6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Malkov

K ing Malkov stormed up to the entrance of the Mage College and pushed. The giant double doors slammed open with a boom that bounced off the marble walls, leaving him silhouetted against the setting sun. His shadow stretched in front of him as he marched through the grand entry. The footsteps of Brooks and the rest of his guards echoed through the chamber.

The air, weighed down by the scent of herbs and spices, irritated his eyes and nose. The effervescent tingle of magic along his skin raised the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. He rubbed his hands over his forearms. There was a reason he'd never come here in person.

The swish of leather shoes over stone caught his attention as a young man in the brown robes of a novice rushed forward. His eyes widened as he beheld the crown atop Makov's head. "Your Majesty!" Placing his hand over his heart, he bowed—but not before his face paled and betrayed his fear. "W-welcome to the Mage College. How may I assist you?"

Curling his upper lip, Malkov sneered. "Get me the head mage." Master Thoforn had led the institute for the last decade. He would know if Aliya Larimar had recently joined their ranks.

"That is unnecessary." The wobbly voice interrupted whatever the novice had been about to say.

Malkov raised an eyebrow as an older man with stooped shoulders wearing the navy blue robes of the Grand Magus approached. At least they wouldn't have to wait for the old man to be roused from his slumber.

Thoforn stared at them with rheumy eyes for several heartbeats before turning his gaze to Brooks. He wrinkled his nose and frowned, focusing his attention back on the king. "It is an honor to host you, Your Majesty. I'm sorry to report that if you're here to collect the annual class of mages for the army, they won't be ready for at least another season."

Malkov bit back a chuckle. An honor? Hardly. More likely the old master was fighting to not wet himself at their sudden appearance at his doorstep. He stepped closer until he towered over the mage. "Have you had any new recruits in the last twenty-four hours?"

The head magus blinked at him, a blank expression on his face.

Grabbing the man by his tunic, Malkov pulled him forward. "Answer me!"

"N-no, my lord. No one in the past six months."

Malkov searched the man's face for any sign of a lie, but there was none. The one good thing about Thoforn was his inability to prevaricate. With a growl, Malkov released the grand magus, who collapsed at his feet and glanced at Brooks. If Aliya hadn't arrived yet, they must have overtaken her on the road, though his Arcane Inquisitor had said nothing about feeling her magical signature. That meant she was probably picking her way through the forest and would end up here in the next few days. All they had to do was wait.

In the meantime… He turned back to Thoforn. "Summon every magic user in the building. I have news. You have five minutes."

With an awkward bow from where he sat on the floor, Thoforn gestured to the novice who still stood off to the side, wringing his hands. The youth took off to carry out his order, sprinting from the room as the old man groaned and pushed himself to his feet.

Malkov caught Brooks' eye and nodded. His guards fanned out around the periphery of the entryway. The Arcane Inquisitor produced the grimoire Malkov had specially brought from his library. The volume had never before been outside the castle walls—its knowledge was too valuable. But these were special circumstances.

Footsteps sprinkled through the room as the first wave of magic users funneled in, their robes varying from novice brown to initiate green and various shades of master blue. They huddled close together in the center of the space, eying both him and his guards.

Handing the book back, the inquisitor did a slow circle of the room as the last of the mages trickled in, his magestone concealed in his clenched fist. Meeting Malkov's eyes, he shook his head.

He couldn't feel Aliya.

Malkov sighed. In the presence of so many mages, his own tattoo was alerting with every heartbeat. It was useless right now, so he had no choice but to rely on Brooks. His new wife may be a shapeshifter who could look like anyone she wanted, but nothing she could do would allow her to hide her magical signature from the Arcane Inquisitor.

It looked like Thoforn had been telling the truth after all.

The guards moved to block the exits, drawing their weapons.

Thoforn scuttled forward. "What is this about, Your Majesty? The College will not permit this insult on our craft."

Malkov frowned. "You forget, you study here only with my leave. That ends today." Taking a deep breath, he flipped open the grimoire as his magic settled on his shoulders like a cape. "Dondurak!"

Freeze.

The shuffling and scraping of leather shoes on stone halted, the sudden silence serving to heighten the sense of dread as the mages found themselves unable to move.

Glancing at the words on the page, Malkov stepped up to the grand magus. Pulling a small thread of power, he nudged it toward the mage like a spear tied to a fishing line. "Meni yanma gella."

The old man gasped, his back arched and he collapsed to his knees as Malkov's power curled around the center of the head mage's and pulled .

Thoforn's face contorted in a silent scream as he fell to his side. The other mages stirred, the more powerful among them throwing their magic against his to break his first compulsion.

Malkov wasn't worried, though…the only reason he'd allowed the Mage College to exist as long as it had was to draw other magic users out of hiding. It had been decades since any strong magicians had existed in the group.

After all, he'd made a point to harvest their power first.

