A Jewel Bright Sea

by Claire O'Dell

  Raab ordered two of the guards to take up positions ahead. The others remained to the rear, while Raab himself dismounted. All of them had their weapons drawn and ready.

  Maté too had a blade in hand as he crept into the undergrowth to their left. Once, twice, he stopped and sniffed. Then suddenly he plucked up an object from the ground. He beckoned to Anna.

  “What is it?” she said softly, once she had reached his side.

  “Our first tangible clue.”

  He said the word tangible as though it were a magical word.

  Anna crouched amongst the vines and bushes and examined the clue. In his palm lay a short length of wire. Maté’s eyes were not upon the wire, however. She followed the direction of his gaze down and to the right.

  Vines and bushes grew thickly here, but they could not hide the signs of battle. All those leaves crushed, the branches trampled, the dirt churned up…. She sniffed again and caught the unmistakable scent of rotting flesh.

  Theory number three. The buyer—or that possible third party—had lured Sarrész and his guards away from the temple and its open square into the forest, where they were forced into a single file. And here, within sight of the shore, the ambush had taken place.

  “Where are the bodies?” she whispered. “Or did they take prisoners?”

  “I doubt they bothered with prisoners,” he said. “No, they dumped the bodies in the ocean, though they missed one or two, which accounts for the stink. Sloppy work,” he muttered. “Though truth be told, I don’t see why they bothered. Our friend was here, however.”

  Was. Silently she uttered a curse on Aldo Sarrész’s soul. Three months chasing after the man, only to find him murdered at someone else’s hands. Lord Brun would not be pleased. Not pleased—dear gods, what an inadequate phrase. Anna shuddered at the thought of how Brun might express his displeasure.

  Meanwhile, Maté continued to examine the ground. The attackers had strung metal wire across the path to dismount their quarry, he told her. They had attacked using crossbows to take down the rest. The guards had fought hard, but all signs pointed to the party being overwhelmed and everyone slaughtered. Even three days later, splashes of blood marked the leaves and brush.

  “Someone dragged a body here,” he murmured. “We might get a clue…”

  Before she could ask which body, or what kind of clue, Maté plunged into the thicket of bushes, hacking at the vines with his sword. The guards were muttering openly now. A sharp comment from Raab silenced them, but Anna could sense their nervousness. She could hardly blame them.

  She checked the knife in her boot, the other at her wrist. Not that that made any difference. When Brun had first announced their mission, Maté had insisted she learn the rudiments of what he called practical defense. How to hold a blade. How to throw a knife. Anna had spent her afternoons with a newly hired set of tutors for magic, and her early mornings with Maté in the stable yard. All very good, but she was a scholar and the daughter of a scholar, not a warrior. A shudder passed through her, despite the close, hot day.

  After a long interval, Maté returned. His eyes were bright, and he had that same odd air of anticipation she had noted before, back at the temple. “I found only the one body,” he said softly. “Not our friend. But there are other signs I want you to see before our horses and guards trample over them.”

  He headed back into the underbrush, beckoning her to follow. Anna hurried after him, swearing under her breath. A short distance ahead, the trees stopped abruptly.

  They stood at the edge of a lonely inlet, little more than a notch in the coast, with a few dozen yards between them and the rushing surf. A wind blew steadily from the ocean, lifting the sweat from her face. Then a flicker of movement caught her eye—tiny crabs popped up to the surface, only to disappear as soon as she spotted them.

  “Look,” Maté said quietly.

  He pointed at the ground. Deep prints dug into the dirt and sand, heading straight for the ocean. Other footprints overlaid the first pair. They had converged from all different directions, and though wind and rain had smoothed the open shore, the sands closest to the trees still showed traces of a struggle. She glanced around quickly. No sign of blood here.

  “They took him prisoner, then,” she murmured.

  “Nothing quite so simple. Come with me. I have something to show you.”

