“Thank you. My name is Mellani,” the girl told him handing over the collar.
“A pleasure, my lady. I am Tomlin the Bard. Do you know any offensive spells?” he asked hurriedly turning his attention to the three remaining magician hunters including the one called Blackwing.
Mellani nodded, “Some, but he has my grimoire,” indicating Sir Blackwing.
Tomlin pulled his own spellbook from his cloak and handed it to Mellani. “Some magic is better than none, I guess.”
The bard looked Mellani in the eyes and felt his fellow magician's fear and uncertainty. She looked a few years older, but had none of the hardness that Tomlin possessed. In some small way he envied her for that. Holding her gaze, he told Mellani in no uncertain terms, “We can not let any of them live. This collar is a prototype. If its creator learns how well it works he will make hundreds of these and put one around the neck of every magician locked away in a domain or in Baj and turn them all into slaves bent on hunting down the rest of us with their own magician army. Do you understand?”
Mellani nodded in agreement, “You paint a vivid picture,” and began to cast a spell. A moment later a gust of wind flew from her hand knocking the three hunters off their feet.
Tomlin seized the opportunity and made a mad dash for the nearest hunter and stabbed him with several quick but deep lunges into his gut before he could get up. He was about to move onto the next hunter, but they were both back on their feet already and ready to fight.
Blackwing shouted, “Handle the boy! I will take care of the magician!” Blackwing charged towards Mellani holding his sword in front of him as if it was a shield as well as a weapon. She shot another gust of wind at him, but his blade cut through it absorbing and warding against the magic as Blackwing cut the distance between them.
“Your master does not consider me much of a threat.” Tomlin told his opponent swinging his knife in short erratic arcs forcing the hunter to clumsily block over and over again. Tomlin knew that the Kenzai was unable to match his speed and as long as he did not let up with his attacks eventually the warrior would falter. “You will pay for his mistake.”
Tomlin stepped in under the Kenzai's sloppy parry to an obviously wide dagger swing and slashed the hunter's throat causing him to spurt blood before collapsing, dead, to the floor.
He turned to see Mellani pressed against a wall. A wavering shield projection was the only thing between her and the bright blue glow of Blackwing's sword clashing against the construct.
The distance in knife lengths was difficult to judge in the space of a second, but Tomlin took a guess and holding the knife by its blade flung it at Blackwing’s back where it found a resting place. Blackwing fell to his hands and knees with a scream of agony.
Mellani looked relieved as she dropped her shield to Tomlin's utter surprise. “No!” he screamed running towards her and when she looked back to Blackwing she understood that the Kenzai warrior was down, but not defeated as the tip of his blade came rushing at her face.
She held her hand up as if in protest and the deadly warrior dropped his sword and fell to his side. Mellani grabbed the sword and pulled the man's knife from its scabbard just to be safe.
Tomlin came to stand beside Mellani and held his hand out for the sword, “Do you want me to do it?” The harried woman handed over the sword without a word. “Your opponent fell to his knees not the ground meaning he still had some strength to fight despite the pain. He also never dropped his weapon making him still a danger to anyone nearby.” The bard unceremoniously stabbed Blackwing through the back so that his sword came out the other side. When Tomlin was sure that Blackwing was no more he retrieved his knife and wiped the blood off with the hunter's cloak. “What did you do to him when you raised your hand?”
“It was a mental suggestion that he fall asleep,” she told him without pride. Tomlin wondered if she was still in shock.
After rifling through the corpse's clothing Tomlin found Mellani's grimoire. He held it up and asked, “Do you want to trade?” with a smooth smile and Mellani covered her mouth to stifle a laugh that was born from a feeling of uneasy relief.
The magicians surveyed the warehouse and in addition to the collar they found a strange weapon that looked like a short tube with a handle. Tomlin read the description on the destroyed cargo crate, “Hand cannons? There must be hundreds of these here. The collar is a prototype device, but these are being made in mass. The dwarves have been busy.”
“How does it work?” Mellani asked.
“I have no idea,” Tomlin told her, stuffing one into an inner pocket of his cloak, “but I plan to find out. We are going to try and figure out how these things work so that we know how to counter them.”
“Who is ‘we’?” Mellani asked, “I thought I knew all of the magicians near Lion’s Landing.”
“I meant ‘we’ as in magicians in general,” Tomlin lied, “and I am not from around here.” More than that, Tomlin would not reveal.
When they left the warehouse they were greeted by the arrival of four more magicians: the cute girl that was with Mellani earlier and three boys although one was a few years older than the rest.
“Turshyn!” Mellani yelled and ran into the eldest boy’s arms. The other girl hugged them both and started to cry joyfully while Tomlin and the other teenage boys looked on.
“You need to get out of here before more Kenzai arrive,” Tomlin told the other young magicians. He pulled the lute from his back and began to tune the strings as he walked away heading north towards the square and the relative safety of the crowds.
Mellani stopped him, “Tomlin, would you like to come with us? We have a safe haven not far from here if you need someplace to hide.”
“Thank you for your generosity, Mellani, but I am under strict orders to give your school a wide berth,” the bard told her as he walked off.