With a final tug, Thoforn's magic tore from his body and he collapsed as if he were merely a puppet whose strings had been severed. Which, in a way, he had been. The old man's soul, forcibly separated, extinguished with a sigh more felt than heard. The ethereal power flowed through the air and landed on Malkov's shoulders. A burst of warmth suffused his muscles as he stepped up to the next person.

One less obstacle for Aliya to hide behind, and one more wave of energy to fuel his Whisperers and bring down the elves.

"Meni yanma gella."

He hardly registered the mages' screams as he ripped magic from one after the other. Each bit of stolen power settled on his shoulders, quickening his heartbeat. His head tilted toward the ceiling at the sheer strength that flooded his veins.

He should've culled this crop years ago.

A vine exploded through the floor, shattering the marble with an explosive crack that spat sharpened bits of debris throughout the room. The tendrils dove for Malkov, grabbing his arms and wrenching them to the side. His grasp on his power crumbled.

The grimoire tumbled to the ground, splaying the pages wide and cracking its spine.

Malkov bared his teeth and growled as he strained against the intrusive shoots. "Brooks!"

An initiate in dark green robes stepped forward, her black hair falling across her face as the currents of magic flowed around her. Her hands worked the air, kneading the power as though it were dough.

A sword flashed to Malkov's right and the vines fell away from his right arm. A heartbeat later, his left was free, as well.

The woman clenched her jaw, grinding until her tendons snapped. Staring at Malkov with a fevered gaze, she pulled her fists to her chest.

The pressure popped his ear drums as the mage flung the power she'd gathered at him. "Murderer!"

A ball of blue light soared across the room, heading straight toward him.

Brooks' hand appeared in front of his face, the magestone he held flashing red as the two magics collided. The room flashed purple as the jewel absorbed the attack.

More vines sprang from the earth, seeking to entangle them. Leaving his inquisitor to deal with the plant, Malkov stepped forward. It seemed he'd been wrong—one magic user of decent strength remained in the college…even if she was just an initiate.

His chest fluttered, the corner of his mouth pulling upward as he met her gaze.

He'd rectify that.

She screamed, "You murder us like we're nothing but wheat to be harvested!"

He ducked her next magic ball, letting it fly over his shoulder and impact uselessly against the wall. "That's exactly what you are," he ground out, wrapping his power around hers. "As king it is my right to use resources as I see fit, for the good of the realm!"

With the final word, he yanked .

The mage stumbled forward, landing on her knees. Her hand pressed against her sternum, as though she could physically hold onto her magic. Turning her face up to meet his gaze, her eyes flashed white.

Her power slipped through his fingers like warm butter, settling back into her core, where it belonged. She waved her hand at the room. "Bostar!"

Release.

The dozen remaining mages staggered backward as Malkov's compulsion shattered. The strength of her magic washed over him like water in a hot spring.

God's Teeth!

He blinked at her. "How did I miss a beauty like you?" Her energy alone could fuel a full whisperer.

Behind her, the others scrambled for the exits, doubtless hoping to overpower his guards. His inquisitor would never allow that to happen. But still… "Take them alive!" he called.

She glared at him, her upper lip curling. "The Mage Underground will have its revenge for this." Flicking her wrist toward him like she was throwing a disc, she screamed, "Die!"

Malkov threw himself to the floor as a blade of power flew overhead. It carved a divot in the marble. No doubt it would have cleaved him in half.

"Traitor!" Brooks stepped into view, his sword against the mage's throat and the magestone to her forehead.

With a sharp breath, she stiffened.

Pushing himself to his feet, Malkov approached. The sounds of fists hitting flesh reached his ears as the guards subdued the remaining mages, most of whom were more suited for academia than actual fighting. After all, any suitable mage warriors had already been enlisted, except the children. The familiar and soothing clank of irons replaced the muffled thuds of the scuffle as the sentries restrained each mage with bindings made from cold iron.

He leaned close, putting one finger beneath her chin to tilt her face to meet his. "Who are you?"

She spit, the globule landing on his cheek before sliding down to the floor.

"No!" He slashed his hand through the air to halt Brooks' blade. The last thing he needed was to lose access to this woman's magic through an overly enthusiastic Arcane Inquisitor.

Meeting her gaze as he wiped the residue from his face, Malkov shrugged. "Share your name or not, it makes no difference to me." She'd die either way, along with the rest of the Mage College.

He glanced from the young woman to Brooks. She had sufficient power to fill a Whisperer on her own, but her magical energy could also form a permanent bond between the inquisitor and the magestone, eliminating the need to constantly charge it. It was a steep price, but like all good investments, it would pay off in time with less power use on his part. And the magic from the others here would load enough Whisperers to keep his alchemists busy until he could track down his runaway wife.

He sneered, his nostrils flaring at the scent of her fear. "Brooks, get over here!" Picking the grimoire up, he flipped to the appropriate page and met her gaze. "The realm thanks you for your contribution to the war effort."

Curling his magic around hers once more, he began to chant.