His Cure For Magic (Book 2) (3 page)

"We need to be cautious," he said at last, making no mention of what images had flowed into his mind once more. "Overlord Penzi is a cunning woman, and I'm certain she's been waiting for us to turn up at her gates."

"You knew her?"

His eyes vanished back into his past. "Yes. She was a Mediator once, under my command. It seems strange to me now, that I knew about the power the Mediators could control and participated in their deceptions." He looked back at her, his face tight. "She's very powerful. I'd rather not go into the city at all, but if there's anywhere to find accurate information about the Dark, it's inside those walls."

 
Eryn looked back to the city, down a gentle slope from where they stood. It had to be twice the size of Elling, and much more dense. All she could see were lines of tightly packed rooftops and wide thoroughfares, the colorful cloth of the wealthy overwhelming the neutral, earthy cloth of the masses. With two important trade routes converging into Varrow City, it was the busiest inland hub in the Empire.

"How are we going to get in?" she asked, shifting her gaze to the gates, where merchants and travelers waited in line to pay their entry taxes. Soldiers didn't have the same reluctance to challenge their identity that the gentler folk did.

He stared down at the waiting throng, and then turned his horse around. "There's another gate on the east side. It's only intended to be used by soldiers, but I think today they'll be making an exception."

"If the Overlord is so cunning, won't she be expecting you to try to get in that way?" She urged her horse to turn and follow behind him.

"Yes," he shouted back, over his shoulder. "In fact, I'm counting on it."

Eryn smiled. She should have expected he would have a plan to get inside.

###

"I'm not feeling very confident about this plan," Eryn said, from her perch on the back of a donkey. They had traded their horses for the less reliable mount three miles back, to a young couple who had come to Varrow in search of work. They'd also traded them for their clothes, leaving themselves in simple linens under ragged and patched wool cloaks.
 

Silas grunted as he set down a large burlap sack. They had hidden most of their supplies, including Aren's journal, beneath a tree near the road. The remainder was now disguised under fifty pounds of manure they had bought from a merchant who was carting it in to fertilize the Overlord's garden. Apparently, the numerous stables inside the walls didn't provide enough to tend to the immensity of the palace greenery.

"Birthing pains?" Silas asked, pointing at her newly rounded stomach. It was part of their makeshift disguise, a man desperate to earn any coin he could to care for his pregnant charge. Fifteen may have been young for such a situation, but wasn't unheard of, and it added to the believability. Whether they were husband and wife or father and daughter was left to the imagination of the populace. "Your belly is crooked."

Eryn looked down, seeing that the leaves she had wrapped in cloth and stuffed under the linen tunic had shifted. She wrapped her arms around it and shoved it back in place. "This is what I mean," she said.

Silas smiled and stretched his arms, thankful that the weather had remained fair. Waiting in the taxation queue in the rain would have been even less comfortable.
 

Unlike Elling, the city had never outgrown itself, and didn't have a second class living just outside the walls. To make up for it, priests of Amman wandered up and down the lines, asking for donations, while merchants stood to the sides with offers of food, drink, and respite, and minstrels sang and played for coin. Eryn might have been more impressed with the whole thing, if she hadn't felt so exposed.

The line shifted forward, and Silas bent down and lifted the heavy sack back up over his shoulder. He used his other hand to take hold of the donkey's reins, and ambled forward in time with the rest of the crowd. At the pace they were moving, they would reach the front just in time.

"What is that smell?"
 

Eryn looked back at the traveler behind them, a man in a dark wool coat and a brightly colored shirt. He had been staring at her, but now averted his eyes. He hadn't been the one who'd spoken.

"Disgusting."
 

She shifted around again, scanning the queue and the gathering of people around it. Whoever was complaining about their goods, they weren't making themselves known.

"Reminds me of my mother. I hated my mother."
 

