Millennial Mage novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: The Archmage Wants Her Salt

The woman on the road did not look like she was joking.

She walked toward the convoy through her own fire, which parted around her boots.

Behind her stood about thirty mages in dusty red cloaks, none of them smiling.

"Halt!" she called, and her voice rolled down the road. "By the right of the Brack Company, I am taking your salt!"

Bran stepped down from the lead wagon with his pipe in his hand.

"Archmage Brack," he said, with a respect that sounded close to prayer. "This is Marshal Corr's salt."

"It is salt, and my company is out of it."

"I've sworn to bring it to Harrow."

"I will bring it to Harrow myself, after I burn through it. Step aside, old man."

She raised her left hand, and the burn scar across the back of it went bright orange.

My knees had turned to water.

My legs carried me forward anyway, since they had no better ideas.

"Excuse me," I said.

The archmage looked down at me from her great height.

"You have the face of someone about to say something stupid."

"I have the face of someone who is about to ask a question.

How many barrels did the Hall send your company last month?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Forty. Signed, sealed and delivered."

"And how many did you receive?"

The fire in her hand dimmed a little.

"Twenty-five," she said. "I have told the Marshal. She says the Hall's rolls say forty, and the Hall's rolls are the law."

"Do you have the delivery slips?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"I'm the Marshal's new clerk," I lied, and then I thought about it and decided it was nearly true.

"I'd like to see the slips."

She stared at me for a long, bright moment.

Then she said something over her shoulder, and a sergeant in a red cloak hurried up with a leather case.

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