  With rising excitement, Anna followed Maté onto the open shore. He took a path that angled away from the confusion of footprints, then circled around cautiously until they came to a point where the sands were still damp from the tide.

  More footprints.

  A single line of footprints that arrowed directly toward the sea, remarkably clear even after three days and several tides in between.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “Our luck,” he answered with satisfaction. “We had a lovely high spring tide four, five days past. That means wet sand that takes a good set of tracks, and no more tides since to wash them away.”

  The daily rains had softened the tracks, but she could guess what had happened. At the edge of the high-tide mark, their quarry had swiveled about, leaving a muddle of prints. Something—a momentary loss of breath? The sight of his pursuers?—had caused him to take a step back, leaving a deep, clear print. Then he had taken off again, straight for the ocean.

  Where the tide had washed away all traces of what happened next.

  Damn you, damn you, Aldo Sarrész.

  She let her breath escape in a hiss that matched the soughing of the waves. Cursing a dead man would do her little good. Besides, Sarrész himself didn’t matter, not really—only the jewel.

  So let’s find out what did happen to the jewel.

  She knelt and let her hand hover over the sands. Oh, that was strange. Traces of strong magic itched at her fingertips, and the signature—the magical signature—reminded her of sunlight refracted by diamonds, bright and blinding and filled with all the colors of the universe. Except… According to all the reports Brun had supplied, Sarrész was a mere dabbler in magic.

  She growled in frustration.

  “What is it?” Maté asked.

  “Magic,” Anna said. “Not Sarrész’s, however. I need to investigate.”

  “First let me call Raab and the guards. We don’t want any surprises. Pretend you are enraptured with the beauty of the prospect, Lady Iljana.”

  She wanted to argue—all her instincts yammered at her to investigate now, this moment, before the traces of that magical signature vanished—but Maté was right. They could not discard their roles yet. Not until they had recovered the jewel and bought their passage back to the mainland.

  Anna fluttered her hand to one side in agreement and, with some effort, arranged her expression into one she hoped passed for enraptured.

  She did not have to wait long. Maté returned with Raab close behind. They both surveyed the shore, then conducted a brief, tense conversation about logistics and the possible necessity of spending the night away from Iglazi. Then came the guards themselves, with the horses. Raab ordered three to stand watch while the others dug a firepit and set to work preparing a meal for the lady. Within a short time, Maté appeared with a plate of toasted bread and hot tea.

  “For my lady’s relief,” he murmured.

  She ate and drank mechanically, only half hearing what he said about the ride back to Iglazi and the possibility of visiting this inlet another day. Her attention veered back to those mysterious footprints just a few yards to the left. Once she finished her bread and tea, she set her cup and plate aside and knelt beside them.

  Ei rûf ane gôtter, she whispered. Ane Lir unde Toc. Komen mir de strôm.

  An invocation to the gods. To Lir and her brother Toc. To the magical current. Words spoken in the ancient language of Erythandra, the language of magic, of the Empire’s ancestors, who rode from the far north t
o conquer the mainland.

  A soft green scent mixed with the ever-present salt tang. The air thickened before her eyes, then wavered, as her vision narrowed to the footprint, then to the individual grains of sand that glittered in the brilliant sunlight.

  Lâzen mir älliu sihen. Lâzen mir älliu hoeren.

  She recalled those hours in her father’s study as they practiced the invocation to magic, the simplest spells, to light a candle or seal a letter. Then later, as they explored far more complicated spells, to lift one’s soul from the body and wander free throughout time and place. It was her skill in magic, after all, that had inspired Lord Brun to send her on this mission.

  Lâzen mir älliu sihen. Lâzen mir älliu der gëste sihen.

  The crash and gurgle from the surf doubled, reverberating from past and present. A tiny bird wheeled past—just a black dot spinning across the skies. She turned in time to see it vanish into the forest. Down and deeper down into the past. Slow and slower still, until the moments stretched out, and she could examine each one as she would a physical object.

