Such thoughts lent Loren haste as she cleaned herself with a bowl of water and ate her meal. She urged Gem and Annis to hurry, and soon they left their room with bags upon their back. As they stepped outside into the growing dawn, its warm sunlight seemed less friendly and more like a beacon of warning. Jordel ushered them quickly to the inn’s stables — and there they found someone waiting.
A man paced before the wide wooden doors, slowly, deliberately, a hand on his sword. He wore a thick beard, immaculately trimmed, and a head shaved to glowing. Light brown eyes snapped toward them as they rounded the corner, recognition bright. With horror, Loren saw the red cloak draped about his shoulders.
Jordel froze beside her.
The man stood stock still with raised hands. “Wait!” he said quickly, his whisper loud. “Jordel, it is me. We must speak.”
Jordel looked uneasily at the man but did not move. “Derrick. What brings you this far west?”
The man — Derrick, Loren supposed — looked over his shoulder. “No need to bandy words with me, Jordel. I know of your deeds, and yes, some in our order are hunting you. That is why I have come. We must speak, and quickly. I am here to help.”
Hairs rose along Loren’s back, and her hand pulled at the edge of her cloak, ensuring it covered her dagger. She did not like this. Nor, it seemed, did Jordel, for he still looked uneasy.
“You may trust me, Jordel. I represent many in the order who know you are faultless in this — or at least, that you do not deserve exile.”
With a heavy sigh, Jordel loosened his grip on the hilt. “Very well. But if we must speak, then let us do it with all speed. You must know my journey is urgent, and never more so than now.”
“I know it well,” said Derrick. “Come. I have secured a house in the village outskirts. Leave your horses — it is not far, and there is no post for them there.”
Frightened, Loren glanced at Jordel. But he nodded and bade them to follow the Mystic. Once the inn was out of sight behind them, he fell back to murmur in her ear.
“I sense your unease, and indeed I share it. But Derrick is a good man, and we have served together before. I think we can believe him if he says he means us no harm — but keep a wary eye.”
“Always,” said Loren. “And mark my words: I do not like this.”
Derrick had spoken true — he led them to a house just a few minutes’ walk from the inn, on the town’s eastern edge. A small hovel, scarcely more than four walls and a roof. No other dwellings stood within many paces. White smoke from a cooking fire plumed from a hole in the roof. A small girl stood before the door; she had wide, frightened eyes and wore a dirty dress that used to be white.
“We will not be long,” Derrick told her. “Keep watch for all who might approach.” He reached into a pocket and drew forth a silver penny. The girl nodded but said nothing.
Inside they found a crude wooden table and a few chairs — not enough for all of them. On the back wall were a bookshelf and window, while in one corner stood a small cooking pot and a crackling fire. Black smoke stained the ceiling. Derrick and Jordel sat, while Annis and Gem looked at Loren.
“I will stand, thank you,” she said.
“Very well,” said Gem happily. “I shall gladly take my place—”
Loren gave him a little shove. “You will not. Take the chair, Annis.”
She did, but moved it against the back wall beneath the window, as far from the table and Derrick as she could.
“Now, Jordel,” said Derrick. “You can imagine that I have heard much of your exploits since your flight from Wellmont, but I would know the story from you. One cannot trust the tale when but a single side makes their case.”
If the request made Jordel uneasy, he gave no sign. “We left Wellmont searching for the girls you see here. In my company rode five members of our order — Vivien among them. Tell me, does she live?”
Derrick nodded. “She rests in Wellmont, tended to by the finest healers we could find. The city could ill afford to spare them, but some of our brothers and sisters joined the fighting on the wall for payment.”
Jordel gave a heavy sigh of relief. “That is good. I did not wish for any harm to befall her. And I know she will be pleased that the Mystics aid Wellmont in its struggle.”
Loren was less joyful at the news, remembering Vivien’s attack on their boat. Almost she could see it in her mind’s eye, the woman’s short and slim form blasting them with magic as a starving Xain desperately fought to hold them at bay, succeeding only for magestones. Beneath the window, Annis looked as though she shared Loren’s displeasure.
