Cinders on the Wind

by Louis Emery

  “Do you know where she lives?” Abera interjected, quill at the ready.

  Jaster glanced at her, as if just made aware of her presence. His gaze lingered a bit too long before he spoke. “She resides near the Southside Docks on Inlet Street in the middle lodging. She works for the Monterim Trading Company, whose practices are a bit dubious in times of war. Her employer tends to change sides depending on the outcomes of battles and outpouring of funds.”

  “We will get in contact with her,” Sho said.

  Sensing his turn to speak, Bastion cleared his throat after calling over a servant for another glass of wine. He took a hearty sip before beginning. “My job requires me to protect leaders for the public good, so I am well aware of the fate of Monterim’s lords. It’s bad enough we had to extradite the duke from the city a few months ago, only to come back to hidden assassins in the aftermath of a military victory. I’ve honed my skills with spells, Asker Riesley, and am prepared to protect Lord Staverly with all my powers, but I can tell you this nightmare with nobles is not good for rule, the people, or stability of Quinlander. There’s still resistance cabals hiding out in the city—I know. It’s my job to know. And working alongside the Watch to filter them out has led me to see how spent they are in trying to catch these conspirators and saboteurs of the Backlands’ progress.”

  Bastion folded his hands together, resting his arms on the table. Nonchalantly he made a quick scan of the room. Lowering his voice he said, “I’ve seen the Lord Sheriff’s forces bungle more than a few operations while working with them. You can say, I was more than a bit relieved when I heard rumors they were bringing on askers from the capitol.”

  “We’re glad of your confidence in us,” Sho said, bowing slightly. “In any of your work, have you seen or encountered any evidence of a spellcaster involved in subverting the reinstated lords?”

  Bastion shook his head, befuddled. “It’s as Jaster says. There are few of us in the Order around the islands. The only ones I’ve interacted with are the ones mentioned. Though I do correspond in letters with a caster cousin, but she lives in Em Regis. I’ve mainly been working with Lord Staverly and his advisors to help the economy. That means thwarting rebel gangs from stealing cargo of merchant companies, from smuggling imports and exports in favor of the resistance, and from blowing up barracks and batteries belonging to his majesty’s garrison. Not to mention, I’m focusing on keeping Lord Staverly safe. Though I’ve seen the bodies of two murdered lords, Watkins and Simcanton, there was not much I could find out before other tasks took over.”

  “I see,” Sho said. She was frustrated that Bastion did not have much to give her, considering his position. She understood he was a busy man, but thought he’d have more insight into the person or persons committing the crimes.

  “It’s these damned Redwoodians,” Jaster interjected. “And I’m not trying belittle those with tanner skin than mine.” He looked at Sho apologetically. “My wife has dark skin. What I am saying has nothing to do with looks and everything to do with politics. Many Redwoodians with pure island ancestry are siding with the rebels. They think this uprising will bring an independent kingdom, disconnected with the Backlands, which is just ludicrous.”

  Jaster’s face turned red and he took a drink before going on. “For over two centuries, the Prestonpan Isles and Backlands have been united. Before the island holdings were established, the Redwoodians had no economy, no cities, no progress. They were scattered all over the island. Once the Backlands got here and they learned to work on the side of progress, look at the success accomplished. Instead of warring factions of clans and occasionally making trade in their inferior boats, they joined in the establishment of large cities, effective sailing ships, profitable agriculture and business. Without the influence of the Backlands, these were wasted islands. Without the islands resources and ingenuity of the Redwoodian peoples, the Backlands would be all the weaker as a kingdom. The two must stand together, and those prideful, stubborn Redwoodians would tear it apart in complete ignorance.”

  “You make fine points,” Bastion said, “but you fail to unsweep from the rug the slave camps, culture banning, and native manipulation enacted by the early conquering Backlanders. Sure we’ve come a long way, but in order to have this progress you so admire, we must acknowledge our past mistakes and make amends. Otherwise, rebellions will keep sneaking up.”

