some newborn."

  Galeron wiped his chin. Dry. "Two days and no job. You'd think Black Drake rebels burning down farms and robbing caravans would guarantee work."

  "If you were a mage, we wouldn't have this problem," said Iven. "Men would pay good coin for a mercenary mage."

  "Considering that magic is outlawed, how would I do it?" asked Galeron.

  Iven shrugged, watching one of the younger barmaids dart around with a platter of tankards balanced over her head. "Find a mage, convince him to teach you the ways of magic, and then return here so that we can make proper coin." He flashed him a grin. "I think you can get it done before supper."

  Galeron glanced about. Other mercenaries sat at the tables on a low dais around them, the rumble of conversations and haze of pipe smoke hanging in the air. Strange. The noon hour approached, yet most of them were still here. The Broken Blade housed mercenaries in between jobs for a portion of their profits. Rooms were free, but the food and drink were not. Today was destined to be another slow day. No job, no coin, so no food.

  "We could hunt down a rat," Iven said. "I heard with enough spice, you don't even taste it."

  His stomach lurched, and he shut his eyes, swallowing. Hurling on the table would earn him no favors with management. There wasn't anything for his stomach to get rid of, anyway. Galeron squashed the thought of the rat. He never should have told that story.

  "What about the woman you spoke to last night?" asked Galeron. "What did she have to say?"

  "She wasn't all that interested in talking," said Iven. "Wanted to know if I'd like to see her house."

  Galeron looked at him, raising an eyebrow. A familiar story. "And then?"

  Iven grinned. "Went back to her place and convinced her that I needed a proper meal." He rubbed his belly. "She made a very good pork stew, but she had leftover melon tarts, Galeron. Melon tarts! Sweet, spicy, and just a hint of cinnamon." He wiggled in his chair and sighed. "So, I ate, and when she went to change into something more...ah...suitable, I hopped out an open window."

  Galeron's mouth watered, but he swallowed and glanced at him. "I really hate you some days."

  Iven waved a hand. "Bah, you'd have already starved without me."

  "I'm going to starve with you. Why didn't you bring back food?"

  "I'd look a bit fishy running down the street with some lady's kettle in my hand, now wouldn't I?" He spread his hands. "Besides, I'd have to return it eventually, and wouldn't that be an awkward conversation?"

  "Why return it?" asked Galeron. "And why didn't you stay?"

  Iven cocked his head to one side. "Really? I can't steal some poor woman's cookery. It was probably the only one she had, and I didn't stay because the last thing we need is for little Ivens to be running around the fair city of Trinetta."

  Galeron snorted. "Stole her food."

  "Lie! I asked for it, and she offered. No theft involved. Honestly, it's no wonder we can't get work with you over there spoiling my reputation."

  "You lost it a long time ago," Galeron said.

  "That business in Azizi doesn't count," Iven said. "How were we supposed to know they ate people?"

  "Gathering information instead of chasing women might've helped."

  "Mad job anyway." Iven leaned forward, long face twitching in concentration. "Who really believes those legends?

  Galeron rubbed the bridge of his nose and stared at the closed tavern door. "Better hope they're wrong."

  "Oh yes, I quiver at the thought of Hamish's wraith claiming a heart to replace the one the shaman ate."

  "Lord Hamish," Galeron said, raising a finger. "He was picky about that."

  "Because a title makes it better?"

  "Keeps the story straight."

  The tavern door opened, and a tall figure in dark robes strode into the building. It was summer. The man had to be dying of heatstroke under there. What was he doing in clothes like that? The noise level plummeted as all eyes turned.

  Iven leaned over. "Think he's here for a drink?"

  Galeron squinted. The man approached a table with four muscle-bound sell-swords. Former soldiers, judging by the polearms and the tarnished breastplates that leaned against their chairs. King's men at one point. The stranger's conversation was short, and he moved to a new table.

  "Nope." Galeron's stomach twisted. Maybe they'd get lucky.

  "This is it," Iven said. "Here comes our food."

  "We're in the back," he said. "It's not us."

  "Who ran off with your hope?"

  "Melia." He scowled and shoved away memories of soft, full lips and the scent of ripened tomatoes.

  "Boiling bones, Galeron, that was last harvest. Get over it."

  The stranger moved to another table. Whatever he was looking for, it wasn't former soldiers or expert bowmen.

  "Besides, she was all wrong for you."

  Galeron glared at him. "Expert on the heart?"

  He snorted. "You could learn a lot from me. Pick a woman with adventure in her spirit. What could a farmer's daughter have offered you?"

  "Food."

  Iven blinked. "Fair enough, but then you wouldn't be here to starve with me, and I'm much better company than she was."

  "Not as pretty."

  "Not as... you're no regal visage either." Ivan mumbled something else under his breath, but Galeron ignored him.

