“Here you go,” the bartender said sourly, thrusting a mug at her.
Falon started to reach and then quickly leapt back when ale slopped over the side of the cup in her direction. Clearly the barkeeper had a distinct preference on what type of ale he wanted to serve.
Rolling her eyes—but careful to do so with her head down so he wouldn’t see it—Falon waited until the contents had settled before snatching it up and turning toward an empty table.
Sitting down, sticking her legs out and deliberately relaxing her weary back and posture, she felt quite decadent. If only father could see me now, she chuckled and then instinctively straightened up, putting her knees together as she was more than half afraid that he was about to appear behind her.
Falon laughed uneasily and then, in a fit of rebellion, once again slouched in her chair.
Taking a sip from her mug, she grimaced. Whereas the dark ale had been strong and thick and bitter, the light ale wasn’t nearly as strong but it was just as unappealing, with a mildly nasty aftertaste. She wanted her drink sweet, not sour! Maybe it needed honey…
Falon had just started to get comfortable when a man cleared his throat behind her. For a split second she feared it was her father, risen from his death bed to correct her posture, and she instinctively straightened and ducked her head to avoid a smack to the back of the skull for her unladylike posture.
“I’m not about to leap on you!” a familiar voice exclaimed with concern.
For a pair of heart thumping moments she couldn’t place the strangely familiar voice and then it came back to her with a jolt.
Swiveling in her chair, Falon scowled up at the Initiate of the White Tower who had done the magic swan tattoos for the company.
“What do you want?” she asked rudely. Her heart was still jumping at the scare.
The apprentice’s face fell and then he schooled his features. “Is this seat taken?” he asked, pointing to an empty spot opposite her own.
“Knock yourself out,” Falon scoffed, instead of pointing out the obvious: that hers was the only chair at the table. Clearly the wizard wanted something, and Lieutenants in charge of the poorest half of an already poor battalion couldn’t afford to needlessly spurn even apprentice wizards.
“Thanks!” the youngish man flashed a smile, and then dragged over a stool.
Falon racked her brains, trying to remember the wizard’s name. It was something foolish and overblown, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall it.
“Oliver?” she asked quizzically.
The glare the young Apprentice suddenly shot her way indicated that she’d guessed wrong. In a flash, she remembered his over-the-top name.
“Sorry. Schmendrick,” she corrected, suppressing a smirk and an eye roll at this sort of circus mummery. The name that belonged to his soul, indeed!
“Schmendrick the Magician, last of the red-hot—” he started pointedly.
Falon hid a yawn behind her hand and the Apprentice looked decidedly put out, but bit off the rest of his self-styled title—for which she was grateful.
“Anyway, I’d been hoping to run into you in the Spear Stave and Wands,” Schmendrick said with a smile.
“This is the first time I’ve been back,” Falon allowed with a small head toss as she was forced to recall just exactly what she’d been doing since her last visit here, “we’ve been on a foraging expedition. The Prince prefers we live off the countryside, writing script against future taxes, instead of paying for our expenses out of his own pocket,” she said with a grimace.
Schmendrick looked interested. “By ‘we,’ you mean the Fighting Swans?” he asked with a lifted brow.
Falon nodded seriously and then felt compelled to add, “At least my half of it. We split up to swing wide on either side of the army.”
Schmendrick looked pleased.
“Does this have a point?” she asked.
“Does what have a point?” the wizard looked confused.
“This conversation; is it going somewhere or are you just making small talk?” Falon asked with a challenging expression. She didn’t mind spending a few minutes with the Apprentice wizard, but if he just wanted someone to talk with there were half a dozen others he could chat up and she could get back to her people watching and relaxation all the sooner.
“Ah,” Schmendrick who was really Oliver looked mildly put out, “well, I did have a question for you. Or a proposition rather…”
“Yes,” Falon said, drawing out the word and leaning back. She doubted his idea of a ‘proposition’ was the same as hers, but then as he didn’t know her secret identity—that much was probably a given. At least…he had better not.
