Renegade Wizards aot-3

by Lucien Soulban

  She paused, waiting to hear what either had to say. Tythonnia was too choked up on her own emotions to speak, however, and Par-Salian had his hands full with her.

  “The mission is my concern, not your feelings,” Ladonna said and spread her arms open. “And I needed to see how you’d react to getting caught.”

  “You endangered her,” Par-Salian said.

  “I saw you moving to help her,” Ladonna said. “And if you hadn’t, I would have. I wasn’t going to let her get hurt.”

  “And what do you call this?” Tythonnia said, pointing to her split lip.

  “A trophy. Let her go, Par-Salian.”

  Par-Salian hesitated but only for a moment. Tythonnia broke free of his grip and scrambled to her feet. She stood nose to nose with Ladonna. Ladonna stared back at her, a fierce expression that did nothing to cow Tythonnia.

  “All thieves earn that at one time or another,” Ladonna said without a shred of mercy in her voice. “What they can do to you-the merchants, the guards, any of them-is far worse than a split lip and a bruised pride.” She pulled her long, black hair back and turned her head, revealing a burn scar behind the ear. It looked like an arrowhead. “Much worse,” she said. “I needed to know how you’d react. Before it really counted.”

  Tythonnia’s fist connected with Ladonna’s jaw and sent her head snapping to the side. The blow was solid, a punch learned from her cousin who taught her how to deal with troublesome boys. Ladonna stumbled backward but did not fall. The wall caught her. Par-Salian grabbed Tythonnia about the shoulders, but she managed to shrug loose.

  “Now you know how I’ll react,” Tythonnia said. She strode for the door.

  “Fine,” Ladonna said, nursing her jaw. “You only get one of those.”

  “Wrong. I’ll take as many as I want,” Tythonnia retorted.

  Ladonna laughed, not her cold, mocking laughter, but a genuine guffaw that seemed blessed with something natural, the gritty, boisterous laugh of a rowdy commoner. “I’ll make a Black Robe of you yet, Tythonnia,” Ladonna said.

  Tythonnia said nothing as she opened the door and stormed out. The innkeeper and his wife downstairs suddenly looked very busy.

  They stood outside the courtyard of the Wanderer’s Welcome, in the shadow of an alley. The older of the pair was a man in his forties. He wore black leather pants and a mailed surcoat with the sleeves missing. A tapestry of tattoos stretched up his arms to gird both biceps and cover his shoulders. From the straps across his chest hung two curved daggers, while the scars that stitched his grizzled face and his hands said he’d been in a fair number of scrapes.

  The younger of the pair was a boy with black, unruly hair and green eyes. His clothes weren’t rags just yet, but they were well on their way. His right hand was in his pocket, fidgeting with the toy soldier. He was nervous and jumped slightly when the man’s rough hands clamped down on his neck and held him there firmly. There was a threat in his fist, the ability to snap the boy’s neck. The boy knew that; all the children did.

  “I’m getting tired of waiting,” the man said, his voice like rocks tumbling over each other.

  The boy squirmed, trying to break free of the man’s grip, but he remained held firmly in place. “I seen her come here,” the boy said. “I promi-there!” he said, almost shouting. He pointed at the black-garbed woman who emerged from the inn into the wagon-strewn courtyard.

  The older man squeezed the boy’s neck even harder for his outburst and pulled him back into the shadowed alley.

  “I told you I seen her, Sutler,” the boy said, trying to speak through the pain. “I told you-”

  Sutler shook the boy hard like a rag doll before forcing him to face the woman. She didn’t notice either of them as she headed out of the courtyard.

  “Her? You’re sure?” he demanded, shaking the boy again.

  The boy nodded. He was struggling not to cry; that alone was enough to earn a beating from Sutler. “Yessir,” he said. “She asked for Edoha, but I told her nothing. I saw her running scams down by the Labyrinth with another girl.”

  Sutler released the boy from his grip and ran his thick fingers over the rough stubble of his chin. The grating noise drove a shiver down the boy’s neck. He tried not to show it, especially since Sutler was thinking so hard about something.

  “Nah … it can’t be,” Sutler said, staring at the woman. His eyes widened. “Paladine’s balls, it is her!”

  “Who is she, Sutler?”