  The man in black headed up the small dais and approached their table. He pulled up a chair and sat down between Galeron and Iven. "Your rates, gentlemen. What are they?"

  Galeron peered under the hood, but the shadows concealed his face. A goatee protruded from the folds of cloth, but otherwise, he could see nothing.

  "Depends on the job," said Iven.
"Iven Porter's the name. What do you want us for?"

  The man leaned on the table. One of his hands was bright red. Recently burned, perhaps? "That would depend on what you can do."

  Galeron frowned. A man walks into a tavern looking for a couple of sell-swords, but he doesn't say what he needs? Something was wrong with the picture, but what?

  "Escort is usually the name of the game," Iven said. "If you're looking for well-traveled hands, that'd be us. We've been to Raya, Azizi, Soterios, and even the borders of the Han Empire. I scout, track, and have been known as an amazing shot, if I do say so myself."

  "I see." The man paused. "No firelocks or pistolettes in your arsenal?"

  Iven shook his head. "Tools for the battlefield, good sir. King Soren may like them in his armies, but bandits don't usually wear plate armor."

  "If you did run into...bandits... in plate armor, could you handle them?"

  Iven stopped for a moment. Galeron's hand slipped to the hilt of a small war ax on his belt. Plate armor. True soldiers wore it. Ones paid a salary by kings. No bandit could ever afford something like that. This man wanted more than just protection.

  "I suppose," Iven said. "If there weren't too many, and I had plenty of bodkins, I could take care of bandits like that. Arrow to the neck or groin ought to do it, where the armor's weakest and all that." He glanced at Galeron, face contracting.

  "What of your silent friend?"

  "Oh, Galeron? He'd be the enforcer." Iven grinned. "You don't want to be on the other end of his blade."

  "He's certainly big enough," said the man. "What do you carry?"

  Galeron didn't move. These questions. He was looking for something specific, yet acted like he knew nothing. What could it hurt to tell him? He might pay them, and that would mean food. "One war ax, one shield, and one longsword."

  "Hmm, brutal, but effective." Silence ensued, then, "You're both hired."

  Galeron shot Iven a quick look. Hired for what? Iven nodded.

  "While we appreciate the offer, we'd like to know what you want us to do," Iven said. "You understand, just to make sure it's nothing above our skills and--"

  "Does ten thousand ardani for the next three years sound like a fair wage?" the man asked.

  Galeron's eyebrows jumped. Ten thousand? Who was he? A thousand ardani equaled the yearly wage of a common laborer. To offer them this much was ludicrous, and for only three years no less. He studied the man, sneaking a glance at Iven from the corner of his eye. His partner's mouth opened so wide he could have swallowed a horse in one gulp.

  "Done!" Iven said.

  "Wait a minute." Galeron sat up straight. "We need to discuss this."

  Iven snorted. "Nothing to discuss. We're hungry, he pays us, and then we buy food. Problem solved, and for three years."

  Galeron's stomach growled, and he beat down thoughts of the succulent feasts that could be had on such coin. He couldn't think with his belly. Bad way to make decisions. Still...

  "Ignore him," said Iven. "Famine's made him a little slow in the head."

  "As a show of good faith, order whatever you wish from the tavern. I'll take care of the price in advance. When you've finished eating, come meet me by the fountains." He stood. "I will explain more there. Fewer ears to hear."

  The man made a brief stop to whisper something in the tavern owner's ear and then walked out the door.

  Once it closed, Galeron rounded on Iven. "Stupid move."

  Iven pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "Unless you see someone else offering money and a job today, I didn't think we had much choice." He patted his belly. "Army marches on its stomach, don't you know. We can't buy food with sad stories and a pitiful face." He smirked. "No matter how ugly you look."

  Galeron let the jab pass and traced the scars on the right side of his face. A vicious white wolf and a reminder about haste. "We don't know anything. Suppose he drags us off to the far corners of the world. Fat lot of good coin will do us there."

  "Galeron, you really need to--"

  "What would you like for lunch, good sirs?"

  They looked up. One of the barmaids stood next to the table. She shook her brown hair from her eyes and waited, looking from one to the other.

  Iven rubbed his hands together. "Thought you'd never ask. One trencher of hunter's stew, a bit of that roasted duck, and a large tankard of cider."

  "Same," Galeron said. "But bring me your lemon drink instead of the cider."

  She stared at him for a moment. "Be back with your food soon."

  "Still can't hold your cider, can you?" asked Iven.

  "I like being in control at all times."

  "You should've just ordered a lemon to suck. I can't tell the difference between it and that bilge water you like."

  "All that bad drink killed your taste."

  "It's not bad drink; I'm just not picky," Iven said. "What do you think our new patron wants?"

