Magicless and Underpaid - COMING SOON!

Chapter One

Daya parked her rundown cart near the stable and hitched her horse before winding her way past the crowd of spectators outside the arena. Some were leaving the earlier jousting tournament. Others were waiting for the day’s main event. She settled herself atop a stone fence and pulled a thick slice of dark barley bread and a wedge of cheese from her satchel.

She had just finished her lunch when a rockhopper burst out of the dense thicket and charged toward the crowd. Screams filled the air as spectators dove out of the way. The shrieking creature slammed into a man, sending him clear across the dirt into the bushes.

The giant, furred grasshoppers, accidentally created by wizards unbeknownst to non-magicals, were useless as draft animals but excellent for obstacle racing. The problem was their primitive insect brains that screamed jump anytime they got free.

The loose hopper abruptly changed direction, its claws scrabbling through the gravel. When it skidded past Daya toward a crowd of children, she jumped off the fence and onto the animal’s back, her fingers sinking into its curly fur.

Another racer yelled, “Daya, no! You don’t have your armor on!”

She probably should have thought of that, because the rockhopper opened its stubby, underdeveloped wings and sailed past the arena’s entrance. Her feet dangling, she managed to hoist herself onto the hopper’s humped back and grab its thick antennae. When it landed from the jump, she leaned hard to the left, trying to steer it away from the crowd.

But the rockhopper clearly had other ideas. Snorting and hissing, it thrashed and reared like a bucking bull. Daya clenched her jaw, mostly to protect her teeth, while she absorbed the shocks from the sharp twists and bounces, her grip tenuous at best. Hoppers were trained to be ridden on obstacle courses in an arena, not to run untethered through crowds. What was she thinking, trying to rein in a thousand pounds of pure muscle while riding bareback?

The hopper slammed back its head, missing hers by mere inches, and Daya swore under her breath. Rarely did she wish she had the magic of a normal mage, but this was one of those times. Not that spells on animals would be her strong suit, because…well, no spell was her strong suit. Hence, the reason she had spent the last seven years living among the non-magical.

After a tense moment where panicked adults whisked crying children to safety, the rockhopper turned and began to slow down. But Daya’s sigh of relief lasted only a moment because a stray dog nipped at the hopper, sending it into a frenzy and Daya straight into the air.

If this happened during a rockhopper race, the crowds would cheer, but the collective gasp from riders and spectators alike reminded her of the danger she faced. Estimating where the stubborn hopper was, Daya twisted in the air and landed on its back. Then she jammed her hand deep between its neck plates and yanked until it yelped.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But you need to calm down before you hurt someone.”

Finally, two handlers roped the errant hopper and tugged it back to a pen, but when Daya dismounted, pain shot through her right ankle, and she sucked in a harsh breath. Gritting her teeth, she limped to the fence and leaned against it, not appreciating the snide remarks from other riders about her attempt to control the rockhopper. Even if they had a point. Risking injury when race masters were there to watch the amateur race might not have been her smartest move.

Sweat trickled down her back from the midday sun, and she let out a slow breath. Today’s race would be a hot one, and rockhoppers hated racing in the heat. Got ‘em all riled up. With luck, she’d draw a calm hopper for the race, because a top finish could mean racing rockhoppers all across Acerima. Goodbye, working two jobs just to afford crappy lodgings.

More importantly, becoming a master rider would mean a chance to be known for something other than what Daya so miserably failed at. Magic.

She lifted the bottom of her tunic and wiped her face. That’s when she noticed the man with a long black braid watching her. He stood alone, his expression stern. Something about him screamed aristocratic, and not merely his hawkish posture. His attire looked too new, too fitted, and his shoes unscuffed, so she didn’t take him for the typical spectator. The dead giveaway was the lack of a stein of ale in his hand.

The man approached and nodded toward her injured ankle. “May I assist you?”

Trying to place the accent, Daya narrowed her eyes. Definitely not from anywhere in Acerima. Probably overseas. Something about his bearing nagged at her subconscious, as if she could sense an echo of his origins, the way a whiff of a scent could bring back a distant, long-ago memory. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about him reminded her of a…wizard!

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Are you all right?” the man asked, stepping back as if sensing her discomfort.

