by Jim Hodgson
Gonul closed the trapdoor carefully, making sure the cats weren’t in the way. The horrible little beasts only tried to come down into his chamber because he didn’t want them to. They were a necessary precaution, though. Without the cats there would be spiders, and spiders were spies. That’s how the last plot to deal with the idiot King Usta went wrong.
“It is nearly time,” Gonul said, as he descended into the brightly lit chamber. “We’ll have to delay just a bit longer, but it will only make our triumph sweeter.”
Under the traditional white robes of an extramortal servant, Tig inclined his head. “Pleased to hear it, master,” the servant rasped.
Gonul sometimes wondered if any other members of the former elite society of Dilara had hidden extramortal servants away in time to save them from being stolen. There had to be someone else who’d managed it. Gonul had grown up with Tig as his servant. As he grew, he understood that he was just biding his time until he could take over the family barrel-making business. He could have been a prosperous businessman. He could have taken a wife, perhaps even had a mistress or two on the side. But all that was ripped away from him when the idiot King Usta allowed the extramortal workers to be “free.”
The barrel business, like so many others that depended on extramortal workers, was gutted. His family estate was destroyed and his parents murdered by the undead wizard Cezmi. Gonul was left with nothing at all in the world but his brains, Tig, and a little money. He’d use all three to destroy Alper Usta. That was for certain. Along the way, a few others would get what was coming to them as well.
Chapter 7
One of Aysu’s apprentices watched as she sighted down the blade of the sword he’d been working on. She flipped it the other way and sighted down its opposite edge. At the moment it looked like a very crude weapon, but for a student’s first few efforts it showed promise. Most of the work Aysu’s shop did was of the everyday variety; door hinges, handles, metal bits for carts and horses. But she found that letting the apprentices work on swords and armor a few hours a week tended to keep them interested.
She looked at the boy and hefted the sword. “Did you get Ceyhan’s help with this?”
His eyes went left, then right. “Yes?”
Aysu raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question?”
The boy stammered, “No, ma’am. I mean yes, ma’am, I did ask Ceyhan. No, ma’am, it’s not a question.”
Aysu nodded. “I can tell. It has her deft hammer-work in a few spots. She is not as strong as you are yet, so she struggles with the heavier steel, but she is more precise, eh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She eyed him. “You thought I might be cross about it.”
The apprentice made a face that said he didn’t know how to navigate this situation.
“After all the times I have droned on and on about how you are each other’s greatest resource? About how teamwork is ultimately beneficial to both parties? Have you not noticed that I ask my very own father for advice, even though we sometimes don’t get along?”
The boy nodded.
“In this style of work we revere skill and experience. I am proud of your progress, but I am more proud that you and Ceyhan worked together.”
Now he beamed.
She gave him a conspiratorial wink, then hefted the sword in the air. She tried not to wiggle it too hard. It was a first effort after all, and it might bend under its own weight. She handed it back to the boy with a proud smile and a nod. “Well done.”
He received his prize and his praise with great pleasure.
“How are you coming along on those horseshoes?” she asked.
“Four left to make, ma’am.”
“Best get to it then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She watched him go, a little worried he might drop the sword and put it through his own foot. Luckily, he kept it aloft.
Aysu’s father approached, also watching the boy go. He was moving a little slower these days. He couldn’t swing a hammer all day long anymore. Not without gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. “I don’t know why you let the apprentices work on armory like that,” he said.
“Yes, you do.”
“I never let you work on anything like that.”
“See? You do know.”
Her father scowled at her. He hated when she talked back like this, she knew. But she also knew her father had been told time and again by her mother that he needed to let Aysu be the woman she was. His gaze drifted off to where the apprentice had walked away. “You know, Aysu ...” He looked down at his hands. “I wish I’d known a few things when I was younger that I know now.”
She waited. He’d never said anything even remotely like this to her before, so she had no idea where this conversation might be going.
He looked up into her eyes. “You’ve really grown into a strong woman.”
Aysu felt a sting in the rim of her eyes like she might cry, but stifled the feeling. It wasn’t at all a strong woman thing to do. She dared not move in case it derailed her father’s train of thought.
He continued, “When I look around at what you have built here, in some ways it makes me sad because I fear that the city will swallow my little girl up. But then again, maybe you are the blacksmith I could never—”
“Aysu?” a man called. Then, quieter, probably to one of the apprentices, “Where is your mistress?”
Aysu leaned to see who it was so she could tell them to jump in the river and drown themselves for interrupting what might be her father’s only introspective moment in his whole life. When she saw who it was, she realized she couldn’t do that. Gerent Ormuz of Ilbez had spotted her and was striding over towards them. She turned to greet him.
“There you are,” the Gerent said. “How’s the best blacksmith in all the known world?”
Aysu glanced at her father. “He looks all right to me.”
The Gerent laughed.
Aysu’s father shook his head. “I believe the Gerent was speaking to my daughter. And rightly so.”
“No offense meant, good sir,” the Gerent said.
“None taken.”