“By who?” Mellani asked, but Tomlin only turned and waved goodbye with a roguish grin before he disappeared down a side street.
Alia was a difficult taskmaster to be certain, but when he looked at these other magicians he was forced to acknowledge the effectiveness of her cutthroat ideology. Being completely limited to enchantment spells he had no doubt that the other apprentices he just met were more powerful than him in the magical arts. He also had no doubt that they were not used to hard living and had little understanding of just how dangerous the world is and how precarious their positions in it truly were. They were just as his master had described them.
Chapter 36
Gilkame Axebeard was not difficult for Marian to track down. All it took was a few coins in the pocket of a young courier and Marian found a guide willing to take her to his workshop. However, she did not expect the high level of security guarding the dwarf. There was a pair of guards at the front door and another at the back. She saw two more pass windows inside the workshop and guessed there could be at least another pair keeping an eye on the shop from perches a safe distance away with bows in hand. Clearly Draker's assertion that Gilkame was more than just a jeweler was well founded.
Marian surveyed the area and found a possible point of entry through a window halfway between the front and back doors that would not be visible from either position. The guards patrolling the interior would only pass by once every few minutes leaving a gap in their protection. Of course such an entry would only be possible if it were during the late hours of night and at the moment it was still before noon. Then again the ranger was not here to breach the dwarf's security.
Marian Lightfoot stood before Gilkame's workshop in a more official capacity. Her hair was freshly washed and she wore a brown cloak made of an elven material that seemed to shimmer in the sun covering her ceremonial leather armor, giving her the look of a noble warrior. Dwarven society was very rigid when it came to nobility and castes and most dwarves were very respectful of the ruling classes whether it was a dwarf, human, or elf noble and warriors of noble birth were held in even higher regard.
“I
seek an audience with the dwarf, Gilkame Axebeard,” Marian declared to the guards posted at the front entrance.
The guardsman to her left looked the ranger up and down. Judging her to be of sufficient importance, he asked politely, “Who should I tell him is asking, my lady?”
“Tell him that Marian Lightfoot is here on behalf of Warlord Ethiel Nightwind of the North Lands Western Province,” she said returning the guard's respect, but maintaining an air of cold formality that she had come to associate with most nobles.
“A call from a warlord's herald is quite unexpected,” the guard said carefully choosing his words, “May I inquire as to the reason for your visit?”
Disarming him with her smile Marian said, “You may inquire, but I can not answer. Rest assured Gilkame Axebeard is not in any trouble, but I do need to speak with him urgently.”
“Of course, my lady.” The guard bowed and disappeared inside the workshop. A minute later he returned and escorted Marian to a small study near the entrance where they found the stout dwarf waiting. She was a little disappointed that she would not get a better look around Gilkame's workshop after everything Draker had said.
Gilkame stood in the middle of the room with his chest puffed out and his hands behind his back trying to look as dignified as possible despite the sweat in his long black beard and coal smudges on his hands, pants, and shirt. After exchanging pleasantries and apologizing for his unkempt appearance Gilkame asked, “How may I help you, my lady?” motioning for Marian to sit in a chair while he took the one opposite it behind a writing desk. There were books scattered across the table haphazardly on subjects ranging from metalworking to magical enchantments.
“Do you know of the Lady Tian Nightwind's disappearance?” Marian asked taking her seat.
Gilkame nodded, “Yes, another investigator came to see me after it happened. That was the day my shop caught on fire. I saw the girl driven into the alley by the fires, but that was all. I was too busy trying to save my wares.”
“How did the fire start?” Marian asked. Her eyes darted to the book on enchanting.
Seeing her look, Gilkame pushed the book toward her offering Marian a look and said, “I am investigating some revolutionary ideas in weaponry and armor. Magicians have been placing enchantments on items as far back as anyone can remember, but that does not mean that enchanting is strictly limited to magicians as most of us think.” The dwarf tapped the side of his skull as if to reinforce his point then added, “But that is not true. The Kenzai can enchant their weapons to drain magic and I believe that it is possible for other normal people to prepare other sorts of enchantments as well… under the right circumstances.”
“I am not sure I understand how someone who is not a magician can use magic,” Marian confessed. Gilkame was about to answer, but Marian stopped him. “Perhaps we can speak on it later, but for now I need to focus on the young Lady Tian's abduction. Back to the fire...”
“It is a shame you do not wish to know more. Enchanting is a fascinating topic and a great unexploited weapon against the plague of wizards.” Gilkame shrugged and started stroking his beard absentmindedly. “I believed the fire was an attack on my person before I heard about the young lady's disappearance. Truthfully, I am not entirely convinced, even now, that I was not the target. Not all of my projects are magician friendly.” Gilkame opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a pipe and tobacco patch. “Do you partake?” Marian waved off his offer and Gilkame continued as he packed some tobacco into the pipe. “The fire must have started by magical means, because there was nothing flammable at my booth. Unlike my work here there is nothing dangerous for sale in my booth. It was filled with simple gadgets and jewelry that I make a modest living on.”
“This massive workshop and all these guards are paid for from your little shop? I find that hard to believe.” Marian told him, but Gilkame gave her a knowing smile.
