Warrior Prime, page 33
part #1 of Ink Mage Legacy Series
Mardis and his eight men made for a ragged sight as they marched out of the jungle and north along the grasslands’ road. They were all bloodied and bruised in some way. A grimy rag was tied around Mardis’s head, covering the left eye. He’d need to practice with the sword until he felt comfortable again. The loss of the eye had ruined his depth perception.
It was near dusk when they saw the column coming down the road toward them. Mardis stood atop a slight rise, and the vantage allowed him to see the column stretched farther than he’d originally thought.
A group of horsemen broke off from the column and galloped toward them.
Mardis waited.
The squad of horsemen reined in their mounts ten paces from Mardis and his men. Officers in gleaming helms and breastplates flanked by bannermen. They looked exactly the opposite of Mardis and his muddied, blood-spattered troops.
One of the riders spurred his mount forward a few steps, gray moustache, gold trim on his armor. “Mardis Kain?”
“Yes.”
“I’m General Parnov.”
Mardis had never heard of the man but saluted.
“It looks like you’ve had a rough time of it,” Parnov said.
“Yes, sir,” Mardis replied. “The details do me little credit, I’m afraid.”
“We’ll hear all about it later. Looks like some of your men could use medical attention. I’ll have my people see to them.”
“My gratitude, sir,” Mardis said. “General, I can’t help but notice the force with you seems much larger than what I was expecting for the garrison. You must have at least three thousand men with you.”
“Five thousand,” the general corrected. “There’s been a slight change of plan.”
III.
Shouting roused Ambassador Korick from a sound sleep.
He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes.
Then somebody kicked in the door of his bedroom. Korick had a sword around somewhere but didn’t bother looking for it. The blade was an ornate ceremonial weapon, not that he really knew how to use it, and anyway it was too late.
Three Fyrian soldiers rushed into the room, oil lamps in one hand, naked steel in the other. A moment later, a Fyrian with a gold officer’s sash entered, a rolled piece of parchment in one fist.
Korick sighed. “Okay then. Let’s hear it.”
“You and your retinue are being expelled from the city of Heberron and the nation of Fyria,” the officer said in good Helvan but with a thick accent. “I have the order here if you’d like to read it.”
“Never mind,” Korick said. “I believe you. I presume I can at least get dressed first.”
“Yes, but hurry,” the officer told him. “A ship is waiting, and you must catch the tide.”
Korick dressed in sturdy, practical travel clothes. “What about all our things?”
“They will be sent on later.”
Of course they will. After you’ve searched everything carefully.
The ambassador was taken downstairs, where the rest of the Helvans, a dozen of them, waited in the foyer, looking worried and harried, surrounded by Fyrian soldiers. They were escorted outside as a group and marched through the street toward the docks, grim-faced Fyrian soldiers marching along on either side.
Fyrian citizens appeared on their balconies along the path, jeering, calling insults. Then they started throwing trash and rotten fruit. An oily, half-eaten fish slapped Korick in the neck. He flinched but held his head up, ignoring the assault.
Mullen pushed his way past the rest of the Helvans until he walked next to Korick. “This is outrageous.”
“Yes,” Korick said. “Isn’t it?”
“But what’s the purpose?” Mullen said, voice high-pitched with anxiety. “What does it mean?”
“It means the war has started.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Victor Gischler is a world traveler who earned his PhD in English from the University of Southern Mississippi. The recipient of Italy’s Black Corsair Award for adventure literature, Victor was nominated for both an Anthony Award and an Edgar Award for his mystery writing. He is also the author of the fantasy trilogy A Fire Beneath the Skin, which includes Ink Mage, The Tattooed Duchess, and A Painted Goddess. Born in Sanford, Florida, he currently lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and would grill every meal if his wife would let him. For more information, please visit www.victorgischlerauthor.com.
Victor Gischler, Warrior Prime
