Nature's Master (The Nature Mage Series Book 4)

by Duncan Pile

  “What’s it doing?” Taurnil asked.

  “Celebrating. It feels my joy.”

  Taurnil looked at her in surprise. The first fire spirit’s death had wounded her badly, and she had struggled to let down her guard with the second. Yes, she’d bonded with it on the quest to Pell, but only when it had become necessary in the heat of battle. She’d never embraced the connection in the way she had with the first spirit, but in that moment there was no reservation in her eyes. “It looks like you and the spirit have finally bonded.”

  It was Lydia’s turn to look surprised. “Don’t you know? It’s the same spirit, Taurn. There’s only ever been one.”

  Taurnil was perplexed. He didn’t know how to voice his confusion without reminding her of the Measure and the terrible death of the first fire spirit. “What do you mean?” was all he could come up with.

  “I don’t know when the knowledge first came to me, but it’s clear as day to me now; elementals can’t die. This is the same fire spirit, returned to me from wherever it went after the Measure.”

  Taurnil frowned, struggling to accept what Lydia was telling him. She took both of his hands and held his gaze. “Taurnil, it’s the same spirit. I know it!”

  Taurnil’s eyes widened and he whistled through his teeth. If Lydia said it was the same spirit then it was the same spirit. Grinning, he picked her up and kissed her soundly. “That’s wonderful!”

  “Everything about this day is wonderful,” she said, sliding her arms around his neck and kissing him back.

  …

  Late that afternoon, the air was filled with the tantalising scent of roast pork, rising from long rows of suckling pigs, their fat dripping noisily onto the fires below. Dozens of long tables groaned with tureens of fresh vegetables and pots of steaming stew, cooked by the many gypsy encampments. Taurnil had never seen so much food in one place and ate with relish. He was heady with relief that the ceremony was over, and several glasses of wine later he was grinning like a fool.

  Most of the guests had finished eating by the time the sun began to set, but the celebration was only just getting going. A troop of musicians struck up a lilting tune and before Taurnil knew what was happening, Lydia had pulled him to his feet and they were swaying back and forth to the music. Her fingers were splayed against his back, her eyes smouldering with promise. For once in his life he didn’t care who was watching. All he cared about was the beautiful woman in his arms. He’d loved her since the day they’d met, and the greatest surprise of his life had been that she loved him back.

  He kissed her cheek, enflamed by the softness of her skin and the spicy scent of her perfume. He pulled her close, folding himself into her as they stepped lightly to and fro in time to music that seemed to come from some faraway place. He pulled back and kissed her deeply, wondering at the staggering thought that she was his wife. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  “Later, my love,” Lydia whispered in his ear, placing a hand on his chest and applying an infinitesimal amount of pressure. Taurnil came to as if waking from a dream, and found himself the focus of many amused stares, along with the indulgent smiles of his parents. His cheeks began to burn, but Lydia saved him from further embarrassment by dragging him back to the chairs.

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Taurnil spoke with what seemed like a thousand well-wishers, but the only thing on his mind was Lydia. If it were within his power, he would have snapped his fingers and made the crowd disappear. He wasn’t nervous about what was to come. The way he was feeling, it was the only way this night could rightfully end.

  He stood at Lydia’s side, enduring the endless congratulations until the faces before him became indistinguishable from each other. Finally, when he thought he could bear it no longer, Lydia leant in close and whispered that it was time to leave. She motioned to her da, who leapt onto a barrel, banging noisily on a pot until conversation died away and the guests had turned to face him.

  “Friends, I thank you for celebrating this momentous occasion with us, but the time has come for my daughter and her husband to leave us. Let’s wish them well on their journey together.” He raised his goblet – a movement mirrored throughout the crowd – and turned to face Taurnil and Lydia. “My daughter, my son, with all our hearts we wish you every blessing. May you always be assured of our love, and your lives be filled with joy.”

