Red Jade: Book 1: Journeys In Kallisor

by Stephen Wolf

  The man clutched his chest and nodded. He was already huffing from exertion. “I swear. You don’t exist. Not here. Not ever. Go on, up to your rooms. Take whatever you like. Food, ale, yes, they will be there quickly. Thank you, master, but please, do rethink—”

  Dariak cleared his throat threateningly, and the man shrieked and went to prepare their meals. Slowly, the mage walked away, ascending the stairs in dramatic fashion with a mortified Gabrion following behind. The warrior held in his rage until they reached the upper rooms.

  “How dare you, you swine!” Gabrion hissed, grabbing Dariak’s arm and shoving him.

  The mage shook his head. “I see imprisonment hasn’t changed you.” He wrenched his arm away in annoyance.

  “It doesn’t give us the right to curse a whole family of decent people!” Gabrion struggled to keep his voice down.

  Dariak couldn’t take it any longer. He released a snorting chuckle, which enraged Gabrion even more. “Relax, will you? A little Shield of Delminor never killed anyone.” He rolled his eyes. “A curse. Seriously. The things you Kallisorians believe…”

  It took a moment for the truth of it to register with Gabrion, after which his face sank into his hands, shaking slowly. “You mages.”

  “Hey, Gabrion?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for breaking us out of there.”

  Gabrion released a deep sigh as they went into Kitalla’s room. “None too soon, I’d say.”

  A pained expression fell over Dariak’s face as he looked more carefully at Kitalla, still clutching the jade against her heart, even as she lay unconscious. “Maybe a little late too.” He looked back at Gabrion. “We’ve a lot of work to do.”

  Chapter 25

  Inn Wiego

  The following two-day respite at the inn was tense. Dariak spent most of his waking hours casting spells and sending Gabrion to obtain spell components. He was still in shock that he wasn’t in his glass cage, but Kitalla was in such serious condition that he couldn’t dwell on anything else.

  Back in Kaison, when they had raided the mystic shop, Dariak had taken a handful of small booklets. He had intended to make Gabrion read them, to become more familiar with some of the aspects of magic so he would perhaps be a little more comfortable with its use. But the mad flight from Kaison, then Kitalla’s grand performance in Warringer, and all the events after that had pushed the thought from his mind. Yet, while inventorying his supplies in the Prisoner’s Tower, he’d rediscovered them, a bit mangled in places but still legible. He found one basic herbology booklet, Wild Herbs and Their Mystique, to be useful, reminding him of his early training in the healing arts. By requesting materials from the mage wardens, he had been able to build some fundamental skill. When the basic arts had no longer earned him food, he altered them, once using an antilaceration spell to seal the binding of a book, which earned accolades again for the creative implementation.

  Kitalla, however, would take much more work than he was prepared for, and it would take perhaps more time than he thought she had left in her. Each bandage covered major damage that had been partially healed by Grenthar’s mages but needed much more work. He wondered if she had refused to work with the thief any longer, and so he had pulled back on the treatments, or, worse, if her damage was really just so bad that she couldn’t be healed properly at all.

  He refused to believe that he couldn’t help her; he knew also that he wouldn’t be able to do it hiding this way at an inn. Every couple of hours, he needed to reset the minor incantation on the innkeeper before it wore off and the man no longer felt compelled to hide them. This worked partly to Dariak’s advantage, because the poor man would panic that the curse was getting worse and that he would soon be dead. This also led, unfortunately, to excessive pleading with the mage, thereby interrupting his work on Kitalla. But for now it was all they could manage. Kitalla was barely ever conscious, and when she was, it took every effort to get food into her. They clearly could not travel anywhere.

  Gabrion came in with a new set of supplies for Dariak, as well as a tray of food. “Not many daggers left,” he muttered. He had been using them to barter for supplies. “You look terrible, mage.”

  “She’s still worse.” Dariak shrugged. They’d had this exchange a few times already. They couldn’t make use of the town healers because alarms had gone up through the whole city to be on alert for the prisoners who had escaped the tower. Apparently, the other hard laborers who had been trapped with Gabrion went on a rampage as they left the city, tearing down shops and breaking into homes, living up to their criminal pasts.

  The innkeeper had shown Dariak and Gabrion a storage closet, which they had needed to use the previous morning when guards had stormed in looking for escapees. It was hard moving Kitalla, harder still keeping her from moaning in pain, but at least Dariak’s ruse of the curse was working. For how much longer, he wasn’t sure. Every patron at the inn set the two of them on edge, wondering if their time was up.

  “Listen, Dariak.” The warrior sighed. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to fix her like this.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” He tried to be flippant, but it fell flat.

  “You’ve spent so many hours at this already. Take a break, Dariak. Go out; walk around. The innkeeper says there’s entertainment at the Four Corners a few blocks over. Juggling and such. Refresh your mind.”

  Dariak eyed Gabrion suspiciously. “What is this about?”

  Gabrion couldn’t help himself; he started to grin. “That minstrel fellow you mentioned a while ago is in town.”

