by Cyn Bagley
She closed her eyes, laid back on the bed, and said "wake me when its time." She went to sleep. She had learned long ago as a mercenary to take her sleep when she could.
Maybe an hour later, Rooso shook her gently. "Shhhhhh," he whispered, "We need to leave." Casper and Andy were there. Casper put a finger to her lips for silence.
It was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat. Andy crept to the door, and pulled it open. A man was leaning down with his ear at the lock. Andy pulled him into the room before he could yell. With quick efficient movements, the man was hogtied, and the scarf was wrapped around his mouth so that he couldn't yell. Casper looked pleased.
Hilda pulled her skirt off and handed it to one of the men. Under the skirt, she wore pants, an unlikely undergarment for an innkeeper, but a necessary one as a mercenary. The men ripped the skirt in pieces. She cut her thumb and shook some of her blood on them. The spy's eyes widened and moaned. When he was caught, the owner would assume he had killed Hilda. The spy wouldn't survive.
Hilda shoved the skirt in his hands. Then the four of them slipped through the door and down the backstairs. In minutes they were out the back door. There were a few factions around here that could pay someone to spy. The only one that seemed to have an interest in her was Lord Barton. She hoped losing such an inept spy would inconvenience him.
One of the men gave her a cap. She tucked her hair under it, and pulled the it low to disguise her face. She sauntered down the street in the growing dusk and the four of them sang drinking songs. Rooso led her to one of the small fishing ships tied to the dock. When Hilda tried to say something, Rooso covered her mouth. His hand was callused. When he uncovered her mouth, she kept silent.
Casper, the tallest and heaviest of the three, put her over his shoulder. "Kick, scream," he hissed. When she kicked and screamed, the three men laughed and joked about the fun time they would have that night as they carried her down the pier to one of the ships. The name of the ship was Mistress Mary. Now why did that name mean something to her? They handed her to one of the sailors, and then Casper and Andy sauntered back up the pier and disappeared from her view. Rooso stayed with her.
When the sailor tossed her on a bunk, she glanced over at Rooso. Once again he was looking down at his feet. A little ashamed perhaps? Maybe she had been too trusting of Rooso. Maybe he had given her up to someone or even to Lord Barton. But, no if he had she would probably be at the Lord's feet, waiting for the Lord's judgment. It was a short wait if you counted it by minutes, a long wait if you counted it by her mental state.
The door opened. Standing in the doorway was her sibling, rival, and enemy--Mary Rose.
Chapter Seven
Black Forest north of Delhaven
Michael Ordson
Michael felt his body rock back and forth, and then heard the slight squeak of the saddle as it rubbed against his stomach. As he came back from the dark blackness, the rope scraped against his wrists. He heard a slight swish of the horse's tail and then the stink of horse manure. He heard a slight thud behind them.
Michael kept his eyes closed, listening for any reason why he would be bound across the saddle. The soft cluck and the "come on, boy" sounded like Davi, but a much older boy than he had rescued from the farmhouse only a few days ago. He opened his eyes.
There wasn't much to see. When he lifted his head, he could see small aspen saplings lining the path. The path was dirt with ruts caused by large wagons that passed this way in the early spring when it was muddy.
The saddle bit into his stomach, making him groan. Davi stopped the horse and ran his hands along Michael's back and legs. Michael groaned again.
"You awake?" Davi asked. He untied Michael's legs and hands. Michael slid off the horse and crumpled to the ground. Davi pulled up his shirt to look at his chest and torso. It was bruised from his ignoble ride.
"What happened?" Michael waited for Davi's reply. He knew that Davi was going to be evasive when Davi looked away and then back at him.
The next words were a mix of lies and truth. "I found you on the ground so I asked the villagers to help you onto the horse. We had to secure you so that you wouldn't fall off." Davi looked down.
It seemed that Michael had gained some new lie-detector powers because he could tell that some of Davi's answer was only partly true. His power was too new to give him an indication of how Davi lied. But he asked the most important question, "Where is the Grimoire?"
