Wren Journeymage

by Sherwood Smith

  “Does he put tracers on everyone in his fleet?” Wren asked.

  “I don’t know what that is. He said if we got caught, if we talked, it meant death. He said his reach is all over the world, and we could never escape. No matter how far.” He blanched with fear. “And we know it’s true, because he always brings back something of the ones he kills. Puts the things out on the lower wall betwixt them gargoyles, so’s everyone can see. Killer Diel’s sash with the skulls ‘broidered on it. Captain Rumko’s pearl-handled knife. Things famous in the south seas here. Everyone hears about ‘em.”

  Wren leaned forward. “About the mages.”

  The boy said quickly, “He does punishments out below the wall, where not only them on board the ships can see, but he says the mages can see and hear.”

  “Why?” Wren asked. “Is he collecting mages just to have a set of gargoyles?”

  The boy looked around carefully, as if he expected Andreus to be lurking in the corners. “He gets them from all over, because he needs them for his plan,” the boy whispered. His skin looked clammy, and he trembled as he spoke. “See, I was scrubbin’ the deck just outside the skylight when he was talkin’ to the new captain. Nobody noticed me. They never did, except to kick me and give me more work. But I heard it all, in Djuran, which I speak ‘cause I came from Ourna.”

  Wren frowned, trying to remember why that name seemed important, then she remembered: one of the three small islands caught between the two powerful enemies, Sveran Djur and Shinja.

  “He traps mages, and they get a choice, see. Help, or be a gargoyle and watch him win. Every so often he unfreezes them just enough to ask if they’d join him. If not, they go stone again. In ugly forms. He says it hurts more, that way. But he said ‘after the plan’ he won’t need ‘em anymore, and the pirate captains who win can do what they want to the gargoyles.”

  Captain Tebet muttered colorful curses under her breath.

  Wren said, “What were the mages supposed to help with? What is this plan?”

  The boy leaned forward, and whispered even lower. “He’s drawed together a big fleet.”

  “Fleet?” Wren asked. “For what?”

  “Launch against three kingdoms.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as the last of us arrived.”

  “Who was to be last, do you know?”

  “Yes,” the boy said. “The fleet that attacked you.”

  Twenty-One

  Wren gasped. “Then that means . . . the big plan is soon?”

  “The first plan, not the really big one.”

  “What’s the first plan?”

  “The three kingdoms. “

  “And then?”

  “Once he gets control of the targets—he calls the kingdoms he wants to attack the targets—he’s going to use them to turn on the Emperor of Sveran Djur.”

  “Is one target Okidai?” the Harbormaster asked quickly.

  The boy shook his head. “I don’t think so. They’re all somewhere north.” He wiped his hair back from his face with shaking fingers.

  Up north—like Meldrith? Wren bit her lip. Wait. Wait. Don’t start a panic. The boy hadn’t named any countries, and what could Meldrith offer Andreus toward his big plan? Wren didn’t claim to know much about military matters, but it didn’t make sense to conquer a place already in bad shape, if you wanted to use that country’s resources against someone else.

  One thing she did know: someone had to be told. And soon.

  Wren said, “Well, you did your job. Now for mine. I said I’d break that tracer.”

  She pulled her book from her tunic and flipped through the well-worn pages. While everyone watched, she picked the most powerful of all the spells that dissolved tracers, and performed it.

  “ . . . Nafat,” she said, and clapped her hands.

  Bluish sparks flared around the boy. When they faded, he didn’t quite smile, but he did look less like he was going to die of fear at any moment.

  Wren said, “Now I’m going down into the harbor to shop for your disguise. No one ought to see you if you want to really disappear without a trace.”

  The Harbormaster said gruffly, “I have a room I’ll stick you in. You may’s well get a good meal into you while you’re at it, for you’ve got a long walk ahead if you want to get yourself lost inland by nightfall.”

  The boy bobbed his head, wringing his scabbed hands together.

  “I’ll go with you,” Connor said to Wren as he picked up his staff.

