Illusion's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 1)

by D J Salisbury

  Sweat dripped off his chin and splatted on his shirt.

  Lorel rolled her eyes. “Noodle brain.”

  He sighed and stood up straight. Impressing the turybird wasn’t worth the effort.

  “It’s your own fault, kid. I ain’t seen you since the days got hot. I gotta practice, with you here or gone. You know that.”

  Of course he knew. He’d been studying each day until he fell asleep on top of his books. There was so much to learn. What if Trevor gave up on him before he even got started?

  “How come didn’t you come out? Old Trevor can’t keep you that busy.”

  “He tries to.” What should he tell her? Not that he feared Trevor would back out of the apprenticeship. That cut too close to his heart. Maybe a tiny splinter of the truth would do. “But it wasn’t him, entirely. It’s the heat. Trevor’s workrooms stay cool, and every time I go outside I feel sick.” That sounded stupid, even before he finished talking.

  “That ain’t no good reason to ditch me.” Lorel clumsily braided back her waist-length hair.

  He’d never noticed her wearing it like that before. He was surprised she hadn’t cut it yet. She’d threatened to shave it during their last lesson.

  “I didn’t abandon you.” He kicked at a clump of shriveled grass. “I merely – postponed the lessons.” Maybe he should just admit he’d rather read than thump her with a pine branch.

  “I didn’t.” She crossed the clearing, stuck her arm inside a hollow log, and wiggled a wooden sword out of its depths. “I found somebody else to give me lessons.”

  “Who?” No one worthwhile would take on a poorly-trained, gangly girl. He hadn’t taught her enough to catch the attention of a good swordsman. But there were people who’d take advantage of her craving for excellence. “Jorjan?”

  “Weaver drowned in tears. Never.” Lorel waved the wooden sword at him. “You miswoven brat. I ought to spank you with this.”

  He laughed. She wouldn’t dare. At least, she’d better not. “So tell me about your new teacher. Or is it a secret?”

  “No more secret than you teaching me.” She leaned forward, laid the sword at her feet, and touched her toes. She straightened, lifted her arms, swooped forward and tapped the ground. Over and over again.

  He sat down in the deepest shade he could find and glared at her energy. How did she ignore the heat? Why couldn’t he? Had he really gotten that lazy?

  She continued to exercise, oblivious to his envy. “Her name is Ahm-Layel. She’s a real warrior. A mercenary guard, I guess, but she didn’t say so. Her gang is staying in the city for a few dreizhn, waiting on some Nashidran lord to move on. She caught me practicing.”

  Blast. He’s have sworn she knew better. She’d get them both hung if she wasn’t careful. But she’d get stubborn if he yelled at her. “You can’t practice where people can watch.”

  “Yeah, she chewed me out, too.” She stood up straight and smiled sheepishly. “But she taught me a whole bunch of stuff. She said you’ve been a good teacher, but considering you’re only twelve, you’ve got a lot to learn yourself.”

  “I’m thirteen.” At least, he must be thirteen by now. The tribe didn’t keep records of birth dates, the way the Zedisti did. “And I’m working on learning everything.”

  “Trevor can’t teach you nothing about fighting. Let’s see if I can. Grab the other sword. It’s in the log, there.”

  “I’ll never be any use with a sword, pine tree.” She’d whack him to splinters if he let her out of her training circle, sword to sword. “I’d like to try something else. I told you I learned how to use the saikeris. Let me make some wooden ones and we’ll see if I can hold you off.”

  “Your little fork thingies?” She stared at him doubtfully, but shrugged. “Sure, let’s try it. You ain’t got no muscles left, though. Don’t get frayed if I bruise you too much.”

  He wiped sweat out of his eyes. “If you can bruise me all that easily, I’ll get the sword and we’ll practice the old way.” He trudged under the trees and chose a pair of fallen branches, each three-pronged. Mismatched, but they’d do against Lorel. She couldn’t be that good yet. He broke off the excess wood and crushed the splintered ends against a rock.

  “What you doing, kid?”

  “I need to create short two prongs and a longer center prong.”

