Lisa Shearin - Armed & Magical

“It also makes it easier to hear the audience’s comments,” Riston added. “That’s the entertaining part right there.”

I looked back down at the sea of humanity, and elves, goblins, and dwarves. A tall and leanly muscled elf in the steel gray uniform of the Guardians stood on the raised stage just behind Archmagus Justinius Valerian’s chair at his right hand. Mychael Eiliesor. I couldn’t make out his expression, but I was sure it was a perfect, polite, professional mask.

Mychael Eiliesor was the paladin and commander of the Guardians. He was also an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, coated in yum. The yum was apparent to any female with working eyes. What wasn’t apparent was what was going on behind Mychael’s tropical sea blue eyes.

I liked Mychael. I think Mychael liked me, but he wasn’t about to let liking me get in the way of his duty. As paladin, protecting the Saghred was his responsibility. And since the Saghred and I were psychic roommates, that protection extended to me. He took that job very seriously. Regardless of how Mychael felt about me, he wasn’t taking any chances. That caution took the form of Vegard and Riston, tower rooms, and plush and all-too-secure accommodations. The words “gilded cage” came to mind. I didn’t like cages; it didn’t matter what they were made of.

Archmagus Justinius Valerian rose and approached the podium as the final speaker. The archmagus had absolute authority over the Isle of Mid and everyone on it. He was also the mage Mychael had deemed most likely to help me sever my link with the Saghred.

The audience greeted their archmagus with cheers and whistles. I didn’t know if the cheers were for Justinius, or because he was the final speaker, or both. Either way, the wall of sound was almost deafening.

A slow grin spread over Vegard’s face. “This is usually good. In our younger days, if we weren’t on duty, we’d meet at the tavern across the street to listen to the old man.”

I must have looked unenlightened at his source of amusement.

“We did shots at every sarcastic remark,” Riston clarified.

Vegard grinned. “We got so drunk.”

The archmagus stepped up to the podium. The other speakers had used notes; Justinius Valerian used his brain. As to sarcasm, his speech had plenty to go around. The old man spared no one. The loudest cheers from the student section came after snarky comments aimed directly at them. The worse the abuse, the louder the cheers. I smiled. They were probably doing shots down there, too. The students loved him.

I wasn’t the only one taking advantage of an upper-floor window as a vantage point. Nearly every window of houses, shops, and businesses around the main square were filled with spectators. The window directly across from ours had been empty.

It wasn’t anymore.

Oh hell.

The archmagus’s voice faded into the background as Banan Ryce gave me a casual salute.

Banan Ryce was commander of the Nightshades. Nightshades were elves—they were also assassins, kidnappers, blackmailers, or whatever they had been given enough gold to do. I knew Banan; he’d met me. Let’s just leave it at that.

Thanks to my Saghred-enhanced skills, I knew that Banan’s salute was more than a greeting for me; it was a signal, and his people in the crowd below responded. Some moved into position; others were already where they needed to be to do whatever it was they were going to do. I knew exactly which ones were there at Banan’s bidding as surely as if they had a bright red spot painted on top of their heads.

I stood. “We’ve got trouble.”

I felt Vegard and Riston’s power flare behind me. It would be way too little, far too late.

Vegard tried to shield me, with both body and wards. “Where?”

I didn’t let him do either. “Everywhere. At least thirty Nightshades. They’re all over the square and they’re moving. That’s Banan Ryce in that window there. You know him?”

Vegard looked, saw Banan, and spat an obscenity that described him perfectly. Sounded like Vegard knew Banan, too.

I could see into the collective minds of the Nightshades. Their intentions were as clear as if they had yelled them up to me. They were going to collapse the stage. They weren’t aiming for the stage itself or the dignitaries seated on it; they were going for the supports under the stage. The stage was a good dozen feet above the street. The Guardians posted around the base of the stage would be crushed under the combined weight of falling wood and people. The fall from the stage might kill some; but the Nightshades were there to ensure their two main targets didn’t survive.

Justinius Valerian and Mychael Eiliesor.

“Target?” Riston was suddenly at my other side.

“Mychael and the archmagus. The Nightshades are collapsing the stage,” I said.

And a lot of people were going to die when they did.

Vegard saw Banan’s people moving. “Riston, alert—”

Riston was already charging down the stairs. “I’m on it!” he yelled back.

I dimly heard him shouting orders. Everything below had melted into slow motion. Banan’s men stopped, and I felt their power quickly building. Armed Guardians were pouring out of the citadel, but they wouldn’t get there in time. The spells of Banan’s people weren’t silent, but there were too many of them. If only a handful of them survived, it would be enough to do what they’d planned.

Kill the archmagus and the paladin, and take a lot of innocent people with them when they did it.

I didn’t think; I just reacted. I could move small objects with my mind; the same went for stopping. That was what I could do before the Saghred. From my vantage point, the Nightshades were just small objects in need of moving and stopping. I didn’t have to break them , just their concentration. I struck, and the ones who hadn’t bothered to magically shield themselves went flying. None of them landed on their feet, and some of them were thrown against buildings. None of those got back up. That maneuver alone cut Banan’s numbers by half.

Banan laughed and applauded in the window across from me. Panicked screams came from below. The stage was collapsing on itself. My hand instinctively shot out to stop it. Four stories up made no difference. I’d always used gestures when moving anything bigger than myself; it helped me to focus my magic. The stage wasn’t a small object. The screams faded in my ears, and all I could hear was the hissing in and out of my own breathing. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to keep the stage from falling, but I suspected it wouldn’t be long. What I was doing was mind over matter. Problem was, my mind couldn’t get past how heavy that matter was. And I was doing it alone. No Saghred, just me. The new, improved, really scary me.

Mychael was helping Justinius Valerian off the stage. I had no idea how Mychael managed to steady them both on the pitching and collapsing platform, but he was paladin for a reason. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a crossbow bolt fly toward them. Valerian saw it, too. He viciously spat something at it and the bolt reversed direction and hit the sniper in the chest, sending him off the rooftop and down to the street.

The stage was coming down whether I wanted it to or not. Gravity would only be defied for so long. My hand shook violently as I let what was left of the stage come to rest on the cobbles, praying that everyone around the perimeter was out of the way. My breathing was ragged and I heard gasps and whimpers I dimly recognized as mine.

“Good job, ma’am,” I heard Vegard say. His voice was tight with awe and maybe fear.

Phaelan looked a little wild-eyed. “Shit.”

Yeah. I felt the same way.

I leaned over and rested my hands on wobbly knees, trying to get my wind back. I could barely lift my head, let alone another stage. I looked out the window.