A Spell Misplaced, page 30
part #4 of Gags & Pepper: Protection Agents Series
“Unless they don’t have shields up. I almost died twice from the things,” Gags said. “In a battle with sorcerers, everyone has a shield, and you’re right, useless. I’ll bet Beryl wasn’t originally from Oroia, and there were never many magicians so that it would be a wondrous weapon in Baxter.”
“You’d run out of magic before you could down an army. I could feel the drain,” Miria said.
“And now it’s time to leave,” Gags said, wrapping up the scepter. “Do you want to carry it?”
“Is it my toy?” Miria asked.
“For now,” Gags said.
They left without a problem and returned to the warehouse.
“No trouble?” Lucian said to Ann when they arrived.
“Only to ourselves,” Gags said.
He let Miria unwrap the scepter.
“The kingdom depends on this?” Darlia asked.
“Anyone who can’t make a shield, please leave,” Gags said. “Miria will demonstrate.” Otto and Eliza left.
“Ann?” Gags said.
“I can make a shield. Lucian taught me,” she said. “We have been doing more than staring into each other’s eyes,” Ann grinned, “although we’ve done that, too.”
Gags nodded. “Miria?”
Miria lifted the golden shaft and pulsed it with her power. Motes filled the room before she stopped. With nothing to attract them, the motes began to fade in a moment.
“Better than you,” Lucian said.
“It’s not a competition,” Gags said. “When Beryl ruled, magic was produced by potions and devices like this. Without magicians able to make shields, the mote attacks would cut a swath through an army, but just a swath.”
“I agree,” Darlia said. “How much magic does it take?” she asked Miria.
“I think I can keep the scepter producing motes for ten or fifteen minutes,” Miria said. “It would be enough to intimidate or eliminate everyone in a large room or hall. If Beryl used this for long periods, she was a wizard.”
“Evidently,” Lucian said as he opened the door for Otto and Eliza.
“What did we miss?” Eliza asked.
“Motes, millions of them,” Lucian said.
“Maybe not millions,” Ann said, pinching Lucian’s arm.
“You said maybe.” Lucian rubbed his arm.
Gags sat on the table. It creaked, and he jumped off. “Lord Benjamin Julius was right. We should head to Browning’s army and demonstrate the scepter. It will be a big surprise.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
~
G ags pulled at his collar. There wasn’t a royal uniform big enough for him, but Lord Benjamin insisted he wore a uniform top. Miria looked smart in hers, as did Lucian and Darlia. Otto insisted that the cap have a yellow band around the cap above the bill identifying them in case they were separated. It was dark and chilly, with morning about to dawn in an hour to two.
“Are we ready?” Lucian asked, looking at Miria, who wore a sheath for the scepter.
She nodded, looking nervous, and pointed forward.
The group set out from the north gate with a fifty-troop escort and proceeded to Redwater. They were stopped by sentries a few miles from the town.
The officer leading their escort handed papers to the sentries. “We are to report directly to Grant Dyre.”
“We call him General Dyre, now,” the sentry said. He saluted and waved the officer on.
Tendrils of smoke from a thousand fires rose across the shallow valley south of Redwater. The royal army camped on the north side, and Browning’s rebels on the south. It was a dreary morning with a weak sun forcing its way through the mist on the ground and the foggy clouds overhead. Gags could see forces beginning to assemble on both sides.
A contingent rode up the rise to greet them. Gags recognized Grant Dyre, wearing a more ornate uniform with a feather in his cocked hat.
“You’re a general now?” Gags asked.
“King David insisted. I was told you had something to show me. I can imagine what it is.”
“Miria has it,” Gags said.
“Miria?” Grant looked at her, smiling. “You are Miria?”
“My unicorn,” Gags said.
“And a pretty unicorn you turned out to be. Gags went through a lot to fetch you,” Grant said to Miria.
She frowned. “I wasn’t fetched, and I’m not his,” Miria said. “He saved me, and at this point, I’m on his team along with the others.”