  They were soon walking down the road, Connor with his head bent, his brow furrowed. Wren’s own thoughts were such a jumble she knew she was scowling as well.

  She lifted her head. Way, way above two jackdaws drifted, very still except for an occasional flick of wingtips. Wren said, “I know I’ve seen them before.”

  Connor shifted his staff to one hand and lifted the other to shade his eyes. “Those daws again,” he said.

  Wren gasped. “You recognize them?”

  “I don’t know if they’re the same pair. But two daws have shown up along my trail for the past year.”

  “Have you spoken to them?”

  He shook his head. “They are silent.”

  Wren sent a wary glance skyward. “I wish I could scry them, but my stone is gone. And I can’t use anything else to scry because someone blocked me.”

  Connor looked puzzled. “Andreus?”

  Wren said, “Or whoever told him where I was. You know, there was something odd about my last scrying with Tyron. Huh! No help for that now.” She took out her book, flipped back to the tracers pages, and, with her gaze firmly on the birds overhead, she tried two different spells in order to determine if the birds had been enchanted with tracers.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Well, that’s a relief. They can’t be Andreus’s, or I’d have found a little whiff of Andreus’s stinky magic binding their minds and bodies to his will.”

  She looked away, knowing what she should do. She also knew just how many people would yell at her if she tried to do it. “Anyway. I’ll think about it later. I never even asked you about your trip, and you’ve been gone a whole lot longer than I have. Where’s Tip, first of all? Nothing bad’s happened, I hope? He was a wonderful dog.”

  “Still is.” Connor grinned. “He found himself a mate, and a pack, back in the Brennic Marshes, and stayed there. As for me, there isn’t much to tell.”

  “Hah!” Wren snorted. “Not the impression I got from that fellow Longface on the ship. Or from Captain Tebet.”

  Connor shrugged. “A few encounters with brigands and the like, while I was a caravan guard, and some river pirates after. It was fun—most of the time. Never boring, anyway. But that’s the sort of thing I could do just as well at home, if I were to join my brother’s Brown Riders on the border.”

  Wren stopped in the middle of the trail and put her fists on her hips. “What are you not saying?”

  Connor gave her a rueful smile and a shrug of the shoulders. “That it sounds fine to say I’m going out into the world to find myself but it doesn’t work. At least not for me.”

  Wren gazed at the last of the morning mist rising from the harbor like bits of distant spider web, floating away softly over the water and vanishing. She sensed Connor turning in the same direction, and sneaked another peek at him. How could she have missed how grown up he seemed, all of a sudden? He’d always been tall, but . . .

  Her thought seemed to spiral upward, like the mist, then vanish into . . . feeling. Only she couldn’t quite define the feeling—it was like the friendship she’d always felt, but stronger. Like dawn had brightened to midday. “I take it you changed your mind about the Summer Island, and finding out your past?”

  Connor lifted one broad shoulder slightly, and began spinning the staff in his hands. “The past seems to be little more than songs and bits of story. The question about my place in the world seems to travel right along with me.”

  He threw the staff up, and caught it with his othe
r hand. Then he spun it again.

  “So you didn’t learn anything?” Wren asked.

  “Nothing surprising. I already knew I’m good at chasing brigands. I could have done that with Rollan, like I said. I like the sea, but I find I much prefer the mountains, and we have plenty of them at home. Finally, I realized it’s kind of stupid to think I can ‘find myself’ when I started lying to people as soon as I left our border.”

  Wren watched the whirling quarterstaff shift from one of his hands to the other. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention, though the pattern was an intricate one.

  Wren said, “Hiding your talents isn’t really lying.”

  “Hiding my talents also isn’t self-discovery. But the lies were about my real name. I hated being Prince Connor at home, but I was used to it, and people were used to me. When I began meeting strangers I found myself making up lies to hide the royal connection, for a lot of reasons. Some of them are stupid, but one reason is a good one. A prince without all the trappings of royalty—outriders and banners and horns, and especially wealth—is regarded much the same way a sea captain without a ship is regarded: like a blowhard. People want princes to be in their proper place—far away—or handing out largesse if they are near.”

