The Firemage's Vengeance

by Garrett Robinson

  “I hope so,” he said. “If I am wrong, forgive me. But … understand, I am overjoyed to be here. I can scarcely tell you how honored I am that you wished to bring me into your life. But … why? Why me, in particular?”

  She softened at once. “Because I love you, Ebon. Do you not believe that?”

  “You have said so, and I do believe you,” he said. “And yet … I wonder why. I am nothing special. No, do not look at me like that, nor argue. I do not say this to earn words of praise. I am not special. I am no great man. There is little about me that is remarkable, other than my family, who few hold in very high regard.”

  Adara did not answer him at once, but leaned back in her chair and gave him an appraising look. Then she stood, and came to him, and sat so that she was side-saddle in his lap. “A boy who is usually foolish, and sometimes wise, said that love often springs forth unbidden.”

  He blushed, for he remembered those words. He and Adara had whispered them often enough since he first uttered them. “But honestly,” he pressed. “Have you never thought upon it?”

  “I have,” she said, so quickly that it surprised him. “Here is the truth. And you have begged me not to take offense at your question, so I will ask you to do the same with my answer. I did not love you from the moment I set my eyes upon you, Ebon. I think your love for me may have begun that night, but to me, you were a client like any other. Though I saw at once that you were an uncommonly sweet one—and you were a reminder of Idris, of home, which lent you some slight favor. But when you came to see me the second time, I gave you a lover’s words, as I would have done for anybody else.”

  She leaned in then, and pressed herself against him, and kissed him deep. “And then the Seat was attacked,” she murmured. “You were an utter fool to come after me when you saw Cyrus escorting me through the streets. Yet that foolishness endeared you to me. And then you risked your life to save me, after I learned of Cyrus’ evil. I could not love a boy only because he was sweet. I could not love a boy only because affection made him foolish. And I could not love a boy only because he would give his life for mine. But you were all three at once, and in the same person. And love sprang forth unbidden, for you never spoke lovers’ words to me.”

  It was hard for him to speak for a moment, and so he only held her. “But that is because I am not a lover,” he finally said.

  Adara shook her head. “That is not what I mean. Lovers’ words go two ways. A lover tells a client what they want to hear. But clients also lie to their lovers. The client will speak of their lover’s endless beauty, and say they wish they could be wed, and say they would buy the lover a palace if they could. But if given the chance to fulfill such whispered promises, most clients would refuse. And that is no evil thing; a lover delivers not only the pleasures of the flesh, but the pleasure of dreaming a perfect romance together, a love greater than true life will permit. Lover and client both know that dream will never come true, but it is a precious dream nonetheless.

  “The day the Seat was attacked, I realized you had never spoken a lover’s word to me. You loved me, in truth. I do not know when, after that, I knew I loved you in return. One day, I simply did.”

  He smiled at her. “And that has never happened before? You have never fallen in love?”

  Everything about her changed at once—her posture, the look on her face, and her smile—and he saw it. Inside, he winced. Adara stood and returned to her seat. “Before I answer that, I would ask you something. Would it bother you if I had?”

  Quickly he shook his head. “I am sorry,” he said. “That was wrong of me to ask. I never meant to throw doubt on your feelings for me. I only …”

  “You thought to stoke your own pride,” she said with a wry smile. “To prove to yourself that you were the only one. Well, puff up your chest, my love—you are the first client who has ever stepped into my dwelling.”

  He hung his head. He had made an ass of himself after all. “I am sorry, my love. You deserve someone with a smoother tongue than mine, for it trips over itself no matter my intent.”

  A moment’s silence stretched as she drank deep from her mead. Her eyes glinted. “Your tongue is not so bad as all that.”

  His heart leapt—until the moment was shattered by a pounding at the door below.

  Ebon was on his feet in an instant, but no faster than Adara. Their eyes met. He shook his head. “I am expecting no one,” he whispered.

  “Nor I.”

  The pounding sounded at the door again.

