by Tia Reed
Well now he did.
“The crazy thing is, the mages probably have cartloads and wouldn’t even miss the speck we’d need for a trip,” Orhan lamented.
Ulmy shook his head, reached across for Brailen’s ale and took a gulp. “You sure have forgotten your friends.”
“They’ve heard about him, see. Got the porrin under lock and key. He’s just blustering when he says he uses it.”
Brailen snatched his tankard back, downed the contents, belched long and loud, and stood up. “They trust me, I tell you. Come and see.” Orhan was right. The lackwits – wasn’t that what Lady Jordayne had called the mages? – did not even notice when they were cheated right under their noses.
Ulmy’s giggle made him self-conscious enough to lose his next words.
“Looks like he’s wet himself,” Orhan said.
Curse the clumsy barmaid. He would come back and teach her a thing or two. Right after he proved to his friends he was as worthy of their admiration as the day he became a mage.
“Laddies, I’m about to treat you to a night on the moons,” he said.
They staggered out of The Wild Wind arm in arm, singing a rousing if out of tune ditty about loving a girl to death. Their belches added the final touch, Brailen thought, as they reached the cove and leapt over the precarious rocks to the guild by the light of a single lantern, the annoying lap of the lake, and the sting of the salty wind.
The guild was dark, thank the moons. Whatever business the snooty mages had at the palace, it was keeping them late. Brailen produced a key with a flourish and they stumbled their way along the hall to the back room, and down to the lower floor. Crescent Daesoa and gibbous Dindarin could glare through the vast windows all they wanted. Like painting the faces of the people on the frescoes in their ghastly light was going to scare an apprentice mage.
“Over there,” Brailen said, pointing to the wall with the trapdoor. He teetered past the desks to the other side and fumbled around for the trigger.
“What’s the delay?” Orhan asked, bumping the neat stack of books on Kaztyne’s desk over with his hip so he could park his behind there.
“Vae’omar’s cursed my eyes with all that liquid,” Brailen said. The frieze of porrin leaves blurred in and out of focus. He pounded here and there. The cursed trigger had to be somewhere.
“Hey Brailen,” Orhan said.
“Almost got it.”
“Brailen.”
“Just wait.”
“It’s open you lackwit.”
“Oh.” Brailen cleared his throat. “Told you.”
They crowded into the storeroom.
“Tidy little bundle here,” Orhan said, setting the lantern on the shelf.
“Save some for me,” Ulmy said as he waddled down the cellar stairs.
“Did I tell you they trust me, or what?” Brailen pulled open a packet of crushed leaves and took a long sniff.
“Or what, when they get back,” Orhan said, rummaging through the shelves. He stuffed dried leaves and packets of ground seed into his shalvar.
Ulmy returned with a jug of wine in each hand and the hem of his shalvar soaked. “This’ll be the trip of all trips.” He tucked the jugs into the crook of an arm and joined Orhan and Brailen in plundering the stores.
“Got to be seventy lek worth in just one of these,” Orhan said, snatching the open packet from Brailen.
“Let’s go,” Brailen said inching toward the door. The toads were taking too much. The magi were going to notice stock missing for sure.
“Why not stay here? It looks comfy enough,” Ulmy said, squeezing out and plonking himself into an armchair.
“And be caught red-handed?” said Brailen.
“He’s right,” said Orhan. The older boy headed up the stairs.
“Come on,” Brailen grabbed Ulmy’s kurta and one of the jugs, and tugged him up. The front door was further than he remembered, but maybe that was because he had to drag Ulmy the whole way. If Brailen had to wait until they got out to trip, Ulmy could just lower his arm and stop trying to get powder onto his big tongue while running.
Brailen pulled the front door so it slammed closed. He fumbled with the key but the cursed lock would not snick. By the time he decided to leave it, the others had picked their way over the uneven rocks and were halfway to the short pier.
“Ay! Wait for me!” Brailen called. He clambered over the rocks, taking care not to slosh too much wine over the lip of the jug. “Wait or I’ll put a spell on you.”
