Magic Below Paris Complete Series Boxed Set (Books 1 - 8): Trading Into Shadow, Trading Into Darkness, Trading Close to Light, Trading By Firelight, Trading by Shroomlight, plus 3 more

by C. M. Simpson

  And she did want to know what they were doing with those people; she really did. Did they live? Were they killed? Why did the shadow raiders need so many? Were they short a workforce? What sort of work would need all those people, all at once?

  Why did they look for children with magical talent, yet take those without it as well? There were so many answers she didn’t have, not least of which was what had happened to her parents. Yeah, that was the one thing she wanted to know above all else, no matter what promises she’d made to the others. She hadn’t realized her own folks’ disappearance still haunted her that much.

  Movement caught her attention, and she realized she’d been too lost in thought to notice they’d reached the end of the room.

  “Berens says you have a delivery for me.”

  Berens had said no such thing and both he and Marchant knew it, but neither he nor Marsh was about to contradict the woman who’d just entered. By the looks of her, Madame Monetti had not been raised in the Four Settlements. Judging from her height, she’d come from the surface…like Berens. Marsh stared at her, hoping the woman didn’t decide to take her silence for rudeness.

  Meeting Marsh’s eyes, Madame Monetti wrinkled her nose and tutted.

  “You might want to remove the girl’s gag, Berens. She can’t tell me anything if she can’t talk.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Berens tone was bland, as was his expression when he turned toward her, but that changed quickly enough. As he raised his hands to take the gag, Berens frowned.

  “You mind your manners, girl, or I’ll be gutting you myself.”

  Marsh’s eyes widened at the threat, but she managed a nod, and he removed the cloth from between her lips and lifted a flask of water in its place. Thankful for his foresight, Marsh took a gulp of water and rinsed it around her mouth, surprised when he let her take a second to wet her throat.

  The woman came closer, her long dark hair looped on top of her head in an intricate tangle of braids and clips. Marsh wanted to know how she ever found the time to do it but didn’t dare ask. For her part, the woman stalked around Marsh, her dark brown eyes inspecting every inch of the prisoner. When she was done, she looked at Berens.

  “She’ll do. When we’re finished, you’ll put her with the rest.” She stopped speaking, making a display of looking Marsh over and pursing her lips with distaste. “Maybe not with the rest. From what I’ve heard, she’s likely to cause trouble. Have Ardhur make sure she doesn’t.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  From the clipped tones of Berens’ voice, he didn’t like what his mistress was suggesting, but he didn’t have anything better to offer. Marsh’s nerves formed a knot in the pit of her stomach and sent apprehension through the rest of her body. By the Deep, what had she gotten herself into?

  She waited until the lady turned her attention on her, noting narrow features and full lips in a face that went from striking to beautiful.

  “Do you know who I am, girl?”

  Marsh nodded but said nothing. It was not enough for Madame Monetti.

  “And?”

  Oh, she really did want an answer to that. Marsh resisted the urge to say she was the stupid woman who’d had her tied up and came up with something else.

  “You are the one Kearick said to deliver the artifact to.”

  “And?”

  “And what, mistress?”

  “Where is my artifact?” the woman shrieked, putting her face an inch from Marsh’s.

  Marsh started, almost falling as she backed up. Berens grabbed her before she’d gone more than two steps, his grip tightening when Marsh tried to pull away. Firmly caught, Marsh froze, staring at the woman as her breath came in fast gasps.

  Madame Monetti straightened and studied her, a slow smile forming on her face. When Marsh remained silent, she reached out and curled her fingers under Marchant’s chin. Marsh flinched, but when Madame Monetti spoke, again, her voice was much softer.

  “So, child. Where is it?”

  Marsh shook her head, or tried to. The lady’s grip tightened, and her face became hard.

  “‘No’ is not an option. Tell me where it is.”

  Marsh shot a glance at Berens, but he pointed at the woman with his free hand. Again, Marsh shook her head, and Monetti nodded.

