Sea of Quills (Tales of the Black Raven Book 2)

by Seth Skorkowsky

“He could already have it.”

  Damtol gave a dismissive wave. “Doubtful. Unless of course he walked the entire way. Even then, moving within timestop isn’t supposed to be the most pleasant of experiences, and I’m sure he’d prefer a nine-day ride.” The little wizard picked the discarded wine cork up off the table and hurled it across the wooden floor.

  A rust-colored blur shot out from beneath a sofa and snatched the stopper before it had stopped bouncing. Nadhrit, Damtol’s pet drake, gnawed the purple-stained cork in her long maw before tossing it back in the air and batting it between her claws. Ahren’s first assignment with the Tyenee had been retrieving the beast’s egg.

  Damtol absently watched the playful drake, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. “I’m going to loan you something that may help you catch him.” He rose and left the room before Ahren could speak.

  Ahren’s gaze wandered from the tiny dragon to Sigurd’s necklace laying on the table. The pendant would be sent to the Masters of the Tyenee with the report of his death. He imagined a memorial wall laden with dozens of medallions in copper, bronze, and silver but suspected the crime lords were not sentimentalists like himself. Eventually, the day might come that his own pendant was all that returned from a mission. Raising a silent toast to his lost partner, he knocked back the tangy wine and then poured the last of the bottle into his cup.

  “Here we are,” Damtol said as he re-entered the room. The tiny wizard held up a hideous mesh tabard. Strands of every color in varying thickness and quality formed the strange netting. Gold and copper threads, laced with tiny crystal and metallic beads, wove through the flimsy netting. “Put this on under your clothes. It has to touch your skin.”

  Ahren rose and stripped off his dark, silk shirt. “What is it?”

  The smiling quellen handed him the ragged tabard. “An enchantment snare. It took me six years to construct it, so I expect it back.”

  A soft tingle coursed along his skin as Ahren pulled it over his head.

  Damtol took a red string hanging at the back and tied it around Ahren’s waist. “Whenever you are in the vicinity of magical spells, the net captures the enchantment, bestowing them on you. For example, I am a spy sent to infiltrate the Tyenee.”

  A hot pulse tugged at Ahren’s ear. Instinctively, he touched his lobe but felt nothing there.

  “Ahh, you felt it!” Grinning, Damtol tapped the magical opal at his ear. “You knew that was a lie.”

  “Incredible!” Ahren ran his hands across the magical weave along his chest. “Now, if Treolen stops time, can I go with him?”

  “If you’re close enough. The range itself depends on the magic. But an item as powerful as the Zeitfessel probably has a residual range no less than twenty paces.”

  “What if he moves out of range after shackling time? Will I freeze too?”

  The little wizard pursed his lips. “You shouldn’t. The spell was already cast. The magic is not a constant enchantment but instead two separate charms. One freezes time; the other returns it to normal. If you’re within range when the Zeitfessel stops time, then you’ll snare it; however, if he unfreezes time while you’re out of the range, you’ll still be trapped in that frozen moment.”

  “Wouldn’t that be helpful since that would freeze him, allowing me to get the Time Shackle?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. I suppose that depends on your situation at the moment he unshackles time. What if you’re chained to a wall or trapped in a well, unable to get out?”

  A knot of dread twisted in Ahren’s gut. “If I become trapped and time is still frozen, wouldn’t it be impossible for him to unfreeze time? I mean, would time never restart until I was out?”

  An amused smile pulled at the quellen’s lips. “Don’t think about it like that.” He gave a dismissive wave. “Freezing time and then never unfreezing it won’t end the world. In order for you to move, or see, or even breathe, time is still active. Just extremely slow.” He paused and shrugged. “Or, rather, you are moving very fast, and the world simply appears frozen. Don’t worry yourself with that for now. Wizards and scholars have argued the details for centuries. I have nearly a dozen books on the subject and will gladly let you read them all once you return.”

  “That’s alright.”

  Damtol smiled. “Also, I suggest staying clear of apothecaries and gypsies while wearing the snare.” He adjusted a flat, green bead hanging from under Ahren’s left arm. “You wouldn’t want to be caught by a chambermaid’s love charm…or jealous rival’s curse. You’d be amazed how many curses there are.”

