“We need a plan.”
“Hmmh?” Tsia, who, after a night with no sleep, had been trudging along the road like a zombie, lifted her head drearily. “What sort of plan?”
“We’ve been winging it too much lately,” Jasper said with a frown. “S̆ams̆ādur and I were lucky to escape those assassins, and look what happened yesterday. A whole chunk of our forces were compromised right beneath our noses and we didn't even realize it until it was too late.”
“We couldn’t have known that the mage was in town, or that he could bespell so many people,” Tsia protested.
“You’re right - we couldn’t have known that the mage was waiting for us, but that doesn’t mean that the possibility shouldn’t have occurred to us,” Jasper disagreed. “ We were cocky and careless, and we underestimated our opponent. You and I are pretty good mages, and we’ve gotten used to just being able to fight our way out of any situation, but this isn’t a battlefield - or at least, not the sort of battlefield we’re used to. What’s the plan if we find the mage in Deḇur - attack him?”
Tsia shrugged. “I doubt he’ll shrug off a lightning bolt.”
“And if he’s bespelled others?” Jasper pressed. “Hell, he couldn’t have been around the durgū that long yesterday, and yet he twisted the minds of at least ten, maybe more. If the mage has been in town for a few weeks, god only knows how many people might be under his spell.”
“He must have a limit,” she objected.
“True, but who knows what that limit is - and, frankly, I don’t want to be forced to kill people who were just unlucky enough to get snared by him.”
For a second, Jasper thought from the light in her eye that she was going to argue, but it faded away. “You may be right,” she conceded. “Do you have a plan?”
He sighed, running a hand through his long locks absentmindedly. “Well, what do we know about this mage? He’s skilled at dominating others quickly and in larger numbers than we would have guessed, which might suggest that his offensive arsenal is fairly limited. He probably fights his battles by getting others to fight for him, though we can’t be certain of that.”
“He’s also probably quite clever. He either knew or accurately guessed we’d be coming here, and had prepared a trap - two traps, really. One for you, and one for S̆ams̆ādur’s men. What if he’s expecting to come charging in looking for him - we might be walking into a trap.”
Tsia halted mid-road. “That hadn’t occurred to me. Do you really think so?”
“I don’t know,” Jasper sighed exasperatedly. “But it wouldn’t shock me.”
“Should we turn back then?”
“We could…or we can try to turn the trap against him,” he proposed.
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“Play into it, make him think we’re just as dumb as we’ve been acting.”
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When Jasper stormed up to the quartermaster’s office an hour later, he couldn’t help but second-guess his own plan. While it was true that the mental shield S̆ams̆ādur gave them provided an advantage that the mage was hopefully unaware of, that didn’t change the fact that willingly walking into a suspected trap was a hell of a gamble. But after talking it out with Tsia, he’d decided it was a gamble worth taking.
Their strategy was simple enough. Since they didn’t know who the mage was or what he looked like, all they could do was try to lure him out and trust in S̆ams̆ādur’s spell to hold out long enough for Tsia to come to his aid. But the time for doubts was over; shoving aside his hesitations, Jasper flung the door of the guards’ warehouse open.
“Where’s the quartermaster,” he barked angrily.
The storehouse of Deḇur was such a small establishment that it didn’t even have a proper entry. A dozen rows of shelves, piled high with weapons, cloth, and grain stretched back perhaps a few hundred feet before dead-ending in the trio of grain silos that were the warehouse's most valuable possession. A handful of guards sat at a table in the nearest corner, cards in their hand and a pair of dice strewn across its surface.
He spun toward the table, and a man hastily sprung up, with a sour look on his face. “You’re looking for me?”
“You’re the quartermaster,” Jasper questioned.
“Aye. If you’re here to complain about the grain, I’m sorry, but we’ve got too many mouths to feed as it is. Can’t be feeding mercenaries right now.”
“I’m not,” Jasper replied grimly. “I’m here about what happened after we left the city.”
The sour grimace was replaced by confusion. “After? Then why are you here?”
Leaning into the role, Jasper slammed both fists into the table, sending the dice skittering to the floor. “When we pitched camp for the night, some of our men turned against us. Their minds had been addled, twisted against us by foul magic.”
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A visible shudder passed over the group as he mentioned mind magic, but the quartermaster pursed his lips. “Tis a bad bit of business, I’ll grant, but I still fail to see why you’re here, sellsword.”
“Because all of the men who were afflicted were part of the group I sent to you,” Jasper growled. “Would you care to tell me how that came to be?”
Fear flickered in the man’s eyes, but the quartermaster summoned a bravado. “Come now, sellsword, surely you can’t be suggesting that one of us is a mind mage? Perhaps it's your mind that’s gone addled.” He glanced around the table for support, drawing a nervous chuckle from a few of his men.
“Would you like to bring them here? To bring the men they slew, the tents they burned, the provisions they destroyed?” Jasper asked softly. “I can certainly arrange that when I’m taking your grain as a restitution.”
“You can’t take our grain,” the man’s face reddened with anger. “The people will starve.”
“So should my men starve instead?”