Ulmy giggled, but he stopped, ’coz he was a true friend. Orhan just snorted and kept striding. When Brailen reached his side, Ulmy raised his pitcher. “Here’s to old times. And the best friends in the world.” He clapped Brailen on the back.
Brailen took a swig from his own jug. “Let’s get onto the good stuff.” On a belly full of cheap ale, the wine was no treat.
“We’ve enough here to trip for days,” said Ulmy.
“I’m taking some of this to our dealer. It’ll square me debt,” Orhan called.
“Sell it, lackwit,” said Ulmy. “Then we’ll have enough money for whores as well.”
Orhan brought out a packet and tipped some of the red powder onto his tongue.
“Give it here.” Ulmy scrambled over, took the packet and shook a good dose in.
Brailen, not to be outdone, swallowed two shakes. On second thoughts, perhaps three shakes was the norm for performing magic. That emptied the packet, and he dropped it. No way was it going to incriminate them with the wind cartwheeling it over the rocks.
“Someone’s coming,” said Ulmy, pointing to a bobbing light. He already had another packet of the drug in his hand.
“Ho,” Brailen shouted. “You’re on perilous ground. Declare yourself or face the wrath of a mage.”
“It’s Daesoa,” Ulmy said. “She’s come to us.” He started hopping towards the light.
Brailen tilted his head. The two moons spun around the heavens, a whirl of green and yellow. “No, she’s still up there.” He flung up his arms and whirled around too. Wine slopped out of the jug and slapped the rock. The cursed thing threw him off balance. He stumbled over a rock and landed on his knees. Someone was painting them red. Nice colour. He would put them up there with Dindarin and Daesoa. He lay on his back and lifted a leg into the sky. Lady Luck had seen fit not to break the jug. He tilted more wine into his mouth. Criminal how so much washed onto the rocks.
“What are you doing?” someone asked.
Brailen laughed. “Tripping to the moon.”
“The moons, the moons,” Ulmy said. He staggered and fell face first.
“You’re intoxicated,” the someone said.
“So what?” Orhan said. He had laid himself out and was watching the heavens. “It’s a fine trip.”
“Porrin and Ale,” said Brailen. His body had stopped spinning but his mind, wow, that was way up there. Higher than Dindarin. Higher than his knee. “You ought to try it.”
“Get a grip on yourself. This is unseemly behaviour for an apprentice mage.”
Brailen swayed. Shom blinked into focus. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “You’re a real bore, you know.”
Shom plucked the packet from Ulmy’s hand. “This has the Mage Guild seal on it.”
Brailen lurched up and towards him. “For your information,” he burped, “I am a member of the Mage Guild.” He belched. And farted.
Shom held the light high. “How many of you are here?”
“He’s going to tell,” Orhan said. “You’re going to get booted out the door. Again, again.”
“For your information, they won’t throw a mage out of the mage guild.” Brailen belched some more. It was pure music.
“Master Magus Drucilamere is not going to like this.”
“Ma-gas Drew-kill-me-ear is not going to find out,” Brailen said, giggling at his wit.
“Get inside and sleep it off.”
“You think you’re better than me?” Brailen said staggering into Shom.
Shom pushed him off and turned for the guild hall.
“You think you’re better than me? Do you? Do you?” He did. Brailen swung the jug. It connected with Shom’s head. The toff toppled to the ground. “Do you, do you, do you?” He was so high, so dizzy. He threw his arms wide, flinging the jug into Lake Tejolin. It fell short and shattered on the rocks. “Fly, fly, fly.”
And the rocks did. They whirled around and around, pummelling into Shom again and again. Brailen threw his head back and screamed, “Do you see? Do you see? It’s magic.” Only now he felt drained and the rocks smashed down and the world was silent except for the whoosh of a breaking wave.
Orhan clambered to the half-buried body. “Mercy, Brailen, I think you’ve killed him. How much porrin did you have?”
