by Ari Marmell
"Have you ever considered meditation?" Kaleb asked lightly, once the tirade had finally run its course. "Or perhaps shackling yourself to something heavy?"
"You seem to do that just fine," Jassion groused, thumping an elbow into the tree. "Please let me down, Kaleb."
The sorcerer blinked, so startled he allowed Jassion to fall halfway to earth before recovering his concentration and lowering him gently the rest of the way.
Did Jassion really say "Please"?
The instant his feet touched soil, Jassion bowed toward his niece. "I seem," he said softly, "to be making a habit of embarrassing myself in front of my family. I'm sorry, Mellorin."
"That's-that's all right," she offered.
"I'm going to assume," Kaleb said, "that something untoward happened in Orthessis?"
"More word of Rebaine," Jassion spat. "He attacked Braetlyn! He butchered the castle staff, and I wasn't even there!" His hands trembled so violently that Talon shook in his grasp, but he maintained a fingernail-grip on his temper. "There was no need, Kaleb. No reason! So many of my people… My friends…"
"I'm sorry, Jassion," Kaleb said with apparent sincerity. Mellorin darted forward long enough to give her startled uncle a stiff, awkward hug before withdrawing once more. Her face was blank-not lacking emotion, but rather processing so many at once that it couldn't settle on any single expression.
"I'm afraid I forgot to purchase you a sword," Jassion told her. "But we've got to pass back through Orthessis on our way, so we can pick one out for you then."
"Our way?" asked Kaleb. "So you did learn something? Useful, I mean."
Jassion seemed to consider taking offense at that, but shrugged it off instead. "Yes. Some of my friends in the ducal militia were very helpful. It seems a great many mercenary companies are camped out-either near the Cephiran lines, or near Imphallion's major cities-just waiting for the Guilds to come down with a sudden case of balls-and-brains, and start moving against Cephira. And it seems that a few baronies have already decided to move, Guilds be damned, and are preparing to mobilize. At either point, there'll be a lot of demand for warriors, and the companies want to be ready."
"And?" the sorcerer prodded.
"And it happens that a certain captain by the name of Losalis is camped just east of Pelapheron. If we push the horses, it shouldn't take us too long to get there."
"Aren't you glad, then?" Mellorin asked as they moved to saddle up their mounts.
"Glad of what?"
"That Kaleb stopped your tantrum before you filleted your horse like he was that silly fish on your tabard."
Kaleb could only snicker at Jassion's expression, one that spoke as clearly as words, and far more loudly. Mellorin, it seemed to growl, could stand to take just a little less after her father. ON SHE RAN, AND ON, though so very many miles still lay ahead. Twigs and stones gouged raw, bloodied feet. Summer air burned in heaving lungs. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so exhausted, so agonizingly weak, so desperate to lie down and sleep.
And still she ran, through a haze of confusion and fatigue-and yes, she'd admit in her more honest moments of self-reflection, of fear. Only rarely did she stop, to gulp a few mouthfuls of water from stream or puddle, to chase down a morsel of prey, or to reorient herself, pausing to feel the tug of someone else's magic that she'd made her own. Once, not so long ago, it would have been a matter of moments, simplicity itself, to sense that spell-wrought trail. But now? Now her head pounded, the blood roared in her ears, and she almost sobbed with frustration at the effort.
But again she groped about until she felt it, and again she ran. She had to find him, to reach him.
Corvis had to know, before it was too late. Before what time remained to her was gone.
Before she died-again. PERHAPS BY MERE CHANCE, perhaps by the will of an irritated god, the summer rains had managed to miss Pelapheron entirely. The city's surrounding fields were sparse and wilting; dry grasses crunched loudly underfoot. So far, the situation hadn't deteriorated to the point of drought or famine, but supplies were growing scarce-and expensive. It was, frankly, not a particularly wise location for an army, no matter how small, to make camp.
Which was, paradoxically-one might even say perversely-why Losalis had picked it. Yes, rations and equipment for his men would prove costly, but they would also be the only mercenary company here, and that meant they could name their own price once the local high-and-mighty shook off their pall of stupidity and recognized the need to act.
