Mystic: A Book of Underrealm (7 page)

“Travelers from Cabrus,” Xain said. “Seeking passage east along the river for Wavemouth.”

“A pretty young family, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
 

Loren blushed, realizing he took her for Xain’s wife. But did he think her the mother of Gem and Annis, with Loren’s youth and the girl’s dark skin? She looked again at the wineskin.

Xain, meanwhile, proved the picture of courtesy. “My thanks. May the sun warm your brow and the river cool your toes.”

They rode through the gates with no further word, the guard giving a single bleary nod upon passage. Loren felt a twinge of guilt as they passed and remembered the army of sellswords that lay many leagues to the north. Jordel had said they might be marching upon Redbrook, though he thought it more likely that they made for Wellmont or one of the other western cities. What if he were wrong? If Xain was right about this town, they would be unprepared when war reached their doorstep.
 

And Loren saw no reason to doubt the wizard’s word behind Redbrook walls. Every building seemed to lean. It did not make them seem weak or rickety, so much as relaxed and waiting for a moment of excitement. She imagined each building, every house and inn, as a farmer resting his forearms upon a fencepost while watching the sun marching through sky.

People matched their homes, most sitting or standing in positions of sloth. Clothing varied in tone only between the dark brown of dyed wool and the lighter shade of dry burlap. Many wore hats woven of river reeds. Those walking the streets moved without hurry, and often Loren had to slow her horse to keep from trampling them underfoot. Outsiders within the town were easy to spot—they moved faster, faces bearing signs of purpose as they cut through the uncaring locals.

“What in the world is wrong with them?” Gem wondered out loud. “Even the children move like old men.”

“This town has not seen battle for many generations,” said Xain. “No other kingdom has made true war upon Selvan in centuries, and Redbrook has no wealth to make itself the target of a border skirmish with Dorsea. Even Selvan scarcely remembers they are here. Day in and day out, these people fish, farm the lands, and spend their days with their families. After a time, it is easy to forget that troubles plague the outside world.”

Xain seemed to harbor contempt for the simple folk, and Gem looked horrified. But Loren felt a settling calm while walking the streets and found it hard to mind that Jordel and Seth still promised pursuit. She caught herself nodding and smiling at each passerby as they did the same and soon felt at peace in their company.
 

A thought came in a flash. Aside from her parents, Loren’s own village in the Birchwood felt very much the same. Nothing moved too quickly, nor did anyone speak overloud. Life simply continued as it always had and always would. Loren thought she might have stayed for a while in Redbrook and found herself happy.

But that was madness. A Mystic haunted her footsteps, and behind him an army.

“We must make for the river,” said Xain. “We will find a boat to take us east along the Dragon’s Tail until it meets Wavemouth. There a ship can take us to one of the outland kingdoms in the east, to wait for a while until our heads are less sought after by . . .” He looked around, as though suddenly cautious of being overhead. “Well, less sought after in general.”

The river did not lie far away, and the street carried them towards it. Soon, Loren heard the gurgling of water again. This time stronger, swelling on the air like a choir. She saw why when they reached it. This river stretched far, far wider than the one they had followed south, wider even than the Melnar by the Birchwood back home. Loren had never seen so much water all in one place and looked with distrust upon the stone bridges spanning its width.

But even as she stood in awe at the river’s great size, Annis yelped with fright and seized Loren’s reins. The girl kicked her horse hard, guiding both mounts down a side street. Xain cried out and followed, swerving when Annis ducked between an inn and a smithy where their horses came to a sudden stop in the deep mud lining the town’s every street.
 

“Stay out of sight,” Annis said. “’Tis an agent of my family. My cousin, I think, though distant. His name is something ridiculous, like Fortinbras.”

In a flash, Loren dismounted and moved to the alley’s mouth, leaning around the edge to look back at the main thoroughfare.

From the bridge stepped a small procession of horses and men on foot. At their head rode a tall man, his skin as dark as Annis’s, his hair close cropped and flecked with grey. Unlike Annis or Damaris, or any member of the Yerrin that Loren had seen, this man was fat, and wore it poorly. He draped himself in garish silks and clothes of finery that looked more ostentatious than fancy. He laughed too loud and too long.
 

