The Stone Warriors: Nicodemus

by D. B. Reynolds

  A quick internal survey of his physical state told him he hadn’t suffered any injuries from the spell that had transported him to this place. His sorcery was another matter, however. His use of Sotiris’s curse had consumed a great amount of power, which in his own world, wouldn’t have been a problem. Magic had been everywhere. If he’d run low for any reason, he could pull energy from the world around him. Some people said the air itself was magic there.

  The reality of the matter was more complex. Magic wasn’t in the air. It was in every part of the world. It was an energy force much like the heat of the sun, and just as that heat could be used in all manner of practical ways, so could magic. Unlike the sun’s warmth, however, only a born magic-user could sense magic’s existence and draw it into themselves. And among magic-users, only born-sorcerers had the ability to sense and use every particle of energy they touched. Not only use it, but store it, so that a sorcerer had immense amounts of magic at his, or her, fingertips.

  Using that much magic, however, meant the sorcerer—or on a lesser scale, any magic user—had to resupply his magical energy. But Nico already knew that what had been a simple process in his own world was going to be far more difficult in this one. He drew a deep breath, meaning to evaluate the air, and immediately began to cough as his chest burned and an unpleasant scent clung to the inside of his mouth, leaving an offensive taste. He gripped a metal post with an unlit lantern on top and tried to cough out both the bad air and the foul taste. Footsteps and the sound of a disapproving grunt had him gathering his strength when he turned to examine the first person he’d been close to in this city. He was prepared to defend himself, but the man limited his interaction to a grimace that conveyed both disgust and disapproval, before he strode in a deliberately wide path around Nico. The stranger’s reaction wasn’t surprising, but it irritated Nico enough that he cast a quick spell on the man. Nothing deadly, just a very simple spell that would make his entire body itch with no relief for the next . . . week or so. No remedy would relieve or lessen the effect.

  Watching the stranger scratch his arm as he walked away, Nico smiled, but then took serious stock of his appearance. The simple tunic and pants he wore were clean. The tunic was wrinkled, but then Nico had just traveled across worlds, so what would one expect? His pants were similarly unsoiled and made of very fine leather, as were his boots. Admittedly, he’d lost his cloak in the transition, and it was nighttime, but the air wasn’t so cold that he missed it. There were far more important details on his mind than the whereabouts of a cloak he could easily replace. He stared after the figure of the departing man, and noting the difference in their style of dress, scanned the few people still moving about the street, and understood the man’s reaction. His clothes—both linen and leather—were of good quality. They’d been sewn on his own estate, cut to his measure, and finished by the best seamstresses in his world. The style of his clothes, however, was markedly different than what he saw people wearing around him.

  Even in his own world, they were the kind of clothes worn by farmers and tradesmen, because Nico had always prioritized comfort over style. He’d had other clothes in his wardrobe back home. Clothes he wore when visiting the courts of other nobles, or social engagements of the wealthy. But he’d rarely bothered with such events, and given the urgency of his departure, and the limited space in the lone backpack he’d brought with him, he hadn’t given any thought to his clothing.

  Now that he’d landed in this place and time, however, he would need new garments if he hoped to blend in. He added new attire to his mental list of necessities, and looked up and down the street studying this new city. It was already past sunset, and most of the shops were closed, though there were several gathering places still open. Music and the sound of men’s laughter spilled onto the streets, while lantern light flickered through open windows and doors.

  He was surprised at first to discover he could understand the comments shouted by men in the brightly-lit building down the street, and realized Sotiris’s spell must have included language recognition. It was a practical element to a spell intended to transport the user elsewhere, but one Nico hadn’t noticed in his rush to replicate whatever curse Sotiris had placed on his warriors. His focus had been on unraveling enough of the other sorcerer’s magic, that he could follow. Such niceties as language assistance hadn’t loomed large in his desperate effort, but now that he’d transitioned successfully, he could admit it was helpful. Especially as he found himself able to read and understand the various painted signs, one of which told him the crowded establishment in front of him was like the taverns back home.

  The convenience should have pleased him, since it would ease his adjustment to this or any other world he ended up in. But instead, he only stared moodily at the tavern sign and thought about why Sotiris would have done it. Not for his own convenience, since the bastard had been utterly certain he would first win the battle between them, and then rule their world. It was panic at his inevitable death at Nico’s hand that had sent him fleeing into the same sands of time and place where he’d banished Nico’s warriors. It was that banishment which explained the language assist. If Nico’s grasp of their curse was correct, then his brothers were alert and aware in their stone prisons, able to hear and understand everything happening around them, but utterly unable to let anyone know they still lived.

  What a fucking nightmare, he thought and could only hope that Antonia hadn’t been similarly cursed. He didn’t think she had, but Sotiris was an evil bastard, so who knew what punishment he would visit on the woman who’d betrayed him?

