Sorcery's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 2)

by D J Salisbury

  Lorel slid into the nearest doorwell, froze, and listened. A horse clomped by in the distance. Somebody tossed water from an upper-story window. Rotting cabbage and old pee rose from the crumbly tenements’ stone walls. Normal sounds for this area. Normal smells.

  Another whimper. The sound echoed from the alley she’d just passed. The alley where she’d found the kid’s broken body only a few lunars ago.

  Had Kraken and the gang recaptured him?

  Not likely. She’d taught him lots of tricks for outrunning trouble. But it sounded like somebody needed help.

  A male voice laughed.

  It sounded like somebody needed beating up. She’d be happy to oblige. She was dead in the mood to snip somebody’s thread. Anybody except Kraken, at least. And she was almost mad enough to take him on.

  Fraying Faye still wasn’t talking to her.

  Cloth ripped. The child squealed.

  Worrying about Faye would wait. That little kid needed her right now. Lorel ghosted down the alley and peeked around the corner.

  Fish and Raven leaned against the tenement wall, watching the action indifferently. Tomrat and Hound looked away, the only ones to look embarrassed. Blizzard and Roach stared at the beggar child and her torn shift with their tongues hanging out. The perverts.

  The girl squealed again, much louder this time.

  Wolf held the child in one hand, dangling her by a single skinny finger. Blood in the Weave, no wonder the girl was squalling. That must hurt something fierce.

  The odds were only seven to one. She’d be able to get that kid free without any of the gang getting at the poor little thing.

  And she’d be able to work off some of her anger, broken blisters and bruises be snipped. She was halfway to fifteen. Mom couldn’t baby her forever.

  If she timed it right, this rumble might even be fun. Lorel eased around the corner and quietly strolled up to Wolf.

  Raven and Blizzard stared at her, but didn’t say anything. Fish actually backed away, the scaredy-cat. She’d never hit him all that hard.

  Wolf blinked up at her like he couldn’t believe she was there. Why’d Kraken ever pick that lump to be his lieutenant? He was dumber than dried beans. Why did Faye like the turd?

  Not her problem. If Faye didn’t clean up her attitude, she wouldn’t never talk to her again.

  Lorel grabbed Wolf’s wrist and dragged it lower until the girl’s feet touched the ground. Then she squeezed. Hard.

  Wolf squealed louder than the girl had, and twice as shrill. He released the child and swung his other fist at Lorel’s face.

  The girl ran.

  Lorel blocked the swing and punched Wolf in the gut.

  Blizzard dashed after the little girl. That miswoven toad. Didn’t he know when he’d lost? She’d show him.

  Lorel sprinted forward and kicked him in the butt. He scudded over the cobblestones on his belly.

  The girl raced out the alley mouth.

  Fish yelled something. The tattletale. Wasn’t seven to one good enough for him? Five to one, now. Maybe those odds were too scary.

  Raven and Roach charged her. Together. Noodle brains. Didn’t they know nothing about fighting?

  She grabbed them by the ears, knocked their skulls together, and tossed them toward the tenement wall.

  Fish and Tomrat raced out of the alley. Tomrat was too little to fight with, anyway. Fish was just a coward. Nothing new there.

  Hound stared at her like he wanted to wet his pants, but couldn’t get up the nerve.

  She shook her head. “Get outta here.”

  Hound stood frozen. Raven moaned. Roach lay limp, but she was pretty sure he was faking it.

  Running footsteps echoed down the beyond the alley. Had Fish really come back to the rescue? Didn’t seem likely. Or maybe it was Squirrel and Jackal. She hoped so. This had been the wimpiest fight ever. She hadn’t even broken out in a sweat.

  Blizzard cussed, in Nashidran of all things. She wanted to kick him for using Nastie, but he was still lying flat on his yellow belly. The kid and the boss would yell at her for kicking him while he was down.

  But who cared what the boss said? They weren’t friends anymore. And the kid might have changed his mind, considering this pervert was one the gang who tortured him.

  Footsteps thudded around the corner.

  Lorel turned to smile at–

  Kraken.

  Her heart dropped around her toes. Sweat broke out under her shirt.