  “Yes, Bastion, we all have our horrible pasts. The Redwoodians used to subjugate each other as well. It’s all the same, no matter what kingdom you are from. People are nasty to people. It’s the way things are. And we have made amends. Sure, there are many abusers who come here from the capitol, thinking they’re superior. But recent lordships, and the current under Lord Staverly, no longer shun Redwoodian culture, but embrace it.”

  “True,” Bastion said, spreading his hands. “But just because there’s a universal history of people killing and being oppressive to others, it doesn’t make it right. We need to stifle the superiority feeling Em Regians bring over here, and we need to continue making amends for past mistakes to Redwoodians. That is the way to suppress insurrections.”

  Jaster made a humming sound, nodding solemnly as if conceding the argument.

  “Forgive me,” Bastion said, turning to Sho and Abera. “We tend to get quite discursive when it comes to local rule and philosophies on leadership.”

  “It’s quite alright,” Sho said, noticing an eye-catching Prestonpan soldier cautiously sidle up to the table, whisper something in Bastion’s ear, and disappear.

  “I’m sorry to have to do this.” Bastion stood up from the table, finishing his drink with quick gulps. “But I’m needed at the warehouses. Evidently there’s cargo they think is missing.” He felt in his doublet and tapped one of the hidden pockets. “Will have to use these to see how many crates are missing and see if the ether can point me in their direction.” Sho saw that he indicated his spell-blades, which after drawing blood and pairing with a spell, would give him snapshots in his mind’s eye, possible clues of those who took it.

  “Don’t let me keep you from your duties,” Sho said rising and bowing. “Thank you for your time, Sir Lastingly.”

  “Call on me again, if you like,” he said. “Anything for the Defense Guild.” He bowed and was gone.

  Sho looked to Abera and rose from the table. “We best get going, too, Sir Montogue.”

  “Jaster, please,” he said, holding out his arm, signaling to hold their leave. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue to speak with you ladies, privately. It won’t be but a few minutes.”

  “Here,” Jaster called over to a server, “have some wine.”

  Sho looked at the tray of filled glasses. Her mouth felt parched and she was thirsty. “I suppose one would be fine.”

  “Very good.” Jaster softly clapped his gloved hands together. He watched them sip their drinks. “How do you like it?”

  Sho and Abera looked at each other, nodding. It was a bit bitter for Sho’s tastes, but then she was used to fare from the capitol, the soil there more fit for vineyards.

  “It’s good,” she said in the hope to not offend the islander across from her. “Sweet, but not overly sweet,” she lied.

  “Ah, exactly,” Jaster concurred. His expression changed and he placed his hand on the table as if signaling a sudden change in subject. “I wanted to talk to you further about Penny Kameera.”

  Sho leaned forward, her turn to be eager. Orlute hadn’t mentioned this sorcerer to them. It was unlikely he had no knowledge of the woman, and Sho felt puzzled and upset her informant left her out. Orlute knew the weight of this case, and yet he still withheld information. The questions was, why? Were the stakes too high? Or was he working with someone he feared more than the Defense Guild? Perhaps he felt Sho wouldn’t be overly stern in her reprimanding. Or maybe he wasn’t planning to stick around long enough. Either way, she would find out.

  “She’s been known to stir the pot,” Jaster went on. “Working for the M
onterim Trading Company, it’s said she directly attacked rival merchant ships that were supplying King Greenvale’s and Lord Staverly’s forces during the retaking of the city. It was in the middle of the night, and some say she cast explosive spells that set cargo ablaze aboard three ships. Ten sailors were killed and dozens others injured, many of them almost done unloading shipments, ready to return to their families after weeks at sea.”

  “And what connection did these ships have with the trading company?” Sho asked.

  “The ships belonged to a rival merchant who bid lower, and the army took the contract over the Company’s. Also, its rumored the Monterim Trading Company, at that time, expected reinforcements to arrive for the rebel army at the east end of the city, and with it, added covert contracts that would increase shareholder profits tenfold. By destroying the ships, Penny wasn’t just eliminating the competition, she was impeding King Greenvale’s and Lord Staverly’s forces, which in turn would persuade the rebel army to redouble efforts on Quinlander.”