  “Teressa said the first thing she learned about being a princess is that people don’t see you, they see a crown. And they start expecting things.”

  “That pretty much covers it. So.” Connor threw the staff up again, and caught it with the other hand. “The result is, the farther away I got, the more I thought about everyone and everything at home, and the less I found of myself, because ‘myself’ is Connor Shaltar of Siradayel, for better or for worse, who misses the mountains of home. Whether or not I find out who my ancestors were, and what kind of magic they had, doesn’t seem to matter anymore. It still won’t show me how to, well, tame whatever it is I have.”

  Wren said, “Mountains again, right?”

  Connor tossed the spinning staff from hand to hand. “Yes. It only seems to come to me in the mountains, but I discovered that fact when you and I traveled to Allat Los a long time ago. I guess I will never find a place, so I should go home and make a place for myself.”

  Wren nodded, looking down at her dusty sandals scuffing the rocky trail.

  Connor has found his direction, and I need to make a decision. No, I already made it. So stop trying not to think about it. Do it.

  And Connor said slowly, “Wren. When you get that look, I know you’re up to something, and you know that nobody will like it.”

  Wren laughed for about a heartbeat, but then all the humor faded away, despite the interesting harbor just below the next two bends, despite the cool breeze off the sea not just carrying the familiar briny smell, but enticing and spicy food scents.

  Despite having Connor walking right beside her, alive and well.

  She said, “At first I thought we’d be taking that map and all the things that boy said to other governments, and handing over the problem. But there isn’t anyone to hand it to. At least not that we could get to fast, and we’ve already lost several days. Is there?”

  Connor frowned. “Purba is the closest, maybe four or five days’ sailing if the wind is good, but the government of Purba has a dismal reputation. I can’t see them stirring on anyone’s behalf. The other islands are all too small. Are you thinking of going home? By magic transport, I mean?”

  “That was my first idea. Then I remembered that Halfrid isn’t even there. And I can’t scry him because of that ward on me. What can Tyron do? Nothing, because he can’t leave Meldrith. So that leaves me.”

  Now it was Connor’s turn to stop in the road, the quarterstaff gripped tightly in his hands. “Wren. You are not thinking of going out to Tomad yourself.”

  Wren walked right on past him. “Who else is going to?” And when he ran the few steps to catch up, looking exasperated as well as worried, she said, “Andreus is going to launch that fleet soon. And you know what that means? War all over again, but not just with one kingdom. With three. I don’t know anyone else to transfer to, and how would I get them to listen? I’m afraid they’d be just like these Okidainos. It’s like no one wants to bother with problems elsewhere. They’re only interested in problems at home.”

  Connor sighed. “Wren, how are you going to accomplish anything against a gigantic pirate fleet without at least an army? And a navy.”

  “But those don’t work. Not against him. Just a lot of people get killed. We already learned that during the war he brought to Meldrith. What defeated him was the unexpected. You should know that if anyone does. And the unexpected worked against those pirates. Bad as I was, the spells I had time to think out and prepare did fend them off.”

  “Wren—”

  Wren couldn’t bear to look at Connor. She didn’t want to see him angry with her, because the very idea hurt so much.

  So she talked fast, aiming her words at the road, the sky, and out at the peacefully glimmering sea. “You were right about the chickens. I see it now. I just have to make more chicken plans—not fumble them by accident. The plans have to be unexpected to the enemy, not to me. Plans that don’t fight or kill or destroy, but will make such a big mess that Andreus’s fleet won’t be able to launch.”

  Wren couldn’t believe she was saying it, but once she hadn’t believed that lovely, peaceful Meldrith would be ruined by a war. That Laris, who loved jokes more than anything, would be left lying dead in the snow at the hand of a sorcerer who never even gave her a second glance.