The speaker finally appeared, stepping out of the line a few feet ahead of them and moving back. He was a smaller man, with a narrow, trimmed mustache on a plain face, his head almost bald save for a scatter of black near each of his ears. He wore faded brown leather, caked and cracked from too much time spent in the elements without proper care. A scabbard hung from his hip.
 

"Get that offal away from me," he said. He didn't hesitate to get right up in Silas' face.

"I'm sorry to offend you, my Lord," Silas said, bowing his head. "My poor child is unwed and pregnant, and this is all I have to barter with."

Eryn had to fight to keep herself from laughing at his subservience.

The man seemed unfazed. "Move back, peasant. I have no desire to continue being forced to take in your stench." He put a hand to the hilt of his sword, finishing the threat.

"My Lord, please," Silas said, his voice little more than a whisper. "My girl is due at any moment, and if I don't get this fertilizer to the palace, I'll have no coin to trade for her care."

Mustache looked back at Eryn, who did her best to play her part. She ran her hand across her brow, wiping away sweat and grime, and made a face that she hoped looked generally pathetic.

"Fine," he said, moving his hand from his sword to a pocket. He pulled out a small purse and found a silver coin. He leaned forward and shoved it into the pocket of Silas' pants. "This is more than you'll get for that sack. Now move back."

Silas lifted his head and stared at the man. He didn't want to move his place.
 

"Well?" he asked. "I've doubled your profit. Go back."

He stood his ground, still and silent, staring down at Mustache. Finally, he spoke. "Thank you, my Lord. Might I have your name, so I know who to praise to Amman for this gift?"

The man seemed surprised. "Templeton," he said. "Andreaus Templeton of Silsbury."

"Thank you, my Lord." Silas began to turn. His eyes met hers, and she could see the defiant life in them.

"You're wel-"

Silas spun back, faster than Andreaus could follow. He lifted the man from his feet by the collar of his coat, and held him close. Eryn couldn't hear what Silas said to the man, but she did see his face pale, and his head bob in acknowledgement. He made one quick glance back at Eryn, and then returned to his own place in line. Silas looked back at her once more, and this time she had to cover her mouth to hide her amusement.

The line progressed throughout the day, finding Andreaus in front of the soldiers as the sun began to touch the horizon. Eryn felt her heartbeat quicken, wondering if the man would abide by whatever Silas had told him, or if he would take the opportunity to point them out to the guards. He met Silas' gaze one more time, but then handed over the payment for entry to the city, and vanished into the throng.
 

"State your business in Varrow," the soldier said to Silas, once it was their turn.

"I have a sack of fertilizer to sell to the palace, my Lord." He bowed his head again.

The soldier crinkled his nose. "That you do, old man. The tax is three coppers, plus two more for the donkey."

Silas lifted his head. "Five? Since when do you charge extra for mounts?"

"Since the failed uprising in Elling forced the Empire to beef up its ranks. More soldiers means more taxes. Either pay the tax, or get out of the way."

Eryn watched Silas push himself to remain in character, but the news made her own stomach begin to churn. Failed uprising?
 

He put the sack on the ground and reached into his pocket, swishing his hand around in search of the copper coins. He found one and handed it to the guard.

"Hurry up, peasant," the soldier said, "or I'll send you to the back of the line."

"I'm sorry, my Lord." He continued digging.
 

The soldier glared at him, but didn't speak. Just then, a messenger ran through the gates and put his mouth to the man's ear. The soldier's eyes widened.

"Men, with me," he shouted to the other guards, and took off behind the messenger at a run, leaving the gate and the taxes forgotten.

Eryn hadn't heard what the messenger said, but she didn't need to. Silas had paid the young couple handsomely to wear their clothes and make an appearance in front of the gate that only
his
soldiers should have known existed, as well as showing them where to hide once they were being chased. As Silas had guessed, they hadn't needed to physically look like the two of them. The suggestion that they might have been outside the gate was enough to draw the attention of soldiers already on edge.
 

"Like I said. I was counting on it."
 