  It took a moment for Dariak to remember. He had put all thoughts of the bard out of his mind for so long. “Randler? He’s here?”

  “Four Corners,” Gabrion repeated, picking up a pile of clothing he had brought in with the other supplies. “The innkeeper had these lying around. I say you disguise yourself as a normal person and go see your friend.”

  Dariak’s cheeks lit red briefly. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gabrion assured him, nodding toward Kitalla. “I’ve got her. She’ll be safe.”

  Dariak clasped Gabrion’s shoulder. “I don’t doubt it.” With a silly grin on his face he hadn’t worn in a long time, the mage walked from the room to change out of his robe and into the common garb Gabrion had handed him. He hadn’t thought to trim his hair at all, and he wasn’t about to mess with that now, so he pulled it tightly against his skull and tied it at the nape of his neck, except for a tuft that he let hang over one eye. Though it was highly irritating, it kept his visage in shadow. He tucked his jade shards into a pouch he had obtained in Gerrish and slung the pouch around his neck, hidden under the loose tunic. After tucking a few daggers away, he scraped his fists along the wall, bloodying his knuckles, which he then partially healed with magic. He hoped it would look like he enjoyed a good bar fight. Lastly, he scraped a bit of clay and mud together with a few drops of water and painted himself a scar across his cheek, verifying with Gabrion that it looked passable before leaving.

  Downstairs, he walked right past the innkeeper, who didn’t make any note of recognition. Out the door and into the night air he went. He turned sharply upon leaving the inn, hoping no one would notice where he had come from. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was going, only that it wasn’t far. Patrols were out in force, tracing patterned routes but not entirely on alert. Some passersby were laughing, talking about going to see the performers, and Dariak nonchalantly veered his course to follow behind them.

  The Four Corners was a large tavern that only served meads, ales, and wines, as well as some salty bread for noshing. A large, raised stage, complete with five steps leading up to it, stood proudly at the center of the room. Tables and chairs were scattered all around, and unlike other taverns he had seen, there was no main bar area on one side of the chamber. Instead, in each corner stood a smaller bar where barrels and
tankards were piled high. Barmaids whisked quickly from the corner bars to the tables, with drinks on large serving trays. Numerous patrons had brought food in with them, and it seemed to be the norm. Dariak took a seat in the shadows near one of the corner bars so he could keep an eye on the majority of the audience. If guards were around, he wanted to be ready. He did remember, however, to keep his face looking a little vacant and sour.

  Dariak anxiously awaited the arrival of the minstrel. All of his other woes were set aside for the time being. He just wanted to feel that special excitement again, though part of him was afraid things might be too different after all the time apart. He did muse, though, that it was uncommon for his heart to be so aflutter over such a brief encounter and one kiss, but he shrugged and tossed the thought away.

  Flutes echoed through the air, playing a mournful tune. Dariak immediately focused his thoughts on the music, looking around for the source. The flute was accompanied by a soft drumbeat, a sad, lamenting horn, and a slowly plucked lute. From each sidewall, a musician stepped, with dramatic poise, toward the central stage. Patrons all settled down to listen to the moving sounds of the instruments, feeling pulls from deep within their hearts. For each person, the lament was different, yet it united the whole audience with only a few emotional bars of music.

  Once the musicians reached the stage, their notes increased in octave with each step up toward the central platform, until the notes were so high some people started to wince in anticipation of higher notes. Then with elaborate flourishes, the music spiraled down to a jovial jaunt that replaced the sudden melancholy with a hearty thumping of feet. The four musicians stepped around one another onstage, kneeling, then rising and spinning again, performing a merry wedding dance while strumming and tooting away.

  Dariak grinned up at the stage as Randler spun around and bowed to the flutist, who tipped her head and twisted back to the drummer, and so on. His heart raced with each graceful step the bard took, and he knew, without a doubt, that it had nothing to do with the resonating pieces of jade hanging around his neck. However, their rumblings informed him that Randler still had his shard. In the face of everything that had happened to him recently, though, that knowledge felt less important.

  After the dance, the musicians settled onto stools, each facing one of the four corners. Regrettably, Randler’s back was to Dariak, but the mage couldn’t possibly shuffle around to the other side of the room without being noticed.

  The instruments crafted another whimsical song, this time accompanied by the bard’s soothing voice. Though he wanted to lose himself in the sheer quality of the man’s tone, Dariak’s training also pulled the words into memory, and he felt he learned more from the tale than those simply tapping along to the merry beat. With each repetition, one more musician sang along during the refrain, until all four were harmonizing the words and their instruments. By the time they reached the last refrain, the whole tavern knew it and sang along:

  I sing to you a story of a little one named Roe.

  She had a merry face, but her feet were just too slow.

  She’d wave her arms about, and—alas!—there’s falling snow.

  But then she didn’t seem to know which way to go!

  And then you come up to a hill and then—whoop!—down.

  You roll right in the mud, and that’s where you are found.

  You get up on your feet, and then you look around.

  You never knew that this was the best way into town!

  I tell you now a tale of a boy whose name was Kihel.

  He stomped with his feet up a hill for quite a while.