“I’m…I’m fine,” she said, wiping her brow on her shirt sleeve, although now the sweat wasn’t only from the heat. Ever since she escaped from her clan when she was fifteen, she’d avoided magicals. To their kind, lacking magic was the ultimate failure, and she’d spent far too many of her childhood years in a cold, dark institution because of her deficiencies.

Why was a wizard here when no clans existed in Acerima? A taste of the forbidden? Mixing with mundanes was a punishable offense, yet even with the risk of getting caught, magicals with connections paid handsomely to dabble in Acerima’s cities, drawn to the freedom. Maybe this wizard also wanted to escape the betrayal and heartache of living in a clan.

Avoiding his curious stare, Daya limped down the gravel path, and a knot formed in her stomach. Did he know who she was? She pushed aside the worry. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on her past or wonder why a wizard had shown up at the arena. Today’s rockhopper race was the most important racing event of the season, and she had to be ready to ride in less than an hour.

Daya hobbled as quickly as her ankle allowed, brushing off the mocking laughter from the men nearby, both riders and spectators alike. Being taller and broader than many of the male riders ruffled a few feathers in the ranks. Not to mention, she wasn’t the most social bird, partly because she worked more than sixty hours a week just to pay her keep. But that wasn’t the only reason for her apparent shyness. She had a secret to hide.

She thought of her younger sister, Jalin, loved by everyone in their clan. The poster child of mage perfection, Jalin had the innate ability to say whatever anyone wanted to hear. Even had dimples and an outgoing personality. And magic. Mostly, Jalin had magic.

Daya blocked the image of her family from her mind. She hadn’t seen her sister in years.

* * *

The further the mage walked from Alder, the weaker he could read her thoughts. Rubbing his chin, he hedged. Rather than chase after her and draw unwanted attention to himself, he would stroll the arena grounds, be friendly, and meet people. Enjoy the afternoon. But he would not lose sight of the brave mage who risked life and limb to rein in an out-of-control rockhopper.

He’d been right about one detail, which made him smile. Changing his search from festivals and faires to the most extreme competitions would find him the rider he needed. A woman who wasn’t afraid of danger. A woman who thrived on challenge. Only the most courageous could ride a rockhopper, let alone in an arena peppered with obstacles.

This was no mere chariot race, and that’s exactly what Alder needed, because riding a belligerent dragon was not for the faint of heart. Unfortunately, he had yet to find a rider not only brave enough, but one who met the Order’s oddly bizarre specifications. He shook his head in disgust. As if requiring a lowly mage to ride a dragon in a death-defying race wasn’t enough to satisfy the lords, the Order now wanted a mage without magic.

And now he needed to discern if this mage would be coming home to his clan with him.

Walking across the sun-bleached, cracked dirt, he breathed in the odd bouquet of manure, leather, fresh clay, and roasted pig. Strips of brightly colored cloth, tied to ropes, fluttered in the breeze, and roaming musicians played for the crowds.

Several young men, some wearing body armor, others shirtless, strutted among the rockhopper pens, sizing up the available animals to race, no doubt taking bets on the roughest ride. The level of vigor alone reminded Alder of painful wizard tournaments during his youth before his magical skills intensified with a vengeance. Few rose in rank from mage to wizard.

His magical mirror quivered, and he slipped it out of his breast pocket, carefully concealing it in a handkerchief. He whispered the answering spell and Tallin came into view.

“Your father messaged me last night,” his friend said.

“Why?” Alder slowed his pace to avoid the many ruts in the gravel pathway. The last thing he needed was to injure his ankle, and he had to be careful how much magic he used around mundanes.

“Your father wants to know if you’ve made any progress,” Tallin said.

“I have no idea why he didn’t message me directly.”

Except Alder did know. He compressed his lips. His father deemed him irresponsible, and the old man was probably correct. Some days, Alder resented the scrutiny placed on him as the next high wizard of their clan. Before long, he’d lose the freedom to play his music, wander his homeland incognito, or even enjoy evenings without the company of sycophants. The situation had left a bad taste in his mouth.

Tallin sighed as if he’d grown weary of these discussions yet would never say so. “Did the Order ever explain why they wanted a dud for the Eskanani dragon rider?”

“What?” Alder replied curtly, his mind no longer on the sole reason they’d been sent overseas—the heartless task of finding a magicless mage willing to risk her life riding a dragon in a race to save their clan’s proverbial behind. Why the Order insisted on such archaic methods of settling threats between clans was beyond Alder. Even mundanes relied on arbitration.

