Mystic: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “Jes’ do it,” growled Seth. “Do your best. Pretend you are a professional.”

  Loren gulped and looked at Gem. The boy smiled back, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Er . . . I have rarely seen such large . . . muscles . . . on such a small boy.”

  Gem scowled. “Is that your idea of a compliment? Calling me small?”

  “And there we have it,” said Seth, raising his hands. Within them, Loren saw Gem’s knife, as well as a small purse she never knew the boy carried.

  “What?” Gem felt around his belt and the now-empty scabbard. “How did you . . .”

  “Distraction.” Seth raised the purse and knife, just out of reach from Gem’s grasping hands. “’Tis better when your partner knows what they are doing, of course, but almost anyone with pretty eyes will do.”

  Loren flushed and rubbed her arms. She did not much care for Seth’s compliments, not with such a wicked smile.

  A week later, Seth stopped the carriage. Jordel frowned, sticking his head out the window. “What is it?”

  “Something you should see, sir,” the driver growled.

  “Stay here,” Jordel murmured, and climbed out of the carriage. Loren and Gem traded a glance and slipped out behind him.

  Jordel and Seth stood by the lead horse, staring ahead. Loren went to the Mystic’s side, Gem lurking just behind and beside her.

  Many yards ahead of the carriage, the ground lay endlessly trampled as if by countless feet. The trail cut straight across the road, grass squashed as far as she could see in either direction.

  “What did that?” Loren said. “Mayhap an army passing.”

  “And a sizable one,” agreed Jordel. “Though I told you to stay in the carriage.”

  “Moving west, if I am not mistaken,” said Seth.

  “You are not. Pull the carriage off the road. I would know what such a force is doing in the south of Selvan.”

  In a few minutes, it was done. Seth found a small copse of trees surrounded by low shrubs, drew the carriage within them, and hobbled the horses. Jordel discarded his cloak and the longsword he sometimes wore at his belt, pulling from his luggage a shorter blade and a long dirk. He strapped the short sword to his belt while the dirk went into his boot.

  “Stay here and wait for my return,” he said, eyes on his hands as they fastened the weapons. “I will not be long. That I promise.”

  “I will not sit here and wait,” said Loren. “I want to come as well.”

  Jordel smiled. “I spoke to Seth, not to you. Truth told I hoped you would come.”

  Loren started, taken aback. “You did? Why?”

  “I have told you many times how our fates seem intertwined, Loren of the family Nelda. You have proved yourself no simple young woman, and useful in situations when most would discount you. Besides, you have confessed that you mean to do great things in the world. I would help you learn something of it first. Mighty deeds are often the stuff of song, but often a small action is better if guided by wisdom.”

  Loren flushed and turned to hide behind her hood. “I hope not to disappoint.”

  “I am sure you will not.”

  “Very well,” said Gem. “If we must be off, let us be off.”

  Loren and Jordel turned to him in unison. Gently, he said, “I am sorry, master pickpocket. I did not mean for you to come. Someone must help Seth guard our carriage.”

  Gem glared at him. “I am young but no fool. If Loren goes, so will I. Her safety lies in my hands.”

  “And in mine,” said Jordel. “And I will take no risk. “I am sorry, but my decision is final. We shall return swiftly.”

  He turned away as Gem’s face reddened and soured. Loren sidled up to the boy and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I am sure it will be boring.”

  “Do not mock me.” Gem’s voice was sullen. “It is the first bit of excitement in many days gone, and he means to exclude me.”

  “He does not know what a mighty warrior he has on his hands,” said Loren, nudging his chin with her hand. “Nor what a brilliant scholar.”

  “Nor wise advisor,” said Gem, somewhat mollified.

  “Give him time.”

  “He has had as much time with me as with you, and yet I am excluded.”

  Loren shrugged. She did not understand much better than Gem but thought she might have an inkling of why Jordel requested her presence. The Mystic was most interested in her dagger, and she believed he would be loath to let her out of his sight while it stayed on her belt.