  ...the skies a dark blue, smudged with rain clouds. A wind blew steadily from offshore, clean and cool, buzzing with the residue of lightning. Then, a flock of birds exploded from the trees. She heard a garbled shout, the high-pitched squeals of panicked horses. Next came a series of thuds and metallic crashes. A man burst into view, running straight toward her. She recognized Sarrész at once—a slim man of middle height, thick dark hair tied back loosely. But unlike her memories of the man, this Sarrész was splattered with gore and his mouth was twisted in horror.

  He passed directly through her. She gagged on the stink of blood and sweat….

  Sarrész had escaped the first onslaught. But then what? There was a heaviness in the air that felt wrong. And the man was gabbling to himself. Prayers to the god. A plea for deliverance. Words of magic mixed with curses against the gods. What was he doing?

  Her gaze flickered back to the jungle. Five men and a woman were hurtling toward her. All six armed with short swords stained with blood. The five men howling like savage beasts. The woman silent, her cold dark eyes fixed directly upon Sarrész.

  Even though she knew she watched events from three days past, Anna flinched. Her vision wavered, then resolved to show the same six standing much closer, their sweat-soaked faces stiff with shock. She spun back to face the ocean.

  Nothing except sand and bright blue skies and the empty seas.

  Startled, she lost her grip upon the past. The magic current vanished and she tumbled back into the present. Maté caught her as she pitched forward.

  “Softly, Lady Vrou,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ve taken ill. Too much sun, I believe.”

  She blinked and her vision cleared. Hours had slipped away while she delved into the past. All that remained of the sun was a golden thread running along the horizon. Raab stood over them, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “Our men were unsettled by your magic,” he murmured. “However, I gave them a tale of how your father indulged you with tutors. Did you discover any sign of our friend?”

  “Oh yes,” she said, her voice like a croak. Maté set a flask of water to her lips. Anna drank it dry. “He was here three days ago, just as we suspected. Not captured. Vanished. With magic. Very strong magic.”

  Maté’s dark eyes narrowed. “Lord Brun’s reports about the man were wrong, then.”

  “I don’t know.” Anna struggled to sit up, in spite of the ache that gripped her skull. “I could make out two different signatures. One very weak, almost useless. That would match the Sarrész I expected. But another signature that overlaid his. The signature intertwined with his. It’s not like anything I’ve come across before.”

  “Could it belong to the jewel itself? Or another mage?”

  Anna shook her head. “Magical objects don’t have a signature. They reflect or amplify the signature of whoever used it. As for another mage...I don’t know.”

  She didn’t, and it frustrated her. She had thought herself talented in dissecting magical signatures—those fingerprints left by every magic worker, whether a skilled mage or a dabbler like Aldo Sarrész. That was another reason Brun had chosen her for this assignment.

  She pushed Maté away and bent close to the tracks once more, frowning. Her head throbbed from magic and sun, but she forced herself to focus on those elusive signatures—Sarrész’s weak and imperfect, that other so vivid, even after so many days. But whose? There was no second set of footprints, and if she could trust her magic, no sign of any other human mage on this shore. So where had Sarrész gone? And how?

  Another crab popped up beside her, then scuttled over the sands toward the foamy edge of the tide. Her gaze flicked toward it and she caught a whiff of a sharp, green scent—so faint she almost missed it—drifting toward the ocean.

  Her skin prickled. She recognized that other signature. The not-Sarrész. Curiosity tugged her forward, to follow that elusive...scent? Texture? Whisper? Anna could never decide how to classify the layers that made up a magical signature. Half-blind to her surroundings, she scrambled to her feet and took a step forward, cast about, and took another.

  “Lady Iljana. Please.”