The Initiate of the White Tower flushed and mumbled something she didn’t catch.
“What was that?” she asked.
“I said I was wondering if you had a place in your Battalion for a Wizard,” Schmendrick said, drawing himself up. “I know the Frozen North is filled with all sorts of primitive shamans and witch doctors and…” he trailed off, because Falon was already shaking her head. “You already have someone,” the Apprentice said with disappointment.
Once again, Falon shook her head. “No, we don’t have any magic users in the battalion as far as I’m aware,” she allowed, wishing that in fact, they did.
“Then—” Schmendrick said eagerly.
“We just don’t have the budget for it,” Falon sighed, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have you. Even an Apprentice wizard would be worthwhile.”
“You don’t have to pay heed to my feelings,” Schmendrick groaned. “I know you’ve probably already got someone with his papers from the Tower; I understand.”
“No, you fail to understand,” Falon grumbled, “we really don’t have the purse to pay for a Wizard.”
Schmendrick looked at her with disbelief. “What do you mean?” he spluttered. “Everyone knows the Prince has taken you into his service.”
“Technically we’re under the auspices of Lord Lamont,” Falon corrected him, “we were raised by his Lordship to fight for the Prince as part of his army. So while his Highness is supposed to support us for as long as we serve under him and we’re to obey his orders…sometimes things get lost in the shuffle. In this case, his Lordship has only provided enough for our basic wages and victuals. The rest is supposed to be provided for by his Highness,” she finished, wondering just what was going to happen when the initial supply of coins sent by his Lordship ran out, especially if the Prince was already dragging his heels and refusing to provide hard monetary support. She had read in her father’s journal about Nobles and Generals who preferred to pay their men as much as three months late, in order to reduce the strain on their purses and not have to pay out for anyone who died and father had written about some of the troubles he’d encountered in his time but much like everything he tended to be vague on some of the nittier, grittier, details.
“Wow…okay,” Schmendrick, the false-hot-whatever-his-latest-title-of-the-day-was said.
“So you see…” Falon leaned forward and tapped the wooden table for emphasis, “I don’t have the purse or the authority to promise you anything.”
“Surely we could work something out,” Schmendrick protested, “I wouldn’t have to be paid in specie up front. Maybe later—”
Falon cut him off. “By the Lady, you don’t know how much I’d like to have a Wizard for when we run into the shamans,” she said bitterly before shaking her head sadly. “I just simply can’t pay you what your worth and I can’t promise against the future. I can forward you to the Captain, though. If anyone would have the authority to hire you, it would be him.”
“This Captain,” he paused, “Sir Smythe, I think it is…he doesn’t know me from Adam, and if things are as tight as you claim,” for a moment he looked put out, but then he stared at his hands for a long moment before looking back up at her helplessly, his face a silent plea.
“I’m sure there’s lots of outfits that would take you,�
�� Falon said reluctantly.
“Not as many as you think,” Schmendrick said glumly, “they all want proper Wizards—with at least their Journeyman papers.”
Falon took another sip of her light ale and frowned at the sour taste. “Look, I’ll take you over to see the Captain,” she said, starting to stand.
“Wait,” the young Wizard said desperately.
Falon paused half way up.
“I’ll work for spoils,” the Apprentice wizard said clasping his hand together.
“Spoils?” Falon said with surprise.
“Just pay me whatever you can and I’ll take the rest in spoils,” he said, speaking even more urgently.
Falon opened her mouth and then closed it. “I can’t promise you another man’s spoils to pay for your wages,” she said slowly, although she was momentarily intrigued by the idea.
He quickly shook his head. “I’ll take an infantry man’s wages and so long as I can eat with the men, I’m willing to work for whatever I can gleam from the battlefield,” he said, staring at her over his clasped hands.
Falon gaped like a fish. This sounded too good to be true.
