Alchemy's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 5)

by D J Salisbury

  Being smacked on the back of the head might’ve done it. Or being carted around like a sack of wine grapes headed for the tromping tubs. But probably it was the drugs they’d poured into her.

  “I bet you’re hungry.” Her own belly had been growling ever since the kid left. “Let’s go down to the common room. Innkeeper promised to save you something good for lunch.” Silly innkeeper’d looked like he was watching a parade of demons when they staggered in last night. No, it was early this morning. No wonder she was hungry enough to eat a froggy demon.

  She’d love to see a real demon, but they never came this far south. The kid told her so last night. Too bad he was usually right. Battling a demon oughta be worth a song or two.

  Watching over a sleepy priss wasn’t.

  Mistress GoldenHair levered herself up until she was sorta sitting. “Must I go down all those stairs?”

  “Yup.” Lazy priss. There were only twelve steps. Wasn’t like they were on the third or fourth floor.

  Zharyl moaned and slumped back onto her pillow.

  “None of that.” If she didn’t eat soon, she’d chew on the froggy pillow. Or gnaw on the priss’s pretty leather shoes.

  She must’ve said it aloud, or Mistress GoldenHair saw her eyeing them shoes. The priss sat up and looked around groggily. “Where’s my dress?”

  Covered with yellow dirt with the hem shredded into tatters. “Tsai thinks she can fix it.” After it dried from the washing the innkeeper’s wife gave it this morning, and with fabric the kid promised to find in the market. No way would it match, though. “I’d loan you some of my clothes, but…” But it felt rude to tell the girl she was too fat to fit into any of Lorel’s trousers.

  “No, thank you.” The priss wrapped the blanket around the innkeeper’s wife’s grandmother’s biggest nightgown and wavered to her feet.

  Someone tapped on the door, slid it open a bit, and tossed in a blue damask robe plenty fancy for one of the Weaver’s priestesses. “Viper sent you this.” The door closed with a snick.

  Zharyl squealed.

  The noise cut through her skull like it was Tsai’s flaming scimitar. Lorel clamped her hands over her ears and wished for thicker bandages around her noggin. “Bitter blood,” she muttered. After that torture, the brat could complain about a little swearing.

  But the priss was still holding her own bandaged head, and her pink face had turned dead-fish white. “So sorry,” she whispered.

  What could she say to that? “Let’s go. I’m starving.” She picked up the gorgeous robe and helped the priss into it.

  It took a while, seeing as her skull was cracked and her shoulder stitched up like Izzy’s little body, and Zharyl was wobbly as a tadpole, but eventually they tottered down the stairs to the common room.

  The pudgy innkeeper whisked over right away with a heaping plate of grilled beef and fried taters for her, and a bowl of mush for the priss. No beer, though. The kid’d left orders. No beer.

  Not fair. She never got to that tavern last night for even one mug of Zedisti beer. Seeing double done slowed her down.

  Still, the beef was scrumptious.

  The priss stared woefully into her squish-filled bowl, but slowly munched it down. Had to give her credit for not complaining.

  Of course, it meant Lorel couldn’t whine about the lack of beer. Froggy kid and his fear of beer.

  But finally something happened to distract her from her dry mouth.

  Six fighters ambled into the tavern. Mercenaries, from the look of their gear, and successful ones. Too bad most of them were short.

  The smallest one stomped over to their table. “Heyla! You girls gots the linen to bandage a regiment. Whatcha been up to?”

  Froggy turd. His noisy boots set her head to hurting even worse. She shoved her empty plate away, stood up, and glared down at him. “You drunk already, Shorty?”

  He frowned and raised his fist. What did the little scrap of Loom lint plan to hit? Her boobs? That was about as high as he could reach.

  A tall redhead with skin as dark as her own grabbed the turtle turd and spun him away.

  The other fighters hooted. “Not drunk yet,” one said. “But we’ll work on it.” They dragged Shorty off to the far table and pushed him into a seat.

  None of them were worth bothering with. But the tall one… was.

  The hilt of his sword was worn, but its knob was polished Crayl steel. The scuffed leather of his scabbard had been oiled lately, maybe just this morning. The man himself had to be Kerovi, with his dark skin and flame-red hair. Sure, there were wings of gray at his temples, so he was pretty old. Forty, maybe. Almost as old as her dad. But he was as tall as Dad. A little taller than her.