But it was not the merchant that drew her eye nor the men riding before and behind him—clearly bodyguards. Nor did Loren look upon the small train of followers behind the man, tittering at his every laugh and looking at him furtively from behind long lashes. Instead, Loren looked upon the woman riding at the merchant’s side.
 

The woman sat short and slender in the saddle, her horse sized to match. The merchant’s charger towered above the smaller horse, and Fortinbras must have stood two heads taller. But the woman was as a dagger of pure steel beside an ornamental greatsword; the greatsword, though bedecked in gilt and prone to glimmer, had little purpose beyond display—the dagger was meant for swift and deadly deeds done in the dark. So seemed the woman. Her eyes and hair were like shadows, her skin fair enough to seem ghostly. She reminded Loren of the tales she had heard of elves, pale ethereal things who lived beyond the ken of men.
 

A deep red cloak hung at her shoulders, its hood thrown back, clasped at her throat with a silver pin. Loren could not see its design from so far away but would have wagered her every belonging that it was the badge of a Mystic.

Even as Loren drew it all in and began to sweat along the back of her neck at the knowledge, the Mystic woman turned to look at her. It was as though she knew Loren lurked in the shadows and what dwelt in her mind besides. Their eyes met across the distance, and Loren blanched beneath her gaze.
 

Then the procession moved on, and the Mystic slipped behind another building. Loren, freed from her gaze, stepped back into the alley with a long sigh and leaned against the smithy’s wall.

“What?” said Xain. “What did you see?”

“You will not like the sound of it. I saw the Yerrin but do not think we need fear him much. Yet at his side rides a Mystic, and I would rather not guess at her purpose. I am certain she saw me.”

Xain sucked a sharp breath between his teeth. “Did she recognize you? Did she know your face?”

“Of course not,” said Loren, scoffing. “How could she? Word could not have come from Jordel so quickly, nor do I think he would have sent any.”

“It is not Jordel that worries me but Damaris.”
 

“Xain is right,” said Annis. “My mother would have sent word to all our clan as quickly as riders could carry it. They may well know of your looks and be wary to spot them, thinking we travel together.”
 

“They would be right to think so. But I said already the merchant did not see me. Would your family work in league with them and tell them to look for me as well?”

Annis thought hard. “I do not know for certain, but it seems unlikely. The Mystics are too nosy for my family’s liking.”

“Then I doubt the Mystic knows to look for me, or for you. In any case, she took little notice.” Loren shuddered despite her cloak and the day’s ample heat.

Xain said, “At last, it seems you learn wisdom in dealing with their kind. We would do well to move on. I have no wish to work against the agents of your family and the Mystics at once. A clever foe is hard enough to outwit. Two may be impossible.”

After checking once more to ensure the merchant train had passed, he led them out of the alley and back to the main street. They turned left and rode their horses slowly across the bridge.

The crossing allowed Loren to forget her momentary fright at the Mystic’s threat, and she marveled to see the high spans that left the river so far below. When she first left the Birchwood and chased Xain south towards Cabrus, she had crossed a simple stone bridge that yawned across the Melnar. She remembered marveling at its size and construction, but this bridge was many times greater. It made Loren imagine what wondrous sights there were to see out in the world, and when she might see them. A sudden wanderlust gripped her feet, and she felt a strange urge to spur her mount to a gallop, to lead it south out of Redbrook and west along the King’s road until she passed through all the nine lands, seeing all the strange sights and their people.

Then the moment passed, and Loren remembered Gem and Annis beside her, Xain riding ahead with his shoulders hunched over his saddle horn. Wild thoughts and unmet goals were all well for daydreams, but now she must keep her wits or risk everything.

Xain led them down a row of low, flat riverboats on the other side. Loren saw how the river had been rimmed with great stone walls, with wooden stairs and platforms built along them so that smaller boats could be fastened for embarkment.
 

Xain rode swift and sure to a small slip of a vessel at one of the docks. The thing did not look as though it could carry more than five people, crew and all. Loren wondered how the four of them would sail upon it with the crew. Xain dismounted and bade them tie their horses to a nearby post. Then he took them down the steps to the platform with the resting vessel and without permission stepped on board.

