Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (5 page)

I find Saesa waiting in the sparring square as I expected, sharpening my sword with a whetstone.

“Again?” I laugh. “Thank you, Saesa, but if you keep sharpening it, I fear there will be nothing left.”

Her reply is a respectful bow after she slides it back into its sheath and hands it to me, hilt-first.

This session I have Saesa try a similar blade to mine: a great sword, long, wide, and heavy enough that it must be wielded with two hands. It’s a drastic change from Feat, her beloved short sword, but the glint in her eye when I offer her this one tells me I’ve made the right choice. She takes the weapon with reverence, and I’m surprised when she holds it with her hands spaced properly right at the start. She knows the grip already, and she has the stance well-practiced.

My own sword gleams in the light that splashes through the open ceiling and my heart quickens as it does every time I hold it. This sword is the one Da forged for me and gifted me on my sixteenth birthday. It was lost in the Battle of the Keep at Kythshire, sucked into a Sorcerous vortex. I had thought it gone forever until I found it again in the throne room of Jacek, the Dreamwalker who had stolen the mantle of Valenor, the true Dreamwalker. He used it to lure me to him, then he used it against me, enchanting Saesa and goading her to fight me with it. In the end, he was defeated. In the end, the sword is mine again, as it should be.

All of it flashes back at me in the reflection of my eyes on the blade. Quick moments, there and gone. As trying as it had been, as threatening and dangerous, I want it again. My whole body aches for adventure. I anchor my feet into the dirt and raise my sword to Saesa. We bow, and the bout begins.

She’s been practicing, I can tell. Her swings are more graceful and her thrusts more powerful. Over the two years she’s been my squire, Saesa has grown almost a hands-width taller. Her body is filling out its womanly curves, and her arms are long and leanly muscled. She didn’t bother to tie her hair back today. Her thick red nest of curls barely moves when she does.

“Hey, your hair!” she says, echoing my thoughts as she swings a long downward arc. “How did you—?”

“Check your grip.” I say sternly as I meet her blade with a hard parry, knocking her off center. “Hands apart. Plow stance, elbows in, pommel at your hip. Elbows, Saesa!”

“Elbows, elbows,” she chastises herself with a murmur and tucks them in.

“Someday, Saesa, you’ll be on the field. Someone will see those elbows poking out from a league away,” I thrust my blade close to her rib and she spins away, “and take them right off. Below the hip, strong arms stay close.”

“Yes, my lady,” she says, “strong arms stay close.” She tries again with the proper stance, and I jump back as the blade glances my leather training vest.

“See? That’s better,” I grin.

“But your braid,” she tries some elaborate footwork and fails miserably, stumbling under the weight of her weapon.

“You can do that with a short sword, Saesa, but it won’t work with a great sword. Left foot back, anchor yourself. Greatswords rely on strength over speed. Let the weight of the blade guide your strike.” I show her a strong forward thrust and she repeats it fairly easily. “Good, let’s practice that one.”

“It was Flitt, wasn’t it?” she asks as she tries the move again. “I thought I saw her in your window.”

“Anchor that left foot. Watch your arms, Saesa. Elbows!” I arc my sword upward and knock her right elbow hard with the flat of my blade.

“Sorry!” she yelps.  “Ah,” she says under her breath and skips backward with the tip of her sword dragging in the dust. She tries to put on a brave face, but I know that had to hurt. I felt the crack.

“Take a breath,” I say, but she shakes her head.

“I’m fine, m’lady,” she says, and comes at me again but I sidestep the attack. Her blade wobbles dangerously as her injured arm fights to keep it steady.

“Take a break, Saesa.” I slip my sword back into its scabbard at the bench and beckon to her. “Let me see it.”

She comes as beckoned, and I unbuckle the clasp at her shoulder and pull the leather sleeve down. A dark bruise, blooms around her already swelling elbow. I take her arm gingerly and bend it, and she gasps and winces.

“Conclave,” I say. “You need healing. It’s a break.”

“But we just got started...” Saesa groans in frustration.

“Conclave.” I repeat. “Put it on the guild’s tally. Next time don’t be lazy with your elbows.”

