“The last crates of Heartmelon are waiting to be loaded on the ship,” Captain Yusa announced, looking up from the map spread out on the common-room table. “If we can get them and ourselves aboard in the next two hours, we’ll be on our way.”
Alanna folded two strips of bacon from a platter beside Mirsa into one of the thin, chewy griddle-cakes they’d become familiar with since leaving Eastport, and took a bite. “Give me a few minutes, and the ambassador and I will help you with the loading.” Still chewing, she returned to the room, where Kevon was starting to stir.
“Shh,” she cautioned, strapping on the last of her usual weaponry, a small brace of throwing knifes across her lower back, hidden easily under her light jacket. “Rest a bit longer. We’re starting on the last loads to the ship now.”
His grunts of protest were cut short by two fingers pressing between his shoulder and collarbone. The area was already sore from the previous evening’s practice, but radiated pain in twinges all the way down his arm as Alanna pressed him back down against the bunk.
“I’ll be back,” she laughed, as the Warsmith sulked, defeated.
* * *
Kylgren-Wode led the way out into the pre-dawn gloom, where the beginnings of light to the east showed scattered banks of fog below at the waterfront, out into the bay.
“Hold,” Captain Yusa barked, as they reached a curve in the road that overlooked the docks below. He waved his cloak in front of the torch he carried in a cryptic fashion, and peered out at the sea.
One of the ships nearer to the shore than most blinked a light several times, and the same pattern of light flashed from below them on one of the docks. Yusa nodded and continued down the road. “They’re ready.”
Alanna peered down at the waterfront, pretending not to notice the movement behind them in a shadowed alley. She followed behind the others, flicking her arm so that a knife slid free of its wrist sheath into her waiting hand. “You trust your crew?” she asked the Captain as she closed within a few steps.
“Good men, all.” Yusa affirmed. “I’m a fair Captain. Sometimes business is slow, but I’ve never had problems. Reko might have something to do with it.”
Anger at the Mage’s name flared, Alanna’s grip on the throwing knife tightened. “Well,” she whispered, “Someone’s been talking.”
She whirled, throwing her knife as the two swordsmen rushed from the alleyway. The leading assailant grunted at the weapon’s impact against his chest, but did not fall. The second blade blossomed from his throat, a third glancing off the second man’s shoulder.
A pair of long, curved knives whispered free of their sheaths, and Kylgren-Wode stepped alongside Alanna, axe at the ready. The remaining attacker ducked back into the shadows, and his warning cries were answered by at least two other nearby voices.
Stalking over to the alleyway, Alanna surveyed the emptied street, and recovered her knives. “Guildsman,” she spat, tearing the sword-amulet from the fallen Warrior. “I’d have used archers, but luckily, we’re not up against me.”
“Kevon?” Kylgren asked, poking his axe at the corpse.
“We’ve not outrun our fame, it seems,” Alanna agreed. “I’m going back for the others. Can you two make it to the docks without me?”
“They’ll be fine,” the black-cloaked figure standing beside Yusa laughed, whirling aside as a thrown dagger passed through where he’d just been.
“Master Reko!” Captain Yusa motioned for Alanna to stop, and turned to address his associate.
“Captain.” The hooded Mage held up his gnarled ebony staff, and a piercing brightness began shining from its tip. “I saw the commotion from the ship. I suggest we all return there.”
“I’ll gather the others, and meet you shortly.” Alanna glared at the newcomer for a moment before dashing back toward the inn.
* * *
Her skin crawled, even knowing the veil she could not see or feel was in place around them. Alanna led the way out of the inn, peering about to check for signs of danger. Kevon jostled her from behind, turning her toward the waterfront, making room for Mirsa to come through the doorway, deep in concentration. A calm-looking Rhysabeth-Dane followed, only the slightest wrinkle of concern touching her face, offering a guiding hand to Mirsa as they strolled down the darkened streets.
“Alacrit’s favor does us no good here,” Kevon whispered to Alanna, the words hollowed and fading almost as soon as they left his lips.