Aysu called for one of the apprentices to bring the Gerent’s work to him. “I think you’ll be pleased,” she said. “We finished the pieces for you and your men, and I took a small liberty as well.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
Aysu crossed to a workbench and lifted the top of a wooden box. She reached in and withdrew a bundle, then unwrapped it to reveal a dagger in a simple leather sheath. She handed it to the Gerent. “When you were last here you mentioned that you lost a favored belt knife some time ago. I made you a replacement. I hope you’ll find it satisfactory.”
The Gerent pulled the knife free of its sheath and turned it this way and that in the sunlight. He let out a sigh as he examined it, which made Aysu swell with pride. “This is magnificent,” he said. “Just beautiful. Perfectly balanced.” He moved the knife between his hands, feeling the weight.
“I also asked Ozel to put a small enchantment on it. It’s not much, but the knife should hold its edge long beyond normal steel.”
“Even without the enchantment,” the Gerent breathed. “This is no ordinary steel.” He laid the blade flat against his arm and effortlessly shaved a patch clean of hair. He laughed out loud, then looked at Aysu with a wondering expression. He held the knife up. “If I didn’t know better, I would think this was Koksal steel.”
Her father stiffened slightly for some reason, but his face was impassive.
“Koksal steel?” she asked. “What’s that?”
“Nothing but an old legend,” her father said. “Nothing to concern yourself about.”
“Oh, I disagree,” the Gerent said. “My father used to say they took a Koksal blade off a Yetkin in his early days. They say the beast used it to cut through a dozen men in one swipe. Armor, bone, weapons? Nothing to a Koksal blade. They were so afraid of it they had a ship sail a day out into the waves and
throw it overboard.”
Aysu’s father looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to disagree even more strongly, but he couldn’t because he was talking to the leader of a foreign country, not to mention one of his daughter’s best clients.
Aysu tried to imagine steel hard enough to do what the Gerent said it could. It would have to be hard to hold a super-sharp edge, but blades that hard tended to be brittle. They were as likely to shatter as cut something. You could use a blade like that carefully when cooking, but in a fight it’d be useless. She kept her thoughts to herself.
The Gerent put his new belt knife away. He put a companionable hand on Aysu’s father’s shoulder. “Now that I hear myself say it, it really does sound like a legend, doesn’t it? I must have been a truly gullible whelp when I heard that story the first time, eh?” He laughed.
Aysu’s father smiled too.
The Gerent paid for his work, collected the various bits, and was off. All Aysu could think about was trying to get her father to finish what he’d been saying before the Gerent walked into the shop, but after the Gerent left there was a squabble between two of the apprentices, and then he was off somewhere doing something else. The moment, it seemed, was lost.
Chapter 8
There had been significant discussion about how to decorate an enchantment shop. Wagast had always met his clients at his own home, so he thought the shop should be like a home, with seating and rugs. Ergam thought it should be stark inside to give the impression of cold intelligence. Ozel wanted a desk to sit at and some bookshelves, but didn’t like the idea of stark. In the end, Yonca and Aysu had ganged up on the rest and incorporated elements of all of the above.
“I’m worried that you’re going to study those books so hard that your head pops off your shoulders,” Ergam said. Despite his advocacy for a stark shop, he had a fondness for the soft couch. He lounged on it now, twirling an arrow in his fingers.
“It is a concern,” Ozel acknowledged, his voice distant.
“Well, isn’t it? We saw a man explode himself over the city like a fucking firework.”
“Precisely why I want to figure out how he did it.”
Ergam stopped twisting the arrow. The magical mask he wore over his undead face showed concern. “But do we really want to know?”
Ozel looked up. “Of course. Being a wizard is about having knowledge and applying it for the greater good. How can I do that if I don’t have the knowledge to begin with?”
“How would exploding people be to their good?”
“Some people are not so nice. Besides, it’s the underlying principles that we need to understand. Not that particular application.”
“I think you’re being greedy.”
“Greedy?” Ozel sounded a bit hurt.
“Yes. Mind greedy.”
Ozel gave Ergam a flat look. “Are you referring to my noble quest for knowledge as ‘mind greedy’?”
“It’s not natural.”
“You’re not natural and you’re one of my closest friends.”
Ergam considered that and twirled the arrow again. “All right, I’ll grant you that one, but you should consider—”
At that moment, the door swung open. A large man in fine clothes walked in with a much younger woman.
“Good morning,” Ozel said. “How can I help you?”
The large man ignored Ozel and crossed instead to an axe hanging on the wall. He lifted it from its wooden cradle and hefted it. “Now you see here, love, this is a proper weapon. And just look at the enchantment. See that shimmer? That’s a Wagast the Wise enchantment, that is.”
The young woman leaned closer to examine the axe.
The way the man was holding the weapon was making Ozel nervous. It was heavy and exceedingly sharp. It would take the man’s foot off and put a sizable gouge in the wooden floor as well. Ozel stood, crossed to the couple. “Can I answer any questions for you, sir or ma’am?”
The man gave Ozel an incredulous look. “No thank you, young man. We’d like to speak to Wagast the Wise, if you please.”