  The priss simpered at him.

  He smiled at the brat like she was a little girl, and turned his attention back to Lorel. “Why hain’t I seen ye before?”

  Heat rushed into her face. “We ain’t been here long. And mostly we been busy.”

  His fingers drifted near her bandages, but he didn’t touch nothing. “I hope ye shan’t be busy this evening. Ye be too beautiful to sit alone.”

  She’d been hearing that crap since she was twelve years old. But somehow, coming from him it didn’t sound like the usual garbage. Not entirely. “Might be on duty.”

  He glanced at the priss. “She’s yer principal?”

  “No, but I let her get hurt.” She shrugged her good shoulder. “Gotta keep her safe.” Like it or not. Right now she’d love to lose the brat. “The boss’ll show up later with my partner.”

  “Ye look wacked.” He grabbed a chair from another table and clunked it beside hers. “Sit.”

  She sat. Weaver’s blood, this guy had a command voice more potent than her best teacher at the sword school. She better take control of this situation. “You got a name?”

  He smiled like he was happy she’d asked. “Call me Robalan. Will ye be in town awhile?”

  She shrugged again. “Don’t know. ’Til the kid decides to move on. He’s got the wanders.”

  He nodded. “I’ve worked for a few of them scorchers.”

  Miss GoldenHair pushed her bowl aside and wiggled until her nearly-flat chest pushed the damask robe forward. “We’ve had the most exciting adventures. We crossed the whole Setoyan plains and met with hundreds of tribes.”

  Thread-snipping priss. No, she’d sworn to give up swearing. Snotty priss. Hey, that fit her even better.

  Robalan’s eyes crinkled like he was trying not to laugh. “Amazing feat. It be wondrous the flaming tribesmen didn’t eat ye.”

  “Oh, they don’t catch on fire. And they don’t eat people.” The priss tossed her head to make her hair fly. And winced like her head still hurt.

  Snotty noodle brain. In Kerovi, ‘flaming’ was a worse swear word than ‘fraying’ could ever be.

  Zharyl looked down and peeked up through her eyelashes. “They did try to marry me.”

  Was the priss joking? They’d asked all the girls to bed them. She even caught one old warrior propositioning poor little Bess. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure Bess didn’t take him up on it, seeing as she disappeared for a while afterward.

  Nah, not Bess. The old lady was almost as prissy as the priss.

  Robalan turned back to her and arched one eyebrow. “After Setoya, I reckon the local slavers shan’t worry ye.”

  Zharyl’s face went corpse-white again.

  “I hate slavers.” Lorel forced her fists to unclench. “They oughta be illegal, same as in Zedista.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Zedista be the most civilized city in the world. It be yer home?”

  Shivers wriggled up from her crotch to her broken noggin. Weaver’s cold toes, this guy knew how to get under her skin.

  She made her mouth smile at him. “I bet you’re from Kerov. You remind me of an old sailor I met a year or two ago, excepting he looked pure Setoyan. Name was Gharon.” A sweet old man, too, who’d helped her and the kid get the hang of sailing. Well, her, anyway. The
kid still got sick every time he got near a ship.

  His jaw dropped, and the reaction looked real. “Ye met me father?”

  No wonder she liked this guy. She better be more on her guard.

  The priss squirmed and tried to push her make-believe tits out farther. “My father was a warrior, and his father was Setoyan.”

  That meant her granddad was Outcast. The noodle brain oughta tell the kid. Maybe he’d quit wanting to strangle her. But it explained where she got hair the color of a gold coin.

  Robalan tossed a smile at the turtle turd, but kept his eyes on Lorel. “I hain’t seen me old man in years. We never see Kerov at the same time. Be he well?”

  “I’m going back upstairs,” the priss announced.

  “No you ain’t. I been stuck in your room so long I’m ready to tear it apart.” Lorel waved at the innkeeper. “My friend needs a sweetie to finish off her lunch.”

  The brat crossed her arms under her chest (and almost gave herself real boobs) and sulked until the server brought over two big bowls of weird-smelling lumpy crap. “Ooooh, tapioca!”

