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  Born Magic

  By A.R. Moler

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 A.R. Moler

  ISBN 9781634868365

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Born Magic

  By A.R. Moler

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 1

  Along the horizon the sky began to lighten, throwing shadows on the sides of the sand dunes. A gust of wind blew a fine abrasive cloud that scoured the landscape.

  Jamal Fayed nudged his horse with his heels, setting the animal ambling forward again. There was still a half a day left on this patrol assignment. He glanced at his partner, Tarik, also mounted on a horse, plodding along beside him. “It’s been half a season since any of our people have seen the Peratheans trying to sneak across the Burning.” The swath of hot arid desert that separated Quertesh from Perathea took two days to cross with a good reliable animal. It took three days for a determined man on foot.

  “I did hear that a trade caravan came across a couple of weeks ago,” said Tarik. He adjusted the keffiyeh on his head, settling the cord that held the cloth in place at a different angle.

  “Anything of great note for sale?” Jamal asked.

  “Someone said they brought some peaches. All preserved against the journey by some magic charm that keeps them the same as the day they were picked.”

  “I bet they cost a small fortune.”

  “More than you and I can afford,” Tarik said.

  “It could be worse. We could be at war again with Perathea. My history knowledge is sketchy. Has it been four or five times?”

  “If you ask my grandmother, she’d probably say four, because I don’t think she counts the couple years of peace in her teens as an actual lack of war. She calls what’s going on right now—pretending peace—”

  Jamal squinted. What was that he saw lying on the sand in the distance? An animal? A hunk of fabric picked up by the wind? “There’s something over there to the left. I’m going to have a look.”

  “Probably part of a tent.”

  Urging his horse to move at a quicker pace, Jamal kept an eye on the object. The closer he got, the more the object looked like…a person. Judging from the lack of movement, he immediately began to wonder if the person was still alive. Drawing close, he slid down off his horse and strode over.

  The body had close cropped light hair and wore an ankle length tunic, no shoes, and nothing else as far as could be seen. All of it was filthy, encrusted with a mix of sand, sweat, and dried blood. Dropping to one knee, Jamal thought he detected a faint rise and fall of the chest. Alive? He rolled the body on its back. The lips were ragged, scabbed, the left cheek darkened by a severe bruise. Somehow, he had expected the features underneath to be delicate and feminine. They weren’t. The jaw line was strong and the cheekbones high and angular. And yet there was no sign of facial hair. Young man? He looked so damaged and so very vulnerable. Sunburn and blisters marred his skin.

  Jamal pressed his fingertips to the man’s throat. A fast weak pulse beat beneath the skin. He was alive. Why did that make Jamal unexpectedly relieved? Touching fingers to skin…felt odd, somehow familiar.

  “He looks Perathean,” Tarik commented, stepping up beside Jamal.

  “Pale skin and light hair, yeah, okay, possibly true.”

  “We should leave the body where it is.”

  “He’s alive!” Jamal replied.

  “So slit his throat and be done with it.”

  “You have no idea who he is! There are immigrants who live in Quertesh. Not many, but they’re legal citizens.” Anger flooded Jamal.

  “Why in the fuck would a Querteshan be out here in the Burning, mostly dead and by himself?”

  “Wandered away from a caravan?”

  “The nearest trade route is a full day’s ride west.” Tarik looked dubious.

  “Which could be why he’s in such awful shape.”

  “There’s a lot of blood. Is it his?”

  Jamal ran his hands along the man’s limbs. There were scrapes and gashes. He gingerly pushed the stiff, stained fabric of the tunic up. Dried blood coated the insides of the man’s legs. His penis hung limp and splattered with similarly dried blood. It also looked like there might be other injuries in that sensitive area.

  “Did he get stabbed, or did someone rape him?” Tarik asked.

  “I can’t tell, but does it really matter? Hand me one of my water skins. I’m going to see if I can get him to drink a little.” Jamal slid an arm under the man’s shoulders and lifted him slightly.

  “Seems like a waste of perfectly good water.”

  “You’re a bastard,” Jamal snapped. He grabbed the water skin Tarik held out and twisted the top open. He dribbled water into the man’s mouth a few drops at a time until there was a weak coughing swallow. “Easy. There’s more.”

  It took a number of minutes to get a few mouthfuls into the man. Slowly, his eyes opened for a moment then sank shut again.

  Jamal said, “Even if he’s a Perathean smuggler or spy, if we take him to the garrison, they could gain some intel.”

  “Are we going to be asked to justify our actions?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. If the higher-ups decide he’s not worth the effort, then it’s out of our hands.” Jamal was hard pressed to give a logical reason why he thought saving this man was so important. Call it a gut feeling or an smidge of intuition. Something about this person felt important. Jamal needed Tarik’s cooperation because the guy on the ground was tall. Although he was slender, he was still obviously as large as an adult. Getting him up onto the horse for transport was definitely a two-person chore.

