by Dan Koboldt
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes. Moric agreed to let me come on the mission.”
“To where?”
“No idea. They’re not exactly consulting me on this stuff.”
“At least you get to go.”
“I tried to get him to bring you.”
“Did you?”
“Of course.” He spread his hands out. “I talked you up as much as I dared to.”
“I can guess how that went.”
“Yeah.” He elected not to tell her about the choice Moric had given him. I’m in deep enough as it is.
“How long will you be away?” she asked.
“I don’t know, a week?”
She glided into his room and made a survey of it. “So why does it look like you’re not coming back?”
He’d packed everything and even tidied up. I guess it does seem that way. Damn. He looked at her and just couldn’t lie outright. “I’m not sure when I will.” Or if I will.
He was fairly sure he wanted to, despite the lack of progress, but it really wasn’t up to him.
“Don’t take too long, or I might not be here,” she said.
Two things happened at once: she stood right in front of him, and he discovered he couldn’t move. Not even a little finger. “What—”
She stood on her toes and kissed him. A soft, warm, lingering kind of kiss. Her perfume filled his nose. It was like time stopped. He wanted to put his arms around her more than anything in the world. But he might as well have been made of marble. She pulled away.
No, no, no, no. . .
But he couldn’t even speak. She gave him a little smile, turned, and left. It was a good five minutes before he could move again.
He doubted that was by accident.
Moric’s security team assembled on a grassy ridge overlooking the Enclave settlement. Quinn hadn’t been up here since his involuntary arrival nearly a month ago. So much had happened; it felt like months.
And Jillaine . . . wow. She knew how to tell a man goodbye.
He hadn’t made much progress on the magic yet, but he still had one hell of a briefing for the lieutenant. Of course, that assumed she and the others were still alive. And that they’d be able to catch up to her.
Two other magicians rounded out the team. There was Sella, of course. She had her hair wrapped into a tight bun and wore a plain gray cloak; it took a moment for him to recognize her. The other was a young man, slender and pale-haired, who went by the name Leward. Quinn had heard of him; he had a reputation for fire magic. He looked young for a full-fledged magician, a fact he’d tried and failed to address by growing a goatee. A water witch and a fire wizard. Moric sure liked to cover his bases.
Guess that makes me the token impostor.
The bald magician himself appeared a few minutes later, leading four stocky animals that looked suspiciously like mules. “Our clients are mounted, it seems, so we’ll need these to keep a close eye on them.”
And here Quinn thought he’d gotten away from the horseback riding. But he was the student-trainee, so he bit his tongue and kept quiet. Moric took them higher up the ridge to a wide, round stone. A perfect circle was etched into the stone’s surface, as well as other runes in some strange language. The symbols and markers looked unlike anything he’d yet seen in the library. He wondered if the reading glasses would work on them.
“We’re headed to a place on the northern edge of the Landorian plateau,” Moric said. At his gesture, they all stepped on the stone. In the shuffle, Quinn snuck a photo of some of the symbols with his wrist-camera.
They managed to fit the animals on the stone as well, though doing so involved putting one of their rear ends right up next to Quinn’s face. He couldn’t think that was by accident, but had no chance to call Moric out. The magician had already started an incantation.
The light was just as blinding as he remembered, and after-images played across Quinn’s vision. He felt the cold first; they’d traveled from the island’s persistent summer to late autumn in northern Alissia. The air was dry here, and thin. A bleak gray sky stretched overhead. He shook himself and rubbed his arms; Moric’s arcane teleportation disconcerted him. The mules were unaffected by it, though, as were Leward and Sella.
Other than Quinn, then, only Moric was slightly worse for wear; the effort of bringing them all here had exacted its price from him. Quinn guessed he’d need sleep before long.
“Lew, a concealment spell, if you’d be so kind,” he said. He must have seen the interest on Quinn’s face. “It’s a minor enchantment that helps keep us hidden from prying eyes.”
“So we’ll be invisible?” Quinn asked.
“Not entirely,” Sella said. “We’ll blend in better to our surroundings, and be harder to pick out from afar. Someone might still spot us, though.”
“True invisibility requires a far more powerful bit of magic,” Moric said. “I’m sure Leward could do it, but he wouldn’t be much use to us afterward.”
The young magician had begun an incantation while he walked in a slow circle around the rest of the group.
“It will help him if you remain still,” Moric added.
Quinn held his breath. His skin tingled, as if building up static electricity. Lew completed the circle, made a gesture with one arm, and ended his spell. There was a settling to it, like a light but unseen cloak wrapping around his shoulders.
“It’s done,” Leward said. “I, uh, hope it’s all right.”
“A bit abrupt for my taste, but it will do,” Sella said.
His face fell, until Moric said, “Relax, lad. We’re a big group.”
Quinn couldn’t help but feel relief that Sella was as hard on others as she was on him. He held out his arm in front of him. The gray of the cloak darkened to the rich brown of the mud beneath his feet. He lifted the same arm up high, and now it became a lighter gray, almost matching the heavy clouds. “That’s spectacular!” he said.
Leward blushed. “Thanks.”
