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

by D J Salisbury

  Tsai’dona snorted.

  He scowled at her. “I… I left a pile of chain near where he’s hiding before I brought the wagon into town. I knew we’d have trouble with him.”

  Tsai’dona frowned at the top of the bronze gate, at her dusty boots, and out into the plains. “The last part is true,” she mumbled.

  “Traitor,” he muttered back.

  The old man stared between them, but slowly a grin spread across his weathered face. “Ye be magician, no?”

  Viper nodded. Was the lie so obvious?

  “Will ye swear the trick ye’re planning will stay yon devil from harming my folk?”

  He’d skin the sandcrab and give his worthless hide to Lorel if the carrion fly even thought about making trouble. “I swear upon the Thunderer’s drums.”

  The old man unhooked a huge key from his belt and unlocked the portcullis. “If’n I don’t like the looks of yer raider, ye’ll sleep outside.”

  “I understand. But I plan to get him inside the ship while it’s dark. No one will ever know he’s there.”

  Tsai’dona looked up at the guards staring down from the top of the wall.

  The old man laughed. “Which ship, lad? We’ll be watching from the quay until she pulls out.”

  Blast. He’d hoped to avoid naming their transport. But he could understand the guard posting a sentry. Lorel had beaten that much military sense into his head. “The Ocean’s Tide. We leave at dawn tomorrow.”

  “I’ll send a few men to watch her now.” The guard captain locked the gate behind them, saluted, and strolled away.

  Aramiel would push him off the nearest cliff when he learned he’d be watched until the ship pulled out. For that matter, his brother would yowl louder than a litter of nercat kittens after he found out they were traveling by sea.

  But he didn’t see any choice. He marched away from the city wall and toward the open plains.

  “Stay in the wagon tracks,” Tsai’dona said from behind him. “We’ll never find him in grass this tall. I bet you six shillings he’ll come out to meet us.”

  Lorel’d been teaching the girl bad habits. “No deal. If nothing else, he’ll join us to try and talk me into giving him the broadsword, and letting him go home.”

  She snickered and hurried forward to walk beside him. “Do we sing to let him know we’re coming?”

  With all the noise they were making tromping through the short grass in the overgrown road? Only a girl raised in a city would think a bored, grumpy warrior wouldn’t notice them. But it might be a good idea to identify themselves. “Do you remember the chant praising thunderdrums chasing the moon?”

  “Nope. And don’t you sing it, either. I’ve never met anyone as tone-deaf as you are. I shouldn’t have brought singing up.”

  Insulting sand lizard. He could hear the notes just fine. The problem was with his throat. “Don’t you have a latrine to dig or something?”

  Tsai’dona sniggered. “I could recite classical Duremen-Lor poetry. Or chant a drinking song. I don’t sing much better than you do.”

  “Forget the latter.” His turybird knew drinking songs in four languages, and sang them occasionally, drunk or sober. “I’d love to hear the poetry. I didn’t have time to study it while you two battled with the sword school.”

  Tsai’dona sucked in a deep breath.

  “Don’t bother,” Aramiel said in passible Zedisti. He rose out of the grass and stomped toward them. “I heard too much of that crap from your father.”

  Blast. The sandcrab did know. Viper swallowed bile, but chose to ignore the comment. “Are you ready for an adventure?”

  “Not him.” Tsai’dona crossed her arms under her breasts and sneered. “He missed a heroic fight because he was hiding out here. He doesn’t have the guts for an adventure.”

  Quite a good performance. She and Lorel must have worked hard to dream up ways to insult the sandcrab.

  It was working. Aramiel bared his teeth and snarled at her.

  Viper pretended to ignore them both. “A quest so astounding the cantor will chant about it at every celebration for a hundred years.”

  “I even have a new battle scar to prove it.” Tsai’dona yanked back her sleeve and showed off the neat row of stitches on her forearm. She was supposed to leave the bandage on the wound. No wonder she was crabby today.

  Aramiel relaxed and sniggered. “You scratch yourself sewing?”

  The sandcrab thought twenty-seven stitches counted as a scratch? Of course, those tiny, professional sutures might not be noticed by a Setoyan. They had a tendency to bind a cut only tight enough to stop the bleeding, purely in the hope it would create a more noticeable scar.