“What do you say?” Schmendrick spat into his hand and offered it to her. “I’ll do a wizard’s work for an infantry man’s wages and whatever spoils I can get my hands on.”
“What’s the catch?” she asked suspiciously.
“No catch,” he hastened to assure her.
“I don’t believe you,” Falon said flatly, “no one works for nothing.”
“It won’t be nothing,” he snapped, and Falon scowled at him in disbelief. He closed his eyes his mouth working silently as if in some kind of prayer, “Look, I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
“Go on,” Falon said, thinking, finally, we’ll get to the truth!
“I’ve already spoken with most of the Captains and Commanders in this army, including your Captain,” he said raising a hand, “and none of them will have me.”
“Why, whatever for?” Falon asked unable to fathom the reason, “do you have strange personal habits?”
“No, of course not!” Schmendrick actually sounded offended. Then he paused and continued more mildly, “It’s just that like you, either they can’t afford me, or they already have a wizard. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem—more than one wizard I mean,” he took a breath, “but with me being an Apprentice, the Masters and Senior Journeymen have all stated that they won’t risk working with an Apprentice.”
Falon looked at him warily, trying to figure if he was telling the truth or not.
“To be honest, I think most of them just don’t want to treat me as an equal; I think they’re afraid of being shown up,” he said smugly.
“Yeah…right,” Falon said, knowing she was able to recognize a head-case when she saw one.
“There might also be some…rules…about hiring Apprentices without official guild sanction,” he muttered under the weight of her regard.
“So when you said your papers were all in order, you weren’t being entirely honest,” she said with satisfaction at finally catching him out.
“My papers are fine,” he said defensively.
“Ha!” Falon exclaimed.
Schmendrick stared at her levelly. “Look. This is really the only way. Any member of the White Tower has the right to use magic in his own defense. There’s nothing in the bylaws that they can use stop me from fighting alongside the army.”
“Then what’s the hold up?” she asked, having already grown tired of this game.
“You see, it’s only illegal if you’re hiring me as a ‘wizard.’ Well, not illegal; you could hire a hedge-wizard if you liked, you just couldn’t employ a Tower-certified wizard at the same time. In a few cases, they might refuse to sign on with you, even if you didn’t have a non-licensed wizard,” seeing he was losing her interest he added quickly, “it’s just if you hire me as an infantryman, and I just so happen to use my spells in my own defense, and that just so happens to help the Fighting Swans…well, there’s nothing against the White Tower rules about that.”
“That’s all a bunch of gobbledygook,” Falon said firmly, as if she couldn’t follow it all. In reality she could, she just didn’t think it wise to say so. “But,” she added when he looked like he was going to interrupt and holding up a hand, “I’m not interested in seeing anyone—man or woman—starve.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Falon! You won’t regret this,” he assured her.
“I’ll put you on the Battalion rolls, under my side, and tell Tug—that’s my Clerk,” she explained, as if it were important. “You can draw the same salary as the rest of the men and eat our rations. In return you’ll be our wizard and use your magic for the good of us all.”
“And the spoils,” Schmendrick hastened to add.
“You can keep whatever you want from your kills and captures,” Falon agreed, irritated with herself for forgetting.
The wizard got a look of relief and smiled. “Good,” he smirked, reverting back to the cocky, overly self-assured master of mysteries and magic she’d originally met, “I think after a lock horns with a shaman or two, I’ll not only get treasure—there’s no way those old fuddy-duddies can keep me from sitting for my Journeyman papers!”
“I’ll leave that to you,” Falon said neutrally, and then the realization of what she’d just done hit her. She had just signed up a wizard…for infantry wages…
All she could think to herself was, Score! She smiled, feeling like the cat that got the cream. Seeing the wizard looking at her oddly, she schooled her face to impassivity.
“I’ll gather my things and meet you at your Camp,” Schmendrick said, jumping to his feet. “You won’t regret this,” he shouted over his shoulder, stumbling when he reached the boundary of the tent and almost falling.