No sooner did his boot strike the deck than Loren heard a stirring below. Moments later, a man burst out from nowhere to greet them. He stood far shorter than Loren, scarcely a head taller than Annis, but his ample girth made him seem taller. Two days of beard clung to his chin. His heavy eyebrows seemed all the more severe as they drew together in a momentary scowl.
 

The captain cast eyes upon Xain, and then wide brown lips cracked in a smile to show them all his bent yellow teeth. “Sky above, what is that head doing in this piss pot of a town?” he barked. “Xain, what in the nine lands has brought you here? I cannot imagine anything good, or you would have found a prettier face to rest your eyes upon.”

And Xain, dour Xain, solemn Xain who had rarely shown Loren anything more than a glare, a frown, an exasperated roll of his eyes, laughed loud and hard. He strode forwards to meet the captain, throwing his arms around the shorter man and hoisting his heels off the ground in greeting.

“Brimlad, I would have feared I might not find you here, had you ever shown a spark of talent that might take you anywhere else.”

The captain laughed and slammed his hands against Xain’s back. Then he turned him around and held him at arm’s length, looking up into his face.
 

“Redbrook is good enough for this old man. But you? I thought you were holed up in some noble’s mansion on the High King’s Seat.”

Xain cleared his throat sudden and loud, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Loren, Gem, and Annis. Brimlad closed his mouth with a
clack
of teeth and looked at the others.

“I see you have brought friends and guess that means you are not here to visit.”

“You guess right. But that is a story for open water and well away from prying eyes and ears. We need transport, and an hour from now would not seem too soon.”

Brimlad scoffed, drawing back and folding his arms. “An hour? How much trouble are ye in, boy? Even a salty dog has a reputation to uphold. Leave my clients, and I will expect to find no more upon return. I have thirty weights sitting in my pocket that will keep me here until the evening morrow. Can you match them?”

Xain’s face fell, and he turned to the others behind him. “No, not unless at utmost need.”

“As I thought,” said Brimlad. “And in that case, you will have to hole up somewhere until then. I would offer you a bunk below but fear I cannot take all four.”

“I hope you can take one more upon the morrow, Captain.”

The voice behind them nearly made Loren leap out of her skin. She whirled to the wooden dock along the stone river wall to find the slender Mystic standing beside the merchant from the family Yerrin.

nine

LOREN TOOK A STEP TO block Annis, trying to hide her from the merchant’s view. The Mystic’s eyes darted towards her, and in them Loren saw understanding. But she made no comment, and Fortinbras said nothing, his eyes wandering to the far shore.

Xain tensed beside her, hands forming to fists. She feared for a moment that he might unleash his magic, and then she knew they would be hard beset by the city’s constables. But before disaster struck, Brimlad stepped between them, standing at the foot of the gangway leading down to his skiff. He folded his arms and looked up at the Mystic without expression.

“My boat is full enough already, m’lady. These four mean to secure passage as my crew, and I will be overmanned. Besides, my little bucket’s hardly the fastest passage you could find. You would be better off on one of these worthy vessels.”
 

Brimlad gestured towards the boats on either side, both looming more than twice the height of his skiff.

“I am afraid that only this vessel will do,” the Mystic insisted, shaking her head. “After all, who could bear to travel without such interesting company?”

Her eyes went to Xain and then to Loren. She had the uncomfortable feeling the Mystic knew exactly who they were and where they had come from. Jordel’s warnings clanged like a bell inside her mind, and Loren drew her black cloak tighter to ensure the dagger stayed concealed at her waist.
 

But if the Mystic knew anything, the merchant did not seem to share her knowledge. Still he stared idly about, as if seeking distraction. Surely, if he knew who Loren and Xain were, he would have had them taken along with Annis. As it was, the girl in her jester’s cloak must have seemed unworthy of notice, and he did not glance past her lowered cowl. Loren wondered where his retinue had gone, but she was grateful for their absence. The more eyes upon them, the more likely they would be recognized.