Free Ink Mage by Victor Gischler Page B

pulled the reins hard, and the gelding turned sharply into one of the open tents. Perranese warriors scattered camp chairs as they leapt for spears. The gelding bucked in a panic, back hooves flying out to crush another solider with a sick crunch as both armor and bones beneath were crushed.
    He spurred the horse out of the tent, knocking aside more warriors, flinching back from a sword swing that came within a hair’s width of his nose.
    Alem galloped around another tent, and the horse balked at a low wooden fence in the way. A hasty corral had been erected to pen in a dozen goats. He wheeled the horse to return the way he’d come.
    Two dozen Perranese spread out in front of him. They’d wised up, choosing to advance slowly with long pikes, attempting to pin him against the goat corral. Alem turned the horse again, kicked it forward as hard as he could, leaning low. How many times had he practiced jumping fences?
    Zero times. I have never jumped anything . You are going to break your neck, idiot .
    He came to the fence.
    The gelding jumped.
    Horse and rider came down hard amid the panicked and bleating goats. Alem came out of the saddle and back down again hard, jarring his tailbone all the way up to his skull. He flung himself forward to grab the horse’s neck and almost lost his grip when the gelding jumped the fence on the other side of the corral.
    He came down hard again, a foot coming out of one stirrup. Only grabbing a fistful of the horse’s mane kept him from bouncing out of the saddle. He righted himself and rode fast. He was beyond the camp now, galloping down the forest road to the lowlands.
    Alem glanced back. No pursuit. He laughed in giddy relief. He exhaled raggedly, felt almost dizzy. I’m not going to die . He saw an arrow stuck in the material of his cloak under the arm. Another near miss. He started laughing again.
    It was only then he realized Tosh wasn’t with him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    At first, the pinpricks felt like hot fly bites down the soft white skin over her spine and along her shoulders.
    The first time Rina flinched, the mage had admonished her harshly. She hadn’t moved again.
    Her knees hurt on the rough stone. Her muscles ached. The mage worked the needle behind her, sewing his strange magic into her flesh. A slow fire built under her skin, along her backbone, growing warm and uncomfortable. His rough hands worked steadily. He paused to cough, making a sick noise in his throat, then went back to work.
    Rina already regretted her decision. Each jab with the needle felt hotter and deeper, the fire down the center of her back growing more intense.
    “I’m going to talk to you.” The mage’s voice had grown rough and weak in the past hour. “This will take your mind off the discomfort, perhaps, but it’s also information you need to know. Don’t answer back or move. Save your questions for later.”
    Rina clenched her teeth. Discomfort , he’d called it.
    “People think magic involves calling forth something from nothing.” He coughed. “It’s not. Remember the pinch of brimstone.”
    She pictured it, the mage flicking a pinch of the powder when he lit the fire for the bath water.
    “You must have an essence of the thing you wish to control or create,” he said. “It is one of the fundamentals of magic.”
    Rina felt his hands lift from her back. “You can … talk a moment now … if you like. But keep still.” He sounded out of breath.
    “I thought the words of the spell created the magic,” she said.
    “That’s the mage talking to the universe, telling it what to do.” He coughed. Cleared his throat. “Instructions.”
    She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant.
    The old man must have correctly interpreted her silence. “The tattoo relieves you of the responsibility of speaking the language of the universe. The words will be written into your flesh with ink and the other materials, the essence of the magic you will soon control.”
    His next fit of coughing was so