Though Frope said nothing more, several of his horse soldiers edged their mounts in until they formed a smaller circle separating the cast from the audience.
Ellinca did not dare to speak out loud to anyone but Pascolli signed to her. “I won’t let him do anything.”
Her heartbeat accelerated. Kurt, Beth’s partner in the troupe, glared so hotly at the Finder’s feet, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see them smoke.
Hilas Frope reached up and unhooked a wicker chair from the stage’s ceiling. Stage props were stored up there, hidden behind the curtain. He settled into the chair.
Someone from the audience yelled they wanted to stay and watch while another splayed his fingers like a fan before his eyes and spat – warding off evil.
“We ought to know what’s happenin’ in our own town,” a woman mumbled to her neighbor. “Gods, how about that crater across from Hull. Nuthin left is there?”
“Yeah,” her neighbor agreed. “Mages! Curse the lot of them!”
The soldiers rounded up the townspeople and traders efficiently and sent them down the road leading back into the town of Strickly. There wasn’t far to go. No one would see the shows if they set up too far afield.
Ellinca stared down the road. She tried to stand still and not suck on her lip. It wouldn’t do to look nervous.
Frope’s lieutenant, a man with a nose like a parrot’s beak, pushed through to salute Frope. “All done, sir!”
“Thank you.”
The lieutenant stood to one side, facing them. He folded his arms. A smug sneer put his lips askew.
Ellinca shivered. The lizard, after sitting huddled in a lump on her shoulder through the upheaval, stirred. A faint, regular clicking reached her ears. She looked out the corner of her eye. Its scaly hide had minute lines, like seams in material. The eyes were lustrous, reminding her of glass baubles, but it moved. It thought.
She put a finger up to touch the creature’s hide.
The little lizard sank its bright needle teeth into her finger tip. She clenched her own teeth, hissing in pain through them and jiggling her finger to make it let go. The lizard opened his mouth and licked away a droplet of blood.
It had a tongue. Even as she feared that it savored her blood and filtered it for signs of wild magience, she marveled at its possession of a working tongue. What a marvelous trinketton.
Finder Frope took off his spectacles.
She gasped. The thick metal bridge of the spectacles had hidden a crater in his forehead. Though the circumference crawled with blue fire, the middle of the coin-sized crater was red. Not flesh, Ellinca realized with amazed horror, not blood. She knew that color well. She glanced behind him. It was the stage’s backdrop. The hole went straight through his head and out again.
No one said a word.
“Ahh. Have I shocked you?” He gestured broadly at them all. “When I was barely nine years old I saw a mage caught by the Imperator’s guards. One of the guards was killed by him, while I, sadly, was hit here...” Gently, he touched the hole. “Now, if an arrow lodges here. It kills. For a time I wished I had been...killed, that is. Instead...instead I have a hole drilled between the two halves of my brain! And I always, always have a headache!”
He chuckled then whipped his head around and focused on Ellinca. “You can see why I don’t like mages. Can’t you, dear?”
A faint buzzing came from the blue fire crawling around the crater.
Though she was sure he didn’t really need an answer, Ellinca nodded. Her lip trembled.
Frope’s leg swung like a pendulum where he’d propped it on the arm of the chair. He slumped in the seat, lapsing into silence.
The lizard licked its lips. Normal blood-scryers changed color. The lantern light was all yellowish and wavering. She couldn’t tell at all if the lizard had changed.
Pascolli made a harsh, guttural sound.
“Are you speaking or dying, young man? Whatever, it is verging on disrespect.”
“Pascolli can’t talk, sir,” she blurted. “There’s something wrong with his throat. He hasn’t spoken for many years.” She watched nervously as Pascolli signed his words. “He says that I am innocent. I’m not a mage.”
“Hmm.” Frope clicked his tongue. With a whir of its wings the lizard launched and flew to his hand. He promptly tucked it into the canister.
“If you’re not a mage, why did Aristopheles single you out?”
“I don’t know. He made a mistake.” She frowned, knowing she sounded unconvincing. No mention of the man Pascolli had punched earlier. He didn’t know. Or was he merely torturing her, knowing there was an accuser?