  Sutler spun on the boy, making as though he was ready to backhand him. The boy cringed, but Sutler’s hand slapped down on his shoulder, instead, almost bringing him to a knee.

  “What’s the first rule I taught you about the guild?”

  “Blood for life?” the boy asked by way of an answer.

  “Blood for life,” Sutler said, concurring. He walked out of the alley, forcing the boy to catch up. “Blood for life,” he repeated, a murderous smile inching its way across his face. “Just happens that some lives are shorter than others.” He followed the black-haired woman.

  Par-Salian tried to make peace between the two women, but Tythonnia claimed it was no longer an issue. The punch settled the matter. Yet Tythonnia still felt betrayed, and Par-Salian knew that. He understood her anger, however, and likely shared it.

  Tythonnia was still upset at Ladonna and felt incapable of trusting her. She approached every one of their thieving forays as another opportunity for betrayal and expected Ladonna to ambush them at every turn. For the remaining week, no treachery came and that, perhaps, was even more frustrating.

  The next set of lessons proved difficult for Tythonnia and even more so for Par-Salian. It was a step up in daring, robbing a shop in the middle of the night. Par-Salian insisted on keeping a tally of what they stole, to reimburse the shopkeepers when their assignment ended. Ladonna wanted to argue the point, but Par-Salian insisted with a stiff jaw. He saw no reason not to make amends once the mission with Berthal was done.

  In the span of four evenings, they robbed two stores of Ladonna’s choosing. One, a barter house, was in the Merchandising District, while the second was a jeweler in the more affluent Palanthas Trade Exchange. In both cases, Ladonna chose places protected with mystical wards. It was time to incorporate magic into their theft, she said, to attract Berthal’s lieutenant.

  From the barter house, they stole what people would need to survive: equipment for traveling and monies. From the jeweler, they stole what greed dictated, though Ladonna took longer to pick out certain pieces to nick, all of them antiques. Tythonnia couldn’t be bothered to mention it, even to Par-Salian who decided it best if he served as lookout.

  It was on their way back from the second job that Ladonna broke the bad news. As they kept to the shadows and avoided the well-patrolled, main thoroughfares, she told them.

  “I think it’s time we redouble our efforts. I say we rob shops in daylight, where people can see us use magic.”

  Par-Salian’s jaw seemed to knot up; Tythonnia knew he was upset. “We’ll discuss this later,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

  “If you insist,” Ladonna said, her voice equally low and dangerous. They continued on their way home.

  The courtyard was dark and empty when they arrived. The Vagros had left the day before, much to Tythonnia’s regret. She’d wanted to spend more time with them, instead of engaging in such messy business. Par-Salian and Ladonna had barely given the Vagros a nod good-bye, but Tythonnia spent an hour speaking with Grandmother Yassa and Kandri in the privacy of their wagon. It was like talking with family.

  Sebastian also told Tythonnia she’d be welcome among them if she ever needed shelter or traveling companions. She thanked him for his hospitality then watched him usher along five new kender as though they were his most beloved children.

  Tythonnia looked around the courtyard and felt hollow for its emptiness. Ladonna stopped, however, and hissed at the others to freeze. Par-Salian complied and Tythonnia immediately noticed the exterior
lanterns had been extinguished, heightening the darkness in the courtyard. Before any of them could react, however, several figures seemed to appear from the shadows. Tythonnia felt the blade against her throat before she even realized someone was behind her.

  Four men and a woman emerged into view. All of them were lean and masked by black cloth hoods that covered their lower faces. One man held Tythonnia to absolute stillness with the edge of a short sword pressed to her throat. The same held true for Par-Salian. The remaining three surrounded Ladonna, each ready to gut her. Only the man facing her, however, seemed confident and relaxed. Tattoos covered his arms, and he spun the two daggers expertly as he stood there.

  “Little thief, little thief, welcome back home,” the man said.

  “Sutler,” Ladonna replied. “You’re still alive? I’m surprised nobody’s crushed you under their boot yet.”

  Sutler pulled his mask down, revealing a roadwork of scars. “They’ve tried,” he said. “Care to finish their work, little thief?”

  Ladonna purred at the thought. She smiled. “In good time. What brings you here?” she asked casually.