  “That way’ll take forever.” She pulled an old bronze knife from inside the hollow log. How much stuff did she have hidden in there? “This will work better than any Loom-forgotten rock.” She handed him the knife, hilt first. Someone had been teaching her weapon etiquette. She usually tossed their wooden swords at him.

  The blade was pitted, but sharp enough to carve new oak. He whittled off the points, leaving the handle and the prongs rounded. “They’re shaped a little odd, but now I won’t worry about stabbing you.”

  “Ha. Let’s see if you can. Ain’t you going to do no warm ups?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m already so hot I’m melting. I don’t need to get any warmer.”

  “Whatever you say, kid.”

  He saluted her with both saikeris as if they were beginning a formal duel.

  She shook the sword at him. “Can we start now?”

  “You have no manners.” That was his fault. It hadn’t occurred to him to teach her the dueling protocols he’d read about. It was a minor comfort that her new teacher hadn’t, either. “Yes, start.”

  She sprang to the attack, aiming to thump him on the arm with the flat of her wooden blade.

  He easily trapped the sword in the prongs of his left saikeris and poked her in the gut with the weapon in his right hand. “I win round one. I remember more than I thought. You better not go easy with me.”

  “No way, kid.” Her lip curled up in a snarl. “You’re on your own now. I’m out for blood.” She looked amazingly like the nercat his brothers had cornered two years ago.

  He threw back his sweat-soaked head and laughed. He executed a flourish and bow before raising his guard.

  She swung at his shoulder, reversed, and swatted his thigh with the flat of her blade. “One to one.”

  Blast. She had learned a lot.

  Her sword swished toward his ribs. He caught the blade with his right saikeris and prodded her belly with the left. “Two to one.”

  She danced back, swept forward like lightning, and smacked him on the shoulder.

  He tumbled into the grass. Blast, that hurt. And was exactly what he deserved for getting cocky.

  “Two to two.”

  He nodded and rolled to his feet. She wasn’t going to get past his guard again.

  Within an hour, he lay flat on his back, out of breath and aching with more bruises than he’d had since he left the Setoyan plains.

  She’d trounced him, fifty to thirty seven. He hadn’t dreamed she’d ever outpace him. Though he should have known. She owned the body and the drive of a warlord.

  Now him, on the other hand. He was stuck in the body of a mouse with the drive of a – wizard? No, but a top rate sorcerer, maybe. He wished Trevor would hurry up and teach him spell or two. One of these days he’d cast a joke on her. The wine curse, maybe. Or an itching spell. He’d start her scratching, and whack her as soon as she was off guard. Though that sounded like cheating…

  “Sit up, kid.” She pulled a third daisy chain over her head. “I got to talk to you, and I want you to listen for a change.”

  “Look who’s talking.” Sitting up seemed like too much trouble, but he managed. “What?”

  “You’re not a bad fighter. You got some skill.” And she’d know skill from skillets? What a laugh. All she knew about skill, he’d taught her. “But you let yourself get so limp a crawdad could knock you over.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Shut up.” She studied the trampled grass before turning to stare into his eyes. “I want you to do them exercises you told me to do. All of them.”

  “You’re not serious.” He scooted away from her. “I don’t w
ant to be a warrior.” Didn’t have what it took to be a warrior.

  “But you hate being helpless.” She leaned forward and tugged at his soggy hair. “I’ve seen that in your face lots of times. If you was stronger you wouldn’t be so helpless.”

  Viper pushed her hand away and lay back on the leaves.

  Thunderer protect me. She’s right. More than right. So. I shall walk beside the warrior’s path whilst I study the sorcerer’s.

  Lightning blast it, he hated doing sit-ups.

  If he wasn’t teaching Lorel anymore, what could he do to restore his honor? There had to be some way he could earn his new name. Would learning sorcery be enough?

  Chapter 23.

  Trevor pivoted to a halt ten paces in front of Trader’s Inn. “Swear you’ll stay with me this time. Now that you’re my apprentice we must stand by appearances. No, no, child, be still. I know you don’t like Frujeur, but I expect you to out behave him. Don’t try to outwit him. It’s not polite.”