  He thought to overcome it, and then he could just smile.

  But the pebbles underfoot just dropped him in a pile.

  And then you come up to a hill and then—whoop!—down.

  You roll right in the mud, and that’s where you are found.

  You get up on your feet, and then you look around.

  You never knew that this was the best way into town!

  Our two little tumblers were jumbled in a heap.

  They really hadn’t realized a hill could be so steep.

  They laughed at each other, for the mud was really deep.

  And then from that moment, a friendship, they would keep.

  So then you come up to a hill and then—whoop!—down.

  You roll right in the mud, and that’s where you are found.

  You get up on your feet, and then you look around.

  You never knew that this was the best way into town!

  A moment to reflect on them, their lives, they went ahead.

  They each had their own dreams but went and shared instead:

  To build up a world around, where everyone was fed.

  And when they had their firstborn, this is what they said:

  Oh! Then you come up to a hill and then—whoop!—down.

  You roll right in the mud, and that’s where you are found.

  You get up on your feet, and then you look around.

  You never knew that this was the best way into town!

  The moral of this tale, in case you do not see,

  Is not to be angry if you fall down to your knee.

  Lift your head up high; it’s an opportunity.

  So don’t forget your past; now, come and sing with me!

  Oh! Then you come up to a hill and then—whoop!—down.

  You roll right in the mud, and that’s where you are found.

  You get up on your feet, and then you look around.

  You never knew that this was the best way into town!

  The last refrain was sung three times, with the whole crowd joining in merrily, Dariak included. Whistles, shouts, stomps, and applause filled the tavern once it was all over. After several bows and promises to return after a break, the musicians left the stage to hearty pats on their backs while a set of dancers followed up the act with some spectacular stunts.

  Dariak’s gaze followed Randler on his way out of the tavern. He would have walked out too, but none of the other patrons seemed to be leaving. He ground his teeth and tried to look interested in the way three of the dancers climbed upon one another and then leaped off, spinning, into the arms of the others. He admitted it would have been impressive if he wasn’t so distracted.

  “You really shouldn’t look so disappointed; they’re really good,” whispered a voice in Dariak’s ear, causing him to melt instantly in his seat. Randler pulled over a stool and leaned on the table, feigning interest in the dance troupe. “Been a while, eh?”

  Dariak sighed, keeping his gaze forward as long as he could, which really wasn’t easy. “Too long.”

  Randler reached under the table and gently touched Dariak’s knee for a moment. “I was afraid I wasn’t going to see you again. But once I got to town, I saw you everywhere. Well,” he admitted, “posters of you, anyway.” He paused for a moment to applaud a thrilling aerial twist the dancers had just completed. Randler leaned in and said softly, “You were supposed to rendezvous with me after Warringer.”

  Dariak looked at the bard’s unreadable face for just a moment. “Complications,” he said, turning back to the performance. “Guards were after us. I couldn’t lead them to you.”

  “I’m grateful. But it would have been nice to see you sooner than this.” His voice carried a smile. He waited for Dariak to say something, but the mage didn’t know what to say. “How are your friends? The ones from the poster?”

  “One’s fine. One isn’t.” Dariak lowered his head, feeling a little guilty about wanting to abandon everything to just cut loose and steal Randler away for the night.

  “She’ll be fine,” Randler assured him. “But you need a better location.”

  Dariak turned a confused glance at the bard. “How did you know?”

  “Who do you think told your friend to send yo
u along tonight?” Randler winked, his brown eyes shining. “He wasn’t too hard to follow either.”

  “Ah,” Dariak said, then stiffened. “But then, you might not be the only one who followed him.”

  “True,” the bard agreed. “I can take you all someplace no one will find you, if you’ll let me.”

  After all the subterfuge and deceit and strangeness he had encountered along his travels in Kallisor, not even glorious Randler could win an immediate agreement. He stared at the minstrel for a few moments, biting his lip.

  Randler patted Dariak on the back. “I know that look. I understand. So go back and speak with your comrades. I have another set to perform here. Once I can, I will head to your inn for a drink. I’ll wait there for your answer. But if it’s affirmative, then we’ll leave quickly. Best not leave things to chance, right?” He rose, squeezing the mage’s shoulder before drifting away from sight.

  Dariak waited for just a few moments before making his way out of the Four Corners. He meandered back toward the inn, checking over his surroundings in case he was being followed, but everything seemed fine. Even the guards patrolling the city were aloof to his presence.

  When he entered the inn, he was greeted by an annoyed innkeeper, who pouted and stood with folded arms. Dariak rolled his eyes and walked over. “Hmm?”

  The innkeeper kept his voice low so as not to disturb other customers in the tavern area. “Your ‘curse’ is gone. I want you out. I’ve already sent for the guards.”

  Dariak kept his composure. He had been gone longer than he’d thought if the spell had already worn off. “How would you know anything about when a curse runs out?”

  For a moment, fear lit the man’s eyes, but then he decided the mage was lying. “No, you’re just a fugitive and a nasty sneak. And with you gone, the curse went away on its own. So get out now, and there won’t be any trouble.”