“I’m sure of it,” Falon snorted as she watched him leave.
Chapter 24: A Handsome Face and Dark Encounters
Falon debated finishing her light ale and decided against. Pushing away the mug, she was getting ready to get up and leave. It’s about time to head back to camp anyway, she thought, when she saw a sight that took her breath away.
She fell back into her chair with a thump. Intelligent, emerald green eyes, a chiseled chin and prominent brow were all combined in a face that seemed designed to take her breath away. She didn’t know exactly what it was about him, but as soon as her eyes caught on him she couldn’t look away.
He looked to be a well-muscled male in his late teens, and from the fine set of plate armor he was casually walking around in—as if it weighed hardly a thing—it was obvious he didn’t come from the poor side of the family. Or if he did, then even the poor relations were exceptionally well-off!
Falon squeaked when his eyes settled on her and he began to walk over. He must have caught her staring. She quickly lowered her gaze and shoved her face into the mug of ale.
“Hello there,” he said in a smooth, clear baritone that made her toes want to curl. Even his voice was like a dream!
She only knew it was him because, despite the mug taking up the center of her field of vision, she’d been unable to keep from watching him out of the corner of her eye.
Reflexively, she swallowed a mouthful of the sour ale and nearly gagged. Almost convulsively she dropped the mug onto the table.
“Yes?” she gasped, thumping her chest to remove the rapidly forming knot there.
“Are you alright, man?” he asked, concerned eyes gauging her. He reached around and thumped her on the back hard enough that she had to catch herself with her hands against the table to keep from falling forward. Her back stung from where he’d touched her—but he had touched her! She felt so embarrassed, she was sure her face was flaming red.
“Can-can I help you?” she mumbled before clearing her throat and repeating the words loudly enough to be heard this time.
“I say, there aren’t very many of our sort around here are there?” the handsome young man smiled, still l
ooking half-concerned.
Falon gulped. “Our sort?” she repeated stupidly. Looking down, she saw her fingers twisting and quickly clasped her hands together.
“Fighting men,” he said, pointing to the sword strapped to her back, “most of the fellows here are more of the bookish type. I’ve nothing against them, but books never really held much of my attention,” he laughed, and she felt another thrill surge through her body at the melodious sound of his voice. “I can’t imagine trying to make a living from them!”
“Books were never my favorite either,” Falon smiled at him happily, despite the slight pang at being addressed as a fellow ‘fighting man’.
“Name’s Erik,” the plate-armored, dreamy man with the baritone voice said, helping himself to the seat just vacated by Schmendrick. Unlike the hapless young wizard, Falon was more than willing to let him sit there all night if he wanted.
She realized he was looking at her expectantly and she flushed. “Falon,” she said simply.
He nodded. “So what do you do, Falon?” he asked.
“I’m a Lieutenant in the Fighting Swan’s Battalion,” Falon said eagerly.
Erik looked impressed. “I wish I had a company of fighting men, even if they weren’t exactly mine,” he sighed. “You’re lucky.”
“Thank you,” Falon felt herself grin foolishly but couldn’t help herself.
“And so young too,” he said shaking his head.
Despite herself, Falon felt her grin wilting.
“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that remark,” the Erik hastened to assure her, “perhaps I’m just a tad jealous. Pay me no mind,” he said, and once again everything was right with Falon’s world.
“I’m a Knightson,” he told her seriously, “and right now I’m Sire Mornan’s second Squire. It’s not much of a job, but Sire Mornan’s in the confidence of the Prince so I have the chance to catch the royal eye on the upcoming campaign against the barbarians. I need to earn some glory before I can be elevated to the Knighthood,” he paused and then looked at her curiously. “Are you also the son of a Knight, or,” his face took on a look of consideration, “considering your age and position, perhaps you’re from the noble House of the Swan itself—or one of its close allies?”
The Painting (Rise of the Witch Guard Book 2) Page 19