Mystic: A Book of Underrealm (21 page)

“Leaving it weak and ripe for sapping. And you have forgotten that a second army approaches from the north even now. Besides, the guards could easily shoot us with arrows.”

“Very well,” said Xain quickly. “I could use wind to lift us over the wall, flying away like birds.”

“And they would shoot us down, just the same,” said Loren, shaking her head. “No, Xain, our best and safest route of escape is still to purchase our way upon a wagon. What we stole yesterday should be enough.”

Xain slammed a hand on the table. “I am telling you, we must use another—”

He caught himself at the last minute, and looking around, Loren saw that all eyes in the common room had turned to him—including the Mystics by the door. He glared at them until they both looked away, and then he leaned in to whisper.

“A magestone,” he said. “’Tis the only way to be sure.”

Loren steeled herself. “No, Xain. I will not. We agreed that you would receive your half when we reached your contact in Dorsea.”

“But it is my share, is it not? Or do you mean to cheat me out of what is mine?”

“Of course not. But I will not have you squander it all before we arrive. You must save some for your son’s rescue. Or have you forgotten him?”

She had pushed the wizard too far and knew it before the words left her mouth. Xain snarled, and his hand clenched on the table. He winced and lifted his hand—the motion had driven a splinter deep into his flesh. Xain stared at his palm as though woken from a dream.

His eyes rose to Loren. “I . . . you are right. We shall escape with Jordel. That is safest.”

Something had changed in Xain’s eyes, and for a moment the wizard looked as he had when Loren first spied him in the Birchwood.
 

“Are you all right?”

“I am . . . I will be fine. I should go. It seems I have much to learn in the morrow.”

He stood and left the table. Loren watched him go, somehow more frightened than before.

twenty-four

LOREN ROSE BEFORE DAWN THE next morning to find that the wizard had already left. Annis rose soon after, but Gem snored on and on as if he might never stop.
 

“Xain is gone?” said Annis. “Do you think he will try to run?”

“I do not know,” said Loren, “but I would wager not. Jordel posted guards downstairs, and Xain could not have escaped them without some commotion—enough to wake us here, I think.”

Together, they decided to enter the city. To leave with Jordel, they would need supplies and provisions. Loren would rather not be beholden to the Mystic since she planned to part his company the moment she could, and besides they had enough coin within their stolen purse.

Loren led Annis downstairs, where to her surprise she still saw one figure in a red cloak seated by the common room’s front door. She had not thought Jordel meant to guard them as well since it seemed clear that he was only after Xain. But then the figure rose and approached them, casting back its cowl. It was Vivien, her dark hair drawn back in careful looping braids. Despite what Loren knew of the woman, she looked beautiful, and it caught both girls off guard.

“Risen at last, little songbirds,” said Vivien smoothly. “The morning wears on.”

“It is scarcely past dawn,” said Loren, irritated. “Jordel has assigned you to watch us, I suppose?”

She meant it as an insult, if a weak one—Loren had gathered that Vivien did not always agree with Jordel and that serving him grated on her. But Vivien smiled and spread her hands.

“I am here by my own will. Since Jordel seems in such a rush to leave this city, I gathered that you would need to fetch some supplies. I grew to womanhood upon this city’s streets and can take you to all the best shops. My cloak will provide a better barter than you could gain with even the most silvered tongue.”

Annis bristled beside her, but Loren spoke first and kept her tone equally civil. “We thank you but would sooner go alone. So much of the nine lands are still unknown to us, and they say a stranger may see more in a new land than the tired eyes of one long accustomed to its sights.”

Another barb, but again Vivien only smiled. “My eyes are nearly as fresh as yours, for I have not been home in many years. It sounds as though you have had many thrilling adventures on the long road. I would hear all about them.”

“We would not speak of them,” said Annis angrily.

Vivien shrugged. “Then I will walk beside you regardless, and mayhap you will find my tales entertaining instead.”

That piqued Loren’s interest. If indeed Vivien would only talk and not try to pry information, who knew what they might learn? “Very well. We shall need fresh bedrolls for a start—ours have grown musty. And salted beef and hardtack if it can be found.”

