Ink Mage

by Victor Gischler

  Yeah, I will. Brasley is charming company and amusing when he’s not bellyaching, but I can count on Alem. When Brasley drinks too much brandy and falls off his horse, Alem will still be there to pull guard duty, tend the horses, and a dozen other things without so much as a word of complaint.

  But it was more than that, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just that Alem was useful. Alem was … Alem was …

  “I say we turn around and ride out of here fast,” Brasley said. “Back the way we came before these gypsies can saddle up and give chase.”

  “That won’t work,” Alem said sharply. “The gypsies in the trees, remember?”

  “Then you think of something,” Brasley flared.

  “Why don’t you give your mouth a rest?” Alem shot back.

  Rina squeezed her eyes shut tight. “Both of you shut up!”

  Alem shut up, and surprisingly, so did Brasley.

  Rina blew out a sigh, eased her eyes open. “Listen to me. The plan is this. We wait to see what happens. The girl, Mauridan—”

  “Maurizan,” Alem corrected.

  Rina glared at him, and Alem went pink.

  “Maurizan is going to speak up for us,” Rina said. “I infer her mother is of some importance. The gypsies are upset that we’re here since they like to keep their camp a secret, but I don’t think they’re so upset that they’ll murder us for it.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Brasley said. “I’m hardly an expert on gypsies, but I’ve always heard they’re very secretive and closed to outsiders.”

  “Then this will be our opportunity to make friends,” Rina said. “Right now, we can use all we can get.”

  “They’re coming.” Alem nodded his head toward the group of gypsies coming up the trail.

  Rina noticed Maurizan was not among them.

  Gino stopped three feet from her. The snarl of contempt hadn’t left his face. “Come. You shall eat with us. You will be treated as honored guests.” His face remained tight.

  He calls us honored guests, but he’s obviously not feeling it.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Rina said.

  Gino nodded curtly. “First, you’ll want to refresh yourselves, I’m sure. You shall be escorted to the bath houses.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The bath houses were low log lodges sealed with mud and halfway buried into the side of a small hill. Smoke billowed from a squat stone chimney.

  The sun was just dipping below the horizon, and Alem and Brasley shivered, naked, as they handed their clothing to a pair of male gypsies.

  Alem made a special effort not to look down. Eyes straight ahead.

  “I don’t see why we have to do this,” Alem whispered to Brasley. “I don’t need a bath.”

  “Yes you do,” Brasley whispered back. “You stink.”

  Alem glared at him.

  “Oh, don’t be so thin skinned,” Brasley said. “We both stink. We’ve been out in the wilds, and we smell like campfire and horse and armpit. Be glad for an opportunity to wash it all off.”

  Alem was more glad about the fact the women’s bath house was on the other side of the hill.

  “Anyway,” Brasley continued, “it’s largely a social custom. They’ll be offended if we don’t join in.”

  Social. Sure. What’s the harm?

  They entered the bath house.

  Alem was immediately engulfed by steam, which burned his nostrils and lungs. He got used to it after a few moments, blinked at the single oil lamp that strained against the darkness like the distant glow of a lighthouse in the fog.

  His eyes adjusted, and he became aware of the men sitting on low benches along the walls, gypsies all sweating naked together in the dark.

  I think I might be the anti-social type.

  * * *

  Standing barefoot in a patch of old snow reminded Rina of that endless march up the mountain with Kork, the cold and the wet seeping through her slippers and turning her feet into slabs of ice.

  Her attention snapped back to the here and now when the gypsy girl asked for her thin blouse. She unlaced it, slipped it off and handed it over.

  The gypsy girl gasped.

  Damn. Of course, Rina’s tattoos. There were parts of Helva where tattoos where not uncommon, but even in those regions, few had such elaborate ink. The designs and magical runes trailed all the way from the base of her neck down her spine to the small of her back. There were more lines across her shoulders. The bull symbol tattoo imbued with magical strength. Rina blushed suddenly, self-conscious. The tattoos would only cause more whispers among the gypsies.

