Last Mage Standing

1

FAREWELLS

"D on’t go."

Harbinger of Death—thanks to his ability to see the future and occasionally speak of it—Scourge of the Seas—though they had only occasionally left his cavern in the years she’d lived there as his apprentice, and never to the islands—and Kingmaker—for his habit of meddling in the politics of all the surrounding countries—but most often known now simply as the dragon, he stood eerily still in the silent cavern lit by mage lights. Tiny crystals glinted in the golden braids falling down his back. Not a single wrinkle marred his silver skin. His emerald gaze met hers, and only the years they had spent together helped her to realize he was nearly pleading when he said again, tonelessly, Don’t go.

Ava Dragon’s Apprentice drew in a deep breath—scented faintly of vanilla, metals, parchment, and ink—and lifted her chin. You know I must.

The dragon’s nostrils flared before he controlled himself. In his human form, it was equivalent to a full tantrum.

Ry went, she hurried on, so I must go after him. He is my friend.

Your friend.

Remembering the epic fight they’d had two nights before and Ry avoiding her since, Ava winced. My friend, she repeated.

A wisp of smoke curled above the dragon’s head and she knew he was close to losing his legendary control. They’ll expect you to be the same, but you’ve changed.

Thanks to you. Ava’s smile faltered. They’ll expect… Her hand crept up to cover the sudden pain in her chest. Has Ry returned to Crowns Peak?

The dragon’s voice deepened in a way that would have had her ears bleeding two years ago. He has.

That made it a bit more difficult. She would have to face her old home, her old friends, and her old enemies. At this moment, Ava really could not have said which troubled her more, so she put aside her own fears and bowed her head to her master. I am sorry you will be lonely again.

Me? Lonely? he scoffed. It will be pleasant to have the solitude I have been craving.

For an instant, that hurt as he had meant it to, but then she saw the tightness around his eyes and knew he didn’t believe his own words. The dragon treasured her, as much for her hair that matched the pile of copper coins in one room of his cave as for her eyes that matched the cascade of lavender silk in another, but most of all for her company and quick wit. His actions had demonstrated it, each time he had used his magic to take them to a new country simply because she had asked about their food, or customs, or people. I’m but a mind-call away, Master, she reminded him.

They’ll— He snapped his mouth shut, but she could see shadows in his blazing emerald eyes.

She held up one hand. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what you’ve seen in my future. I want to make my own way.

Chasing Ry?

I… She sighed softly. He’s changed too, and it’s my fault.

You called him an amoral, demon-ridden murderer.

Blood drained from her face, leaving her cold. She had been cruel. She would have already apologized if he had just… You heard that?

"Everyone within a day’s ride heard that. You two were mind-shouting as loud as you were throat-shouting. He raised one eyebrow. He called you a self-righteous, sanctimonious priestess who needed to be taught a lesson."

He knows how I feel about religion… Swallowing, she forced her frustration back again. He’s not going to forgive me and it’s all my fault.

It’s not. His tone had changed, echoing to reflect their old argument about Ry’s possession, and one neither would let the other win. But don’t come back, he snapped. Not until everyone you know has died of old age and you’ve learned all you can without me.

Ava lifted her chin. I won’t.

The tightening of the muscles in his neck was the only warning she had before she felt him call his power. Between one breath and the next, the cavern disappeared and Ava found herself ankle-deep in snow in front of the Praeorian guard post. The tops of these mountains always held winter close, and—remembering the last time she had been here—Ava was grateful he’d exchanged her slippers for fur-lined boots and settled a magically heated burgundy cloak on her shoulders. Soft phumps announced the arrival of her belongings and extra supply bags. Reins fell gently into her gloved hands, custom-dyed gray, and attached to a blue roan mare with a gray saddle and burgundy blanket lacking a family crest—Westfall colors and a blatant display of her status as her father’s bastard, as if her copper hair wasn’t enough.

Storm clouds loomed overhead, pregnant with snow. Ice sparkles gusted across her path, sprinkled her eyelashes, and frosted her cheeks. Birds called in the trees at her back, rising dreees. Reflexively Ava reached with her gifts, identifying them as a flock of redpolls. A snow fox slunk through a patch of silverash trees, hunting voles under the crust of snow. Far brighter than any of the animals, the presence of people screamed in her mind: five Praeorian guards in the nearest building, and across the killing field, four more in Aerios.