  Finding determination in the depths of Sotiris’s cruelty, Nico began walking toward the closest tavern. It was a short distance, but still gave him time to contemplate his next steps. Clothing was already on the list, but he added a place to live, a reliable source of food, and . . . knowledge. That was perhaps the most important item, although acquiring the others would probably make the acquisition of knowledge easier. If this society was anything like his, men and women of the nobility had both activities and information more readily available to them. If he was clean and properly clothed to go along with his fluency in the language, he would no doubt have many more doors open to him. For that matter, once he met or interacted with a person—male or female—who had information he needed, he could either take it directly from their mind, or persuade them to assist, or teach him what was required.

  If he was to succeed in doing any of that, however, he needed to replenish his power. He already knew that it would take longer in this world. How much longer, he couldn’t say, since magical energy wasn’t something to be counted like beans in a larder. He needed to find an inn, someplace safe where he could settle and learn—or as safe as he could be in a place he’d never been. He also needed sleep, since along with his magic, Sotiris’s spell had exhausted his body.

  The clatter of hooves on stone drew his attention, and he turned just in time to avoid a horse-drawn carriage that was bearing down on him with no regard for his safety. Stepping closer to the buildings where the various vendors had their shops, he continued toward the tavern. The carriage that he’d so narrowly avoided had been fully enclosed, with shaded windows concealing the faces of whoever rode inside. Other than the enclosed box, however, the vehicle wasn’t that different from the ones he’d left behind. He found it oddly reassuring to discover something in this new world that was familiar.

  By the time he reached the tavern, a tired ache was already growing heavy in his bones, especially his legs. But when he looked through the open doors of the tavern, and saw a room filled with people drinking, he knew this place would never provide what he needed. Perhaps it was his noble upbringing that had spoiled him, but he wanted an inn that was quiet and more . . . refined than this one seemed to be. And there was no guarantee that this tavern even doubled as an inn, the way most did in his world. There was the occasional couple coming or going from the upstairs, but he di
dn’t need to be of this place to understand what that meant. The women were there to serve the men in whatever way they required, including sexual favors. Nico had no problem with the custom, but its presence told him this place wouldn’t suit his long-term needs.

  He observed a few minutes longer, taking in the back and forth of conversation in this new language, and absorbing what he learned, while forcing his tired mind to come up with a solution. Once it came to him, it was obvious. He was a fucking sorcerer. He only needed to wait until someone of suitable means, probably a man, left the tavern. Then, he would either retrieve the information he needed from the patron’s thoughts, or use his dwindling power to convince the man to help an oddly-dressed stranger locate a suitable inn to spend a few nights.

  While he waited, he moved out of the doorway, wanting to avoid the smoke from both oil lanterns and the paper tubes that the men were setting fire to and creating yet another unpleasant smell to burn Nico’s throat. As it happened, there was a bench to one side of the doors, which he gratefully sank onto, then leaned his back against the wall.

  Before he could succumb to his body’s exhaustion and fall asleep where he sat, two men emerged, stinky tubes puffing smoke from their mouths as they exchanged words and clapped each other on the shoulders, before departing in opposite directions. Since they were similar in appearance and clothing, Nico stood and followed the man who’d passed directly in front of him. A few steps later and he lengthened his stride to catch up.

  Addressing the man’s back, he requested assistance, saying, “Bonsoir. J’ai besoin de votre aide.”

  The man turned in surprise, mouth open to curse or cry out, but before he could make a sound, Nico caught hold of his thoughts and dictated his response.

  The stranger smiled graciously and speaking the local language said, “Of course, sir. What do you need?”

  A few minutes later, they were continuing down the street, but with sure strides, while Nico’s new friend chattered on about the city—which was called “Paris” and was located in the country of France. Cities hadn’t existed in Nico’s home world. Towns and villages were associated with great estates or kingdoms, with sorcerers controlling the largest swaths of land and people. Nico’s estate, for example, had included his father’s kingdom, a fact which had been a source of conflict between them, even though he hadn’t made any overt attempt to impose his power over his father’s rule.

  His new friend—whose name was Dorian Duchamp—told him that towns and villages still existed in the countryside, and explained the difference between a town and city—which to Nico, simply sounded like a matter of size and population.

  Nico’s tired legs were complaining by the time they stood in front of a two-story building. The double doors were closed, but a single lantern still shone through the hazy glass panes. Dorian was explaining that this was a gentleman’s inn, which Nico took to mean it was suitable for men like Dorian himself. Nico didn’t have a sense yet if this world had a nobility, or some other ruling class, but it didn’t matter. If the inn was good enough for Dorian, it was good enough for Nicodemus. He could always move if he determined another place would please him better.

  Dorian was bidding him farewell, when Nico “changed his mind.” He would need the local man for a while yet. Long enough to secure a suitable room and determine whether the gold coin Nico had brought with him would be accepted. Nico could alter the coins to whatever form was required, once he established what that form was. He’d brought the gold, along with a supply of diamonds and other gems, guessing that as long as he ended up in a world that bred humans, one or all of those valuables would be present and have some monetary value. If the alternate was true, and he landed in a world that didn’t support human life, it wouldn’t matter what he carried. He might be a sorcerer, but he was still human and would die quickly in a world antithetical to his nature.