  She ducked into the steamy darkness of the bath house, hoping to hide herself. She sat on a wooden bench, her back to the wall. The chatter of the gypsy women hushed immediately. In the darkness and the steam, it was impossible to gauge facial expressions.

  Rina cleared here throat. She’d dealt with awkward social situations at court. How hard could this be? “I want to thank you for taking us in. You’re very generous.”

  That set of a whispered exchange among the gypsy women. The whispers died away again almost immediately.

  “You are welcome here, Rina Veraiin,” came a clear voice through the steam.

  Rina tensed. “You know me?” She’d been careful not to offer her last name to anyone these past weeks.

  “Gypsy eyes and ears have their secret ways to see and hear.” One of the women rose from the benches across the lodge, came toward her through the steam and sat on the bench next to Rina.

  She was naked, as they all were, with broad back and hips, full breasts hanging low with middle age, but not so low. A handsome woman but somewhat worn. She smiled at Rina, and it seemed sincere although Rina couldn’t quite see her eyes.

  “I’m Klarissa,” she said. “I’m Maurizan’s mother.”

  Rina relaxed a little. If anyone among the gypsies was going to be friendly toward Rina, it would be the mother of the girl she’d saved.

  “Thank you,” Klarissa said. “For my daughter’s life.”

  “The ones trying to hurt Maurizan were really after me,” Rina said. “It would have been wrong not to help.”

  “She is a curious child and likes to roam too far from our camp. Perhaps this incident scared some sense into her. But … well, her soul is too adventurous, I think, and our camp seems smaller to her every day. She will run to meet the world too soon.”

  Rina realized the rest of the women in the steam lodge were listening intently to their conversation.

  “Maybe she acts without thinking sometimes, but I thank her for it,” Rina said. “Otherwise she might not have brought us to your camp. Although I sense this has made some of your people unhappy.”

  “Yes.” Klarissa nodded. “We were discussing that before you arrived. It’s a problem we’ve already solved.”

  Rina glanced at the shapes of the women in the steam. Without the men?

  Klarissa chuckled quietly as if she’d read Rina’s mind. “We claim modesty as the reason for separate bath houses, but in fact it’s good to have some time away from the men, so we can decide things quietly and calmly.”

  Rina reached back for a distant memory, something she’d heard about gypsies. The men held all the titles, but the women decided matters behind the scenes. Maybe Rina had come to the right place. Maybe these people could help her.

  Still, she didn’t want to be in the bad graces of the gypsy men.

  “The men seemed pretty upset to have strangers in camp,” Rina said. “How’d you win them over?”

  “Men.” Klarissa rolled her eyes. “Their ruffled feathers are easily smoothed.”

  * * *

  The gypsy passed the ceramic jug to Alem. The fumes came through the steam and almost knocked him off the bench.

  “Drink, my friend,” urged the gypsy next to him. “Drink deep.”

  Alem remembered what Brasley had said about this being a social occasion and not wanting to give offense. He titled the jug back and gulped.


  It was as if someone had poured flaming lamp oil down his throat. He went dizzy, face hot, felt the jug being pulled from his hands.

  Brasley took the jug, didn’t hesitate, drank deep. He smacked his lips and passed the jug down the line. “Good stuff. I was worried at first we would not be afforded the famed hospitality of the gypsies. I’m happy to be wrong.”

  Horseshit. All Brasley had done since entering the gypsy camp was warn that these people were pickpockets and carnival tricksters. He hadn’t offered a single kind word. Still, Alem had to admit Brasley could turn on the charm when he wanted. What amazed Alem was how sincere Brasley could seem. It was like Brasley’s own peculiar brand of magic.

  Alem took comfort in the fact that Rina seemed immune to Brasley’s charm. I mean, come on. She’s way too smart to fall for his act.

  Right?

  The jug came to Alem again, and he drank. Not so harsh this time. The periodic hissing sound came again, somebody pouring water for fresh steam.