  Viper hunched his shoulders but followed Trevor into the hot, noisy tavern. It wasn’t fair to expect him to be polite to Bahtdor Nose. The turtle turd was always rude to him, and he’d gotten worse since the day of the wager.

  The room was crowded and dim. As usual, the Society members surrounded an isolated corner table with several lamps. And a roaring fireplace. In the middle of summer.

  He wiped sweat from his face and groaned aloud. He risked getting baked alive in this company. Look at him now, a sandblasted sugar cookie.

  The old sorcerers never seemed to get warm enough. How other patrons must hate them.

  If Trevor sat close to the fire, and made him sit nearby, he’d … he’d … he’d invent an errand to run. He’d say he forgot to empty the privy. That always embarrassed Trevor. And if he stared at Bahtdor Nose while he said it, they’d both know exactly what he wanted to stuff into the cesspit.

  Trevor wouldn’t let him leave, but he wouldn’t want to sit next to him, either.

  Raulin looked up and beckoned with a frail hand. “Trevor, have you had any news out of Shi?”

  “Not recently, I’m afraid.” Trevor slid into a chair. “Has something come up?”

  “My herbalist has brought the oddest bit of gossip,” announced Marise, an energetic woman in a bright red and teal gown, “and we can’t make any sense out of it.”

  Praise the Thunderer, Trevor had forgotten him. Viper clambered into the farthest chair from the fireplace, directly behind silver-haired Samiderf. “Greetings, sir.”

  Samiderf smiled a welcome before turning back to the conversation. “Tell us again, Marise.”

  “Do you recall the Lord of Shi’s third child?” Marise’s rings flashed as she gestured north. “The crippled girl? She’s been seen in the company of wizard GrayEagle.”

  “Isn’t that the fellow who’s obsessed with physical perfection?” Bahtdor Nose patted his paunch as if it were something to be proud of.

  Trevor nodded.

  “Your herbalist is obviously wrong, Marise.” Frujeur smirked and saluted her with his flagon. “That kind of wizard would never bother with a cripple.”

  “It certainly doesn’t make any sense.” Raulin held up a hand to stall Marise’s protest. “However, I suspect the herbalist is correct.”

  Samiderf leaned back and frowned. “Young Jroduikil also seems to have become her father’s favorite, lately.”

  “Favorite what?” Frujeur sneered. “Favorite foot licker? The old lord has many odd fancies.”

  “Jroduikil.” Raulin shook her head. “Jro-DUI-kil. What a difficult name! What is this girl like?”

  Trevor raised an eyebrow and stared into the distance. “She is said to have beautiful eyes. But her body is badly twisted.”

  Marise nodded. “Her family hides her from the world.”

  “How very pathetic! How old is she?” Raulin glanced from Trevor to Samiderf.

  “Perhaps eight years older than little Viper, here,” Samiderf said, ignoring Viper’s annoyed frown. “She’s probably close to twenty.”

  “Her doctors say she won’t live much longer. Perhaps wizard GrayEagle is trying to help her.” Marise sat motionless for a heartbeat. “I adored her great grandfather.” Her hands burst into action. “I wish her comfort in her short life. I hope she gets the best of everything!”

  Frujeur snortled and turned away. Couldn’t the turtle turd feel sympathy for anyone besides himself?

  Raulin shook her head and asked about a ship that was three dreizhn behind schedule. Nothing unusual about that, but everyone had something to say about it. Krakens and whales and Hreshith were everywhere, it seemed.

  Viper pointed his chin at Marise. “Where’s she from?” he whispered to Samiderf. “She looks like Jor– like somebody I don’t like, but old.”

  “Marise is from Shi. Northerners all have pale skin.” Samiderf glanced at Viper’s hands. “Look at you! You’re almost as pale as a Nashidran, yourself. And you’re all bones. Doesn’t Trevor feed you anymore?”

  “He feeds me enough, but I never have the time or energy to eat. This apprentice business is hard work. I never dreamed there was so much to learn.”

  Samiderf chuckled. He glanced toward the tavern door and his eyes widened. “We have company. Interesting company. Listen to this fellow, young man, but I suggest you speak only if spoken to. His sort have short tempers.”

  “What sort is he?” He tried to study the dark-haired newcomer without staring, but he couldn’t see anything unusual about the man except that he seemed exhausted.