Derrick leaned forward, pressing his fingers into the table. “But what happened upon the road, Jordel? You know that is my concern, not the battle of Wellmont.”
“We found a mercenary army on the King’s road, marching rapidly upon the city. We had already spied them on our travels, and I had guessed they were marching that way — rightly, as it happens. Fortunately we were able to warn Wellmont of their coming. It was not comforting news to bear, but it would have been far worse if they had been unprepared.”
Derrick fixed the Mystic with a steely gaze. “Still you avoid my question, Jordel. What of the wizard? You know he is at the heart of this matter. Our order interferes little with war in the nine lands.”
Jordel fell silent, though he did not fail to meet Derrick’s gaze. “The wizard Xain was with the girls,” he finally said. “We found them together on the road after he fled. I had thought to recruit him, but he spurned me. When I found him again, he attacked us. He struck down our brothers and sisters, aside from Vivien and I, before I could subdue him.”
“And then? You did not give him his justice, I take it.”
“I did not. For I still have need of him. I have borne him since then as a captive. He is powerless now, for his body is greatly weakened.”
“Weakened from cravings?”
“Just so.”
Derrick sat silent for a moment, then produced a knife from his belt. Loren tensed, but he only lifted it to pick at his nails. “You know the King’s law, Jordel. Magestones are no trifles to toy with. Possession is enough to see a man’s death.”
“And you know that our order has never failed to overlook such transgressions when it suits us.” A note of anger colored Jordel’s words, as though this were a longstanding grudge and a tired discussion. “Always we ignore the dealings of the family Yerrin because they are a powerful ally, and many of their clan are useful. Yet we hunt the poor wizards who fall victim to their wares, knowing they could never have obtained them had we ended such smuggling.”
Derrick put the knife on the table and spread his hands. “Ours is not to question our masters’ orders, Jordel. You know this.”
“It is everyone’s duty to question injustice,” Jordel said quietly.
“You mention the family Yerrin,” said Derrick, and his eyes fell upon Annis. “Tell me, girl. Are you the daughter of Damaris?”
Annis’s eyes widened with fear, and she turned to hide her face. Her cheeks darkened, and she raised her hood to bury them.
“Answer enough, I suppose,” said Derrick. “You make a strange party indeed. I suppose the boy over there is brother to the Lord Prince, and this girl is the King of Dulmun.” He nodded at Loren.
“Nothing so grand,” said Jordel. “Merely travelers I have taken into my charge, for they are all good-hearted with few other places to turn.”
“The Yerrin girl could turn turn herself toward home and start riding,” said Derrick.
“She has her reasons, and I will not question them. We both know how perilous the family Yerrin can be.”
“True enough,” said Derrick, leaning forward again. “But tell me now, Jordel — where is the wizard? You claim he is no danger. Why then is he no longer in your company?”
The hair on Loren’s arm prickled. She heard Gem’s loud swallow.
Jordel said, “The lack of magestones works heavily upon his mind. I will see to his re
covery. And then, he may be trusted again. But he must be kept from any ability to do harm until that time.”
“But where?” said Derrick, his eyes now urgent. “You cannot have kept him in that inn. Where are you holding him?”
Loren felt an itch growing under her skin, a feeling of tremendous danger keeping company with her overparched throat. She wanted to stop this conversation and order them all into flight. Annis and Gem looked at each other, then to Loren.
Jordel’s face grew dour, but he did not flinch. “That, I cannot tell you. We have seen much together, Derrick, and I will ask you to trust me. To say nothing of my presence nor destination when you return to our order.”
“What could I tell them? I know nothing of your intent, nor do I expect you to tell me. I trust you in this. Can you not trust me in return?”
“Not with Xain,” said Jordel.
Derrick leaned back with a sigh. He pushed his chair back, stood, and paced behind it. “That saddens me, Jordel. I thought things might be different between us, and I wish they were. But you know my duty is to our order before all else.”
Before they could react, Derrick’s hand flew to his sword, and he gave a sharp whistle through his teeth. Even as he drew his blade and Jordel leapt to his feet, the cottage door crashed open.