:Stupid guard duty. Nothing ever happens—:

:I hate the cold!:

:Been at peace with Aerios for longer than I can remember…:

:Screw it, I’m going hunting.:

:I wonder if we could take them? Five of them, four of us…:

The babble in her mind nearly buckled her knees before she slammed her defenses shut. Leaning on the horse, Ava stifled a curse. She hadn’t been around people—other than the dragon—for half a year, and had forgotten how loud they were. If she tried, she could mind-hear across a country, but without a specific target in mind, the cacophony would drive her mad. Stupid girl, to open her shields so easily.

It wouldn’t happen again.

Ava drew power up out of the ground. Sluggish and sleepy here, the power of the earth responded slowly, but when it came, the strength of it astonished her, though it shouldn’t have. With ease born of years of training, she tamed the earth’s energy, then used it. First, a soft layer of mental shields to keep her own emotions and thoughts to herself, then a tight layer of crackling energy to protect her against anyone trying to mind-read her, and both layers fluid enough to dismiss anyone out of normal earshot but be aware of anyone within. The physical shield took a moment longer. Almost a screen, allowing air in and out—thank the gods the dragon had been there to break the shield and revive her the first few times she’d tried it!—and allowing slow movements to enter, as theirs was a society of handclasps and occasional hugs, but keeping the tiny sickness bugs out, and—even more complicated—becoming slippery against fast movements like an arrow, sword, or knife. Instead of blocking an attack directly, the physical shield would turn it aside.

With a silent nod, she settled the shields around herself and then forgot about them. They would remain strong, whether she slept, made love, or passed out. Her training had been nothing if not thorough.

Patting the mare, she pulled more power from the ground and fashioned it into a safeguard for her mount. A blur spell attached to the saddle which could be activated with a twist of energy—difficult for an archer to hit a target his eyes turned away from—and a locater spell attached to the beast itself, in case her property fell into wandering hands—both passive and unnoticeable until activated.

Ava fastened the saddlebags to the saddle, then faced the guard post. She spared one long glance to the east, but didn’t mind-speak to the dragon.

Her transport across half the country would exhaust him for a full day, and the horse and supplies for another.

All that effort. For her.

Sudden tears pricked her eyes. By the Twain, she would miss him.

Blinking her tears away, Ava raised her chin.

The dragon hated sentimentality, and he hated farewells even more.

Almost as much as she did.

Ava led her mare forward toward the guard post at a slow walk, listening to the crunch of boots and hooves on the crusty path, with the faint scent of a snow storm in her nose. She wanted to give the guards plenty of time to see her coming and decide one lone woman was no threat. Time to see if the dragon was correct… to find out if she could use her appearance as just as much a weapon as her power. She lightened her shields enough to track them—and their emotions—with her gifts. Better to be safe.

The lookout startled and bolted for the roof, pausing only long enough to string his bow. Two men came for the door and nearly collided before the elder flung the door wide and stepped outside to challenge her. The last two remained inside, waiting for their commander to rouse them from a game of strategy. The Praeorians wore white and gray uniforms, loose-fitting where the guards of Aerios wore tight black.

Hello! She drew the hood of her cloak back and shook out her unbound hair, then waited, her hands away from her sword and empty of everything but the reins. Even shielded as she was, she saw her image in their reactions.

A girl—woman now—stood in the snow, braided and beaded copper hair cascading down her back, guileless lavender eyes, and porcelain skin brought to a blush by the wind. She stood eerily still until the horse behind her nickered and shoved its nose into her arm. More than one of them wondered why she traveled alone and how she would protect herself from brigands. More than one thought to himself that he would happily volunteer to protect her. None thought her a threat.

The man on the roof took the arrow from his bow and smiled at her. The younger man at the door blushed and fumbled to sheathe his sword.

Ava thought of the letters she possessed from King Braedon of Aerios and from the dragon himself granting her passage, and wondered if the guards would ask for them. My name is Ava, she told them. I am returning to Aerios after some time in Praeoria. Then she waited.

The oldest guard hesitated, then nodded. Very well, Mistress.

Not waiting for permission, the younger darted inside to throw open the gate and wave her through. As she paced forward, the blue roan followed and the older guard fell into step beside them. Beautiful horse, he murmured. I’ve never seen a gray go dark at the head, knees, and tail like that.