To her surprise, Kurt interjected, “Maybe it’s because every cursed creature for miles around finds her! Now will you please stop wasting my time and ruining our reputation as good citizens of the empire. I will appeal this to a legislator if I have to!”
Oh, no.
The lieutenant tensed and placed a hand on his sword.
Finder Frope merely half-closed his eyes and turned his glasses in his hands. Dark smudges underlined his eyes.
When had he last slept?
“Animals find you... That is not much of an excuse. Aristopheles is not really an animal. Still, he is supposed to attack...viciously. Not land on your shoulder and go to sleep.” He yawned, put on his spectacles and stood. “I do believe that you don’t think you are a mage.”
Ellinca frowned. Did that mean what she thought it did? Or did he simply like confusing people? Hilas Frope was himself a puzzle.
A soldier handed the Finder his horse’s reins. “I have a bludvoik to catch, but I am curious about why animals have taken a liking to you. Seems odd to me. Lieutenant!” Frope swung into the saddle.
“Sir?”
“That fellow with the tuskdog you caught wandering about. He said he wanted her to have a look at it? Take her to the animal and observe what happens. That scum-sucking court photographer can go with you. Give him something to do instead of buzzing about the encampment like a globfly.”
He glanced at Ellinca again. She tried to act unconcerned and stop trembling but it only made him pay her more attention. “Let her take a friend, that Pascolli boy. We are not in the habit of scaring girls to death. And, Lieutenant, show me you deserve that promotion.”
I’m not going to thank you. In fact she felt like kicking Frope’s shins. He had already scared her half to death.
The lieutenant hesitated. “Sir? Uh...” A cold smile spread across his lips, as if a pleasant thought had occurred to him. He completed a very snappy salute. “Yes, sir! Take her to the animal and observe!”
Chapter 2
Burrowing Tuskdogs
Ellinca considered running away and hiding in the forest until the Finder and his men passed on. If she were caught it would only raise suspicions. From his last instructions Hilas Frope had already tired of her. Whether he was being thorough or, as she suspected, simply aiming to give that lieutenant and the court photographer something to do, it would not matter at all in the end. This was a nothing affair, a sham. She’d done nothing, not really...
At least it gave her a chance to see the tuskdog, a prospect that excited her. Seeing something new was one of the best gifts anyone could give her.
As if they were about to set off on some grand trek, Beth enfolded first Ellinca then Pascolli in her soft arms, sobbing out reassurances all the while. She smelled of one of her thick fragrances, violets or red carminiums. Memories sidled in and engulfed Ellinca...and she once more distilled perfumes with her mother to sell at the weekend markets.
She wished she could take out the bottle now. To see her mother’s ghost. That one tiny spot where the silvering had rubbed away let her see in...the ghost twirling and dancing. Those times when she felt all hollow inside and alone she would sneak a look. So long as she held her ghost, her mother couldn’t really leave her.
At a barked command from a sergeant, she and Pascolli were bundled onto horses. The bay mare she was on looked to have spent m
any hard days before a plough, like a skinnier version of her Bessie. Unexpectedly her eyes stung with tears. She wiped them away. Their farm was long gone.
“Let’s go.” The sergeant waved the column forward. Mr. Therber, the owner of the tuskdog, led the way on foot.
Trailing behind on a gelding that went sideways at every sharp sound or unexpected tree branch was the court photographer, an ungainly, tall man, all knobbly about the knees and elbows, and with the oddest clothing – lace and pleated sleeves on his jerkin and an undershirt partnered with the ugliest padded tights. She imagined it must be the latest court fashion.
None of the soldiers spoke as they rode along the dirt track skirting the town. Mr. Therber apparently owned a tannery and lived only half a mile or so away. Carrying a torch, he walked several yards ahead of the single-file column of riders. Foolish man. The light could attract something unwelcome. That undead thing was still about.