Grant blinked, and the smile faded. “Well, then. I’ve been put in my place. I apologize.”
“Granted,” Miria said. “What you want to see is here.” She patted the scepter hidden by the leather sleeve hung onto her belt.
Grant looked over his back at the assembling armies. “Out of sight.”
They moved back across the high point of the hill.
They dismounted and moved away from the horses. Miria removed the scepter.
“That’s the real one?” Grant Dyre asked.
“It is,” Gags said. “Stand back. I’ll face Miria without a magical shield.”
“Why?” Grant said. “Is Miria going to throw the scepter at you?”
“Watch.” Miria pointed the scepter at Gags, and the blue stone began to brighten until it sent out the magical motes attracted to Gag’s body.
Gags held his breath and let them coalesce on his face before he invoked the shield spell. The motes lost their focus, drifted off Gag’s face, and gradually disappeared.
“That is from the scepter?” Grant Dyre asked.
“It is,” Gags said, “and Miria didn’t put all her strength into the spell.”
“You didn’t?” Dyre asked Miria.
“No. The legend talks about Beryl turning back armies, but as you can see, the scepter isn’t that powerful on the battlefield.”
“But in the throne room?” Grant asked.
“Devastating in a small space,” Miria said.
“Can I touch it?” Grant asked.
Miria handed it over. Grant concentrated on the scepter, and nothing happened.
“It is indeed a magical thing,” Dyre said. “It looks exactly like King David’s copy.”
“But now you know which is real,” Gags said. “How do you wish to employ it?”
“I want all of you with my staff officers, and when the time is right, Miria will advance into battle.” Grant looked at Miria. “Are you willing to wear a helmet? It might add to the mystery if no one knows who you are. I hope to plant doubt in the enemies’ minds.”
“We will protect her on the battlefield and may have to resort to magic,” Gags said.
“I hope to aim the scepter’s motes at the enemy only. The motes don’t distinguish between friend or foe,” Miria said.
“And we will be shielded,” Gags said.
“Good, be ready at any time, and as I think about it, I will find helmets for you all.” A smile came to his face. “Beryl’s Battalion,” Grant said.
~
Gags watched the battle from the same elevated vantage point, but this time, he and his friends wore helmets. At least Grant made sure they fit correctly. Miria sat on the ground next to Darlia as they discussed the battle's progress. The royal army was getting the better of Browning’s forces, but they could see a cavalry contingent riding from over a hill on the other side where they had been concealed.
The enemy cavalry slammed into the infantry’s flank.
“Time to go, or we will lose momentum,” Grant said. He mounted along with them, and the entire group rode down the hill toward the cavalry.
As they approached the beleaguered infantry, Dyre raised his sword. “For Beryl and her Battalion!”
He let them pass as soldiers stared at the helmeted riders. Miria raised the scepter for all to see the blazing blue stone, and when they reached the cavalry, they plunged into the calvary’s ranks, and the scepter began spewing motes at the densest group of the enemy.
The fighting stalled as the cavalry stopped in their tracks. The riders began to fall off their horses, clutching at their throats and trying to rip the invasive motes from their mouths. The rest of the cavalry were in disarray.
“For Queen Beryl!” Grant Dyre said as his small contingent of officers and guards plunged into the bewildered soldiers. The battlefield erupted in royalist shouts, and the rebels began to retreat.
Gags spotted an armored rebel officer cutting down rebel troops from the back and told Lucian to protect Miria. He ripped off his helmet and rode through the royalists. When he reached the officer, Gags grabbed his staff and tapped the enemy on the shoulder.
The officer turned around before striking down another royalist soldier. Gags’s eyebrows rose when he recognized the face-framing the helmet, Count Paul Browning.
“About to murder more of your countrymen?” Gags asked.
“You!” Browning said, immediately wheeling his horse and preparing to charge Gags. “Why are you still alive?”
The royalist soldiers backed up and watched the fight, along with rebel soldiers standing on the other side of the pair.
