Galactic Mage 4: Alien Arrivals

by John Daulton

  Sandew shook his head again, looking at Pernie with what she thought was approaching sympathy, before looking back to Seawind. “She will be dead. And it will be on your count for eternity.” He turned back to her. “My people do you a great injustice, human,” he said, and then he ran off into the trees.

  Some of the others seemed to lose a degree of mirth after that exchange, perhaps agreeing with the departed elf now that the novelty of Pernie’s unusual arrival had worn off. But Seawind was not among them. He came forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done it, Sava. You’ve run with the hunt. Something only two other humans have ever done. You’re in a very small minority amongst your kind. And now you have earned the right to begin training with the spear.” He held forth his own weapon, offering it to her that she might feel its weight.

  She snatched it out of his hand and hurled it straight through the air, pinning a moth that had been fluttering past to a tree some fifteen paces away. “I already know how to use your stupid spears,” she said. “You said you’d teach me to kill that orc, and then I could go home. I’m ready to kill him now.”

  He turned back behind him and, with a flicking motion of his fingers, gestured for two of his companions to hand him their spears. He gave one to Pernie and kept the other for himself, nodding only slightly in the direction of the one she now held.

  She frowned at it, then back at him, and then, with speed she didn’t have time to see, he swept her feet out from under her with a snapping movement of the bottom of his spear. He struck her ankles so hard and so quickly that she flipped a quarter turn and landed hard on her ribs atop her bug, who, being startled and injured both, took off at a run. She rolled off it the moment it bolted, and it dragged her half under a bush by the rope around her wrist before she could gather her wits enough to send it pain messages to make it stop.

  She lay there in the leaves and twigs beneath the bush, panting heavily. She would make him pay for that.

  Chapter 14

  A lean, straight figure of a man watched from beneath a broad-brimmed black hat as the Earth people and the Queen’s pet mage returned to the silvery spaceship resting atop the cliffs above Murdoc Bay. The watcher’s coal-black eyes squinted above a hawkish nose despite being shrouded in shadow beneath the hat. Unlike the rest of the crowd, murmuring and ogling the vessel, he was silent. His interest in a ship that could travel to the stars was not rooted in awe or curiosity. No, not this man. His interest was, as always, appraisal. The appraisal of value, certainly, but mostly he appraised it for difficulty.

  He’d already watched several of the young lads from town approach the two burly women standing guard at the base of the ramp. While a few of the boys were simple, uncouth drunkards, one of them had been a well-built deckhand with pockets heavy with coin. His ship, the Hestra’s Sea Hound, had come in yesterday from a successful Pompost run. With his share jingling in his pocket, the salty youth had sashayed up to the women and made his suit with abundant confidence, for which he was politely but instantly declined. When the youth stepped closer to make a second, more insistent appeal, the nearer guard, a shapely brunette with shoulders and arms easily as cut and toned as the young sailor’s were, turned the muzzle of her weapon toward him and, with a polite smile, said something to him in the alien language of planet Earth. The words were nonsense to Prosperion ears, but no one witnessing needed translation magic to understand what she had said.

  The watcher beneath that wide, dark hat nodded as he observed. Pretty though these Earth creatures were, they were not the sporting type. He supposed there would be more collectors interested in an alien girl, but for now he had no orders for one. And, truth be told, the last one had been more trouble than she was worth. Three times he’d been less than a half step in front of the Royal Assassin’s blade for that job, and now that the heat was off, or at least handed off to the Queen’s simpletons, he figured he’d had enough of Earth women. At least until there was an offer that made the challenge worth the risk.

  He lowered his head and quietly mumbled a seeing spell, doing his best to keep the gestures at a minimum. When it was cast, he pushed his magical vision toward the glistening ship, hoping for a peek inside. It was just out of his range. He cursed the gods that gave him a lowly D-class rank in Sight. Imagine what greater wealth he could have acquired over all these years with just another thirty spans.