A gift. None of these guards were mages, so—though they didn’t know it—the five of them were severely outnumbered. The old guard walked with the barest limp, and kept a wary eye on her despite his determination that she was no threat. If he moved to draw his sword, she would shift toward him, bring her knee up into his belly while snatching the knife from her boot, then drive her heel down on his calf at the perfect angle to blow out the old injury. After burying her knife in his eye, she would throw another into the throat of the young guard, then use his body as a shield while the bowman tried to strike from above. The bowman would burn from lightning cast by her hand—a trick she’d learned from Ry—before he fell from the roof. She would have to wait until the two men inside came out, or depend on magic to stop the hearts in their chests.

When the young guard unlocked the second gate and flung it wide with a cheeky grin, she found herself happy to not have to kill them, and hoped they would live long, boring lives. She left them behind with a wistful smile—her life would never be boring, though she might like a chance at peace—and then Ava and her mare crossed the killing field. They walked slowly, giving the next set of guards plenty of opportunity to judge her mistakenly as well.

Two of the guards of Aerios met her at their gate in their distinctive black uniforms and wind-chapped faces. The man’s gray and black hair reminded her of Jon, and Ava clamped down on a surge of emotion just as he clamped his gloved hand over hers on the reins.

She would spin into him with an elbow, breaking his nose, before reaching for the knife in her boot—

Your name and business? the woman guard demanded with a scowl as she circled halfway around the horse.

Air, Ava decided, eyeing her carefully. Easiest to steal the air from her lungs before she realized what was happening.

Despite being pleased these guards were less trusting than the Praeorians—they should be, only a few years after an attempted coup—Ava was loath to be trapped in a mage circle, so she used a flirtatious flip of her hair to pluck out a silver bead and flick it against the far wall. Now, if the guard who was also a mage knew the circle-spell, she still could not complete it. Ava’s bead, and a tiny bit of her energy, would be outside of the circle, and would crack it. Ava Dragon’s Apprentice, she said, smiling at the man and twisting one braid with her free right hand, "hap Westfall. I have letters of passage in my bags."

The man finally released her left hand but kept hold of the reins. "Hap Westfall? The old duke’s bastard?"

That explains the colors. The woman ran her hands over the burgundy saddle blanket and down the mare’s leg. Dragon’s apprentice? You’re a mage as well? She picked up one hoof and examined it while the mare stood placidly.

Ava felt a prickle of irritation at their handling of her mare, but she refused to let it show. That’s right. She left the mare’s reins with the guard and slipped the king’s scroll from her saddlebags.

The guard read it silently, his lips moving as he sounded out the words, then passed it to his partner without comment. She glanced at the scroll, then raised her eyebrows. Bastard of a duke, friend of a king, and apprentice to a dragon. Aren’t you the important one.

Wondering why the woman sneered, Ava stood still and waited, her shields gone diamond-hard at the possibility of a threat.

After an uncomfortable moment, the woman growled, "My brother was one of the guards you put to sleep the first time you crossed this border. She stepped in front of Ava and glowered down her long nose. He woke up in time to see you kill the Severn guard."

Ah.

A couple of years before, Ava and her friends had tried to cross the border without alerting the guards—hence the sleep spell—but one of the Severn guards had been gifted as a sensor and had resisted their magic. After hunting them across half the country, he’d been waiting for them at the guard post, and then had used fear to pin her to the roof of the guard post until—terrified—she’d loosed her fire-starting gift on him and turned him into a human torch.

Without even a flicker of an eyelid to betray her, Ava swallowed her remorse. She would not show these people how much she regretted killing the guard. Instead, thanks to the dragon’s training, she relaxed—preparatory to strike—and focused on the woman glaring down at her. Long brown hair pulled into a knot, angry brown eyes glaring, the black uniform Ava had coveted as a trainee.

Am I being denied entrance into Aerios? the dragon’s apprentice asked coolly.

The redpolls continued to call out in the forest beyond the walls. The mare shuffled her feet. The male guard rolled his shoulders. Grace, he muttered. She has the king’s letter…

Ava felt the tiny pinpricks against her shields, indicative of another mage trying to read her. The magic spell looked jagged and purple, and smelled of snowdrops: the mage-guard.