  Fish, Squirrel, and Jackal swaggered down the alley behind Kraken. Like him, they wore modified Nashidran uniforms, heavy boots, and short hair. Lots shorter than the last time she’d seen them.

  She glanced at the rest of the gang, who also wore Nashidran styles. And heavy boots. Slow for running, but lethal for kicking.

  Kraken’ pocked face creased into a smile.

  Her thread was so snipped.

  Or she was about to have a real fight. A good fight. Ahm-Layel taught her all sorts of dirty tricks. Maybe she could take Kraken down this time.

  He grinned at her and spread his arms across the alley’s mouth. “Why, it’s Goldie’s overgrown shadow. Shall we send a message off to Goldie, gentlemen?”

  Wolf straightened up, still trying to catch his breath, and leaned against the wall. “Message? You think she’s smart enough to remember a message?”

  Turd brain. She’d hit him harder next time.

  “She won’t need to remember it.” Kraken paced forward and drew a knife from under his jacket. “We’ll take turns writing on her skin.”

  Yeah, right. Most of these frayed threads couldn’t write their own name. And why say ‘we?’ Didn’t he think he could take her down alone?

  Could he be afraid? Of her?

  Lorel smirked. “You’re such a coward.”

  Kraken froze. “What do you mean by that?”

  What? Was he dumber than she thought? “Here we’re finally face to face for a fight, and you want a knife and a bunch of little boys to help you even the odds.”

  “I don’t need help.” Kraken slammed the knife back into its sheath. “I’m not afraid to take you on, just myself.”

  But he went and say it out loud. Maybe that meant he was scared. She hoped so, because she was so nervous she had to swagger forward to hide it.

  He fisted both hands and rushed her.

  She pivoted to the side and kicked at his knee. No way was she standing still to let him pound on her.

  He avoided her foot, spun, and slammed his fist into her face.

  Weaver’s own Loom blared in front of her eyes. Blood spilled inside her mouth. Blood in the Weave, he hit harder than she’d remembered.

  His other fist swung toward her face.

  She ducked, lowered her head, and slammed it into his gut.

  Air oomphed out of his lungs. He staggered back, looking startled.

  Now she’d get him. Payback time for a few of the kid’s bruises and broken bones.

  Lorel straightened, raised her fists, and leapt at him.

  Kraken surged forward. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a bear hug, trapping her arms below his. Trapping most of her below him. She couldn’t straighten her knees with his weigh pressing down on her.

  She swatted at his back, but couldn’t get enough leverage to do any damage. Wiggling didn’t help, he just squeezed her tighter.

  Kraken laughed. “You think you’re so good.” He licked the inside of her ear. What was it with bullies and ears? She’d bite his, if she could reach it. He seemed to know that, though, and kept her at an angle she couldn’t get her teeth into any part of him.

  Now what could she do? At best she’d be able to pull his hair. Maybe that would distract him enough she could wiggle free.

  She inched her hands upward and clawed at the back of his head. But his greasy hair was too short to get hold of.

  She tried to bang her head against his, but they were too close together. The worst she could do was nudge his chin. Blood ran down
her own chin from the cut inside her mouth.

  Her blood stained his uniform. Could she bite through the wool to tear his throat? Couldn’t reach it from this angle. How about his collarbone?

  His fingers dug into her kidneys. Pain shot up her spine. She arched backward.

  “You’ve shoved that beak of yours into my business too many times.” He turned his head to face hers. “It’s time that beak came off.”

  Teeth filled her vision as he lowered his mouth toward her nose.

  Bitter blood in the Warp and the Weave, she was not gonna let him bite her nose off. Ahm-Layel taught her one silly trick. It better work now.

  She clapped her cupped hands over his ears as hard as she could.

  Kraken jerked back with a stunned expression in his eyes.

  She pushed back, earned about a foot separation, and slammed her knee into his nuts.

  He screamed and arched forward.

  She jumped back, fell to her knees, and rammed both of her fists upward, right under his jaw.

  Kraken flew backwards and thudded against the stone wall. Something cracked.

