Summoned: Magic Comes to Whiteport, page 7
Nick took one shaking hand off the railing, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. His heart hammered in his chest, as he gasped for breath. One strong leap over the railing, he thought, and he could be in the water before she got to him. He knew he couldn’t swim, but wouldn’t drowning be better than this? If she wanted to be the new Nick, he’d offer to surrender the title to her; maybe she’d let him live. But he didn’t understand why so many people had to die.
He pointed at her, and fought to find his voice. When it finally came, it was trembling, almost a shriek. "Who are you?"
The woman tilted her head. Her voice was hard to hear above the constant roar of water rushing by, and his heartbeat hammering against his skull. "What?" Her voice was slurred, as though she was struggling to stay awake,
Nick's unsteady hand pointed at the bodies on the deck. "You broke me out of the dungeon! Now you killed all these people!" he yelled. What sort of monster could sit, surrounded by her butchered victims, and be so calm? Tears began to well in his eyes. "Who are you? What do you want?"
The woman rolled her eyes. She said something that Nick couldn’t quite make out. With one hand she lazily beckoned to him, then she leaned to one side and slowly pushed herself to her feet. Nick just sat and watched, too terrified to move. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice shaking.
The woman was leaning heavily on her sword, steadying herself on her feet. She shook her head – he saw her mutter something to herself – and looked toward him. "I said," she called, "come here so we don't have to yell back and forth."
"How do I know you won't kill me?"
She turned to face him, and slid her sword into the scabbard at her waist. Saying something else he couldn't hear, she sat down on the hatch and rested her elbows on her knees. "Really?" she hollered, shaking her head. "If I wanted you dead, idiot, I'd have killed you ages ago."
Nick shook his head. "I don’t believe you," he said. "I jammed my cabin door shut. You tried to get in, didn’t you? But you couldn’t."
"That wasn’t me. If I wanted you dead, I’d have killed you back in your cell. Or pushed you off the roof of the Mercer’s Guild, the night you were arrested."
"Wait, you were there? But why—"
"I need you alive, idiot." The woman waved a tired arm toward him, beckoning him closer. "C’mere," she called. "You look stupid, cowering there."
Nick pulled at the railing to get to his feet, but remained in a crouch. As the woman watched, he slowly walked forward, stepping over bodies and around pools of blood, before stopping behind a rowboat lashed upside-down to the deck. He kept one hand on the boat, leaning around it to look at her, barely ten feet away. She sat on the hatch, her brown eyes dark-lined and heavy. Grime, sweat and spattered blood covered her face, and the long brown hair on the side of her head was tangled and bloody. A trickle of red ran down her neck. Nick pointed at her. "You're hurt."
She reached up her hand, tentatively poking at the wound. "Yeah," she said. "They almost got me there." Nick continued to crouch behind the boat, watching her. His mind was racing, as he tried to decide what to do. He wanted to make a run for it, but there was nowhere to go. Normally he was good at thinking on his feet; at coming up with a plan. But he had no idea what to do.
"The name's Cass," she said.
"I'm Nick," he said.
"I know."
"Look," he said, mustering his courage. "I want to know—" he hesitated, then started again. "I'd like to know – what you want. You killed all these people to get to me—"
Cass shook her head, a smirk pulling at her lips. The smirk widened, and her shoulders twitched as she started to giggle. As Nick watched in amazement, his words dissolving on his tongue, Cass started to laugh. Sitting amid the bodies of her victims, the woman laughed harder and harder, until tears ran from her eyes and she was gasping for air. "You’re serious?" she snorted, as her laughter subsided. "You think I fought all of them to get to you? You were in your bunk, sleeping like a baby."
"Oh."
She wiped her eye with a gloved finger. "Oh gods no, Nick. You got on last night, same as me. They cast a spell to put the passengers to sleep, and then came to slit our throats. They couldn't get at you because you had jammed your door shut." Cass was still smiling, her head bobbing as she suppressed a chuckle. "Good move, by the way. When they opened my door to come kill me, this…" she made a sweeping gesture at the bodies, "…all got started."
