by Dan Koboldt
Chapter 8
When Charm Fails
“A good performer owns the room the moment he or she walks in. Control the environment, or it will control you.”
—Art of Illusion, June 8
The winding, almost-imperceptible trail led to a small clearing in the winter woods. Quinn about sagged in relief when Mendez took the lead. The land fell away in front of them in a sort of dell, and the trail ran right up through it to the door of a small cottage. It was no larger than any of the houses in the village, but the thatch roof looked newer. A thin line of pale smoke curled up from the chimney.
“What a quaint little spot,” Chaudri mused.
Mendez held them fast while he surveyed the whole area with his binoculars. “I don’t like it.”
“Did you see something worrisome?” Quinn asked.
“Nothing. Just a cottage and some hitching posts. No horses, no obvious weapons.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Not sure. More of a gut feeling thing.”
Quinn understood what he meant. The moment they’d entered the clearing, it was like everything went stock-still. There was no birdsong. No breeze. The only sign of movement anywhere was the gentle drift of the smoke from the chimney. He took out the wayfinder stone, and the thing might as well have been an ordinary rock. The fey pull of it was gone, or at least muted, and he couldn’t have guessed in what direction the Enclave might lie.
I hope that’s temporary. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”
“It’s the best lead we have,” Chaudri said.
Quinn rolled his shoulders to ease the tightness there. “We don’t know anything about this lady. I’ve got a bad feeling about it, just like Mendez.”
“We’ve spent a week getting this far,” Chaudri said. “I don’t want to back out now.”
The thing was, Quinn really didn’t want to back out, either. It was more than just wanting this part of the mission to be over with. He felt a compelling urge to ride right down to that cottage and walk inside. Maybe it was the smoke coming from the chimney. It curled up into the sky, slow and hypnotic. Beckoning him closer. Like a cobra in a snake charmer’s act. He had to shake himself to keep from staring.
“I’ll go,” Quinn said. “I just think we should keep our eyes open, you know?”
“Count on it,” Mendez said.
He nudged his horse forward at a walk, letting the animal pick its way down the trail into the dell. The sharp downward slope kept them at a snail’s pace. A pace that matched that smoke drifting up to the sky.
The air felt too still, as if the entire valley held its breath. The sharp odor of wood smoke mingled with something fainter, something herbal. The complexity made him think of Jillaine, the enchanting girl he’d met at the Enclave. Well, enchanting young woman. They’d left things on . . . uncertain terms. In the end, the mission pulled him away. Much more time around her, though, and he might have said, Screw the mission, altogether.
The ground leveled off as they reached the bottom of the dell. Mendez dismounted, and signaled that they should do the same.
“Why are we—” Quinn started to ask.
Mendez simply pointed ahead, to where three stout wooden posts stood in a neat row. Hitching posts.
Quinn left his bow with the horse, but kept his sword. He had to remind himself to keep his hand away from it. The tendency to hold the grip while he walked was surprisingly habit-forming. But in New Kestani, it signaled you were looking for a duel. Here, in this strange vale with gods-knew-what awaiting them, he didn’t want to appear violent. That’s a good way to invite a crossbow bolt.
The cottage lay about twenty yards distant, right in the middle of the dell. Still no sign of anyone, but someone had left the door open. Darkness yawned within. The windows to either side were boarded up. The air was warm down here. Quinn loosened his cloak.
Chaudri put her hand on Mendez’s shoulder, and they stopped. “Hello?” she called.
Amber light bloomed in the cottage interior. A dark-haired woman appeared in the doorway. She wore a royal blue gown, which seemed as out of place as it was blinding. The shape of it followed her curves, somehow rendering them promising and mysterious at once. Quinn felt distantly aware that he was staring with his mouth wide open.
The woman took them in with a glance. “Took you long enough. Well, you might as well come in.” She disappeared from view, and called back, “Leave the weapons.”