  But that explanation required too much time, and they had to be off. The Mystic beckoned, and Loren left Gem with a final ruffle of his hair. They slipped out through the trees towards the tracks and turned to follow them west. Soon, the road vanished behind them as they crept between low hills.

  “We must stay silent and hidden,” murmured Jordel. “You seem to have some knack for stealth. Use it now. I am not looking for a fight, only for information.”

  “I have never looked for a fight. Though that has not always mattered.”

  Jordel nodded and led Loren forward. Soon, they reached the bank of a river. They had to walk south a ways before they could find a place shallow enough to ford. The bank was silty and loose, and Jordel stumbled once or twice as they slid down. Loren felt no small blush of pride at her own certain footing.

  Just after they reached the far bank, they heard a splash behind them.

  Jordel whirled and drew his sword. Loren’s dagger was in her hand before she thought to draw it. But when her eyes found the disturbance, she rolled them and quickly returned the blade to its sheath.

  “Sky above, Gem, what are you doing?”

  The urchin sat on his rear in the river’s shallows, managing to look sheepish and proud at once. He raised his chin to the air. “I told you. You go, I follow. Seth stepped away from the carriage, so I came after you.”

  “Go back,” said Loren. “We do not know what awaits us.”

  “Then you do not know that it is dangerous,” said Gem, finding his feet and wading towards them. He stood much shorter than Loren and seemed barely half Jordel’s height, so the water came nearly to his chest. “I will be invisible, a shadow at your back and more silent than a mouse.”

  “A large mouse, to make a splash like you did,” said Loren.

  She looked at Jordel, expecting to see him looking angry, or at least annoyed. Instead, she found a small smile tugging at his lips. He felt her gaze and returned it.

  “It seems mine is not the only fate you have drawn into your own. And if the boy cannot be kept away, then let him come. But hear this,” the Mystic said, growing solemn again and pointing his sword at Gem. “If you give us away, I will flay you myself. Do you understand?”

  “I have been flayed by worse than you,” said Gem, placing a hand on the flat of Jordel’s blade and pushing it away. “Or I am nearly sure as such.” He turned to Loren. “What exactly is flaying?”

  “It means he will peel the skin from your body while you watch. I will likely help him hold you down.”

  Gem swallowed. “You will find me a slippery mouse to catch if you try.” Most of the bravado had fled his voice.

  “As long as we all understand each other,” said Jordel. “Come. Our quarry awaits.”

  They did not have to wait long; Loren led the way up the riverbank, over a final hill, and into the sight of an army, stretching many hundreds before them.

  three

  JORDEL’S HAND SNATCHED LOREN’S SHOULDER. He threw her to the ground, and she heard the thud of Gem’s tiny frame slapping the grass a moment later.

  “Hold perfectly still,” said Jordel, falling beside her. “Do not move a muscle.”

  Loren did, but already she could tell they had nothing to fear. The nearest tents lay far away, and even the sentries stood too distant for them to be easily seen.

  She studied the legion. Loren knew herself to be awful at numbers but had to think there were at least several hundred foot soldiers and a hundred hors
es or more. The steeds were on the far side of the army—a small comfort, for Loren knew they would be caught in minutes if one were to bray in alarm.

  The army did not look like Loren thought an army ought to. When old Bracken had told her stories of great battles gone by, he had spoken of men in King’s colors—blue and white for Selvan, red and yellow for Dorsea, and every other kingdom with its scheme. But now she saw men wearing every color under the sky, or none at all, wrapped in browns and duller greys. She saw many in one place holding bows and many in another part of the camp armed with spears but with none of the order or organization she would have expected.

  “What kingdom do they hail from?” Loren murmured.

  Grimly, Jordel said, “No kingdom. These are mercenaries.”

  “Well, that is good. I feared for a moment that some foe had crossed into Selvan.” Loren did not know much of the machinations between the nine lands, but even children knew that Dorsea often launched raids on the kingdoms that pocked its borders—every one, if you counted the oceans.

