Renegade Wizards (26 page)

It wasn’t until the next morning that the boy found Keanan again. He related what he’d seen and heard, and in turn, Keanan brought him to speak with three strangers waiting at the Bright Horizons Rest. The strangers were all intimidating, from the blond-haired man who studied the boy with an eagle’s intensity, to the bear of a man who was stout of chest and all beard, to the woman with knives for eyes and a strange metal book strapped across her chest.

“Tell them what you told me,” Keanan said, nodding to the three. They were all seated in a private dining room in the back, their table covered in breakfast plates (most of it for the larger man, the boy suspected) and the air filled with the smell of eggs and thick bacon. The boy began speaking, but he was so hungry, he kept distracting himself with glances to the table.

The large man smiled and offered the boy two strips of greasy bacon. The boy wolfed them down quickly, despite the impatient look thrown his way by the woman. Finally, after a small burp, the boy continued.

“So I started following them like I was told,” he said.

“Did they have horses?” the blond-haired man asked.

“Two. They took them from the stables. The woman with black hair was riding one with the man holding her up; I thought she was dead, for sure.”

“Go on,” the woman said. “Where did they go?”

“Well,” the boy admitted, “I’m not exactly sure.”

“You lost them?” the woman said, rising suddenly from her chair and tipping it to the floor with a loud crash. Even her two compatriots seemed startled.

Keanan was all smiles as he stepped in between the
woman and the child, his hands resting easily on his belt. The boy knew better, however. He knew the belt hid throwing knives, enough to kill the three strangers.

“Easy now,” Keanan said. “Let him finish.”

The woman was momentarily confused, like the anger had overtaken her suddenly. She nodded absently, righted her chair, and sat down, apparently taken aback at her own behavior and angrier still. She motioned for the boy to continue.

“Well, the three and their horses … they just vanished, see?” The boy snapped his fingers. “Like that. Like they did in the fight.”

“They went invisible,” the large man said, sighing. “Back to the beginning.”

“No wait,” the boy said. “I still followed them.”

“How?” the blond-haired man asked.

“Well, they vanished right?” the boy said, all proud of himself. “But I could still hear them clopping through the street. So I followed the sound.”

Both the large man and the blond one smiled, a look that filled the boy with pride. The woman, however, didn’t appear impressed one way or the other. The boy decided he didn’t like her.

“You followed the sound and didn’t get caught?” the woman said. “Lucky. Very lucky. Where did they go?”

“Well that’s the thing. They rode all the way into Smiths’ Alley and then stopped. I listened for a long time … till morning when everyone started waking up, but I heard nothing. I didn’t see where they hid. Only that it was near the Alley.”

The woman stood again, the uncertainty gone from her eyes. She tossed Keanan a coin purse and nodded to the others. They stood as well and headed for the door.

“If this information proves accurate,” the woman said, “we’ll pay you the remaining half later.”

Keanan nodded as he hefted the pouch in his hands. He didn’t bother peering inside the purse.

The bearish man, as he passed the boy, patted him on the shoulder with his massive hand and nodded to the table. “Eat. Grow big and strong like me,” he said then laughed at his own joke as he left the room. The boy decided he liked him the best.

The boy waited for Keanan to give him the nod before he set about wolfing down the plates of food. They were partially eaten, but he devoured them just the same. There was no telling when he’d have a chance at such a fine meal again. As he ate, shoving bits of pork and scooping eggs into his mouth with his fingers, Keanan sat next to him.

“You did good,” Keanan said. “I think you’ve earned yourself a nickname … Lucky.”

“Lucky Leppomanto!” the boy cheered with food spilling from his mouth and his arm thrown in the air.

“Let’s stick with Lucky, for now. Leppomanto’s not an easy name to remember.”

The boy nodded again. He felt as if he were going to burst. Sutler was dead and he had earned himself a guild nickname before any of the other boys. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, Keanan pushed a couple of copper pieces his way.