“I’m afraid Wagast isn’t here at the moment, but I can help you with anything.”
The man sniffed. He replaced the axe in its cradle and Ozel breathed an inward sigh of relief. The man said, “Well, run and fetch him, won’t you? I want to talk about a high quality sword.”
“I’ll be happy to help you with that,” Ozel said.
The man chuckled. “Thank you, boy, but I’m afraid that only the finest enchantments will do for what I have in mind. Tell your master I have all the coin he requires.” He gave a sidelong glance at his date, who smiled in return while he was looking, but rolled her eyes as he looked away.
Ozel cast a glance at Ergam and saw what he expected to see. The undead ranger was no longer twirling his arrow, but holding it like a throwing dart, ready to skewer the rude customer. Ozel gave a small shake of his head and gestured that, no, Ergam should not kill people just for being rude.
The shop door opened again. Yonca walked in, followed by Wagast, but Ozel stayed focused on his customer, mostly because he was considering how best to throttle a man with a very wide neck. He said evenly, “I don’t do this work for the money. I do it because I love enchanting. I understand that you’d like to speak to Wagast, but—”
“What’s going on here?” Wagast asked from the doorway.
The man, without turning around, held a finger in the air. “You’ll have to wait a moment, good sir, I was here first. I am demanding to speak to this whelp’s master, Wagast.”
Wagast frowned. “But you’re already speaking to Ozel. This is his shop. Says so over the door outside.”
The fat man rounded on Wagast. “Now listen here,” he hissed. “I am a man of consequence. Perhaps you are willing to deal with underlings, but I am not. Now if you would like to wait your turn, sir, I would speak to Wagast and no one else!”
Yonca, who had been holding a hand over her face, was now looking extremely entertained. She even gave a shake of the shoulders that might have been suppressed laughter. Wagast frowned at her, then returned his gaze to the customer. “Very well. Here I am. What would you say?”
“You?” the man stammered. “You’re Wagast?”
At this, the young woman who had come in with the fat man also covered her mouth to hide what might have been a smile.
Wagast looked himself up and down. “I think so. Long beard. Robe ...”
Yonca, grinning, added, “Wrinkly old body.”
Wagast narrowed his eyes at her.
The fat man adjusted his coat, stood up straight. “Very well. I would like to buy an enchanted sword. I understand that the steel here in Dilara is very good, and that the enchantments this shop produces are of a quality…” The man fell silent because Wagast was shaking his head. “Why do you shake your head, sir?” His face was going a bit flushed.
Wagast sighed. “Well, sir, I shake my head because this is not my shop. I no longer do enchantments for the general public, and I certainly don’t do them for rude fops.”
Ergam snorted a mocking laugh. The man’s face reddened even more.
Wagast went on, “I would like to ask you to leave, but, as I said, this is not my shop. I’m sure Ozel — the finest enchanter in the known world and the proprietor of this shop — will ask you to leave.”
“Don’t you know who I am?” the man spluttered.
“No,” Wagast said brightly. “Are you terribly important?”
“I will buy this shop and have it knocked to the ground!”
Wagast shrugged. “Give it your very best go.”
“Trust that I will! Come along, Adile!” the fat man marched out the door.
The young woman, Adile, looked like she’d just seen something amazing. She cast a look at the door, then said quietly, “Can women become wizards?”
“Damned right,” Yonca said.
“Do you think that I—”
“Adile!” the man’s voice barked from the street.
“My name is Yonca,” said Yonca. “Find me in our tower.”
The young woman nodded, then rushed out, looking delighted.
When the door shut behind her, Ergam stood and said, “I’m going to let Aysu know not to sell any good steel to that fat idiot.”
Ozel let out a long breath.
Wagast held up a hand. “Before you go, Ergam, we came by to speak to the two of you. I’d like Ozel to please go check on Alan with a stop at Guzul the Fierce’s house. Perhaps the two of you could go together.”
Ergam said, “Ooh. Can I be a horse again?”
“No,” Wagast said. “But you can make horse noises.”
Ergam wilted a bit.
“I don’t think he’ll be too keen,” Ozel said. “He was just disparaging my magical studies as ‘mind greedy.’”
“You too?” Yonca asked. “This one won’t stop talking about that wizard Cezmi and his terrible final display.”
Wagast said, “I merely want to understand how he did it. It’s not every day we see a completely novel application of magic.”
“Here, here,” Ozel said.
“Fucking mind greedy, the pair of you,” Ergam said.
Wagast gave an exaggerated shrug.
Yonca shook her head at Wagast, then gave him a playful swat on the arm.
Ozel thought it over and said, “Hmm, a few days of travel might give me some time to think.” He paused. “What’s going on with Alan? I thought he was gardening?”
Wagast gave a noncommittal gesture. “We’re not sure what’s going on. That’s why I’d like you to go have a look at him.”
Ozel nodded. “It’ll be good to see the old house. And to properly pay our respects to the memory of Guzul the Fierce. What do you say to a few days of fresh air, Ergam?”
Ergam whinnied and clawed at the air with his gloved hands.