Davi's next words were lies, "I didn't see the book."
He looked at Davi carefully. The boy looked like he was close to puberty, and quite skinny like he hadn't eaten enough recently. His last memory of the boy was that he was much younger, a small child.
Michael looked past the Davi's body and looked at his aura. The aura pulsed several colors that were abnormal for a human. Something was not quite right about Davi.
As most adults know, there are signs when a child lies, even if the child may not be human. Davi rubbed his arms, and looked down again. The boy was hiding a lot. The trust that had been growing between the two of them cracked just a little. He would have to watch the boy.
They stopped near a stream so that Michael could get on his feet and eat a little. The boy had been smart enough to pack some bread and jerky from the villager's stores. A little rest was enough to make Michael feel better.
He probed his memory. The last thing he remembered were the colors as the Grimoire broke his mental wall and tried to eat his power. He checked his inner shield. He could see claw marks on the shield in his mind's eye and the shield was stronger than before.
There was much this child would have to tell him. But, now they must reach Hilda. From his reckoning it would be a week or more before they reached their destination. They must get there as fast as they could before the geas started to ride him. He climbed back onto the horse, this time in the riding position, and pulled the boy onto the horse and behind him.
He clicked to the horse and tried to ignore his stomach as it roiled with each step the horse took. Davi clung to him. They would get there--one step at a time. He just had to keep moving.
The geas clicked back into place.
Delhaven, port city
Hilda Brant
Hilda and Mary Rose had been close sisters until Hilda became a mercenary and Mary Rose, a prostitute. Mary Rose was now the Madame of Rose Hill. Hilda had never forbidden her men the ministrations of a professional whore. It would have been useless. Besides it fulfilled a certain need. Most of the "good" women weren't interested in shacking up with a mercenary. With the energy created by sexual frustration relieved, the men were more willing to listen to a female leader. Not that she was a mercenary anymore, but her men still used the services of the Madame and her girls.
What had made it so galling for Hilda was that Mary Rose had taken to this life with as much relish and energy as Hilda had taken to mercenary life. Mary Rose had made contacts and friends with her clients. Her clients were among both the wealthiest and the poorest. Her only requirement for her clients was that the men treated her girls well. There were other houses that catered to abuse, and were for the jaded wealthy.
For an instant Hilda compared her clothing to her sister's. Mary Rose was dressed simply in a peasant's costume and not in her accustomed glory. Instead of the usual annoyance and disgust, Hilda felt a chill that ran from her belly to her chest. The news her sister was bad enough that she was taking precautions, so she wouldn't be noticed.
Mary Rose sat down in a chair and pulled a tattered coat around her. Mary Rose must feel the emotional cold as well as Hilda.
They inspected at each other. Mary Rose had survived her profession and aged well. Hilda knew that the tanned skin of her own hands and face had aged her. The wrinkles around her eyes were not just smile wrinkles. But, she didn't think of her appearance much. She had too much to do.
Mary Rose broke the silence after her dramatic entrance, "Your men," she began "have told me that you are the target of Lord Barton."
Hilda nodded her head, yes. Her hands writhed and clenched together. If she couldn't stop Lord Barton, many or her old friends and comrades who depended on her would be out in the approaching cold.
"Lord Barton has targeted other businesses, but he seems to want your land the most. The reasons he has said to his friends is that he wants to put a right-of-way to the center of the marketplace for his household. He has been led to believe that if he had this straight-away for his use that he can go across the city in minutes."
"But why now?" Anyone with any sense would know that it was harder to build when the seasons were turning to winter. It wasn't like they lived in the temperate south. The snow could cover doorways on the first floor of the buildings, which was why many buildings in the city had a second entrance door on the second floor. Plus the winter storms had been known to make the route into port impassible. Men secured their boats in winter or went to warmer climes. Mary Rose's explanation answered one question, but spawned several more. It just didn't make sense.