  Unwilling to move out of the crowd, he let the spell go. He saw after that the man in the purple coat had returned, the man who he presumed was the captain of the ship. He’d returned, and in his entourage still was Sir Altin Meade, the Galactic Mage, another of the War Queen’s most dangerous minions. The complexity of the challenge presented by that ship was rendered all the more difficult with the young Seven in attendance. And all the more appealing. What profit could be made from the alien items on that ship, the watcher thought. If he could only see inside! What rare objects were in there that would be a first for anyone on Prosperion, the first and finest that only he could find? Things that not even the Queen herself could have, things the alien people might not even want her to know about. Oh, the thrill of it. Just thinking of it. There hadn’t been anything that piqued him so thoroughly as that spaceship since he was but a boy. Not since carving the wagging pink tongues of endless prohibitions from his parents’ mouths had he felt such a rush inside. That had been a long time ago. But now the thrill was back. Now he could pilfer an entire alien world.

  But he had to act fast, for it would only be a matter of time. Soon enough, the War Queen and her counterparts on Earth would open trade routes. They’d negotiate contracts. Start guilds. Objects from Earth would become commonplace in only a matter of years, perhaps a decade on the optimistic side. Then it would be too late. The greatest opportunities would be gone, the windows closed, shuttered, and barred. It would be all cronyism and inside deals afterwards. Everyone else would fight over scraps.

  It occurred to him even as he thought it that the same could be said for trade going the other way. In fact, the more he considered it, the more it seemed likely that was the reason for the appearance of this ship, why it was here in Murdoc Bay. It was here to start trading Prosperion goods on Earth. The fact that it was here and not Crown City, where the deals were being done, said a lot about Her Majesty. For he knew full well it was she and not the Marchioness of South Mark behind the appearance of that ship. Had it been the marchioness, he would have known.

  Which meant he was already behind the game. And worse, he had no requests. Not even that dusty old shrew in Galbrun Hall had summoned him for anything. There was no doubt the marchioness at least had wind of this sort of thing happening. But nothing from her. Nothing. He nearly spat for the indignity of it all. And it wouldn’t do to go calling on her to solicit an arrangement of some kind. He might as well start hawking candies and sweetmeats in the market square.

  But, that was fine. He’d find his own way. He always had. And the gods do shine their favor on the ready and the prepared. And it was then that, as if by divine design, a gentle telepathic nudge pressed upon his mind. He recognized it immediately.

  “Black Sander,” came the demanding telepathic voice of the Earl of Vorvington. “Lady South Mark wishes to see you immediately. We have business to attend.”

  Black Sander’s mouth cut a thin line across his angular face, like a cut made by the tip of a rapier. And out from it, like a pale drop of blood, slid his tongue, licking his lips hungrily. This was going to be fun.

  Chapter 15

  Pernie stood on Knot’s faceplate, halfway up the ancient crater wall and looking down at Djoveeve, who was easy to see as she made her way slowly through the chest-high reeds. The wrinkled old assassin pushed apart the green blades with outward sweeps of her arms, and from where Pernie was three spans above, it seemed as if the old woman were swimming through high grass.

  Pernie cast a quick glance over her shoulder, making sure she hadn’t gotten too high up. If she got too close to the crater’s e
dge, she’d stick up and be visible against the sky. The old wizard-assassin would spot her then, for Pernie’s powers of illusion were not very strong. “You’re only a C,” Djoveeve had said nearly a month ago when she’d revealed what Pernie’s third school of magic was. Even Master Grimswoller hadn’t been able to tell what her third power was. But now she knew, and she’d been practicing with it since. Djoveeve said she’d never be very good with it, but it was good enough for a crude sort of invisibility.

  She crouched low, gripping her blunted spear, an elven shaft with a sap-filled silk bag where the spearhead should be. She was supposed to “kill” the old assassin if she could. Another ten steps and Djoveeve would get the blunted spear right in the face.

  Djoveeve stopped moving for a time, listening. She turned her head from side to side, her eyes narrowing as her vision dulled to give favor to her ears. She waited patiently for a time. “Good, child,” she said after a while. “You are as quiet as a mouse.”

