Warrior Prime, page 17
part #1 of Ink Mage Legacy Series
Nila started to object, then caught herself. Meddigar was quite right, of course. The care and handling of the spell components and other items couldn’t be trusted to anyone else. The wizard smiled to himself. He’d spent the morning unpacking all these items specifically so she’d be occupied repacking them while he went into Tamtalla.
“I’ll get started if you don’t mind, master. We’ll reach Tamtalla soon.”
“Thank you, Nila.”
She turned, walked toward the stairs that led belowdecks, shoulders straight, head held high, pride stiffening her spine. She’d sulk later, he knew, but never where the wizard could see her.
The three ink mages approached him, Hak in the lead, the two female ink mages behind him. When the ink mages first came aboard the barge, Meddigar had noticed something strange. The two women had handlers, as did all ink mages in Fyria, men who would use the control scepters to keep the mages obedient. The handlers had dutifully handed over their control scepters to Meddigar, who would take charge of them for the duration of the expedition.
Hak had no handler. A collar, yes, but nobody lording a scepter over him.
A fact that didn’t sit well with the wizard.
Hak planted his impressive bulk in front of Meddigar, arms crossed. Power and arrogance radiated off him. “I was told you wished to speak to me.”
“I want you to come with me when I go into Tamtalla,” Meddigar said. “I’m seeking information from someone who might be reluctant to share it. Let’s just say that your presence alone might be intimidating enough to make him talkative.”
Hak’s smile was half sneer. “Happy to oblige. The prince made it clear I am to be at your disposal.”
“I notice you don’t have a handler,” Meddigar said.
Hak’s sneer-smile wavered briefly. “I have been given the great honor of carrying my own scepter.” He reached into the sash around his waist and produced the metallic scepter. “A gesture from the prince, showing his trust.”
“A great honor indeed.”
Not so much that he trusts you, Meddigar thought. More that the prince doesn’t trust me. I can’t control you if you carry your own scepter, can I? Very shrewd. Hak both aids me and guards me. I’m going to feel his eyes on my back all the way to the deep desert.
“May I ask how such an honor was earned?”
Hak’s grin showed genuine pleasure. He liked this question and enjoyed giving the answer. “I saved the prince’s life during an assassination attempt. A murder squad of insurgents broke into the palace, and I single-handedly killed them.” His grin widened. “All thirty of them.”
“Most impressive.” Look at the fool grinning. So proud of his body count. He thinks himself invincible.
The wizard’s hand casually dipped into a pocket of his robe, fingers closing around the cold metal device there. Meddigar thought of the item as his “skeleton key.” Perhaps we will need to put your invincibility to the test, eh?
Ropes flew from the barges, and men along the docks caught them, hauling the vessels close. Activity erupted immediately. Supplies needed for the desert trek would be unloaded, additional food and water purchased.
None of these tasks concerned Meddigar. He was down the gangplank immediately after it was lowered, Hak following in his wake.
They wove their way through the city to a quiet street between the Scholar’s Quarter and a neighborhood of craftsmen. A simple wooden sign hung from a bracket over the cartographer’s door, a stylized image of the four points of a compass as if from a map.
Meddigar knocked.
A few seconds later, a young woman answered the door, pretty, dressed too well to be a servant, long black hair held back from a heart-shaped face with turquoise hairpins. “You wish to see the cartographer?”
“Yes, please.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I’m afraid not. Tell him it’s Meddigar. I’m sure he won’t mind seeing me.”
The woman’s eyes lit with recognition. “Your name is known to me. Please come wait in the foyer. I’ll see if he’s available.”
She ushered them inside and closed the door. “Sit if you like. I’ll just be a moment.” She took a wide, sweeping stairway up to the next level.
Meddigar considered the chairs but remained standing. A minute stretched to five and then to ten.
“Perhaps he’s not as agreeable to seeing you as you think,” Hak suggested.
Perhaps you can go fuck yourself. “Have patience.”
A few seconds later, the woman came back down the stairs and signaled for them to follow. “This way if you please.”
On the second floor, she took them down a long hall to the door at the end, opened it, and indicated they should enter. Hak had to duck his head going through the doorway.
This was clearly the cartographer’s work area, tables and shelves filled with scrolls and papers. The space was well lit, tall windows in three of the four walls. Between two windows on the far wall hung a handsomely framed map of the known world . . . or at least the known world a few hundred years ago. To Meddigar’s eyes, the map seemed very old.
“The work of my great-great-great-great grandfather,” said the old man bent over the drafting table. He turned in his seat to face the wizard, bone thin, bald head speckled with brown spots, white sideburns that dipped to his chin and curved back up again to join with his moustache. “It nearly ruined him.”
Meddigar raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“A king from a long-forgotten kingdom,” the cartographer said. “He commissioned the most accurate map of the known world and was willing to pay good gold for it. An arrogant and evil soul who fancied himself a conqueror. But difficult to conquer the world if you’re not quite sure what all’s in it.”
“Thus the map,” Meddigar said.