Quinn glanced at Mendez, who nodded his assent. They unbuckled their sword-belts and set them on the ground outside. It’s not like I’m totally unarmed, he thought. Then again, a woman who could hide or reveal herself with ease probably didn’t feel very threatened by a couple of knives.
Mendez, God bless him, entered the cottage first. Quinn and Chaudri crowded right on his heels. Several smells hit his nose at once—the pungent aroma of fresh herbs, the musk of tanned leather, the musty smell of wet canvas. And all of that beneath the wood smoke that was strong enough to make his eyes tear up.
The woman sat in a wooden armchair beside the hearth, where a fire burned cheerily. Three other chairs sat in a semicircle facing hers. Chaudri led the way over. Ghost-like animal hides dangled from the ceiling. Quinn bumped one of these by accident. He shrank back, but too late—the hide swung ponderously over to jostle a row of wooden chimes and hand-carved talismans. All of this rang and clanked together in a deafening racket that made him grind his teeth. Veena gave him a wide-eyed look, like Be careful.
Quinn shook his head. Jeez, it’s not like I did it on purpose.
She rolled her eyes and half shook her head.
They took the three chairs by the hearth, with Veena in the middle, Mendez by the fire, and Quinn uncomfortably close to all of the weird shit in the cottage interior. The chair pressed into his back, hard as metal. It didn’t so much as creak when he sat down, which made it the sturdiest piece of furniture he’d encountered in this world.
“Who are you?” the woman asked. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, and her skin as smooth as a child’s.
The smells and the hangings and the woman’s dark eyes put Quinn off enough that he forgot to bring out his stage smile, the one that always made strangers more comfortable. Damn.
“My name’s Veena,” Chaudri said. “This is Julio, and Quinn.”
Mendez managed a weak smile. Quinn found his stage training and gave her the pearly whites. “Hello.”
She gave him a double take before turning back to Chaudri, more uncertain than impressed.
“You may call me Iridessa.”
“Ah, what a lovely name,” Quinn said.
She gave him a level look, unblinking. “That’s why I chose it.”
Ouch. She was not a fan of the Quinn Bradley charm. He bit back his next compliment and clamped his mouth shut.
Mendez put his hand over his face. Hiding a smile at my expense, I’m betting.
“So,” Chaudri ventured. “I take it you’ve known Richard a long time.”
“Depends on what a long time means to you.”
Chaudri smiled. “Fair enough. Have you heard from him recently?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Quinn suppressed a sigh. The interview wasn’t off to a good start. We’ve got zero leverage here. It was her house, her invitation. Her brain that they wanted to pick.
“He’s more than a friend,” Chaudri said. “He’s been my mentor for ten years. I’m—I’m worried about him.”
Iridessa studied her for a long moment. “It’s been a while. He came by half a year ago, to tell me about his foolish plan.”
Quinn coughed and looked down, so that she wouldn’t be able to read his face. The mystery of Richard Holt had nagged at him for months. Not just the question of how he’d managed to become the Valteroni Prime, but why he decided to defect in the first place. At last, here was someone who might able to answer those questions. Come on, Chaudri, pry open that door.
“I can’t say I agree with
it, either.” Chaudri shook her head and sighed. “Men.”
Iridessa barked a laugh. “Richard’s as stubborn as they come.”
Chaudri pursed her lips. Quinn took a breath and tried to will himself to invisibility. She has to get this just right.
“To be honest, I’m a little worried about him.” Veena didn’t have to fake the sentiment—the sincerity was written in her eyes, in the distance they held. “Did he seem . . . a little bit off-kilter?”
Iridessa didn’t answer for the span of four heartbeats. Her eyebrows quirked upward. “The device he asked for was a little unusual.”
“Device?”
“A white oval, about so big.” She spread her arms around two feet apart. “Kind of looks like an egg.”
Son of a bitch. Quinn nearly bit his tongue in half. That device almost put a quick, violent end to the first mission, when an invisible barrier trapped them in a confined area with a pack of wild dogs. Not to mention one hell of an angry wyvern. Logan had split the egg with his sword, but it was a close thing.
