A Meddle of Wizards

by Alexandra Rushe

  Clutching his hat, Kedrick made his way to their table. He stopped and waited for the men to acknowledge him, a slow flush creeping up his neck when they did not do so. He cleared his throat, which earned him a cold look from one of the agents. The Shad perused him, his lip curled, taking in Kedrick’s knee-high lizard skin boots, dirty trousers, and rough tunic.

  “Mud bug’s crawled out of the swamp.” A thin stream of green smoke curled past the Shad’s lips. “I think it’s trying to speak to us, Haksel.”

  The man he addressed spun a knife on the table. “What do you want?” he asked without favoring Kedrick with so much as a glance. “Speak up. You’re wasting our time.”

  Swallowing his resentment, Kedrick said, “Word on the river is you Shads are looking for something. Rumor has it, that something is a girl.”

  The knife stilled, and Haksel looked up. “I’m listening.”

  Kedrick began to wonder whether he’d made a mistake. Haksel had eyes like the black eels he fished from the swamp, cold and pitiless. He shook off his doubts. I’m in too deep to back out now. “I-I have information about the girl . . . for a price.”

  Balancing his gurshee cigarette on his bottom lip, Haksel reached into his pocket and slammed a handful of coins on the table. “That enough to loosen your tongue, friend?”

  Yes. Hope flared in Kedrick’s belly. The five garvons on the table were more money than he or any other floater in Quill was likely to see in a year, maybe two, trading furs. He’d been right to come here. This was big. His luck had finally turned.

  “My information’s worth more than that,” he said, keeping his expression carefully blank. “A lot more. I know where this . . . person is. Who she’s with and where they’re going.”

  The other Shad snorted. “Not bloody likely.”

  “Shut up, Derek.” Haksel’s black gaze remained on Kedrick. “Go on.”

  Kedrick shook his head. “I ain’t stupid. You’ll slit my throat to thank me for it. I want to speak to someone higher up.”

  Faster than a swamp weasel, the two Shads were out of their chairs and had Kedrick by the arms.

  “Your distrust grieves me, my friend,” Haksel said in Kedrick’s ear. “Naturally, I must verify your information before we pass it along to our superiors.”

  “I done told you. I ain’t talking to you two.”

  Haksel’s hand closed like a vise around Kedrick’s arm. “I’m afraid we must insist.”

  They dragged him toward the door. “Help,” Kedrick cried. “Somebody, help me.”

  A man at the bar glanced his way and encountered Haksel’s flinty stare. The man turned back to his drink.

  Kedrick kicked and struggled, but the Shads were too strong. They shoved him out of the ale house and into the street.

  “Da.” Keron sprang to his feet and wrapped his arms around Kedrick’s legs. “You came back.”

  “Well, well, what have we here?” Derek let go of Kedrick’s arm and seized the boy by the scruff of his neck. “Looks we got ourselves a baby mud bug.”

  He gave Keron a rough shake and the boy whimpered in fright. The sound enraged Kedrick. He yanked free of Haksel’s grasp, and snatched the boy from Derek.

  “Leave him be.” Hugging the boy close, Kedrick went down on one knee. “Take the glider and go home to your ma.”

  Keron shook his head. “Alone, on the Big? Don’t wanna, Da. I’m scared.”

  “You’ll be fine. You’ve river craft enough to handle the glider, and you know the way.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Go on, now. Do as you’re told.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be along, directly, once I finish my business with these men.”

  “Don’t do it, Da.” Keron wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Don’t tell them about Raine. She’s a nice lady.” He made a face. “Terrible fond o’ washing, but nice all the same. She rescued me and the others from them Shads.”

  Kedrick felt a spasm of alarm. “How do you—”

  “Heard you and Ma talking last night. You thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t.”

  Haksel was leaning against the wall of the pub having a smoke. He exhaled a stream of green smoke. “Chatty little shit, aren’t you? Who’s Raine?”

  “My friend.” Keron slid the Shad a resentful glance. “She looks a lot like that lady yonder, only Raine’s skinny and has curly hair.”