“Yes, Lady Knight,” she sighs and stows her weapon at the wall, then bows respectfully and rushes out.

It’s hours before Rian finally returns from the Academy. He finds me in the meeting hall helping Mouli, our cook and housekeeper, clear away the dinner that’s gone cold. She clucks her tongue at the nearly untouched food and hurries off to the kitchen with it to see what can be salvaged.

“Nobody turned up again?” Rian grabs a roll and bites into it.

“Everyone’s off on their own,” I say as I slip my arms around him. “Mouli can warm the fish for you. It was a good catch.”

“That’s all right,” he shrugs.

“Well, well, nice of you to turn up!” Mouli says shrilly as she comes back to the table. “I’ll make you a plate before you disappear to nothing, Rian! Honestly, you’ve got to eat. Books and ink will not sustain you!”

“Yes, Mouli,” Rian grins. “Thank you for that sage advice. Such a revelation, coming from you. Never before have I heard such wisdom escape your lips.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” she flicks her apron at him and rushes back to the kitchen.

“Hey,” Rian says after she leaves. He reaches up and tugs my braid with a questioning tilt of his head.

“Flitt didn’t like my new style,” I laugh softly.

“She was here?” he asks as he takes my hand. “Where has she been? What did she say?”

Between visits from Mouli, I fill Rian in on my conversation with Flitt. His expression seems to darken slowly the entire time, until he’s finally fully scowling when I get to the part with Shush and the feather. I pull it out and set it on the table beside his plate.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as his whole demeanor changes. His body goes rigid, his jaw and fists clench. This is the way he gets when he goes to Kythshire. Measured. Careful. Slightly terrified. “I thought you’d be honored.”

“It’s too dangerous,” he replies, staring at the feather with distaste.

“How is it dangerous?” I stroke the soft, spotted fronds thoughtfully with my fingertip. “It’s exciting. A chance to strengthen our alliance. And Shush is amazing. It’d be fun to get to know him better, wouldn’t it?”

“No,” he pushes the feather back toward me with the end of his spoon. “It crosses the line. It’s too much power for us, Azi. Too much risk for him. For all of them.”

“But Flitt said—” I start, but he interrupts me.

“Flitt is young. I bet the others argued against it. The older ones. The ones who were there during the darker times. She’s an idealist. She doesn’t realize what could happen.”

“That’s what they said, too,” I sigh. “But don’t you think we’ve changed since then?” I rest a hand on his arm. “Don’t you think our Mages can be trusted? Don’t you think you can be?”

Rian stares thoughtfully at the feather for a long time, pondering the question. He presses his palms into the bench and stays silent through Mouli’s return. She fills his plate again and Rian makes a show of eating it until she goes out again.

“In the end,” he says quietly as Mouli slips out to the kitchen again, “no, I don’t. I don’t even trust myself, Azi. Not with that. Not with the life of a fae. The way I could drain him, use his power to feed my own, it would be a constant temptation. A constant battle. A distraction and a danger. I won’t risk it.”

“That’s why he chose you,” I take his hands in mine. “He’s seen how restrained you are. He knows you’re respectful and cautious. He trusts you. They all do.”

“Well,” Rian says, his hands shaking in mine, “they shouldn’t. I’m not arguing anymore. That’s my final decision. If you respect me, you’ll accept it.”

“Very noble,” a whisper from the feather itself startles us. The sound is quick and soft, like a brisk wind through the leaves of trees. “But you left out the important part, Azi. Remember? The threat. The reason why all of it is necessary.”

The air shimmers over the feather and the form of a fairy emerges slowly. He’s dressed in shining leaf-green plates that mimic a mantis shell. His body is long and lean, giving the appearance that he’s been stretched out, and his yellow hair is blown straight back to a point. He pushes his beetle-like eye-scopes up to rest on his forehead and squints at us.

“Well! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Shush whispers hurriedly. “Good to see you again, both of you!