“The Prince’s good will barely extends past the Inner Cities,” she sighed, “In a rival nation, it’s worse than nothing. We’ll have to make do with our steel and sorcery.”
A block down the road, they saw a patrol of militiamen burst into the inn they had just left. As soon as the last one entered the building, Kevon took Mirsa by the arm. “Let’s go,” he whispered, jostling the Mage from her spell. The companions stayed close to the buildings lining the street, scurrying across crossroads when directed by Alanna.
A hundred yards short of the docks, alarm horns started sounding. Confused townsfolk peered out into the streets, or rushed inside, slamming doors and barring them shut.
“Run.”
Kevon pushed back his tunic sleeves, turning to face up the road from town, ignoring for the moment the completed sword hanging at his side, and the hammer looped at his back. Half a dozen mercenaries emerged from an alleyway the party had passed less than fifty yards back. Within seconds, a blazing sphere two feet in diameter was suspended between Kevon’s outstretched hands. With a dramatic flinging gesture, the fireball rocketed toward the cluster of men, detonating with a thunderclap and a shower of sparks just over where their pursuers had flung themselves to the ground.
“Illusion,” Kevon whispered to Alanna, who stood beside him, throwing knives at the ready. “I said, run!”
Alanna and Kevon caught up with Mirsa and Rhysabeth-Dane halfway to the boat. The dwarf squealed a bit as Kevon scooped her up and shouted for the Mage to hurry. Two flashes of steel, and two crossbowmen fell back from their positions on nearby rooftops, injured or dead. The assassin palmed her last throwing knife in her left hand, and grabbed Mirsa’s arm with her right, dragging the Mage along behind her.
Crates of Heartmelon sat unloaded near the longboat, which held Captain Yusa and one of his crew. Kylgren-Wode and the dark-robed Reko stood at the end of the dock, waiting for the others.
“Dare we grant them passage?” Reko asked Yusa. “They seem to be trouble.”
“You think everyone is trouble, Wizard.” The Captain retorted. “We’ll see what is what once we get aboard.”
“Avert your eyes,” Reko commented as the last four passengers ran past him to begin jumping aboard the boat. The lightning-bright flash that pulsed from the end of his staff lit up the morning in all directions, causing the remaining pursuers to slow, unable to see clearly.
As soon as everyone but Reko was aboard, the craft lurched seaward, already free of its moorings. Yusa and his crewman unshipped oars and prepared to start rowing, but an unseen force still propelled them out toward the ship. As Reko’s form dwindled in the distance, and their pursuers closed in on him, the Mage vanished, along with the magic that he had been pushing them with.
“A reasonable advantage, that,” Yusa mused, and began calling out time and rowing on toward their destination.
“Wait,” Kevon cautioned the Captain, and reached within himself and down into the water to craft a spell much like the one Reko must have been using. The runes flared to life in his mind, and the boat leapt forward in the water, carving a path toward the ship.
* * *
“Still enough to be profitable, without those last crates,” Yusa mused as he sat at the desk in his cabin, revising numbers in the ledgers Alanna had helped him organize. “A few of my crewmen with family there should be able to return to their homes after this, I’m not so sure I’ll be welcome in that port.”
“My apologies for that,” Kevon offered. “There are some decent folk that have misread m
y intentions, and some less than decent ones that know them for what they are. Both would like to see me dead.”
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with you practicing the Arts and wearing a sword, would it?” Yusa chuckled. “Reko may be somewhat judgmental about that when I tell him.”
“Then why…”
“He has a way of finding things out. We’ve been together for years now, this crew has no secrets from him. With his temper, it’s better that way.” Hefting a gnarled walking stick that lay across the desk, Yusa thwacked the cabin wall twice. “Reko!”
“Am I a servant, to be summoned thusly?” the Mage growled, lurching into view next to the desk.