  “I see,” Sho said, brushing at a fly that got in from the window. With the wine, it became warmer in the parlor, and she could feel her travel dress start to stick to her skin. “Do you think she could be involved in some kind of contract with the Company to kill lords?”

  “That’s where it gets turgid,” Jaster said, waving his hand at a second fly. “You see, the Company is thriving now that the king’s garrison has restored order and retaken the fortress. But she has the history… and the powers, of course, to wreak violence swiftly and efficaciously.”

  He took another swig of what must have been his third glass of the hour. “Now, there are other tell-tale signs of her penchants. My line of work is as a freelancer. I used to work for bankers and investors, using my spell knowledge to vouch for certain proposals and ventures. But, when my daughter married a rich nobleman, and my wife and I had an empty home, I decided to work for myself. My main jobs come from clients looking for something, like yourself. But as you know, it is usually blood that gives us clearer answers in our probing.”

  Jaster hiccupped twice then continued, “I mainly deal with objects—stolen objects. Wealthy clients come to me to track down their stolen sentimentals: jewelry, paintings, instruments, diaries, and money in its many forms. I use my art to a unique advantage. I look to objects that were near or touched the stolen item, and by using spells from rare texts I can catch glimpses of the people who stole it.” Jaster stretched his back in a way that showed grace and discomfort. “I tracked one of these stolen items to the docks one day, and it just so happens crowds had gathered around one particular ship.”

  “I decided to take a break from my hunt and ambled up to the ship. Lo and behold, there was Penny with a handful of uniformed Company guards shouting at a merchant and his hired sellswords. This particular merchant did not want to deliver to her, saying it was the wrong price agreed upon and that another buyer had the money on hand. Swords were drawn on both sides, the crowd scattered, yet I perused the event. Penelope Kameera pulled her dagger, drew blood and cast so the innocent merchant was forced up through the air, hurled against the top of his own mast so hard, that if the fall onto his deck didn’t kill him, the cracked skull would have. Not to mention, the same spell forced all the merchant’s thugs to turn their swords back on themselves so that those who drew were instruments in their own demise, forced by sorcery to fall on their own blades.”

  “Sure, she had the contract on hand when explaining events to customs agents and harbor security, but who’s to say they didn’t lie about the price? Or plant illegal cargo onboard when pillaging the ship, all to make the Company’s efforts more in the right?”

  Sho shrugged at the questions, taken aback at it all. She glanced over to Abera who also bore an inquisitive look.

  “So now you see why I don’t trust Penny,” Jaster said. “Not because she’s a woman—it has nothing to do with it. But because of her history.” He emphasized the word, drawing it out to make his point. He sat back, swirling his drink in the crystal. “Now, if you could use discretion in what I’ve told you, I’d appreciate it. I don’t like bad-mouthing a fellow practitioner, but for your case I feel I had to speak up.”

  “Thank you for this,” Sho said, finishing the rest of the tepid wine. “This has all been very helpful, and I’m sure will aid the inquiry.”

  “Not at all,” Jaster said, watching them rise, his eyes then fixing on Abera. “Anything to help a colleague, so to speak.” He turned back to Sho and winked at her. “Have a lovely evening, ladies,” he said, removing his hat and bowing.

  Sho could feel stares of gentlemen in the gaming room, corridors, and of the doorman as she and Abera exited the social guild.

  That night after interviewing Bastion and Jaster, Sho felt lousy due to the fact that she hadn’t learned much in terms of advancing the case. She did need to visit with Penelope Kameera and Elliot Thungerd and find out what she could from them. She sat on her bed gazing out at the swaying palm next to her window. A cool breeze came up from the south helping with the nighttime humidity. The glow of candlelight cast shadows in her small room and just enough light to read the book in front of her—a volume that explained methods and incantations to counter and combat dark magic and spells from the black texts.