Mary Rose leaned against the door, and watched her closely. "You have a well of magic on your property. I suppose you noticed?" Mary Rose's voice lilted upwards.
Hilda sat still. She didn't give even a single twitch to let her sister know that she could feel the magic. It was one of the reasons she had bought the property and paid more than she should have.
Mary Rose sighed, "I'd hoped--" she let the words trail off and then shrugged. . "Others have run afoul of Lord Barton and they have lost everything." A chill ran down Hilda's back at these words. "You are still my sister, Hilda" That was her last words as she turned abruptly and left the cabin.
Hilda mulled over what Mary Rose said. She waited for almost an hour with Rooso before they left. Roose had indicated that they needed to wait until Mary Rose was clear of the dock area. Mary Rose was careful and better at this spy business than a Madame should be.
Casper and Just Andy drank, whored, gambled, and made themselves targets so that Rooso could get her away without being seen. Still Hilda saw shadows that followed them. It was hard to tell if the shadows were friends or foe. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the back door to the inn. The cook was dishing up the stew. Hilda grabbed a piece of bread, sat in a corner away from the bustle, and ate. She relaxed into the stool and began to think.
If she was going into battle, she needed information, a lot more than she had right now. She needed a battle plan. She kept chewing as she mulled over what needed to happen next.
A battle plan was only a guideline. Any good commander knew that a battle plan didn't last after the first rush of battle. She needed to know more of what Lord Barton was planning. If he already knew of the pool of magic below her inn, then she had already lost the war.
"Want some stew?" the cook, handed her a bowl.
Hilda tried to smile at the cook, but failed.
Chapter Eight
Delhaven, Lord Barton’s castle
Black Mage
At one time Lord Barton had been a tall, vigorous, young man, spending much of his time hunting. When the King called for men at arms, he was one of the first to supply and lead infantry for His Majesty. He had spent his youth in the blood, gore, and stink of the battlefield. It was not like hunting, more like a slaughter, but he felt at home there. When Lord Barton found the enemy mage, he was lying on the ground in the fetal position with his hands covering his stomach. A large wound spurted blood, and it looked to Lord Barton's eyes that the mage would soon be gone.
"Save me," the mage said, "and I will serve you for the rest of your life."
"What can you do?" Lord Barton said, a sneer twitched at the corner of his mouth. The little man in black robes, bleeding, didn't look like much.
"I am a mage," he said. "I can give you anything."
Lord Barton was smart enough to know that this little man couldn't give him much if he couldn't save himself. But it did amuse him to have such a one in his debt and service. He motioned to his guard. Two of the men wrapped the mage's stomach tightly with his robe and threw him over one of horses. The horse shied, not used to carrying such a load. The guard jumped into the saddle and held the mage until they reached the Lord's tents.
A healer was sent for and despite the severity of the wound, the mage lived. The healer had been able to save him, but not to heal the disfiguring scar on his abdomen. It was a reminder to the mage, not to trust anyone especially superiors. He was careful not to mention how he got the wound. Lord Barton assumed that the wound was from battle. Let him believe it.
In the last decade the mage showed his gratitude by destroying the Lord's enemies. He was a black mage, which meant he was only good for destroying and not good for healing. Lord Barton didn't mind, not at all, he had enough enemies to keep the mage busy.
The mage lived in a tower room away from the main castle. Guards at the bottom of the tower guarded the mage, but part of their duties was to kill the mage at the Lord's orders. When he climbed the stairs, huffing and puffing, he cursed. It was a laboratory, and home, but also a trap.
The mage had some strange appetites, which Lord Barton had also confined to this tower. When the mage watched the Lord's wife, now deceased, and young daughter, like a cat watching a mouse, Lord Barton made sure that his family didn't meet the mage again. A few years later the mage was amendable to killing the Lord's wife. Lord Barton needed a son desperately and a new wife could provide a son. His daughter he kept. She would make a good bargaining piece for more power through a good marriage. So he kept the mage away from his young daughter.
