He snorted at his own grimness. “But let’s make sure that ‘soon enough’ doesn’t turn into ‘later tonight’ shall we?”
There was still a fire mage out there somewhere who needed to be put in the ground . . . Kylpin pondered over that for a moment and then he shook his head. No, not in the ground. The fire mage deserved far worse for what he’d done. No, when he caught up with that damned fire mage, he’d drag him to the nearest body of water and hold him under with his bare hands until the lights in the man’s eyes went out and he drowned!
chapter 8
Garett Navarro woke with a terrible headache. He sat up slowly, grabbing his head. His thumb brushed against a small knot on the side of his temple. Someone had knocked him out.
Again!
He slid his legs over the side of the straw pallet and waited for the dingy room to stop spinning. Two empty bowls sat atop the rickety table beside him. The lingering aroma of beefy stew wafted up from the damp bottoms of each and his stomach grumbled in protest. Who would be so rude as to leave only the remains of a meal behind and not something for him to eat when he awoke? Still, it could have been worse. He could have found himself waking up in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. Or worse still, trapped back inside the gray world of the foreign mage’s magical fur rug. Garett shuddered at the grim thought and tried to occupy his mind with other things. Food, and his need for it, popped up front and center and demanded his immediate attention.
Perhaps there was something squirreled away nearby he could nibble on.
Garett surveyed the sad little room. It reminded him of his tiny chamber back at the Belyne Military Academy with its low ceiling, sparse furniture, and absolutely no place at all to hide a late-night snack. He twisted around to check the table on the other side of the bed and his gaze landed on the flickering flame dancing atop the tallow candle.
His breath caught in his throat.
He forgot about his need for food. And about his pounding headache. In fact, the rest of the world just slipped softly away as he stretched his fingers toward the delicate flame. The wondrous heat played against his callused skin. Tickling him. Fondling him. Oh, how he delighted in the prickling sensation of the scorched kisses and the . . .
Garett checked himself. The world snapped back into place. This simple fire was not the same as Delila! She had been a fire elemental. A living flame. An entity with feelings, emotions, pride, lust . . .
And this candlelight, while a pleasant distraction, was just a pale imitation of her, a ghost, a shade, a terrible replacement and an equally terrible reminder of his great, great loss. In a fit of rage, he pinched the wick between his fingers, and the mindless fire died beneath his touch. Darkness consumed the room as quickly as guilt consumed his soul. Even a simple flame did not deserve his ire.
Garett slumped forward, elbows on his knees, his face held in his hands. As much as he’d like to deny it, he recognized the truth of his dire situation. Yes, Lord Ragget had been the one to destroy Delila, but had it not been for his foolishness, his overconfidence, and his indefatigable arrogance, Delila would still exist today and he wouldn’t find himself so magically diminished.
And so very much alone.
Garett straightened and the weighty pouch in his vest pocket bumped against his chest. Ah yes! He may be alone, but he was not poor and in a large port city like Belyne, where most things could be found and purchased with enough coin, that was an important distinction. While stuck inside the gray world, he had found a cache of gold and gems, and a vast assortment of other valuable items including a luxurious carriage. Thankfully, the carriage had been without horses. He had never taken a liking to them and in his limited experience with the tall, smelly beasts, he’d found the feelings were mutual. Perhaps they could sense what he was. A great and powerful fire mage!
Well . . . not so great and not so powerful anymore . . .
Garett stood, and paced across the room, his sharp eyes easily picking out the arched doorway despite the utter darkness. Without Delila, his magical abilities were severely reduced, but he’d always had keen senses, even before joining with her, and though he had no idea where he was, his nose told him he was in the same estate and not far from the kitchen he’d found earlier.
He followed the tantalizing aroma of a baked pie through the maze of dimly-lit corridors, but upon reaching the kitchen, he hesitated. Despite his gnawing hunger, he listened for any movement in the room beyond. Someone in the kitchen had knocked him unconscious last time, and though he had woken in a bed rather than out in the streets, he decided it might be wiser to proceed with caution this time. He peeked around the doorframe and surveyed the room. It appeared deserted. Cautiously, he stepped inside. “Hello?” he whispered.