Or that, at least, was the explanation Jassion's contacts had provided him, and that he in turn had offered Kaleb and Mellorin, when they wondered aloud what the hell could have inspired the mercenary captain to roost in such wretched terrain. And from what Jassion knew of Losalis himself, he could believe it: The man who had once been Corvis Rebaine's lieutenant was a big believer in standing out from the pack.
Unfortunately, as the trio of travelers had just learned, Losalis only wanted certain kinds of attention.
"I told you," Jassion growled, struggling to keep his voice in check, "this is important."
"And I tol' you," said one of several gruff, dirty, but very heavily armed men who blocked the meandering deer trail on which they'd been riding, "the captain don't want to see nobody 'cept potential employers."
"How do you know we're not?" Mellorin asked from atop her palfrey, less in challenge than honest curiosity.
" 'Cuz anyone makin' a serious offer'd know enough to bring a whole heap o' coin as down payment. And you three ain't got the bags to carry it. 'Nless"-he leered up at her-"they're thinkin' o' offerin' you. You're a bit skinny, but-"
Kaleb opened his mouth and advanced, but Mellorin was faster. She dropped gracefully from her horse, hand flying to the hilt of her new blade.
The mercenary looked down at the gleaming metal, the stiff and unmarred leather of the scabbard, and snorted. "Ain't that cute? Baby's first sword. You named it yet, sweetheart?"
"I have." Her face was pale, but her voice and her hand remained steady. "Eunuch-Maker."
The mercenary's grin slid from his face as Kaleb, Jassion, and even a few of the man's comrades chuckled.
"Now, see here…," he began, hand reaching for her wrist before she could draw. And just as swiftly he froze, for while the sword hadn't budged an inch, the knife concealed in Mellorin's left hand poked abruptly against his groin.
"Look, friends," Kaleb interjected, hopefully before things got any worse. "There's no need for unpleasantness, is there? No, we're not looking to hire your company-but we do need to speak with Captain Losalis, and there might be some degree of payment involved if he can help us out."
"Not interested," the mercenary grunted, his attention glued to the ugly blade.
"Really? Losalis must put a lot of faith in you, my friend. Letting you make decisions like that, considering how much gold and how many contracts it could cost him? And the rest of your men? Well, so be it. I'm sure that when he hears about this, he'll be grateful you kept his best interests at heart."
It took the bulky fellow a few moments to work through that, but he eventually arrived at the point the sorcerer was trying to make. His lips curled in a sneer, but he nodded. "All right. Tell the girl to put her knife away, an' I'll take you to him."
Mellorin's blade vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
"You see that?" Kaleb asked as he and his companions gathered up the reins and followed the grumbling fellow. "I knew he'd see reason eventually. I'm sure it just took him a while to recognize it, since I doubt it's very familiar to him."
"Could you possibly refrain from insulting the heavily armed men aloud while we're in the midst of their camp?" Jassion asked as the mercenary glared back over his shoulder.
Kaleb cocked his head, apparently considering it. Then, "Probably not."
Following their reluctant guide, they picked their way through clusters of tents, fire pits, and other components of an encampment only halfway organized. Losalis was known for
maintaining an unusual level of discipline, but these were still mercenaries, and there were still limits.
They halted before a tent that, though larger than average, otherwise had little to distinguish it. A small throng of warriors had pressed close, curious to see what their visitors had to offer-and how their captain might react if said offer proved insufficient-while their guide stuck his head through the canvas flap.
Moments passed, mercenaries whispered and jested, the summer breeze died to nothing as even the winds decided the weather was just too damn hot for all this running around. Jassion tapped a foot and drummed his fingers on his thigh, Mellorin looked about in rapt fascination, and Kaleb just waited.
Finally, the canvas flipped open and the mercenary returned, followed by two more men. One was huge, the other even bigger.
Losalis was a dark-skinned giant, a foot taller than Jassion's own six feet and muscled enough to crack small rocks like chestnuts. The eyes peering over a thick growth of beard were of two different hues, and he wore a triangular, razor-edged shield bolted to his armor in place of his missing left hand.