Tib

“Suppertime Ze,” I whisper to the cat as I slink to the doorway. She meows at me a little reluctantly. “Go on,” I say, and she saunters away off toward the south. Toward Nessa’s. I don’t want her spotted in the tavern again so soon. Someone might get suspicious.

I sneak along the tables. The rich boy is still there. Spooning cobbler into his mouth. Staring at the fire. The crowd’s gotten louder in here since I left. Thicker, too. There’s barely a place to sit. I take a deep breath. I slip between two larger men who are busy with their dice and come out visible on the other side. Loren doesn’t notice me. He’s in a daze. Thinking. Probably thinking about the horrible things that are about to happen to the princess.

“This seat taken?” I drop onto the bench beside him. Put a hand on my dagger hilt. He’s observant. He notices the threat right away. Nothing he can do, though. He’s got me on one side and the wall on the other. His eyes slide slowly away. Back to his bowl. He shrugs. Tries to act calm. He can’t fool me. He’s scared.

“Tib!” the shrill voice makes me wince. Gemma, a young barmaid, swoops in on me in a flurry of skirts and perfume. Her face is painted crazy pink and red and blue. Some men love it. I’ve seen the way they eye her. Not me. It makes her look much older than when I met her at the fishmonger. Not my age anymore, definitely. She leans down so we’re eye to eye. Looks me over. Flutters her eyelashes. “Something to eat?” she asks with an inviting smile.

“Uh,” I swallow. Slide away, toward Loren. Nod. “Whatever he has, Gemma.” I point to the bowl.

She moves closer. Purrs at me like Zeze. “Anything else?” she whispers.

“No. Thanks.” I try not to let my gaze stray to her bare shoulders or the low cut of her shirt as she hovers. When I shake my head again, her smile falters a little.

“All right, Sweeting. If you change your mind, you let me know,” she taps my shoulder playfully and goes off to get my cobbler. Loren turns to me.

“Are you friends with her?” he asks. The way he watches her leave makes it obvious he likes her paint and perfume.

“I’ve known her for a while,” I say.

“That girl in the alley. You stopped her. You stopped all of them. They were afraid of you or something.” He leans back against the wall. Tries to look taller. “I could have, you know. They would have all been sorry. Except…”

“Except you weren’t supposed to use magic,” I finish for him.

“How did you…?” he asks. Stares at me. Shakes his head. “Anyway, thanks for stopping them,” he says after a while. He glances past me, like he’s trying to figure out his escape.

“What was it? In the bag?” I rest my arm on the table. Make it clear he’s not getting past me until I have answers.

“I
can
use it. Magic. I can if I need to. I could use it now.” He reaches toward me. His fingertips crackle.

“Go on,” I laugh. “Try it.”

He tilts his head. Watches me. Moves his crackling hand closer. Blue sparks. A lightning bolt is painful, even at a small scale. It would jolt through me. Burn my flesh. Well, not me. Someone else, maybe. When I don’t flinch, he drops his hand to his lap, looking puzzled.

“I can’t tell you,” he says.

“Can’t you?” I scowl and drum my fingers on the hilt of my dagger. “I’m surrounded by friends here. They’d look the other way, you know.”

Loren swallows. Pushes his cobbler around in his bowl. “I really can’t. I swore a Binding Oath to my master.”

“Oh,” I say. My heart sinks. I know about those magical oaths. Even if he wanted to tell me what it was, he couldn’t. He’s not lying, either. He really took one. I can tell. Gemma comes back with my bowl. She tries again to get my attention but I’m too caught up with Loren and the vest. After a while, she gets tired of being ignored and wanders off again.

“Tell me this. Will it hurt the princess?” I ask. It’s really all I need to know.

Loren’s eyes go wide. He looks shocked and disgusted I’d even think to ask him that. He shakes his head. “Never,” he says. That’s good enough for me. I start to get up.

“You’re going?” he asks. “That’s it?”

“That’s all I needed to know,” I say. I look at him. Slowly start to see him differently. He’s only a kid my age. He tries hard to look confident, but he’s out of place here. Alone in a dirty tavern full of sailors. An islander in a strange land. A boy in a country not his own. Like I was, when Mevyn lured me out of Sunteri. When he made me do things and then made me forget.