  The boy pointed to a sign on a shop window across the street, one of several establishments that catered to Shads traveling along the river. The lush beauty painted on the sign was easily recognizable. It was a likeness of Hara, the Shad’s High Priestess and Magog’s chosen bride.

  Haksel’s eyes narrowed. “You interest me, boy.” He straightened and ground his cigarette beneath the heel of his boot. “I’ve a notion Glonoff will be interested, too.”

  “Glonoff?” Kedrick said in alarm. “I never said nothing about Glonoff.” He shoved the boy away. “Run, Keron.”

  “But, Da—”

  “Damn you, boy. Run.”

  Too late, Keron turned to obey. Haksel raised a slender tube to his lips. A dart whistled through the air and struck Keron on the cheek.

  The boy staggered. “Da?”

  Kedrick caught him as he fell. “Gar,” he swore, slapping at the dart that hit him in the neck.

  The second dart struck him in the thigh. His vision blurred and his muscles went weak. His son slid from his useless arms and Kedrick smashed, face first, into the street.

  “It ain’t fair,” he mumbled around a mouthful of dirt. “It was supposed to be my turn.”

  Derek kicked him hard in the ribs. “Stop whining, mud bug. You said you wanted to speak to someone higher up. They don’t come no higher than the Dark Wizard.”

  Chapter 23

  The Dark Wizard

  “Keron?”

  Kedrick jolted awake with his son’s name on his lips. He was alone. A bitter taste coated his mouth and he had a lump the size of a duck egg on his head. Once the drugs had worn off, the Shads had repeatedly clouted him to keep him quiet.

  “No point wasting good gurshee on a floater,” Derek had jeered, giving him another bash in the skull.

  Kedrick groaned and sat up. The stone floor was cold and damp, and a heap of filthy straw in a corner served as a mattress. The previous occupant was still abed—a man, judging by the clothes on the rotting corpse. The room was dark but for a small square of light in the sturdy door. In one corner, a wooden bucket oozed a foul-looking sludge. For a floater, born and buried in the arms of the Little Shara, the close confines of the cell and its fetid air were torture.

  Torture. Kedrick shivered. Tales of the dungeons of Zorbash were told to frighten naughty children into submission. Mind your ma and da, or the Dark Wizard will snatch you in your sleep.

  The patch of faint light in the cell door beckoned. Staggering to the barred window, he looked out onto a stone hall. A torch hissed in a bracket on the opposite wall, and moisture seeped from the stones. Somewhere in the dungeon, a man screamed, an agonized sound that went on and on.

  Boots rang in the hall, and Kedrick shrank back in fright. Scrambling to the far corner of the cell, he pressed his body against the wall. Let them pass, he prayed, his lips moving in a silent plea. Please, let them pass.

  The boots tramped closer and stopped outside his cell. Ahhh, he thought bitterly. Isn’t that the way of it? When do the gods ever heed a floater?

  The cell door swung open and Kedrick was blinded by the glare of torches. Squinting, he saw a group of red and black clad soldiers in the doorway.

  An officer, spotting Kedrick cowering in the corner, jerked his thumb at one of the men. “Bring him,” he said, and turned on his heel.

  The soldiers grabbed Kedrick and frog marched him out of the cell and down a long, winding corridor past rows of cells. B
ehind the barred doors, prisoners moaned and begged for food and water . . . or death.

  Sick with fright and woozy from the drugs and the blows to his head, Kedrick struggled to keep up with the soldiers’ brutal pace. The hall sloped upward and ended at a metal-bound door. The officer rapped sharply on the wood with the hilt of his sword. Hinges groaned and a soldier peered through a window.

  “Where to with the floater, Captain Praxus?” the guard asked.

  “To Glonoff, Raille. If you’ve a mind to know more, ask the Dark Wizard yourself.”

  “All right, all right,” the guard muttered, opening the door to let them through. “No need to get testy.”

  Glonoff; they were taking him to Glonoff. Kedrick’s bowels turned to water and the muscles in his legs refused to cooperate. The soldiers pressed on, half-carrying him through the door, past the curious guard, and down another corridor.

  “Can’t . . . breathe,” Kedrick gasped.

  “Quiet, you,” a soldier barked, and punched him in the kidney.

