"Y..." The warden sputtered, stumbling back. "You can't talk to me like that!"
"I'm guessing you've never served in the Republic's army, Warden." Pyvic had Orris backed up to the wall. "You disobeyed orders, you compromised my command, and you just let one of the mission objectives walk away. As the one who has to deal with that mess, I can talk to you that way. Now haul your sorry carcass after Akus with half the men."
Pyvic turned his back on Orris and walked away, the rage within him vented but still there, smoldering. He could feel the warden's anger, could tell that Orris wanted nothing more than to lay into Pyvic.
"You don't understand, Captain," Orris said through gritted teeth. "It's not about Akus. It's about Loch. Nothing matters except getting her back."
"Get moving, Warden. That's an order." Pyvic turned and smiled. "And it's the last one I'm going to give you."
Orris swallowed, then turned and yelled at the guards to get after Akus.
"The rest of you, with me. Double-time to the town gates." Without turning to see if they'd follow, Pyvic ran into the night to see what he could salvage.
Five
Hessler didn't know whether you had to be actually thrown in order for it to be considered "being thrown out". He wasn't, in fact, but the security attendants did hustle him down the front steps.
"—conduct unbecoming a University Arcanologist, above and beyond the monetary cost of the infraction," the chair of Illusion was blustering, "makes it clear that this is no isolated matter that—"
"As if you even care, Porisporant," Hessler cut in, adjusting his robes. "If you were smart enough to get away with it, you'd have done so in a moment, and then you'd be a wealthy man instead of a second-rate shadow-weaver chasing University tenure!"
Hessler was a tall, squint-eyed man permanently in need of a shave. He tended to hunch inside his robes, and he gestured a lot with his hands in ways that made others irritated. His most memorable feature was his mouth, mainly for what came out of it.
"Your disrespectful attitude and pilfering could have been tolerated," Porisporant went on, red-faced and pointing now, "had your remarks been restricted to matters of the arcane. But by your public attitude, you have misrepresented the University's regard for the Voyancy and the Republic!"
Hessler manipulated the air with twitching fingers. "But, but, but the entire premise of the Republic involves free speech, which should imply that—"
"The Republic must be clear on the University's respect and admiration for the policies of the Voyancy," Porisporant said, "especially in these trying times."
"Am I being suspended for pilfering," Hessler asked, "or for what I said?"
"For your crimes against the University—" Porisporant intoned as though someone important were listening.
"I only did that to pay for my moth—"
"—taken in light of your pernicious and unpatriotic attitude—" Porisporant went on.
Hessler shook his head with a sneer. "So I'd get different treatment in I—"
"—you are hereby expelled," Porisporant finished with a malicious leer. "Guards, this man is not to re-enter campus, and his goods are hereby claimed to help pay off the debt he incurred through his thievery."
"Oh, you can't be," Hessler began, and when Porisporant turned away, raised his voice, "you can't be serious! You can't expel me! The founders of this university were warlocks who trafficked with demons! A few magic trinkets can't be cause for—I'll go to Professor Cestran! He'll overturn this, you frog-eyed Republic lickspittle! You'll see! I'll be back in two weeks!"
Porisporant closed the door behind him. The guards stayed outside, watching.
When it became clear that the conversation was over, Hessler stalked off. Cestran was on vacation, as Hessler had last heard, in the port city of Ros-Sesuf, where the elderly wizard made his home. It was several days away on horseback. Hessler hadn't had much on him when Porisporant had arrived with the guards, and he had nothing stashed away.
But Hessler was, as even Porispont had to admit after discovering the black-market trinkets, a creative individual.
"The sign says you're looking for guards," he said to a fat bearded caravan master a few hours later. "You're headed to Ros-Sesuf."
"How d'you know that?" The caravan master glared suspiciously at the gangly man in the shimmering purple robes. "You some kind of wizard?"