  “You’d have to take it off her anyway.”

  He would? Marsh shot a startled look at Berens, stiffening with alarm as he drew the dagger from his belt.

  “Your choice,” he said, flipping the blade and catching it in his fingertips. “I can cut the armor off you or just unbuckle it.”

  He flipped the knife again, once again gripping the hilt.

  Tell them, Roeglin said, breaking his silence in her mind. It’s not like they’ll ever find it.

  Marsh breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Madame Monetti.

  “It’s at the monastery.”

  “Where?”

  It was hard not to look toward Berens and his knife, but Marsh managed it.

  “In the armory in storage.”

  As far as she knew, that was true. The Supply Master did keep weapons on the wall.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. They don’t let trainees past the front counter.”

  Berens raised the knife and Marsh shrank away from it.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I don’t know. I don’t. I really don’t.”

  It wasn’t hard to pretend to be afraid of the knife. She was afraid of it, —and that much showed through. Berens looked at his mistress.

  “I could start cutting,” he said, “but I don’t think it would do any good—and we’d miss the next shipment. If the artifact is in the fortress; we’ll find it when we make the place our own. Hasn’t been a hiding place yet that we can’t discover.”

  Marsh wondered if that was true, and sincerely hoped it wasn’t. If the raiders wanted the artifact that badly, that was how badly they needed not to have it.

  Hang in there, Marsh.

  At least Roeglin had stopped calling her ‘trainee.’

  Not yet, I haven’t, Leclerc.

  But Madame Monetti was speaking again, and Marsh knew she needed to listen.

  “You know, you’d do a lot better working for us than against us,” the lady suggested, and Marsh lifted her head.

  She was about to retort that the last person who’d thought that, she’d gutted like a pig…and then she remembered Berens warning as they’d come into the room and decided she should not say anything. Madame Monetti stepped closer.

  “What, nothing to say? I understand you’re a trainee with the monastery, but the skills I’ve seen would put you at journeyman at the very least, if not junior master. Is that not so, Master Warven?”

  She lifted her head and looked toward one of the mages standing in front of a display cabinet. He gave her a startled glance and turned his attention to Marsh.

  “Ah, yes. Certainly. A junior master at the very least,” he said, rushing through the words as though not agreeing was a fate worse than death. “A junior master, indeed.”

  Madame Monetti turned to Marsh, her expression triumphant.

  “There! You see? A junior master rather than a trainee—and we pay much, much better.”

  “How much better?” Marsh wanted to know, and the madam named a figure five times what she was making as a trainee.

  Marsh looked impressed. It wasn’t hard. The amount was more than she could make in a year of running errands for Kearick. Still…

  “Thank you, ma’am. That is…very generous, and while it would be good to have my skills recognized, it means I would have to be working for arseholes like you. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  Marsh! Roeglin’s horrified reaction was enough to crack the deadpan exterior Marsh had been trying to maintain. She ducked her head, but not quite in time to hide the smile that flitted along her lips, even if she did stifle the giggle before she made a sound. Madame Monetti stepped in and slapped her hard enough to set he
r ears ringing, and then she turned away.

  “Take her,” she commanded. “And give her something to remember me by, while you’re at it.”

  Berens’ backhand was delivered by a gauntleted fist and dropped Marsh to her knees, but he only struck her once before the lady intervened.

  “Not in here! You’ll ruin my rugs or break a treasure. Take her out with the others, and don’t damage her too badly.”

  “Yes, Madame,” Berens replied and hauled Marsh to her feet before dragging her toward the door.

  Marsh went willingly, not that she had much choice. Berens kept a firm grip on her arm as he hauled out of the well-appointed office into the corridor beyond. When the door had closed behind them, he leaned close to her ear.

  “You’d best be grateful. I’d beat the living Dark out of you, except that we have a ways to go to catch up with the others and I don’t feel like carrying your scrawny carcass anywhere.”

