The Rogue Retrieval

by Dan Koboldt

  The water began to rise. There was a sound to it, a quickening that set his heart to pounding, his thoughts racing. Even if I can figure out how to swim enough to survive, and even if there are water magicians at the base of the falls, what if they aren’t prepared for a grown man? What if they’re too busy catching the other students?

  That’s when the perfume hit. A heady rose scent that overwhelmed him without warning or explanation. Oh, perfect. Jillaine must have come to watch today’s lesson. The scent changed; now it was oranges and cinnamon. He chanced a quick look around and nearly tumbled into the drink because of it. She wasn’t on the shore, at least not within plain view. It had to be her, though; only Moric’s daughter sent smells by way of greeting.

  Sella continued her enchantment. She drew wider circles now, sweeping her stick around and around as if stirring a pot of stew. The water churned past Quinn, sloshing across the tops of his boots. The sheer force of it made his rock even more unstable. Another student went down, one of the towheaded identical twins; the water swept him away so fast he didn’t even have time to cry out. Now all he could smell was black licorice, and it was strong.

  Jillaine really wanted his attention.

  The youngest student in the class was a tiny brown-­haired girl named Meera. She looked like she’d be next. She teetered on her stone back and forth. Then she fell forward. He knew the water would take her; the girl couldn’t weigh more than seventy-­five pounds. But the water shrank away from her. Like an amoeba reacting to fire. She tumbled on the mud bottom of the streambed, as stunned as those around her.

  Sella still didn’t look up, but the hint of a proud smile played on her lips. Meanwhile Quinn pivoted as best he could on his stone, trying to spot Jillaine’s hiding place while she assaulted him with a barrage of fragrances, and not all of them pleasant ones. She wouldn’t stop until he found her; this was one of her little games. He heard a faint giggle. It sounded like it came from behind him. That simply wasn’t possible, unless . . .

  There she was, floating just over the edge of the waterfall and off to one side. How? She blew him a kiss. He lost his balance then. The stone gave. The water didn’t magically part for him, either, no matter how much he wanted it to. The cold hit him everywhere at once. It knocked the wind out of him. He went over the edge and had a gut-­wrenching moment of weightlessness. He tried to take a breath and got a mouthful of cold water.

  He felt a massive, invisible hand wrap around him. It slowed him as he fell. He was barely moving when he hit the pool at the bottom. Not that the magicians kept him completely dry, of course. They let him flail around for a bit while the falling water pummeled him before dragging him to the shore. He got no further attention, as two more of the students came over the falls.

  Quinn looked up to find Moric standing there. “No breakthrough, I take it?”

  “Not the one I was looking for, at least.”

  The two magicians behind Moric lifted the most recent victims to the shore of the waterfall pool.

  “Where’s Meera?” Moric asked.

  “She did something with the water. It parted like the Red Sea for her,” Quinn said.

  “What’s the Red Sea?”

  “Right, sorry.” Quinn held up his hands and split them into a V-­shape. “It went like this, with her in the middle.”

  “I’ll be damned. Little Meera a water magician. That’s fantastic!”

  “Yeah,” Quinn said. He took off his boots to empty out the water. Damn these tests. He’d officially been burned, chased by a wild animal, and nearly drowned in a class that was designed for twelve-­year-­olds.

  “I’m sure Sella’s quite pleased about it. She’s a water magician herself, you know,” Moric said.

  “Yeah, I picked up on that,” Quinn said.

  He was starting to dry out by the time he found Jillaine, perched on her usual rock at the island’s high point. She was faced out to sea, but had her eyes closed. He paused to just look at her a moment, without the distraction of her staring back. She was more than pretty; she was serene. Not a worry line on her. Not an ounce of tension in the set of her shoulders. She was as careless and free as the strands of red hair that drifted back and forth in the sea breeze.

  “You made me fall,” Quinn said.

  She kept her eyes closed, but smiled. “I never touched you.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I was only trying to help you find your breakthrough.”

  “Why would you do that?” he asked. The last time they’d spoken, she didn’t seem ready to help him do anything.

  “It’s why you’ve come here, isn’t it? To find your magic?”

  “Technically, I came here because your father kidnapped me.”

  “But you could leave, if you wanted.”

  “Yes.”

  She opened her eyes and held him in place with them. “I want to come with you.”

  It was the last thing he expected her to say. He struggled for a minute, working his mouth and trying to find a word to reply. He was pretty proud when he came up with “Why?”

  “I want a change of scenery. And my father won’t let me go to the mainland on my own. Even though I can take care of myself, and have for years.”

  She said it with a bit of a petulant tone. He couldn’t blame her, any more than he could blame Moric for wanting to keep her close. Alissia was a rough place, even for magic users.

  “What makes you think he’d let you come with me?” he asked.

  “He likes you.”

  Quinn didn’t think that mattered much, when it came to Jillaine, but he didn’t want to argue. “It doesn’t really matter right now. I don’t plan to leave until I can win Sella over.” He had to do that before he set foot off the island. If he didn’t he was sure she’d make it impossible for him to come back.