"As a matter of fact, I am," Hessler said in irritation, "but it's obvious you're going to Ros-Sesuf without any magic at all." He pointed at the wagon. "The smell from your wagons clearly shows that you were carrying greenroot, which you'd have gotten from inland and sold here. But you're now carrying dye and silks, judging by the guild stamps on the crates. You couldn't sell those inland, and that means you must be heading to Ros-Sesuf, to sell the expensive items in a port city." He snorted. "Why, you'd be a fool not to notice."
The caravan master grimaced. "But you're a wizard."
"Of course I am!" Hessler declared, waving his arms. "Look at the robe!"
"Official and licensed and all?" the caravan master asked with a squint. "Went to the university in town here, did you?"
"I did indeed go to that university," Hessler proclaimed, "and may Jairytnef, mistress of magic, strike me dead if I lie." This was not a technical falsehood, which was good, as Hessler preferred to remain truthful when daring the gods to slay him if he were lying.
"Fine," the caravan master grunted. "Pays food and five per day, ten if we see trouble. You ride with the new boy."
The new boy turned out to be a fresh-faced young lad named Rybindaris, who tried not to gawk as they rode out of town. He had seen sixteen summers, if that, and he was running away from something.
"Have you been a guard for long, Magister Hessler?"
"Don't call me that, lad. And no. No, I'm new. Just like you."
"What should I call you then?" The kid had sandy blond hair and sky-blue eyes. Given the dusky, dark-eyed stock of the average peasants around here, Hessler guessed the kid to be some noble's son from the wrong side of the sheets.
"Just Hessler. That's fine."
"Okay, Mister Hessler."
"Or that."
"Mister Hessler?"
"Yes, Ryban... what do people call you when they don't want to toss out the full four syllables?"
"What, Mister Hessler?"
"For short, lad. What do they call you for short?"
"They, er... they call me Dairy, Mister Hessler. Since I was found as a baby in the barn where the cows sleep."
"That's adorable, lad."
"Mister Hessler?"
"Yes, Dairy?"
"Are you a good wizard?"
Hessler was not given to long conversations unless he had someone interesting to argue with. "Do you mean good as in ethical or good as in capable, Dairy?"
"Er... is there a difference, Mister Hessler?" As Hessler turned, mouth open to deliver a truly blistering retort, he looked directly into Dairy's sky-blue eyes. "I mean, wouldn't a wizard who wanted to do good be better at using magic than a wizard who wanted to do evil?"
Hessler couldn't quite bring himself to say it. "Sure, lad," he said quietly, shifting in the saddle to stretch his already-sore legs. "Yes, I'm a good wizard."
The kid was looking forward again, and being as casual as a sixteen-year-old can. "Do you know a spell to drive away blood-gargoyles?"
"Bloo... is that what you farmers call the pyrkafir?" At Dairy's blank look, Hessler waved in annoyance. "Scales, wings, man-sized with little flames coming out of their mouths?" Dairy nodded mutely. "Why in Jairytnef s name would a lad like you be worried about pyrkafir?"
"Er... no reason, Mister Hessler," Dairy said quickly, flushing pink and gripping his horse's reins nervously. "It's just something I heard once."
Hessler sighed. The pyrkafir were damnably tough to conjure and command, but they were wonderful assassins. Seeing something like that stalking through the darkness could easily send a kid running from the farm where he'd gro
wn up. Hessler wondered who on the kid's farm had been worth killing.
"I doubt we'll run into any blood-gargoyles on this trip, lad," he finally said. "And if we do, you just stay near me. I'm sure I can deal with them."
Not entirely true. Not even remotely true, in fact. But unlikely to come up, Hessler figured.
They didn't encounter any blood-gargoyles on the trip. They didn't encounter anything on the trip. The only threats came from the other guards, after Hessler won at the nightly gambling a bit too often and wasn't properly contrite. He'd been accused of cheating with his magic. (He had, in fact, been doing so, but he was pretty sure that the others were cheating with their own natural skill.) By the end of the trip, the only one still speaking to him was Dairy, who wouldn't leave him alone. It was a joy when they finally reached the port city of Ros-Sesuf. Until it came time to claim his pay.