Tallin snorted. “The plan might be easier if duds didn’t lose their wits when shown a living, breathing dragon.”

“Yes,” Alder agreed, but a twinge of guilt tore through him. Born without magic, duds lived on the fringe of clans, blocked by the Order of Magic from participating in even the most basic of rituals and celebrations. Fated to be nothing more than servants, unless they escaped. And he couldn’t blame them if they did.

“Are you ready to search another city?” Tallin asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Alder didn’t bother to hide his heavy grumble. For months, they’d searched major cities in Acerima without finding a suitable candidate. Not unexpected given how the Order hunted down wayward magicals who dwelled among mundanes. Even lowly mages capable of nothing more than spells to ripen fruit were forbidden from leaving their clans.

“I’m not quite ready to move on,” he said, finally answering his friend’s question.

“You have that hitch in your voice again,” Tallin said.

“What hitch?” He brushed dirt off his dungarees, the typical trousers for both men and women in Acerima, but the action seemed pointless. The entire arena seemed coated in dirt. Even the air tasted gritty.

“The one you get when you realize once we find a dragon rider, we must return home.”

Alder grimaced. This wasn’t his only concern. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that in all this time, we’ve heard nothing of the Shalor high wizard threatening us?”

“Not really. The Shalor might be planning an attack a year from now or five years from now. You never know with those dastardly rogues.”

“True, or my father has been keeping me in the dark as usual.”

The realization left a pit in his gut. Perhaps he should have paid more attention during clan meetings, but knowing his future position as the Eskanani high wizard had left Alder with a desperate need to enjoy his last year of independence. And enjoy it, he would, even if that meant spending as much time in Acerima as he needed.

* * *

After registering for the day’s rockhopper race, Daya headed back to the rider’s stable to pick up her racing gear when she noticed her friend Cassie talking to the wizard. Her jaw clenched. Did they know each other? Forcing a deep breath, she hopped more than ran the remaining distance, her ankle so swollen it almost felt numb.

Cassie gestured. “Daya, come here. This gentleman has been practicing at the theater where my minstrel band rehearses. Turns out he plays the Welfait lyre! Can you believe it?”

Daya arched an eyebrow. No, actually, she couldn’t.

“I’ve only seen a Welfait lyre in a display,” Cassie continued as if she’d just seen an ancient artifact come to life. A grin crossed her freckled face. “I told Alder about my band, and he offered music he composed that would be perfect for the faire next week. Having a lyre player will give us such an advantage over the other musicians.”

Resisting the urge to drag her awestruck friend away, Daya gave the wizard a tight smile she hoped conveyed her reaction to the presence of a magical at the arena.

“Alder Viisard,” he said, extending his hand to her.

About to hesitantly accept the handshake, she gazed into amber eyes so breathtaking, for a moment, her heart stopped. Better not get caught up in that until she knew exactly what abilities he had. What if he could hypnotize? If she suddenly started barking like a dog…

The wizard leaned closer to her, and the corner of his mouth rose slightly. “A dog?” he whispered. “No. Perhaps a clucking chicken.”

What? He could read minds. She had to think of something else. Spiders or river depths. Anything to avoid revealing who she was. It had been a long time since she needed to work up a mental block, so she was pretty rusty. In her head, she recited a calming poem, praying she wouldn’t think of anything inappropriate, like how, under different circumstances, this man’s silky, warm voice with the delectable accent could be the death of her.

Daya mentally slapped herself. About to excuse herself to warm up, she instead blurted out, “So, you’re really a musician?” Inwardly, she groaned. The last person she wanted to have a cozy chat with before a race was a wizard, particularly such an attractive one.

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips, and she sighed. Mind-reader.

“Yes. I play the Welfait lyre,” he said, answering the question earnestly. “As well as the ajeolla, and occasionally the bamboo flute.”

Cassie nudged him. “I don’t know how long you’re planning on staying in Bridgemount, but the ability to play multiple instruments and compose music would put you in high demand as a musician for hire.”

“Is that so?” he replied. “Perhaps I have a future in Acerima then.” But there was a plaintive touch in his voice, which struck Daya as odd.