  It stank like overcooked rice, and she was forever tired of rice. She pushed her share across the table.

  That worked better’n the kid’s magic. The priss ate and stayed quiet until all the crap meandered down her gullet. Sing to the Weaver, the brat was a slow eater.

  Meantime, her and Robalan talked. She told him about his father, he told her about spending time on Feda. They compared notes on Dureme-Lor, and he admitted he was jealous she’d spent lunars in a sword school.

  It was wonderful.

  Until the kid limped in. Bess and Tsai crept in behind him like the floor was made of eggshells.

  He frowned at her arm. “Where is your sling?”

  Who needed a froggy sling? She wasn’t straining her little cut none sitting at a table. Especially since nobody’d let her hoist a single tankard.

  Bess smiled a little and tried to distract him with a question about amber. It should’ve worked, given his fixation with bugs in yellow rocks.

  He ignored the old lady.

  Tsai grinned, put the kid’s packages on the table farthest away from the door, and asked him about supplies.

  The kid ignored them both and limped over to her table. “Who is this person?”

  The priss’s spoon clattered into her nearly-empty bowl. “His name is Robalan, and he’s ever so nice. Lorel’s been talking to him for hours.”

  Sure, just throw her in front of the kid’s sword. Good thing he didn’t have much of a temper. He’d calm down plenty quick.

  “I’m glad you feel well enough to be out of bed.” The kid turned to Lorel, but didn’t get no chance to start nagging.

  “I feel ever so well. Lorel’s been so kind, and courteous, and she’s taking such good care of me, and bought me a lovely dessert, and–”

  “And now you look tired.” The kid gestured Bess forward. “Would you please help Zharyl back to her room?”

  Weaver’s chamberpot. The kid was only fourteen, and there he was, acting like forty. Who put a stick up his butt? His haggling must’ve gone really bad.

  Zharyl stuck out her lower lip for a second before offering Robalan a dazzling smile. “I’m so glad to have met you. I do hope you’ll be in town for a while. I’d love to talk with you again. Someone monopolized the conversation, but I’m sure we have so much in common.”

  Robalan leaned back and hid a smile behind his hand.

  Poor little Bess tugged the limp thread out of her chair and led her, still chattering to shame a magpie, up the stairs.

  “Praise the Thunderer,” the kid muttered.

  Now that was more like him. “She says her granddad was Setoyan. She might be your cousin.”

  Tsai hauled her packages over, dumped them on the table, and sat in the priss’s chair. “She does look like you.”

  “No way!” If he hadn’t been snarky when he walked in, she’d’ve laughed at him. But she had a feeling she was still in trouble, for all she couldn’t think of anything she’d done. Lately. Besides get the priss kidnapped.

  But he had a new obsession. “Who is this person?”

  “Like Zharyl said, his name is Robalan.”

  The kid practically snarled at her. “Which tells me nothing.” Not like him at all. She better figure out what was eating him.

  “He’s a mercenary, same as my friend Ahm-Layel.” Weaver’s blood. He’d acted all weird about her, too. Maybe he hated mercenaries? “He just shipped over from Feda.”

  The kid blinked, balanced on his one good foot, and stood straighter. Maybe he was crabby because his stump was hurting?

  Robalan shrugged. “I be here only overnight. We be leaving for Zedista in the morning. Captain heard a rumor they been smarting from bandit attacks.”

  Her heart sank. “Bitter blood in the Warp and the Weave. You never mentioned that.”

  He drew a round-but-pointy-ended figure on the table with one finger. “I didn’t want to worry ye.”

  The kid looked as staggered as she felt, but he still had bugs in his batty little head. He cleared his throat a couple of times. “On Feda. Did you hear any rumors about wizards?”

  Of course. His big fat obsession.

  Robalan cocked one eyebrow. “I saw CricketFrog disembark while we sat in the shipyard. At least, Captain thought it be her, and said it be scorching dodgy seeing her there. Captain says CricketFrog hain’t left Veriz in three hundred years.”

  The kid swallowed so hard she heard him gulp clear across the room. “Any other rumors?”

  “Of wizards?” Robalan frowned. “There was vague talk of magickers on the island. But ye know nobody with magic be welcome there.”