“You earned it,” Keanan said before claiming two strips of bacon for himself.

The boy grabbed the pair of coins and shoved them into his pocket. His fingers touched the toy soldier that was already there, and he suddenly remembered his good luck charm. He wrapped his greasy fingers around it and smiled.

Lucky, he thought before shoveling more food in his mouth.

The Hush Between Heartbeats

I
t had been a strange and eerie ride through the empty streets of Palanthas, especially when they couldn’t see each other. There were only the echoes of hoofbeats that broke against the city walls and the odd looks from occasional travelers they encountered who were baffled by the sound of phantom horses. Tythonnia had added the invisibility spell to her repertoire following Ladonna’s little object lesson. She’d focused mostly on illusions, choosing misdirection as her weapon of choice. After the fight, she was glad she had.

Finally, after what felt like hours of travel, Ladonna whispered for them to stop at a gap between two buildings. The wood and stone structures were mere feet from each other, enough that children in either building could play catch with one another from their windows. It was more than two buildings, however. It seemed that the gap separated rows of structures, all built two or three stories tall.

It’s a street, Tythonnia realized, narrow enough that two horses could choke the throat of it. The buildings were constructed in the shadow of the wall, and their chimneys rose so close to it that the battlement was black with soot.

“Smiths’ Alley,” Ladonna said.

Tythonnia wished she could see her and Par-Salian.
Ladonna sounded weak, and Tythonnia had to admit, her own shoulder wound still hurt. They needed to rest. They moved into the street, instead, the awnings of rooftops touching and forming a permanent canopy. It also walled-in the stench of humans and animals, a nauseating aroma. The horses echoed even more loudly and Tythonnia wished she had the trick to silence their hoof falls before they roused the neighborhood. She decided she would find a spell later that allowed her to travel more quietly … if they survived the night.

Smiths’ Alley lived up to its name, with building upon building advertising smithy services on wood placards. Tythonnia felt them drawing near to the end of the spell’s effect when Ladonna whispered for them to stop in front of a small building.

“Drop the spell,” Ladonna instructed.

The three of them reappeared to one another, and Ladonna definitely looked the worse for their ride. She was pale, the back of her dress glistening with blood. Par-Salian, his leg bandaged, supported her and helped her dismount. They ushered the horses into a side alley where the horses barely fit. Ladonna hammered on a large side door, a rickety piece of wood that shuddered even under her weakened fist. A curled rose, faded with age, was painted above the door.

It took a few moments of knocking before Tythonnia saw candlelight flicker between the slats of wood.

“Who is it?” a rough voice asked. It belonged to a woman.

“Ladonna … Adwin’s daughter.”

There was a pause before someone hastily undid the latch and slid the door open. It was large enough to fit the horses, but blocking the doorway was one of the largest women Tythonnia had ever seen. Her hair was white and braided around her neck like a loop. Despite the generous fat on her body, she was well muscled with a round face, gray eyes, and a strong jaw. She looked fit enough to snap them all in two.
She wore a night slip that barely contained her bosom. She saw Ladonna, and at once seemed shocked.

“Look at you, child,” she said. She pulled Ladonna into the doorway and waved the rest of them in. “What happened to you?”

“Hello, Rosie,” Ladonna said, grimacing. They were inside a small barn, hay scattered about the ground, with three empty stalls. Ladonna leaned against a column of wood and breathed hard.

Rosie scowled and crossed her massive arms. “That’s the work of the Thieves’ Guild, isn’t it? Is that what you left for?” she asked. “Just so you could fall back in with that bad lot?”

“They were settling an old grudge,” Ladonna said.

“And you had nothing to do with encouraging it?” Rosie asked. It sounded like an accusation. “How long have you been in town?” she asked in the same accusatory tone.

“A week,” Ladonna admitted.

“She’s hurt,” Par-Salian said. “We all are.”