Kevon startled at the black-robed Mage’s appearance, having felt nothing indicating the working of magic on the scale required for Sending, even over such a short distance. Illusion, he decided after a moment of frantic thought. Concealed Illusion, very well done. It’s the only explanation. A lump rose in Kevon’s throat. So he already knows.
“Does someone want to explain to me why we were attacked openly in the streets?”
“You alre-”
Kevon motioned for Mirsa to be silent, wanting to allow the unfamiliar Mage to keep his secret for at least a little longer. Wanting to keep secrets, I understand.
“The attacks were directed at me,” he explained. “When we were still in Eastport, it was discovered by the authorities that I can use magic, as well as a sword.”
Reko’s form tensed, his carved ebony staff lowering toward the group.
The others shifted defensively, Alanna’s last throwing knife flashing into view in her hand. Kevon alone made no move, but smiled at Reko as the pale, hooded Mage ‘reacted’ to information he already knew.
“Easy,” Yusa chided. “I may not know everything about these youngsters, but they’re not our enemies. Why judge the boy for an accident of birth, if that’s what it is? Besides, if he were so dangerous, he would not have needed our help to get away. I may not know magic as well as you do, but I know people.”
“Someday, you may be wrong,” Reko sighed, raising his weapon to a less menacing posture.
“Not today,” Captain Yusa said, rising from his seat to lean over the desk. “Though it seems there is more explaining to be heard.”
Chapter 10
The sights, sounds, and smells of Smara were more impressive than its evening skyline. Warehouses and silos were fronted by the attached market stalls that lined every street. The main streets were wide enough to allow two wagons each direction, and ample foot traffic.
“The first block would hold the market square in Navlia,” Bertus murmured as they entered the city, and every crossroad was a glimpse of something grander than the one before. Wagons being loaded from swinging chutes hanging from silos made the Warrior wonder if the people of Kron had enlisted dwarves to help build some of their structures.
Bertus leapt from the saddle and handed his reins to Martin, motioning for the others to stay while he edged to the corner of a booth and peered around the corner.
Half a block down a side street, grain flowed from a burlap nozzle that hung from a silo chute into a waiting wagon below. One of the green-clad farmerfolk stood conversing with the driver of the wagon, working a lever that seemed to control the flow, as the wagon inched forward.
Bertus backed away from the corner before the wagon finished filling.
“What is it?” Alma asked as he retook his reins.
“Britger-Stoun,” he answered, shaking his head. The common-speaking nephew of Bargthar-Stoun had been in the Hold until Bertus had left with Mirsa and the others. The Warrior had only seen the dwarf a handful of times, but the scar across his face was evident from even this distance. Bertus did the calculations in his head. Riding hard without a wagon, the dwarf should still be over two weeks away from here.
“Get us rooms. There,” Bertus said, pointing to an inn on the next block. He shoved a coin pouch at Martin, and climbed back into his saddle. “I’ll be along shortly.”
Bertus wheeled his mount around to watch the others ride down the street toward the inn, casting a sideways glance as Britger’s wagon crossed the intersection behind him, headed east. After a minute, the Seeker turned to follow the dwarf and his wagon.
* * *
Bertus hung back as the wagon exited the city, following only when he could barely discern its outline in the distance. He set out at a rapid pace, not wanting to look suspicious. He decided that he would confront the dwarf if he overtook the wagon.
Two miles down the road, the wagon turned north. When Bertus reached the turnoff, he could see the wagon turning back to the east, disappearing behind the high rows of corn. He spurred his mount to a lope, eager to know how the dwarf had managed to make it across the Realm in so short a time.
The track to the east went a short distance to a small farmhouse and a medium sized barn with a cut stone foundation. Fresh tracks led to the barn, and Kevon dismounted and checked the doors. They were barred from the inside. He hitched his steed to the railing in front of the house, and knocked on the door.
After waiting a minute for an answer, he returned to the barn and circled around, finding a smaller unlocked door in the back.
The floor in the barn was also the same cut stone as the exposed foundation. Shafts of evening sun pierced the shadows, revealing thick layers of dust, and a ramp that led down into darkness.