  And he wouldn’t leave until he was sure he could return.

  “So win her over,” Jillaine said.

  “I’m trying to!”

  “You’re doing it wrong.”

  “What’s the right way, then?” He couldn’t keep the irritation from his tone.

  She tried to read his face, as if she thought he was kidding. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be soaking wet right now.”

  She shook her head. “She’s trying to help you reach your breakthrough. And all you do is complain.”

  “Because it’s not working,” Quinn said. “I’m afraid it never will. That I don’t really belong here.”

  “That’s not her fault. She’s doing her job.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? Thank her for throwing me off a waterfall?”

  “That would be a start.”

  “I don’t know why I should do that.”

  “You both want the same thing, don’t you?”

  He bit back a snarky reply, because she was right. Even if he didn’t agree with the approach, he had to admit that everything Sella did was aimed at helping the students call on their magic. “I suppose so.”

  “If you really want to impress Sella, show her that you want it as much as she does.”

  Moric found him that afternoon and dropped a bombshell.

  “We’ve just had a message from the new Prime of Valteron.”

  Quinn sat up straight and put down the book he’d been secretly photographing. “From Richard Holt?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he want?”

  “A protection detail.”

  He was careful to keep his face neutral, because he was thinking about Kiara and her mission. And what she’d probably be willing to do to complete it. “Has something happened? An assassination attempt?”

  “No.” Moric looked at him in a searching way. “You needn’t worry about that, you know.”

  “Why not? He�
�s a powerful man. I’m guessing he has enemies.”

  “That may be, but the Prime is under certain protections.”

  From the Enclave, no doubt. This quiet alliance ran deeper than he’d thought. But he had to tread cautiously here. “I hope Richard appreciates all that you’ve done for him.”

  “We do this much for every Prime.”

  “That’s generous of you,” Quinn said.

  “It’s a small price to pay for stability.”

  Ah, there it was. The first hints that the Enclave wasn’t playing an isolation game here on their island. As much as he wanted to ask how many other political leaders got this deal, he knew that might be pushing it—­and he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. You back the man with the power. And in Alissia, there was no greater power than the wealth of Valteron. “Why does he need protection, then?” he asked.

  “It’s for some friends of his who are journeying north, by way of Landor.”

  It took all he had to keep his poker face then. To play it cool, because he knew Moric was watching. “Anyone I know?” he asked.

  “He didn’t offer their names,” Moric said. “But the Prime believes them to be in some kind of danger. He’s asked us to ensure that they make it to Felara.”

  And back out of the gateway, no doubt. How thoughtful of him. Quinn couldn’t imagine Kiara just deciding to cut and run. Or Logan, for that matter. Something must have happened. God, they might just ride through the gateway and seal it permanently.

  “Sounds kind of boring,” Quinn lied. “If you wanted my opinion.”

  “I’ve already agreed to the contract,” Moric said.

  “Then why are you telling me this?” Quinn demanded. Here he’d thought Moric actually wanted his opinion.

  “I was only being polite.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “The council had a similar reaction when I told them, if it makes you feel any better.”

  “Not really, no,” Quinn said. If Moric got the boot, he’d probably be next.

  “Sella only agreed on the condition that she be part of the team. So I suppose I’ll have some face time with her.”

  Quinn chuckled. “Well, that should be fun.”

  Moric wandered over to Quinn’s hearth, as if distracted. “Sometimes the guild brings students out on contract jobs. It’s an educational experience.”

  “It’s free labor,” Quinn said.

  “That, too.”

  “I think they’d be a liability, though,” Quinn said. From what he’d seen in his classmates, twelve-­year-­old magicians were a mess.

  Moric waved this off. “What better way to teach our students what the world is really like?” He shook his head. “Regardless, I’ll be undertaking the mission, and I’ve decided to bring along a student observer.”

  “Who’s it going to be?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Moric said.

  He had to know how badly Quinn would want it. A chance to get off the island, collect some intel on Holt, and maybe find a way to impress Sella. If such a thing was even possible.

  So Quinn yawned. “Well, good luck with that.” He stretched out on his bunk, picked up a book, and flipped it open.

  Moric’s eyes widened. “Sweet gods, is that a library book?”

  “Oh, this old thing?” Quinn asked. Old was the word for it, too. The cover was animal skin, and the pages near-­transparent vellum. By his guess, the book was at least a hundred years old.

  “I know that book. It’s Fundamentals of Magic. One of only three copies in the world,” Moric said. He sounded like he was going to be sick.

  “Yeah, it’s all right,” Quinn said. “Mags let me borrow it.” At first he’d done so just to try out the reading glasses. The translation program was pretty good, though it couldn’t always decipher the handwriting. Once he’d gotten the hang of using them, though, the book had gotten interesting.

  “Borrow it?” Moric spluttered. “She hasn’t even let me look at it in ten years!”

  “I’ve got it for the rest of the week,” Quinn said. He’d photographed nearly every page as well. If he ever managed to get back to the gateway, Chaudri was going to have a field day.

  Moric’s incredulity was gone; he was all curious now. “May I ask how you managed that?”