No answer.
He relaxed a bit. His stomach growled. He would just grab a quick bite and . . .
A great hickory log was burning brightly in the hearth. Orange and yellow flames danced and twirled across its charred surface. Garett stepped closer. Oh, how he wanted to dance with the fire, to feel its heat caress his skin and warm his soul. He stretched out a hand. His pulse quickened.
No . . . no . . . NO! Garett closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath. The smoky air filled his lungs and he moaned softly. He must maintain control of himself! He could not let his passion for flames overcome his thought processes every time he encountered a fire! Did he not have a spine?
Keeping his eyes averted, Garett searched the room for food. The steaming sweet-pie he’d smelled earlier rested on a large wooden table in the center of the kitchen. He wasted no time on manners or cutlery. Instead, he scooped handfuls of the hot pastry straight into his mouth. The first few bites burned his tongue and he relished that sensation almost as much as he did the tasty food. He wolfed down the entire pie and searched for something more.
His gaze landed on the fire again. It was a rather pretty fire and he’d always enjoyed watching hickory logs burn. A slow smile tweaked the corners of his mouth. Perhaps he’d just curl up in front of the hearth for a few minutes . . .
A loud boom sounded somewhere above him. Garett ducked behind the table and waited. The boom sounded again, and it was answered by dozens of thundering footsteps. A third boom came, and it was followed by a muffled, “Open in the name of the king!”
Garett swallowed hard and absentmindedly wiped his hands clean on his trousers. Whose home was being invaded by the king’s men? For once, he hoped he was still inside Lord Ragget’s estate. After what that double-crossing bastard had done to him . . . had done to Delila, he’d give his . . . he’d give his . . . well, he’d give his left nut to see that pompous ass arrested and dragged away in chains.
Garett almost snorted. Delila would not have liked his vulgarity.
The boom sounded again, but this time Garett’s attention was drawn to the patter of many feet on the nearby stairs. It took him only a moment to deduce what was happening. The household guard was preparing to make a stand against the king’s men while the noble members of the estate fled. But to where? Were there places a person could hide down here in the lower levels? And if so, perhaps it might be wise for him to find such a place too. Technically, he was still a wanted man.
Garett climbed to his feet and hurried out of the kitchen. His keen ears told him the fleeing members of the household weren’t far away. Would Lord Ragget be among the group? Garett hesitated. It wouldn’t do for him to be recognized now. Not while his magical powers were so weak. Perhaps he should hold back. And yet, he really wanted to witness Lord Ragget’s arrest. But what if he was in another lord’s estate? What to do? What to do?
Garett groaned softly. His head still ached and without Delila he was filled with unfamiliar doubt and uncertainty. When she’d been inside him, he’d always allowed her to guide his actions. But now . . . but now . . . an image of himself setting Lord Ragget on fire flashed before his mind’s eye and he gave himself a moment to enjoy the fantasy. Stop! Stop! Garett scowled. He must maintain control
of himself! Now was not the time for thoughts of revenge. He’d make plans for that later. Now was the time for thoughts of escape.
Fight or flight? It took him only a moment to realize it all boiled down to two simple choices and without Delila he only had one. Swallowing his pride, Garett chased after the fleeing members of the house. Perhaps with luck, he’d be able to join the group and blend in long enough to escape. It wasn’t a great or creative plan, but sometimes it was the simplest plans that worked the best.
With that in mind, Garett dashed through the arched corridors hoping he’d find the group before they disappeared completely.
Overhead, he heard a splintering of wood and the crash of metal against metal. A fight had broken out. He quickened his pace and barreled around a corner only to find a motley assortment of men and women running twenty yards ahead of him. They were being led by a tall, white-haired old man. Garett searched for Lord Ragget among the group, but the blond Yordician was not there. Either he was upstairs leading the attack against the king’s men, or this group was the members of another lord’s household.