  Ahren swallowed. “Understood. If I get the Zeitfessel while time is shackled, how do I unfreeze it?”

  “Aside from brilliant, Kerstoft’s items are extremely simple to employ. Reports said it was bejeweled. He probably used the cut stones to harness its magic rather than for decoration. Lapis or blue spinel would likely freeze time. Unfreezing would be quartz or possibly moonstone. Touching your fingers to all the like stones simultaneously should activate the charm.” Damtol tugged his short beard. “Or at least what I’ve read of his writing suggests that.”

  “I see. I’ll bring the snare back to you as soon as I have the items.”

  “Excellent. I’ll have a fast horse ready. You’ll leave before sunrise.”

  “There is one thing I was wondering.” Ahren ran his hand along the frazzled tunic. “Who joined the family first: you or Mragva?”

  The wizard’s gray eyes twinkled. “I did.”

  He spoke the truth.

  #

  Crisp moonlight shone through the barred eastern windows, casting long beams across the marble-inlaid floor. Thick columns lined the wide hall, leading up to the raised dais on which Sorcerer Kerstoft’s silver skullcap rested within a polished steel cage. Perched in the shadows above, Ahren watched the room from the rafters. The stink of decades of torch smoke permeated the thick, unsanded timbers.

  He slipped his hand in his pouch and removed a handful of shelled nuts. Breaking into the count’s manor had been much simpler than expected. The five-foot walls surrounding the estate could hold little more than animals. The first two nights watching the cap had been painfully long, and he struggled against the complacency of boredom. When Treolen came, it would be fast. Ahren needed to keep focused.

  The nuts crunched softly in his mouth as he continued his surveillance. He swallowed and was reaching for more when a muted rattle sounded from the doors below. Carefully, he drew deeper into the shadows and readied his hand crossbow.

  A soft squeak filled the chamber as the barred door cracked open.

  Ahren froze, watching a black-cloaked figure slip inside and quietly hurry up to the dais.

  Curly, blond hair spilled out as Treolen pulled back his hood and knelt before the steel cage.

  Leaning against one of the angled support beams, Ahren aimed his weapon with both hands. As his finger tightened against the iron trigger, the lock below clicked open.

  Treolen’s head moved out of the sights.

  He was running out of time. Ahren held his breath and aimed his crossbow at the back of the thief’s skull.

  “What’s going on here?” A black-haired maid called from the doorway. “Who are you?”

  Treolen wheeled around, prize in hand, ruining Ahren’s shot. As he pulled the skullcap over his head, the servant woman screamed for the guards. With a smile, he reached for a gold and jeweled band at his wrist.

  Ahren squeezed the trigger.

  The crossbow twanged, and the small bolt whizzed across the room. A sudden chill shot through him as Treolen streaked away with inhuman speed. The quarrel stopped, hanging in midair inches from where his target had stood. The blurring fast thief slowed to a normal speed while the flickering torches and panicked woman froze, and the light dimmed to a pale blue hue, turning everything to shades of azure.

  Drawing his knife, Treolen strode confidently up to the maid, whose mouth hung open in a silent scream.

  “Halt,” Ahren yelled, swinging down
from the thick rafters. His voice made no sound and the viscous air beneath him moved like jelly, slowing his descent. His feet touched the floor, and he dove for the doorway.

  A wicked smile playing about his lips, Treolen ripped a deep gash across the young maid’s throat with his dagger. An instant later, Ahren shouldered into him, knocking them both to the floor. “You!” Treolen mouthed, rolling to his feet. He sprang toward Ahren, his blade held before him.

  Fighting against the pudding-like constancy of the air, Ahren barely managed to dodge. As Treolen passed, he smashed his elbow into the thief’s jaw and then drew his dagger. Treolen, still suspended midair, flipped around and drove his heel into Ahren’s nose, knocking him back while propelling himself down the hall. Stumbling, Ahren fell backward down a narrow stairwell. Slowly toppling end over end, he rolled down the unforgiving steps, dropping his blade in attempt to catch himself. He hit the back wall and stopped. The stairwell stood empty above him.