The woman jolted, grimacing at her failure to get past the dragon’s apprentice’s shields. Fine. She threw up her hands. I hope the king sees the trouble you are and banishes you. For good, this time.

2

SHADOW TOWN

Just before the gate shut behind her, Ava called her silver bead back to her hand. Best not to leave a thing of power with her enemy… and that woman was certainly her enemy.

She leaned on her horse and sucked in a deep breath. Despite years of working with the dragon, she could only mimic the moving gift with a high-powered spell. The one gift she’d wanted most, beyond her. Sighing, she mounted, and nudged the mare into a walk.

Two candle-marks later, she sensed more than heard someone following her.

Considering the lack of human settlements this close to the mountain pass, she knew who. Glancing over her shoulder showed her nothing but looming clouds drawing closer and lower, darkening the sky above the trees. Most of the birds had gone silent. Even the horse seemed nervous. The dragon’s apprentice had forgotten just how cold it could be to travel through the mountains, with only the smells of pine and snow to keep her company. Nudging her mare with her heels, she thought of mind-speaking to the dragon—just to have someone to talk to—but she knew he wouldn’t answer.

If the Twain-bedamned mage-guard would quit skulking behind, they could at least argue during the westward ride to Shadow Town. Ava was sure they could find something to discuss: how uncomfortable it was to ride into the setting sun, even with cloud cover; why the mage-guard was following her and what she wanted; how much of a threat Grace was to her quarry. The woman wasn’t even that subtle. Just far enough back to be out of sight and hearing, but nowhere near far enough to be out of sensing range. Was she trying to drive Ava mad?

The pass opened up into a small valley, and the mare’s ears flicked forward, dragging Ava’s attention away from the guard behind her to the silhouettes of wall, gate, and guards in front of her. Shadow Town. Finally.

Lanterns glowed against the coming dusk and shadow of the storm clouds. The plain ironwillow gates stood open. Assuming she’d crossed the border properly—an assumption helped by the king’s guard trailing her—this guard swept back his fur cloak and stepped forward, reviewed the king’s scroll, and waved Ava through. Once past the gates, plain guard barracks rose around her, but when she passed them, she saw houses tucked farther back into the woods. On the nearest one, a pair of lanterns hung on the corners of the roof, lighting the step, the front door, and the intricately carved trim dripping from the steep roof. The road led through the market; this town depended on travelers. The breeze brought smells of roasting nuts, cooking meat, and fresh bread. Ava’s mouth watered.

Dismounting, she walked the horse toward the nearest pub, intent on stabling, food, and sleep.

Shrill young shrieks interrupted her.

A rotund man made even rounder by his layers of fur dragged a raven-haired little up off the ground so that her feet dangled. She screamed and wept and clawed with her free hand while another little—her brother, judging by his hair, build and rags—kicked the man and threatened to tell his wife about his mistress. A bit of tattered cloth knotted into a makeshift arm-sling lay crumpled on the cobblestones, with roasted hazelnuts spilling out of it.

A town guard—his black tabard straining across a large belly—stood in the middle of the street watching. Shopkeepers still holding their wares and residents in their furs and visitors shivering in their southern cloaks and boots had gathered behind him.

"Hold! The dragon’s apprentice dropped the mare’s reins and threw showy, useless sparks into the air above the merchant, whispering a spell to loosen his grip as she snagged each little’s collar. Skin-on-skin contact brought a wash of images she brushed aside. Somehow she knew these two, but that had to wait until the situation had calmed. A hush fell on the area around them. Where is your city judge?" she demanded of the fat guard.

These two don’t need a judge, he replied. Merchant caught ‘em stealing nuts.

Shaking them slightly, Ava tossed a quick compulsion over the littles with a hissed, "Sit!"

They plopped onto the cobblestones, panic in their faces. Cocking her head, Ava asked the guard, Where are their parents?

One woman dressed all in browns spoke up tentatively. "Their ma died in the same fire that did that to the girl’s arm."

The girl tried to hide the twisting scars and darkened skin running from bicep to fingertip, but Ava saw. And their father?

A drunk ever since. A tall, thin man shrugged.

The guard sighed. They’re not old enough to go to the guard… yet.

Turning to the merchant, Ava asked, Is it true? What the boy said about your mistress?

Several women in the crowd tittered. The merchant flushed and pinched his lips together.

The guard answered for him. "It