  “Well, we could tell you weren’t a bad sort of folk straight off.” Gino’s voice was slurred with drink, floated through the steam from a bench opposite them. “But the women get nervous. It’s our job to protect the camp. We have to be serious about it.”

  “Completely understandable,” Brasley said. “You have a position of great responsibility. One wrong decision could jeopardize everything, yes?”

  Grunts of approval rumbled among the men. This evidently had been the right thing to say. Simple really. Most people wanted approval and understanding, didn’t they?

  Somehow the jug was in Alem’s hands again. He drank.

  “This woman with you. Rina. She is … in charge?”

  Was that disapproval in Gino’s voice or simply curiosity?

  Brasley laughed. “Well, don’t all women think they’re in charge, really?”

  More murmurs of approval among the men. Brasley was hitting all the right notes. And he did it without really admitting anything. Again, Alem grudgingly acknowledged Brasley was a clever fellow. What irked Alem was the fact that on some level, Brasley was actually likable.

  Alem did not want to like Brasley.

  “She seems a strong woman,” Gino said. “And … attractive.”

  “Yes,” Alem said. “Beautiful.” Alem looked up suddenly, realizing he’d said it out loud.

  Nobody noticed. The gypsy men seemed to accept that Brasley was the one doing the talking.

  “Very attractive indeed,” Brasley said. “But, alas, a rose with thorns.”

  Alem was trying to follow the subtleties of the conversation. What exactly was Gino trying to find out? And was Brasley being insulting to Rina or slyly doing her a favor by scaring Gino away? In the stables, people either kept their thoughts to themselves or said things flat out.

  Every time Alem tried to figure it out, he found the ceramic jug in his hands, until the evening dissolved into nothing more than shadowed shapes in the steam.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Rina and Klarissa moved from the steam room to a quiet bath area, both sharing a large tub of hot water. It soothed her aching muscles. Day after day in the saddle had toughened her, but she was sore too. The wooden tub was big enough to fit another five women without crowding but she and the gypsy woman were the only ones. The others had drifted away.

  Rina assumed that was by design. A private conversation.

  Klarissa told Rina of her people. A people without a homeland.

  The camp they were in was as close to a permanent settlement as existed among the gypsies. Technically the camp was located in the southernmost holdings of Baron Kern, but it was deep in the forest, hidden. With an hour’s notice, the gypsies could pull up stakes, hitch horse to wagon and vanish. From Klarissa’s words, Rina inferred there were many such camps spread throughout Helva. How many and how large they were, well, that was different. Klarissa was sharing information with an outsider. She remained guarded. For a displaced people without a home, secrecy was second nature.

  But now Klarissa sensed an opportunity. At least, that was Rina’s intuition. The woman thought Rina could help her somehow.

  “We have similar problems,” Klarissa said. “My people … and you.”

  Rina sank low into the warm water, up to her chin. “How so?”

  “We’re homeless, aren’t we … Duchess?”

  Duchess. No doubt left, is there? She knows who you are. Never mind how. Okay, let’s try the direct approach.

  “What do you want?”

  If she was offended by Rina’s frankness, she didn’t show it. “How honest shall we be with each other?”

  “You seem to know who I am,” Rina said. “In which case you probably also know I have little to lose.”

  “And everything to gain,” Klarissa said.

  Rina nodded slowly. “I can only promise to listen and to keep an open mind.”

  Klarissa’s smile warmed, her eyes softening. “Well said.”

  A long pause.

  “Klaar is a remote duchy,” Klarissa said. “You could describe its relationship with the rest of Helva as distant, yes?”

  “We a loyal part of Helva,” Rina said. “We serve at the king’s pleasure. But custom in recent years has been that we ask little of his majesty, and his majesty takes little notice of us.”

  “But now you need him.”

  Rina thought about it a moment. “Let’s say we need help from somewhere. Whether it’s from the King of Helva or from some … other friend.”

  “I’d like us to be friends, Rina.”

  “I’d like that too.” Rina even meant it. She had a good feeling about the woman.