“Thus the map,” echoed the cartographer. “My ancestor spent a small fortune sending ships in every direction to confirm certain landmarks. He traveled himself for a year to some of the farthest points on the map. A week after he finished—the greatest achievement of his life—word reached him that the king had been murdered by his own brother. It seemed not everyone shared his ambition for conquest. Alas, the map was never paid for, which is why you see it hanging here.”
“I would imagine the episode was financially devastating,” Meddigar said.
“Yes, but my ancestor recovered,” the cartographer said. “And he learned a valuable lesson that he passed on to future generations. Always get half the money up front.”
“A wise policy.”
“Indeed. What can I do for you today, Meddigar?”
“The deep desert.”
The cartographer sighed. “You too, eh?”
“Me too?” Meddigar realized immediately. “Maurizan.”
Now Hak spoke up for the first time. “The red-haired foreigner?”
That caught Meddigar by surprise. “You know her?”
The cartographer turned to Hak, as if just now noticing the huge man standing there. “And you are?”
“Excuse my poor manners,” Meddigar intervened. “This is Hak. He’s assisting me in this enterprise. Hak, this is Auvor Kre’Shama, the world’s greatest mapmaker.”
Hak bowed. “World’s greatest. That’s quite a boast.”
“There is a man in Sherrik more popular, I think, but that’s probably just because he works cheaper.”
“How do you know Maurizan?” the wizard asked Hak.
“As you know, the Prime is only the beginning,” Hak said. “There are other tattoos of power if one has but the tenacity to pursue them. For many months, I crisscrossed the known continents chasing legend and rumor in pursuit of new tattoos. Wizards like to hoard their secrets, as I’m sure Meddigar will confirm.”
“We go through a lot to unearth the secrets of the ages,” Meddigar said. “We’re not disposed to sharing them frivolously.”
“Fair enough,” Hak said. “Every wizard I visited, the red-haired woman had already been there. If they’d already shared the secret of the tattoo with her, then they were often not obliged to share with me also. It became . . . frustrating. I would very much like to meet this Maurizan in person.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Meddigar said. “She’s not one to be trifled with.”
Hak grinned. “I look forward to it.”
The mapmaker cleared his throat. “I’m not sure this has anything to do with me.”
“My apologies, Auvor,” Meddigar said. “But I take it she’s been here.”
“She has.”
“I don’t suppose you might tell me what she was after.”
“I don’t suppose I would.”
Meddigar sighed. He looked around the room, saw a simple wooden chair against one wall. He gestured to it. “May I?”
Auvor nodded.
Meddigar pulled up the chair, sat, scooted a bit closer to Auvor’s drafting table. “I completely understand that part of your service is . . . uh . . . discretion.”
“Then you know I won’t discuss another client’s project,” Auvor said. “It’s simply not proper.”
“Yes, of course.” Meddigar scratched his beard. “You see, the thing is, this is maybe something of a special situation.”
“I’m afraid I don’t see how.”
Meddigar looked back over his shoulder. “Hak, you said that often the wizards you found were reluctant to share their ink magic?”
“Yes.”
“How would you come to terms?”
“I would offer them my services in exchange for the tattoo,” Hak said. “They would set me to some impossible task. Not impossible for me.”
“And most of these magicians would take you up on this offer?”
“Most,” Hak said. “Not all.”
“And those who didn’t?”
“I was forced to become more persuasive.” Hak cracked his knuckles. “I can be quite charming.”
The cartographer sighed. “Really, Meddigar, this is beneath you.”
Meddigar leaned forward, urgency in his voice. “I am on a mission for the prince. If it fails, he’ll want to know why, and you know it’s not in my nature to fall on my sword. I’ll happily tell anyone who’ll listen who failed to cooperate. Even if I spare you today, it puts your head on a pike tomorrow.”
Auvor made an annoyed noise in his throat, rubbing his eyes as he considered the wizard’s words. “Then I choose the task.”
Meddigar blinked. “You choose the what?”
“Your ink mage said he would trade the wizards some task for the tattoo,” the mapmaker said. “Only persuading them if they refused. If my only other choice is bodily harm, then I choose the task.”
That wasn’t exactly what Meddigar had in mind. Still . . .
“What is it you want?” the wizard asked.
Auvor sat back, took a deep breath. “I lost my son three years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Meddigar said. “How?”
“He went to map the deep desert and didn’t return.”
“That is disturbing for multiple reasons,” Meddigar admitted.
“He was a good mapmaker,” Auvor said. “He would have taken over for me eventually. As someone whose work it is to document the physical features of our world, I think you can guess the allure of the deep desert. It is vast and unmapped. It would be my family’s greatest achievement. My son died in the attempt. I wish for another chance.”
“With respect,” Meddigar said, “I think you may be a bit long in the tooth for such a perilous journey.”
Auvor chuckled. “I cannot disagree. My bones ache. My fieldwork days are over. And I have no son.”
A pause.
“But I have a daughter.”
“The young woman who answered the door,” Meddigar said.
“Yes.”
“You realize the trek is dangerous. You’ve lost a son already.”