  Maté, his voice uncharacteristically anxious, intruded. Anna waved him away. She nearly had the scent again and she already knew what Maté wanted to say. That it was too late. That the location was too lonely, too dangerous. But if they left now, these faint traces might vanish altogether. A short distance away, Maté and Raab argued about what kind of watch to set and who had precedence. Raab gave orders to their guards, something about fetching the lanterns and setting up the Lady Vrou’s tent. She hardly cared. Here were stronger, clearer traces, high above the sands, rising upward...

  A sharp neigh broke her concentration.

  Anna stumbled, lost her hold on the magical current, and dropped to her knees.

  The sun had vanished completely. The air was thick and grey, while overhead a sprinkling of stars had appeared. Maté stood next to her, a lantern in one hand, his sword in the other. Raab was a few steps away. He too had his sword drawn. The horses were restless and stamping.

  “Visitors,” Raab said shortly. “Those bandits we’ve heard about.”

  No sooner had he spoken than dozens of masked men swarmed out from the forest. With a curse, Maté flung the lantern to the ground. Oil scattered, illuminating the shore in a burst of flame and blinding their attackers.

  “Run!” he called out. “Make for the trees. Both of you.”

  “No! I can’t leave—”

  “You can, and you will.”

  The next moment, Maté and the guards had joined with the brigands.

  Raab took hold of Anna by the arm and dragged her toward the sea. “On your knees,” he growled. “We’ll circle around the fighting and—”

  “But what about Maté?”

  “Shut up. We have no time for a university debate. Go!”

  He dropped into a crouch and glided swiftly along the waterline. Anna scrambled after him. Raab had already vanished into the trees before she reached the far edge of the shore. The commotion behind her was louder than before. Sword striking sword, the metal ringing over the sands. A strangled cry, cut short.

  She stopped, her pulse hammering against her skull.

  You won’t survive this mission unless you learn how to kill, Brun had told her. Over her protests that she was no murderer, he’d hired tutors who specialized in battle and assassination. They had stuffed her head full of spells, only now she was afraid to use them.

  A shadow loomed up beside her. “Hah. Found her. Andreas!”

  The man grabbed her arm. Panic blanked her mind. Without thinking, she snatched her dagger from its sheath and slashed out wildly.

  He screamed. A gout of blood splashed Anna’s face. She doubled over, retching. Before she could reco
ver, another seized her arm and threw her to the ground, so hard her dagger went skittering over the sands. In less than a moment, he’d captured both her wrists and was dragging her over to the other bandits.

  “We have our prize,” the man announced. “At a cost.”

  “I hope she’s worth it,” someone else said.

  “I hope so too. What do you think, Lady Vrou?”

  He swung her onto her feet. Anna gulped down a breath as she took in the scene. At least four dozen brigands gathered in a loose circle. Several of them held up torches, so bright that the sands blazed silver and gold. Four men, gagged and bound, huddled in the center of that bright expanse. Three bodies lay stretched out on the ground and the sand around them glistened darkly. One lay on his back, his arm flung over his face.

  It was Maté.

  “No,” she whispered. Then louder, “No! Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ei rûf—”

  Her captor clapped a hand over her mouth. Anna bit down hard. The man grunted and loosed his hold. She spat out the blood and salt, drew a lungful of air, ready to summon the magic current, when a fist struck her skull and all went black.

  CHAPTER 2

  She woke to the pitch-black of midnight and a vicious throbbing in her skull. Without thinking, she lunged upward, only to be caught by a pair of hands. Anna struggled, but those hands held her steady while someone else inserted a glass vial between her lips. A cold liquid, viscous and bitter, poured into her mouth. She spat it out and twisted away.

  “Drink, you idiot child,” said a woman’s voice, low and rough. “Unless you like that headache of yours.”

  She gripped Anna’s chin in one hand and forced the vial between her lips a second time. Against her will, Anna gulped down one mouthful, then another. Her vision cleared momentarily and she could make out a collection of shadows off to one side. She wanted to demand where she was, what had happened, but that proved too much of an effort. With a sigh, she dropped into sleep.