"Wait. The spell didn't work on you?"
"No, it didn't." She looked toward the bodies on the deck. "I was hoping to get some answers out of one of them — any of them — but…" she looked again at the corpses, and shrugged.
Nick studied the woman's face. "You're very, very good at what you do."
"True."
"I mean, you're good because you're good. I'm only good because of my magic gear. Which isn't working right."
"Also true," Cass agreed. "It wouldn't be."
He stared at her. "Why not? Do you know what's going on with magic?"
Cass motioned out to sea. "I thought the ship would be headed north, up the coast. I was wrong. We've sailed a long ways west, out into the ocean, past the edge of the Empire. There's no magic out here."
"What? No magic?" He'd heard of such a thing, of venturing so far from the civilised world that you reached the place where magic ended. "No magic out here." she repeated. "Magic flows out from the Nexus, a thousand miles across the world, and back to the Nexus again. We've gone too far; magic doesn't flow out here."
Nick flinched as a seagull cried out somewhere above them. "I thought that was all just a myth."
"No," said Cass, glancing up at the bird. "The Emperor holds the Nexus, at the capital somewhere. All magic flows through it."
"How do you know this?" said Nick, wiping his cheek with his sleeve. "Who do you work for?"
"You have a lot of questions, Nick. I know whatever my employer needs me to know."
Nick had edged partway around the rowboat. "So," he said carefully. "If you're not here to kill me, will you tell me what you're here for?"
"No, Nick. I can't tell you that. I promise I'm not here to kill you. Not specifically." She nodded toward the stern. "A lot of powerful magic gear is being stolen. My employer wants to know where it's going. Since you were the one moving the stuff, I was told to watch what you did with it."
"So now you know?"
"I know that a ship called the 'Blue Griffon' is taking a great many artifacts beyond the Empire's edge, beyond the reach of the Nexus and the flow of magic. That's pretty much it."
Nick nodded, and looked out to sea for a moment while he thought. "Won't the Empire be looking for it too?"
Cass shrugged again. "I suppose so. That's their problem."
"Oh," said Nick, still watching the waves race by. Wave after wave, faster than any sailing ship could hope to move, carrying him further from civilisation. Magic didn't work properly here. He was on a ship with no crew — because this terrifying warrior woman, who had resisted a sleeping spell, had slaughtered them. Here he was, King Nick, greatest thief in the western Empire, and he had absolutely no idea what to do next.
So he bluffed. "Well, I think I have all of the information I need now… What's our next step?"
Cass turned her face toward him, her dark eyes watching his. She cocked her head back, in the direction the ship was headed. "See that bit of land up ahead?"
He leaned to see past her, and thought he could make out a speck of grey on the horizon.
"The ship is sailing itself," she said. "I'm betting that's where this ship is going. It's probably set to dock there, and whoever's there will be upset that the crew is dead. So I plan to jump off and swim to shore before we reach the dock. You might as well come with me."
Nick looked ahead at the speck on the horizon, then blew out a breath as he leaned against the rowboat. Cass sat watching him; he noticed that her oxblood leathers didn't have a mark or scratch on them. Even with her blood-spattered face and sweat-matted hair, her leathers were perfect and clean.
He nodded curtly, feigning the confidence he couldn’t quite muster. "Good," he said. "Let's do that." He stepped away from the rowboat, reaching out a hand for a handshake, then stopped, hand grasping toward empty air as he went over her plan again in his head. "Wait," he said hesitantly. "Swim?"
CHAPTER TWELVE
Anson: Kid
The midday sun shone down on the dry earth of the road, where three sets of boots kicked up dust. Shadows kept pace behind them; two sword-wearing shapes, one tall and one short, flanked the third.
The man in the middle walked slowly, carefully, occasionally looking down at his boots. Despite the dust, they remained clean and shiny.
Anson kept an eye on the horizon ahead of them and to both sides, but also took regular glimpses of her lord at her left. The silence of the open countryside seemed to be having an effect on him. Out here, the loudest sounds were those of birds and insects in the fields, with the regular crunching steps of their boots in the dirt.
