Renegade Wizards (27 page)

“I almost used it,” he whispered. He looked away, unable to meet her stare. “Almost …”

They awoke to the sound of metal upon metal, a deep clanging that resounded in their ears. Tythonnia checked the bindings of her wound, which Rosie had quietly helped her with the previous night before she checked on Par-Salian’s leg. He stared at her through one eye as he lay upon his bedroll in the stall and promptly fell asleep again.

Tythonnia cleaned herself from the iron wash basin Rosie left out for them and changed clothes. She finished and found a shirtless Par-Salian washing himself as well. His eyes were practically swollen with fatigue.

The clanging persisted.

The two companions entered the smithy through the barn and were surprised to find Rosie working hard. She wore a leather smock and maneuvered the tongs expertly while she hammered away at an iron rod that glowed red at its tip. Near her anvil was a stone hearth set against the brick wall. The heat from it was blistering, but Rosie paid it no mind. On the other side of her was a stone slack tub filled with water, while all manner of metal implements hung from chains in the ceiling’s rafters.

She glanced at them, and as she spoke the hammering punctuated her words, almost obliterating them.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked.

“Fine,” Tythonnia said, practically yelling. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Par-Salian said. “Ladonna? How is she?”

“Still asleep, not that she’ll wake up any time soon.”

They were quiet a moment, the awkward silence of strangers.

“Well,” Rosie said, “there’s food in the larder, through the door beneath the loft. Go on, help yourselves.”

Tythonnia and Par-Salian nodded their thanks and had started back into the barn when Rosie stopped hammering.

“How much trouble is she in?” Rosie asked as she shoved the rod back in the hearth.

“I—uh, we’re not comfortable—discussing Ladonna’s affairs,” Par-Salian said.

Rosie stepped away from the forge and wiped the grime and sweat from her forehead. “Listen carefully,” she said. “Ladonna is the closest thing my husband and I had to a daughter. We gave her food and a bed when her fool of a father lost his forge to gambling debts. And we gave her sanctuary whenever she angered the Thieves Guild. This isn’t the first time she’s come to me, beaten and bleeding. This isn’t the first time I’ve bandaged her. Now … is this an affair of thieves or one of wizards?”

Par-Salian clearly wasn’t sure what to say, so Tythonnia intervened. “Wizards,” she said, despite Par-Salian’s sharp intake of breath. Tythonnia, however, ignored him. “I can’t say why we’re here, but Ladonna is respected among her peers. If you were her adopted mother, then you’ve got a lot to be proud of.”

Rosie guffawed. “You’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” she said.

“Maybe,” Tythonnia said, “but I respect her.”

“What happened last night was an old vendetta, it seems,” Par-Salian added. “But it was necessary to put ourselves in harm’s way. For a greater good.”

Rosie grunted something that could have been approval or disbelief. In either case, she pulled the iron rod from the fire and dropped it into the tub. A tremendous rush of steam
erupted, but she ignored it. She removed her smock and hung it from a hook on a wood post. “Come on,” she said, brushing past them. “Let’s see if there’s something to eat. And stop thanking me,” she said, interrupting Par-Salian. “It’s done.”

“Welcome to Palanthas.” Kinsley bowed in jest and kept the door open.

Berthal entered and pulled the hood of his cloak back. He nodded appreciatively at the abode, which was far from humble or poor. It was a square, courtyard-style building, with staircase towers to the left and right. The exterior was timber framed and lined with windows. On the interior, the entrance porch opened into a carpeted hallway, and, from there, into a side parlor with a cold fireplace and walls covered in timber paneling and tapestries.

The house was beyond the means of most citizens of Palanthas and ostentatious enough to sit proudly on the clifflike hills of Purple Ridge on the city’s edge. Berthal handed Kinsley his cloak but kept the simple walking staff. Kinsley knew an illusion masked the staff’s real appearance, but the double-headed dragon was a certain give-away to Berthal’s real identity, more so than his face.

Berthal sat in the wingback chair upholstered in red leather. He groaned happily. “Chairs. I miss chairs,” he said. He eyed Kinsley. “Whose place is this? It isn’t yours.”

“For the week it is,” Kinsley said. “It belongs to the mistress of a Nobles Hill senator. They’re on a trip to Solanthus, and she very much admires rebels,” he said with a broad smile.

“What did you tell her?” Berthal said as he studied Kinsley from under his bushy eyebrows.

“Nothing that endangers us,” Kinsley said with shrug. He dropped into a white armchair across from Berthal. “But we have much to discuss.”

“Indeed. There’s a girl—Mariyah. A Black Robe. She stole something for us from her masters. Said it was something we should see. She’ll be arriving within a few days by boat. See to her, will you?”

Kinsley nodded. “I’ll bring her to you. But there’s something else. The robbery of two shops protected by spells.”

“Were the spells triggered?”

“No,” Kinsley said with a shake of his head and a rather broad smile. “They were dispelled. The owners made quite a scene with the local wizards, complaining to whoever would listen. But that’s not the interesting part. Both stores were protected by the Thieves Guild, and on the night of the second robbery, they sent enforcers after the culprits. According to witnesses who saw the fight happen at the courtyard of an inn, there were three magicians involved. They killed their attackers, who outnumbered them five to one.”

