With a sigh, Rawk got to his feet and headed back up towards his room to get some supplies for his new challenge.
“I’ll have to bring some stuff down here,” he muttered as he started the climb.
-O-
Rawk sat across the street from Valo’s house, as if it was a dragon’s cave he was about to enter. There might well have been dragons in there, though last he knew, the sorcerer could barely light a candle with sorcery without breaking into a sweat. He’d known where Valo lived for quite some time, longer than he’d known of Sylvia’s whereabouts, but had never been concerned enough to do anything about it. So why was he so worried now? He fingered the two amulets under his shirt. Sylvia had assured him that at least one of them was completely useless, but they still made him feel better. He smiled ruefully at the thought that he was clinging old things that didn’t work anymore.
“Path, get this done.”
Pushing away from the wall, Rawk stepped out into the sunshine. Dodging the clatter and rattle of traffic, he hurried across the street and up onto the porch. A strange smell, cold and heavy like rotting leaves, made him stop, hand raised to knock on the door. But it was just as likely the smell came from outside as in, so he knocked on the warped timber then rubbed at his aching knee while he waited. When the door started to open he straightened up and tried to look as friendly and non-threatening as possible, which was a bit tricky when he had his hand on the hilt of his sword. He tried to relax.
When the door opened, it took a moment for Rawk to recognize Valo. He hadn’t aged as well as Sylvia, though to be fair, he must have been almost seventy years old. And he probably didn’t have elf blood either. Once, the man had stood nearly six and a half feet tall. He’d had the smooth, hairless skin of a mentaman and hands big enough to crack skulls, thought he’d never used them for such a thing as far as Rawk knew. Now, he was hunched and wizened, the skin was almost hanging off his face. He still had big hands, but the knuckles were swollen to near uselessness. Give him a sickle and he would look like Death having a bad day. Rawk wondered if the smell was coming from him after all.
“Hello, Valo.”
Valo gaped. He took a step back.
Rawk didn’t follow. He was trying to look friendly. “I’m not here to arrest you.”
Valo backed up some more. “You’re here to kill me?” His eyes were wide. Bloodshot whites showed all around.
“No, I just want to talk.” Rawk held up a hand but the sorcerer reacted as if he was holding a knife.
Staggering backwards, Valo started to mumble. He raised his own hands.
Rawk finally moved. “I just want to talk, Valo.”
The mumbling increased. He started waving his hands.
“Path,” Rawk went into the room, shutting the door behind him. He kept his hands away from Dabaneera, though in a couple more seconds he’d have no choice but to defend himself. “I just want to talk, Valo.”
The sorcerer kept backing away, but it was so slowly that he had barely moved out of sword reach. The mumbling and hand waving continued and Rawk finally decided that he didn’t have any choice. He reached for the hilt of his sword. He started to draw...
Valo stopped. His mouth dropped open and his eyes went even wider. A moment later he clutched at his chest, gasping for air. Reaching out with his free hand the sorcerer grabbed for the table and missed. He fell to the floor, writhed for a moment, then lay still.
“Path, no.” Rawk forgot his sword and rushed to the old man’s side. He crouched painfully and rolled him onto his back. He wasn’t breathing. He was dead. “Path, Path, Path. You silly old fool.”
A noise disturbed Rawk. He looked up and saw another man standing in the doorway to the next room. Rawk looked at Valo. He looked at the other man. “Frixen?”
Frixen was another sorcerer, quite a bit younger than either Valo or Sylvia. He had a mop of almost-blue hair and a splodge of a nose built for being punched. He was barely more powerful than Valo, but apparently much more healthy. He paused for a moment, mouth open. “You killed him,” he said.
“No, I didn’t. I just want to talk.” Frixen would do. Rawk really didn’t care which sorcerer he talked to at this point. He just needed someone who could hear the sound of the ohoga portals.
“You killed him.” Frixen was backing towards the door.