  He took a long draught of wine and the crowd cheered loudly. Lydia rushed over to him as he leapt to the ground and burrowed into him, clinging to him tightly. He held her in return, tears dripping from his cheeks as he kissed the top of her head. Moments later Taurnil found himself in his ma’s arms. She took his head in her hands, kissing him wetly on the cheek. His da clapped him on the back and tugged gently on his wife’s sleeve.

  “Ok dear, let the boy go,” he said, but she didn’t seem to be listening. At long last Lydia returned, only to be engulfed by Taurnil’s ma. The women embraced tightly, and when they let each other go, both had glistening eyes. Lydia slid her hand through the crook of Taurnil’s arm. “Let’s go my husband,” she said, and steered him towards their marital hut.

  He lifted the flap and followed Lydia into the warm, lamp-lit interior, prepared in anticipation of their arrival. The noise from beyond the heavy, woven walls was dampened, leaving them feeling very much alone. Lydia withdrew her hand from the crook of his arm and stepped over to the bed, where she turned to face him. She smiled, deep and knowing, and lifted her arms. Taurnil stepped towards her and ran his fingers up her arms, sliding over the bare skin of her shoulders. Her mouth opened and she gave a quiet gasp. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him.

  Taurnil lost himself in a tangle of bed sheets and bodies. It was desperate longing, it was unbearable closeness, and at long last it was bliss.

  Seventeen

  Madame swung the barrel shut and climbed out of the Happy Drunk’s cellar, leaving two more girls in Leila’s care. It pleased her that they were safely stowed away in the caves, but she worried about the pressure their absence would place on her remaining girls – a skeleton crew trying to keep up with the demands of Madame’s many customers. Some of the regulars had started complaining when they couldn’t see their favourite girls, and it wouldn’t be long before agitation flared into something uglier.

  The time was fast approaching when she’d have to take the rest of her girls and disappear into the caves for good. Elijah had supplanted Stringfellow as leader of the Eleven and his army waited on the plain, hunkered down and swollen. Tradesmen flowed in and out of the gates, ferrying provisions to the quartermaster. It was only a matter of time now until they broke camp and marched to war, which was exactly what Madame was worried about. Elijah’s reputation was well-known – he was a vindictive man, and after ousting Stringfellow from his position, was busy destroying everything the old man had built. Before the army set off, Elijah would send his men to round up girls for the camp following. It was common knowledge that Stringfellow was her patron, which could only mean one thing – when the army was ready to depart, Elijah’s men would come straight to her door.

  She had to get her girls out of there, but moving too early would be as disastrous as waiting too long. Clients continued to come and go – men of trade and city officials among them – and if they turned up to an empty brothel the news would get back to Elijah. If that happened, there was every chance that he would make it his personal mission to hunt them down. She intended to collapse the entrance from the Happy Drunk behind her, but if discovered before the army was ready to march, it would be easy enough to excavate.

  Madame was determined to hold her nerve. She would wait until the army’s final preparations were underway and then make her move. Elijah wouldn’t want to slow the war machine down, however much it galled him, and would have to round up girls from other brothels instead. It was a risky plan, and one that could easily go awry, but it was the only one she had.

  …

  “By nightfall? You’re sure?” An
toine said.

  “If these tradesman can be believed,” Elijah muttered. “Tomorrow morning at the very latest.”

  Antoine nodded, satisfied that they’d be underway at last. Waiting around made him itch. “I’ll tell the captains we’re ready.”

  “Not just yet,” Elijah said. “There’s one last thing I need of you.”

  “Which is?”

  “We need a camp following, and I know just the brothel to supply it.”

  Antoine stiffened. He should have known this was coming.

  “You have a problem with that?” Elijah asked, eyeing him shrewdly.

  Antoine forced a nonchalant shrug. “Of course not, but can’t you send someone else? I’ve already got plenty to deal with.”

  “I want you to see to this personally,” Elijah said. “Take a crew of twenty and fetch the girls from the Scarlet Cape this very evening.”

  “Why the Scarlet Cape?”

  A gleam entered Elijah’s eye. “Because it’s Stringfellow’s brothel. He’s been its patron from the start.”

  Antoine grunted, hoping he never fell out of favour with the councillor. “Where do I find it?”