“You’ll have to teach me that one.”
“It’s not so difficult, really. Just a matter of—”
Sella cleared her throat. “I’m sure you’d prefer to leave instruction to the Enclave instructors, wouldn’t you, Leward? We wouldn’t want Quinn losing a foot out of carelessness.”
Leward bowed his head. “By all means.”
“We need to get moving, in any case,” Moric said. “Into your saddles, please.” He leaped onto the nearest mule in a manner that almost certainly defied physics. Sella floated up and into her saddle with precise elegance; Leward had scrambled into his own saddle and then looked embarrassed to have not done so with the use of magic. Quinn found the stirrup with one foot and mounted in a single movement, careful not to catch himself on the unusually high pommel. All of that practice with Logan was paying off.
Sella noticed it, too. “You’ve ridden before, I take it,” she said.
“Some,” Quinn admitted. He looked around, momentarily puzzled. “Where are the reins?”
“Reins?” Moric laughed. “These are Tioni mules,” he said, as if that were enough explanation.
“Well, how do I stop him?”
“You really don’t know?”
“No.”
Moric grunted, either surprised or disbelieving. “Observe.” He put his palm against the side of his mule’s neck, and said, “Forward, please.”
The mule began plodding forward at a slow pace. After a few steps, Moric touched it again. “Stop, please.” The mule came to a halt. Moric looked back at Quinn. “Clear enough?”
Smart mules. Alissia would never cease to amaze him. Quinn laid his palm against his mule’s neck. “Forward,” he said.
Nothing happened. The others laughed.
“You forget your manners, boy,” Sella said. “Try it again.
Politely, this time.”
Quinn tried it again. “Forward, please,” he said.
His mule hesitated another second, as if making a point, and then started moving.
“Unbelievable,” Quinn said.
Tioni mules never seemed to tire. They’d ridden at a good pace for two hours when Moric made an announcement. “I believe we’re at our destination. Our protectees should be along in a day or so.”
“Why didn’t you just bring us here?” Quinn asked.
Moric shrugged. “I brought us to a place that I knew well, where we might expect to have privacy.”
“Transportation magic is not for trifling with,” Sella said.
“Do you trust Holt?” Quinn asked.
“As much as I trust any politician,” Moric said. “Perhaps more than some. He’s given us reason to believe that we share similar interests concerning Alissia.”
Quinn wanted to ask what that would be, but didn’t dare risk seeming too curious. Like everything on this mission, Holt was a subject for a delicate touch.
“I take it you have a strong opinion of our mutual friend,” Moric said.
“I’ve got an opinion about everyone,” Quinn said.
“Even of me?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“And Sella?”
“I’d definitely rather not say.”
“Good lad. You’re learning after all.”
They dismounted and let the mules graze. Sella did something to create a tiny spring that welled up in the middle of camp. Moric and Leward began working on some joint piece of magic: they stood side by side, arms held out so that their fingers and thumbs formed a circle. This they swept back and forth while speaking the incantation. They were looking for something.
“Got them,” Moric said. He spread his arms farther apart; an opaque circle flickered into existence between them.
Now Quinn could see it, so he ambled over for a look while trying not to appear overeager. It was like looking into a circular window that let out into another place. Same sky, same mountains in the background, but they looked much closer. Five figures in the middle of it drew his eyes. They were all mounted, and moving northward at a steady gallop. He recognized Kiara, Logan, and Chaudri, but the other two men were strangers to him. Was one of them Holt? Probably not, seeing as how the Valteroni Prime had still managed to offer the guild contract. The Latino definitely had a military vibe about him.
There was something familiar about the other guy, but Quinn couldn’t place him. He edged closer to the window for a better look. Recognition struck him like lightning.
Thorisson.
The guy from the theater back in Vegas who’d given him the jack of spades. What the hell is he doing here? Maybe he’d been with CASE Global after all. The thought turned his insides to ice.
How much did I tell him?
On his third day on the island facility, before they’d come through the gateway, Quinn had reached out with the jack of spades. I might have overreacted a little. But he’d just learned that his performance would take place in another world entirely, and Logan had gone to great lengths to explain how likely it was he’d die here.
Thorisson had promised to get him out, but then Kiara moved up the mission timetable and it was too late. Now, here he was.
Leward adjusted the window, centering it right on Thorisson. “This one’s got his hands tied together.”
Moric harrumphed. “The Prime didn’t mention a prisoner.”
He’s not with CASE Global.
Quinn must have made a sound, because Moric glanced back and noticed him.
“Quinn, something wrong?”
“No,” Quinn said quickly. “No, nothing. I’ve never seen that kind of spell before.”
“It’s called a scrying. Just a window to a distant place, nothing more.”
“How far away are they?”
“Not more than an hour’s ride. They’re behind schedule; they must have encountered some—” He paused, for Leward had tugged urgently on his shoulder. “What?”
“Look at this,” Leward said. “About a league north of them.” He enlarged his own scrying window so that they all could see. A group of horsemen rode against the same backdrop of mountains, only they were headed in the other direction. They were armed and armored in burnished plate metal, with banners flying from the tips of their striped lances. It was like something right out of Camelot. They rode two abreast in a long column; there had to be sixteen or eighteen men.