A swarm of Mystics stormed inside.
six
LOREN’S SHARP REFLEXES SAVED HER, heightened as they were by her growing sense of danger. When the first Mystic swung his blade, she dropped to the ground and rolled past him. From the floor she struck out at the open door with a mighty kick. It slammed shut as a woman tried to burst through, catching her head between the door and frame. She slumped senseless to the ground, her red cloak billowing on the floor about her. No more followed.
Gem and Annis scrambled for the corner while Loren was still fighting to her feet. Another sword nearly cleaved her head, but again she leapt from its path.
Four Mystics had joined Derrick in the room with them now — two stood beside him pinning Jordel in the corner, while one went for Gem and Annis. The last had set his sights on Loren, and she could see frustration in his eyes as she eluded him. He was a large man, greater than even Jordel, and two heads taller than Loren. His nose was flat and wide, and there was a murderer’s fury in his glare.
Almost she reached for her dagger, but stopped herself at the last second. Loren would not kill this man, nor anyone else in the room, and if they recognized her weapon and survived, she was doomed.
Her opponent thrust his blade forward, but by now Loren had found her balance and easily sidestepped. He wore a heavy coat of chain, and his sight was somewhat obscured by an open-faced helmet. It was an easy matter to avoid his strokes repeatedly, stepping back each time. But she had no way to retaliate, and one strike from those massive arms would end the fight.
The children fared worse — Gem had dived under the table and pulled Annis with him, but they had not been ignored. One of the men grabbed the girl’s leg and dragged her out. She clung to the table, screaming, while the Mystic tried to pry her fingers loose. Gem emerged and flew for the man’s legs in a tackle, but his slight form did nothing. The man dropped his sword and reached for a dagger, lifting it high to plunge Gem’s back.
Loren shouted, ducked another swing, and ran past her foe to help, seizing the Mystic’s knife hand before he could strike. The weight of her jump bore them both over. They landed on the table with Loren on top, smashing the flimsy wood to splinters. This man wore no helmet, and even as he winced from the fall, Loren seized his collar. Her fist drew back and she struck once, twice, three times, twice on the cheek and once in the temple. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his hands flopped to the ground.
Annis cried a warning even as Loren felt the giant Mystic behind her. She rolled to the side at the final second, and a flashing sword pierced her vacant space — then carried on and into the body of the Mystic she had knocked unconscious. His eyes snapped open and he vented a startled cry, only to gurgle his final breath through bloody lips.
Loren cried out in horror, but the Mystic barely looked distressed. He straightened and tugged on his sword — but it stayed put. He looked down, piggish eyes squinting as he tugged harder. But the sword was buried deep in bone and flesh, and had sunk into the wooden table beneath for good measure.
Her gaze snapped to a flash of movement as Gem dove behind the man. She saw his aim and leapt with her shoulder. Sharp pain struck her as she hit his chain mail, but her weight sent him backward. He struck Gem and tumbled, his head slamming into the bookcase on the wall. The shelves fell, sending leather tomes crashing down on him just before the bookcase itself.
“Gem!” Loren saw a small, scrawny leg jutting out from under the mess. It wiggled with life, so she seized and tugged. Gem emerged from the pile, sputtering and cursing with a sailor’s tongue.
Loren looked to Jordel. He leaned against the room’s far wall, backed into a corner. Three Mystics still stood against him, Derrick between the other two. But Derrick’s swings were wide and sloppy, and it kept his companions from striking. Jordel held his own, for now.
The bookcase shifted before Loren could run to help him. The giant Mystic threw it off and clambered to his feet. He had lost his helmet. An angry red gash crossed his forehead. On his cheek a welt that would surely bruise. But his eyes were angry as ever, and he had recovered his sword.
“Get behind me,” said Loren, seizing Gem’s arm and throwing him back. The Mystic advanced. She raised her fists helplessly, backing up one step at a time.