  “They may have yet,” said Jordel. “We do not know whom these men serve, and I would wager that like as not, they owe no allegiance to Selvan.”

  “What is it?” Gem tried to wriggle up between them. Loren shoved him back.

  “I must get closer,” murmured Jordel. “If I could but speak with one of them . . .”

  Gem had moved to Loren’s other side, undaunted, and now sidled up behind her like a worm. He gave a low whistle between his teeth and whispered, “An army proper, and no mistake. One more sight I never saw in Cabrus.”

  “We could approach a sentry,” Loren suggested.

  “Approach a sentry without identifying yourself, and you beg for the arrow they will plant in your brain.” Jordel shook his head. “No, I must enter the camp.”

  “Enter the camp?” Gem squeaked. “Filled with soldiers? Who may want to kill you?”

  “I have faced greater dangers before,” said Jordel. “Men do not often look for danger among their own.”

  “And I look for danger not at all,” said Gem. “I will see you back at the carriage.” He turned to scamper down the hillside.

  Loren whirled to him. “Do not run off by yourself, you fool!”

  “I run alone towards safety. You go accompanied toward peril. Who is the fool?”

  He did not slow his pace, and soon he had disappeared behind the next crest. Loren growled.

  “Let him be,” said Jordel. “He is right, and will be safer at Seth’s side.”

  “Not when I get hold of him,” Loren muttered. “He needs a stern lesson in following orders.”

  Jordel chuckled. “I shall leave such lessons to you. Now, let us approach the camp.”

  Loren drew back. “You mean for me to come with you?”

  “Unless you would wait here. But you have a witty tongue, and quick words might serve well to lower their guard.”

  Loren felt tiny pinpricks of pleasure. “Very well. ’Tis a pleasure to deal with one who prefers a ready word to a steady sword.”

  “Come, then. Walk as I do, and try to look as though you belong. And do not reveal your dagger. I wish now that you had left it at the carriage. Come!”

  Many small bushes and trees lay between them and the sentries, a line of men clearly visible halfway to the army. Each man was tall and grim, carrying longbows of yew with many arrows. Jordel led her from cover to cover, but still Loren felt exposed.

  She was surprised to see how easily the Mystic moved. His feet fell soft and quietly as hers, and he melted into the terrain like a woodsman. Loren realized suddenly that she knew little about this man, the lands of his birth, or how he was raised. Perhaps he, too, had grown up in a forest. The thought held a curious appeal, and Loren resolved to ask him once they were safely back at camp.

  Soon, they neared the sentry line where Jordel stopped. They hid behind a cleft in two hills where a tumble of rocks gave them succor to peek out and see. But sentries ranged across a line of unbroken ground, with no chance to slip by undetected. Always, they kept their eyes turned outward. Jordel studied them for a long time while Loren tried to imagine what he was seeing.

  “They are most watchful,” said Loren.

  “They are. What do you think that means?”

  Loren thought, surprised by the question. Mayhap it was a test.

  “If they are watchful, they fear an attack.” Her thoughts moved slowly, gaining speed as pieces assembled. “And here in Selvan, the most likely assault would come from the King’s army. If they fear a strike from Selvan, then Selvan did not hire them.”

  “Good, good,” murmured Jordel. “Who, then?”

  “If they came from the east, as it would seem from their march, they could be from Wadeland. But this far south, I would wager they swear to Dorsea.”

  “What else? Which direction do they travel? And why?”

  Loren’s smile turned to a frown. “West and somewhat south. They do not move for the capital or the great cities, then. What lies west of here?”

  “Precious little until one finds Wellmont at the southern foot of the Greatrocks. But if they were to turn south now, they would come upon Redbrook where the King’s road meets the Dragon’s Tail river. That would be my guess, though it is an ill thought.”

  Loren’s head spun at the names of so many unfamiliar things. “I do not understand. I have never heard of these places. Are they important?”

  “More important than you could guess, but now is not the time for a lesson in politics or history. Suffice to say that it is now more urgent than ever that we find this army’s purpose.”