“Who are they?” Quinn asked.
Sella, drawn by the tone of Leward’s voice, frowned at him. “Strange that you would not recognize your own countrymen. That’s a Landorian patrol.”
Whoops. He’d failed to notice the colors on the banners. “We didn’t get a lot of patrols in my village,” he said.
“Nor do most villages, or so I’m told,” Moric said. “They rarely come this far, unless they’re after smugglers. Unfortunately, our friends are about to ride right into them.”
He let the scrying window fade away and led them to where they’d tethered the Tioni mules. They mounted.
“Stay with me,” Moric said. He whispered something to his mule that had it take off at a gallop.
“Follow him, please,” Quinn said to his mount. The animal took off running. It was all he could do to hang on.
Magic mules! Logan’s never going to believe this.
They crossed one ridge, and then another, heading for the mountains. Less than an hour’s ride. How far was that? It couldn’t be more than ten miles. Maybe even close enough for the link. I need to find out what the hell is going on. He let go of the pommel long enough to tap on his comm unit to listen-only mode.
He gasped. God, he could hear them.
“It’s been a few days since we saw another traveler,” Kiara said. “Are you sure this pass is still open?”
“It should be, unless they got an early avalanche.”
“There’s not much of a road here.”
“Smugglers aren’t really known for their road-building skills,” Logan said. “Draws too much attention.”
“I believe Logan’s correct on this point,” Chaudri said. “Even Dr. Holt said he could never find smugglers here, if they didn’t want to be found.”
They were trying for one of the less official mountain passes that Logan had used on other missions. Smugglers wouldn’t look twice at them or their cargo, as long as you greased them a little. Landor and Felara maintained two main travel routes through the mountains that marked their shared border, but taking either of those would be too risky. They might be searched, and they’d certainly have to answer questions about the prisoner. Landorians prided themselves on doing what was right, what was just. Offering one of their officials a bribe was the surest way to get tossed into a dungeon.
“How long ago did you last come this way?” Kiara asked.
“When we were putting relays on the northern coast,” Logan said. “Right before Maggie was born, so it had to be two and a half years ago.”
“A lot can happen in that time,” Kiara said.
“Oh, I’m sure there’s been some turnover. But catching smugglers is like swatting flies in a stable. You think you got them all, and the next day there’s even more of them.”
“And these stable flies are the people you trust to let us pass through the mountains unmolested?”
“No one said anything about trust. We’ll pay well and also let them know we’re not to be trifled with.”
Mendez came into view, returning at a full gallop. “Heads up,” he said over the comm unit. He was breathing hard. “Some kind of mounted patrol ahead. Coming right at you.”
“So much for a quiet passage,” Kiara said.
Logan ignored that. He made a quick scan of the area. “Not much cover around h
ere.”
“If it’s a Landorian patrol, we don’t want to be caught while trying to hide,” Chaudri said.
“We’d never keep the horses quiet anyway,” Logan said. “Damn.” We just can’t catch a break on this mission.
“Hands off weapons, but keep them ready,” Kiara ordered. “We’re just Felarans returning home.”
Logan eased his mount closer to Thorisson. “I’ll have a crossbow ready to shoot you. Don’t try anything.”
Thorisson glanced at the crossbow, then at Logan. He said nothing, which was worrisome.
Mendez reached them and fell into line beside Logan, so that both of them could keep an eye on the prisoner. A cloud of dust and a thundering of hooves marked the approach of the Landorian patrol. They spotted Kiara’s group and lowered their lances, peeling away smoothly into two lines that quickly encircled them. Logan had to admire the clean execution of the maneuver; this was something the patrol had clearly done before.
The riders halted at the same time. Everyone had a lance lowered at them, a spare lashed to the saddle, and a sword at his belt. No crossbows, though, which was curious. Their mounts were warhorses; the large, powerful animals were good for charges but not distance.
One man rode forward and lifted the visor on his helmet; the red-and-white crest on his shoulder marked him as an officer. “State your business in Landor,” he said.
Kiara didn’t have a chance to speak, because Chaudri—of all people—decided to call an audible.
“State your business in asking, sir,” she said. “Who are you to challenge us?”
The officer hesitated. “Fair enough.” He removed his helmet, revealing a shock of red hair. He even had the mustache and beard to match. “Staff Sergeant Rupert of the Landorian Royal Corps.”
“Lieutenant—” Logan said under his breath.
“Let her roll with it,” she muttered back.
Not that he had much of a choice—Chaudri was already in full swing. “Thank you, Staff Sergeant. And I appreciate what you and your men are doing to keep the border safe. You needn’t worry about us, however. We’re Felarans and on our way home.”
“Why not the southern pass?”
“Selfish reasons, really,” Chaudri replied. “Eastern Felara is bleak this time of year, but the Landorian forests are truly breathtaking. At least, that’s what my husband’s favorite aunt used to say, and I’d never hear the end of it if I took the easier route home and missed Landor’s finest colors.”