  “You don’t get out much huh?” Elijah said. “It’s on Canal Street, just north of the slave market. The Madame – Stringfellow’s own mother of whores – also keeps a tavern by the western wall called the Happy Drunk.

  “I’ll find it,” Antoine said.

  “Bring them to me – every last girl.”

  Antoine bowed his head and turned to leave the tent.

  “Oh, and Antoine,” Elijah said. “Make sure you bring the fat bitch too.”

  …

  A frantic knock sounded at the door to the Scarlet Cape. Madame pushed past her girls, her heart thumping.

  “Who is it?” she hissed.

  “Sally.”

  Madame unlatched the bolt and opened the door. “What’s going on?”

  Sally grabbed Madame’s hands with trembling fingers. “They’re coming.”

  Madame didn’t need to ask who Sally was referring to. She hurried through the brothel, raising a hue and cry. The time for secrecy was past. Madame had been preparing the girls for days, and they knew the drill. They rushed from their rooms, ignoring the indignant cries of their clients.

  A scuffle broke out in a nearby room.

  “Let me go!” one of the girls cried.

  “You’re not going anywhere till I get what I paid for,” an angry voice said.

  Madame sped towards the door, but not before a heavy collision sounded from within and Elath came running out, clutching a bloodied brass candlestick. Madame didn’t pause to see if the client was still alive.

  She rounded the girls up and within two short minutes they were streaming out the back door and into the streets. The rushed along in silence, ignoring the curious stares of those they passed. Madame knew what a strange sight they made – a gaggle of girls racing through the city in their petticoats – but it didn’t matter who saw them anymore, as long as they weren’t stopped.

  It wasn’t long before they approached the Happy Drunk. Madame sped up, heading for the main entrance when a large group of armed men spilled from an alleyway on the far side of the square and headed straight for them.

  “Round the back!” she urged the girls, who dashed past her and fled into the alley at the tavern’s side. Several of them tried to pull her with them but she shook them off. “Go! I’ll join you.”

  The lie came easily to her. If she stalled the men long enough, the girls would have a chance of reaching the caves. They’d wait for her, of course, but if Elijah’s men stormed the cellar they’d do as they’d been told and collapse the entrance. Madame knew it would break their hearts, but it was the only way she could save them.

  The men circled her and came to a stop. One of them stepped forward. Madame recognised him instantly – it was Antoine, the Man in Black, whose reputation as a killer was unsurpassed. Her heart felt like it would beat its way out of her chest.

  “Madame,” he said, in faintly accented Common.

  “What brings you out so late, good Sir?”

  “Don’t play games with me. Elijah wants a camp following and has decided you’re going to supply it.”

  Madame paused. “If I told you there was no-one inside, would you turn around and walk away?”

  “I saw them enter.”

  “Perhaps you were mistaken.”

  He smiled tightly. “Nice try, but it’s more than my life is worth.”

  Madame had to keep him talking; her girls needed more time. She pointed over Antoine’s shoulder. “There’s another brothel three hundred yards down that street – the Worker’s Reprieve. Would it be so hard to turn around and find what you need there instead of here?”

  “Enough!” Antoine snapped. “I’ll brook no further delays.” He raised his hand and Madame flinched, expecting a blow. He gripped her shoulder and spun her around to face the tavern. “Move.”

  Madame shuffled forwards, moving as slowly as she dared. Silently, she counted off another girl descending the ladder, then another, and another.

  “Faster,” Antoine said, giving her a little shove in the back. She pretended to trip, falling painfully to the ground. He hauled her upright. “No more tricks,” he hissed, clasping her arm and marching her down the alley to the rear entrance of the Happy Drunk.

  “Open it.” The door wasn’t locked and swung inwards. It was dark within. “Lantern!” Antoine called over his shoulder, and one was passed up from behind, illuminating the hallway with flickering light. “Where are they?”

  “This way,” Madame said, leading him past the cellar and into the main part of the tavern. She’d closed for business three days ago in readiness for the flight to the caves, and the air smelled musty.

