Marco stepped downward. “Where is the traitor? Where is Zosma the librarian?” Marco shouted down as he advanced. He fought his way downward step by step, facing a bedlam of confusion among the group of monks who had few men practiced in swordwork
“Pick up your wounded,” Marco paused in his fighting when they were almost to the ground. “Pick up your wounded and carry them away to the infirmary,” he commanded, then waited as the nervous guards for the monks helped the injured men leave the tower.
“Let us leave your monastery in peace, and no one here will be hurt,” Marco told the monks as the last of the wounded were limping away with assistance.
“You and the witch and your companion have no chance to escape the monastery,” a monk said in a calm tone as he stood at the door. “We’ve called our archers to be prepared to fire at all of you the second you walk out the door.”
“No!” Marco shouted, his battle mood primed by the fight on the stairs, and his anger at the betrayal and the ambush fueled to blaze even more heatedly by the monk’s announcement. “I lay a curse on you,” – he pointed his right hand, and it started to glow, triggering an intuitive realization by Marco of what he could do. “Anyone of your order who attempts to harm us shall feel that harm done to themselves, and Zosma – your partner in perfidity – shall burn to ashes if he ever attempts to enter the library again, or do harm to any of my companions.”
A wave of green light pulsed from Marco’s hand and passed over everyone who stood within the tower, then a portion of it flew out the door and expanded into a new wave that ranged widely as it advanced across the monastery grounds and passed across the city.
“What have you done?” Cassius asked in astonishment.
“My lord!” cried the monk at the tower door, as Marco stared at his hand. He lowered the hand, but continued to look at it as the glow of the hand disappeared. He remembered the curse the sorcerer had thrown at him, the deadly curse that had inflicted damage and evil upon him, the curse that had eventually caused him to cut off his own hand. And then – ironically – that very hand had now issued forth the curse that he had just cast.
It was real, he was sure. He hadn’t intended to do it, hadn’t even known what he was going to do at the moment it had happened. But he knew that the power in his hand had made it real. He and his friends were free to walk across the monastery grounds now without fear of suffering pain or injuries from any attacks that might be launched.
In a move of bravado, Marco walked slowly down the stairs, and watched the monk retreat before him. Marco reached the doorway, his friends following him closely, and he made a show of raising his sword high, then thrusting it dramatically back into the scabbard on his hip, so that he carried no weapon as he began to walk out into the open courtyard that surrounded the tower.
There was the twang of the string on an archer’s bow, and Cassius gasped as he turned his head and saw the man’s arrow fly straight outward from the bow, then turn itself around and return to strike the shooter in the shoulder. The whole area around the courtyard was filled with gasps and cries and even oaths as the observers recoiled from the effect of Marco’s curse.
Two other archers each shot arrows, then immediately dove to the ground, but each received the sharp end of their arrows in their backsides. After seeing that, others in the courtyard began to flee.
“Marco!” Cassius said breathlessly, striding forward and grasping Marco’s shoulder. “You are a great mage! That is power that is extraordinary!”
“I had no idea that was going to happen,” Marco said in wonder.
“I had no idea how we were going to get out of the tower; I had no plan at all,” he said, then added “Ow!” as Pesino cuffed the back of his head.
“You had no plan?” she asked archly as they continued to walk unmolested, now observed only by those who watched from windows. “It’s a good thing for you that you had a wise wife to watch over you!” she laughed, then leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
Marco momentarily flinched as they exited through the empty gate of the monastery; he half expected someone to try to beat the curse as they left the grounds, but no one interfered with them, and a few minutes later they approached the main door of the library, where a small crowd of agitated bystanders were gathered.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Pesino said softly.
“He deserved it; he tried to give us away to the monks, just because he was jealous of Marco,” Cassius said as they came up to the circle that stood around a pile of ashes at the library entrance.
“Kate’s waiting inside for us,” Marco said, “and we should be ready to leave.”
“You found them! They’re safe!” Kate gave out a celebratory whoop as she watched from the balcony and saw them enter the warmth of the library.
Minutes later the four of them stood at the bottom of the balcony stairs, wearing their capes and packs, ready to go.
“We wish to offer you this gift,” Taset told Marco as the librarian leader came up to say farewell. He pressed a small leather bag into Marco’s hands, a new supply of coins they would be able to spend on their journey. “We are sorry that Zosma was so treacherous towards you. He had been a sulky one from time to time, but I never would have suspected that he would fall to treachery.
“Safe travels to you on your adventure. I hope we will see you again, or hear of your success,” he said as he shook each of their hands.
Marco took a deep breath, then led his group out the doors, and averted his eyes as they passed the pile of ashes that still lay on the steps, still surrounded by hushed bystanders discussing the inexplicable event. The four travelers walked north through the city to the unguarded, empty gates in the city walls, then departed from Clovis, having received what they had come for, and in Marco’s case, having received even more.
Chapter 19 – Negotiating a Trip
Marco heard the whispering behind him as Cassius and Pesino described to Kate what he had done at the monastery. It was the topic on his own mind as well, as they walked along the road towards the river, a road that was in a more open environment than the road that they had entered the city on, chased by wolves.