“That’s-”
Jasper cut him off with an imperious wave of his hand. “I will overlook the provisions you owe us in exchange for a simple favor - you will allow us to interrogate your men and the workers here, or I will take your grain.”
“The guard will stop you,” the man blustered, and Jasper lifted his hand from the table and allowed the blue flames to roll down his fingers.
“Not in time.”
The man paled, and after glancing at his men, who studiously avoided his gaze, caved. “Fine. You can talk to the men.”
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Jasper was less than satisfied as he dragged the first of the guards into the small room the quartermaster had offered for ‘questioning.’ He’d made it clear to the quartermaster that if he got any stupid ideas, like trying to rally the rest of the guard for help, he’d burn the whole place down - and as everyone knew, silos go ‘boom.’ Yet, his plan was not progressing as smoothly as he’d hoped. Perhaps he’d been too optimistic, but given the mage’s seeming penchant for Manchurian candidates, he’d expected the quartermaster and his men to ‘snap’ and try to take him captive, hopefully luring the mage out to question him.
Instead, he found himself with the unwanted task of interrogating everyone, while being taken out of sight from the hiding spot they’d set Tsia up in, prepared to jump in once the mage had revealed themself. Hopefully, she can find somewhere else to keep a lookout.
Stifling a sigh, he greeted the first guard gruffly and raised his hand. “I advise you speak the truth, or I shall know,” he growled menacingly, allowing the guard to see his fingers writhe in the spell. “Now, what do you know of…"
The men blurred into each other. No one knew anything or, if his suspicions were correct, no one could remember they knew anything. It seemed his spell had found a limitation - it couldn’t detect a lie if the person speaking it didn’t know it was a lie. But unfortunately, he was getting nowhere. All the guards had been interrogated, and the warehouse workers were nearing completion when the trap finally sprung.
The door swung open, and a guard shoved in his next ‘victim.’ The worker was a young man dressed in a plain brown robe, with a hood lying flat against his back. Jasper’s heart ticked up a notch and he subtly glanced at the man’s hand, but there was no ring there. But a ring could be easily taken off, he reasoned. Plus, the man’s wirey, small frame certainly matched that of a mage.
“Have a seat,” he growled, gesturing at the lone chair that sat on the opposite side of the table, and the man complied. His hands trembled as if he were afraid, but when he lifted his head to meet Jasper’s gaze, Jasper thought he detected a flicker of smugness.
“What- what do you want with me, my lord?” The man asked.
“Do you know anything about a mind mage in Deḇur?”
“I’ve heard rumors, we all have,” the man stuttered out.
While the spell told him the man spoke truly, Jasper knew the man’s reply told him nothing. “Perhaps I should rephrase,” Jasper said, leaning forward on the table. “Do you know who the mind mage is? Do you know who bespelt my men?”
“N-no!” The man’s act was almost convincing, his hands trembling like leaves in an autumn storm, but the spell betrayed him.
“Liar.”
The mage’s hands dropped calmly on his lap, and the smug smile Jasper thought he’d glimpsed before emerged like the sun after a tempest. “So, you really do have a truth spell. Honestly, I’d thought you’d made it up.”
Jasper leaned back against the chair, projecting a casualness he did not feel. “Why mess with our men?” he asked quietly.
“Perhaps you’re stupider than I thought,” the man snorted, “and that was a low bar in the first place.”
“Stupid?” he raised his brow.
“Do you really think it’s wise to meet a mind mage one-on-one? Surely you don’t think you’re walking out of here as yourself.”
“I can handle myself,” Jasper replied, allowing the flames to roll down his hands, while internally he prayed that Tsia had managed to make her way outside.
“Do you know how many men I have outside? All I have to do is call them,” the mage replied.
“And I could kill you first.” His hands twitched as if he was preparing to cast a spell, and the mage finally made his move.
“S̆emû.”
Jasper’s hands stilled, and the mage’s smile grew. “Couldn’t even get a single spell off,” he said disdainfully. He turned to face the door, prepared to call his men in, and Jasper struck.
“Fiery Shackles.” The man screeched as the burning manacles clamped around his wrist and raised his hands to cast another spell, but faltered as the door slammed open with a thud.
“By Duluḫḫû’s-” His curse was cut off as Tsia fired a windblade that sliced through both wrists. The mage screamed in horror as his hands plopped onto the table, blood gushing from the twin wounds, and leaving him unable to cast a spell, though his scream was cut off almost immediately afterward as Tsia shoved a gag into his mouth.
“Tell me, how are your men going to save you when you can’t call them?” Jasper asked casually.
The mage writhed in place, struggling against Tsia’s grip, but his strength quickly waned as the blood gushed out. Truthfully, Jasper found the sight nauseating, but he plastered a smirk on his lips and, allowing the flames to billow from his hands, leaned forward to cauterize the mage’s stumps. “Wouldn’t want you to bleed out,” he said mildly.
The man’s muffled screams ceased as pain and blood loss caused him to pass out, and Jasper slumped into the chair with relief. “Well, looks like our plan worked. Now, how the hell do we get him out of here?”