I look at Loren. Really look. He’s scared. He ought to be. What kind of master sends a boy dressed like that into a place like this? He should have at least disguised his clothes. It’s stupid of them both. Strange, too. And if he had a delivery for the princess, why not go straight to the castle with it instead of meeting her guard here? It doesn’t add up.

Loren shifts uncomfortably while I think all of this over. Doesn’t say anything. Waits for me to speak first. He’s smart.

“How’d you get to Cerion?” I ask. “Ship?”

“Sure,” he nods.

“A charter? By yourself?”

He nods again.

When I ask him, “What about your master?” he winces.

“He’s not here,” he says vaguely.

“Yeah, figured that one out. If that thing’s so special, why didn’t he bring it himself?” I ask.

“He’s working on something more important,” Loren replies. He’s relaxing a little. Warming up to me, maybe.

“I don’t know, a delivery to Cerion’s palace seems pretty important to me.” I say.

Loren shakes his head slowly. “Some things are more pressing,” he looks around carefully. Looks down. “Threats.”

“Threats?” I ask. “What kind of threats?” I sink back to the bench. The iron at my back scrapes against the wall. I had almost forgotten about it. The sound draws the attention of a nearby table. They eye us curiously. Eventually, they look away. I adjust the straps. Lean closer to him. “Threats against Cerion? Or Stepstone?”

“Threats,” he whispers. “Painted in the stars. Threats against everything. The Known Lands and beyond. Master sees them. Watches for them. He knows what will start it coming. He’s wise. He couldn’t leave observation. He had to stay. He’s the only one who can see clearly.”

“Start what coming? What threats?” I whisper. When he doesn’t answer, I press on. “Sorcery? Something worse?”

“Sorcery!” he laughs. “If only it was so simple as that. No, this is like nothing anyone has seen. And not something I’ll talk about anymore. Master says mention of it gives it power. It feeds on fear and belief. It grows as it feeds. It consumes. Better to put it out of your mind.”

“If that’s true, then why’d you just tell me about it?” I ask. “Didn’t you just make it worse? You’re helping it, whatever it is.”

Loren’s eyes go wide. He shakes his head slowly. “You asked. I didn’t think…”

I cross my arms and lean back. Either he’s lying or he’s not very bright. Since he’s a Mage, I choose the first option. Lying. I think of what Nessa always says. Keep close to the ones you don’t trust. Keep them in your sights. That makes it difficult for them to hide their secrets.

“You staying here at the Swoop?” I ask.

He looks around a little distastefully. “I imagine,” he says.

“I know a better place,” I offer. He looks at me. Thinks I’m trying to trick him, I bet.

“I have to wait here for that guard to come back,” he says.

“Suit yourself. It’s on Overlook,” I say. “Out of here, turn right. The Ganvents. They’re my family. Ask for them. Nessa takes kids in. She’ll be happy to have another even for a short stay. We’ve got a Mage girl there. Name’s Lilen. You two will have a lot to talk about. Tell them Tib sent you. I’ve got to take care of this anyway.” I gesture to the iron at my back. “I’ll be home before sundown.”

“What is it?” he asks, pointing to the iron.

“Later,” I reply. Before he can ask me anything else, I put a silver on the table and slide from the bench. I disappear into the rowdy crowd and out into the market.

The sun is low in the sky, but it’s still so hot that sweat runs down my back. I shift the metal again and wipe my brow. I don’t have a lot of time if I’m going to get back to Nessa’s by supper. I hope Loren decides to show up. If not, he’ll be one more thing on my daily list to track down. I duck into alleys and jog along twisting, lesser-traveled routes until I reach the shack. Goosebumps prickle my arms and neck. The first time I came here, I was attacked by mercenaries, and then the Dreamwalker. I almost died. If Saesa and Raefe hadn’t found me and brought a healer to me, I would have.