She noticed he was standing a little taller, a little straighter, and when she could see his eyes it looked like the fog had cleared.
"Howe," said Jaminus. His voice was strong and clear, and it caught Anson by surprise. She looked past the lord, and saw Howe, also startled, turn his head.
"Yes, my lord?"
"You've been in my service for a while now, but I know little about you. Where are you from? Your voice suggests the northeast. Dalinia?"
Howe nodded, and turned his eyes back to the road. "Yes, my lord. The city of Daggershore, in Dalinia."
Lord Jaminus paused for a moment, his expression thoughtful as his forehead creased briefly, and then relaxed again. "Daggershore. Fishing and shipbuilding. A sea festival every Fifthmonth, if I recall."
"Exactly so, my lord. Have you been there?"
"I have, yes. When I was much younger. There were some excellent taverns there. I remember one called the 'Last Rose'. I should like to have some of their ale again, some day."
Howe took a half step sideways, stumbling over his feet. He sputtered for a moment before he found his voice. "My lord?" he said, excitement in his voice. "You know the 'Last Rose'?"
"I haven't always been a confused old man, Howe. I was young, once. Long ago."
"Of course, my lord. I mean… well, I was born at the 'Last Rose'. I grew up there."
"You did? In a tavern?" He looked at Howe's face, studying it as if seeing it for the first time. "Are you Yenna's kin? You don't much look like her."
"No, my lord. Old Yenna was the proprietor." He became quieter, abruptly looking away. "I'm not related to them. My mother was…" he faltered. "She… worked there."
"A prostitute," said the lord.
Anson saw the pained expression on Howe's face. The knight answered quietly. "Yes, my lord."
Lord Jaminus kept his eyes on the knight. "Howe, don't give the word any power over you. There's no shame in it. Not for your mother, and certainly not for you."
"But my lord, a whoreson—"
"—is a person, Howe. Same as anyone else. We don't choose the manner of our birth." The lord looked ahead down the road. "Turon help me, I sometimes wish we could."
"Yes, my lord."
"So," said Jaminus, after a moment's pause. "You grew up around the inn. In the streets, I suppose. Surrounded by people who thought you should be ashamed for being alive."
"That's the truth of it, my lord. I made out well, I suppose. There were a few kids like me. We didn't go to school, but we still learned things. We looked after ourselves, my lord, and each other."
"I have no doubt."
"I was a big kid, so I looked after the smaller kids. We got by."
Lord Jaminus nodded, gazing into the distance as a bird called noisily. Anson looked ahead, noting where the road wound its way into a small copse of trees. As they entered the wood, Anson kept her eye on the treetops and the dark places among the branches. Only the occasional bird or small animal looked back, peering down at the travellers from the branches above.
After a time, the road exited the wood, and began a winding descent down a hillside, between low flat rocks that littered the ground.
"Then what?" asked Lord Jaminus, startling his companions again. Anson glanced at Howe, who had been jolted back from wherever his mind had wandered.
"Pardon, my lord?" said Howe.
"You were a street urchin, and now you're here. Things must have happened in between."
"Yes, my lord," said Howe. He thought a moment. "It was because of a mage called Zolan."
"Zolan," mused the lord. "Zolan." He shook his head. "No, not familiar with the name."
"One of the younger lads, my lord, he stole the mage's coinpurse. The mage, he set little Jin on fire."
The lord's eyebrows rose up toward his forehead. "Did he now?"
"I couldn't let him do that, my lord. I jumped on him. He tried to set me on fire too, five or six times, but all it did was burn my clothes off and bubble my skin a bit. Not like little Jin. That poor boy." Howe looked away, shaking his head. "I beat that mage almost to death, my lord. I was only a kid, but it took four men to get me off him. To get my hands off his neck."
"What did they do with you?"
"They arrested me, my lord, and before I knew it I'd been sentenced to hang. The night before I was to die, lady Anson came to visit me in my cell. In full armour and everything. At first I thought I was going to get worse that a hanging."