  He ran to the left window. The sash was drawn, and he pulled it aside, trying to look down. But the angle was bad, and he could not see the street just before the door. Adara went to the other window, but from the look on her face it was clear she could see nothing more than he could.

  “Hide yourself,” he hissed. “I will see who it is.”

  “Do not be an idiot.” She went to her cupboard. From its bottom drawer she pulled a long knife. “This is my home.”

  Before he could so much as try to stop her, she had pounded down the stairs and thrown open the door. Ebon was a half-step behind her as she thrust the knife out into the street.

  Mako looked down at the blade and arched an eyebrow.

  Ebon felt thunderstruck. For a moment he could not so much as speak. Fortunately he did not have to, for Adara did instead. “Who are you?” she said. “What do you want?”

  For a moment, Mako did not answer. Then he moved, making Ebon flinch—but he only took a step back, so that he did not impale himself on Adara’s dagger when he gave a deep bow.

  “I beg your every pardon, my lady, for this intrusion. To disturb you was my last wish. I only sought my master, Ebon, of the family Drayden. He is the boy standing there just behind you.”

  Ebon gawked. Adara glanced back at him. He nodded, and slowly she withdrew her dagger. Mako, seeing the motion, straightened from his bow—and then he fixed Ebon with a hard stare.

  “Come with me, little goldshitter. There is work to be done.”

  seven

  MAKO [2]

  After bidding Adara a hasty farewell, and promising to return as soon as he could, Ebon followed Mako into the streets. The moment they had turned a corner, he seized the bodyguard’s arm to pull him around. Mako gave the hand on his elbow a hard look, but Ebon did not care.

  “How did you know I was there? I have not even seen you since we fought with Isra. Where have you been?”

  “You have never been curious about my whereabouts before,” said Mako. “I thought it was because you did not wish to know. Nor have you ever asked how I knew where you were. It is a sort of assumed truth between us, is it not?”

  Ebon’s nostrils flared, and his hand curled to a fist at his side. But what could he do? Striking Mako would do no good—even if the bodyguard did not strike back, which seemed doubtful.

  In truth, he was terrified that Mako knew where Adara lived. But then, as he thought of it, it seemed likely that Mako had had that knowledge for some time. In fact, it would not have surprised Ebon if Mako had known the dwelling of every denizen on the Seat, and their families across the nine kingdoms besides. That was, after all, part of his duty. Not only as a Drayden bodyguard and messenger, but also as their assassin.

  Something of Ebon’s thoughts must have shown in his face, for Mako laughed at him. “You may unclench yourself, little Ebon. Your lover is in no danger from me.”

  “Oh? And what about from Shay?”

  Mako’s mouth soured in an instant. “From what we have learned of your father, I certainly will not be reporting anything to him—about Adara, or anything else.”

  Rather than bringing comfort, the words further darkened Ebon’s mood—except instead of anger, he felt a cold fear. He saw Matami’s gaping eye socket, heard his uncle’s screams.

  And then he remembered their fight against Isra, when the girl struck with her magic. But Mako stood untouched and leapt forwards with his dagger. Her magic had been powerless against him, and Ebon stil
l did not know why.

  “You are very silent, Ebon,” said Mako. “Come. Speak. What do you wish to tell me?”

  “I …” Ebon swallowed hard. Something, some urgent voice in the back of his mind, told him not to speak of what he had seen during the fight. “You mentioned my father. It brought an unpleasant memory to the fore.”

  “Does Matami still plague your thoughts? If everyone were so naive as you, there would be no more war in Underrealm.”

  “Never mind that now,” said Ebon. “I must tell you something about Isra. Last night, in the Academy—”

  “She appeared,” said Mako. “I know it, boy. That is why I have come to see you in the first place. Did you think I sought to converse for my pleasure? I do not think either of us have enjoyed ourselves so far.”

  Ebon looked around. He did not recognize the streets they passed through. A twinge of nerves struck him. “Where are we going, exactly? You cannot know where she is already.”