Not that she would normally feel sorry for a wizard, but maybe he dreamed of settling down among the non-magical, free from the Order’s demands. If so, he’d need to do more to fit in. Lose the formal speaking style, for one, and the stiff posture. She rubbed her jaw with the back of her hand. However, in a fitted tunic, this particular wizard would put any man to shame with those chiseled cheekbones, piercing eyes, full lips…

Cassie elbowed Daya. “You should get ready for your race.”

Thank you, my friend.

“Good luck,” Alder said, and his smile brightened the air around him.

Momentarily dazed, Daya stepped back and inadvertently stumbled into someone’s wagon. The horse neighed in protest, while Alder raised an infuriating eyebrow, as if to mock her for falling prey to his charms. All wizards were dangerous, but this one presented an entirely different problem. Men this good-looking normally didn’t throw her, but her temperature skyrocketed, and she wiped her hands on her pants.

Alder walked to the street, his long, lean legs easily covering the distance, and her thoughts scattered like the crowds after a race. She definitely didn’t need the distraction, nor did she want to spend any more time than necessary with a wizard who could report her to the Order for abandoning her clan.

“Stop staring,” Cassie admonished. “He’s taken. Some famous thespian, I think? I saw them together at the theater last month, and she was wearing a formal gown with her gloved hand all proper on his arm.” Her friend shrugged. “And she had bodyguards.”

Daya grimaced. No surprise he’d have his pick of women, given his looks, but why draw attention by courting someone famous? Reaching down to rub her ankle, she scowled as she tried to understand the odd burning sensation in her chest. Certainly not jealousy. She had no time for a beau, let alone lusting after an unattainable, or worse, potentially risky one.

“Hey, he’s not your type anyway. Seems like a lone wolf, if you know what I mean, and you deserve someone fun and easygoing. Someone like…oh, never mind.” Cassie knew Daya disliked matchmaking, although she didn’t know the true reason why. Matchmaking reminded Daya too much of the marriage lottery common in clans.

“I’m going to find a place to sit in the stands, and I’ll meet you after the race.”

With a nod, Daya continued to the horse stable. Although her friend was right. Alder wasn’t her type. But did she even have a type? Between rockhopper training, working as a blacksmith, and picking up the occasional shift at the tavern, she rarely socialized with men.

After veering around several hitched horses to get to her gear cart, she sensed the wizard behind her and tensed. What did he want?

“We need to have a talk, my mage friend,” he said in a low voice.

Oh, no. She slowly turned around. “Are you going to report me?”

Alder crossed his arms, and the corner of his lips rose a fraction. “That depends. The Eskanani clan in the Susacauc Mountains needs a dragon rider.”

“A dragon rider?” With a snort, she slung her leather armor over her shoulder. “You come to me about a folk tale? When I was a child, I read stories about dragons roaming the skies, but that’s all they were—stories.”

“You have the skills to ride a dragon, and my clan needs you.”

Daya huffed. “The clans in my province treated me like dirt, and now some wizard from halfway around the world says his clan needs me?”

Alder narrowed his eyes. “Abandoning your kin—”

“I had a good reason.” Not that a wizard would care.

“Perhaps you did.” His lips pursed for a moment as if he were thinking. “The high wizard of the Shalor clan is intent on invading the Eskanani. He wants to annex our eastern lands and force us to join their clan. You know only a dragon race can settle such a dispute.”

His clipped tone did nothing to convince her. She wasn’t his underling. “No, I don’t know, because dragons aren’t real.” Anger building in her chest, Daya glared at the wizard. “Whoever you are, I don’t owe you anything. If you want to report me to the Order for escaping my clan, then go ahead and report me. I’ll just find my way out again.”

The wizard’s forehead furrowed as if he were confused about why anyone would want to leave the Order, and she knew right then, they would never see eye to eye. “Daya,” he said softly but in a way that indicated he was used to having his orders followed. “You don’t belong here.”

“I can’t think of anywhere I belong more.” She gripped the side of her cart to steady herself, her breaths heated. In Acerima, no one knew she was born without magic.

A fleeting hint of sadness crossed the wizard’s face. Maybe he really did have a problem with his clan, but that was none of her concern.

“Sorry, but I can’t help you.” Without waiting for him to reply, Daya strode toward the rockhopper staging area and didn’t look back.

Nothing would convince her to return to the Order.