Trail of the Torean: Saga of the God-Touched Mage, #2

By Ron Collins

Cursed magic from the gods.

A mysterious underground city.

The first steps toward open war.

Garrick is determined to be rid of a devastating magic that threatens to take over his life. Together with Darien—the son of a military man—he accepts a quest for a commission that promises enough to pay for the sorcery he'll need to break that magic's hold. Along the way he faces powerful forces as ancient as the plane itself, encounters the beautiful leader of a sect of freedom-minded, independent mages, and finds himself in the crossfire of a Lectodinian and Koradictine gambit against the most powerful Torean mage in the region.

Trail of the Torean follows Garrick as he lives with his treacherous new magic, discovers exactly how deep his connection to the god-like planewalkers might be, and finds that the very future of magic across the entire plane of Adruin hangs in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skyfox Publishing
• Release date: Oct 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540177513

Ron Collins

Ron Collins's work has appeared in Asimov's, Analog, Nature, and several other magazines and anthologies. His writing has received a Writers of the Future prize and a CompuServe HOMer Award. He holds a degree in Mechanical Engineering, and has worked developing avionics systems, electronics, and information technology.

Book preview

Trail of the Torean

Ron Collins is a spellbinding storyteller.

-David B. Coe/D.B. Jackson

Author of the Thieftaker Chronicles

Trail of the Torean

The Saga of the God-Touched Mage includes:

Glamour of the God-Touched

Trail of the Torean

Target of the Orders

Gathering of the God-Touched

Pawn of the Planewalker

Changing of the Guard

Lord of the Freeborn

Lords of Existence

Other Work by Ron Collins:

Five Magics

Picasso’s Cat and Other Stories

See the PEBA on $25 a Day

Chasing the Setting Sun

Four Days in May

Links to these and more of Ron's work

Follow Ron at

www.typosphere.com

or his twitter feed: @roncollins13

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Copyright Information

Trail of the Torean

Saga of the God-Touched Mage, Volume 2

copyright 2014 Ron Collins

All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Rachel J. Carpenter

copyright 2014 Ron Collins

All rights reserved.

Cover Images

copyright Slavapolo | Dreamstime.com - Narrow Slot Between Two Rocks In Desert Canyon Photo

copyright Maxim Evdokimov | Dreamstime.com

copyright Marepilc | Dreamstime.com - The Rider Photo

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All incidents, dialog, and characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Skyfox Publishing

http://www.skyfoxpublishing.com

For Tim, Mike, Jackie, and Ken. And of course, for Lisa.

Table of Contents

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Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Appendix

Acknowledgements

About Ron Collins

How You Can Help

Prologue

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It was time for the purge to begin.

Finally.

Zutrian Esta, High Superior of the Lectodinian order, stood alone in one of the many chambers built into the sheer cliffs of the Vapor Peaks. Rounded domes embedded in the ceiling glowed with magelight and gave the room a blue tone that was unnaturally crisp. The air smelled of lemon and strange spices. Beakers of tinted glass lined one wall. Ceramic pots filled with minerals, powders, and other catalysts filled shelving alongside another. A window facing north would have given him a startling view of the land below if the sun had yet risen above the morning’s horizon.

He rubbed his fingers over his eyes.

Zutrian was not as young as he once had been, and in the quiet of his laboratory, he had to admit the work was taking its toll.

There were thousands of details to running the order that nobody else would think of, not the least of which was massaging the egos of the hundreds of mages who each thought they were superior to the rest. There were always plans to review, or assignments to make, and it seemed like he was dealing with decisions over how, what, and where to delegate with every minute he drew breath. He had needed, for example, to personally oversee the hiring of every mercenary who participated in the joint operation with the Koradictines, and he found that he had to review every transit log to ensure all of the proper components were delivered to mages in the field as expected, rather than siphoned off for personal exploration or other such poppycock.

It was all so very wearying.

To this he added each day the scrying he performed to ensure his commands were being properly enacted.

The work was never-ending, but necessary.

His muscles ached and his bleary headaches were growing more numerous every day, but it would be worth it all to be finally rid of the Toreans.

The freelance sorcerers had always been irritating, but they had also always been inconsequential—always, that is, until this winter when a few of the more audacious of their membership formed their new organization. The Freeborn, they called themselves as they squatted directly upon Lectodinian commerce. Even worse, this Torean group had actually taken the fight to the orders in the wilds of the central plains and in a few smaller regions of the map, too.