  The kid nodded.

  Might as well put it on the table. “It means we gotta go to Feda, don’t it?”

  The kid nodded again.

  Not a good place for a sorcerer pretending to be a magician. Maybe a worse place for the slithering toad. Her and Tsai wouldn’t get bothered none. Bess sorta disappeared when she wanted to, so no troubles for her. And the priss’d be busy preening and chattering. Nobody’d get a word in.

  Still, it might be interesting seeing a place that worshiped the ocean, if Robalan had told her true. They’d missed Feda after they scarpered from Zedista.

  The kid sighed. “I’ll buy passage for us and the horses.”

  “Not for Hemlock.” Her gelding wouldn’t put up with no ship voyage. And he wasn’t half as good a horse as Nightshade, anyway. “I’ll sell him and find a real warhorse when we get back.”

  The kid raised both his eyebrows.

  She hated to admit it, but Robalan’s single eyebrow trick was lots more impressive. “You want me to go with you?”

  “No, Tsai’dona will keep me safe.”

  Tsai’d been way too quiet all this time. The kid must’ve crabbed at her all morning. Now she stood and marched smartly to his side.

  “Until dusk, at best,” Robalan said. “Watch out for slavers.”

  The kid glared at him, frowned at her bandages, nodded curtly, and limped out of the tavern.

  Tsai rolled her eyes and marched after him.

  Robalan shook his head. “That be the strangest childer I’ve ever met.” He turned back to her. “I hear ye have a horse to sell. A tall one?”

  She grinned at him. “Plenty tall for me.”

  “Mother’s little demons all bless ye.” He chuckled, a warm, friendly sound that made her belly quiver. “Ye be one of the few who understands me problems finding a horse big enow. How much d’ye want for him?”

  They bargained for well onto an hour, teasing back and forth. The kid would be proud of her, once she handed him her profits. She was just happy she didn’t say nothing too stupid. It gotta be the first time in her life she wanted to talk to a grown man.

  Even if he was awful old.

  Chapter 27.

  Buying passage to Feda was simple. According to the dockworkers, Veriz imported tons of Fe
dan rice and fruit, but it didn’t ship many products to the island. Finding a ship willing to bargain with him was a matter of asking in a single dockside tavern. Tsai’dona only needed to draw her scimitar once to convince the patrons he wasn’t an easy mark.

  The captain of the Ocean’s Tide was grateful for paying passengers. Too grateful. They only haggled for an hour before the gnarled woman threw up her hands and agreed to his last offer.

  Viper tucked the tickets inside his jacket and wished thanks to the Wind Dancer for his luck. “One of these days I need to stay in one place long enough to light a set of prayer candles.”

  “I don’t even want to know what you’re talking about.” Tsai’dona watched every alley they passed as if she expected a slaver to jump out and grab them. “But I’m glad you’re in a better mood. Can we go back to the inn, now?”

  “Not yet. Aramiel is skulking outside the city wall, probably hiding on the plains.”

  Tsai’dona’s watchful expression dissolved into dismay. “How do you plan to find the bog-rotted tree lizard?”

  A good question. Praise the Thunderer, he thought to inquire before they wandered into grass taller than he was. No one was at the securely barred gate, but dozens of city guards stood on atop city wall.

  Tsai’dona huffed, but trailed him up the stairs. What was with her today? They’d only been out since… dawn. She must be getting hungry.

  One of the sentries pointed at the sandcrab. In the shadowy afternoon light, Aramiel’s ‘hiding’ place stood out as distinctly as a bahtdor’s rolling wallow.

  Viper thanked the guard with a silver coin. “My irritating brother will be easy to find now.”

  Tsai’dona rolled her eyes and followed him down the stairs.

  The old guard captain intercepted them before they reached the gate. “Where ye headed, lad? Yon madman be doing fine job of clearing the fields of coneys and rattlers.” He laughed. “Never before saw nobody hunt vermin with a sword taller than most trees in the city.”

  Only Aramiel would use an enchanted weapon that way, the stinking vulture. “I’m sorry to steal your pest control, but I need to load him onto a ship.”

  The old man guffawed. “An’ how’re ye to get him to the port? I can’t be letting a raider march across my city.”