Crimson Fury

by Mirren Hogan

  Adina looked like she wanted to be sick.

  “Barbaric,” Darai muttered, earning him a sharp look from Tabia. “Does a man really need more than one wife?” he asked, since he was obviously in her bad graces anyway. Much to his surprise, it was Harshal who responded with a resounding laugh.

  “You have a point. What man in his right mind would want so many wives? Or what woman for that matter?” Harshal winked at Tabia and Darai saw something private pass between them. Something strange and beyond his understanding. Beyond his caring, come to that. Having an unexpected ally was unnerving and Darai wished he hadn’t spoken at all.

  “Why would a woman want a wife?” Adina asked, her perplexed face turned up toward Harshal.

  Tabia cleared her throat. “Are we going to the markets or not?”

  She was clearly deflecting attention from herself, and Darai gained a small measure of satisfaction from the sorcerer’s unease. He wondered then if that golden-haired woman often seen at Tabia’s side was more than an assistant. His male mind conjured up a sudden image of the pair that now had him embarrassed and his body responding in an unwelcome manner. He shook his head to dislodge the image, then nodded at the querying look Tabia gave him.

  “All right then.” Tabia gave Harshal a scathing look and turned on her heel to lead her charges farther down the wide road.

  Darai caught a glimpse of Harshal grinning at the sorceress’ back before the magic tugged him forward, into her wake.

  CHAPTER 12

  Nageso was a place of blistering summers, mild winters, and a good deal of dirt and dust. If anywhere in Isskasala was its antithesis it was the markets of Dassane. Stretching out across the lake, Darai could see the platforms that made up the markets rocking in response to a faint breeze.

  He stood beside them, on the last piece of land before venturing onto the instability of the floating shops and stalls. Not that he was afraid of water, but he could see nothing but the ropes attaching platform to platform, holding the markets together and above the water.

  He watched a group of children playing chases around the markets, leaping with sure, bare feet from one floating stall to the next, darting though women wobbling on legs unaccustomed to the constant subtle motion. The stall keepers all stood like sailors, legs slightly apart to keep them secure, but seemingly unperturbed by the rocking.

  “You get used to it quickly.” Harshal stopped next to Darai and placed a hand on his shoulder. Wanting to shrug the hand away, Darai shook his head.

  “I doubt that. All that water . . . ”

  “I know. I’ve seen towns in Isskasala that have to count every drop of water and bathe only when it rains. To them, this is an abomination in the eyes of the gods.”

  Darai grunted his agreement. “It’s a waste.”

  Harshal shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”

  Darai glanced at him and opened his mouth, his curiosity almost getting the better of him. Before he could speak, Harshal pushed him forward gently, forcing him to step onto the markets or lose his balance altogether.

  “Just thought you could use some encouragement.” Harshal grinned with false innocence.

  Regaining his footing, albeit shakily, Darai shot his face around to glare at Harshal. He bit back a retort and looked away, his concentration needed to keep his balance. “Thanks,” he grunted under his breath.

  “You’re welcome,” Harshal replied breezily and took Adina’s hand to help her step forward.

  “How does anyone get around here?” she asked, breathlessly, sparing a smile for Harshal. “I’d think people would only shop if they have to.”

  “It’s a good way for newcomers in the city to save their money,” chipped in one of the harvested ones bound to Harshal. His companion laughed uproariously and Adina giggled, while Darai wondered if the magic had affected all of their brains.

  “It’s not that bad,” he said, standing up straight, in imitation of the stall keepers. He found he got his market-legs quite quickly, once he was determined to do so. Stepping carefully, he followed Tabia, who was obviously a frequent visitor to the markets, and watched everything, looking for ways to aid his and Adina’s escape. His eyes took in every detail of the markets, committing the layout to memory; the stalls here, the boats tied over there closest to the land. Each floating platform was tied to the next with stout rope every couple of feet. If anyone decided to sink it, they’d need a sharp sword and a lot of time.

