Free The Sorcery Code by Dima Zales, Anna Zaires

to contain her excitement, she did something she’d only read about.
    She came up to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled his head down to her for a kiss.

Chapter 11: Augusta
     
    Flying high above the road on her chaise, Augusta observed the shocked looks on peasants’ faces as fifty soldiers suddenly materialized out of thin air in front of them. Few laypeople even knew that teleporting spells existed, much less had ever seen the effects of one.
    The peasants in the front abruptly stopped, and the people following them stumbled into them, causing a few to tumble to the ground. The fallen immediately got up, holding out their clubs and pitchforks protectively, but it was too late. They’d shown themselves for the clumsy weaklings that they were.
    Knowing what was coming, Augusta smiled. They would get a bigger shock in a moment.
    “Who is in charge here?” Barson’s voice boomed at them, hurting Augusta’s enhanced hearing for a moment. She’d used magic to increase the volume of her lover’s voice, and she could see that the spell had had its intended effect. Some of the rebels now looked simply terrified.
    At that moment, a giant of a man wearing a smith’s apron walked out of the crowd. In his hand, he was holding a large, heavy-looking sword. A blacksmith, Augusta guessed. His presence explained some of the weapons the rebels were carrying.
    “Nobody is in charge,” the giant roared back, trying to match Barson’s deep tones. “We’re all equals here.”
    Barson raised his eyebrows. “Well, then, you can tell all your ‘equals’ that we have an army waiting just up this hill.” His voice was at a normal volume now; Augusta’s spell only worked for a short period of time.
    The peasant openly sneered. “And we have an army about to march up this hill—”
    “More like a bunch of hungry peasants,” Barson interrupted dismissively.
    The man’s lip curled in a snarl. “What do you want?”
    “It’s more about what I don’t want,” the Captain of the Guard said coolly. “I don’t want unnecessary slaughter.”
    The blacksmith laughed, throwing his head back. “We don’t mind killing all of you, and it’s quite necessary.”
    Barson didn’t respond, just lifted his eyebrows and continued looking at the man.
    “You’re afraid of us,” the peasant sneered again. “What, you think a little sorcery and threats are enough to make us turn back?”
    Augusta’s lover gave him an even look. “I would rather not make martyrs out of you. I understand that the drought is making life difficult for everyone, but you are marching on Turingrad. Even if we didn’t kill you—and we will, if you force us—a single sorcerer there could destroy you in a moment.”
    The man scowled. “We’ll see about that.”
    “No,” Barson said, “we won’t. I will give you a chance to see how futile your rebellion is. Your ten best fighters against one of us—any one of us.”
    “Oh, right.” The man snorted. “And if we win?”
    “You won’t,” Barson said, his confidence so absolute that for the first time, Augusta could see a glimmer of doubt on the blacksmith’s face.
    A moment later, however, the peasant recovered his composure. “This is pointless,” he said, making a move to turn back.
    “You’re scared of us!” A taunting voice—surprisingly high-pitched and youthful—seemed to come out of nowhere, causing the peasant to stop in his tracks. Turning, the huge commoner stared at the young soldier who was pushing his way to the front.
    It was Kiam, the boy Augusta had healed during practice.
    Before the peasant could respond, Kiam yelled out, “Ten to one is not enough for you cowards—you’re still scared! Why don’t you do fifteen to one? Or how about twenty? Think you’d be less scared then?”
    The blacksmith visibly swelled with rage, his bearded face turning a dark red color. “Shut your mouth, pup!” he bellowed and, pulling out his sword, charged at