  “I would,” muttered one of the guards leaning on the wall. “Only I’d be dragging her.”

  Berens gave a mirthless laugh.

  “Not this time, Merek.” He looked at Marsh. “Although you give me an ounce of trouble and you’re Merek’s until I think you’ve learned your lesson, you understand?”

  Marsh shot a sidelong look at Merek and shivered at the expression on the man’s face. He was the one whose brother she’d killed. Having told him it was his brother’s own fault now seemed like a very bad idea. She nodded.

  “Understood.”

  “Good. Come.”

  Marsh went, following Berens into another corridor and through what felt like half a mountain before walking through a twenty-stall-wide stable with barracks above into a stone-walled courtyard in an alcove off another tunnel. Marsh tried to orient the tunnel in her head but couldn’t. This was another area of the world below that she hadn’t explored.

  Her wrists and forearms were aching from being bound behind her back and she thought about asking to have them released, but one look at Merek, who was walking on her left, warned her that it might not be a good idea. Then again, with him that close, she’d rather her hands were free than bound. She turned to Berens, and he glanced down at her.

  “No,” he told her when she drew a breath, and Marsh wondered how he’d known what she’d been going to ask.

  He led her to one side of the courtyard and stood her next to the wall.

  “Wait here.”

  Marsh waited as he selected two mules and pointed to Merek and the shadow mage known as Warven.

  “You know where to go. Make sure Ardhur knows he is to keep her whole and out of trouble. I’ll be checking in the morning when I bring the rest of the supplies.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Warven said, and Merek grinned.

  “We’ll let him know.”

  Berens frowned.

  “Before anything happens to her, Merek, or you’ll suffer the same fate.”

  Merek scowled.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Good.”

  Berens crossed to Marsh and clipped a lead rope to her belt.

  “Try to keep up,” he said and pulled the gag from where he’d tucked it in his belt.

  Marsh tilted her head back, but he took a firm grip on her hair and fastened the gag in place.

  “You don’t need to get yourself into any more trouble.”

  Like Hell I don’t, Marsh thought, but Roeglin approved.

  You might be alive by the time I get there after all, he commented, sounding inordinately relieved.

  Before Marsh could think of a reply, Berens handed Merek the end of the rope and the soldier kicked his mule into a trot.

  “Merde!”

  It came out as a muffled growl, and Merek laughed.

  Marsh wanted to say a lot more. Better, she wanted her sword.

  Clarinay says to shadow-step, Roeglin’s voice came through fast and urgent, but Marsh got it.

  Shadow-step. The thought had her stifling a desire to laugh as she concentrated on keeping on her feet long enough for her body to blend with the shadows. It was disappointing that her restraints and the rope attached to her belt blended with her, but running became easier… right up until the moment Warven looked back and saw what she was doing.

  “Keep riding,” he said, tapping Merek on the shoulder. “I’ll deal with this.”

  Oh, he would, would he? Marsh wondered exactly what he was going to do. It was hard to keep an eye on him and maintain the concentration needed to keep herself in shadow form, but she managed. Her heart sank when he pulled a staff of shadow from the dark and swung it in her direction.

  She ducked his first swipe but wasn’t fast enough to dodge the second. The blow connected solidly and Marsh stumbled, temporarily losing her focus. For a moment her steps were as heavy as lead, then she fought her way back into the shadows…or tried to.

  Warven struck her again, and Marsh got the impression he’d done this before. This time, before she could regain her concentration, a low growl rumbled out around them, causing the mules to buck and shy. Warven lost his grip on the staff and Mordan roared.

  “No!” Marsh cried, and almost choked. She also fell out of shadow form and tripped over her own feet as she twisted, trying to see where the hoshkat was.

  No, she repeated more quietly down the link they had between them. Let them take me to the others. Let them take me to the cubs. Come for me then.