“You are undertaking this trip for the prince, yes? My impression is that you are well equipped. Likely going under armed guard. Am I correct?”
“You are,” Meddigar said.
“Then this is the safest chance she’ll ever have.”
“Are you so eager to send away your final child?” Meddigar asked. “She might not even want to go.”
Auvor chuckled again, then raised his voice. “Venny, come in here please.”
The door opened a second later. “Father?”
“I’ve been discussing the family business with these gentlemen,” Auvor said. “Please inform them the subject on which you’ve been harassing me day and night without mercy.”
She had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Mapping the deep desert, Father.”
“As it happens, these nice people are taking an expedition into the deep desert,” Auvor said.
Venny froze, her eyes going wide. She seemed to be holding her breath.
“This family has mapped most of the known world,” Auvor said. “Some small bit remains. Do you think you might pop out with these gentlemen and map it for us?”
Her face blazed with sudden enthusiasm. “I can be packed and ready in twenty minutes.”
She bolted from the room.
“Should you tell her we’re not quite that much in a rush?” Meddigar asked.
“I don’t want to dampen her enthusiasm,” Auvor said. “In any case, twenty minutes is wildly optimistic. If she’s packed all her gear in an hour, I’ll eat my hat.”
“And there’s still the matter of what you told Maurizan,” Meddigar reminded him.
“Don’t fret. I plan to keep my part of the bargain.” He pulled a large, rolled piece of parchment from the shelf above him and spread it out on the drafting table, fastening clips on either side to keep it flat.
Meddigar stood and stepped forward to get a better look at the document.
It was, of course, a map, but seemed to lack detail.
“It doesn’t look like much,” Meddigar said.
“It’s not,” Auvor admitted. “I consulted eleven different maps to cobble this together. The most recent one is nearly a hundred years old.”
Meddigar squinted at the map. “This is in the deep desert?”
“The edge of it.”
Meddigar looked more closely, still trying to understand why anyone would care about this. The center of the map was taken up with a vast blank area, ringed at the edges with low, rocky hills.
“It’s just a wide open nothing,” Meddigar said.
“It is now,” Auvor agreed. “But before it was a large inland sea.”
“And Maurizan was interested in going there.”
“She was interested in going back,” Auvor said.
They discussed the possible significance of that for another half hour, and then Auvor rolled up the map and handed it to Meddigar. “Take it. I don’t know what good it might do you, but I wish you luck. It’s possible that Maurizan has added something additional, is hoarding more information that makes the map more useful. I just don’t know.”
“Thank you.”
“Meddigar?”
“Yes?”
“Please look after my daughter,” the cartographer said.
She knows what she’s getting into. “Of course.”
“I’m obliged.”
“If you don’t mind, I need to confer with my associate,” Meddigar said. “Please tell Venny to meet us down in the foyer.”
“It shouldn’t be long now,” Auvor said. “I’ll tell her.”
Meddigar and Hak descended the stairs side by side in silence. When they reached the bottom, Meddigar glanced back one last time to confirm they were alone, then whispered to Hak, “Return to the barges as fast as you can. I’ll need you to gather a squad of soldiers and the other two ink mages. Outfit a couple of dromadan. I want you ready to leave by the time I get back. The rest of our forces will have to catch up.”
Hak frowned. “I probably should stay with you . . . for your safety.”
Meddigar rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to run off. If we’re going to pick up Maurizan’s trail, we’ll need every minute.”
Hak brightened at the thought of confronting the red-haired foreigner.
“And anyway, you saw the young lady’s face when her father told her she was coming with us,” Meddigar said. “I couldn’t possibly disappoint her. It would break the young girl’s heart.”
Hak laughed. “I’ll need to tell the company captain where we’re going.”
Meddigar nodded. “Tell him we’re going to the Last Village.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
They traveled through most of the night, stopping only a few hours before dawn to steal a brief nap before pressing on again.
Several times, Peyne saw Maurizan closing her eyes, face lifted to the sky. He looked up, wondering what she was doing. Once, he saw a great bird with a huge wingspan circling high overhead.
He asked Zayda to urge their dromadan up next to Maurizan’s, and when they’d pulled alongside, Peyne asked, “Any chance we’re being followed?”
“No,” Maurizan said.
Peyne glanced behind them at the empty desert, then back at the gypsy. “How can you be so sure?”
“I’m sure.” Maurizan clucked her tongue, and her dromadan pulled ahead.
Not feeling conversational, eh?
The day dragged on. Peyne swayed in the saddle, drifting in and out of a doze. He spent his waking moments cursing his ugly hat but glad it kept the sun off. The miles were endless and dull and hot.
At last, the sun sank again, and they made camp in the low spot between two dunes to hide their meager campfire. They chewed tough pieces of overly spiced dried meat and drank their water rations.
“When do we turn south?” Zayda asked across the fire.
“Tomorrow,” Maurizan said, “if we start early and ride all day.”
“Why?”
Maurizan sprawled under a blanket, turning away from Zayda. “Food and water before we turn south. A good place to hide. Quiet now. I need my sleep.”