  Galeron bit his lip. Who knew? The possibilities expanded the more he thought about it. Maybe he was an informer from the king, looking for disposable troops. Maybe he represented a merchant with less than legal cargo. That might explain the three-year deal. "I'm not sure."

  Iven sighed. "We knew that one. Tell me something I don't know."

  "Ladies pity you and your desperate nature."

  "At least I notice them."

  The barmaid arrived with their food a few minutes later. Iven vanished behind his tankard and trencher of stew. The first bite of duck melted in Galeron's mouth with a flood of savory and salty flavor. He shuddered and smiled as a tingling warmth spread from his throat to his toes. Food at last, and the lemon drink was nowhere near as bad as Iven insisted. Honey sweetened the sourness, leaving a cool and refreshing aftereffect in his mouth. The meal passed in silence. Good food always stifled any conversation.

  After finishing, Galeron stood and stretched his legs, eyelids starting to droop. He shook his head. He'd needed that much food to make up for the past two days, but it still made him long for his pallet in the upstairs room. He descended the short steps and headed for the back staircase. Time to collect his gear. He brushed past a few sell-swords coming down. One had his head in his hands, the other shielding his eyes from the dim light.

  Galeron gave a half smile and continued. He reached the room he shared with Iven and grabbed his things from the pallet. Galeron pulled his quilted doublet over his tunic and laced it up. Threadbare, but in the summer's heat, that would be a good thing. With the payments, he could buy a newer one. He stuffed his gray hooded cloak into his pack, along with a whetstone, oil, cleaning cloth, and sewing kit. His heater shield, a pie-slice Delktian model covered in a thin sheet of steel, he slung on his back. Galeron lashed his sword to his belt and picked up his pack.

  He turned around and smirked as Iven shuffled into the room, looking a little green in the face. "Ate too much," he mumbled.

  Galeron grunted. Served him right. The woman he'd conned into dinner must be laughing somewhere. "Hurl outside."

  Iven cursed at him and gathered his things. Galeron checked his boots. No holes, yet, but the edges of his brown trousers had begun to fray. Something else to replace.

  "Bowstrings?" asked Galeron.

  "Got 'em," said Iven.

  "Fletching?"

  "Got 'em."

  "Dignity?"

  "Never had it."

  Galeron nodded. Not too sick. "Let's go."

  They descended the stairs and out into the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. Wooden, two floored buildings jutted out over the street, casting deep shadows over the gray-paved road. A steady stream of people flowed in the opposite direction of the city's main square, choking the already narrow lanes of Trinetta's poor district. What was going on?

  Galeron waded his way into the sea of bodies, ignoring the screams and shouts as he pressed forward. Iven walked behind him, gripping his shoulder. Black smoke drifted skyward in the distance, too far away to pose immediate danger. He shoved ahead, letting his other shoulder lea
d and plow a path.

  They didn't have far to go. The Broken Blade was just deep enough in the poor part of town to ensure that some foolish nobleman couldn't easily wander in drunk and get himself killed, but one right turn at the end of the lane put them on the main thoroughfare, fountains at the far end.

  Galeron and Iven reached them, and, with the wider space, the crowds cleared out a bit. Five smaller fountains, mere stone basins gurgling water on the backs of carved horses, encircled the large central fountain, which proudly told the story of an ancient king, Artair Vaughan, in statues that spiraled up the central heights. A jet of water spewed into the air from the great scaly drake that King Artair had driven his lance through. Their cloaked patron leaned against its lip. Galeron and Iven worked their way towards him.

  He turned, as if sensing them. Galeron strained his eyes. Still nothing under that hood but the goatee. "Are we ready to go?"

  "You hired us. Tell us what to do," Iven said.

  Galeron held up a hand. Hired or not, he still had a right to know the job and the patron. "I don't like mysteries. Who are you, and what do you want?"

  The man turned to him. "I have offered you payment. Is this not enough?"

  "You pay our fees, but you don't tell us the job," Galeron said, scowling. "Nothing's ever as good as it looks."

  The man waited for a moment. "My name is Atreus. My face was badly burned a number of years ago, so I keep myself covered. I need your protection on a trip that will take me some time to complete."

  Iven elbowed Galeron in the side. "Good enough for you?"

  Galeron looked at him, then at the thickening pillar. "For now."

  "Then I suggest we be going," said Atreus. "Rumor has it that the Black Drakes set fire to the arsenal."

  "Rebels, fire and night dust in big barrels." Iven shuddered. "Let's get out before the boom."

  They followed the remnants of the crowd streaming away from the arsenal. The city garrison didn't bother to contain the throngs of people headed for the gates. A series of explosions jostled the ground and knocked unsteady men and women down with the crack of a hundred thunderclaps. A sharp ringing in Galeron's ears persisted for the next few minutes and he stared around in a haze. Iven grabbed his shoulders and shook him, mouthing words that never reached his ears.