With no time to figure out which, Garett raced on and joined the rear of the fleeing party. Better to take his chances with these people than with the king’s men. He’d been restrained long enough inside the gray world; he had no desire to spend more time jailed within the royal dungeons. He’d escaped from there once before too. He didn’t want to go back.
The old man led the group past a massive vault door and down to the end of the adjacent hall. Was the old man lost? There was nothing down here. It was a dead-end. Garett glanced behind him. The king’s men weren’t back there yet. Perhaps he’d be better off striking out on his own . . .
The old man produced a key and fitted it into a slender crack in the wall. With a soft snick and a groan, a section of the rock swung away and disappeared into the blackness beyond. Garett almost laughed. This was better than he expected!
Twin torches flickered to life and their meager light pushed back against the darkness. Another pair ignited further in and then another and another revealing a long, narrow corridor.
“Come along,” the old man whispered to the group. “Quickly now, people.”
As they were ushered through the newly created doorway, Garett kept his head down and his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets. He wanted to reach out and play with the torch fire, to pull the flames down and have them dance in his palms. He wanted to open his mouth and drink the heat like a fine wine. He wanted . . . he wanted . . .
He wanted to maintain control of himself!
But it was so hard! The hall beyond the secret door was narrow and the flickering torches were so close. So very close! The heat brushed against his face and reddened his cheeks. The oily smoke tickled his nose. Behind him the stone door closed with a soft thud. The noise brought him back to the present and he realized the group was leaving him behind. Garett hunched his shoulders and tucked his chin and pushed himself forward. After a few paces, he realized the tunnel was gently sloping downward. Where was the white-haired old man leading them now? Garett had heard stories about the underground rivers and the maze-like catacombs beneath Belyne, but he’d never ventured beneath the streets in search of either. Cold and damp were not sensations he particularly enjoyed. Was that where they were heading? Was this their great escape? Garett’s jaw clenched, and he glanced back the way they had come. Was it too late to turn back? Had the stone door locked behind them? What had he gotten himself into now? He could almost hear Delila laughing at him. Look how lost he was without her!
Balling his hands into fists, Garett pressed on. At one point, the rough-hewn stony corridor narrowed and forced each member to squeeze sideways to pass through. Garett waited his turn. He followed a large brutish man who smelled of sour milk and stale cheese and the pungent stench made his eyes water. Garett swiped at his tears and then without a thought he fondled the nearest torch. The moisture on his fingers evaporated and the teasing flames licked his skin. A smile stretched across his face. His eyes glazed over. Mellow warmth spread throughout his body. He curled his hand and the flames twirled atop each of his fingertips. He forgot about the king’s men. He forgot about his need for revenge against Lord Ragget. He forgot everything. He was just a young man standing alone playing with a bit of fire. A giggle escaped his lips. The flames were so pretty. So very, very pretty. But not as pretty as Delila. Plain fire could never be as pretty as her. He should summon her and . . .
Garett gnashed his teeth and cast the captured fire aside. The flames sputtered and died at his feet. Delila was gone! Destroyed. Never to come back! And now was not the time to stop and play with fire! Why couldn’t he get that through his gods-damned head? He shoved his hands roughly into his trouser pockets. He MUST maintain control of himself!
Garett hurried to catch up with the group again. Fortunately, no one had witnessed what he’d just done, or if they had, no one said a word about it. In fact, no one had really said much during the retreat. No one voiced a complaint about the fast pace the old man was setting either, not even the wrinkled old woman beside him. Garett shook his head in amazement. She looked to be in her late seventies or early eighties, but she moved as if her legs were half that age.