  Pernie smiled. She knew she was. Knot was too. All his little feet made no more noise than leaves settling to the forest floor. She sent him a thought for motionlessness, just enough menace to freeze him but not enough to roll him into a ball. She’d done that only a few days ago, when Seawind had finally allowed her to try fighting from atop the insect’s back. She’d been high up a cave wall and been a bit too aggressive in sending it a painful thought, frightening poor Knot into spherical form. She’d fallen almost six full spans. Knot had bounced and taken no injury, but for her, well, that was the first time she’d ever seen her own shinbone so closely before, burst right through the skin and all. If it hadn’t hurt so much, she would have enjoyed looking at it more.

  But now she knew, and she made sure Knot was behaving properly, still as stone as he clung to the craggy rock face like a fly upon the wall.

  Pernie hefted the spear, pitching the back end of it at a steep angle so as not to bump against the rock. She wished Djoveeve would hurry up and move.

  Like a strike of lightning, Djoveeve’s own blunted spear came hurtling up at her, so quickly all Pernie could do was jump. If she’d taken the time to urge Knot to move, she would have been struck full on.

  She dropped straight down, knowing she’d land loudly when she hit the shallow water, but as she fell, her arm suddenly wrenched upward when she hit the end of Knot’s rope. For an instant, she thought he might be strong enough to hold on, but he was not. His little feet, unprepared for the shock, lost their grip, and down he came on top of her, the two of them landing, first Pernie, then the bug, with a tremendous splash.

  Before Pernie could clear her eyes, Djoveeve was nearly upon her, a wooden knife in her hand. Just before the old assassin could make the token slice across Pernie’s throat, Knot was dragging Pernie back up the crater wall, the pulse of his fear throbbing in his insect brain.

  Pernie swung beneath him like a clock pendulum, bouncing off the rock face and getting scratched up everywhere. He’d nearly dragged her all the way over the lip of the crater by the time she got him to stop. She tilted her head back, looking up to see where she was, then reached up with her free hand, prepared to climb up the rope. Two hard objects thudded against her chest, one after the next in rapid fire. She looked down again and saw that both of Djoveeve’s wooden knives had left black charcoal marks on her, one right below the next. She would have been a pincushion if those knives were real.

  “You’ve got to get that creature under control,” the ancient bodyguard intoned, though needlessly. “It’s going to get you killed.”

  Pernie hung motionlessly for a moment, her shoulder hurting from the initial jolt and all her scratches beginning to burn. She sighed, frustrated, and simply dangled there like some droopy little anchor dropped halfway into an empty sea.

  “And I saw the butt of your spear above the ridgeline,” Djoveeve was saying when Pernie finally began paying attention to her again. “How many times do I have to tell you that your illusions are weak? You can’t hide like an elf any more than you can run like one. You’ve got to think. You must use your powers and your brain.”

  Pernie didn’t want to hear another lecture today. And she didn’t want to hear what she couldn’t do. She didn’t want to hear how she was weak and how she was going to die. Again. That’s all anyone ever told her here. “You’re going to die,” they all said. Always with some big stupid “if” to go along. Well, if there were that many ifs going to kill her, then she expected she ought to be dead by now.

  She hung there for a little longer, watching Djoveeve talk. The words made flat and round shapes of the old assassin’s mouth as it moved, but the sounds all faded away. The woman was merely part of the scenery. A dull part, in brown leather, lost against the bright colors of the elven island with all its creatures and sounds and nothingness. Pernie didn’t want to listen anymore.

  And she was tired of eating fish.

  The pain in her shoulder throbbed and broke her reverie. She might have been drifting off to sleep. She prompted Knot to pull her out of the crater slowly so as not to cause further injury. She climbed onto his back once they were up, and she set him off at a run. She was done with lessons for today. And this time, unlike last time, she was going to go someplace they couldn’t find.