  “I know something of Klaar.” Klarissa said it lightly as if changing the subject. “There is an area where the boundaries of three baronies meet. Sparsely populated except for a small village along Lake Hammish.”

  “I know the place,” Rina said. If she tapped into the spirit, she could easily visualize one of her father’s maps, see every river ever valley and forest and ridge. She didn’t bother.

  “Good land. Good timber,” Klarissa said. “Good hunting. A shame more people don’t live there. The Perranese have it now, I guess. A shame.”

  She’s shrewd. A land grant for her people. As duchess, I could make it happen. It would be law. I could take a small part of each barony and tell Hammish and the others it’s a war tithe. They’d have to sit still for it. So she helps me get Klaar back from the Perranese somehow, and in return, her people get a little chunk to call home.

  But how? Was there a gypsy army? Rina estimated only a few hundred people in the camp and many were children or elderly.

  When in doubt, resort to honesty. “I haven’t been duchess long. I’m not sure what is possible or how to go about it or anything. But I think … I think I understand what you’re asking for.”

  “Please,” Klarissa said. “I ask for nothing. We are a poor people with many needs, but we’re also a proud people. It has long been our tradition to ask for nothing, but to accept gifts from friends with gratitude and loyalty.”

  Klarissa moved across the tub and stopped in front of Rina. Another inch closer and their chests would press together.

  “Allow me to show you what I mean,” she said. “I want to offer you a gift. Something special. Naturally, you may refuse, but I don’t think you will.”

  That depends on what you have in mind, doesn’t it? The woman had moved a little too close for Rina’s comfort.

  “Look at my face,” Klarissa said.

  Rina looked.

  “Look at my eyes.”

  Like some of the other gypsy women, Klarissa had dark eyeliner around her eyes. Many of the women had gone a little strong with the lip rouge also and used brightly colored eye shadow. Rina found it a bit garish. In the dim light of the bath house, Rina had assumed Klarissa’s makeup was the same as that of the other women.

  Now upon closer examination, the makeup smudges at the corners of her eyes weren’t smudges at all. The
y were small, finely drawn feathers like little teardrops. The dark liner under each eye was in fact, tightly packed runes, written with a steady hand.

  Rina blinked.

  Not makeup. A tattoo.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Now, when I thrust at you, you slap the blade aside,” Tosh said. “But let’s try it slow at first a few times, okay? We don’t want any accidents.”

  “Right,” Tenni said.

  They’d been practicing every day since that horrible night when Tenni had hacked the Perranese corporal to death. It had been ugly and messy, and even though Tosh had been reluctant to teach basic swordsmanship to her, he had to admit it was better she know how to handle herself.

  And anyway, Tenni was pretty, so it was a good excuse to spend time with her.

  Tosh stabbed the sword at her a couple of times at half-speed, and she batted his blade away easily. She was a fast learner. They both used Perranese swords, which had proved to be fairly easy to come by. Drunken warriors left them all the time at the brothel, and some were too embarrassed to come back and ask for them.

  “We’ve been working mostly on defense,” Tosh said. “Want to try some attacks today?”

  “Finally.”

  Tosh frowned. “Don’t be so eager. Unless there’s a battle tomorrow, there’s no hurry.”

  “There’s always a battle. It never stops,” Tenni said. “Every minute these foreigners infest our home, the battle goes on in our hearts. I’d kill every one of them if I could.”

  Oh, Tenni, please don’t think that. You’re too young and pretty to be filled with hate. “Well, until the battle moves from your heart to the streets of Backgate, let’s take it slow.”

  Tenni frowned, but took up the basic defensive posture.

  “Now, for a simple thrust, you’ll want your feet to be—”

  Tosh froze at the sound of the hatchway above creaking open and slamming shut again. After agreeing to teach Tenni, he’d decided the cave below the brothel where he’d hidden from the Perranese was the best place for the lessons. He didn’t want anyone else to see. More to the point, he didn’t want word of it getting back to Mother. Maybe she wouldn’t care that he was teaching one of her girls swordplay.