  Droplets of from his bloodied nose, purple in the sapphire light, hung suspended above the steps. Ahren panted, the thick, tasteless air unfreezing as he drew it in, then jumped to his feet and swam up the stairs through the air, snatching the hovering dagger on his way by. The gelatinous atmosphere dragged against his clothes, slowing him even further. Keeping low, he moved as he would through water, offering as little of himself as possible to meet resistance.

  He reached the hallway only to find it empty save for the murdered woman still tumbling toward the floor like a toppled statue. Scanning to the left and right, he spotted a man-sized hole tunneled through a cloud of torch smoke. Clenching his dagger handle, he trudged down the hall.

  The passage turned and he nearly collided with a leather-clad soldier petrified in the action of drawing his sword. Movement flickered ahead. Treolen’s dark cloak trailed out an open window.

  Ahren plodded to the window and gazed out to see his quarry racing across the courtyard below. Grabbing the high sill, he swung his legs over and dropped, gliding down as if possessing wings to land in the lush grass. Falling to his hands and knees, the frozen, needlelike blades crunched beneath his weight. He rolled to his feet, raking his knees across the lawn, and then swam forward after the fleeing thief.

  The gate stood open, and Ahren stepped quickly through it, ready for an attack. Frozen figures stood scattered around the dim streets like statues. He scanned the area and wove between the motionless pedestrians, searching for Treolen’s face amongst the crowd, and then climbed atop an ox cart wheel for a better view.

  A black-hooded figure stood across the lane, watching him, his dark eyes narrowed in hateful curiosity.

  Sudden sound and movement erupted around Ahren with a rush of air. Colors sprang to life as the blue haze vanished. As the world unfroze, the wooden wheel spun out from beneath his feet, and he hit the hard-packed street with a bone-jarring thud. Dazed, he scrambled away, narrowly avoiding being run over by the cart itself. Sucking in a full breath of air as he got to his feet, he darted through the crowd toward Treolen.

  As he cleared the press of people, Ahren raised his dagger for a throw. The familiar chill shot through his body, and the city stopped as Treolen sped away, grabbing the frozen people in his path and using them as leverage to aid his going. Aiming his body forward as a ship through a headwind, Ahren raced after, trying to keep his quarry in sight as they wove through the steep city streets.

  After a short time, Treolen turned down a narrow passage between a pair of blocky buildings. He vaulted down a treacherous stairway, riding the thick air to the bottom, then sped around a corner and out of sight.

  Cursing, Ahren pounded down the stairway and scanned around. Near the end of a side alley, he spotted a hooded figure standing, almost hidden, beside an open doorway.

  Ahren charged.

  The man didn’t move.

  An uneasy twinge pulled at Ahren’s neck. As he neared the man, he realized with a shock that unlike himself, the cloaked figure cast a shadow. His gaze moved down. Mud-caked workman’s boots protruded from beneath the dark cloak. A battered shovel swung out from behind a stack of barrels. Sidestepping, Ahren dove forward after the rusty blade sailed past.

  Treolen ducked and brought the spade handle up. It smashed into Ahren’s knuckles, knocking the dagger from his grasp.

  Flattening his hand like a blade, Ahren jabbed the blond thief in the gut then snatched his dagger out of the air, ducked as the shovel swiped past again, and drove forward, smashing into Treolen’s legs and sending him sprawling, the shovel flying free from the thief’s grasp.

  Struggling, they tumbled across the alley. Ahren scrambled on top, driving his knee into his enemy’s groin. Treolen grabbed the dagger in Ahren’s hand and jerked to the side, rolling them both into the dark storeroom behind the frozen worker. The golden wristband peeked out from beneath Treolen’s sleeve. Ahren drove his knee in again and then ripped the bracelet from his enemy’s wrist.

  Treolen’s face contorted in a silent, hate-filled scream. He smashed his head forward, driving the hard, silver cap into Ahren’s already bleeding nose. Blind with pain, Ahren reared back and an instant later sailed away as Treolen shoved, leaving a ribbon of blood suspended in his wake before slamming into a shelf laden with clay bottles.

  Treolen staggered from the wooden floor and lunged.

  Raising his foot, Ahren caught the thief in the gut and kicked him back into one of the stone walls. Still clutching the golden wristband, he dove from the tiny store room and pulled the petrified worker out of the doorway. Treolen swam for the exit, but Ahren slammed both of the heavy doors shut. Pressing his back against the tight, oaken planks, he snatched the spade out of the air and slid its shaft through the wrought-iron door handles.