Lord Jaminus turned to look at Anson. She nodded. "I was in Daggershore that day, my lord. I heard of a boy who was resistant to magic." Her eyes met Howe's. "A scrappy kid, who stood up for his friends."
"So," said the lord, "You made an arrangement?"
"I did, my lord. We took responsibility for young Howe here, in return for a payment to the mage."
Lord Jaminus huffed. "We paid money to that monster?"
"No, my lord. The mage did not recover from his injuries. He had complications."
"Tragic," muttered Jaminus.
Howe pursed his lips, looking up the road. "Next thing I knew, my lord, I was at our barracks, with other kids like myself. I learned to read and write, how to handle a blade, and all the other things."
"I like stories like that," said the lord. "I'm glad Anson found you."
The three fell silent again, walking in step as the clouds chased each other across the sky. A mile passed, then another.
Lord Jaminus broke the silence again. "Any regrets, Howe?"
The young knight didn't hesitate. "No, my lord. None."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Katryn: Afternoon
A thin sunbeam shone in through the window, glinting off the blade of Katryn's sword and reflecting up on the ceiling. Gently tilting the sword back and forth, she moved the quivering glint across the boards, tracing the lines of the timbers in the roof. The tiny, brilliant spot of light faded and disappeared as a cloud wafted in front of the sun and the beam withered away.
Katryn sighed, and held the sword back up horizontally in front of her. Once again she ran her cloth up and down its length, rubbing an even sheen of weapon oil on the entire blade. She held the point of the sword with the cloth, and inspected the edge. A person can only sharpen and polish a blade so many times, she figured. After a while, it won't get any sharper. If she kept at it long enough, she wondered if the sword would get thinner. Well, she thought, there was certainly enough time.
Hearing a soft snort from the bed, Katryn looked over. Donza was lying on the right half of the bed, on her side, facing the middle. One arm was under her pillow, while the other was over her head at an awkward angle. Her legs were splayed out, covering most of the bottom half of the bed. She was wearing a black silk sleep mask, tied around her head with a slender ribbon. The mask had been embroidered with ominous-looking necromantic runes and symbols. Donza had said they didn't do anything, but made people less likely to disturb her for fear that they might. The necromancer's mouth was open, and she gave another gentle snort as she snored.
I did enjoy sleeping, she thought. Her brother once called her 'corpse-like' due to her tendency to sleep flat on her back, silent and unmoving. Now she actually was a corpse, and couldn't sleep at all.
Picking up the scabbard, she carefully slid the sword in, until the hilt clicked against the top. She let the sword dangle from the back of the chair by its belt, while she neatly folded the cloth and put it away with the sharpening stone and bottle of oil. Normally she'd clean and oil her amour as well — it was magically stored in her amulet now, so she supposed she'd have to summon it — but working with armour made a lot of noise.
Katryn looked again as the sunbeam reappeared. She didn't want to close the curtains during the day — that would look suspicious — but she also couldn't leave the room. Even though everyone thought she was dead – and she was – there was still the chance her face would be recognised by someone in the Baron’s employ. So she sat, here in the room, waiting for the hours to pass until evening came and Donza woke up. She'd already rearranged her pack, putting everything neatly away. There were some books she could read, but she was saving them. There were going to be a lot of sleepless nights in her future, so she needed to ration out the things she could do to stay occupied. She looked over at Donza's pack, still on the floor where she'd dropped it. The top was open, and it looked like it had vomited half of its contents out on the rug. Rumpled shirts and wrinkled pants lay in a jumbled pile with Donza's books and bottles of… stuff. Donza carried so many glass bottles and jars with her, she sometimes jingled when she walked. Katryn had seen some of them up close: each of them holding some nasty, unpleasant bit of a creature. An organ, or some eyes, or skin, or some unidentifiable body fluid from something. The walls of Donza's laboratory — the room in her tower that Katryn remembered the most — were filled with samples in glass containers ranging from tiny vials the size of perfume bottles, through to giant glass cylinders big enough to store a man's body. She remembered one big jar, with something that appeared to move around in its dark green murk, but she'd never looked too closely.