  Kedrick was dragged up a flight of steps to another door. A metal slot opened and Praxus handed a roll of parchment to the guard on the other side. The guard waved them through and Kedrick caught a glimpse of a square room with a table and some chairs, and then they were outside.

  Kedrick blinked at the sudden glare and drew fresh air into his lungs. It wasn’t river air, rich and earthy, but it was a sight better than the stench of the dungeon. His vision adjusted to the sunlight, and he saw that they stood in a wide courtyard on the side of a hill overlooking the city. Below them, the red-paved streets of Zorbash ran like rivers of blood between buildings the color of bleached bone.

  Kedrick shuddered and shifted his attention to the statue that dominated the square, a towering, alabaster likeness of Magog.

  “Impressive, isn’t it, river rat?” Praxus chuckled. “See the mad god’s empty eye? The priests keep a fire burning there, day and night, a reminder that Magog ever watches.”

  Kedrick nodded dumbly, his gaze on the altar in front of the statue, a slab of stone with a huge basin beneath. The bowl of the basin was pitted and stained. This was where the mad god’s priests performed their bloody rites.

  They started forward again, halting when a bell rang. A group of red-robed priests swayed up to the altar, chanting. The invocation swelled, the cluster of priests parted, and a man in a white robe stepped forth. His head and face were clean shaven, and his eyes were glassy. Slack-faced, he stumbled toward the sacrificial stone.

  High on gurshsee, Kedrick thought, watching in horrified fascination. The poor sod’s had enough to choke a water horse, from the looks of him.

  A door in the base of the statue opened and a young girl stepped out. Dressed all in white, she was, by Kedrick’s guess, no more than thirteen or fourteen. Mounting a stone platform at one side of the altar, she launched into a paean to Magog. Her voice was a lilting soprano, pure as birdsong. Smiling woozily, the man stepped up to the altar. A priest bent him backward over the stone and slashed his throat. The man gurgled and coughed as his life’s blood drained into the basin. When he was dead, the priest jerked his chin and the body was carried away.

  “Gar save us,” Kedrick muttered, feeling sick.

  “A willing sacrifice,” Praxus said. “Thanks to his selfless devotion to Magog, his family won’t have to contribute again for another ten years.” The bell tolled again, and the young girl lifted her voice in song once more. “Not so with those who struggle. Observe.”

  Another man was brought forth, kicking and screaming. It took three priests to subdue him and a fourth to slash his throat. Blood spurted.

  “If you please, Holy One,” Praxus said, raising his voice. “We must pass.”

  The priest paused, the dripping knife still in his hand. “Blood eases Magog’s madness. Would you deny your god?”

  “Would you deny Glonoff?” Grabbing Kedrick by the front of his tunic, Praxus dragged him forward. “This one’s for the Dark Wizard.”

  “Very well,” the priest conceded with obvious reluctance. “Let them through.”

  The crowd parted and Kedrick was marched past the statue and the bloodstained altar, and up a steep flight of steps. At the top of the steps was the palace, a sprawling ring of white towers with red windows, like bleeding eyes in the pale stone. They entered through a side door, and Kedrick was shoved down a hall lined with murals and a painted ceiling. They came to a halt in front of a pair of ornate paneled doors. A desk with curved legs sat against one wall. Perched behind the desk on a stool was a man in an elaborately curled wig. The tips of this exquisite’s heeled shoes peeked from beneath the folds of his red satin robe. A pair of gold spectacles perched on the bridge of his pointed nose.

  He continued to make careful notes in a fat ledger and did not acknowledge them.

  Praxus cleared his throat. “A prisoner for the Imperial Mage, Lord Secretary.”

  The man lifted his gaze from the parchment. Behind the lenses of his spectacles, his eyes were dilated. “He’s dirty and he smells,” he said in a querulous voice. He raised a scented handkerchief to his nose. “You should have washed him first, Flaxon.”

  The captain’s lips tightened. “Captain Praxus, and the Imperial Mage has expressed his desire to see this one at once.”

  “Very well, if you insist.” Rising, the secretary wobbled to the door on his red heels. “Give me but a moment to announce you, Plaxus.”