  “Okay, I guess it’s worth the gamble.”

  “Let me see if I can get a little more water into him before we try to move him.”

  “You’re soft-hearted. Maybe soft headed, too.” Tarik rolled his eyes.

  “Screw you.” Jamal was used to the teasing from his partner. He kept at what he was doing, managing to coax another few swallows of water in the man. Maybe he ought to use a healing scarab. Every soldier on patrol carried at least one lapis scarab charged with healing power. With the random fire tornados and storms that still occasional blew through the Burning, burns and injury were always a possibility. The power kept within a scarab wasn’t enormous, but it might keep you alive after a serious injury.

  “You do know it’s going to take a few hours to ride to Garrison Nine.”

  “Like we weren’t going home anyway.”

  “Well, true, I guess.”

  Jamal dug into the pouch on his belt, fumbling around until he located the smooth roundness of the scarab. He pulled it out and pressed it to the man’s chest a hand span below his throat. Jamal murmured, “Shifa.” The dark blue stone scarab flared with internal light for several seconds then faded.

  Obviously, the dried blood, dirt, and sand stayed exactly the same, but some of the sunburn and abrasions looked to be improved. The man’s eyes opened again. He looked up at Jamal with apprehension and confusion.

  “Just stay still. The healing spell’s probably not finished quite yet,” Jamal said. He held the scarab in place for a another minute before returning it to his pouch. He’d have to pay to get it reset later.

  “Water.” The man’s voice was a hoarse croak.

  “Of course. It looks like you’re still dangerously dehydrated.” Jamal gave him another drink.

  “So who the hell are you?” Tarik asked.

  “I am Nev,” the man said.

  “That’s nice but not super helpful. Querteshan? Perathean?” Tarik pressed.

  “I have been living in Driven.”

  “So Perathean then. I guess you’re trying to sneak across the Burning to get into Quertesh. Hoping to get into Quertesh for a little larceny or hoping to scope out some military intel?”

  Nev looked confused. “I am a servant to Kustaa. He intended to sacrifice me to open a portal and bid a demon through.”

  “Intended?” Jamal asked. “Demon?” Not that magic couldn’t be a powerful and dangerous thing, but there was also a chance the man was delirious.

  Nev’s expression was both fear and embarrassment. “I escaped.”

  Jamal offered him another sip of water. “Could we maybe postpone the interrog
ation until we get to the garrison? I’d rather not be out here when afternoon rolls around again.”

  “Okay, so let’s get going. He’s riding with you.” Tarik gave Jamal an irritated look. “Unless you want him to walk.”

  “No, he’d probably make it twenty paces and pass out again.” Jamal helped Nev sit up more fully. “Do you think you can stand?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Okay, slowly then. “

  Getting Nev to his feet was not easy, not because he was extremely heavy but more because he was weak and clumsy. Jamal supported him with an arm wrapped around Nev’s chest from behind, his thigh wedged against the base of Nev’s spine. It took a long moment for Nev to stabilize his footing. Even then, he leaned back against Jamal a bit.

  “Tarik, bring my horse over.”

  Tarik complied.

  Jamal guided Nev’s hand to the edge of the saddle. “Hang on to the saddle while I mount, then I’ll get Tarik to help you up.”

  Nev nodded.

  One foot in the stirrup, Jamal swung up onto his horse. Stonekicker made a low snort of curiosity. The horse was one of the breeds with extra wide hooves and a tolerance for the dryness of the desert. He had a relative even temperament but a tendency to wander if not kept on task.

  “Do you want him in front or in back?” Tarik asked.

  “Front. He’s awfully weak. I’m afraid he’ll fall off if he’s behind me.” Jamal leaned over and slid his hands under Nev’s arms. “Okay, give him a boost.”

  It was a dicey maneuver. Jamal had to hug the horse with his knees, heels down in the stirrups to have enough leverage and stability to get Nev in front of him without both of them falling off. Finally settled into position, he could feel Nev gasping for breath, or maybe that was gasping in pain.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” Nev’s voice had returned to hoarse and barely audible.

  “Just try to relax. It’ll take us a few hours to get back to the garrison.”

  Jamal wound his arm around Nev’s torso, holding the man against his chest. As Stonekicker began to walk, Jamal kept only a scant portion of his thoughts on guiding the animal. The rest of his mind was occupied by trying to decide why having Nev against his body felt comfortable and correct. And why was he concerned about Nev’s dehydration and exposure injuries when he didn’t even know the Perathean?

  * * * *

  “We need to move faster,” said Tarik.

  Jamal turned his head to look at Tarik, who was riding his own horse. “Why?”

  “Take a look behind you.”

  Twisting further, Jamal saw the smoky cloud of a firestorm along the horizon. “Well, fuck. How far away do you think it is?”