  He breathed in, grateful for the breeze that blew the smells away before they became overpowering. In one moment it was more than he’d smelled at home for a year. Spices, meat, bodies, and a dozen smells he wouldn’t try to identify.

  He memorised the location of the stall selling flowers. Set up beside a man selling clothing, they were the first stalls he’d seen upon entering the market. Flowers seemed like the height of frivolity, but that was Dassane. He gritted his teeth to keep his lip from curling in disgust.

  If they could get back here again, they should have little trouble in finding a boat, or hiding in the stalls until they reached the edge of the lake, then swim to dry land. Tonight, he decided, he was going to find a way out.

  ***

  The guildhall was dark and all but silent. Only snores from the other harvested men echoed softly through the long dormitory. Somebody rolled, his bed squeaked, then silence curled back around the room.

  Step by careful step, Darai moved around his bed and fell into an instinctive crouch. He was the hunter again, moving toward his elusive prey. His hand grasped an invisible spear; his nostrils flared. He could smell his prey, sense it lurking just beyond his reach. Not tonight. Tonight, he’d find his prey and take it in both hands, never to surrender it again.

  His prey—freedom.

  He was used to hunting alone, but now he moved steadily out into the courtyard. She was waiting, just inside the shadows. Adina would share the hunt until they found their prey and beyond that, they would cross that plain when it lay in their path.

  He reached her and touched her arm with his hand, her warmth beneath his palm reassuring, replacing his spear with living flesh. She curled her hand into his and she led him to the door into the children’s pen. Here, she’d told him, the door was kept ajar, so the sorcerers could attend the little ones when they cried or made mischief.

  Tonight, they slept, their breathing soft and more frequent than their adult counterparts. One of the younger children made sucking sounds as Darai slipped past and he could faintly make out the child, her thumb in her mouth. He smiled. His baby sister did the same and the sound gave him a wave of homesickness.

  He pushed it away and focused on walking at a crouch behind Adina. The door stood ajar, but guarded. Only a sleepy looking sorcerer stood silhouetted in the doorway, her arms crossed, her head resting on the doorframe.

  Adina stopped, Darai sensing only just in time to stop himself from moving into her and knocking her forward. In the dim light from the doorway, he saw her face turn toward him expectantly.

  He curled his upper lip inward and thought. Perhaps a distraction. He nodded at Adina and raised a finger for her to stay put. Hating himself, he crept down between the beds of two of the younger children and lay down flat. Raising one hand, he reached under one of the blankets and found a plump thigh. Begging the Mother of all Gods for forgiveness, he pinched the child’s soft flesh as hard as he could.

  Pulling his arm back, he rolled under the next bed and went on rolling until he reached the bed closest to the door.

  The pinched child woke and began to wail, loudly enough to wake and set off the child beside her. The sorceress startled and rushed into the room, right past Darai and Adina. Her attention on the crying children, she didn’t even notice two of the harvested ones slipping out the door.

  Darai held his breath and Adina’s hand as they moved. He wanted to run, but forced himself to keep to a cautious walk. They reached a corner and he squeezed Adina’s hand to let her know he was about to stop. If they fell ove
r each other now, they’d risk making too much noise.

  He held his breath as a group of sorcerers passed by. One stopped near them, but they seemed to be adjusting an undergarment before moving on. Swallowing so loudly he was sure it would alert the entire guild, Darai pulled Adina forward.

  Near the door leading out into the city, a young sorcerer-in-training stood, balancing a ball on a tendril of magic dancing on her palm. In spite of being so focused, Darai was sure she’d seen them. He let Adina pull him now, as they darted into a side room and ducked behind a desk.

  To Darai’s chagrin, the young sorcerer and several others stopped outside the door to chat, in spite of the lateness of the hour. Dropping from a crouch to a sitting position behind the desk, he resigned himself to a lengthy wait while the men droned on in voices loud enough to carry down the corridors.