  He was contemplating his financial situation, while half-listening to Dorian’s exchange with the inn clerk, when his new friend turned and asked what level of l’hebergement Nico preferred. A quick mental translation later, he understood that, like most others, this inn had rooms of varying size and quality. Since he expected to be residing there for more than a few days, he told the clerk he wanted the best room available. When the clerk responded with a dubious glance at his clothing, Nico produced a leather bag of gold francs, which was the local currency now filling his purse.

  The clerk became much more enthusiastic, saying the grandest suite was available and would be his. And after handing him his key, he assured Nico that if he required anything else, he had but to ask. Nico took the key, asked for some food to be sent up, and for the recommendation of a local guide—someone who knew the city well enough to show him around for at least the next two days, maybe longer.

  “But of course, sir. I will send the boy up at once.”

  Too tired to worry about whether the boy would be bringing food or information, Nico thanked the clerk, and turned away from the desk. Dorian shook his hand and bid him a good evening, but paused to invite Nico to dinner with him and his wife on some future date. Nico accepted gratefully, lingered long enough to watch Dorian leave, then turned for the stairs. He wanted food, wine, and sleep, in that order. Anyone who thought to stand in his way would be very short-lived.

  NICO OPENED THE door and walked into the room that would be his home for the near future—a future he couldn’t define by any number of days or nights. When he’d made the transition to this foreign city, he’d known only that he had to follow Sotiris, had to begin the search for Antonia and his brothers. But standing in this room, where everything except the chairs was utterly unfamiliar, he suddenly knew despair. Was this to be his future? Moving from one strange world to another? Learning new customs and languages, never finding a place he could call home while he searched endlessly, without ever finding the people he loved? He was a sorcerer, with so much power that he was essentially immortal. Would he wander forever? Was that what Sotiris had planned all along, and he’d been fool enough to fall into the trap?

  He stared around the room, with its unfamiliar windows looking down on an unfamiliar city. Turning in a circle he stared at a pottery pitcher and bowl standing on a table that appeared too delicate to hold it. Walking over, he found the pitcher empty, and realized he had no idea where to get water. Water. The most basic human necessity, and he didn’t even know where to fill a pitcher.

  Cursing himself for a fool—though he didn’t know if it was because he’d left his home so ill-prepared, or if he was simply impatient with his own helplessness, he gave himself a mental slap. He was a sorcerer, for gods’ sake. If he needed water, he could conjure some with a thought. Doing so, just to prove he still could, he washed his face and hands, then set about searching the entire “suite,” using both sorcerous and ordinary human senses. It consisted of two rooms, the first with two chairs and a small sofa, all covered in a good quality, though somewhat faded, burgundy satin. An oil lantern sat on a small table, providing the only source of light. He didn’t need artificial light, but lit the lantern anyway, since someone would be bringing food soon—he hoped—and they might think it strange for the poorly-dressed newcomer to be sitting in the dark. So he lit it, but didn’t bother carrying it with him into the next room, where he found a bed that was smaller than his own, but big enough.

  Thoughts of his bed soon brought images of Antonia as he’d last seen her, sleeping peacefully in his arms. He closed his eyes against flashes of what she must have endured in the last moments before Sotiris cast his spell against her. Had she known what was happening? Had the enemy sorcerer taunted her with whatever place or life he’d banished her to? For that matter, how the hell had Sotiris’s spell penetrated his tower? Had Antonia left the tower? Hell, had she left his estate altogether? Gone back to Sotiris’s tower for some reason, and found him waiting for her? There were too many questions and no answers.


  A knock on the door rescued him from a hellscape of possibilities.

  Dowsing the “witch light” he’d conjured, he crossed to the door by lantern light and opened it.

  “Bonsoir, monsieur.” A somewhat gawky young man stood there holding a tray that looked far too heavy for his bony build.

  “Bonsoir. Entrez.”

  “Merci.” The server maintained a proper bearing when he walked past and set his tray on the sitting room table, but Nico could tell the boy—for that’s what he really was—was fighting a grin, and probably bursting with curiosity. Continuing in the local language, the boy pointed to the cloth-covered tray and said, “Bread, meat and cheese. And wine, of course.”

  When Nico nodded, he continued, “If you want coffee or tea, I can bring that, too.”

  A cup of a calming tea would have been welcome, for the warmth and familiarity if nothing else, but Nico wanted to be done with other people, even the helpful ones. “No,” he said and reached into his pocket for . . . hell, he didn’t know what he should give the server. Finally, he asked, “I was looking for someone who knows the city well enough to show me around for a few days. I told the clerk downstairs, but do you know—”

  “Ah! I am that person. The clerk told me what you required, and I offered my services.”

  “Good.” Nico was oddly pleased that this friendly and unassuming young man would be his guide. The last thing he’d wanted was some obsequious social climber who would have his own ideas of what the visitor should be looking for, and at. Fetching a single gold coin from his pocket, he asked, “What’s your name?”