His lieutenant-a moment's quick reminiscence provided Jassion with the name Ulfgai-was only slightly smaller, but otherwise his captain's polar opposite. The barbarian from the frozen south was pale practically to albinism, and his long blond locks and beard were wildly tangled.
They'd killed enough people in their careers, between the two of them, to qualify as a plague in their own right, and neither looked particularly thrilled at being yanked away from whatever discussion they'd been having. Jassion and Mellorin both suppressed the urge to recoil, or grab for their blades.
"All right, my lord," Losalis said in a surprisingly soft voice, nodding first to Jassion, then Mellorin. "Reng here tells me that you need to speak with me, and that you seem to have difficulty with the word no. You don't want to hire my company-you don't have enough gold with you, and besides, you're obviously not here on behalf of Pelapheron. So would you care to explain why you're wasting my time-while I'm in a good mood?"
Kaleb's mouth began to open, but Mellorin swiftly stepped on his foot.
"It's a simple enough arrangement, Captain," Jassion told him. "I want some information and advice from you, and I'm willing to offer coin in return."
"Do we look like sages to you?" Ulfgai grunted from behind Losalis.
The sorcerer threw Mellorin a glance, all but begging for permission to comment. She shook her head, struggling to stifle a grin and failing miserably.
Jassion, perhaps inspired by the presence of so many unfriendly mercenaries, kept a lid on his temper. "Not a lot of people might know what I need to know."
"Go on," Losalis said, raising a finger to silence his lieutenant.
"We're hunting," the baron told him, "for Corvis Rebaine."
Every nearby face darkened with anger.
"I know," he continued, "that you've little cause to bear him any affection. Rumor has it that he abandoned the lot of you after the Battle of Mecepheum. Help us find him, and we'll all enjoy some measure of justice."
"What makes you think, after six years, that I know anything useful about that traitorous rodent?" Losalis asked them.
"You were his lieutenant," Jassion pressed. "You led his armies while he was imprisoned."
"By you, as I remember it. Which means you let him escape."
Again, the baron kept his calm, and again it required more of an effort than anyone would ever know. "My point, Captain Losalis, is that even if you don't know where he is, you can help us. Knowledge of his habits, how he thinks, anything he might have revealed to you about his plans and objectives beyond defeating Audriss. Anything would prove helpful, and you'll be paid for all of it."
Losalis stood for long moments, ignoring the impatient shuffling of not only his "guests" but his own mercenaries as well. Until, finally, "No."
Jassion-and, to judge by his expression, Ulfgai as well-couldn't have been more thunderstruck if Losalis had dropped his trousers and given birth to a unicorn.
"No?" The baron's voice almost squeaked.
"Captain," Ulfgai protested, "maybe we should hear what he's-"
"No," Losalis said again. "Gods know I'd like to see you succeed in your hunt, but even if I knew anything useful-which I don't believe I do-I wouldn't tell you."
"But-"
"It's taken me a long time to get where I am, my lord. Me, my company, we've got a reputation as the best, and we get paid the best. And part of how I keep my reputation as a man worth hiring is that I don't blab the secrets of my employers, even after I'm done working for them. I'll fight a man I've worked for in the past, but I won't betray him."
Ulfgai looked as though he'd swallowed something venomous, with many wriggling legs, but he nodded in agreement with his captain.
"I've heard it said," Kaleb interjected, "that Rebaine didn't actually hire you, though. That he reneged on payment when he abandoned you."
The southern barbarian snarled something ugly, but Losalis's own expression never wavered. "Rumors only. I can't stake my reputation on people believing a rumor's true, can I? There would always be some folk certain that I'd violated my code. No, my lord, I'm sorry to disappoint, but it's time for you and your friends to be off."
And Jassion, fists clenched and jaw quivering, began to turn away. NO. KALEB SCOWLED INTERNALLY, though his face remained impassive. No, this won't do.
Largely unnoticed, save for his single interjection, the sorcerer hung back by the horses, watching the proceedings. So Losalis wouldn't or couldn't help them; the sorcerer found no surprise there. But now the mercenary posed something of a problem.
Losalis knew, now, that Jassion was seeking out Rebaine's old minions. He knew, too, that Mellorin was accompanying them-by face, if not by name. So far he'd not noted the family resemblance, but if he gave it any real thought, or if someone were to ask…
And since Jassion wasn't an employer, there was nothing to stop Losalis from revealing all this to anyone who made him an enticing offer.