“Did you see, Ulmy?” His friend was still slumped over a rock. “I did magic. Yippee. Whippee. I’m a mage. Go on, say it, I’m a mage.”
“You’re going to get banned from the guild,” said Orhan.
Brailen slumped onto the rocks that covered Shom and let his mind twirl with the stars. “Yeah, but it was worth it. ‘Coz I’m a fearsome mage.”
He laughed. Then he passed out.
Chapter Forty-two
As soon as the Court cleared, Jordayne flung herself at Drucilamere.
“Are you sufficiently recovered from the porrin to engage in some fun?” she asked, tilting her lips up.
He stubbornly kept his hands on his hips. “I’m a mage. I master porrin not succumb to it.”
“That did seem rather a novel idea for our guest.” She pressed closer.
“Do you think she will be safe under your brother’s escort?”
She traced the line of his moustache with her finger. “As long as she heeds my advice and locks her door.”
“With a body like that, she will have trouble hanging onto her honour in this court.”
She moved her hand into his hair, gripping hard. “Never fear, I’ll educate her.”
“Like this?” he asked, moving his hands beneath her bust, and kissing her at last.
“And this,” she replied several moments later, pressing his face between her hands and kissing him.
“I thought so,” Drucilamere said. “Unfortunately, it’s precisely your sort of education I fear, Jordayne. She is young.”
“Never even kissed a man, I expect.”
“Unlike you,” he said, planting hot kisses down the side of her face, and neck, and on her shoulder.
“So what was it that gave you pause when you read her?” she asked, sliding her hands around his waist.
“Do you miss anything?” His lips met hers again.
They parted enough to look into each other’s eyes. “Would I be me if I did? Now tell me, there’s a good boy. I have a kingdom to run.”
His look held amused caution, as one might bestow on a mischievous child. She doubted even Druce knew how seriously she meant what she said.
“There was an aura about her. It may be a djinn figures in all this.” He caught her guarded look and hurried on. “She herself is innocent. More innocent than you could possibly imagine.”
“A Terlaani Princess? I think I can imagine. Only Lord Kamir’s daughter, Pettina, is likely to be more closeted than she. It is just as well I was born in Myklaan. The Verdaani would have stoned me long before now.”
“Were you born Verdaani, you would have been raised so prim the mere idea of you would have made you swoon,” Druce said.
She shimmied to the table at the back of the dais, with a seductive wiggle of her behind of course, and poured them some of the San Xalid wine a page had served before their lengthy audience. “So why did you not inform Ordosteen of the djinn?” she asked, handing him a plain gold goblet. She took a sip of the divine red. The inspired mosaic of the Vae over the dome provided the perfect setting to savour its rich notes.
“Is it your aim to have me too intoxicated to please?” His free hand was back on his hip.
“No. Only intoxicated enough to answer my questions.”
Druce raised an eyebrow. “Our princess was fearful of the djinn, but I sense it was on a personal level. Until I can ascertain it is a threat to our realm, I think this information more the province of the magi.”
“Perhaps you are right, but keep me informed.”
He took a long sip, and his face relaxed. “Your estate has outdone itself with this vintage.”
“It has indeed.”
“If you deign, you could grace the guild with your presence for regular updates.”
She turned from him with a jingle of bracelets, looking back over her shoulder with a tip of her hips. “At night, I presume.”
His hands found her shoulders and brushed her straight hair from her nape. “There would be added benefits.” His thumb stroked the back of her neck.
She closed her eyes and let him hear her pleasure. He stopped too soon. She took the goblets, set them on the tiled floor, and took his hand. “I wish to claim them now.”
His fingers locked around hers. “Lead the way,” he said, just looking at her, the dear man. She had to pat his hand to get him to move.
He pulled her into his arms when he discovered they were turning out of the palace. “This is hardly the way to your chamber.”