  By the time they moved on, Darai became aware of a new sound, that of Adina snoring softly beside him. While he’d sat, she’d lain down behind the desk and fallen asleep. He licked his lips, debating waking her now or letting her rest, just for a while. Before he could decide one way or another, Adina snapped awake as a shrill scream cut the dark silence in two.

  Darai raised himself onto his haunches as a shadow ran past the door. It stopped to look inside the room before turning and running on. There was something familiar about the way the shadow moved, but Darai didn’t dwell long on the matter.

  “You think they’ve discovered we’ve gone?” he whispered.

  She was close enough that he could feel Adina trembling and magic framed her like an aura, showing her shaking her head. “I don’t think they’d scream at finding us gone. You didn’t really . . . hurt that child, did you?”

  “No!” he hissed, “I only pinched her. Come on, we should get out while we can.” He reached out, took hold of Adina’s hand, and pulled her upright beside him. On silent, bare feet, he led her at a cautious run to the doorway and out, into the city.

  CHAPTER 13

  Today’s experiment had gone reasonably well, all things considered. True, it wasn’t quite how she’d envisaged it, but perhaps if she undertook enough such jaunts, Sevele would consent to allowing the harvested ones to leave the guild without bindings. Having to restrain people in order to give them some freedom defeated the purpose somewhat. Still, this was just a first tentative step. But—would it make a difference to those the guild imprisoned, or was she merely doing this to assuage her own guilt at their circumstance?

  She sighed softly. Once the magic was drained from them, it wouldn’t matter what they’d seen and done in Dassane. She was loathe to acknowledge it, but perhaps Benassi might be right; she was being too soft and getting involved in the lives of people she’d only know for a brief time. Zuleso knew she had plenty to occupy her; practicing her magic, searching the guild’s vast library for information about air channeling, and of course helping with the governance of the guild itself. It was imperative that they retain the good will of the people of Mindossa, especially the king, or they’d risk conflict which could result in loss of life.

  Many of the sorcerers taught in Dassane’s schools or worked in a variety of capacities for the king and the citizens of the city, making themselves as indispensable as possible. Tabia spent some time teaching older children to speak Iljoskan or Kalili, but few were interested in learning. Most would get married or go into their families’ business and never need it. Some, who wanted to trade or travel could be eager students, but they were few. Perhaps that was for the best. She didn’t deal well with children.

  Tabia turned a corner in the passageway and almost tripped over someone lying on the stone floor. At the last moment, she managed to catch herself, windmilling her arms to keep her balance. Freezing, she looked down, her heart skipping. Tabia recognised the woman’s face. In the next minute she registered the deathly pallor of the woman’s skin. Her eyes were wide, staring, mouth open as if to scream. She looked utterly terrified.

  Tabia crouched down beside her and touched her cheek. It was still warm, but had already started to noticeably cool. Genari was a member of the support staff; a chambermaid if she recalled correctly. She was certainly dead, but Tabia couldn’t immediately see a cause. No blood pooled on the floor, none stained her features or clothes.

  Tabia formed hand-fire on her palm and leaned forward, looking more closely. Seeing no signs of impact, she drew more magic from the air, an ability rare and unique to her in the guild.

  She let a small tendril of magic form and wind through the air toward Genari’s body. If she could delve carefully, she might find the cause of the woman’s death, although at this stage, she’d guess at the involvement of magic. Unless she’d been so scared her heart had given out.

  “Stop right there!” a voice commanded, making her jump and breaking her concentration. The magic winked out in the next second.

  Tabia cursed under her breath. It would be Benassi who found her like this. “I didn’t do it, Benassi,” she said wearily. For a moment she considered that he might not assume her guilty, but the idea was too ridiculous to entertain for long. She dismissed it and looked up at him.

  “Then who did?” He stepped close and stood looking down at Tabia, his arms crossed, a heavy look of disbelief on his face. “I see no one else here.” He paused before adding, “Your pet harvested ones have gone as well. Care to explain?”

  “My pet what?” She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  He gave her a triumphant look at having caught her by surprise. He’d come to tell her that, she was certain of it. Anything to make her look foolish. The depth of the man’s pettiness had no limits.