  “Wren, he’s collecting mages as wall decorations.”

  “Yes, but though he might have that island warded against Halfrid and the Mage Council, I know it’s not warded against me because he wanted me as a prisoner. And he would never expect me to actually go to Tomad, so if I’m quick and smart I can go in and do my magic and sneak out and he will never know I was there. But here’s the important thing, the thing I can’t get away from no matter how hard my mind tries to skitter away.” She tapped her head. “That fleet must not sail. Or at least not until after we can find someone important who will raise armies and navies and whatever else it takes to stop him.”

  “Wren! Listen! His potential for evil far outstrips your imagination. He knows more evil spells than you know funny, unexpected ones. It’s dangerous.”

  Wren’s heart beat faster, and her mouth was dry. She said, “Yes. But I can’t get past the other truth: I’m the only one here, right now, in the right place at the right time.” Then she turned to face him at last, and made a discovery: he wasn’t angry, and he certainly wasn’t derisive, like that horrible Hawk

  He was worried, and determined—and scared.

  “Connor, you aren’t arguing me out of it, you’re arguing yourself into helping me. Aren’t you?”

  He gave her a strange half-wince, half-grin. “I think I’m getting my arguments ready for the others.”

  “Others?”

  Connor spread his hands. “You need a ship to sail in, right? And Captain Tebet told me once that she’s always had a weakness for lost causes. She said her entire crew is made up of people someone else called lost causes, but she believes each one of them is very good at something.”

  Wren danced around, sending dust up in clouds. “You’re coming with me! You’re coming with me!”

  “You’d have to tie me in a sack and throw me in the harbor to stop me,” Connor said, then sneezed twice. “Can we leave the dust?”

  They sped down the last of the hill toward the harbor, as above them the jackdaws lifted on silent wings, and flew away over the sea.

  Twenty-Two

  When Tyron entered Halfrid’s private chamber, the senior mage indicated an unfamiliar young woman slouched in a chair, arms folded, round face scowling.

  This had to be Sanga, the mage who had taken Falin’s place. Halfrid had obviously caught her in the act, and had removed whatever illusion she’d put on herself to look like Falin.

  “Ah, there you are
.” Halfrid’s smile was grim. “What did the queen have to say?”

  Tyron had been considering how to report his conversation with Teressa and the one he had with Hawk afterward. As he looked from Halfrid to the angry mage, he realized that Halfrid wouldn’t really want this person hearing what amounted to state business. Halfrid had asked his question just to mention the word ‘queen.’

  “Queen Teressa was extremely angry about what had happened to her friend Wren,” Tyron said. “In fact, I can promise that she would far rather deal with this situation under royal law than leave it to us.”

  Sanga sat upright, red flooding her face. “I didn’t do anything to Wren! I told you the truth!”

  “Did you, now?” Halfrid asked. “Well, we can let the queen determine that.”

  Sanga shifted her gaze from side to side, but there was no escape. Halfrid’s chamber was not only warded with many spells, but also, the tingle of magic in the air made it clear that he’d placed some sort of ward on the chair so Sanga could not move from it.

  She kicked her feet against the rungs, her angry face crimson. “I only put the tracer on Wren’s stone and the ward against her scrying. That’s not harm. Not really. I did it to all three—” She stopped, snorted, and sat back.

  “All three who?”

  “Nobody you know.” Sanga sulked, then said in a dispirited voice, “Two prentice Guild mages. One from the Brennic Marches, and one from Fil Gaen. He wanted young mages, he said. I hoped he’d be satisfied with them, since I didn’t get Hawk Rhiscarlan. Then Wren came, and I thought if I got her, he’d . . . free . . . Grenya.” Sanga squeezed her eyes shut, but tears escaped, running down her face. “He said he’d kill my sister if I didn’t do his bidding.”

  Tyron watched, appalled. He couldn’t tell if she was faking or not—or which one would be worse.

  “Tell us about Hawk,” Halfrid asked.