Silas picked up the sack and led the donkey through the gates. A less experienced squad would be along any moment to replace those who had left, but it had given them a chance to sneak in. With the threat of the ore mines hanging over the heads of those who were caught dodging their taxes, nobody else moved.

"Where do we go now?" Eryn asked, once they were inside. Silas led them across a crowded square to a quiet side street, and then stopped and raised his hand.

"I can help you with that."
 

Andreaus appeared in the mouth of an alley, and motioned for them to join him.

"We need to get you into the Heart," he said, once they were safely out of the street. "You'll be safe there."

Silas dropped the sack and opened it, waving his hand in front of his nose at the smell of the manure, and ignoring the fact the he reeked just as badly from carrying it. "I didn't enjoy putting our things in, either." He dipped his hands into the feces, pulling out their burlap-wrapped swords and Eryn's purse, which contained the marble stone and brooch she had taken from the Mediator, Lia, as well as the ring Silas had once given to his wife. That done, he wiped his hands on the inside of the burlap, though there was no way to remove the smell until he had a proper bath.

"Who are you?" Eryn asked Andreaus, confused by his newfound helpfulness.

The small man bowed. "My apologies, Eryn. I would never have been so surly if I'd known I was speaking to the Heroes of Elling. As I said, my name is Andreaus Templeton. I'm a vintner by trade, a merchant, but between you and me, I'm also a member of the rebellion."

"The rebellion? You didn't sound very compassionate when you were telling Silas he smelled."

"Who said anything about compassion? I still find his odor offensive, but I'm willing to ignore it because of who he is. Don't delude yourself into thinking that because we share a common enemy, we also share a common sense of equality. Perhaps for you, it is about helping the Cursed, and I understand and respect that. For me, it is about taxation and finance. If the end of the Cursed being hunted happens too, so much the better for you, but I couldn't care less."

Eryn didn't know what to say. She stared at Andreaus, her temper smoldering, until Silas put a hand to the man's shoulder. He shied away from the stench of it, but fear or respect kept him from taking the hand away.

"Andreaus, the guard at the gate. He said something about Elling?" There was a hollow hope to the old General's voice, filled with uncertainty and fear.
 

Whatever the merchant's motives, whatever his beliefs, the question left him pale.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Silas. The rebellion in Elling is over.
His
armies invaded a month ago, and overran the city. There were no survivors."

CHAPTER FOUR

Wilem

"I was convinced he was going to make us raze the farm." Captain Lawson leaned over the pot of stew, taking a deep breath of its spiced aroma while serving himself another cup.

General Clau shook his head. "No. I could see it in his eyes. I knew he would break."

Wilem was sitting on the ground behind the soldiers encircling the food. His back was pressed against the wheel of the wagon that would take the Cursed they collected from the larger mobile camp back to the evaluation facility in Edgewater.
 

After two weeks, the wagon remained empty.

Clau shifted his position on the ground, causing the small rings of the ircidium shirt he wore to make a soft clinking sound. "Not hungry, Wilem?"

"No, sir."

His appetite hadn't vanished with the death of the boy. It had fled him soon after he'd returned to the field where the General waited. He'd given him as full of a report as he could in the presence of the soldiers, and while the news had caused the farmer to lurch into another fit of wailing, Clau had looked pleased.
 

All he felt was tired.

The General turned back towards the fire.

"I don't know how much longer this can go on, my Lord," Lawson said, returning to his spot around the fire. "When was the last time we were able to take one alive in any of these smaller villages? For that matter, I don't understand why
he
sent you of all people to do this kind of work."

"It isn't for you to question, Captain. I have my orders, and you have yours. Trust me when I say that there is wisdom to them."

Lawson bowed his head. "Yes, my Lord."

Wilem closed his eyes. He was beginning to feel light-headed, and the flickering of the fire was only making it worse. He needed to get away from the heat and the smoke and the light. Someplace quiet where he could rest. The power had made him tired before, especially in the early days of his training, before they had taught him to control how much he used. He'd been able to do some amazing things then, but it had always left him sick and unconscious.