  “But how can we slip between them? Knowing their allegiance will not turn us invisible.”

  “Agreed.” Jordel sighed. “What I would not give for a wizard’s distraction. I had hoped to walk among them without bloodshed.”

  Loren felt a chill and turned to Jordel with a frown. “Bloodshed? You do not mean to kill them.”

  He turned to meet her with a steady gaze. She felt suddenly uncomfortable before his light blue eyes.

  The Mystic spoke in a voice of deep calm and not of wrath. “I would not take a life except at great need.”

  “At utmost need, and perhaps not even then,” said Loren. “I thought you preferred a sharp tongue to a blade.”

  “Always. And I would that we lived in a world where no blood need ever be spilt. But—”

  “No!” barked Loren, louder than she meant to. They ducked on reflex, peering out at the sentries again. Her shout had gone unheard. “No,” she repeated in a murmur. “I have heard honeyed words before, coaxing me to admit that murder was needed. I did not listen then, nor will I now. If you mean to kill anyone, leave me free. Do these sentries threaten your life?”

  “Not yet, but one small army in the wrong place could spell the doom of many.”

  “That man,” Loren insisted, pointing at the sentry straight ahead. “What has he done? Is he a villain? Does he plot the overthrow of a kingdom? What is his crime that you would lop off his head?”

  Jordel looked at the sentry and then turned to study Loren. He stayed silent so long, she feared he was brewing his anger. She braced herself to run.

  Instead, his breath left in a long, whispering sigh before he spoke. “You are right.”

  Loren blinked. “I am?”

  “You are. Many claim to spill blood only when they must. Few who say so can live up to their words. I forgot myself for a moment, but you have reminded me. I am sorry.”

  Loren could find no reply. No one, not her father, not Damaris nor Auntie, had ever taken her side. Most took her for a fool child, unwise in the ways of the world—even Gem and Annis, who were younger than her.

  Before she could answer, they heard a shout and the clamor of hooves. They ducked behind the rocks, Jordel’s hand flying to his sword, and then together they peeked through a gap in the rocks.

  From over the hills came two mercenaries on horseback, outriders for the army. The men
carried long lances and had small bucklers on their arms. But Loren hardly noticed, trying to stifle the gasp she felt after seeing the bundle slung across one of their saddles—a small figure tied and strapped to the horse: Gem.

  four

  THE SENTRY’S HEAD SNAPPED UP, nocking an arrow as he took a step forward. Then one of the riders called out, “Twin lights!” and the sentry lowered his bow.

  The outriders pulled to a stop not far from the rocks where Jordel and Loren lay. The sentry came forwards to meet them.

  “Well met,” said the sentry. “What have you there?”

  “A small creature scuttling through these hills,” said one of the riders. “He has a shifty look, and his wide eyes might see too much.”

  The sentry came to Gem and grabbed the boy’s hair, jerking it up to look at his face. Gem blanched, but a gag muffled his cry. Loren winced and went to move forward but was restrained by Jordel’s hand on her arm.

  “We must help him!” whispered Loren.

  “Hold a moment. I am thinking.”

  “He is more than a decade from being a man,” declared the sentry.

  “You never can tell with spies,” said the rider. “I have heard the King of Selvan recruits them this young so you would never look at them twice. And spy or not, one set of prying eyes is as bad as the next.”

  “True enough,” grunted the sentry. “Off with him, then. They have put the cages in the—”

  “Hail!” said Jordel, jumping to his feet and dragging Loren alongside him. They stepped out from the rocks as the sentry and outriders turned in astonishment. Again, the sentry raised his bow.

  Jordel cried, “Twin lights!” and the bow lowered, but the sentry’s frown remained. Gem’s eyes widened on the horse’s back, and he ceased struggling against his bonds.

  “I don’t know your face,” said the sentry. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I don’t know most of the faces here,” said Jordel, shrugging amiably. “I am Brickand’s man, a new face plucked from the road.”

  One of the outriders looked at the other, frowning. “Brickand? I don’t know a Brickand.”