  Lorel staggered to her feet, shook out her tingling hands, and waited for him to launch at her. She’d teach him what a real fight was about. She hadn’t gotten started yet.

  His limp body slid down the tenement wall. A slow trickle of blood crept from his nose.

  When was he gonna get up?

  Raven whimpered and crept backward. Fish turned and darted out of the alley. Again.

  “Not possible,” Wolf whispered. He inched forward and nudged Kraken’s foot.

  Kraken slid sideways, his neck hanging at a weird angle. His eyes stared blankly at her. Like he was dead.

  Blood in the Weave. He couldn’t be dead. She never hit him that hard.

  She’d never killed anyone in her life.

  Tomrat puked, spun, and sprinted out of the alley. Blizzard and Roach dashed after him.

  Wolf stared at her wide-eyed, like she’d murdered the Emperor. “I can’t believe you–” He turned and skittered out of the alley.

  She couldn’t have killed him. Could she?

  Kraken’s eyes glazed over. He really was dead. She had killed him.

  Lorel staggered to the side of the alley and threw up.

  Chapter 7.

  Something was watching over his shoulder. No, that couldn’t be right. Nothing lived in the labyrinth, not even mice. But what made him feel–

  The spell. It must be unfinished. And he didn’t know how to shut it down.

  Viper pushed away from Trevor’s cooling body and wiped tears from his stiff face. Who could he find to close out the spell?

  Samiderf would know. But that meant he had to get to Trader’s Inn. He didn’t know where any of the sorcerers lived. Except Bahtdor Nose.

  Thunderer, no, anybody but Frujeur.

  But he had to find somebody. The spell had to be shut down.

  He crunched through the remnants of the Lab – there were no clear paths anywhere. Glass broke under his shoes; books slid and tore. None of it mattered.

  Trevor was dead.

  He willed the Lab door open, and dimly noted it closed the way it normally did. How could it be normal? Didn’t it know Trevor was gone?

  He slogged down the mage-lit hallway, climbed up the rope ladder through the darkness of the guardian spell – Trevor’s empty eye socket stared up at him – and heaved himself onto the bottom step of the spiral staircase.

  He pulled the rope ladder up and stashed it in its niche. No point in risking anything climbing down it. Or up.

  Why was it so dark?

  Because Trevor wasn’t there to create a will-light, bahtdor bait.

  Well, he still had two candles in his jacket pocket. With no way to light them. He knew he should have worked harder on that fire spell, no matter how nervous it made him. Nothing he could do about it now, though.

  All he could do was climb the stairs in the dark. Three hundred stairs, each spaced roughly two and a half feet apart. How many times had he bragged he could climb them in his sleep? Now he’d have to make good on his claim.

  After all, the wood was so rotted there wasn’t much left to see.

  Right. Like that made a difference. He knew the steps were there. He could do this. He just needed to keep track of how far he’d gone.

  He pushed himself up the first chest high step. The wedge of the spelled stair step felt as solid under his hands as the steps on the front porch. And far more stable. These steps never rocked or wobbled.

  Up the second step. The third. Fourth. Fifth…

  Darkness pressed down on him. His legs got heavier and heavier. He swallowed hard and breathed through his mouth, since his nose was still stuffed up. At least it had stopped dribbling.

  Ninety nine. One hundred. One hundred and … Or was that ninety nine? It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like the stairs continued upward past the Lab entrance. He’d stop when he ran out of steps. But keeping track would help him stay focused.

  Spots of light danced above him. Had someone opened the door above? He didn’t hear anyone. And he had the only keys. It had to be … What had Trevor called it? An optical illusion. He was good at creating illusions. If only he could create an illusion of light.

  One ninety eight. One ninety nine. Two hundred. Or was that three hundred? No, the steps continued onward. Or was it only one hundred?

  Musty air wafted upward, carrying the scent of dried carrion. Just like the abuelo snake pit.

  His heart thudded against his throat. Had an abuelo moved into the shaft? Was it chasing him?

  No, Trevor promised he’d never allow anything like that to move in down here. Trevor promised to keep him safe.

  Trevor was dead.

  By then he’d lost count of the steps, and he knew it. It didn’t matter. He had to keep going.