  “You left the guild. Nobody leaves the guild,” he replied. “You came back. Even dumber of you. But to rob guild-protected shops? You must be feeling downright suicidal. I came by to help you with that.”

  Guild-protected shops? Tythonnia thought. Her strength fled; her stomach fluttered wildly. She could see it in Ladonna’s gaze, the guile, the machinations playing out. She was enjoying their situation; she felt in control. She’s out for revenge, Tythonnia realized. She used us to bring these people here so she could …

  “Ladonna?” Par-Salian said carefully. His attacker pressed the knife to his throat.

  “Shut up,” Ladonna said. “Let me do the talking.”

  Sutler smiled and nodded to Par-Salian. “And who is this, little thief? Your boyfriend? Too pretty for your tastes,” he said. The knives in his hands danced between his fingers. “We simply can’t have you courting someone prettier than you.”

  Tythonnia’s eyes widened. Par-Salian was in trouble; they all were. She looked to Ladonna for help, but the cool, calm gaze of her compatriot was gone. In its place was a feral expression: anger, hatred, pain. The real Ladonna was showing through, Ladonna the street urchin, Ladonna the animal, Ladonna the hurt.

  “We can’t all like little girls,” Ladonna said; her voice seemed to chill the air.

  In an instant, the mood changed. Tythonnia felt her assailant inhale ever so slightly, a small, panicked gasp that was shared in the glances of the other thieves. Whoever Sutler was, he was not a man to cross. Everyone there feared him, down to his own foot soldiers.

  Sutler’s face contorted in anger. He bared his yellowed teeth and strode up to Ladonna. She stood her ground, however, her face turned up to his in defiance. The rogue’s blade flashed in his hands and across her face. Ladonna yelped in pain and immediately pressed her palm against the cut on her cheek, but the blood flowed freely over her fingers. His hands danced again, and another cut appeared on her exposed arm, then another.

  Ladonna stumbled back and the woman behind her pushed her forward. Sutler caught Ladonna by the jaw.

  “What was that, little thief?” Sutler said.

  Despite the cuts to her face and her arm, Ladonna stared at him with an unflinching gaze. “I’ve suffered worse at your hands,” she said then looked at Tythonnia. She smiled. “And one more thing,” she said, turning her gaze back to Sutler. “I’m no longer ‘little thief.’”

  As Ladonna’s claws dug into Sutler’s chest, she cried, “Halilintar sentu!”

  Electricity sparked and danced between her fingers and into Sutler. He screamed and jerked as the threads of static leaped across his body and plunged between the links of his chain armor.

  Tythonnia kept her hands in front of her as she locked her fingers in three quick movements.

  “Sihir anak!” she whispered. One dart of light curled back and struck the man holding her. He screamed and pulled away without drawing her blood. Another struck the man holding Par-Salian. He, too, stumbled back as Par-Salian shrugged him off and prepared his own spell. The final two darts struck the man and the woman behind Ladonna, stopping them from falling upon her.

  Sutler slashed out, cutting Ladonna across the ribs with his blade. She dodged another swing, but already her hands and mouth were moving with the dance of another spell. Par-Salian cracked his wrists together, producing a bell-like clang from the bracers around his wrists. The air around his body shimmered with heat, and three blazing arrows appeared. They shot out, their paths straight and true.

  The first arrow repaid Tythonnia for her favor by striking the man behind her. He cried out in pain as a patch of clothing caught fire. The second arrow caught the woman behind Ladonna in the abdomen. She gasped and went limp, falling to the ground. She didn’t stir again. Unfortunately, the third arrow missed its mark. The other man flanking Ladonna barely managed to twist away, avoiding the bolt that struck the stone wall behind him. It vanished in a blazing pop. The cutthroat stabbed at Ladonna, catching her across the back. Whatever magic she had in store vanished from her lips in that moment of pain. The spell was lost. Ladonna was defenseless against Sutler and the other attacker.

  Tythonnia saw everything happening too quickly, her own reactions too slow. The man behind Par-Salian was already at his back again, his dagger poised to strike; Ladonna fell into the mud, bleeding and flanked by two men who eyed her throat with a predatory gleam. The man behind Tythonnia scrambled to get up.

  Who do I save? she screamed to herself. Everyone was within reach, everyone was too far to save.