  “Up here,” she said, showing him a stairway, above which were several bedrooms. A loud crash sounded from the cellar. Madame’s blood froze in her veins.

  “What was that?” Antoine said, spinning around and eyeing the cellar door.

  “Nothing,” Madame said.

  “Get in there,” Antoine said, grabbing her by the arm again and propelling her back towards the cellar.

  Madame was terrified. What if he discovered the false barrel before the entrance could be collapsed? Every last girl would be captured.

  He opened the door and shoved her inside. It was pitch black. “You first,” he said, lifting the lantern, which cast a fitful glow across the cluttered cellar. At first glance, all seemed to be well; the false barrel was shut and the room appeared to be empty. The floor was littered with haphazard piles of empty crates, their shadows looming large upon the walls. There was no sign the girls had passed through the room.

  “Toby, Bryant, you’re with me. Madame, lead on. The rest of you stay up here.”

  She started down the steps, clinging to the hope that the girls had escaped, when she saw something that almost made her stop in her tracks – a slippered foot, tucked behind a stack of crates. Frantically, she tried to think of some way to prevent the inevitable, but nothing came to mind. She reached the bottom of the stairs, Antoine only paces behind her. Toby and Bryant followed, their feet finding the cellar floor. A flurry of movement erupted as several girls sprang out of hiding. Elath, who had been hiding beneath the stairway, bolted up the steps and slammed the door shut before the rest of Antoine’s men could react. She rammed the bolt home and shoved a short plank of wood under the door’s central crossbeam, kicking its base inwards until it was jammed tight. Shouts of alarm sounded from the hallway and moments later fists were pounding on the other side of the door, but it held fast. The other girls pounced on Antoine, wielding pry bars they’d found in the cellar.

  Antoine and his men endured a series of thudding blows until Toby lashed out with a heavy fist, knocking one of the girls to the floor. Her head struck the ground and blood flowed liberally from a gash in her forehead. Elath flung herself onto Bryant’s back, scratching at his face and shrie
king at the top of her voice. Madame picked up a stout length of wood and bashed it against Toby’s skull. He stumbled and fell to his knees, clutching his scalp, and Madame finished him off with a blow to the temple. Dead or unconscious, he was out of the fight. Two girls lay at Antoine’s feet, but Madame couldn’t make out who they were. Lady, let them be alive! Elath was thrown from Bryant’s back, slamming into the wall with a sickening crack.

  That left Salome and Jacqueline, who launched themselves at Bryant. Madame raised the plank and swung at Antoine, but he caught her arm and held it fast.

  “I won’t let you take my girls,” she spat, fighting him with all of her strength, but she couldn’t break his hold. He spun her around and put her in a choke-hold, pressing his mouth to her ear.

  “Your girls are unconscious but alive,” he whispered, indicating the pair of bodies at his feet. “I’m going to kill that man. Nod if you understand.”

  She nodded, scarcely daring to believe him, and his arm fell away.

  “Stay here.” He released her and stepped carefully away, eyeing her intently as if expecting her to attack. Madame nodded once more, her heart in her mouth, and he turned away, drawing a slender poniard from a scabbard at his waist. It was the perfect opportunity to knock him out with the plank, but she didn’t take it. There was more going on here than met the eye. On the other side of the cellar, Bryant knocked Salome to the floor with a punch to the temple and grabbed Jacqueline by the throat. He slammed her against the stairs and, with his free hand, drew a dagger. He lifted the blade, ready to strike but Antoine reached him first, moving on silent feet. Bryant stiffened as the poniard slid noiselessly into the hollow behind his ear. Antoine withdrew the blade, dripping with viscera, and let the corpse fall to the floor.

  Jacqueline looked at Antoine with wild eyes and tensed, ready to spring at him. “Jacqueline, don’t!” Madame cried, interposing herself between the two of them. The girl looked at her with a bewildered expression. “It’s okay. We can trust him,” she said, smoothing a knot of matted hair from Jacqueline’s brow. “Now go rouse the girls.” She nudged her in the direction of the unconscious women, and bent to check on Salome.