Heritage of Fire

by Dave Luckett

  Alissa closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm so sorry," she said.

  There was an awkward pause. Alissa turned her head to glance at Gerd, and perhaps the woman thought she was turning to go.

  "Wait on," she said. She looked down at the letter again, giving herself time. "You better see my husband, Jas. He'll be in later. He's down at the port, looking at some Gleddis velvet. Where are you lodging?"

  "I ... haven't decided. I came straight up from the port myself."

  "Ah." An internal debate, a pursing of the lips. Gerd, watching, could see calculation, a balancing of scales, with various weights being added on either side. Then: "The Lion and Keys is well spoken-of. Up in Newmarket Street, on the Hillhead. Not too expensive, and you can soon get proper lodgings. Jas knows some people. Come and see him once you're settled. Tomorrow, if you like. He'll be in during the forenoon."

  Alissa nodded. She smiled, murmured something that might have been thanks, and backed out of the doorway. Gerd sidestepped sharply. They walked away up the street, not talking.

  The Lion and Keys turned out to be somewhat more cheerful than the Nagel household. They secured rooms, looked them over, found them clean, and tried the ale in the common-room. It was quite passable.

  Alissa called for the ordinary for them both - boiled mutton with caper sauce, carrots, shallots, cabbage. They ate. Gerd was carefully saying as little as possible.

  Alissa pushed her wooden plate away and picked up her ale-mug. Gerd watched, still silent. "Well, that's that," she muttered, and drank.

  Gerd wondered what it was like to have a family and ties and an expectation that these would be of use. "You still should go and see Jas what's-his-name tomorrow," he remarked. "He's a guildsman, according to that little badge he's got over his door. He must know some people."

  "Oh, I will. Who knows? Anything's possible. Heavens, he might even defy his wife and invite me to supper."

  Gerd sipped his ale. There was nothing to be said to that. "I'll go for a walk in the morning," he said, instead. "I really don't know how you get to be apprenticed to a wizard. I suppose the only way is to find one and ask."

  "Why a wizard?" She cocked her head. "Look, no offence. I know that Sankey insisted on refunding the amount that Mannon cheated you out of when you signed up." It was true. Sankey had pointed gleefully at the Charter. "So, what with the battle-pay and the prize-money and ... well, you can't need to find something straight away."

  Alissa didn't know the half of it, thought Gerd. The little bag hung around his neck was heavier than ever. "Neither do you," he said, covering the thought.

  "I don't want to waste time," she replied. "I'm not getting any younger."

  Well, thought Gerd, neither am I.

  But Alissa hadn't finished. "And I know what I want to do. I've actually done some of it, and I have some skills to offer a master. What do you know about magic?"

  Gerd shrugged. Alissa watching his face, frowned suddenly. "But come to think of it, you do know something about it. You must. You knew those Kihreeans were using weather magic. You never said..."

  "It wasn't all that hard to see. Had to be magic of some sort. I only had to work out where it was coming from. You told me that no Kihree captain would do that to his ship without a really important reason. So the rest was obvious."

  "Not to me. Not to our ship’s captain."

  Gerd shrugged again, and raised his mug to cover his face. Alissa watched him, still frowning.

  During his time in the Company Gerd had got into the habit of sleeping when he could. Alissa was already gone by the time he came down. He ate the bread and preserves and drank the small beer that was offered for breakfast. There was nothing else to do then but to start exploring the city.

  He'd got used to long marches in the Company, too. Just as well. At noon, he stopped at a pieman's stall, the map of the city fairly clear in his head. It wasn't hard to find your way around, so long as you remembered what side of the Tasse you were on - the small river that emptied into the estuary. It divided the city, and carried a good deal of its waste away. You could estimate how near you were to it by using your nose.

  Around the city were hills, gradually rising. On the lower slopes the streets cluttered and knotted, lined with houses and businesses. It seemed odd to Gerd that the businesses were sorted into types by district - leatherworkers in this street, butchers in the next, booksellers up this lane, and here in the square at the end a whole set of goldsmiths, all clumped together. The tradespeople lived by their places of work, or in them, so that it was often difficult to know what was house and what was shop.

  He passed by the bones of the old city wall, a gaunt grey rib of stone that was standing only in places. Mostly it had been knocked down, or houses had been built against it, with the old hewn stones forming the lower courses. The city had outgrown its own walls and was now spreading up the slopes of the hills. It would be impossible to wall it properly now.

  Gerd wondered how it would cope with a Kihree raid. Then he thought about the number of men Walse could put into the field. Five thousand, maybe? Ten? The numbers made his head spin. The average raiding vessel carried no more than fifty warriors, and the largest Kihreean fleet ever heard of was about thirty longships strong. Mind you, the citizens of Walse weren't fighting men. In the whole morning Gerd had seen no more than half a dozen who looked like soldiers, though the richer townsmen wore swords.

  He finished the pie and strolled on, moving uphill, away from the most crowded parts. He was thinking about Kihreean raids and how the Company would have to change its ways, and whether it would be a good idea to find out if anyone was hiring soldiers, when he saw his first wizard.