“You did your best, but it appears your best leads to failure. Your estate is in ashes, courtesy of Vincent West, and your prized unicorns are gone forever. I hope you paid a lot of money for them,” Gags said.
Browning sneered and charged. Gags did the same, tucking his staff underneath his arm like a lance. There was a collision. Browning’s sword intentionally cut into the neck of Gag’s horse, but Gags’s staff pushed Browning off the back of his mount. Gags’s mount reared, whinnying in pain. Gags jumped off the saddle, leaving his crossbow bolts behind as both horses ran away, scattering soldiers.
The ironwood staff was on the other side of Browning, and the count had managed to hold onto his sword.
“You won’t win this time,” Gags said. “I’m going to punish you for what you attempted to do with Eno and Miria.”
Browning scrambled to his feet. “They were animals at the time,” the count said.
“You knew there were humans inside,” Gags said. “You are an evil man.”
“What is evil?” Browning shrugged as he attacked Gags. There was a flurry of exchanges. The circle of soldiers expanded as they stood watching them converse, hanging on every exchange, by word or sword. Browning stepped back, crouching, ready for a counterattack from Gags.
“What is loyalty? Honor? Honesty? Propriety? I know you don’t possess any of those virtues and are willing to waste the lives of everyone on your side so you can sit on the Baxterian throne,” Gags said. “You are not worthy.”
“And why not? It’s there for the taking,” Browning said, poking his sword toward Gags. “Power is all that matters.”
Gags let Browning attack since Gags was using magic to increase his speed, as He Bin had taught him years ago. He could have ended the fight at any time, but he fought for the soldiers looking on. He wanted to demonstrate what kind of person Count Browning was.
“So, the throne of Baxter is all about the survival of the fittest regardless of how many commoners have to die and suffer?” Gags said.
“That’s right, and I’m glad you finally realize that, Vingus Gags.” Browning advanced and slashed, advanced, slashed, advanced, slashed, and advanced until Gags kicked Browning in his armored stomach, sending the count wheeling back, almost falling on his rear end.
Gags let Browning stand and advance again, parrying more moves from Browning. Their fight became hot as Gags began to make more offensive moves. Although Gags suffered a few cuts, Browning was bleeding from many cuts, and his breathing was shorter.
Browning withdrew to get a short rest. It was time to end the fight. “The secret of Beryl’s scepter is one I know as well,” Gags said.
He pointed his sword at Browning, but something struck him in the back. An armored soldier wearing a helmet had emerged from the crowd with a pike. The thrust was weak, but it took Gags’s breath away. He wheeled around and cut down the perpetrator of the cowardly strike, slipping his sword through an opening between the helmet and the soldier’s metal collar and cutting deeply into the attacker’s neck.
The soldier fell to the ground prompting Browning to swing wildly, but Gags slid aside. The fighting increased in intensity, and both men suffered more cuts, but Gags had enough of punishing Browning during their duel, and he could feel his back warm with blood. Browning withdrew a few paces to regain his breath.
“It is time for Beryl to punish you,” Gags said loudly. He pointed his sword at Browning and spelled a flood of motes. Browning backed up as the motes clouded around his face, futilely clawing at the motes flowing into his mouth.
The count dropped to the ground and trashed for a few moments until he lay still, his eyes staring, his mouth gaping. The rebel soldiers stood in silent horror as their leader lay dead in front of them. Almost as one, they fled back the way they had come.
The royal soldiers cheered.
“Spread the word! That is Count Browning. The rebellion has lost the leader of their cause,” Gags commanded, and soon he stood alone on the battlefield as the spectators ran to tell their compatriots that Browning was dead while others ran to attack the retreating rebels.
Horns blew on the royal side, and the officers rode to stop the fighting.
Gags was too weary to think. He had said most of what he wanted to say to the count in the trade of insults. Gags retrieved his staff trampled by soldiers and leaned on it as he wiped his hand over the right side of his lower back. It was bloody, but it wasn’t dripping. The soldier hadn’t made a solid thrust.