Losing mages had finally forced Zutrian’s hand.

It had not been hard to convince Ettril Dor-Entfar, the Koradictine high superior, to join forces for the hunt. Perhaps the only thing Zutrian and Ettril actually agreed upon were the many benefits to ridding the plane of its Torean influence.

News of their success had been arriving for weeks.

News good enough that, despite his fatigue, Zutrian needed to speak to Ettril now. It was time to begin. Time to set the sweep into motion.

So he stood in the center of a circle made of blackened brick, and he bent to the communication spell, placing the security components needed to keep the discussion private into their final positions. Conversations between the leaders of the two orders were, by definition, too sensitive to be open to the public’s ear. He then painted the circle with pigment made of bloodroot, and placed copper braziers of distilled water at each compass point.

After he finished, Zutrian Esta stood between the circle and the open window. He chanted sorcery, set his gates, and reached for his link to Talin, the plane of magic.

Energy flowed.

He molded it with open hands, strolling around the circumference of the circle and forming lines of power before tipping each of the braziers to let water sluice inside the ring until its thin surface reflected the ceiling’s tiled fresco. Words of power brought an image of Ettril Dor-Entfar’s brown eyes to the water’s surface.

The Koradictine’s gaze was framed by wrinkled flesh and a pair of wild eyebrows. His forehead was high, his nose flat and wide, and his gray beard unkempt. By now Zutrian knew it was typical for the Koradictine to ignore such personal hygiene, but it still made him uncomfortable.

Greetings, Zutrian said.

Good day, my friend. Early though it is.

Our efforts have been successful, Zutrian replied. This was no time to waste effort on simple lip flap. Nearly every Torean mage of any power on the plane of Adruin is dead.

Excellent, the Koradictine mage said. The sound of hands rubbing together came through the link.

Zutrian could not help but smile.

This was the beginning of the end for the Torean House.

The orders’ armies were staffed with thousands of well-paid mercenaries. The leaders of those armies—the Koradictine mage, Jormar, and his own Parathay—were god-touched mages, wizards whose powers had been augmented with those of the planewalkers they had each aligned with, powers that had been bought at no little expense. And, because Zutrian had no intention of sharing ownership of Adruin with the Koradictines for any longer than necessary, he had incurred considerable additional expense. Of course, the time for Ettril to learn of this would come only after they had finished removing the last bits of Torean detritus from the plane.

"Are your troops in the agreed-upon position?" he said.

Yes. Jormar’s army sits at the Badwall Canyons awaiting my word. Are your forces ready?

Zutrian nodded. Whitestone will be ours as soon as I give Parathay the command.

Excellent again, Ettril said.

Zutrian was growing to hate that word. It’s time to complete the purge, he replied. Your army sweeps the north country. Mine takes the southern swath. When we are done, no Torean wizard of any power whatsoever will remain alive.

The Koradictine’s eyes shone in the distance. Good riddance, I say.

Zutrian merely nodded.

I will pass the word to Jormar, Ettril finally added.

And I to Parathay.

Excellent.

Until we speak again, Zutrian said.

The water in the circle boiled away, its vapor tainting the laboratory with its fetid stink of blood.

Zutrian wrinkled his nose and bent to clean the braziers.

When he was finished, he filled each with fresh water. The morning was growing late. Parathay needed to be given his new directions. After that, there were still plans to develop and options to consider.

His neck ached as he stretched.

It was going to be another long day.

Chapter 1

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It was morning time in early spring. Garrick had travelled a day and a night on foot to come to this place. Now he stood on the southernmost hillside that looked down on the city of Caledena, feeling life force welling up inside him, and feeling the full weight of what it meant to be a man alone.

Garrick had grown up in the streets. He had been used and trod over often enough that he once considered it a basic state of life. He thought he had been alone before. But this sensation was new to him. It was an encompassing fear of failure that ate at his confidence. He needed this job. He needed the money so he could free himself of the curse that Braxidane, the planewalker who claimed to be his new superior, had burdened him with. In many ways that fear was no different from the wild and terrifying magic he carried inside him. So, yes, he was alone now. Alistair, his mage superior for so many years, was no longer here to set any errors right, all of Alistair's other apprentices had been stolen away, and Braxidane was nowhere to be found.

Not that Garrick wanted to speak with him.

Yet, inside his fear was also a sense of righteousness, a feeling of certainty that was in no way made of logic or wisdom,