“In plenty, and many finer things to eat besides. Come. I will take you to the clothiers first. Bedrolls are not in high demand, and they must make them when needed.”

“Lead the way.” Loren quieted Annis with a look; the girl was fuming. “It will not be so bad,” she whispered as Vivien turned. “Mayhap we can learn something of value.”

Despite her anger, Annis did not speak against it. So the three of them set out upon the city, Vivien swiftly taking them north and west to the craftsman’s quarter. Streets were quiet, and the few people they saw walking did not let their gaze linger anywhere long. Yesterday’s pall upon the city seemed to have worsened.

“They await the next attack,” said Vivien. “It wears heavily on every nerve, though they do their best to hide it.”

“The city has seen many wars, has it not?” said Loren.
 

“Many, yes, though ‘war’ might be a strong word,” Vivien said. “Often do the Dorsean hounds yap at our heels, seeking to avenge some imagined slight. Most times, they come and bray at the walls for a day or two before slinking back to their homes, often without spilling a drop of blood. Other times, a few lives are lost on either side, victims of stray arrows. Never in my life have swords clashed upon the southern wall—at least not until now.”

“How bad was it?” said Loren.

“They managed to scale the wall in three places and every time were thrown back quickly. Some of our guards were wounded but none killed—the Dorseans lost a score of men.”

Vivien seemed to grow more earnest by the word, her mask slipping away as it had in the tavern the day before. Her voice found more life than Loren had heard in it thus far—proud when she spoke of Wellmont, livid when the Dorseans poisoned her lips. If Loren could keep her talking, she might reveal much indeed.

“That sounds like a victory. What, then, worries these people so?”

“Jordel is to blame for that, though I bear him no grudge. The city felt it had nothing to fear, for though the Dorsean host is great, they had no way to pressure our northern wall. Supplies would have no trouble reaching us—or so we believed. Now Jordel has told them of the sellsword army, which even now marches upon us from the northeast. When they arrive, we will be hard put—but our walls are strong, and we shall surely best them. More than that—
we will destroy them.
While Selvan does not lightly put forth its strength in war, neither does that mean that Wellmont is weak.”

Vivien spat the last with fury, such that Loren fell silent. The quiet lasted too long, for Loren saw her mask slide slowly back into place, all calm, without a single line to anger her brow.
 

“You must forgive me for going on so long. As a child of this city, its fate weighs heavy on my mind. But I have heard nothing of you, Loren of the family Nelda. I do not know that name. Where is it from? Do you hail from here, in Selvan, or some other kingdom?”

“I come from a nameless village in a forest you would never have heard of. ’Tis a place of little interest, to me or anyone else.”

“Surely, each of us holds our homes to be important, at least in a small way.”
 

Only one thing in the Birchwood was important, and I am not likely to see him again
.
 

Loren would no sooner have told Vivien about Chet than she would have revealed her dagger.

“Such words come easily when you come from a great city,” she said.

“You flatter me,” said Vivien with a small bow, hardly more than a nod. “If you will not tell me whence you come, then mayhap the little one will tell me where she means to go? You must know that your family eagerly seeks you, and if I will not tell them of your whereabouts, that does not mean others will be as restrained. Where will you hide from their watchful eyes?”

“Do you think me a fool?” snapped Annis. “If I tell you, I may as well whisper it into my mother’s ears.”

“I have given my word, and I am sorry that means so little to you,” said Vivien with a sorrowful shake of her head that Loren knew for farce. “But here. We have reached our first destination.”

It was a small clothier’s shop with a green sign hanging above the door. Vivien gestured them in, where a buxom woman greeted them warmly. She received Vivien with particular grace, bowing low and remarking upon the lovely state of her cloak. The cloth looked lustrous, vivid as if it were brand new—a stark contrast to Jordel’s faded, threadbare garment.

“Only half as fine as the meanest item in your shop, I am afraid,” said Vivien. The clothier blushed.

In no time, the woman had cut them four new bedrolls of sturdy green cloth, thick and durable yet soft and comforting. Loren had never seen finer fabric used for so pedestrian a purpose. When she asked after the price, the clothier said she would take only a few silver pennies.