  Gasping, Ahren gulped the thick, tasteless air and slid the Time Shackle around his wrist. His fingers hovering over the jewels, he paused. Would Treolen return to normal time when the Time Shackle was deactivated? If not, the thief would be certain to break free of the storeroom, kill Ahren, and steal it back. But what if he couldn’t escape?

  Keeping an eye on the doors, shuddering under Treolen’s attempts to force them open, Ahren pushed and pulled the heavy barrels against them until he was sure Treolen was trapped then stood back and squeezed the clear gemstones along the bracelet’s side.

  A loud whoosh shot down the streets, accompanied by a sudden rush of air. Blood droplets turned red as they fell onto the dusty streets. Shouts and curses filled the air as people stumbled and collapsed, unsure of who had shoved them. The worker beside him fell over, wrestling with a black cloak that had materialized wrapped around him.

  Horrified, he stared up at Ahren. “Wha… Who…?”

  Ahren wiped at the blood running down his chin. “Leave.”

  The man scrambled to his feet and ran away, screaming.

  Ahren watched him go then pulled the stacked barrels from the door and slid the cracked shovel handle out. The hinges creaked open, releasing a waft of stale air. Deep gouges marred the inside of the battered doors from Treolen’s attempts to dig through with broken pottery shards. A withered corpse lay in the corner, surrounded by empty bottles and clay jugs, its gray skin cracking and crumbling to dust from the sudden moving air. Layers of crude, graven pictures and scribed, disjointed thoughts covered the stone walls, deep gaps in the mortar suggesting that Treolen had tried to cut the stones from the walls before finally giving up and just decorating them instead.

  Stepping over the debris, Ahren lightly kicked aside a glass jar he’d seen corked and packed with pickled eggs not minutes before. He removed the silver cap from Treolen’s head, took a long raven’s feather from his pouch and dropped it on the thief’s remains, then hurried away.

  The Gilded Noose

  “MAGNIFICENT,” VISTON SAID, REACHING into the small, wooden box. Gently, he lifted out a diamond-encrusted necklace with four triangular hanging stones. Raising it to the light, the brilliant gems sparkled like mystical fire. “Count Gsanrovich has remar
kable taste in choosing this for his wife. It leads one to wonder if any of his mistresses may have helped in its selection.” He chuckled. “Did anyone see you get it?”

  Perun smiled and sipped his vodka. “No. It took some time to move across the grounds, but once I made it into the manor, it was simple. The countess had enjoyed a bit too much wine and was soundly sleeping when I entered her chamber and took it.”

  An amused grin widened across Viston’s stubbled face, still admiring the treasure. “You stole it while she was in the room?”

  “I did.” Perun finished his drink and set it back down on the shop owner’s desk. The faint smell of ink and lamp soot lingered beneath the scent of leather and cut wood that dominated the rest of the furniture shop. “I slipped in and out through her window without her even stirring. A job one could call worthy of the Black Raven.”

  Viston set the diamond necklace back into the box. “It was a very good job.” He lifted the bottle beside him and refilled Peron’s small cup. “Not many thieves could have pulled it off, even fewer with such ease. I commend you.”

  “Thank you,” Perun said with a nod. He brushed his long, curly hair back behind his shoulders.

  The shop owner opened a drawer and removed a copper medallion on a thin chain. “The Brotherhood of Tyenee invites only the best into our ranks. And once admitted, it is a lifelong bond.” He slid the pendant across the dark wood desk.

  Perun picked up the small medallion and studied the stamped image of upturned daggers forming a mountain.

  “Our numbers are small, but the power we share stretches through every city in Delakurn.” Viston lifted his cup. “Welcome to the family.”

  Perun raised his cup then drank. “So,” he said, exhaling after the burning drink. “What do I need to do now?”

  “Now, nothing. Go back to your room at The Laughing Gull and rest for a while. Once I have a suitable job that meets your…qualifications, I will send for you.”

  “I can do that.” Perun pulled the chain over his head and concealed the pendant beneath his shirt. He scratched his thin beard nonchalantly. “Out of curiosity, how many of our men are in Frobinsky?”