God bless her, Chaudri played it casual. “Right. The barrier.”
“Do you happen to know if it worked out for him?” Iridessa asked.
Chaudri gave a thin smile. “I’m told it worked like a charm.”
Quinn snorted. There’s the understatement of the year.
“Ha!” Iridessa slapped her knee. “It’s a good thing he paid so handsomely for it.”
Quinn knew he shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t resist. “So, what did it cost him?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Right. Sorry.”
He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t an attraction thing, though she was certainly beautiful. No—something about the woman drew his eyes and made it painful to look away. When he did, he stole a glance at Mendez and Chaudri. They’d both fixed their gazes on her, too, like she was the most fascinating thing in the world. So it’s not just me.
Iridessa leaned over in her chair and plucked a steel poker from the hearth. She stirred the coals beneath the fire, which already burned cheerily. The heat of it brought a sheen of perspiration to Quinn’s forehead. God, it’s warm in here. Almost stifling. Mendez must have felt like he was sitting in a furnace.
Iridessa plucked a dried sprig of some herbs out of a basket beside her chair. She tossed it in. The fire ate it hungrily, quick as flash paper. A faint perfume wafted out.
“You know, Richard said something odd to me, the last time he was here.” Iridessa drew the poker in a circular motion now, tracing smaller and smaller circles in the ash on the hearth. Her lips moved between the spoken words.
“Oh?” Veena asked.
“He told me I should be wary of anyone who came here, asking after him.”
Uh-oh. Holt must have warned her about them. Quinn knew he should be more alarmed by this, but he couldn’t muster the concern for it. Maybe it was the smoke. It stung his eyes worse than ever, but his throat felt numb to it.
“I don’t understand.” Veena’s voice was strained.
“In fact, he promised a handsome reward if I turned you over to him.”
“I suppose we’ll be on our way, then,” Chaudri said. But she didn’t move.
Mendez grunted in what sounded like surprise. He’d probably reached for his sword, or tried to.
Quinn would have gotten up, but his legs felt like they weighed five hundred pounds. The smoke curled around him. He couldn’t help inhaling it. Each breath took away more feeling in his arms and legs.
Iridessa kept stirring the ash, stirring the ash. Quinn couldn’t take his eyes off her. The smoke didn’t bother him anymore. He liked how it smelled, and how he felt sitting here. He didn’t need to leave at all. One glance at his friends confirmed this. Chaudri had a little smile on her face, and Mendez sat with his mouth open, staring into the fire.
Quinn held his hand in front of his face and turned it over. Back and forth, back and forth. An old sobriety test from his time on the Strip. Back and forth, back and forth. Man, I’ve got a nice set of fingers.
God, it was hot in here, too. He loosened his cloak a little bit. Leaned back in his chair. Started guessing what kind of animal each hide came from. Which was harder than it should be, by the way. He could have sworn one of those near the back had scales. It was hard to make out, though. The view was kind of fuzzy. Everything in the cottage was fuzzy.
Heh. Fuzzy. He chuckled to himself. “Fuzzy” is a fuzzy word.
“I think you should stay awhile,” Iridessa said.
Quinn nodded, because it made sense. What was the point in rushing off anyway? I like it here. He liked the smells, and the crackle of the fire, and the bright orange glow it cast on everything. Even the strange animal hides and uncomfortable chairs were growing on him. The heat was the only part he didn’t like. It had him sweating beneath his armor. He loosened his cloak as much as he could. Yep, I could definitely spend some time here.
Iridessa leaned the poker against the hearth, turned back, and smiled. “I’m sure Richard—”
She fell abruptly silent. Her eyes were fixed on Quinn. “Where did you get that?”
Quinn followed her gaze. The wayfinder stone had fallen out of his collar, and hung by his leather cord in plain view. “Moric gave it to me.” He wasn’t really supposed to talk about it, but what was the harm? He picked up the stone between his finger and thumb—it took a few tries to get ahold of it—and held it up. It’s a pretty little stone. He’d never realized how pretty it was.
