by Unknown
She managed to keep up with his steps until the music rose to a faster tempo. The second time Orrin twirled her in place, she stumbled on the heel of her left shoe. Inspired, she clutched her bodice as if something had come loose.
"Oh―you must excuse me―ladies' withdrawing room?"
Looking flustered, as men typically did when faced with embarrassing feminine problems, he pointed toward the far door. She rushed to the exit as quickly as possible without tripping on the blasted shoes again. Her cheeks heated with a blush as people stepped aside to make way for her. So much for not attracting attention.
Finding the adjacent hall empty, she headed directly for the stairs that curved up to the second floor. Away from the crowd, refreshingly cool air wafted over her skin. Now that she'd switched from playacting to the job she'd come for, her pulse steadied. Even without Tallis's directions, she wouldn't have had any trouble identifying Sylene's chambers. Midway down the corridor, a bored-looking guard in the red household livery slumped against the wall outside a closed door.
When Lorita paused in front of him, he straightened and said, "Good evening, miss. Can I help you?"
She reached into the purse at her waist. "I've come to visit Sylene."
"Sorry, miss, she can't see anybody."
Lorita plucked a bead from the pouch, crushed it under the man's nose, and spoke the single word needed to activate the spell. The guard's eyes drifted shut, and he collapsed. Catching him halfway down, she lowered his unconscious bulk to the floor.
She folded her sleeves back. From her belt purse she took the note Tallis had written to Sylene, explaining the escape plan. At Lorita's silent command, Taper uncoiled from her arm and slithered to the floor. She rolled the scrap of paper into a narrow tube and offered it to the creature, which extruded a tendril to grasp it. As Taper oozed under the door, she closed her eyes to concentrate on seeing through the six dots that served as her familiar's visual organs.
Taper crept through a sitting room to reach the adjoining bedchamber. A wardrobe door stood ajar, with a handful of garments scattered over floor and chairs. A bookshelf held volumes of poems, stories, and potion recipes. An assortment of bottles on a work table hinted that Sylene made active use of the last category. A petite blonde in a lounging robe reclined on the bed, reading. Her eyes widened in surprise when Taper undulated across the floor, but luckily she didn't mistake the creature for a slug and try to squash it. She plucked the note from its coils, read the message quickly, and sprang up to strip off her robe and scramble into trousers, a smock, and sturdy shoes. She grabbed a traveling bag from the wardrobe and begin stuffing clothes and books into it.
At Lorita's summons, Taper crept back to the main door and crawled up to the keyhole. The creature sprouted a tendril to probe the lock. Seconds later, the tumblers clicked. So much faster and more reliable than lock-picking tools. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
When she walked into the bedchamber, Sylene smiled as calmly as if magical rescuers visited her every day. "You must be Lorita. How good of you to come for me. I'm almost ready. What happened to the guard in the hall?"
"Sleep spell. Please hurry, there's no telling how soon it'll wear off." Spells stored in beads didn't match the strength and staying power of those cast directly by a mage.
"I'm glad you didn't hurt him." Sylene chose a few bottles from the array on the table and packed those, too. She sighed. "I guess I'll have to go without most of my potions, but I can recreate them in Mistress Irina's workshop."
Closing her eyes briefly, Lorita scanned the girl through Taper's senses. Only the faintest trace of magic shimmered in her aura. Why would Irina accept her as an apprentice? Maybe the invitation to study with her had been only a ruse to let Sylene marry her nephew, after all, but that kind of sentimental impulse didn't sound like Irina.
Well, Lorita was getting paid either way, if her charge didn't dawdle so long the plan fell apart. "Let's get going."
"Wait, I can't leave without Fizzbin."
"Who?"
"My cat."
Lorita suppressed a groan. "All right, make it fast. Tallis is waiting outside. We don't want him to get impatient and storm the mansion."
Giggling, Sylene knelt down and peeked under the bed. "Fizzbin? Where are you?" She checked behind chairs, the dresser, and the work table. "Here, kitty."
"Surely you could send for your pet in a day or two. Won't it be safe here that long?"