The woman laughed and pointed at his thigh. “That nick? My husband cut himself worse shaving.”

“Our injuries don’t matter,” Tythonnia said. “But Ladonna almost died.”

Rosie softened a bit at that but remained scowling. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she began helping Ladonna toward the rickety stairs at the back of the barn that led to a loft bedroom.

“Get the horses inside,” Rosie said. “I’ll see to this little troublemaker myself.”

“You’ve gotten big,” Ladonna mumbled as they headed up the stairs.

“And you still have the body of a twig.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment. Twigs are meant to be broken.”

They watched Rosie and Ladonna vanish upstairs before taking stock of their situation. The barn was simple and tucked behind a smithy’s shop, the door of which was closed.

“You, sit,” Tythonnia instructed Par-Salian. She pointed to a sawhorse leaning against the wall.

“I can help,” he said as he struggled to hobble forward. “You’re hurt, too, you know.”

“Not where it counts,” Tythonnia said. “Besides, if I can push you over with one hand—” which she did, shoving him gently but enough for him fall backward.

“Hey!”

“—then maybe you should lay down.”

Par-Salian grumbled, but eased himself down. Tythonnia took that as argument won and went back outside, where she proceeded to wrangle the horses around the tight corner and into the barn. By the time she brought the second horse in, Par-Salian looked exhausted enough to fall asleep. He kept her company, however, chatting as she removed the saddles and brushed down the horses.

“How do you do it?” he asked. “Your illusions are … exemplary. Even for a Red Robe.”

Tythonnia nodded. “When I passed the test, Amma Batros gave me a tattoo.” She pulled the sleeve of her shirt up and rolled it to the shoulder. Lines of black and red, barely visible, marked the outline of a medallion.

“How does one
give
you a tattoo?” Par-Salian said then laughed. “I thought that sort of thing is what renegades did? Cupboard magicians?”

“Where do you think some of us first encountered magic?” Tythonnia retorted. “The first bit of arcane magic I saw was through a Wyldling sorcerer.”

“Wyldling?”

“And the occasional charlatan posing as a wandering hermit or fortune teller.”

“Really?” Par-Salian said. “My father employed a house
magician sanctioned by the Wizards of High Sorcery. That’s where I learned my first spells.”

“Born and bred in the order, eh?” Tythonnia asked. “You should pay more attention to your peers, especially those of the red and black cloth. By trying to teach proper magic, the orders have always overlooked certain interesting … things.”

“What sorts of things?” Par-Salian asked.

“The kind of book-learned magics you’d expect from wizards, but the foci and reagents are different. Homespun, I guess you could say. Like using spit and blood and breath to fuel a spell.”

“And tattoos?”

“Amma Batros’s people use tattoos as a show of devotion. Henna tattoos, kohl runes, and even ink,” she said, looking at her own faded mark. “I got this tattoo for passing my test. It waxes and wanes according to how often I use it.”

“It’s almost gone,” Par-Salian said, squinting at her. “Does it have practical uses?”

“It improves my glamours. I can make them last longer or stronger or extend them over a larger area. It also lets me cast one illusion, one normally outside my training.” Her voice trailed away.

Par-Salian nodded. “Is that how you … dealt with Sutler?” he asked.

“Fear kills us in small doses,” she said as she continued to absently groom the horse. “But sometimes it’s terrible enough to send you to the grave screaming.” She paused at the recollection of absolute terror on Sutler’s face. “My turn,” she said. “That medallion around your neck … the one you pulled out when Ladonna was hurt. What is it?”

Par-Salian suddenly realized it was still hanging free and shoved it back inside his tunic. He appeared sheepish. “A gift from the highmage,” he admitted. “For when our mission is complete. It’ll take us back home.”

Tythonnia stopped what she was doing and looked at Par-Salian. The slow realization burned through her. “You were going to use that to save Ladonna,” Tythonnia said, “but you didn’t. Why?”