No, this simply wouldn't do at all. Something would have to be done.
And that, Kaleb abruptly decided with a hidden smile, was a good thing. It meant Losalis could yet prove useful after all.
Two quick spells, in rapid succession. He saw Mellorin shiver as the first washed over her, and then he tensed, ready to act as his carefully crafted illusion began to form… JASSION SPUN, Talon leaping free of its scabbard, as one of the mercenaries burst from the throng, his own blade raised to attack. The Kholben Shiar swung, hewing armor and flesh with equal ease. Jassion, who had expected far greater resistance, stumbled as his momentum carried him full circle, but if he thought about it at all, he attributed the ease with which he'd cleaved a man nearly in twain to the power of his demon-forged weapon.
For less than a heartbeat he paused in a half crouch. Losalis was actually recoiling, a look of stunned horror on his face, mirrored on Ulfgai's own.
Clearly, they'd anticipated a different result from their cowardly attack. Jassion leapt, Talon held high, and allowed his ever-burning fury to flare bright. Before him, before the Kholben Shiar, men and women fell. Their blades were as twigs, their shields as parchment. Blood flew, bones shattered, and the Baron of Braetlyn rejoiced. MELLORIN STAGGERED BACK from the unprovoked assault, footing unsteady as she fought to remain standing against a pressing tide of terror. Gods, what was I thinking? She wasn't ready for this, not nearly! A few street fights, squabbles picked as much for the practice as anything else, that was one thing, but this…
Despite her terror, or maybe because of it, she moved faster than ever before. Kaleb's falchion protruded from one fist, her ugly dagger from the other, and she couldn't remember drawing either. She watched Jassion plow into the assembled warriors like a whirlwind of razors, saw the mercenaries lunging to protect their captain, to punish these interlopers who dared raise steel against them. And though everything in her head screamed at her to run, Mellorin moved to meet them.
>
No, wait. Not everything. In the back of her mind, behind her thoughts and memories and dreams, a voice spoke to her. She heard it in her soul, calm, steady, and she trusted it without hesitation.
And when it warned her, she listened.
Whether it was real or imagination, Mellorin never knew. What she did know was that, though a fast learner, she'd not had anywhere near sufficient training to stand toe-to-toe with even one of Losalis's men, let alone the many who were closing-and yet, she did just that. Guided by that voice, she wielded falchion and dagger in twisting parries, deflecting swords that should have split her skull. She stepped and whirled as though in the midst of a formal ball, and blows rained harmlessly in her wake. She struck, falchion opening holes in her enemies' guard so her dagger could open holes in their flesh.
Blood washed over her hands, and Mellorin felt sick. She gritted her teeth, swallowed hard against the bile that threatened to choke her, and continued to dodge, and to parry, and to kill. KALEB LIFTED BOTH HANDS above his head, but this was clearly no surrender. Flames blossomed from his palms, not in a sweeping wave as in the depths of Theaghl-gohlatch, but pouring in torrents to the earth. They swirled away to either side, sweeping across the soil and igniting sunbaked grass. A wall of roaring fire sketched a rough circle around the center of the camp, preventing the bulk of the company from entering the melee. One or two attempted to leap through the crackling barrier, assuming they could pass with only a painful singeing-and were reduced to blackened bones by the heat and hunger of the unnatural conflagration. Roasting flesh, burning grasses, and a faint whiff of brimstone combined in a choking miasma that rose more slowly and more stately than the screams of the dying.
Satisfied that the barrier would hold so long as he maintained his concentration, Kaleb glanced about him. Jassion was cutting a swath through the soldiers, reaping them like wheat, though a few rents in his hauberk and trails of blood leaking down his sides served as ample evidence that this particular crop had blades of their own. Mellorin largely held her own, though the sheer press of enemies was forcing her slowly back, step by step. The sorcerer was impressed, despite himself. He'd known the girl had the potential to be good, had cast his spell so she might survive long enough to reach that potential-but the ease with which she'd acclimated to his magics suggested a budding greatness.