  She set the book on her nightstand and thought back to her time at the Academy. She’d fallen for her rival—before she even knew he was one. Clyne Kalan was a handsome practitioner a year ahead of her, and a promising student, like herself. They chatted at first, and then helped each other with their studies, working together in the composition of essays on magic, the correct pronunciation of Statinge spells, and the various approaches to casting minor spells without the use of blood.

  Sho’s second year final project involved a spell of launching a flaming disc conjured from the ether, halting it before it made contact with the physical world, and then making it disappear with no effect. Her professor had said it was a training of restraint, one of the most difficult practices of spellcasters—that is, stopping a spell once it has already been cast, especially a dangerous spell that could be harmful to objects and persons.

  She’d received a high grade with her project, practicing the proper Statinge incantations day and night for weeks in preparation for her final exam. Once Clyne had heard of her accomplishment, he seemed jealous and his mood changed from his earlier amicability. At first he’d been charming and supportive, and she’d slept with him on numerous occasions. But the day after her final exam in that second year, he’d changed.

  “What’s the matter?” Sho asked in his private student room at the Academy. “Clyne, you are not yourself.”

  He shook his head, mumbling quietly. “Do you know why it was so difficult for you to pass that exam?”

  “Because it is a difficult series of spells to master.”

  Clyne shook his head some more, than tilted it in partial acknowledgement. “Yes and no,” he said. “It is a difficult spell—especially since the professor was challenging you with a conjured disc. These discs are much more difficult to tame, and most students they test in their second year are assigned to stop a conjured sphere or orb—easier to master. But for some reason they gave you the disc.”

  Sho scrunched her brow. “Well, perhaps they wanted to challenge me. Maybe they think I’m a bit ahead of second year students.”

  Clyne chuckled. “I know you are ahead of them. And that’s precisely why they challenged you. Your grades are better than mine were at the time. In all likelihood, you are already better than me—and I’ve been studying longer than you, even before the Academy.”

  Sho had begun to see the reason for Clyne’s agitation. “So? It’s just my natural abilities—and the fact that I’m working very hard with what I have.”

  “I know that,” he said. “You have definitely been working hard—too much in fact. I… I…” Clyne fumbled his words.

  “What’s the matter?” Sho asked, worried for him.

  “
Ever since I’ve been reading the black texts… I’ve become… more jealous.”

  Sho involuntarily moved a hand to her mouth. “The black texts? Clyne, you shouldn’t read such things—they are sinister to readers, and forbidden. Where’d you get them?”

  “I snuck into the locked library.”

  “You need to return them,” Sho said. “Put them back, and walk away. They are no good for students, or even veteran sorcerers for that matter.”

  “I know they’re no good—at least now I do.” He scratched his head nervously, and Sho saw sweat pool around his tunic. He looked a wreck.

  He shot her a glance and continued, “I originally used them to bolster my normal spells, to impress the professors and other third year students with my abilities. To further impress you.”

  “You don’t need to impress me further,” Sho stated, placing a hand on his arm.

  Clyne shivered at the touch. “My interpretations of the black texts became muddled and I wasn’t improving. I became more jealous of you, when I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be like that toward someone I care for. But I became so, so jealous that I began casting spells to hinder your studies. I used arcane spells of interference—meant to delay and impede your individual spells of the past month. Especially those involving the conjuring and halting of discs.”

  Sho took a step back. “I told you so, Clyne—these texts are dangerous. Don’t you see what they’ve done!”

  “I know, I know,” he yelled. “Just, please, don’t tell the Board—please…”

  Sho knew she had too. Only they could cast the spells to rid Clyne’s possessed mind of the black spells. They had spread like a disease into his head, manifesting in his haggard face, his gaunt features, and his shaking body. He needed to be cleaned—his mind wiped free of these burrowing, dark incantations that were subjected to his eyes.

  “I have to,” Sho stated flatly. There was no alternative. Sure she was angry with him. But she still cared for his welfare. She wanted him to be him again.