Bertus unbarred the door to let more light in, and peered down the ramp, into the gloom that extended to the end of his vision.
A pile of torches lay on a small table. Aside from a handful of tools hanging from pegs on the wall, the table was the only furnishing in the building.
Bertus returned to the horse, and retrieved flint and steel from his saddlebags. Once back in the barn, he lit a torch, and started down the ramp.
Cautious at first, the uniformity of the downward track eased part of the Seeker’s concern, while intensifying his interest. The stonework was reminiscent of the Dwarven Hold, but Bertus guessed that it was much older.
The ramp turned to the northeast, and leveled out. The smooth stone became uneven, like walking on tree limbs laid side by side. Bertus looked down, and saw the smooth stone cylinders he stood upon. He kicked at one, and nearly fell as it turned forward, and the ones he stood on slipped in reverse, sliding him back.
Steadying himself against the wall, he felt, more than heard, a drumbeat fading into the distance. A faint glow down the tunnel was almost lost in the torchlight. Bertus crushed the lit end of the torch against the wall, putting it out. Through the smoke of the extinguished torch, he could still see the receding light. The tempo of the drumbeats was more noticeable now that the flames of the torch were not hissing in his ear.
After two minutes of staring after the departed wagon, the tunnel was dark and silent. The only glimpse of light came from the bend in the tunnel behind him.
Treading carefully until he reached the smooth stone of the ramp, Bertus retreated into the barn, barring the large door and exiting out the back. Coming around the corner of the barn, he noted the sun beginning to sink behind the corn, and wondered if he would be able to make it back to town before full dark, rejoin his charges before too much time passed.
“At least we found out how he got here so fast,” Bertus chuckled, patting down the bag after replacing the tools he’d taken from it. He scratched the horse’s mane, and moved to unhitch it from the rail.
“Ah really wish ye hadn’t.”
Bertus looked over to the doorway of the house, into the sights of a loaded Dwarven crossbow. “Britger-Stoun? I thought it was you.”
“Hero.” The dwarf harrumphed, lowering his weapon slightly. “Ye’ve seen more than ye should have. More than any man.”
“I’ve stood before the Seat of the Earth, and mocked your king.”
The crossbow drooped further.
“I’ve helped a heretic Mage advance through the ranks of the Warrior’s Guild. Peeking into your bar
n is the least of my sins.” Seeing no further reaction, he continued. “Kylgren-Wode and Rhysabeth-Dane sail to the east with my companions. I was sent to collect my friend’s family.”
“I was sent to buy grain,” the dwarf grumbled, scratching the puckered ridge that tracked across his right jawline. “Several loads of it.”
Bertus’s mind swam. “If this is even your second load, the trip takes what? One day each direction?”
Britger nodded, swinging the weapon down, removing Bertus from danger. “The world cannot know of this. If they knew the places…”
“Your people bear us no ill will,” Bertus shook his head. “Your uncle has sent advisors to assist us. Wondrous as this secret is, it is yours to keep. It’s a pity that tunnel does not lead to the south, though.”
Britger-Stoun held fast for a few moments before the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.
* * *
“I still don’t like it,” Martin said as the blindfold tightened about his face. His and Alma’s hands were already bound behind them, and another dwarf worked at covering her eyes.
“Ye’ll be freed once we’re on our way, in the tunnels. Nothing to see there.” Britger laughed.
Martin sat back against the bale of hay and appeared to relax, leaning into Alma, who was now kerchiefed securely.
The wagon lurched ahead and rumbled down the roadways the last few miles to the secluded barn.
Armed dwarves burst from the farmhouse, making sure that the passengers were secured before opening the barn door and lashing an odd-looking contraption into the back of the wagon.
Bertus stared at the two large stretched hide drums that hung suspended by leather harness, filling almost half of the back of the wagon. Hooded brass lanterns were lit and hung from hooks in the front and rear of the wagon.
Blademage Adept (The Blademage Saga Book 3) Page 4