  A soldier sniggered as the man tottered inside. “The old fart’s stewed. Must be nice to work in the palace and have all the gurshee you want.”

  Praxus cuffed him. “Anyone else got any remarks?”

  The rest of the soldiers stared straight ahead and were silent.

  The paneled doors opened, and the Lord Secretary waved a skeletal hand. “The Imperial Mage will see you now.”

  Kedrick began to sweat and shake. “No,” he said, trying to back away.” I don’t want to go. Take me back to the cell.”

  His pleas were ignored, and he was dragged bodily through the doors. The room was opulent and lavishly appointed in shades of red and black. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows the color of blood and deepest night. Twisted black marble columns supported the painted ceiling and white-veined marble covered the floor. Precious silks and fine tapestries lined the walls and thick rugs were scattered about the room.

  “Enough of your squawking, floater.” Praxus shoved Kedrick onto his belly and pressed the tip of his sword against his neck. “Lie there and don’t move, or I’ll gut you like a rabbit.”

  Sobbing, Kedrick pressed his check against the cold stone. He felt a light touch on his face and opened his eyes. A mere dragon regarded him with reptilian interest. He shrieked and flinched, cutting the back of his neck on Praxus’s sword.

  “Now see what you’ve done,” said Praxus. “I told you to be still.”

  The dragon hissed at the scent of blood and slithered closer. A forked tongue, long as an oar and slick with saliva, snaked out of the lizard’s mouth and lapped at the cut on Kedrick’s neck.

  Kedrick shrieked and drummed his feet on the floor. “Make it stop. Please.”

  “Come away, Flix,” a languid voice said. “You’re upsetting our guest.”

  The mere dragon lashed its tail in annoyance and waddled away.

  “Get him to his feet, Praxus,” the speaker said. “We can’t converse with his face to the floor.”

  Praxus hauled Kedrick to his feet. “Bow to the Imperial Mage, swamp rat.”

  Kedrick bent awkwardly at the waist. He straightened and risked a quick glance at the Dark Wizard. Glonoff reclined on a divan. Draped across one end of the couch was a red fur throw. Kedrick was surprised. He’d expected a wizened old man, but this man was in his prime. The wizard was clad in a tunic and loose trousers of red and black figured silk. Glossy black hair brushed his shou
lders, and his sensuous mouth was framed by a mustache and goatee. He was handsome, in a sly way, but his expression was bored. Jeweled sandals adorned his soft feet, and a magnificent ruby winked on one elegant hand.

  Six mere dragons lolled on the platform near the couch. Flix, the lizard Glonoff had called to heel, slunk up the stairs and flopped at the wizard’s feet.

  Glonoff smiled and stroked the mere dragon’s scaly head. “Such a greedy boy,” he crooned, pinning Kedrick with his lazy, black stare. “Kedrick is it?”

  Kedrick started. Gods, the Dark Wizard knew his name? “Y-yes, Your Eminence.”

  “My agents tell me you bring tidings. You insist upon a reward, I believe?”

  “I don’t need no reward, Your Worship,” Kedrick said, his insides quaking.

  “Very agreeable of you, I’m sure, but I insist that you be appropriately compensated—if you cooperate.”

  “I’ll tell you everything I know, Your Worship.” Kedrick focused on not wetting himself. “Just let me and my boy go. That’s all the reward I need.”

  “Keron is a fine lad,” the wizard said in his purring voice. “I find myself quite taken with him.” He tilted his head, considering Kedrick. “Would you like to see him?”

  “Aye, Your Worship. If ’n it please you.”

  “Of course, of course.” Glonoff raised his hand. “Bring the lad.”

  The curtains behind the divan parted and a child dressed in silk finery stepped out. The boy’s red locks had been brushed until they gleamed, and neatly confined at the nape of his neck with a silky ribbon.

  “Keron?”

  The child looked at Kedrick without recognition, his eyes dreamy and unfocused. Kedrick lunged for the dais steps, but was brought up short by Praxus.

  “None of that, swamp rat,” Praxus said. “That’s close enough.”

  “Let me go,” Kedrick said, struggling to free himself. “You’ve no right to drug him, damn your black heart.”