Battle Mage 3: Academy for Magical Inmates by Dante King

Author:Dante King [King, Dante]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2022-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

“You’re making a mistake, Leo. Agh, to have to be the one to tell it to you square… But so be it. There, I said it, I said it out loud—but it’s what everyone is thinking, and what everyone here knows! You can’t trust a vampire; that’s simply a universal truth. You weren’t there in the bleedin’ thick of it, when she and her evil friends were flying around like rabid bloody eagles, swooping down and flinging our summoned monsters around like ragdolls! You didn’t see how bleedin’ deadly and vicious that creature was! You didn’t see the look in her eyes, but I, oh, I sure did. I can’t look at her now without remembering. Though aye, I’ll admit, for a human she is very comely—even as a dwarf I can see that—but you’re doing what all of us blokes are sometimes wont to do, and that’s allowing your wee head down below to do your thinking for you, rather than your big head atop your shoulders. I say we hack her pretty head off and be done with it. She has been all nice and pleasant these past hours, aye. But why should we imagine it isn’t easy for a creature as vile as a vampire to do exactly that: pretend kindness, gain your trust, and then… Well, ahem. What I’m saying is, I’m all for avoiding stupid, avoidable risks. We came here and we did what we needed to do: we rescued Cecil. Now let’s get out of here and get on with our quest… without that evil creature tagging along.”

After he finished his monolog, Torsten folded his thick arms defiantly in front of his barrel chest, over which his massive beard erupted like a fibrous waterfall of fire.

The others were standing behind him—all except for Ajbida, who was down in the dungeons with Ruby, and Cecil, who was still in a deep slumber. Although none of them added their voices to Torsten’s protest, from the looks in their eyes, it was obvious that they agreed with this sentiment.

Ever since we had left the Jade Bastion—and, really, from at least a few weeks before that juncture—I had assumed the role of unofficial leader of our band. Nobody had had a problem with it before; indeed, everyone had wholeheartedly supported all of my decisions, and my leadership had never really been questioned or put into doubt. Now, however, I was facing my first rebellion.

As a former thief and a member of what was essentially the lowest rung of society, along with beggars, whores, pickpockets, panhandlers, street urchins, and other such undesirables, I had never been a fan of authority. Authority had always been the boot on our throats, the rope around the neck of us thieves and the other lowly members of our caste.

We’d had our own authority structures in place, and they had always been democratic in nature, by definition and by necessity; among the poor and downtrodden, there were few tyrants, and anyone who tried

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