  Mako snorted. “Of course not. You are more craven than that old instructor of yours, Ebon, and it suits you ill. I wish we were going to see her now, so that I could end the little girl once and for all.”

  “Then where?”

  “You would do well to learn patience.”

  The next few streets passed in silence. Ebon knew only that they were somewhere in the southwest end of the city. Little construction had made its way there, and many buildings were burned or fallen to ruin. This was where the Shades had brought the full strength of their assault, and few who lived here had survived the attack. It seemed the High King did not see fit to rebuild where no one would live afterward.

  At last they came to a wrought iron fence that surrounded a wide house of nobility—wide, but not so tall as the Drayden family’s manor, nor as resplendent in its design. Here and there the fence had been bent and broken, so that there were many gaps to slip through. Mako paused, fixing Ebon with a look.

  “One more thing before we enter. With Isra about, you may have need of me, and your lover’s messages cannot reach me quickly enough. Do you remember when I snuck you out of the Academy?”

  Ebon frowned. “Of course.”

  “There is a piece of alabaster on the ground near that place. You cannot miss it. If ever you must tell me something, or need my help, write a note and leave it beneath the alabaster. I will come as quickly as I may.”

  “Very well,” said Ebon. “But do you think I am in danger?”

  Mako spread his hands and grinned. “A rogue mindmage is on the loose, and she has the strength of magestones within her. Do you think anyone in the Academy is safe?”

  That seemed a fair point. Ebon looked up at the manor before them. “What is this place?”

  “It once belonged to the family Skard.” Mako looked the place over, his lip curling slightly. “They are one of—”

  “A merchant family from Dulmun,” said Ebon. “I know the name.”

  “They left the Seat just before it was attacked—and now it may be guessed that they knew of Dulmun’s treachery before it happened. They have not returned since.”

  The sky was already darkening above them. Ebon gave a weary sigh. “What is this all about, Mako? Curfew is not far off, and I cannot be out this late.”

  “This will not be a long engagement,” said Mako. “And besides, if you are late in returning, you will not be the only one.”

  He ducked in through a gap in the fence, crossed the courtyard, and entered the manor through its front door. Ebon swallowed hard, wondering what the bodyguard had meant by that comment, before he finally mustered the courage to follow.

  MAKO [2]

  From the street, the manor looked nowhere near as impressive as the home of Ebon’s family. But when he crossed the threshold, the sight of the main hall froze him in place and robbed his breath. Far it stretched, thirty paces at least, and lined with hearths to either side. At its head was the greatest fireplace of all, where a fine mantel of marble was likely meant to hold treasures and goblets of silver and gold. The shelf lay bare now—what the invaders had not taken, looters would have stolen since. That is, if the family Skard had not taken their valuables with them when they fled.

  Running the hall’s length was a mammoth wooden table, wider than Ebon was tall, and a long bench to either side of it. Where the Drayden manor had little dining rooms in which the family could take their meals in privacy and comfort, this was a place for feasts, banquets for an entire clan at once, where merchants and servants alike could be seated by station, while their children and the dogs played and tussled on the rugs in the corners. Some of these still remained: those too grease-stained or ratty to be stolen. Though all the hearths lay cold, and the place was lit only by the fading daylight coming through the door, Ebon could imagine the hall filled with proud Dulmun warriors, the air ringing with their ululating songs.

  Then he caught a motion at the other end of the hall, and his breath caught in his throat. But peering deeper, he saw it was Mako—and beside the bodyguard, to Ebon’s great shock, were Theren and Kalem.

  “What … Mako, what are they doing here?”

  Theren glowered at him, and then at Mako. “We were summoned. Mako told us you were in great peril, and to meet him here at once so that you might be rescued.”

  “And look how quickly they came, boy.” Mako’s smile was cruel. “We should all be so lucky to have such loyal friends.”