  Sandblast the turtle turd. And himself, too. He should have brought Lorel along. His brother loudly admired the scars on her face and arms when he thought no one else was listening. Lorel had preened as though she didn’t realize he was propositioning her.

  Tsai’dona merely grinned. “You’re jealous. You didn’t get to have a ten-to-one battle against slavers. You didn’t rescue Zharyl.”

  Aramiel’s face and chest turned bright red.

  Perfect. Now it was his turn. “Of course, we’re heading straight into danger from this quiet little town.”

  Tsai’dona nodded and pulled down her sleeve.

  Aramiel frowned. “What kind of danger?”

  “Merely the stuff of hero tales.” Viper shrugged as if his crew did this sort of thing every day. “Traverse the ocean to a legendary island. Encounter a wizard to augment your formidable weapons.” He purposely used the biggest words he knew to make the adventure sound more scary. And to confuse his brother enough he wouldn’t complain about the annoying parts.

  But he saved the part the sandcrab would enjoy for the last. “Go north and battle with hundreds of warriors who want to stop us.”

  “You make too much of yourself. I know the way you talk.” Aramiel paused. “Not hundreds, not just the three of us. But dozens?”

  Oh, sure, don’t count him as even half a warrior. Forget that Kyri could ‘call’ down thunder. “I honestly expect dozens of opponents.” And that counted only the wizards’ apprentices and whatever guards the Mindbender held.

  Aramiel glared at him for so long, he was sure the sandcrab would turn and hike back into the plains. “Might be fun. I’ll come. Let’s go.”

  Viper kept his jaw from dropping, but it was a close thing. “Right. Sure. Right now. Umm?”

  Aramiel crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Now what?”

  “First we need to sneak you onboard a ship.”

  “I don’t sneak.”

  Nonsense. All Setoyans were master sneakers. The whole breed thought jumping out of the grass and scaring travelers into peeing themselves was funny. Which gave him an idea. “Do you want to terrify the whole city?”

  His noodle-brain brother smiled. “How?”

  “I’ll wrap you up in an illusion of chains and you’ll walk through the streets glaring like you want to kill them all.” With any luck, everyone will be inside eating dinner.

  Tsai’dona rolled her eyes.

  “No chains.” Aramiel snarled as if he wanted to slaughter his little brother. Half-brother. The carrion fly probably did.

  “No chains. Merely an illusion.” Viper concentrated on the appearance of a two-foot long scrap of chain and lifted one arm.

  Heavy bronze links dangled from his hand. He’d goofed. The bronze was too thick, too heavy looking.

  But Aramiel was nodding. “Magician chains. I knew you’d fake something. And those might be heavy enough to hold me.”

  Ridiculous turtle turd. No one could claim he lacked confidence, deserved or not.

  Tsai’dona turned away to hide a huge grin. She cleared her throat. “What about the broadsword?”

  Aramiel glowered at her. “You touch my sword, I’ll kill you.”

  “And here I thought you’ve been trying to get Lorel to play with your sword.” Blast, did he really say that?<
br />
  Both Aramiel and Tsai’dona gawked at him.

  All he could do was bull through like a witless bahtdor calf. “I’ll ‘chain’ the sword to his back, and wrap more ‘chains’ around his wrists.”

  Aramiel continued to stare at him oddly, but eventually shrugged. “Do it.”

  Finally, something he could prove he was good at. He envisioned a thick bronze chain wrapped around Aramiel’s neck, twice around his shoulders and chest, three times around the broadsword, plus several loops down his arms to his wrists.

  Tsai’dona gasped when the links appeared.

  The sandcrab looked down at himself and shrugged. But the noodle brain stood too straight. Nobody’d believe he was confined in any way.

  The chain must be heavy. Concentrate on weight. Pressing down on his brother’s shoulders. Thrusting him toward the ground. Holding him tight.

  Dizziness rolled over him.

  Aramiel staggered. “Lightning blast you! Take them off!”

  Tsai’dona strolled forward and thunked her fist against bronze. “Bless the Seven Temples. It feels real.”