  He gave up on counting and climbed upward.

  He reached out – and his hand met air. Had the next step fallen off?

  No, turybird, he’d finally reached the top. He heaved his aching body onto the landing and collapsed on the stone floor. Something tubular dug into his side. What was that? He patted the floor. Nothing. He searched himself.

  Broken candles in his jacket pocket met his fingers. Lots of good they’d done him. He tossed them into a corner and dug through his both of his pockets. A skein of blue cotton twine, a stub of thick yellow chalk, a chicken’s wishbone from dinner a few days ago, and another broken chunk of candle. And finally the trio of keys.

  Light blinded him when he opened the door. Was someone out there? He shielded his eyes and squinted down the hall. Nothing. Not even a candle flame. But the door leading to the kitchen was open, as normal. Sunshine spilled through the kitchen window.

  Sunlight in that window meant it was well after noon, but a long way to dinner time. None of the sorcerers would be at the Trader’s Inn this time of day. He’d have to wait hours for them.

  Exhaustion settled over him. He felt so numb. But he couldn’t sit down yet. He’d take time to rest later.

  The spell was still active. It must be shut down. That left him only one choice.

  ˜™

  “Master Frujeur?” Viper pushed past the herb shop’s scarred door. It seemed much heavier than the last time he’d opened it. “Could you help me?”

  “Well, Loom and Shuttle, if it isn’t Trevor’s pretty boy.” Bahtdor Nose glanced up from the powder he was measuring. “What do you want? You look like you’ve been crying, pretty. And a bloody nose, too. Did Trevor get up the guts to hit you?”

  “Trevor’s dead.” And it was entirely his fault. His help, his grimoire, his failure. He glanced back into the street. Had someone followed him here?

  “What?” Frujeur dropped the scoop. Powder scattered across the countertop. “He can’t be.”

  Viper stared at him through tear swollen eyes.

  “He can’t be,” Frujeur whispered. He scrambled around the counter.

  “Please te
ll me what to do. A sorcerer should come. To finish the spell. It feels like it’s still alive. I can’t do anything. He wanted me to warn someone.” Viper choked, gulped for air. “I couldn’t find anyone else or I wouldn’t bother you.” If only he could find Samiderf. But he’d never even asked where the other sorcerers lived. Now he’d pay the price for his selfishness.

  “No, no.” Frujeur took off his apron and grabbed a coat. “You did right in coming to me. You’re sure he’s dead?”

  Viper nodded, rubbed at his wet face. “Murdered,” he whispered.

  “Blood in the Weave.” Frujeur moaned and clutched at his hair. “Weaver drowned in tears. We’ll have to tell the guard, have them investigate. We must do these things right. And not a wizard in town to help. Natalie, mind the shop. Belle, clean up this mess. Come along, boy.”

  Bahtdor Nose led him down the grimy alley and across Market Square. Where were they going? Did it really matter?

  It mattered. They had to shut down the spell. Maybe Bahtdor Nose was taking him to Samiderf.

  They trudged up the wide stairs of a building Lorel always avoided. Down several long halls. Men wearing City Guard uniforms frowned, but stepped aside when they passed.

  Finally Frujeur sidled into a small office. Racks of swords lined the walls, with the heads of dead animals between each set of weapons. “I need to report the death of a sorcerer, Captain.”

  The man at the desk slammed down his pen. Ink splattered across his papers. “Speak.”

  Though his eyes had swollen nearly shut, Viper swore the head of the dead fox was staring at him. Three empty desks, four tables with neat piles of paper. Two stone benches near the door. An altogether uncomfortable room.

  Frujeur grabbed his shoulder and pushed him forward. “Tell us exactly what happened.”

  “Sergeant, get in here,” the captain shouted, and a grey-haired guard entered the room. “We have a dead sorcerer. Who are you, boy?”

  “Viper, Trevor’s apprentice.”

  “Bitter blood in the Weave. Apologies, sir.” The sergeant shook his head. “I’ve known the old man for years. He’ll be missed.”

  Tears clogged his throat. Yes, Trevor would be missed. And it was all his fault.