“Come now,” said Vivien quickly. “A gold weight would be a shrewd price. You cannot give away your wares.”

“I will not take a spot of coin from friends of the Mystics,” insisted the clothier. “Not when rumor has it you have come here to save us from those Dorsean dogs.”

There was a moment’s silence, and Loren felt her chest grow uncomfortably tight. Vivien’s face froze in its gentle smile, and for a moment she seemed unable to speak.

“Will you take twelve silver pennies, good lady?” said Loren, hoping to break the awkward pause.

The clothier looked at her, seeming lost. But she recovered in a moment, smiling brightly and nodding. Loren reached beneath her cloak for the purse of coins she had taken from beneath Gem’s bed and pulled out a fistful of silver. She counted out sixteen coins and dropped them into the clothier’s hand, then left before the woman could realize the mistake.

“Do the people of Wellmont really believe the Mystics will save them?”
 

“I had not heard that before,” said Vivien stiffly. “Imagine their disappointment when Jordel rides out in the morrow and takes all his men.”

“But they will still have you. A mighty mindmage.” The thought of the Dorseans razing this city troubled her greatly. Loren might never have played a part in matters of the nine lands, but still she was Selvan born, and like anyone in her village had been raised to know the Dorseans as warmongering thieves. Even old Bracken had not held a high opinion of the southern kingdom, and he had been one of the kindest people Loren had ever known.

Vivien offered Loren a small smile, but it had grown cold, again like her demeanor upon the docks in Redbrook. “Not so mighty as your friend Xain. You must tell me—how often have you seen him wield such power? I could scarcely believe it.”

“I had seen nothing like it from him before,” Loren admitted. “But neither have I ever seen a duel of mages. Before that, small bursts of flame and gusts of wind were the extent of his magic so far as I had seen.”
 

“It seems he found some inner well of strength. I only hope he is in control of his power. He might have killed me.”

“He would not,” said Loren quickly. Vivien’s words had made her think uncomfortably of the magestones. “He holds life more dearly than that. ’Tis a value we share.”
 

“Yes, Jordel mentioned something of the kind,” said Vivien. “I must say I admire your conviction. It would be a better world if all lived with such stringent morality.”

Loren looked at Vivien askance. “I suppose you mean to say I am a fool.”

“Not a bit. We were all young once.”

Loren cared for that not and felt certain Vivien meant to anger her. So she held her silence, and indeed they spoke of nothing of value through the afternoon. After a while, they had gathered all the provisions they could need, and so as the sun began to set they turned their steps towards the inn. No matter how Vivien tried to pry more information out of Loren, she would not answer, and Annis too walked in stony silence.

They did not find Gem alone upon their return. He sat in the room waiting with wide eyes, Xain and Jordel beside him.

“You have returned,” said Jordel. “That is good, for we have much to plan.”

“We were preparing for a journey,” said Loren. “I hope you have not waited long.” She probed Xain’s face, hoping for some sign of what had transpired, but the wizard would not meet her gaze.

“We only just arrived here,” said Jordel. “We spoke of much and more besides through the day. My voice is frail from the talking.”

“And?” said Loren, still looking at Xain. “What came of it?”

Xain finally looked up at Loren, and she nearly fell a step back. The wizard’s skin was ghostly white, and while his eyes burnt with the same hunger as they had been, now they also bore heavy clouds of fear.

“I will go with Jordel,” said Xain. “He heads for Feldemar. But I will follow wherever he may lead.”
 

Loren could sense no trace of duplicity in the wizard’s voice.
 

“You will.” Loren meant it to be a question, but her voice had failed. “Very well, then. Your path is yours to choose.”

“As is yours,” said Jordel. “But it is my strong hope you will join us.”

Loren blinked. “Me?”

“Who else?”

“What do you want me for? I have seen your purpose, and you know I share it not.”

“’Tis not all blood and death, as you have decided.” Jordel words were harsh but gently spoken. “You have considerable talents that seem born to you. I would have those talents groomed, for they will be invaluable in the coming months. Not every fight takes place on the battlefield, nor is every blow struck with a fist.”