  “Good. The gate guards will want to test them.” Viper wobbled a few steps toward Veriz. “Come on, bahtdor bait. The illusion won’t hold forever. And if the city guard kills, excuse me, injures you, you won’t be able to fight in the grand battle.”

  “Your trickery will protect me?”

  No way he was falling into that trap. “Not a chance. It will merely slow you down.” The turtle turd would refuse to wear it if he thought it could possibly make him safe.

  Aramiel growled, but followed him down the road.

  The gate guards did indeed test the illusion. They prodded the chains and whispered about the ‘raider devil,’ but soon their fingers poked at Aramiel’s exposed skin.

  He probably should have used more chain, if only to protect the sandcrab’s dignity. Wait, why would anyone think Aramiel had any dignity?

  Two guardsmen drew knives. Their captain slapped one down, but didn’t see the second blade.

  Blast, now he’d have to do something to protect the sand lizard. Aramiel would never forgive him.

  But Tsai’dona moved first. Fighting back a grin, she drew her scimitar and stepped between Aramiel and the knifeman.

  “Aroint ye, man!” the captain shouted. “Ye be ruining our honor.”

  But all of his men stepped back and stared at the scimitar as if its restrained power threatened them. Their eyes tracked the flames dancing up its edges and the tiny clawed footprints scampering down its center.

  Fascinating. This was the first time he’d seen the paw prints move.

  Why hadn’t the slavers reacted to the scimitar? Hmm. Everyone had been rather busy.

  Aramiel growled and tried to burst the loops of chain with the strength of his arms.

  Viper willed the links to hold, no matter what.

  Tsai’dona turned and gave the sandcrab a gently shove. It didn’t budge him. “Move. You lot can glare at each other through a porthole.”

  The sand lizard probably didn’t know what a porthole was, but he started walking. Tsai’dona trotted at his heels.

  The captain flung his hands apart. The wide-eyed guards stepped aside.

  Blast. He should take command of this caravan. Viper hurried in front of Aramiel and led the way toward the docks.

  The guard captain joined him. “Yon devil should be proud. Most all my guards be here to protect our city from him.”

  Aramiel snarled. His fists curled and stretched into claws.

  Would the stateroom he’d rented be strong enough to hold his stinking vulture of a brother? Well, he had warned the owner he’d be shipping a dangerous passenger, and he’d paid more for the sandcrab than for the rest of them combined. The owner seemed confident Aramiel wouldn’t be any trouble once they left port.

  The turtle turd was certainly a problem now. Praise the Thunderer he kept walking. Not even the horde of guards following them would be capable of shifting him if he stopped.

  Please, Thunderer, don’t let anyone be insane and attack his quarrelsome brother. His illusion would dissolve if they distracted him too much.

  But the guard captain paced them, and motioned the sporadic rash youngster out of their way. The trailing guards enforced his directives.

  Dusk descended into night just as they reached the ship.

  Aramiel hesitated when they reached the gang plank. “Last time I saw one of these, it was burning.”

  “You better hope this one doesn’t catch fire.” Tsai’dona marched to his side and grabbed the lowest loop of chain. “This is your home until Feda.” She tugged him into following her up the plank.

  Why didn’t the sandcrab argue with her, the way he did with everyone else? Well, he didn’t argue with Lorel. Maybe he honored them both as warriors.

  It wasn’t fair the lard lizard didn’t consider him a warrior. He fought, too. In his own way. Which Aramiel would never notice.

  The guard captain grinned and saluted him. “Amber Lady’s luck to ye, lad.”

  And he’d need that luck. Viper waved and trailed the pair up the gangway.

  Tsai’dona led the way to Aramiel’s stateroom, the largest chamber on the ship, and gestured the sandcrab inside.

  The room had changed since their last visit. The eight normal-sized bunks had been pushed together to form one enormous bed, and all thirty-two legs were bolted to the floor. But the door was still three inches thick, and the lock was heavy Crayl steel. It ought to hold the lard lizard at least until morning, no matter how angry the stinking vulture got.

  Aramiel glowered at the huge room. “You expect me to stay in this coney burrow?”

  Viper nodded. “At least until we leave port. I promised the guards you wouldn’t walk free in the city.”

