Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2) by Brian W. Foster Read Free Book Online Page A

bottle filled with a goopy yellow liquid from a shelf. “This is my creation. It will put a man to sleep for about a day. Drop him right fast, too. I think anyway. If only I could find someone to test it for me.”
    Brant opened his mouth, but Dylan interrupted. “I have experience with a blowgun from my dealings with the tribes. We can help you.”
    Master Rae pulled a leather saddlebag from underneath the table, his frail arms straining. “I’d also appreciate it if you store this for me. Mind you don’t open it, though. Only a real apprentice apothecary should see what’s inside.”
    Dylan took the bag and nodded.
    “I’m glad we were able to come to an understanding,” the apothecary said. “You are authorized to purchase anything you need at the market and put it on my account. Captain Reed granted permission to draw horses from the militia’s stable as well. If there’s anything else, the mayor will help.”
    Brant finally got to speak. “When?”
    “Soon,” the apothecary said. “Tonight.”

10.
    Dylan’s tunic itched.
    Why couldn’t he wear his own clothes instead of old, ratty ones? More to the point, why did he just go along with Brant’s planning for everything?
    If they got caught, all the wealth and influence of Dylan’s family would do nothing for him. His hard work and long hours in the office and on the road would go for naught.
    Through the tunic’s rough tweed, he grasped his medallion. Something about having the first copper he’d ever earned hanging from his neck comforted him, especially since it was mounted in gold. After all, if things ever got really bad, that setting alone was worth enough to get him out of a jam.
    Focus on the gain, not the risk. But was the gain of Xan’s life worth the risk?
    Dylan shook off the question. Of course it was.
    The moon’s gibbous phase provided ample light. Too much light. One guardsman sat inside the building beside a glassless window opening, and another stood out of Dylan’s sight around the front corner by the door. How would Brant reach several yards in front of the jail without being seen by either? If an alarm were raised, there’d be no rescue. They’d be lucky to get away alive, and Xan would be hanged.
    Dylan tensed as Brant started his move.
    Somehow, he managed to slide from shadow to shadow noiselessly and with deadly grace until reaching his hiding spot behind a wide oak. He froze, caught Dylan’s eyes, and glared.
    Why was Brant upset? He’d gotten into position without being noticed. Dylan shrugged, and Brant stared pointedly at Dylan’s chest.
    He looked down. His fingers tapped the medallion, the metallic clicking audible over the sounds of the night.
    “Sorry,” he mouthed.
    They waited, motionless.
    As silence stretched, a gust slammed Dylan’s face. Treetop canopies jerked and swirled causing the moonlight to dance across the ground and rustling leaves to forge a cacophony. Several blocks away, a dog barked, and Dylan held his breath against one of the sentries investigating.
    The guardsman inside didn’t stir, and after a minute, it became apparent that the one in front wasn’t going to either.
    Dylan gritted his teeth. All he had to do was knock out a pair of sentries without drawing any attention from the rest of the guardsmen who slept in a bunkhouse not a hundred yards away. Ridiculous.
    He gripped the medallion again. Maybe he should give the abort sign. Say the interior guardsman had spotted movement and gotten suspicious. Brant couldn’t see inside and wouldn’t question it.
    Dylan rubbed his temples. It’d suck when Xan was executed but better than sharing his fate.
    A branch shook. Crap. Brant’s signal. No more chance to back out.
    Dylan readied his blowgun. His hand shook, so he steadied the weapon against the tree. How was Brant always so sure about his decisions?
    Nothing happened. A long minute passed. Still nothing. He shook the branch again.
    The sentry from the front popped into view from