He was thinking about his use of the powers contained within his golden hand. The powers of the hand had saved him when they had been evident upon his arrival at Clovis, during the battle with the wolves. And they had saved him at the end of his Clovis interlude, as they had cast forth the curse that had protected him while leaving the monastery.
But the two uses had been different. The first time his powers saved him, he had been completely unaware of them, had not expected them, and had not even considered them. The second time he had not anticipated them, but once he began his curse, he had known that the hand would make it happen, and he had shaped the curse to address the perfidy of Zosma, knowing what the power of a sorcerer’s curse could do.
And he had even initiated the glowing light within his hand on the one evening occasion at the library, when he had consciously and deliberately unleashed the sorcery contained in the limb.
He would have to explore the energy much more during the next phase of the trip, he told himself, to help prepare for the upcoming encounter with the Echidna, the mother of all monsters. That future battle, no longer as far in the future now that he had a destination, was a harrowing thought.
Their road led towards a village on the bank of the River Rhane, a large stream that flowed northerly, in the direction they wanted to go. When they reached the village, they saw by the light of the setting sun that the river was flowing freely with open water in the center of the channel, though ice shelves reached several feet out from the bank. They went to the blacksmith shop to find information about who might be willing to sell them a boat to go downstream.
“In the winter time?” the blacksmith asked with a doubtful expression. “There’s no one here who’s likely to sell their boat to you any time of year – folks need their boats for fishing and crossing the river.” It was obvio
us to the travelers that he was correct; there were ruins of a bridge that had at one time crossed the river with a mighty span, but the center of the bridge was long gone, fallen into the river. It left no way to cross the river except by boat.
“But, there’s one fellow who might ferry you down the river,” the blacksmith gave a wink to Marco.
“Old Kenton might be a good one to take you. I don’t think his wife fancies having him sitting around in the house all winter, nor do I think he fancies sitting in the house all winter,” the blacksmith said. “You throw a little money his way, and he’ll spend a few days taking you down the river, and then he’ll spend a month working his way back up the river. He’s got a boat big enough for all of you.”
Marco turned and looked at the others, and saw their heads all nod in agreement.
“Where does Kenton live?” Marco asked.
“He’s in the stone house at the end of the lane,” the blacksmith advised. “And so is his wife. And it’s a small house,” the blacksmith laughed. “The sooner you go visit them the better off everyone will be.”
“Where can we spend the night?” Kate asked.
“There’s an inn down the road, and not many visitors this time of year. They’ve got pretty good ale,” the blacksmith advised.
Marco thanked the man for the advice, and the foursome started walking in the direction of Kenton’s home. The lane was visible in the cold moonlight, and the houses were few in number, so that they reached the stone house at the end in just two minutes of walking through the cold night air.
“Why don’t you go swim the river?” a woman’s piercing voice screeched through the walls of the house to reach their ears. “And try to swim its length!” she added.
“The water couldn’t be any colder than your heart!” a man bellowed in return.
“Do you think this is the place?” Pesino asked Marco as he prepared to knock on the door.
Marco wore gloves, as they all did. He pounded on the door, but his padded fist made little noise, so he removed his glove and knocked hard, so hard that he scraped his knuckles. He put his hand to his mouth to sooth the injury just before the door opened.
“Who in blazes are you?” a small man asked. He stood smaller than Marco, with tufts of hair that stood out wildly around his ears. He wore an unusual article of clothing – a single piece that covered his torso, arms, and legs. Marco had never seen anything like it.
“My name’s Marco, and the blacksmith said we could find Kenton here?” Marco responded.
“Well, so you found me! Now be on your way and leave me alone!” the man shouted wildly, and flung the door closed.
“We want to hire a boat for a trip down the river to Canalport,” Cassius shouted. “We’ll pay you to leave home and take us.”
They all stood still, watching their breath spread and rise in small, tenuous clouds in front of their faces. A minute passed, then another, and there was no sound from inside the formerly noisy home.
“Let’s go to the inn, and get warm,” Kate said. “We can come back tomorrow and try again.”
They all nodded their heads in agreement and trooped back to the center of the village, then found the inn and went inside. Marco paid for two rooms, and they climbed upstairs to drop their packs in their small, unheated rooms.
They met downstairs to eat dinner in the tavern room, where several men were drinking the local ale that the blacksmith had considered so good. They ate bowls of warm stew and sat close to the smoky fire, then looked up when the door to the inn opened and Kenton appeared.
“Marco! Where’s Marco?” he called, shouting at the innkeeper.
The others at the table looked at Marco to see what his reaction would be.
"I'm Marco," he acknowledged, raising his hand.
Kenton walked over to the table and sat down without an invitation. "I'm your man for going down the river," he asserted. "There's no one else with a boat big enough to carry all of you and who can handle the river as well as I can.
"Which is why you need to hire me as your boatman, even though I'll cost you more than the average fellow would.
"I'll have an ale," he immediately added as a serving boy passed by, then sat back smugly in his seat, convinced that he had already won the bargaining session.