“Robes?”

“No.”

“Fifteen thieves killed at the hands of three sorcerers?” Berthal asked. He laughed. “Unlikely.”

“The numbers? Perhaps. But several witnesses said the night was lit by plumes of flame and daggers of light. Then everyone vanished and reappeared. That made me curious, so I investigated. The inn shows burn marks along the flagstone floor and in a couple of places along the wood walls. The innkeepers were terrified. Refused to speak. I paid a soldier to let me examine the body of one of the thieves. The expression on the corpse’s face was … horrifying. Like he died of fear. The soldiers are charging people to see the corpse, you know? As an oddity.”

“When did this happen?”

“Three nights ago. But that’s not all. Dumas is in Palanthas with her men. She’s asking questions about three renegades who arrived in town recently.”

Berthal bit the tip of his thumb and decided he didn’t like the taste of it. “It’s a trick,” he said.

“Perhaps. The hunters seem very interested in Smiths’ Alley, but it’s twenty blocks long and filled with people who greatly distrust outsiders.”

Berthal remained quiet while he considered the matter. Finally, he said, “Find them; find out about them. Who are they and where are they from? We can’t afford to accept things at face value.”

Kinsley nodded and slapped his knees as he rose. “There’s a tub of hot water upstairs to bathe; my nose sincerely hopes you’ll take advantage of it. Meanwhile, I’ll see what else I can find on these three renegades. I know a couple of people in Smiths’ Alley. Maybe I can loosen their tongues a bit.”

“Wait,” Berthal said as he rose, using his staff for support. “Where was the inn where these attacks took place?”

“Merchandising District.”

“And Smiths’ Alley is to the northwest of that by many blocks, yes?”

“At least an hour’s travel, yes.”

“Then perhaps we’re looking for someone who used to live there? A prodigal son returned in desperate times? If Smiths’ Alley is so tightly knit and the hunters are searching there, it could mean the sorcerers once knew that neighborhood. That might suggest your avenue of questioning.”

“Find out who has returned after a long absence? Sounds reasonable. I guess that’s why you’re the leader.”

“That and my rugged good looks and virility,” Berthal said, scratching his beard. He straightened with a groan.

“How could I forget?” Kinsley said, chuckling. He left Berthal to enjoy the luxuries of a real bath and a real bed.

Ladonna’s condition had improved greatly over the past five days. Although still bedridden by the two dagger strokes
to her kidneys, she was seated in bed with her back to the wall and the table within easy reach. Rosie’s thick quilt covered her lower body,.

Par-Salian marveled at their good fortune with the innkeeper and the healing draught. There was barely a spotting of blood on her bandages when, normally, an injury of that type would take a month to recover from … if one even survived. He was determined to return their horses when they could do so safely. Right now, per Ladonna’s and Rosie’s orders, neither he nor Tythonnia were venturing far from the barn. Gossip was easy in that part of town, and two strangers wandering in and out of Rosie’s Smithy was sure fodder for chitchat. Still, there was time enough in the late evening to stretch their legs and take in fresh air.

During the day, they took turns helping Rosie, studying their spells, and keeping Ladonna company. To Par-Salian’s surprise, Ladonna was easier to talk to, as though her injury had stripped her of all the pretensions that accompanied members of the Black Robes. She smiled more often, despite the lingering pain, and laughed more easily. Par-Salian found it difficult reconciling the woman he met in Solanthus the previous month and the different sides of the woman he had discovered: Ladonna the Black Robe, Ladonna the orphan, Ladonna the street waif, Ladonna the fighter.

“What?” Ladonna said, looking at Par-Salian as he stared at her.

“Sorry,” Par-Salian said, shaking his head. “I was just thinking about everything you’ve been through. Nothing like that’s ever happened to me.”

“No hardship? Ever? Nothing bad?”

“My father was very protective. Oh!” Par-Salian said suddenly. “I did stub my toe once. Father was very upset. We held a vigil.”

Ladonna laughed, wincing at the pain it caused. “Stop making me laugh, you idiot,” she said, though her expression was far from serious.

“I’m sorry,” Par-Salian said. He couldn’t stop grinning. “I’ll stop.”

“Fine,” Ladonna said and abruptly switched topics. “What about the test? You can’t tell me you didn’t face hardship there?”

“Oh, that. That was hard, yes,” Par-Salian admitted. “I was forced to face my worst ordeal, my … gravest fear.”

“Can I ask what that was?” Ladonna asked.

Par-Salian hesitated then nodded gravely. “Yes,” he whispered.

Ladonna drew closer.

“I stubbed my toe again,” Par-Salian said.

Ladonna’s voice rang in a new peal of laughter.

“Stop laughing,” Par-Salian protested. “It was both feet this time!”

She laughed harder with yelps of pain, but there were tears rolling down her face. Par-Salian had to admit, he liked making her laugh.