“I do have some generous benefactors, my lady, and once my inventions and theories are made public knowledge I expect to be a very rich dwarf,” Gilkame told her as if she should already be aware of this information.
There was more to Gilkame Axebeard than met the eye, but so far he had done little more than confirm her suspicions and corroborated Draker's story. “Did you see anyone unusual around your booth prior to the fire? Anyone that seemed out of place specifically people in positions of authority like a noble or a guardsman?”
Gilkame shook his head. “I see my fair share of nobles in the markets, but none that seemed out of place,” He paused taking a puff from his pipe as he thought, “Now that I think about it, the only thing odd was that a priest was looking at watches, but he moved on to another booth before the Lady Nightwind’s entourage arrived.”
Leaning forward Marian was suddenly curious. She had not considered a priest, but that could explain why there was no struggle. Priests were generally well regarded and trusted in the kingdom. When she first met Sane he was disguised as a priest. It was likely that other magicians had the same idea. “Another merchant, Draker, showed me one of your watches. It is an interesting device. Why would it be strange that a priest might want one?”
“A watch is an expensive item and priests do not have any money of their own,” Gilkame considered, stroking his beard again. Then he added, “In fact there is nothing at my booth that a priest would want. Beyond their mystical implements and robes, priests have no personal belongings.”
“Have you ever seen that priest before?”
“Well, I am a devout worshiper of the goddess,” Gilkame said proudly, “He is a newer priest. I think he has only been with the temple for a year or two. His name is Mantellus.”
***
Once she knew who to look for finding Priest Mantellus was fairly easy. Barely two hours had passed since she left Gilkame's workshop and now Marian was stalking the priest like a wolf might stalk a deer.
Tracking a person in the middle of a large city was much different than tracking one in the forest. In the forest a hunter can rely on tracks, trampled grass, and any number of other miniscule clues so that the tracker can still find their prey hours or even days later, but in the city tracking was a much different talent. In the city keeping the target in site was key, so that even a few seconds amongst the twists and turns of Mollifas' streets was enough to ensure that a wary or even lucky target could lose their pursuit with minimal effort. Marian watched the priest making seemingly endless rounds through the city as he greeted worshipers and festivalgoers alike. The festival of Sunshillah was now into its second day and the priests had taken to the streets to make merry with their flock now that all of the sermons had ended.
The sun was nearly setting as Marian, hidden amongst the growing shadows and crowds, followed the priest leaving the crowded streets and moving into the warehouse district. Up until that point he had played the role of sanctimonious priest without a hint of anything peculiar about him, but as he headed farther into the district it became clear that Priest Mantellus was hiding something. He began to walk at a brisk pace and took to looking over his shoulder every so often, but to one used to running over branches and leaves without making a sound avoiding the furtive glances of a wary priest was a simple trick.
Before long he entered a small closed down warehouse. After a few minutes when it was apparent that the priest was not coming out Marian approached the building cautiously making note of points of entry, as she was apt to do. The first rule of being a ranger was to be aware of your surroundings. Sari always said, “Knowing the battleground better than your opponent was a tremendous advantage that could turn disaster into success.” Marian hoped that was true. She did not relish the thought of facing a magician, especially alone.
She opened the door to find the warehouse barren except for an office at the far end. The faint sound of talking got louder as Marian crept next to the door keeping out of sight of the shuddered window for fear that Mantellus might decide to peak out of it at any moment. The ranger pulled her long dagger from
its scabbard and clutched it tightly in her hand.
“If you let me go, I will not tell anyone,” said a young woman's voice weakly. The voice undoubtedly belonged to Tian Nightwind.
“You know that is not true as well as I do, my dear,” the priest said in an oddly soothing tone, “Now shall we get started again?”
Tian's screams were immediate and intense causing the ranger to jump in surprise. She nearly cut her leg by accident, but the leather armor she wore protected her from the glancing scratch. She knew the smart thing to do would be to find Sari and Sane or go directly to Warlord Nightwind who would surely mobilize every available knight at his disposal to save his only daughter. Magicians were notoriously dangerous even to the Kenzai that watched over them and the idea of facing one in close combat especially one as disturbed as this Mantellus appeared to be frightened Marian greatly. Every intelligent thought in her head told her to leave and get help, but her motherly instincts would not allow her to abandon this young girl as she was being tortured. If Marian left for help and returned to find Tian dead or gone, she would never be able to forgive herself.
She listened intently for the sound of Mantellus’ voice over the girl's shrieks of pain. It seemed like the torture went on for a long time, but the ranger guessed it was probably only a few minutes before Tian's voice gave out.
“Done screaming already?” Mantellus asked his voice thick with condescension, “I expected more from you. Your will is all but broken and things are only just getting interesting.”
Marian tested the doorknob and found it unlocked. Swinging the door open she sprang in the direction of Mantellus' voice and was halfway into a thrust before she fully saw him. Her body crashed into his with the force of a grizzly bear and just as much ferocity. The blade of her dagger bit into his fleshy belly spitting blood over her finely crafted leather gloves.
Rogue Magician (The Magician Rebellion) Page 20