  “Ebon, what is going on?” said Kalem. Ebon could see the fear in the boy’s eyes. Kalem eyed Mako’s cruel knife, and Ebon knew he was thinking of the time the bodyguard had drawn blood from Ebon’s throat with the tip of it.

  “This sack of dung has lied to us,” said Theren. “We are not your lackeys, bodyguard, to be dragged across the Seat at your whim.”

  Mako flicked his fingers in the air. “Isra is on the loose, and we must find her. Do you not want that? You may spurn my aid if you wish, but then you must capture her yourself.”

  “Do you think me incapable of it?” Theren drew up to her full height, which was only a pair of fingers shorter than Mako. “I would stand a better chance against her—one wizard against another.”

  “You think I have never killed a mindmage before,” Mako’s voice had taken on a dangerous growl. “That is the trouble with you wizards. You are used to being more powerful than everyone you meet, and so you grow overconfident. That is when someone like me arrives to slit your throats.”

  Theren glared back at him. But Ebon remembered Isra, and how she had blasted Mako with her magic, only to leave him unharmed. A shiver of fear ran through him.

  Before Mako or Theren could utter another word, Kalem stepped between them. He held his hands out to either side, though it was ludicrous to imagine he could stop them with his diminutive frame.

  “If the two of you have taken sufficient measure of each other, mayhap we could speak of whatever Mako has summoned us for? I would rather not miss curfew.”

  Mako’s countenance shifted at once to a kindly smile. “An excellent idea, child. Here is the matter at hand: ever since last we saw Isra, something has been brewing upon the Seat, and I have not been able to wrap my fingers around it.”

  Theren scoffed. “Something? What does that mean? What is brewing?”

  “If I knew that, do you think I would require your help? I am aware of how desperate I seem, coming to the three of you. But the spies I have tucked into the city’s dark corners tell me nothing. When someone gets up to dark business, it sends out ripples. There have been many such ripples of late, but I cannot follow them back to the center. I thought it must have to do with smuggling Isra from the island, but now we know that she is still here.”

  “You are telling us, then, that you were wrong?” said Theren, arching an eyebrow.

  Mako’s nose flared. “Not all information is a clear as the words on one of your scrolls.”

  Theren nodded. “Of course not. It is easy to imagine how you might have been misled.”

  Ebon feared that
Mako might strike her. But with great effort, he went on. “In any case, now we know she is here, and she seems to have no intention of leaving. I am bringing you into the fold on the slight chance that you may be able to help. Am I wise to do so?”

  “We will do what we can, of course,” said Ebon. “But I fear we know nothing more than you.”

  “That may be true,” said Mako. “But then, you may know something without knowing it. Whatever buzzes within the city, it has something to do with the family Yerrin—an odd thing, for recently they have been on their best behavior.”

  That raised Kalem’s eyebrows. “Yerrin keeping their noses clean? That is a wonder.”

  “They were implicated in the attack,” said Mako. “The High King had half a mind to purge them from the land, and they only barely avoided that fate. They have been good little children since—but now they have begun to lurk again.”

  “You think they are working with Isra, then?” said Ebon.

  “That is entirely possible, though not certain.”

  Ebon thought of Lilith. Surely if Yerrin were involved with Isra’s doings, then Lilith could be of help one way or another. But even as he opened his mouth to speak, Theren caught his eye. She looked anxious, or frightened, and gave him a quick shake of her head. Ebon closed his mouth again.

  The silence in the hall had stretched a moment too long, and Mako was peering at them. Theren spoke up quickly. “Yerrin, working with Isra? It seems unlikely. Her schemes brought them great suffering. Oren was murdered. Lilith was tortured, and would have been executed.”

  Mako shrugged. “That is hardly out of character for the Yerrins. Their thoughts and schemes stretch for years, and they are willing to prune some dead branches to ensure a healthy growth.”

  But Ebon was not so sure. He remembered Oren’s mutilated body, and the madness in Lilith’s eyes. Surely even the cruelest plan could not stand by such actions. He saw the same doubt in Kalem’s face.