It was Mevyn who forced me here, I think to myself like I do every time I climb down this ladder. Into darkness. Into the cool underground. I think about Mevyn every time I come down here. I wonder if I’d have fought harder against him if I knew what we’d end up accomplishing together. No, I would have chosen it. Chosen to help him revive Valenor and restore Sunteri’s Wellspring and its fae. He was the last of them, after all. He should have trusted me with the truth from the beginning. Still, as difficult and controlling as he was, I miss him sometimes.

I close my eyes as I climb down. Remember the fight above, when Mevyn drove my attacker away with a spear to the eye. Remember the vision Jacek, the Dreamwalker, created for me as I tried to escape him. Zhilee running through the red blooms. My little sister, happy and alive. My older sister, Viala, buried in the pages of her book. Red petals floating in the air. My foot finds the dusty bottom too soon. I hop down. Back to reality. At least I still have Viala. She’s changed, but she’s still alive. Her name is Ki now. She lives with the fae in Kythshire. In service to Iren, the Guardian of the North.

It’s different down here since I’ve been working. I light the torches with my flint and unbuckle the iron from my back. It falls to the ground with a clatter. I roll my sore shoulders with relief. Look over my work. Chains. Gears. Cranks. Fins. Wings. Bellows. Bladders. This iron will be the brace for the left. Tomorrow I’ll track down another strip and have Benen shape the right for me.

I get started attaching it with thick cords and screws. I’m too absorbed in my work to notice the shadows stretching longer. Thicker. My eyelids droop. It’s been a long day. I could sleep. Just a nap, a short one. My head bobs forward. My eyes close. I snap them open again.

“Very funny,” I mumble. Tie a knot. Burnish the leather. The shadows laugh. I’m not afraid. I know very well who it is. A friend. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse his billowing cloak. His bright grin against deep brown skin. His long, silver beard. Valenor. The rightful Dreamwalker, who reclaimed his position after Jacek’s defeat.

“Don’t make me regret that I allowed you to help me sleep, Valenor,” I chuckle. When I turn to look at him properly, he’s gone.

“You’re making progress,” his amused voice echoes around me. “Have you thought of how you’ll be getting it out of here?”

“I have to find a new place,” I say. “Soon. I’ll carry it up in pieces to wherever. I think I found a spot. An old stable out of business.”

“Rather out in the open, wouldn’t that be?” Valenor asks.

“I’m going to have to show it to people eventually,” I shrug.

“Why not ask the Princess for a place to work? Certainly she’d provide,” his voice is far away and back again. Dreamy. Unreal. His shadows creep around my work, inspecting.

“If I asked Margy,” I say as I work a screw through the wood, “then there’d be paperwork and contracts and check-ins by men who’d think they could do a better job than me. I don’t need the headache. And I don’t want help. I want to do it on my own.”

“There’s always…” he starts, but I shake my head.

“Thanks, but you know I don’t want to build it in the Dreaming,” I say. “I want to do it without magic. Make sure it really works without help.”

“Very well,” Valenor sighs. “What you’ve already done is extraordinary, Tib. What is this?” His cloak flicks at a thick pile of waxed silk.

“Air bladder,” I reply. Squat back on my heels. Shake out my arm, sore from twisting screws.

“Air bladder, hm. So it would go above?”

“No, below. This long one goes below. One on both side. Then it gets pumped up through here, through sealed holes in the bulwark. Five men, five pumps. That blows up. Lifts the ship up above. See? Meanwhile this other one,” I scoot across the dirt and pat a larger pile of silks, “goes above, and that gets the hot air. These are stabilizers. They’ll keep things level once it’s airborne. And these are for steering.”

“I have to say it is quite ambitious, Tib. Quite.” Valenor’s cloak swirls and glitters just beside me. It’s amazing, I think, how differently the mantle suits him than it did Jacek. On Valenor’s shoulders, it doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels friendly. Welcoming. Familiar. His shadows are a comfort. Always balanced by the light. Always sparkling with stars. Just like his kingdom, the Dreaming. Pleasant again. There are still nightmares, and there are still pleasant dreams. Most importantly, there’s balance.

“Is something wrong?” I ask him as I take a wide step over fins to reach the brace again. “It’s nice to see you, but…” I let myself trail off.

“No, no, nothing pressing,” he says.