He leaned over and found getting down on a knee in front of the armored soldier’s body annoying. He pulled off the helmet, and long hair cascaded down over a woman’s face. Gags parted the hair to look at Valerie West, a traitor to all but Count Browning.
“It’s going to be awkward to face Admiral West now that I’ve killed both of his children,” Gags said as he began to walk across the battlefield of battle. Soldiers bent over their comrades, either saying goodbye or looting dead men’s pockets, but army healers began to circulate, driving most of the looters away. He saw Grant Dyre deep in discussions with his staff. Miria, Lucian, Otto, and Darlia stood in a smaller group holding their horses’ reins.
Lucian spotted Gags and rode his horse across half the field to meet him.
“It looks like you fought the whole rebel army," Lucian said.
“In a sense, I did. That officer was none other than Count Browning himself. He didn’t make it. I’d like you to look at the wound on my lower back. That one was a souvenir left by Valerie West while I was fighting the count. Valerie wore a helmet, and I had to defend myself before Browning could take advantage of the distraction.
“On your stomach,” Lucian said.
By that time, Otto, Miria, and Darlia stood over Gags lying on the bloody dirt of the battlefield. Lucian washed the wound and looked closer at it. “She didn’t push very hard.”
Gags looked at Miria and Darlia’s feet and decided not to comment on a woman’s strength. Either of them would have made sure it was a killing thrust. “I doubt she spent more than a few minutes training to fight on the field,” Gags said sadly.
Chapter Thirty-Three
~
B y the time they returned to Baxterton, the civil war was over. With Browning dead and the royal army considerably more intact than Admiral West anticipated, the Lord of the Admiralty had fled south, out of Baxter. He was still on the move, taking less than fifty associates.
Lord Peter Pearton and Lord Benjamin Julius met with the Perian contingent. Grant Dyre attended, as well.
“The war has ended. King David was allowed to leave Baxterton not long after you left the city when he found out no one would be parading with the scepter,” Lord Pearton said. “We negotiated with the king to abdicate and awarded him Admiral West’s properties and the assets West didn’t take with him in exile.”
“And that leaves who on the throne?” Lucian asked, turning to Grant Dyre.
Grant cleared his throat. “That would be me, but Peter said you knew I was their preferred candidate.”
“And a good one, in my estimation,” Lucian said. “Can we return to Peria, your Highness?”
“You can and with rewards.”
“All I want is a certain young woman’s hand,” Lucian said.
“Just my hand?” Ann said, with a pout on her lips.
Lucian closed his eyes. “Oh well, I suppose we should include the rest. Is that acceptable, Father?” Lucian said, grinning at Lord Pearton.
“To be married in Shatterset, with me in attendance,” Lord Pearton said. “In three months?”
“Let’s hope,” Lucian said. “I haven’t gotten permission from my uncle, the king.”
“And you?” the king asked Otto.
“I want permission to go to Peria, as well. My best friend died as I started with Gags and company. I want to make a fresh start, and Gags will hire me as whatever I want.”
“I wouldn’t take him up on that agreement exactly. You may not get whatever he wants to give,” Lucian said.
“At my discretion,” Gags said.
“Darlia will have a selection of royal jewels, depending on whatever King David leaves behind, and a small chest of souvenir Baxterian gold coins,” Grant said. “Which leaves us to Miria and Gags.”
“I only want passage to Peria,” Miria said, pressing her lips together.
“I understand that from the conversation we had returning from the battlefield. I award you the title of Countess of Temperton, although the fief properties will revert to the crown. You will also get a chest of souvenir gold coins. That will give you the independence you seek while you put your life back together in Peria.”
Gags would have wished he would have listened in on Miria’s conversation with the future king of Baxterton while returning from the battlefield.
“And that leaves us with Duke Vingus Gags.”
“I don’t need anything other than the sword and knife I stole from a blacksmith’s shop.”
Grant laughed. “I understand you traded it for a dagger of considerably more value. If you like, if the blacksmith comes to Baxterton seeking compensation, I will pay handsomely for the dagger.”