  The words came unbidden, as though possessed of their own voice. Her fingers darted into place, her hand motions swift and concise. She touched the pouch strapped to her wrist, the one with her eyelash trapped in tree sap. As the magic rode the shiver up her spine, she cried the words, “Tak’kelihatan lingkaran.”

  And everyone vanished.

  CHAPTER 11

  Flight

  Tythonnia quietly stepped forward, as lightly as she could muster, given the adrenaline racing through her. She could hear the others breathing, the sudden panicked inhalation of shock, the shifting weight on the cobblestones. The inn remained quiet, the courtyard dark; the world seemed to be waiting, and so was she. Her only hope was that Ladonna and Par-Salian had heard the words of her spell and understood what to do next.

  To wait.

  Gently, carefully, Tythonnia began preparing the next spell. She did not want to cast it just yet, but to ready the words rolling around her tongue, the weight of the magic balanced in her skull, balanced for the tipping. She inhaled softly and felt the air drag across her lungs. Any moment …

  … any moment.

  “H-hello?” someone cried out. It was a man’s voice, unnatural against the empty courtyard, haunted. It belonged to one of the rogues. There was more shuffling about, though the courtyard appeared empty of everyone but Tythonnia herself.

  “Where’d you go?” another voice cried, almost relieved.

  “I’m right here! Where are you?” The voice seemed to come from close to where Ladonna stood.

  “Here!” the voice cried. It came from behind Tythonnia. She turned to face it, ever so carefully.

  More shuffling was followed by a snarl. It was Sutler who spoke out with a rough whisper. It was hard to pinpoint his voice. “I can hear them breathing! They’re still here! Attack, damn you!”

  Tythonnia braced for the chaos about to erupt. Her spell was prepared, the words pacing in her mouth like an eager dog. She could only hope the others realized what was happening and had prepared accordingly.

  The first thief suddenly appeared. It was Tythonnia’s attacker, his short sword swinging wildly while his other hand was outstretched, as though blindness gripped him. The second and third rogues appeared as well, the one who had attacked Par-Salian and the one who had attacked Ladonna. They all swung blindly; then they
spotted one another, their eyes widening.

  Tythonnia didn’t know whether their horrified expressions came because they realized they had broken the constraints of the invisibility spell, or because they were now visible to attack. Sutler had yet to appear, but Tythonnia knew she had to press the advantage before the trio of cutthroats could somehow regroup. She prayed her companions had come to the same conclusion. The words spilled from her mouth.

  “Keajukan ut saya.”

  The rogues hesitated. Tythonnia reappeared, but now there were seven manifestations of her, each of them interspersed through the area, each of them seemingly as real as the other. Six copies mimicked the moves of one, another of her skillful illusions.

  As the thief struck at one of the illusions with his short sword, obliterating the image into a mist of glittering powder, Tythonnia began another spell. The other illusions simultaneously mimicked the sway of her arms and twist of her fingers. The cutthroat near Par-Salian struck at the Tythonnia nearest him, shattering that illusion as well. Five Tythonnias left to kill.

  And there was still no sign of her companion wizards. They must have been waiting for Sutler to show himself, but he seemed smarter than his ilk. He wasn’t doing anything that would reveal his position.

  Tythonnia had to act again; the rogue nearest her had shattered another illusion, bringing her down to four Tythonnias. She was too close to him not to be attacked next. In unison, the four Tythonnias completed a fresh spell; in unison, they called:

  “Sihir anak!”

  Four bolts of light zipped from each of the four Tythonnias, sixteen daggers in total that stitched zigzag paths over and under each other. Only four bolts were real, but the effect was the same as if all sixteen carried menace. They peppered the attacker like arrow fire and sent him lunging to the floor. He uttered a groan but stayed down.

  Par-Salian materialized behind his attacker, his spell spoken as barely a whisper. A sphere of fire unfurled between his puppeteer-like fingers and the cobblestone ground. He flung the sphere at his attacker, caressing him with flames. The cutthroat screamed and batted at the sphere to push it away, but his sleeves caught fire. He cried even louder as the blaze engulfed his arms. Then he ran out of the courtyard as if his legs could carry him away from his burning body. His cries echoed through the alleys.