Rawk sighed. “I didn’t kill him. Look, there’s no blood on my sword.”
But reaching for his sword was never going to be a good idea. Frixen turned and fled.
Sighing again, Rawk pushed himself to his feet and set off in pursuit. When he burst out through the back door and into a small, trash-strewn alley, the sorcerer had already stopped, choking on the stench as he tried to catch his breath. He was leaning against a rough brick wall about twenty yards away, as if he thought he’d already outrun his pursuer. He set off again after a surprised moment. He might have been younger and healthier, but that hardly made him impressive.
Rawk gave chase, pounding across one main street, dodging people, setting off a chorus of shouts, and into the next alley. He dodged a pile of trash that was almost as tall as he was, the stench urging him on, and vaulted over a wooden crate Frixen had thrown in his path. At the next street, the sorcerer turned. He shoved people aside, leaving a trail of cursing human stepping-stones for Rawk to follow, in case he needed any extra help. Across a square. Rawk bellowed at the crowds, but they were too busy watching Frixen to clear the way fast enough.
Frixen had opened the gap, slightly, but was obviously tiring quickly. “Wait, you idiot. I just want to talk.” But the sorcerer kept on with his running, such as it was, and Rawk quickened his pace.
Down another alley, this one with timber buildings looming on either side. There was barely room for Rawk to fit. An old woman stepped into a recessed doorway to let Frixen pass, then squealed in fright as Rawk thundered past as well.
Before the next corner, Rawk lost sight of his prey and, for a moment, he thought the sorcerer had managed to make himself disappear, which would have been impressive for anyone in the circumstances. For someone with Frixen’s magical abilities it would have been nothing short of a miracle.
But Rawk came abreast of a large doorway, with doors swung open to reveal a warehouse. Dwarves and humans, presumably working a moment before, had stopped to watch.
“Do you need some help, Rawk?” a dwarf asked. But Frixen had already gone through a door on the far side.
Rawk went through the door as well, barely stopping himself from running headlong into the plaster wall on the far side of the alley. He looked one way. Nothing. And the next. Frixen had stopped again. While he struggled to catch his breath, he was taking the opportunity to upset a tall, narrow shelf of firewood.
The shelf toppled, but only fell as far as the opposite wall. The firewood still tumbled out onto the cracking cobblestones. Frixen found some more energy and moved again but Rawk was not far behind. He climbed through the narrow gap and raced on. The sorcerer was barely moving now.
“I just want to talk.” Rawk didn’t even have to shout. He was just ten yards behind his prey now. He pushed past an empty crate as Frixen staggered on. He reached out but the other man pushed something in his way and gained a second. Then he upset a pile of trash. Rawk hurdled over the top as he reached out...
His knee gave out as he hit the ground. He shouted in pain as he fell. By the time he looked up a moment later, Frixen was turning the corner with one glance back and a small, relieved smile.
Rawk wanted to lay where he was and die, but it smelled like something had already died there and, also, a small crowd was already starting to gather. So, instead, he pushed himself to his feet and took a deep breath.
“No time for a story today,” he said.
The crowd didn’t respond. They looked confused. They looked uncomfortable.
“Well...” He patted his belt to make sure he still had everything, checked the ground as well, and brushed a bit of lettuce from his thigh. “Right.
” And he limped off. At first he didn’t care where he was going, as long as it was away from the scene of the embarrassment, but after a couple of minutes turned back towards Valo’s house. He went in through the back door and sat down at the table so he could rub his knee and feel sorry for himself. Neither thing helped.
“At least I feel better than you,” he said to Valo’s corpse. Though only just. And he didn’t smell better. Either the smell of the dead thing in the alley had followed him, or Valo was gong off much quicker than corpses usually did.