Iridessa gasped. “You know Moric?” Her voice broke as she said his name, and her eyes were wide enough to show the whites. “Who the hell are you?” she whispered.
“I’m Quinn.” He was really enjoying this conversation. She asks the nicest questions. “I’m a magician, actually.”
“An Enclave magician?”
Quinn noticed the handle to his chair was polished wood, not the cheap kind of polish, but the smooth wear from time. He rubbed it with his thumb. “This is a wonderful material.” He tore his eyes away, because he felt the intensity of Iridessa’s gaze. She’d asked him something. What was it again? Oh, yeah. Enclave magician. He grinned. “Yep, that, too.”
“Gods above!” Iridessa grabbed the pail on the hearth and dashed it across the flames. Steam hissed up from the coals. She fanned it away from Quinn’s face until he couldn’t smell the sweet perfume any longer. Which made him a little sad. The air grew colder, too, as if a giant vacuum had sucked the heat out of it.
Anxiety marred the smoothness of Iridessa’s face. “Listen.” She snapped a finger in front of Quinn’s nose. “Listen! I had no idea. It was an honest mistake.”
He eased back away from her. The tension in her face and in her voice grated him. She’s so harsh all of a sudden. “What was?”
“Give it a minute, and then you’ll remember.”
The pleasant cobwebs of intoxication lifted from Quinn’s brain with agonizing slowness. Cold sobriety took their place. His heart started thumping as he started to grasp the magnitude of what had just happened. Oh, shit. He shook his head, fighting to remember what he’d already told her. The memories slid away, like faint dreams after a moment of wakefulness. What the hell was in that smoke?
Mendez cursed, and shifted in his chair. His hands fumbled at his waist, once more looking for the hilt of his sword. Chaudri’s smile had fallen away. She said nothing, but her eyes glittered with a growing malice. She kept her hands on her knees, but the knuckles were white.
Quinn cleared his throat. Oh, my God, this is awkward. “I take it that you know Moric.”
“I know of Moric, and that’s enough.” Iridessa looked away from him, and shivered. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this to him.”
He was about to agree, but his instincts kicked in and kept him quiet. This was the first time they’d had any kind of leverage on her. “I’m not sure if you know this, but Enclave magicians look after one another.”
Quinn cut her off. “You enchanted us by mistake? Hoped to claim a reward for us, by mistake?” He sneered with the last two words.
“Well, you never declared yourself! How was I—”
“We of the Enclave do not go around declaring ourselves.” Quinn felt a little proud of himself for coming up with that on the fly. It sounded like something Moric would say. “You know that as well as I do.”
She harrumphed, and looked down. “I said I was sorry.”
He had her on the ropes, and she knew it. Time to dial it back. He sighed. “Accidents do happen. And I could probably write this off as one.”
She met his eyes again, and her look was one of cold calculation. “In exchange for what?”
“Oh, I don’t know—why don’t we start with everything you know about Richard Holt?”
Chapter 9
All Things Bartered
“Militarily and technologically, we pose a far bigger threat to Alissians than they do to us.”
—R. Holt, “The Dangers of the Other World”
When they started in on Iridessa, Quinn was more than happy to let Chaudri take the lead.
“Let’s start with how you two met,” she said. “Was it here in Landor?”
“Right in Greenbriar,” Iridessa said. “The innkeeper sent word that one of his patrons had taken ill. Thought it might be the blood fever.”
“Was it?” Chaudri’s brow wrinkled in concern.
“Almost. He had the sweats and the fever, all right. Hands were clammy, and his pupils too large.”
All symptoms that can be faked, Quinn couldn’t help but thinking.
“He wasn’t coughing up blood, though,” Iridessa said. “I made him some root tea, and we got to talking. Turned out he had an interest in herbs himself.”
Quinn chuckled to himself. Of course he did. Holt had an interest in everything Alissian.
“How often do you see him?” Chaudri asked.