She looked up through black overhanging branches to see Janglar, the primary moon, swollen and blue. Bobbing with each hoof fall, the moon seemed to follow them, as if their progress was of some great importance. In the distance a pack of skagwolves howled their distinctive ululated cry: hoo-loo-loo-loooo. She shuddered and held tightly to the soldier’s belt.
Why weren’t these soldiers out tracking this creature that was prowling about? That was more urgent than this, surely? Bludvoiks were in the darkest of fairytales, relentless killers that ate you in your sleep and dragged the remains back to their master. This was likely half nonsense, but you never knew.
Bats screeched among the trees lining the track, and argued over fruit or perhaps territory. The rich scent of ripening mangoes or ritattas – she couldn’t tell which – carried to her on every swirl of wind. A stronger, less pleasant smell sidled in.
She caught the flash of movement as Pascolli tried to sign to her. He rode just ahead, too far into darkness to see properly but she guessed his question from the way he held his nose.
“I don’t know what that is,” she signed. “Something dead?” Her stomach twisted. Did the creature, the bludvoik, smell like that? Should she warn the captain? No, they were professionals.
“You! Mister Therber or whatever your name is!” From the front of their column the lieutenant waved his arm urgently. “Stay farther ahead. Your odor is making us all ill!”
“It is but my tannery,” the guide yelled back. “The hides stink! I can do nothing! You must hold your breath, or something! Pah!”
A timber fence ran along the side of the road. Signs fixed to it at regular intervals all said the same thing: Trespassers eaten!
A short side road led to a courtyard where a low homestead and another long building, perhaps a warehouse, met in an L shape. Lights glowed from the windows of the house though the warehouse was dark.
The lieutenant drew rein, leaning over to inspect a chest-high tree stump. The top was carved into the shape of a mountain, the peak painted white. A pile of flowers rested at the base.
The Grakkurds worshipped mountain gods, although so did other mountain peoples. The lieutenant made a sound in his throat as if about to spit then, instead, he straightened in the saddle and rode a little farther into the courtyard.
The stench was now so strong that Ellinca was certain her nose would have trouble smelling anything else for days. The inside layers of it would surely die and peel away. If a thousand public out-houses were rolled into one, this is what they would smell like.
“You may leave your mounts here,” said Mr. Therber, showing them to a water trough. “The tuskdog is out back. I’ve had to confine him to stop him from further injuring himself. Otherwise he’d be out here chewing the legs off you!” He guffawed.
The lieutenant grunted and dismounted. “You and you!” He pointed at two men. “Bring your crossbows.”
“You will not need those, Lieutenant.” The torch in Mr. Therber’s hand bathed the lieutenant’s face in smoke and dancing light, and sank his eyes into deep, dark pits. The bones and skin furrows of his face twisted like the hide of a monster.
Taken aback, Ellinca felt fleetingly afraid, her blood draining to her toes. Reason caught up with her. It was just the light.
The men ignored Mr. Therber, hoisting the crossbows to their shoulders.
As they walked between the side of the house and the warehouse, a soldier bent his head to speak while pressing a handkerchief into her hand. “Put this over your nose. I’ve put something on it that will lessen the smell.” His fingers were as thick as sausages and he towered above everyone in the party.
“Gah!” The tincture raced through her nose like a fire through dry tinder, leaving an acrid but bearable odor. “Oh! Thank you.”
He retrieved the handkerchief and passed it to Pascolli who coughed and spluttered but breathed it in nonetheless.
There were sergeant’s arrows on the man’s shoulders, as well as the twining snakes of the caduceus. He must be the unit’s healer.
Behind the homestead was a stable and beyond this the land opened onto a waist-high field of swaying grass with a thick seed heads. Corn, she guessed; it was difficult to tell in the thin moonlight.
As they approached the stable, Mr. Therber handed his torch to a soldier and went ahead to fetch safety lanterns. A naked flame in a stable could be disastrous. His wavering shadow stretched out across the gravel then crawled up the wall of the stable, as if standing guard.
“Here,” he called, retracing his steps. “Light these for me.”