  Aramiel snorted. “Get your trickery off me.” His fingertips wiggled at his chains.

  The ship’s captain was standing to the side of the door, out of the sandcrab’s sight. She waved a heavy key.

  Praise the Thunderer. He could dismiss the illusion and slam the door. He’d never had an illusion drain him this much. Maybe it was because he was holding a visual and a sensory illusion at the same time.

  Come to think of it, he’d never created a sensory illusion before. How fascinating. How’d he done it?

  Aramiel rumbled.

  Viper sighed. It might be better to study the phenomenon later. He gestured and willed the illusion to disperse.

  “Get on with it,” Aramiel growled.

  Blast. Why didn’t the illusion vanish? He hadn’t done anything different. In particular. Except wish for weight…

  Thunderer, no. He couldn’t have manifested bronze chain from dusty air. Had he stolen it somehow?

  “Turn me loose,” the stinking vulture thundered.

  “Shut up,” he yelled back. “You’re ruining my concentration.” What concentration? He had no idea of what to do.

  Tsai’dona snickered. “Do you swear on your honor to stay in this room until we reach Feda?”

  Aramiel grumbled, but swore on his honor and on the broadsword.

  The captain sent for the ship’s most powerful hawser cutters. They turned out to be useless. Who ever heard of bronze that couldn’t be scratched?

  It took over two hours, but three unusually large sailors (they must have Setoyan blood in their ancestry) managed to unwrap forty-two feet of heavy, indestructible bronze chain from the spitting-mad sandcrab.

  How had he managed to manifest that much bronze when he’d only aimed for an illusion?

  The three huge sailors shoved Aramiel against the cabin wall, slammed the door, and held it shut until the lock snicked into place.

  Praise the Thunderer, the captain bought the chain for half the cost of Aramiel’s passage without ever mentioning the crashes and bellows issuing from the stateroom.

  Chapter 28.

  Several days of ocean travel left him gurgling and wretched, but strong enough to wander up to t
he deck after a sailor announced all the mooring hooks had caught, and they were about to land on Feda. He wanted to view the legendary island for himself. And, with a little luck, see the end of his search.

  When he peeked into their rooms, Tsai’dona, Zharyl, and Aramiel continued to cling to their buckets. Lorel he couldn’t find, but he didn’t plan to look hard. He wasn’t about to look up at the crow’s nest, her most likely hiding place. He’d already lost his last seventeen meals; he didn’t want to puke up tomorrow’s dinner, too.

  Bess joined him before he got halfway to the ladder, but he beat her to the hatchway.

  Green and red birds flitted between impossibly green trees that spread their umbrella canopies above the seawall. The sweet perfume of ripe fruit drifted on a salty breeze. Heavy clouds frowned above the island’s single mountain. They weren’t real thunderdrums, but perhaps the Thunderer could see him, anyway.

  The huge winch groaned. Exhausted oxen bellowed. He didn’t blame them. Hoisting a ship over the seawall must be the worst job in the world.

  Relief swept through his woozy gut once the ship thumped down into its cradle. “I’ll never be a sailor, if only because of the lightning-blasted seawalls. High waves I can handle, but I hate waiting for the hooks to catch and carry us over the wall.”

  Bess laughed. “It is more fun to watch from dry land. I used to think it looked wonderful, before I actually tried it.”

  He snorted.

  Bess appeared queasy, and she looked better than he felt. Nevertheless, he was up and functioning. Which was more than he could say for half his crew.

  His elder bodyguard’s sweat-soaked hair emerged on the ladder exiting the passenger hold. He’d feel sorry for her if she hadn’t taken Lorel’s side in the disagreement before they boarded the ship.

  Where was his turybird, anyway?

  Tsai’dona crept across the rain-slick deck and knelt near them. “This is Feda? Isn’t it?”

  “It is, pet.” Bess rubbed the traitor’s back. “The worst is over.”

  Her black hair flying beneath her bandage like curly-feathered eagle wings, Lorel galloped around the mizzenmast and skidded across the wet, polished wood. She plunked against the railing beside him and pretended she’d merely sauntered up. “You look worse’n crap, Tsai. Hey, kid. How’re we gonna find some wizard?”