  Quinn shrugged. “I’m good with ­people.”

  “You’re a mysterious man, all right,” Moric said. He lowered his voice. “Say, could I have a look?” He leaned over Quinn’s shoulder.

  Quinn put the book to his chest. “Sorry, can’t help you.”

  “What?”

  “Library policy. Mags insisted.” Quinn didn’t fight the smile. This was just too fun.

  Moric stood up straight and rubbed a hand over his bald head. One of his tells. He had so many it was getting hard to keep track. “Perhaps we could reach some kind of arrangement.”

  Quinn began reading again. Best to keep it casual, and not seem too interested. “What do you have in mind?”

  “An hour with that book might be a good start.”

  Quinn couldn’t begin to guess why Moric wanted this particular book. He seemed to have his fundamentals covered rather well. An hour was nothing, since he had it for the week. But in Vegas, you never took an opening offer.

  “Five minutes,” Quinn said.

  “You’re not the only student on this island,” Moric said. “Many would be interested in witnessing some guild work.”

  “Ten minutes,” Quinn said.

  “Fifteen,” Moric said.

  “Done,” Quinn said. He set the book on his table and started pulling on his boots. “See you in a bit.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out for a walk. I’ll leave my book here. Due to library policy, I must request that you don’t read it while I’m away.”

  “Oh, come, Quinn. Mags will never know.”

  “She’ll know. Trust me,” Quinn said. She can read faces as well as any cardsharp.

  Moric looked uncertain. “Better safe than sorry, I suppose. Off with you, then.”

  Quinn stepped out. A thought occurred to him just then, so he poked his head back in. “You’d already picked me for the job, hadn’t you?”

  Moric smiled. “Of course. The rest of your classmates are children.” He settled down into Quinn’s chair.

  “You played me,” Quinn said.

  “Well, I have been around a while.”

  “So it’s you, me, and Sella?” That was going to be interesting.

  “We’ll bring a fourth to handle the workload. Someone young, most likely.”

  Quinn hesitated, but figured he might as well throw the dice. “You know, I could make a recommendation.”

  “Oh?”

  “I know a talented young woman who’d probably be useful.” Not to mention good company.

  Moric gave him a stern look. “Did my daughter put you up to this?”

  “Not at all. I just think she might like a change of scenery.”

  “I’ll find it easier to concentrate if I don’t have to keep an eye on both of you. Are you willing to give her your spot?”

  And miss out on seeing Logan, Kiara, and Chaudri again? “Not really.”

  Moric smiled. “I didn’t think so.”

  “Well, it was worth a shot.” Sorry, Jillaine. Quinn turned to leave again.

  Moric touched the book’s cover gently, almost with reverence. When he opened it, though, the first page was blank. So was the second. He flipped through more of them, finding only empty pages.

  “Quinn, get back here!”

  “We cannot hope to equal the fighting prowess of those born here.”

  —­R. HOLT, “ASSESSMENT OF ALISSIAN MILITARIES”

  CHAPTER 20

  PRISONERS

  They h
ad tied Mendez to a tree in the middle of camp. Dried blood crusted the side of his face. His arms and legs were mottled with bruises. He was conscious, though. He’d managed to get a piece of rope between his teeth and was gnawing it steadily, like a rat trying to chew itself free of a trap. Maybe a rabid dog was more accurate. He shook his head, growling. No other part of him moved, just his head.

  Logan clasped both hands over his mouth and gave the soft hoot of a white-­winged owl. Mendez cocked his head, listening. Logan hooted again.

  Mendez spat out the rope, licked his lips, and gave a long, warbling call. All clear. No one from the other side of the gateway would recognize these calls; they were from Alissian birds.

  Logan moved forward, sweeping left and right with the muzzle of the MP5. The fire pit near him had burned down to coals. Bits of charred leaves littered the periphery.

  “You look like hell,” Mendez said.

  Logan felt himself grinning. “So do you. Were you going to chew through twenty loops of paracord?”

  “Hey, fiber’s good for you. You should try it sometime.”

  Logan took out his combat knife and began sawing through the cord. “I’ll get right on that.”

  “Did you take care of the mercs?”

  “Of course. No problem.”

  “I guess that’s why you’re the Alpha Team.”

  “Yeah.” Logan finished cutting him free. “Janitor almost got the drop on me, though.”

  “He’s not a janitor.”

  “I figured that out when I saw his submachine gun. Can you walk?”

  “I’ve been slung over a horse for almost a week. I could run a marathon,” Mendez said.

  He was still in his armor, a lighter version of the alusteel suit that Logan himself wore. They’d beaten him pretty soundly; the bruises that weren’t fresh were yellow around the edges, probably days old. Logan knew he wouldn’t complain. When you’ve been to hell and back on a raft from Cuba, you go through life with a different perspective.

  Logan handed him a canteen and a sidearm they’d taken from one of the men. Mendez took the gun first. He dropped out the clip, checked the ammo, slammed it home, and chambered a round. All of that in about four seconds. Then he tucked the weapon into a concealed carry holster strapped to his ankle.