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.