  She sent the imagery of what she was hunting, what she was hoping to find, and made it clear she thought of the two men as deer leading her to a watering hole where the real game gathered.

  Hide, she ordered. Follow, but let them live—for now.

  With a lingering growl, the kat moved farther away, letting out a frustrated screech so that Marsh knew exactly what she thought of this plan.

  Sorry, Mordan. Human games. Marsh tried to comfort the kat, but the big beast was having none of it, sending the equivalent of an open-pawed swat down the link between them.

  Marsh was still trying to work out how to respond to that when the line at her belt drew tight and she was dragged along the ground.

  “Aagh!” Marsh shouted, trying to catch Merek’s attention—and then she realized she already had it and the soldier was immensely satisfied with hauling her along the trail.

  She tried rolling so that the thicker armor on her shoulders and hips would take the brunt, but the lead kept turning her around so she ended up on her front.

  Merde! Merdemerdemerde!

  Marsh put one foot down and used it to lever her body around and up, her knee complaining at the pressure. It was a relief when it held long enough for her to make it to her feet, not so much of a relief when she found herself limping, the pain too much for her to find the focus to return to shadow form once more.

  It was a poor consolation when Warven refused to let Merek ride any faster.

  15

  Stone-Wrapped

  By Marchant’s calculation, the journey took the better part of two hours. On top of a day of magic and fighting, it was too much, but not too much to keep her from recognizing the place they stopped. She’d only seen it once before through the shadows, but she knew it.

  This was where the raiders had camped the night she had hidden from them with the children. This was the place the people of Leon’s Deep had been held, and she hadn’t even guessed. She’d left them, too intent on taking Tams and Aisha to safety to think that the others might not be traveling of their own free will. She’d just let them be taken.

  When the mule stopped, Marsh stopped too. She dropped to her knees, leaning forward as she dragged air into her lungs in ragged breaths. This was easier when Warven peeled the gag out of her mouth and held a flask to her lips.

  “I’ll stay with her while you fetch Ardhur,” Warven said as Marsh drank greedily, taking as much as she could before he pulled the flask away. Merek spat.

  “Fine,” he answered, making it sound anything but.

  Marsh listened to him walk away and
felt a faint sense of relief. While she might not be exactly where she wanted to be, it was good that she hadn’t been left there with Merek. It was also good that Warven didn’t speak, but left her to her suffering and pain-filled thoughts.

  All too soon Merek returned, and he was not alone.

  “Here she is,” he said, landing a boot in her ribs and tipping her onto her side.

  “Deep’s misbegotten son,” Marsh managed. She grunted as he landed a second kick.

  He might have tried for a third but Warven pulled him away, calling a junior mage over to attend the mules while he found the pair of them something to drink. Marsh cracked an eyelid to watch them go. As she did so, she noticed the heavy leather boots standing not two feet from her head. By the Deep, she hoped that this guy didn’t feel like sinking the boot in as well.

  She rolled slightly so she could get a look at him and decided Ardhur was descended from giants.

  He was a big man; tall, but also broad. His shoulders and thighs were heavily muscled, and he had a body like a solid block. From this angle, it looked like he had a dark red beard in twin plaits, but it was hard to tell. He might just have been wearing some kind of furry shawl. He lifted his foot and prodded her with the toe of his boot.

  Marsh gasped, expecting pain, but it was no more than a nudge, and she blushed at her panic.

  “Get up,” he said, stepping back to let her work out how to obey.

  Once she got started, it wasn’t as impossible as it had seemed, and she stood in front of him, trying not to sway. By the Deep, she was tired.

  “Merek says you need to be caged in stone.”

  Marsh felt her face pale and the man cocked his head, bending to look down at her.

  “Boy says you’re a shadow mage. Is he right?”

  Marsh thought about lying, but he read it on her face.

  “So you are,” he said, and she hung her head.

  “She shifted to the shadows at the trot.” Warven had returned, and he hadn’t finished. “After a day of fighting and running.”