  The biggest advantage in studying with Djoveeve out of the cave was that the old woman couldn’t keep up with her anymore. Not for speed. Djoveeve’s jaguar form wasn’t fast enough, and her skills in transmutation prevented her from taking the shape of birds—Pernie didn’t know why, but she’d figured out the weakness all the same. Which meant that Pernie could outrun her. The problem—the thing that Pernie had learned the last two times she’d tried to run away—was what the old mage-assassin couldn’t manage in speed, she more than made up for in tracking ability. The woman was harder to get away from than a bloodhound or a scavenger drake.

  But this time Pernie had a better plan. Riding Knot through the jungle was a tough way to run. The leaves and branches and brambles got in her way. It was impossible not to leave a trail of broken vegetation when she rode through the trees, much less her scent.

  But the last time she’d gone out, she discovered something new, if belatedly: Knot left no footprints in the sand. She thought that maybe, because of it, he might not leave any scent behind as well.

  So this time, as she streaked off, away from Djoveeve’s lectures, she headed straight for the ocean as fast as Knot could go. Soon enough, she made it to the coast. She’d gone north last time she was here, so this time she decided to try the south. She saw that there was a high set of cliffs a few measures down. It appeared as if the beach might end there, but she knew Knot could climb them if there wasn’t enough beach to go around.

  Soon she discovered that there were enough rocks along the base of them to make it at least partway around, but Knot didn’t like the cool mist of the water so near his feet. Rather than fight with him, she directed him a few spans up the wall and urged him to carry on. She’d gotten good at riding him along vertical faces, hooking her heels over the edge of his segmented shell, just above where his legs emerged, and leaning back carefully, just enough for balance, but not so far as to brush her back against the cliff. At the speeds Knot ran, and with altitude, that would mean death.

  She well knew that what she was doing would get her yelled at if Kettle saw, but she’d been so long away from the flour-doused old kitchen matron that she’d nearly forgotten what being scolded was all about. Seawind didn’t scold. He was quick with a cuff or a blow, but he never scolded her like a child. And Djoveeve only lectured. Endlessly. None of them yelled at her, either. Pernie never thought she’d miss such a thing, being hollered at, but she did. Well, not exactly the yelling part, but the rest of it. She missed the look in Kettle’s face. The look after the yelling was done, when Kettle’s eyes sometimes filled with frightened tears.

  Nobody cried for her here.

  She tried not to cry too. But her shoulder hurt and she missed Kettle and she was tired of e
ating fish. She’d done everything they said, and she never complained hardly at all. But she was tired, and it wasn’t fun anymore.

  She wanted to go home.

  As she looked out over the ocean in the direction where she thought Kurr might lie, she thought of all of them sitting at the table having tea. Kettle was serving up a plate of roast meat and steaming carrots; the carrots would be bright orange and dripping with butter and beat-sugar sauce. She could smell the wine and hear Kettle yelling at Master Altin for trying to give her some. “Ya can’t give a wee lass wine!” she would say. And Altin had tried to give Pernie wine before. He said wine was good for her. Master Tytamon had said it was too before he died.

  But then Orli had come along and broken the world. And her people had killed everyone, or at least gotten them all killed. And now she was trying to take Master Altin away and ruin everything while Pernie was stuck here with the stupid, boring elves.

  They said they’d let her go home when she could pass their stupid test, when she’d mastered the spear and wasn’t afraid of that nasty old orc, but now she knew they never would. Djoveeve would just go on talking forever, and they’d never let her go. She was already really good with the elven spear. Only last night she’d struck Djoveeve hard upon the knee when they were practicing in the cave. Really hard. It almost knocked her down. Next time she would knock her down.

  But there wouldn’t be a next time. She was going to get out of here somehow.

  The cliff face fell away before her as Knot whisked them along toward the end of its length. It appeared that the flat rock face was giving way, the cliffs opening onto a little cove. The cliff rose up again on the other side, some fifty spans away.

  She had no idea how long she’d been lost in thought; riding Knot had become second nature to her, but he was very fast, and she was sure she’d never been here before.