A few of the men had been talking in low voices since their arrival at the farm but now all fell silent. Something, a noise perhaps, made Ellinca turn to examine the rear of the house. The timber shutters on several windows were closed against the chill breeze sweeping across from the fields. The cold filtered through her leggings. She hugged herself. Only one window showed a crack of light. The crack widened, spilling more light, suggesting someone was within. Yet there was no further movement.
Within the stable two horses roused and nickered quietly. One of them, a small dappled mare, reached out to bump Ellinca with a soft-as-moss nose then nipped at her sleeve.
“Careful!” She patted the mare absentmindedly. Where was this tuskdog? For a watch dog it was terribly quiet. Was it so ill it couldn’t bark?
Mr. Therber led the way to the stall at the end, handed the lantern to a soldier and swung open the half-door then latched it back. From the thick gloom in the farthest corner two wide-spaced green eyes gleamed at them. The tuskdog? Still he remained silent.
She tried to dredge up what she knew about these animals. They came from the Grakk mountains, the long war having made them rare on this side of the border. They had tusks, though exactly where she wasn’t sure. They were fierce. The Grakkurds were supposed to revere them in some way, to use them in some religious ceremony. As for the rest, well...they could be rainbow-colored for all she could recall.
She found herself lined up at the front with Pascolli and the sergeant. The lieutenant and the rest of the men gathered behind them. At least one of them quietly drew a dagger, not to guard her, either. The tuskdog had them jittery – grown men.
“Stay! Do not enter yet.” Mr. Therber held out his arm to bar their way. “Once they’ve dug their burrows they are very territorial. He will defend this stall to the death – yours probably.” He spoke directly to Ellinca. “I must get him quiet and restrained before you look at his ailment, my dear.”
She nodded, feeling not the slightest fear, well, maybe a bit. Mr. Therber was careful and would likely make no mistakes. Besides, animals never frightened her as much as people. She could usually tell when to back away. The lieutenant, on the other hand, there was something about him...He stood a yard behind her, breathing noisily through his large nose. It had been broken sometime in the past.
She had to resist the impulse to turn and look when he began to mutter soft words to his men. Instinct spoke to her muscles, her bones – never turn your back on a predator.
Pascolli wormed his way next to her to tap out a touch-message on her arm. “I will be here. Do not be afraid.” He clasped her shoulder.
Sometimes he acted so mature she found it hard to remember he was only a few months younger than her.
The head-holder was a solid metal device, a fishbowl shape made out of sturdy steel rods, the open end supplied with leather straps to attach to the tuskdog’s neck.
With lips pursed Mr. Therber began making squeaking noises to lure out the green-eyed tuskdog. “Here, boy! Come here.”
The lieutenant growled, “Stop there, Mr. Therber. Come out here.”
“Why?” Obediently, he walked over. “The sooner I get this on...” Two soldiers seized his arms. “What are you doing?” They dragged him outside the stable. “Wait! Don’t step in there! Any of you!” His cries faded away.
The lieutenant ran finger and thumb down his nose. “I have thought about this. My orders are to observe how this girl deals with this animal.” He turned a steady gaze on Ellinca. “You will go in there and show us.”
Did he mean without the restraint? He did. His eyes never left hers. Her heart speeded up. She sniffed. It would do no good to panic.
The sergeant stepped forward. “Sir! This is ridiculous. She must be barely twen – ”
“Sergeant! Insubordination is a serious offense!” A glassy look came to his eyes. “I don’t care how old she is! These are our orders from the Finder, and I will see them carried out.”
The sergeant came to attention. “Sir. Permission to speak, sir.”
“Denied. Sergeant, I’ve seen many times what the Finder thinks of mages. Tie a rope to her waist. If she’s innocent and it attacks, we’ll pull her out of there so very, very fast. And you two get those crossbows trained on that animal. And, if she uses...any unnatural powers, be prepared to shoot her. This is the best time to catch a mage, before they know their powers.”
Her heart had begun beating so fast and hard it felt as though it could explode. This couldn’t be what Frope had meant. He hadn’t wanted her killed. This idiot had it wrong. But it made no difference here and now. There was no way she could prove otherwise.
Magience: second edition Page 2