"Oh, no, I have to take him with me." She stuck her head into the wardrobe. "Good, there you are." She stepped into the center of the room, her arms curved around empty air. "Now we can leave."
Stars above, the girl really is mad. When she took a step toward Sylene, though, Taper reared up like a miniature snake and quivered with alarm. Again Lorita shut her eyes to share its perception. From that viewpoint, Sylene cradled a massive, long-haired cat with tufted ears and a plumed tail. Blue highlights glinted in his silver fur. He hissed at Taper, which projected defiance.
"It's all right, Taper, he won't hurt you." Lorita stroked her creature until it settled down. "Uh―will he?"
"Of course not. Hush, Fizzbin, they're friends." Sylene draped the cat around her neck like a living fur stole, head on one shoulder and tail on the other, then picked up her bag.
Lorita wrenched off her shoes and dropped them into the bag. She could walk faster in stockings than on those absurd heels. She blinked, still having trouble processing the fact that the girl was wearing an invisible cat. "Then follow me."
In the hall they found the prostrate guard half-conscious, mumbling and trying to pull himself upright. She chose another bead from her purse, checked to make sure she had the right color, and repeated the sleep spell. He collapsed and started snoring.
"Now I'll cast invisibility. We have to be in physical contact for it to work on both of us. Or all four, technically," she added, counting Taper and Fizzbin. After clasping Sylene's hand, she took out a bead of the proper hue, crushed it, and spoke the word of power. Their bodies became translucent to their sight. Nobody else would be able to see them at all. "Don't make any unnecessary noise. People can still hear us."
Hand in hand, they tiptoed down the stairs. "Tallis suggested we leave by the back door," she whispered. "Can we do that?"
"Uncle locks the other doors when he gives these big parties. He doesn't want beggars or thieves sneaking in and mixing with the crowd."
"Then we'd better go out the front, where I came in." That route meant having to sneak through the ballroom, but it was also the most direct way and faster than stopping to pick another lock.
For the first minute or two, they made progress with no trouble, weaving between couples on the polished floor. Halfway across, though, Lorita miscalculated the pattern of the dance. A bearded man bumped into her. Her hand jerked out of Sylene's. They instantly became visible. She fumbled to restore the contact, but a clump of people filled the gap to force them farther apart.
A gray-haired, crimson-robed lady standing by the refreshment table shouted, "Sylene! Child, what are you doing down here?" That must be the aunt. With a wave of a hand, she ordered, "Stop her. She's not safe wandering loose like this."
While Sylene scurried for the exit, Lorita struggled to shove her way to the girl's side. Guests milled around in confusion, thwarting each other's attempts to grab Sylene. Unfortunately, they also blocked Lorita's path.
A hand seized her arm. Her heart racing, she whirled around to face the man who had her trapped. Orrin, her dance partner. She groped in the pouch for her last sleep spell.
"Lorita, how nice to see you again." His glower melted into a grin. "So this is the kind of friend you are."
Reassured by his reaction, she picked out a different bead, which she flung into the crowd. An illusion sprang up, replicas of Lorita and Sylene running toward a side door.
Letting go, Orrin turned his back on her, pointed in that direction, and yelled, "They went that way!"
"Thanks," s
he whispered.
"Anytime. Maybe we'll meet again," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth before leading the charge in pursuit of her doppelgangers.
Lorita rushed to Sylene and hustled her into the foyer. There Lorita paused to rummage in her purse for another invisibility bead.
Before she could activate it, the guard who'd been watching the front door opened it and strode inside. "What's all that racket? What's going on in here?"
Lorita hastily cast her final sleep spell on him. "Now I have to cloak us again."
"Don't bother with that. Fizzbin will take care of it." Sylene clasped Lorita's hand. A glowing bubble formed around them. "Now nobody can see or hear us." Everything outside the globe looked misty. Inside, oddly, the cat had become visible.
Lorita stood petrified, gaping in astonishment. "Your pet did this?"
"Sure. He's magic. Come on, let's find Tallis."