"How much do you plan to charge?" Marco asked after a moment's pause to digest the demands.
Kenton's face took on a crafty expression. "Zudmilla said," he paused to take a hearty drink from the mug that was placed before him, "she said," he resumed, "that she has to have five coppers in her hand before I can go.
"And I'll have to have five coppers more in my hand when we get to Canalport at the end of the trip," Kenton stated emphatically, studying the others' faces anxiously as he took another long draught from his mug.
Marco began to respond, when Cassius laid a hand on his shoulder. "Can we talk?" the former merman's asked. The two of them rose and stepped away from the table.
“You have to bargain with him,” Cassius said in a low voice. “He has to feel like he’s getting more than he’s entitled to, or he won’t perform well. I’ve seen personalities like this before – we have them among the merfolks too.”
“But I was going to give him everything he wants; I would have offered more if he’d let me make the first offer,” Marco retorted.
“That doesn’t matter. He’s named a price, so now you have to quibble with him, then let him win most of it. Everything will go much more smoothly,” Cassius answered. “Trust me.”
With a shake of his head, Marco turned and went back to the table, where Kenton was drinking his ale and trying not to be too obvious as he leered at Pesino.
“Cassius thinks we need you, but I think we can do this ourselves and save some money,” Marco blustered. “So I’ll give you three coppers for your wife before we leave, and then give you three coppers when we arrive at the end of the journey.”
“Would you consider giving me five for Zudmilla, and then three at the end of the journey?” Kenton asked, plaintive in his tone for the first time.
Marco looked at Cassius, who nodded sagely. “If your boat passes our inspection in the morning,” Cassius qualified the acceptance.
“Of course it will pass! I built it myself, didn’t I?” Kenton stood up abruptly, then swayed dangerously, so that Kate felt compelled to prop him up with a hand, until he lifted his legs over the bench and stepped out into the aisle. “I’m off to tell Zudmilla; she’ll have to be pleased with me!” he smiled beatifically, and walked out of the inn.
“Well, I hope he pilots a boat as well as he drains a cup of ale!” Kate said.
“Let’s go to bed, husband dear,” she said, standing up and offering her hand across the table to Cassius, who took it.
“We’ll see you here in the morning and then we can all go to Kenton’s together,” Cassius said over his shoulder as the pair started walking towards the stairs.
“To think they got married just so they could share a room in Fortburg,” Pesino looked at the pair with an expression that Marco thought seemed strangely wistful. “I suppose we should go to bed as well,” she held her hand out to Marco, who stood up, then helped her stand as well. And hand in hand, they went up the stairs to their room, where there were two separate single beds.
As Marco opened the door of their room, a bright light momentarily shone in the hallway, then zipped past them into their room.
“I do not wish to spend the night with that couple,” Gawail said as he came to rest on top of bed. “I will not say more.”
Marco sat down on his bed, and realized that he felt extremely tired from the long day, the day that had begun with high hopes in the library at Clovis, and had included the battle at the monastery – with the unleashing of the sorcery powers in his hand. He removed his boots in the dark room, lit only by the gentle glow of Gawail hovering in the air, then laid back on his bed. He heard the rustle of Pesino’s bed as she lay down, and he thought about how luxurious it
felt to rest on the simple, thin mattress the inn provided, instead of the hard floor of the library.
He heard Pesino’s bed creak further. “Good night Pesino,” he said softly, then felt his own bed shudder, and suddenly Pesino’s body was pressed against his, pushing him slightly aside as she squirmed onto his narrow mattress.
“Will I ever find someone who truly loves me?” she asked softly as she draped an arm across Marco’s chest. “Someone as good as you? Someone who loves me from the heart?”
Marco turned his body, so that he faced her. They were close together, intimately close on the narrow bed. He could feel her warm breath upon his face. He thought of Mirra, and he thought of Pesino. One was so far away, and one was so close by.
“You deserve to have someone; I know that you will someday,” Marco told her softly.
“Do you promise? Will you introduce me to the perfect mate?” she spoke again.
“I will do as much as I can,” he told her. “Though on this trip I doubt we’ll find the right man,”
“Merman,” she interrupted.
“Someday,” he promised. She seemed so vulnerable at the moment, and lonely and exposed, and Marco wished he could find it in his powers to give her happiness. They had been together continually for weeks and weeks on their journey, forced intimately together through trying circumstances, and he felt he had a measure of her soul. She was a good person, one who he strongly felt deserved to find happiness, through a mate if that was what she wished.
“So I suppose this means you’ll want a divorce?” he asked, trying to lighten the moment.
“Not necessarily,” she said after a pause. “There is one village of merfolks that lets mermaids have multiple husbands, and to spare your feelings I would be willing to forego a divorce,” she laughed lightly, making Marco feel better.
They fell asleep together in the bed, and Marco awoke in the morning curled up against Pesino’s back. He lay there gently stroking her arm for several minutes, then stopped as she gave a purring sound in her throat, a reaction that startled him, then made him smile.
The Echidna's Scale (Alchemy's Apprentice) Page 26