  “The ones you took into the city. They’ve run off.”

  Tabia kept her expression as neutral as possible, but inside she cursed colourfully, invoking her god and several whose existence she doubted. “When?”

  “I’d suggest that they left just after she died.” He looked down his nose at Genari. “But you’d already know when that was, wouldn’t you? Did she see you let them out? It wouldn’t do to leave a witness, would it?” It was a bold accusation, and the fact that he dared make it was breathtaking.

  Tabia rose to her feet. “I had nothing to do with her death or letting anyone go. I know as well as anyone—”

  He wasn’t listening. Two younger sorcerers had appeared in the corridor and Benassi summoned them forward with a quick hand gesture. “Take Tabia to her quarters and make sure she stays there.”

  Her anger rose so quickly she had to keep herself from drawing magic and striking out at him. “You don’t have the authority—” she growled.

  He swung back around, eyes narrowed more than usual. “Are you saying you won’t cooperate? Only the guilty would . . . ” His meaning was clear.

  “Ay,” she muttered. “Fine.” She threw her hands in the air, feeling no satisfaction when he flinched. She wanted to plant her fist in his face, but she forced her hands down to her sides. “But there’s a killer and you need to be—”

  “Don’t tell me my job,” he snapped, turning to the younger sorcerers. “Confine her. Bind her if you need to.” He must have known that doing so would be pointless, but his intent was obvious. He wanted to humiliate her, to remind her of his belief that she didn’t belong. “Oh, and keep that slave of hers away. They’re not to see each other.”

  One of the sorcerers nodded and indicated that she should lead the way. He looked as pleased at the situation as she was. Attempting to confine magic-users was a hazardous business at best. If she wanted to, she could kill them all on the spot and be gone before their bodies were cold. Instead, she’d going along with the farce and hope Sevele would see the error, and search out Genari’s actual killer. The thought that he or she might be on the loose in the hall was chilling.

  ***

  The night air in Dassane was cold, a hint of autumn riding the blustery wind. By far, it was the sweetest air Darai had ever breathed in. He put an arm around Adina and held her close while they
walked, for warmth and cover. They’d appear less conspicuous if people assumed them to be no more than lovers out for a late stroll.

  To his surprise, they weren’t the only people out in the city that night. Tall lamps—glass bubbles atop a steel posts—lined the streets, each lit with a flame just big enough to reach to the next. Circles of flickering yellow and orange overlapped every few feet. Darai and Adina shared the warm light with real lovers, traders making their way home for the night, prostitutes, and the occasional drunk. Darai missed the sounds of animals moving around in the dark, and the rustle of leaves, grass, and dust blowing in the hot breeze.

  “Are we going the right way?” Adina whispered, blowing warm breath on his earlobe. It made him shiver.

  “I think so.” He spoke so his lips barely moved, before reminding himself that they should be trying to look at ease. He rolled his shoulder and forced a smile. “Everything looks different at night. I remember that shop there, on the corner.” He nodded toward a candlemaker’s shop. It was decadent, he thought, to have an entire shop dedicated to such items, and in so many shapes and unnecessary scents. He couldn’t imagine wanting or needing to own anything like that.

  Everything about this city was decadent—the guild hall, the Bastion, the shops, the people. They had no idea what it was like to eke out a living in the harsh interior of Mindossa. They never had to hunt for their food or risk going without after a bad hunt, a too hot summer or a too cold winter. If their plates weren’t piled up high enough, they could just hold them out for the sorcerers to fill them.

  Even the prostitutes they passed were plump, their curves hugged by brightly coloured cloth which clung everywhere and made Darai swallow hard. They called out to him and Adina as they slipped past, and he blushed at their suggestions. He wasn’t sure he even understood some of them and even if he wanted to, young, unmarried men from his village were discouraged to do anything more with a woman than holding hands. Betrothed, they could kiss, but nothing else until they were formally married.