The few people they passed as they crossed the lawn automatically shifted out of their path. Halfway to the curved lane where the coaches were parked, she heard a man's shouts and the baying of hounds.
"Oh, dear," Sylene said. "They've released the dogs. Did Tallis warn you about them?"
Lorita gritted her teeth, wanting to shake the girl for her casual tone. "No, nobody mentioned that detail." Glancing around, she saw five floppy-eared dogs loping toward them, muzzles snuffling the grass. Her heart pounded as they drew near. Even if she hadn't used her last sleep spell already, it couldn't have taken out all of the hounds. And invisibility meant nothing against creatures that depended on smell. For the same reason, a visual illusion wouldn't distract them.
She took out an illusion bead anyway. "What else can Fizzbin do? Could he add scent to my illusion spell?"
"Maybe. I'll ask him." Sylene whispered to the cat and cocked her head as if listening. "He says he can do that. He'll hide our real scent, too."
Lorita threw the bead as far as she could across the lawn. Again, duplicates of herself and Sylene appeared in the distance. The dogs stopped short, whimpering as if confused. After milling around for a few seconds, they turned and dashed after the phantoms. "Let's go," Lorita whispered, still nervous despite the claim that the bubble blocked sound.
Wincing at the gravel surface of the lane under her stockinged feet, she led the way to the waiting carriage. As soon as Sylene reached up to take Tallis's hand, the bubble expanded to encircle the vehicle and horse. Tallis leaned down to give her a lingering kiss. "Thank the Powers you're safe."
"It was no trouble at all." She blithely climbed into the carriage.
"Right," Lorita muttered, taking her own seat. She tossed aside the wig and ran her fingers through her sweaty hair. Taper undulated into a more comfortable position and settled into the trance that served it in place of sleep. "Now I can understand why you want to study magic."
"Oh, I don't," Sylene said with a wide-eyed stare. "I just want to marry Tallis. I don't have a talent for anything except brewing potions."
"Then why did Mistress Irina invite you to become her apprentice?"
"It's really Fizzbin she wants. He draws energy from my aura to power his spells, so to get him she has to take me, too. We're linked."
Like Taper and me. "Best of luck. I hope you, Tallis, and Fizzbin will be very happy together." Not that such a quiet life would appeal to Lorita herself. Nor would she choose the luxury she'd briefly sampled over the adventures of working with Master Arlen. On the other hand, she wouldn't mind seeing Orrin again sometime. A man who'd help a strange thief escape on the impulse of a moment had possibilities.
The Page Turner
by Dave Smeds
All of us value books, but we probably wouldn't kill to possess them. Certainly being chased across the landscape by avid would-be readers must be stressful.
Dave Smeds, author of The Sorcery Within and other novels, is a long-time contributor to the Sword & Sorceress series. He is also a genealogist, and in the course of writing "The Page Turner," though he had not originally intended to, he drew inspiration from the life of his great-great grandfather Nathaniel Martin. Dave's ancestor was raised in the mill country of 1820s and 1830s Monroe County, West Virginia, and was in the 1840s a river trader in northern Illinois and southern Wisconsin Territory.
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Their route took them south through the borderlands, an empty swath of rock, heather, and fen, spotted with oak and laurel but elsewhere a domain of field mice and hawks. Families had worked some of the fertile spots before the plague years and the war, but only hedgerows and tumbledown chimneys revealed where their steadings had been.
Hyacinth did not like the isolation. For all of her twelve years she had been a village girl, waking to the sounds of carts rumbling to market down the lane beside the tavern, going to sleep serenaded by the murmur of local folk making merry in the common room. Except for Uncle Rowan, the only living person she had seen in the past two days was a greybearded puppeteer trying to get his ox to continue down the trade road.
"Try these," Rowan had said, giving the old man a handful of snap beans. The puppeteer had broken open a pod in front of the ox's nose and the beast had moved forward to eat it. And had kept moving from the promise of more.
"My thanks," the puppeteer had called. And that was the last conversation Hyacinth had heard these last many hours.