"There's only five in here," he said indignantly to the caravan master, holding the far-too-light pouch. He wondered if the man had made a mistake. He didn't seem terribly educated.
"I docked you fifteen for causing trouble with the others," the caravan master said, spitting to the side. "Damned wizards are bad enough luck as it is, without you cheating the men with your magic."
"Cheat the—did you dock them for cheating? And who has proof that I cheated?" Hessler pointed an accusing finger. "And how am I bad luck? You seemed eager for my help when you feared danger on the road!"
"And we didn't run into any danger," the caravan master replied, "so I didn't get to see any of that skill. All I saw was you angering the men. So get out of here and be grateful I'm paying you anything!"
"I hope your damn dye spoils in the salt air!" Hessler snapped. "I hope moths get into your silks and ruin the whole damn shipment!" He stalked away, clenching the too-small coin pouch in his knotted fingers. It didn't matter. He'd gotten to Ros-Sesuf, and Professor Cestran would take care of everything. He'd be back at the university in no time.
"When, exactly, did he die?" Hessler asked approximately two hours later.
"More than a week, young wizard," the steward said with sad weariness. "He wished to retire here to Ros-Sesuf to spend his last days. He went peacefully, though, in his sleep. A great man. He shall be missed."
"But... he didn't look sick!" Hessler said insistently. "He looked fine! He told us that he was just leaving to see his home once more. He didn't say—"
"I doubt," the steward said firmly, "that he wished to alarm his students. And as for his appearance, the master always looked as he wished." With a faint smile, he added, "I am certain you understand."
"Yes, of course," Hessler said irritably, "but you have to understand, I needed him to... I... he was supposed to..." He trailed off.
"Good day, young wizard," the steward said with faint asperity. "I shall let the mistress know that you offered your condolences." He shut the door.
"Yes. Thank you," Hessler said to the door. "I'll just... find someone else, then."
Several hours later, having exhausted the five coins on bad drink and bad food, he did indeed find someone else in a darkened street outside a cheap sailor's tavern. Namely, the guards from the caravan.
"There he is!" one of them shouted. "There's the bastard now! Get him!"
Hessler could have conjured figments to terrify them into fleeing or summoned an illusion to cover his retreat, but he was drunk enough to have trouble concentrating, and he only got as far as raising his hands and declaring, "You have no id—" before a small pouch filled with pebbles crunched down on his arm, and then his back, and then his head.
He awoke in the dockside jail with shackles at his wrists and ankles and a racking collar chained to his throat. The shackles had an yvkefer alloy in them to prevent his escape. They had to be expensive. He didn't see how cheating at cards really made it worthwhile.
"I'm sorry, Mister Hessler," came a voice from the cell beside him. Hessler turned.
"Dairy, what are you doing here?"
"The caravan master became very angry after you left," the kid said to the floor. "He was complaining about the cargo."
"What about the cargo?" Hessler looked at the shackles. As far as non-illusion classes, he'd taken a course in wards against demons and an introductory conjuring seminar, but that was about it. Most of the students didn't fulfill the non-specialist requirements until their fourth or fifth year.
"He said you'd cursed it, and then he went to the city's magical hall and had them cast a spell, and then he said that you'd never graduated from the university."
Hessler winced. He hadn't thought that the verification lists would have been updated so quickly. "What happened to the cargo?"
"The dye went bad and moths got into the silks."
Hessler winced again. Those were both common problems with shipping in these areas. His father had been a merchant, and he'd told Hessler about such things. Dye from arid climates could spoil if not properly sealed against humid salt air, and anyone who didn't pack the silks in wormweed to keep the moths away had nobody but themselves to blame.
Unless, of course, a wizard who didn't actually have a license to practice magic had been heard to utter what could be construed as a curse. Then you definitely had somebody else to blame.
Had Hessler actually had the power to do that sort of thing, he would have laughed.
"What are you doing in here, Dairy?" he finally asked instead.