It was a bit embarrassing to be out run by Frixen. Some second-rate wizard had beaten him at a foot race. In fact, two second-rate wizards had beaten him in one day, though Valo might not see it that way. It was like they were conspiring against him... “What was Frixen doing here, Valo?” He didn’t know why all the sorcerers insisted on coming to Katamood when the influx of Heroes meant any random stranger might kill them on sight. Why would they then take the even bigger risk of getting together? Possibly it was just a social visit, but that seemed unlikely.
A few minutes later Rawk was no more ready to move, but felt he really had to. With a grunt, he rose to his feet and looked around. It wasn’t a big place, but he really didn’t know where to start looking. Or what to look for, for that matter. What were the chances there would be something helpful just lying around? He searched Valo’s body fist, patting down the robes, hoping to find directions to the secret headquarters hidden in a pocket. No such luck. He shuffled through some papers on the table. The light wasn’t great and he couldn’t get his eyes to focus properly so he scooped all the pages from the table up into a big pile and went out the back door. He tucked his bundle under his arm and made his way onto the main street.
It was a couple of hours before he had to meet Maris for lunch, but the tavern was not far away, so he headed in that direction.
-O-
Papers were spread all over the table. One large pile consisted of things he knew were not going to help him. A shopping list, a letter from someone named Beble, in Frenable. A list of pirate ships from eighty years ago. And a lot of other, even stranger things. Another pile, held down by a plate with an apple core and a peach seed, consisted of possible clues. A letter from someone in Katamood dated just a few days earlier. A receipt from a store on the lower slopes of mount grace. Perhaps it was just ingredients from some foreign dish, but that seemed unlikely; vienkak wasn’t something Rawk wanted to eat. A list of magic books, though if they were ones that Valo wanted or ones he already had was impossible to tell. That was it. It was a very small pile. A half empty tankard of ale and his bone-handled knife held down the third pile, the largest of all. It was called the ‘I have no idea’ pile. He didn’t even know how to describe some of the things in that pile. Some were in strange languages, and some were just strange.
“Do you want something else, Rawk?”
Rawk looked up and rubbed his eyes. His head ached. His fingers were sticky from the peach, no matter how much he licked. And each second, he was having more and more trouble focusing.
“More fruit?” The waitress picked up the orange peel from the floor and put it on the plate with the other remains. The tang cut through the barley and sweat.
He wondered what the time was. It couldn’t be too far off lunch. “No. Thank you though.” Rawk wasn’t quite sure how much fruit Sylvia considered to be ‘lots’. And how long did he have to keep eating it? “I’ll be getting lunch later. If your boss is worried about the table I’ll pay a few extra ithel to stay here.”
“I’m sure he don’t mind.” She stood there a moment longer. “What’re you doing?”
Rawk sighed and sat back, stretching. “I have no idea, really.” And he turned back to his task, leafing through pages in a halfhearted manner. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.’ And a lot more I don’t knows. Then he stopped and shuffled through the new additions again. Half way down was a page filled with lines of neat writing. Rawk blinked. He squinted. He knew a couple of languages, at least enough to get by, and unfortunately this wasn’t one of them. But at the start of a few of the lines was Valo’s name. Underneath it was a similar sheet of paper. There were the same foreign words arranged in the same foreign way and, this time, Frixen’s name headed a few of the lines. And on this one, written in thin, spidery script, were five other names as well. Rawk knew some of them. Mistletowe, Balen and Shef were all sorcerers. None of them were up to Sylvia’s standard, but they’d all been around a long time. There were two names that Rawk didn’t recognize. And then there were another two with question marks as if whoever had done the writing wasn’t sure.
So, was this a spell of some kind that they were working on together? And was that spell to open an ohoga portal? Or were they in a secret theatre troupe? A troupe so secret they weren’t even sure of all the other members?
Rawk decided he needed a new pile. A ‘Hell, yeah’ pile. But ‘pile’ would be stretching it too far, so he folded the two pages and slipped them into a pouch on his belt. He spent the next few minutes looking for something else, anything else, like the missing directions to their secret headquarters.