  Or rather, he saw the sign. It was an eye in the open palm of an upraised hand, painted on a board, and the board hung creaking from a bracket above his head as he stood in the street. Below the painting there was a line of faded writing: "Laurentian, Magus".

  His skin prickled. He stared up at the sign, then at the shop over which it hung. He frowned. That looked like a food shop of some sort, like the others on either side. Strings of dried sausages hung in the window. On the shelves inside were wheels of cheese, different sorts. Magic?

  He put his head in at the door, breathing in sharp, spicy scents. A small man in an apron leaned on a counter, picking his teeth.

  "Laurentian?" asked Gerd.

  The small man didn't glance up. "Upstairs," he said, and sniffed. "Outside."

  Gerd retreated. There was a door three paces up. He tried it, and it opened on a narrow set of wooden stairs. There was a landing at the top.

  As he stood debating with himself, a door opened by the landing, and a tall figure swept out of it, slammed it behind him, and noisily descended the stairs, muttering. There was space for only one to pass, so Gerd stepped back into the street, watching.

  The man coming down was middle-aged, richly dressed in long gown and velvet hat, portly, with rings on three fingers, and a purse on his belt. Gerd nodded as he emerged into the sunlight, and received nothing but a stare like a glazed-brick wall. "Master Laurentian?" he asked, almost bobbing. Memories of his days as a pot-boy came crowding back.

  "No, he isn't," said a voice in his ear. "Now step back and keep your hands away from your hilt."

  A hand on his shoulder pulled him back, not roughly, but with steady force. Gerd went with the pull. The richly-dressed man hardly looked at him. He shouldered past and climbed into a sedan chair that was waiting by the other side of the street. The hand on Gerd's shoulder released. He turned and saw a man even bigger than himself, just tucking away a poignard, and was glad that he hadn't made a fuss. As the other moved, Gerd heard a familiar sound - a faint metal rasp. The man was wearing a mail shirt under his livery tunic.

  So. Gerd thought perhaps he should do the same. He resolved to do so in future. It would be wise, if there were people about in the streets who enforced instructions by putting the point of a knife just above your kidneys.

  T
he porters picked up the rich man's sedan chair and walked off. The bodyguard might have nodded, but he wasted no time before he turned and followed his master. Gerd was left to wonder at himself.

  He contemplated the stairs again. Almost he turned to walk on, but there was that slight tingle again. He set his jaw, and climbed the stairs.

  At the upper door he again hesitated, then knocked. A tiny, smothered noise, then silence for a moment, then quick footsteps. The rattle of a chain, and the door opened two fingers wide, the chain holding it. Gerd squinted, but there was only a shadowed half-face. He opened his mouth to speak, but was forestalled.

  "If Barra wants his money back, tell him he can... he can go jump in the river," said the face. "He got everything he paid for and more." The voice was feminine, quick, light, but with steel in it.

  Gerd shook his head, nonplussed. "No, no," he said. "It's nothing to do with, um, Master Barra." The door didn't move. The shadowed eyes might have narrowed a little. "I was wanting to see Master Laurentian. Um. The mage. Is he in?"

  Silence. Then: "No. He isn't. What's it about?"

  Gerd heard it. The tiny stress on the second word. He wondered if a pattern was being repeated. Or did he? Was it him that was doing the wondering? Inspiration struck. "Am I speaking to the mage, then?" he asked.

  A pause. The chain clicked. "You are," she said. The door opened. She stood back.

  The room beyond was dark. Gerd's eyes had not yet fully adjusted from the bright street outside. He peered, and she clucked. She turned, walked three strides, and opened a stained canvas curtain. "Sorry," she said. "I have to have it that way when Barra comes for his reading. He expects it to be as dark as his purposes."

  Gerd removed his cap and stood, twiddling it awkwardly. Light flooded in now, from the window in the rear wall. It wasn't kind to the room.

  It was clean, but bare. The deal table in the middle bore stains beyond the power of a scrubbing-brush to remove. A discreet wedge under one of its legs kept it from wobbling. Apart from that there was only two rough stools, a battered canvas pack with a harness and a rolled-up pallet tied with cord - a bed. She must sleep here as well. There were no other doors. No fireplace, either. In winter it must be ...

  She had leaned back, folding her arms. "Now," she said. "What can I do for you, Master...?"

  "Penrose," said Gerd automatically.

  Her head cocked. She frowned, mouthing the name. Gerd was suddenly aware that she had been weeping. There were tear-tracks fresh on her face, but she had apparently forgotten them now. "Penrose?" she asked. "I seem to have heard that name."

  "No, no." Gerd felt only confusion. He wanted to say something, but could only stammer. "I've...er ... no relations here. That I know of, anyway."

  Her eyebrows climbed, before she brought her face under control again. She gestured, inviting him to go on.

  Gerd hesitated. How was he to say this? I wonder if you'd consider taking me on as an apprentice? He looked again, realising that she was shorter than he by only three fingers, dark hair cropped around her face, dark-eyed, simply dressed. She wasn't pretty. Not pretty.