“I thought we might set the mood by watching the sun rise over Mage Cove.” With Kaztyne and Santesh spending the night at the palace, and the apprentices likely to be drinking themselves senseless on an evening off, they could afford a leisurely morning of it. Besides, the Terlaani crystals required investigation, and for that her mage would need both the knowledge and the porrin stored in the guild. She kissed him, and led him on.
“It’s a good half hour’s walk past the city boundary to the promontory.”
“Don’t grow old on me, Druce.”
He stroked one side of his moustache with his forefinger. “I wouldn’t dream of it. For one thing, I would hate to be replaced by some young lackwit you only wanted for his body.”
Dawn was seeping into the world when they strode across the rocks to the edge of the rippling lake. Jordayne leaned back against Drucilamere, luxuriating in the kisses he brushed down her neck. The pink wisps of cloud were lightening to grey, and the lap of the water was soothing her into contentment. She really ought to take more time to savour the simple pleasures of life. Too often in her political interfering she forgot to enjoy herself rather than her scheming.
“It is a fetching sunrise,” she said with uncharacteristic wistfulness.
“I believe I have the superior view,” he replied, looking down her cleavage.
For once her reason for making him wait had nothing to do with their relationship and everything with a sunrise far too beautiful to miss. Day had soaked the vista when she asked him if he intended to make good on his promise and perfect the morning. He responded by kissing her again. Their hands groped and searched as they stood and approached the guild step by passionately interrupted step.
He had no right to stop his caresses so abruptly. After all, she was supposed to be the tease. Jordayne adjusted her touch. A light brush up his side would crumple his will to resist her. Then she saw it: a limp hand protruding from a pile of rocks, the ghostly white palm turned up. They ran to it, hefted rock after rock off the body, flinging them away until they uncovered the prostrate apprentice. He lay on his stomach, his lifeless eyes staring out across the water. Clotted blood formed a jagged scar from the corner of his lips to his chin and purple blotches covered his broken body.
“Dear Vae’oenka,” she murmured as Druce felt for the pulse of life. As the sun burst full from behind a cloud.
“He’s alive,” the mage said, his voice a harsh whisper.
“I’ll go for a physic.”
“There’s no time. I’ll try to summon one.” He lifted Shom into his arms.
Jordayne’s glance was sharp. In all the time she had known the mages, never had a one of them intimated they could thoughtspeak with ordinar
y folk. She made a mental note to query them on this as she guided Drucilamere across the treacherous rocks. Encumbered as he was, she saw the open door first.
“Druce,” she said, laying a hand on his arm.
His alarm was obvious as they went inside. Nothing appeared disturbed but they did not linger to check.
“I’m going to need porrin,” Druce said, heading for the back stairs. His absorption with the lad prevented him from seeing what was right before their eyes as he settled the apprentice into one of the armchairs before the vast glass window looking over the serene lake. This time she was too shocked to speak. When Drucilamere turned towards the trail of ground porrin leading from the hidden room, he blanched white with rage.
“Brailen,” he growled through clenched teeth, before storming into the open store. In a daze, Jordayne followed. It was bare save for a scattering of crumbled leaves and a fine dusting of red powder on the floor. Drucilamere gripped the shelf and stared at the wall. There was nothing he could use.
“Are you sure it was Brailen?” she asked.
“No one else knew this stash was here.”
She had to squeeze his arm to draw him out of his devastation.
“The rocks that buried Shom,” she started as they returned to the unconscious lad. Drucilamere held his hand the way a father might. There were no open wounds upon the broken body, nothing to indicate he had been buried after he was attacked.
“Can you see an ordinary man flinging them?”
She needed no more evidence to incriminate him. Brailen had made powerful enemies. The magi were left without a single apprentice, and neither they nor she would rest until he had been made to atone with every last fibre of his body.
“Has he no chance?” she said of Shom.
Drucilamere shook his head. “He never did. No physic could fix this amount of internal damage. He will be dead by the time one gets here.” His body tensed with rage. “A few trips on the drug are worth more to that miserable miscreant than a man’s life.”