He was glad when Maris finally arrived. He gathered everything up, trying to keep the piles separate, and pushed them to the end of the table.
“What’s all that then?” Maris asked eying the papers suspiciously.
Rawk gave a smile. “Work stuff. Business.”
“The Hero business?”
“Yes. It not all just killing things you know.”
“Well...”
“So how are you? How was your sister?”
They ordered food and talked about inconsequential things while they waited, though Rawk was beginning to wonder if Maris ever talked about anything else. And when the food arrived Rawk breathed in the spicy aromas of the steak and the thick herb gravy. He cleaned his knife and pulled his fork from the pouch on his belt.
“This is good,” Maris said. Soup was dripping down her chin. He didn’t even know what her lunch was called, but it smelled almost as good as his own.
“Always is,” Rawk agreed. This was one of his usual taverns and he was going to miss it when he finally had to move on.
“Ummm...”
“Yes?”
“Is that..?”
Rawk followed her gaze. He sighed. “How can you tell? His disguise is almost perfect.”
Maris almost spat her soup onto the table.
Across the other side of the room, Prince Weaver pretended to notice them, raising his hand to wave then weaving his way through the diners. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he said when he reached their tables.
“You have? And who might you be?”
That seemed to stump him. “I’m... Errr... Tharlis. Yes, Tharlis.”
“Nice to meet you Tharlis. What can I do for you?”
“You can buy me lunch, first of all.” He pulled out a chair before Rawk could complain. “And then you can introduce me to you friend.”
“Weaver—”
“Tharlis.”
“Of course, Tharlis. This is Maris. Maris, Tharlis of...”
“Oh, I’m from here,” he said, waving his hand towards to city outside. “Just, you know, around.”
“I’m not sure I believe you. If you were a local you’d know where I was having lunch today.” Rawk smiled when Weaver gave him a ‘what are you doing?’ look. “What’s really going on, Tharlis?”
“I’ve lived here a few weeks.”
“Is that right? And what brings you to Katamood?”
“I’m looking for a life of adventure and was hoping you could be my guide. I can pay you.”
“Not enough.”
“Look, Rawk...” Weaver looked around to see who was watching. Everyone was making a point of minding their own business, hiding their smiles behind spoons and tankards. “Let’s just have lunch. We can discuss business later.”
“Sure. Why not? You can buy your own lunch though.”
“So, Maris, what do you do?”
She cleared her throat and took a quick drink of wine. “I work at the Veteran’s Club.”
“Just a waitress?”
“No, in the office. I take care of the accounts and organize the staff. Things like that.”
“Must be a bit boring for you, Rawk. All that normality? You must be wishing for the old days.”
“I find I’m liking normality, actually. It’s nice for a change.”
“You’ll want all the action soon enough.”
“I still get plenty of action, Tharlis. The streets are riddled with action.”
Weaver’s meal arrived and he started eating without saying another word.
Rawk tried to talk with Maris but she kept glancing at the prince. Every time he looked up she would shift uncomfortably in her seat. As soon as she had finished her meal she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. “I need to get back to work. We’re having trouble with a one of the acts at the moment. They are arguing about money.”
Rawk narrowed his eyes. She could only be talking about Celeste and Grint. He didn’t say anything about that though. “You can stay a while longer,” he said. “I’m sure Tharlis has places he needs to be.”
She gave Rawk a quick kiss on the cheek. “No, that’s all right. You and Tharlis can catch up. Or whatever.”
“I’ll see you tonight?”
“No, I’ll be working late. Tomorrow.”
Rawk watched her go then turned angrily to Weaver.
The prince was still watching the door. “She isn’t very friendly. And she’s older than I was expecting. I don’t know what you see in her.”
Rawk put away his knife and fork and grabbed the pile of paper.
“What’s all that for? I thought it was Maris’.”
A History of Magic Page 9