  “A true wizard.” Samiderf watched the stranger approach their table. “And he’s no relation to the aged children sitting here. A shame, too. There hasn’t been a wizard in residence in Zedista for two hundred years. Was a time we had four, but now most wizards just wander. No, I don’t know why. Hush.”

  Trevor stood and held out his hand. “Greetings! We’d be honored if you would join us.”

  The wilted man sank into the chair between Trevor and Raulin. He looked much younger than any of the sorcerers, only as ancient as forty or fifty. Yet this man was a wizard, and far more powerful than all of the sorcerers in the entire city.

  Somehow it didn’t seem fair, but Viper wasn’t certain why. Perhaps because Trevor had worked so long and was so much older and still was not a wizard.

  Trevor seemed to feel the same, for as soon as the greetings were completed and new drinks had arrived, he snared the conversation. “Wizard Clay, if you don’t mind terribly, I’d like to ask you about the Wizard’s Route. As soon as my apprentice is old enough to live on his own I plan to take the Route myself. But I haven’t the foggiest notion of what to expect.”

  Trevor wanted to travel? When had he decided that? It was the first Viper had heard about it.

  Clay looked around the table, weighing the wide eyes riveted on him. “I don’t envy you. It’s been a number of years since I’ve walked that path, and I have no desire to go that way ever again. A most unpleasant journey, one you must undertake alone. ‘Only the dead may walk with the aspirant on the Wizard’s Route’.”

  The wizard’s face drooped as if he was remembering the saddest day of his life. A day as awful as being Outcast.

  “First you must cross the great desert, the Chalder.”

  Terrible heat and unending sands overwhelmed their corner, causing even the coldest of the old men to sweat. Just as suddenly, the illusion vanished.

  Unquenchable thirst parched Viper’s throat. He beat Samiderf to his flagon and stole a sip of wine before Trevor lunged across the table and snatched it away.

  Samiderf grabbed the flagon back and thumped it onto the table, out of Viper’s reach.

  Bahtdor Nose snickered.

  Raulin shook her head. “I don’t envy you such a quest, Trevor. Please, wizard Clay, for the sake of my old heart, do limit your illusions.”

  Clay shrugged. Misty, ice-coated mountains appeared in the center of the table like a living map. One end showed a rocky pla
in defended by a demon. The other side was split by deep, vertical canyons guarded by smaller monsters. “After crossing desert and plateau you will come to a range of nearly impassable mountains. You must find and use the Deathsong Pass.”

  Viper gasped.

  The wizard nodded at him. “Some people say that the Deathsinger herself abides in that pass. I did not see her, however, so I may not offer judgment.”

  Clay took a small sip of ale. “I did see snow leopards and wind wraiths, and if the first doesn’t devour your body, the second will try to steal your soul. Of course, you must get around snow leopards and gyrfalcons, but they are less a problem. The main of the pass is covered with snow and ice, nasty stuff year round, and likely to become more of a problem than the leopards. The pass ends in the Dureme-Lor swamps, and they have a whole different set of headaches, but if you’ve made it that far you’ll be able to deal with them easily.”

  The mountains vanished when the wizard smiled at Trevor. “Do you still wish to walk the Wizard’s Route?”

  Trevor fussed and mumbled, but sat up straight and nodded. Good for him. Now if Viper could figure out a way to talk Trevor into taking him along, he’d really get an education. It sounded like a good excuse, anyway.

  Samiderf frowned at the wizard. “Haven’t you left something out?”

  “And what might that be?” Clay sipped at his beer and smiled at some inner joke.

  “The city of Matar.”

  Clay lost his smile and sat silently for a few breaths. Finally he pushed his mug away and whispered, “Don’t speak of that place. Ever. And especially not to a wizard. Ladies and gentlemen, good evening.” He stood and trudged out of the tavern. The crowd parted before him, leaving an empty path from the table to the door, but none of the drinkers looked at him. No one even appeared to notice him.

  The members of the Society of Sorcerous Sciences stared after him in silent amazement. Viper didn’t blame them. What on Menajr could upset a wizard?

  Chapter 24.