He supplied the mage with the undesirables that his soldiers scrounged from the city or around the country-side. It first started with the lame, blind, and the mentally incapacitated. Then when the undesirables ran out, his men looked for prostitutes and thieves. He had to be more careful there because the guilds looked out for these people. Of course the guilds didn't care about competitors, so they took the thieves and prostitutes without guilds.
Lord Barton's spymaster was as corrupt as the mage. He was known to go into the city in peasant clothing, disguised, so that he could cull those that didn't offer protection payment.
Hiding the bodies was not a problem. The mage harvested organs for black magic, and body parts before the spymaster disposed of the bones outside the city walls. Some he burned, some buried, and some left for wild animals. It was almost an industry to get rid of the bodies.
It was a wonder that no one had smelled the black stink that came from the castle tower. The mage also asked for children and adults of mage blood for his experiments. Some were easier to find. Others had to be found using the magic nose. The spymaster carried it on a chain around his neck. When magic was used, the nose, an innocuous stone, would turn yellow. There were many times that the spymaster was grateful that the nose didn't sound an alarm. He had persuaded the mage that discretion and quiet in securing targets was the best method.
When the mage was out of his robes, he looked like a handsome man, a little dissolute, who would have made a fine husband for any noblewoman. The spymaster used to laugh and say that maybe he was a royal bastard. But he said it one too many times before the mage decided to give him a good lesson. The mage hung the spymaster from the same manacles that had held prostitutes and thieves.
The mage prepared the knife that would make the spymaster heartless, but still alive. The mage, true to his vows, gave the heart to Lord Barton, which for some reason scared the spymaster more than if the mage had kept it. Without a heart he was not troubled by a conscience or doubts. But, now he was more careful with his words. Now he belonged heart and soul to Lord Barton and he had a deeper respect for the mage or maybe, deeper terror.
If he could have any emotions now with the loss of his heart, he would hate the mage with a passion that was scary. Lord Barton was included in that hate, but if he had a choice, he would rip the mage from limb to limb. When the spymaster needed to feel human, he would picture in great detail how he would rip the mage apart an
d how the blood would squirt in patterns across the tower's gray stone walls. He would imagine the smell as the bowls ripped. Then he would eat the mage's heart. The symbolism of eating the heart was not lost on the spymaster.
Such were the dreams of the spymaster. Good for him that Lord Barton and the mage didn't know.
Lord Barton wanted a son desperately. One thing that the spymaster knew, that not even Lord Barton would let himself know or remember, was that he had never had a son. Not any of his mistresses and lemans had been able to produce that elusive goal. He tried over and over, producing one daughter after another.
No potion that the mage made could produce a son. It made Lord Barton lustier and crueler as he aged. He would have a son by any means.
The mage encouraged those feelings in Lord Barton. It made the lord easier to manipulate and the mage had goals of his own.
Chapter Nine
Black Forest north of Delhaven
Michael Ordson
The snowflakes fell lightly on Michael's cheeks and eyelashes. The last few days after the visit to the tainted village had been a blur of trees, trails, and food. At first Michael had felt stronger in body and mind, until they reached the foothills of the mountains. Now it was obvious that something the black mage had done with the Grimoire had hurt his mind and body.
He curled up around Davi, sharing the warmth and the one blanket between him. Michael shivered from the deep cold inside him. It was too early in the year for snow. The snow must be coming from him.
His mind went over and over the events of that day. He followed the little black mage to the cottage. The Grimoire sunk its claws into his mind. Even now as he tried to think, he could feel the white-raised scars twinge and flex. He could feel the claws buried deep in his mind. As he poked and prodded at the scars, a blinding headache closed his mind and senses to the outside world.
He rolled over on his side away from Davi, and began vomiting. Davi sat up, "It's okay," Davi said, "Lie quietly, don't think."