Despite his admiration for the elderly woman’s stamina, his attention was not drawn to her for long. An attractive Dardynian woman caught his eye. She had removed her prim hat somewhere along the way, and though her silky red hair was cut short, it shimmered fiercely in the torchlight. He’d always fancied Dardynian women and their long fiery hair and he was curious why this young beauty had chopped her locks off. He couldn’t begin to imagine what had convinced her to do such a horrible deed and then his thoughts drifted, and he found himself fantasizing about her hair growing down past her slender waist and her curved hips and how good it would feel to slide his tapered fingers through it while the two of them were lying naked in front of a roaring fire . . .
The old man brought the group to an abrupt halt and Garett, lost in his latest fantasy, nearly ran into the big smelly man. His nose wrinkled, and he took a couple of steps back.
“There aren’t enough boats for everyone,” the old man announced. “But the young men can swim alongside until we reach the opposite shore.”
Garett recoiled. Standing on board a ship deck was one thing, sitting in a tiny row boat yet another, but swimming in water! Unthinkable! His heart pounded and the vein in his neck throbbed. He took a few wobbly steps back. No, no, no, there had to be another way. He couldn’t get into the water! He just couldn’t. Garett glanced back at the torch lit corridor. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to turn around and face the king’s men. Perhaps if he confessed everything, the king would show mercy . . .
“You!”
Garett spun back around. The old man was pointing at him. “Come help me ready these boats.”
“No . . . No, I . . .” Garett swallowed the hard lump in his throat.
“Come along, now.” The old man waved him forward. “We must all work together if we’re going to escape.”
The smelly man put a meaty hand on his back and gave him a shove. Garett stumbled but managed to stay upright. His eyes widened as he drew nearer the murky underground river. It looked like a black ribbon of death. And besides being wet, it stank too. It stank of all sorts of wet things. Wet dog. Wet stockings. Wet-ness. A cold shiver of fear raced up his spine, and a spasm in his neck caused his head to twitch.
“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” the old man whispered as Garett drew up beside him. His softly spoken words did not match his hard, penetrating stare.
Garett froze.
“I know you’re not part of the household staff,” the old man continued. “Who are you?”
“I . . . I was hungry . . .”
“You’re dressed better than most beggars.”
Garett was at a loss for words. Without Delila’s guidance he wasn’t exactly sure how to extract himself from difficult situations. In the past
she would either tell him what to say, or she burned the offending person, and he would escape after watching her handiwork and naturally praising her for her timely assistance.
Garett glanced wildly around the underground cave. Was there a way for him to escape without going into the river, or back into the estate?
“He’s the new pot-scrubber,” the smelly man said in passing. He was single-handedly pulling one of boats toward the river.
The old man’s hawkish face softened, but his sharp eyes did not. “Oh? Did Gertrude hire you?”
Garett rolled his shoulders, hoping to properly answer the question with a noncommittal shrug.
“What’s your name?”
“Garett,” he answered before thinking to offer an alias.
“Well, Garett, keep your nose clean and do as you’re told, and we’ll get along just fine.”
Garett nodded.
The old man slapped him across the back and then looked past him. “Ladies, Master Tyran.” He gestured toward the boat. “If you please.”
“I can swim with the men,” the boy said.
“No,” the old man replied sharply. “You will ride in one of the boats with Alysea, Gertrude and me.”
“Father put me in charge . . .” the boy started.
“Master Tyran Weatherall, get in the boat!”
Garett blinked. This boy was the heir to the Yordician throne! And these were the members of Lord Ian Weatherall’s estate? He glanced toward the dark ceiling. That would mean it was Weatherall’s Gyunwarian guards facing off against the king’s men upstairs. Garett shook his head. What had happened while he was locked away in the gray world? Had a war broken out between Yordic and Gyunwar?
Garett’s blood raced. Lord Ragget had hired him to burn Lord Weatherall’s warehouse and Kylpin Caleachey’s ship. And apparently, he had hired a foul wind mage to break into Lord Weatherall’s vault and steal the remainder of his wealth . . . but that didn’t explain the appearance of the king’s men on the Gyunwarian Ambassador’s doorstep. What could they want with Lord Weatherall? Were Lord Ragget’s plans all just a prelude for war?
Stolen Justice Page 5