He struck with the force of an ox, but just as slowly. Again she was able to easily dodge him — but he tromped on by her, heading for Annis and Gem. Loren leapt from behind, clinging to his back and wrapping an arm around his throat. She gripped her wrist with the opposite hand, using both arms to pull tight around his windpipe.
The Mystic staggered and fell to one knee. Though slow, he was uncommonly strong. One hand reached back and seized Loren by the nape of her neck. Bodily he flung her off, hurling her over his shoulder and into the wall beside Annis and Gem. She struck it hard and landed badly, the breath all knocked from her lungs. She scrabbled on the floor, trying to rise, but could not force her legs to move.
The Mystic stood and stepped forward. Gem put himself between the man and Annis, eyes burning with defiance. At the last second he leapt, again trying to take the Mystic down by his legs.
A meaty fist lashed out and struck him, and Gem fell heavily to the ground. The Mystic turned and went for him, slowly, with the inevitability of a rock slide. His sword flashed in the light through the window as he raised it high.
Annis gave a cry of rage and hurled herself forward. She fell to her knees before Gem, wrapping her arms around him and staring defiantly up at the Mystic. The man paused, sword held high. Loren looked around frantically. She had fallen near the cooking fire, and the kettle still sat in the coals. Her hand wrapped the handle as she scrambled to her feet.
Loren threw the pot with all her might. It struck the Mystic hard in the back of the head, and he tumbled forward. The children barely dodged him. The man landed hard and did not move. Annis drew her legs away from his prone form and clutched Gem harder. The boy’s limbs trembled as he clung to Annis’s sleeve.
Loren wanted to ensure their safety, but had no time. Jordel was still backed into the corner, his blade dancing to keep Derrick and the other Mystics at bay. Loren picked up the kettle again and cracked the closest one over the head. Derrick and his companion turned in surprise — but when he saw what Loren had done, Derrick whirled on the last Mystic in an instant and plunged his sword into the woman’s chest, through her cloak and mail.
The Mystic’s surprise left in a death gasp, eyes staring wide and fearful into Derrick’s. Then she fell dead.
They all froze in shock — except Derrick, who drew his blade from the corpse with a harsh tug. He turned to Jordel, who raised his weapon again — but Derrick wiped his sword clean on the fa
llen woman’s cloak and returned it to his scabbard.
“Forgive me,” said Derrick quickly. “I had no choice. And this one was a poison within our ranks — the order will not miss her. I could not help you openly before, but now there will be no witnesses.”
Jordel looked at Derrick in wrath, and did not lower his weapon. “You brought violence upon a sister of the order, Derrick. Tis not your place to judge who is fit to wear the red cloak.”
“They would not have stopped until you lay dead,” said Derrick. “And so you must go, quickly, for there are more of us in Strapa. I am not in command — I was only sent to earn your trust, for our masters knew of our past.”
All was silent, and for a moment Loren feared Jordel might cut Derrick down. But at last he sheathed his sword, though his grim look did not leave. “Very well. You say there are others. Where are they?”
“Away from here, outside the village, yet near enough to strike. Even now they may approach. Gain your horses and flee Strapa before they find you.”
Jordel said, “Things will go ill when you are found alone. What will you do?”
Derrick looked at his feet, ashamed. “I thought I might ask a boon of you in that regard, though I have done nothing to earn your favor. I do not wish for exile. I am a Mystic true, though you may doubt it. But they cannot find you all gone and me unharmed.”
Jordel’s face softened, and he nodded. “I understand.” Then he drew his weapon and lifted it high.
“No!” cried Loren. But Jordel struck before she could interfere. His pommel crashed hard into Derrick’s head, and the man collapsed to the ground.
“He is not harmed — not as sorely as some of the others. This way it will seem he was overcome trying to prevent our escape.”
“You believe his tale, then?” said Gem. “It seems a fine enough thing to say after he already lost the fight. But I do not put much faith in the words of one who slew his own companion.”
“I thought something was amiss before then,” said Jordel. “For Derrick is an excellent swordsman, yet he fought poorly to keep the others from striking me. In any case it is done, and we should heed his words. Out the door. Quickly!”
Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm Page 4