when she walked through the door of the head fisherman’s office she almost turned right back around and left. Almost. She needed the money more than she needed to stay out of trouble. They needed the money.
As she stood behind a person already there on business, she studied the medium-sized man who sat behind a large wooden desk that sagged under the weight of the coin purses and stacks of paper in front of him. When he looked up, she shuddered. Not because he had a cruel scar bisecting his face into the ruin of his right eye, but because out of his left eye shone pure evil. This was one man she wouldn’t mess with. There was bad and there was evil . Men like Severin, the thief lord who hadn’t been able to finish an argument without using his fists, were bad.
She knew this man was worse, much worse than Severin just from the glance she had given him. As she waited for the seated man to finish his business with the patron in front of her, she studied him. Sara could tell that the seated man was cunning from just looking at him. But cunning and evil were two very different things. Reluctantly, she dived into her gifts. She needed to know where he treaded the line. After all, being maniacal wasn’t a crime.
She confirmed the hint of malice in his eye when she opened her mage sight to take advantage of the powers of the battle magic that raged within her. She only used a spark of the powers, as it was dangerous to tap into the whole of her battle magic. Sara became virtually unstoppable when using the full force of her gifts. Battle magic was unique among the mages in that it affected their mental states. Battle mages had a nickname she despised, because she shivered in fear whenever she heard it. It was like hearing the death knell and knowing that it was coming for you. The word? Berserkers.
The berserkers, or battle mages, were infamous upon the fields of war for being kill-hungry and virtually unstoppable. Sara had never gone berserk and she never intended to because she refused to go to war. She wasn’t stupid. There would be no better way for a battle mage to trigger the terrible gift, than to be surrounded by blood and enemies everywhere they turned.
I don’t know how my father managed it , she thought to herself.
She shook her head as she thought it over, No, actually I do. He went to war, but he never served on the front lines. He never exposed himself to the temptation to dive into a reign of blood and death. As an officer and as a commander he was safe.
But still, like the ghosts that haunt a child’s bed, the idea of becoming a person unable to control their emotions and being filled with a ravenous urge to murder filled her with dread. Which was why she only used her battle magic sparingly now. She didn’t want to wrestle the dark demon of desire and rage like so many in her family had. She’d heard stories about her ancestors from her father. He had even spoken occasionally about using battle magic in the arena as a gladiator. But one thing he warned her over continuously was that being a battle mage and being a berserker were two wholly different things. You could be one without the other as long as you practiced control. But once you went berserk, you stayed in that state until you died.
Sara knew that in time she wouldn’t have a choice about using her gift of battle magic. If she didn’t use it, it would use her. So she did what she could to placate the urge to kill. She tapped into her gifts slowly and siphoned off some of the power each day. It was part of the reason she had been in that alley the night before and had taken on Simon and his crew. She had no choice. It wouldn’t drive her to be berserk, but not using the gift was just as bad because it could drive her mad.
This time when she tapped into the gift to assess the power and potential threat of the man before her the power was just enough to get her eager to drive a knife through someone’s skull, but not enough to make her go