"The guards went to find you," the kid said, still talking to the floor. "They said they were going to hurt you. I followed, and they didn't stop hitting you once you were down. So I tried to help. I knocked two of them down, and they say I broke another guard's arm."
"What, with a club?"
"Er... with my fist, Mister Hessler." Dairy sighed. "I'm really sorry I didn't stop them before the town constables arrived."
"Me too, lad." After a moment, Hessler generously added, "Thank you for trying. I didn't curse that cargo, and I appreciate your help."
"They said you cheated at cards, too," Dairy added from his cell.
"Well, people say many things." Hessler's shackles weren't coming off. "Did they say what the punishment for using magic without a license is? If they find me guilty of cursing the cargo?"
"They don't have the magic they need to bind you," Dairy said quietly, his shackles clinking. "They said that without that, there was only one way to keep the town safe from you. They didn't say what it was."
Hessler took a guess. "And you? They can't charge you, can they?"
"They, er, said that I hurt those men more than I could have. Since I joined the guards when you did, they're saying I'm a demon conjured by you."
"Oh. Crap."
"I'm really sorry, Mister Hessler."
"You and me both, lad."
Time passed. The night got deeper and darker. They'd come for him in the morning. People taking care of wizards liked to do so by daylight, preferably with priests around to bless the event.
This shouldn't have happened. Ros-Sesuf was a port city, a cultured city! There should have been someone to talk to, someone who could explain this misunderstanding.
Professor Cestran would have been ideal. Failing that, the university would have vouched for him, had that day on the steps gone a bit differently...
Hessler tried to summon his magic. It came, fitfully, but there nonetheless. He was warded against cloaking or altering himself, but the yvkefer bonds only blocked magic affecting the self and powerful magic directed outward. Illusion was often said to be the weakest of the magical branches, as it used the least magical energy...
"Dairy," Hessler said quietly, "I want you to do something." "What's that, Mister Hessler?"
"I'm going to make you invisible. In the morning, when they come for me, I'll say that you were a demon, and the bonds kept me from binding you any longer. They'll come in and unlock the shackles to check, and then you can escape. Do you understand?"
"Wouldn't that be lying, though, Mister Hessler?"
Hes
sler lowered his head. "It's not really a lie if it's said to counter a lie that someone else told," he improvised. "Like that caravan master. He lied about you, so I have to lie about you to counter it."
There was a thoughtful silence. "I don't think I understand, Mister Hessler."
"You're a good lad, Dairy."
"But what about you? Maybe... maybe when they unlock my shackles, I can—"
"Just run," Hessler said impatiently. "Run as fast as you can and get out of town. I'll..." He stared into a dark abyss of truth, then deliberately looked away and said in a tone Professor Cestran would have admired, "I'll be fine. I have a trick to escape, but I can't take you with me, so I'm going to let you escape that way. It's only fair."
"Oh. Okay, Mister Hessler."
"Right, then. Here we go." Hessler summoned his energies again, constrained as they were by the shackles, and sent out a small spell to render Dairy invisible.
Nothing happened. Maybe the collar, maybe Hessler being tired and aching from the beating the vengeful guards had given him.
"Damn," Hessler said very quietly.
"Is there a problem, Mister Hessler?"
"I... I think I should wait until morning. I want to preserve my strength. We'll do it later."
"Okay, Mister Hessler," the kid said, smiling. "I'll try to get some sleep, then. So I'm rested when it comes time to escape." "Good. Good plan."
"Thank you, Mister Hessler," the kid added. "I was really scared, but I'm not scared anymore."
"That's... good, lad. That's good to hear."
The wizard Kail had been touting for the past several days turned out to have died peacefully in his sleep.
"You said he was the best," Loch complained as she trudged through the night streets of Ros-Sesuf with Kail beside her. The others—the tinker and her acrobatic Imperial friend, the unicorn, and the death priestess with her enthusiastic warhammer—were set to meet them in Ros-Uitosuf in a few days.
"Being the best doesn't mean you don't die," Kail pointed out. "And we knew he was old."
The Palace Job Page 7