  He searched for words. "Ah... In fact I come from out east. From the other side of the Cold Ocean. From over beyond the Merchants' Guild cities. We have no mages there. I sometimes think that I..."

  She frowned, took a single step forward, and laid a hand on his forearm, muttering a half-heard phrase. He almost jumped, for the touch seemed to tingle. Then she stood back again. "Yes, you are, aren't you? How on earth have you managed up 'til now?"

  17

  "Did your Godcousin do anything for you?" The common-room of the inn was noisy during the supper hour. Gerd had to raise his voice.

  "Not much. He remembered a few names." Alissa peered into her ale mug, and then put it down again. "Just as well I went to see him in the morning, though. Master Nagle was still in a fit state to do business. I gather that by dinnertime he usually isn't."

  Gerd glanced across at her face. "Ah," he remarked. There didn't seem to be anything much else to say.

  Alissa thought, then shrugged. "No loss. So then I went to see the goldsmith, and he took my paper, all right. Seemed to give fair exchange." Her mouth twitched. "Probably means I got gulled."

  Gerd ate a piece of herb pudding and washed it down. He was drinking bitter ale. One glance at the river had told him that it would be a bad plan to drink water. "And what about finding a swordsmith?"

  "There's a few. I'll try them tomorrow. And look for lodgings. Living in an inn isn't cheap."

  At three silver pennies a day, Gerd would once have thought it giddily profligate. Not now. The contents of the little bag hung around his neck would pay his way here for the next two years. More, if he was careful. Nela hadn't even asked him about an apprenticeship fee. He would have to see about that tomorrow...

  Alissa was speaking to him again. "... did you go?" She broke her bread and used it to hold a piece of meat down to cut it. "Did you speak to any magicians?"

  "Mages," corrected Gerd, absently. "Or wizards, if you like. Magicians are people in long spangly robes who work the fairs, doing sleight of hand." He drank from his mug, glancing at her. She nodded, smiling. "Yes, I spoke to one or two."

  Actually he had only spoken to one. But that had taken most of the afternoon. Those had been Nela's words about magicians that he had just quoted to Alissa. He wasn't exactly sure how it had happened, but he was now an apprentice to a mage.

  Gerd looked down at his plate, frowning suddenly. There had been no food in Nela's barren little room. He wondered if she had remembered to eat supper. Or had a supper available to eat. She was too thin. Thin as a willow wand, with dark smudged eyes that were nevertheless as sharp as a good blade...

  "... you get any offers?"

  He shook himself and determined to attend better. "Well, yes. I'm thinking about them."

  "Ah," said Alissa. She pursed her lips and watched him for a while. "That would explain it, then. You're thinking about something. That's pretty plain."

  "Mm. Yes. Sorry. What was that again?"

  "Nothing. Nothing at all." Alissa smiled and returned to eating her supper.

  *

  The cookshops near the covered market opened early in the morning. Gerd bought hard-boiled eggs, ham and apples. A street tinker sold him a tinned quartpot with a lid, and he had it filled with milk straight from the cow, after he'd made sure the cow looked healthy. While he was at it, he bought butter. And a two-penny loaf, fresh from the oven.

  He clattered up the stair, burdened, and the door opened before he reached the landing. Nela looked out.

  "Ah, it's you," she said, and then recoiled. "What on earth have you got there?"

  "Breakfast," said Gerd.

  She all but goggled, but the scent of fresh bread worked its usual magic. She retreated into the dimness of her bare little room, and Gerd, following up his success, set his various items out on the stained deal table, carefully closing and removing a thick square book to the windowsill. When he finished, he looked up. She was staring suspiciously at him.

  "I don't need feeding up, you know," she said.

  "Of course not," said Gerd, dissembling, breaking the loaf. Heady aromas arose, and his mouth watered. "But I wanted to get started on my studies early, and I'll need my strength. It would be rude not to ask you to join me. Please."

  By carefully not coaxing, and by making the apparent and cheerful assumption that a hearty breakfast is the usual standard even for mages, he persuaded her to eat a little. Once she started, she actually managed an egg and drank some milk. An apple was easy enough. He split it with her, remembering pinchgut hunger, hunger that formed the background of his days and invaded his sleep at night. That, at least, he would not allow.

  He swept up the eggshells and the scraps and took them out into the street, dumping them on the nearest dunghill. He returned to find Nela sitting in the chair at the table. She had retrieved the book and had it open before her.

 
She gestured at the remaining seat, a backless stool. "Teca," she said.

  Gerd blinked. The word made no sense. She smiled, then rose. "Tecatay," she said, and ostentatiously sat down again. She pointed at the stool once more. "Teca," she said again. Gerd sat, watching her face.

  "Hao," she said. She laid a hand on her chest. "Nela a ve." She pointed at him. "H'va i?" she asked.

  He thought, then: "Gerd," he said. Her eyebrows remained high. "Gerd a ve," he said, and she nodded. "Samma, Gerd." She laid her hand on the table. "Va'a caan." She looked up at him. "H'va ti?" Careful stress was laid on the "t" sound.

  "Caan va ti."

  By noon, Gerd had learned forty words of a new language, and ways of saying things in them. Very simple things.