  “An hour, maybe an hour and half if it’s just creeping along. However, I’m not sure it’s going that slow.”

  Looking in front of him, Jamal thought he could see the top of the garrison towers. “The garrison is about an hour, I think. As long as we keep a steady pace, we should get there before the storm catches up.”

  “That sounds like cutting it pretty damn close.”

  Could he get Stonekicker into a canter and still keep Nev in place in front of him? Jamal shifted the way he was holding Nev and adjusted his grip on the reins. “We need to go faster, and I suspect this is going to hurt you a lot. Just try to deal with it.”

  The only response from Nev was a touch from his hand on Jamal’s arm. Jamal took that as acceptance and dug his heels into the horse, urging him into a loping canter. It could have been worse. A trot would have been more jarring, but this stride was far from smooth. The sandy ground was often uneven, and Stonekicker’s wide solid body was bred for endurance rather than speed or grace.

  Half an hour of relatively hard riding brought the garrison into view. Jamal could feel the heat of the firestorm behind them. He called to Tarik. “Go on ahead and get them to open the gate. This might end up being a race to get inside.”

  “Okay. Understood.” Tarik sped away.

  The garrison was protected from both firestorms and sandstorms by a magical warding maintained by the mage who was assigned to the location. The defense only extended scant inches outside the walls.

  Firestorms were a remnant of the mage war that had created “the Burning.” Half a millennia ago, the two kingdoms had gone to war. Some said it was over a woman, others said it was over land ownership and the resources that land contained. Some even whispered that it was about an insult to the Sultan’s ego. Either way, Quertesh’s Sultan Taifa III gathered all the powerful mages of the kingdom and attacked Perathea. The magic clashed with that of the Perathean mages and wizards, and in the miles of grassland that once constituted the borderland, a vast fire broke out. It burned for weeks, fueled by the magic of both sides. It burned down to the bedrock in some spots. The death toll on both sides was heavy.

  No one won.

  It didn’t matter that hundreds of years had elapsed. Or that war, both magical and traditional, had broken out several more times. The vast wild magic released in the Burning still flared at times, hence the firestorms.

  Jamal could smell burnt desert vegetation with an underlying hint of brimstone. And it was getting desperately close. He was minutes from safety. He could see the big main gates of the garrison opening for Tarik. Stonekicker must’ve have noticed the heat because his canter turned into a full gallop. Jamal guided him minimally. The horse knew where home was and had been close to more than one firestorm.

  Only yards from the gate did Jamal haul back on the horse’s reins, slowing him enough to safely navigate the opening and finally come to a stop in the central courtyard. He felt the humming flare of the garrison’s wards roughly one breath before the screaming howl of the storm hit. The sharp tinkling sound of sand turning into glass by the heat rained down on shielding above the courtyard. Nev was essentially limp in Jamal’s grip.

  “I could use a hand,” Jamal called out.

  Tarik and Captain Bhati came toward Stonekicker. They helped Jamal ease Nev to the ground.

  “Who’s this?” the captain asked.

  “His name is Nev. We found him to the south, about halfway between Garrison Ten and here.” Jamal slid out of the saddle and stood beside Stonekicker.

  “He looks Perathean,” said the captain. “He also looks to be in bad shape.”

  “I think he’s a runaway servant,” Tarik commented. “He said something about the guy who he worked for opening a port or something. I think there was magic involved.”

  Bhati stared down at Nev. “Get him in to let Ishaq have a look at him. If he survives, I’ll question him.” The captain gave an order for a couple of the other men to bring a litter and carry Nev into the infirmary area that occupied a section in the right hand side of the garrison wall. “Jamal, see to your horse. Come to my office after you’re done. Tarik, you, too.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jamal cast a glance at Nev, whose unconscious form was being toted away. So much for the passing idea of following him to make sure he was actually being cared for. He couldn’t figure why it made a difference to him, but it did.

  “So are we taking bets on whether we get our asses chewed by the captain?” Tarik asked as they led their horses to the stable area to water and feed them.

  “I wish I knew, but still…I think we did the right thing. He would have died out there, especially considering the firestorm.”

  Tarik positioned his horse in front of the trough, while working on putting hay and oats into the stall. “When we’re done with the captain, I want food. I think I’ll swing by the kitchen and see if I can get a pita.”

  Once the horses were fed and watered and a little stall cleaning done, Jamal went with Tarik to the captain’s office.

  Bhati was behind his desk. “Did the reports get delivered?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tarik said.

  “Good. Any commentary from Ten’s new commander?”

  “Not really. Even though they’re closer to the trade route, everything’s been fairly quiet. A few drunken brawls, a couple of arguments between convoys on the route, that’s about it.” Jamal wondered what Bhati was fishing for.

  “No other people than the one you brought back?”

  “No, sir,” Tarik replied. “May I ask what you’re looking for?” Obviously picking up on the same thread that Jamal wondered about.