Uncle Rowan didn't like the isolation, either. He kept looking back at the way they had come. He studied every thicket they passed by. Once, Hyacinth saw a blur of movement in the shade of a willow. Rowan's hand darted to his sword hilt. But then a rabbit burst from cover, pursued by a meadowcat.
Sometimes Rowan simply stopped and listened. Hyacinth gradually saw the pattern. He did it whenever the birds and insects fell silent. Her heart pounded hard against her breastbone each time it happened, but then a lark or a frog would begin chirping and Rowan would shrug and continue down the road.
Sometimes they rode the mare. Most of the time they walked. Hyacinth's calves were so sore by late afternoon her uncle agreed to make camp early.
As they left the road, Rowan wiped away their tracks and tossed a bit of brush down in their wake, obscuring the path they were taking. They weaved through a sparse verge of oaks until they were well out of sight of any would-be passersby. They did not make their campfire until dusk had faded into a darkness full enough to hide the smoke they made.
The pursuers found them anyway.
Hyacinth was awake when it happened, as always finding it hard to stay asleep with dew forming on her eyelashes. She had risen, emptied her bladder, and returned to the warmth of her bedroll. She watched the stars fade out and was wondering if the sun would ever appear over the horizon when the mare nickered.
Hyacinth turned in the direction of the road and saw the two swordsmen—one skinny, one burly—trying to inch nearer. They were downwind but as Rowan had said, the mare was a skittish nag and she must have sensed the wrongness in the air.
Rowan was suddenly moving. He threw off his blankets and rolled to his feet. By the time he got there his sword was in his hand.
"Do as I taught you," he told Hyacinth.
She scurried from beneath her covers and sprinted away from the strangers. She did not stop until she was past the second large oak—far enough that if she were chased, she could stay ahead.
Back at the campsite, the smaller assailant frowned and ceased circling toward her. Both sides knew now how it would go. It was two swordsmen against one, and only when that was resolved would Hyacinth's fate be known.
Rowan used the terrain to best advantage, positioning himself so that his attackers would have to navigate half-buried boulders and a rotting log in order to come at him.
The pair tried to surround him, but Rowan shifted about so that the burly man was always in the way of the other. Hyacinth had seen her uncle practice these dances; he could keep it up a long time. The attackers soon were beginning to pant. The big one had the muscles and the scars of someone used to wading in and finish
ing an opponent quickly. The small one kept darting forward and back like a man used to kills of stealth, not engagement. They realized the strategy he was using and stopped working so hard to chase him. That's when Rowan took the fight to them. He flung out his left hand, and dirt went flying into the burly man's eyes. He must have scooped it up when he had risen, but had held it so long his enemies had forgotten he might have anything in that hand.
One thrust, and the burly man had a hole in his throat. He gurgled, blinked through the dirt, and staggered back. He tried to keep his sword up, but Rowan's weapon had punctured a critical spot. The man collapsed to his knees, face going pallid, mouth hanging open.
Meanwhile, Rowan pressed the skinny man hard. The latter parried, stepped back, parried again, tried a swipe at Rowan's legs. He could fence after all. But he moved with sudden jerks, not the smooth, intentional dance Rowan used. Soon his heel caught on a rock, and he stumbled.
Rowan's sword plunged into an upper thigh, right next to his groin. The skinny man yelped and pranced back.
Rowan did not pursue. He caught his breath, waiting for his opponent's next move.
Blood flowed profusely around the skinny man's hand as he held it cupped to the crease of his thigh. Hyacinth saw his expression transform as he acknowledged the mortal nature of the wound.
Meanwhile the burly man finally flopped over, having spent his last moments quietly murmuring. The skinny man's reaction was the opposite. He screamed and rushed in, blade flashing.
Rowan retreated three steps, then held his ground. It all happened so fast Hyacinth didn't catch the details, but suddenly her uncle's sword was protruding out his attacker's back, and he was holding the fellow's sword wrist in a tight grip, keeping the steel pointed away.
The skinny man collapsed limply to the ground and did not move again.