“No!” the man yelled in seeming panic over his shoulder. “Stay back! Get away from me!”
His voice had gone up a couple of octaves from the first “Stay away,” but why? Daks could be a little scary-looking sometimes, he guessed, but this seemed like a bit of an overreaction. After all, he was only offering to help.
He’d chased the man all the way across the square before the tingling along his skin registered and Daks realized what that meant. Unfortunately for both of them, Daks’s brain kicked in too late as the man made a strangled noise and crumpled to the ground. Magic radiated from him in waves, unmistakable to any Sensitives in the area. Daks spit out another curse and rushed to the prone form.
“Hey, push it back,” he ordered, as if he was one of the professors at the Scholomagi.
The young man flailed at him, groaning. “Get away. Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.”
Daks hesitated. How was he supposed to get both of them to safety without touching him? They needed to leave. Now.
Whatever the man’s gift was, he just had to take the chance it wouldn’t lash out at him once he made contact. He grabbed the man’s wrist and ducked under his arm to drag him to his feet as the magic rolled over him, tingling along every nerve. “We have to get out of here!”
“No,” the man groaned weakly a second before another, stronger surge of energy erupted through him.
This close, the magic was almost overwhelming, but Daks wasn’t blinded so much that he missed the brother stepping into the road ahead of them.
Seven Hells! If not for Rift-blighted luck, I’d have none at all.
Daks tried to spin them in the opposite direction, but the brother shouted, and the man in his arms suddenly stiffened and collapsed again, his weight dragging Daks down with him. Daks slowed his descent, but only marginally, because the next wave of energy blasted him to his knees. He wasn’t the only one to feel it either. The brother, who’d closed the distance between them, suddenly gasped and rocked backward like he’d been hit by something.
“The many will be one again, one and gone.
One will fall. The ring broken. The doors opened.
Keep free.
Repent, oh Tanagers, a new song is made, an old song renewed.”
The voice coming out of the man on the ground was very different from the one that had been yelling at Daks only a few seconds before. It almost sounded like two voices overlapping. If all the hairs on Daks’s body hadn’t already been standing on end from the magic, they would have been now.
Prophecy. Gods, he hated prophecies.
He struggled to retain consciousness, and his ears were left ringing in the sudden silence after the words stopped. All three of them remained frozen until the man on the ground’s eyes rolled up and his head lolled to the side. That seemed to break whatever spell they were in because the brother surged forward, flapping his hands, his face flushed and glistening with sweat in the moonlight.
“By order of the Brotherhood of Harot, I demand you back away and identify yourself,” he croaked at Daks, sounding just as shaken as Daks felt.
Daks slowly rose from the crouched position he’d held since the gifted had gone down and lifted his hands in a placating gesture as his head cleared. He took a single step back and sucked in a breath.
“Evening, Brother. I am Tarek Vastan. This young man appears to be in need of a healer. Do you know of one nearby?” Daks asked in his best Rassan, thinking quickly.
“I said step back,” the brother replied with growing confidence.
“I did,” Daks replied innocently.
“Well… step back again,” he hissed, appearing nonplussed.
Daks took another single step backward.
The brother narrowed his beady little eyes as he squared his shoulders. “Are you defying me, citizen—?”
“Tarek,” Daks enunciated clearly. “Tarek Vastan.”
“Well, Tarek, if you do not wish to be collected by the King’s Guard for your insolence, you should do as you are told.”
“Of course, Brother.”
“Well?” the brother asked, glaring.
“Well, what?” Daks replied, blinking innocently.
The brother’s lips tightened, and his round cheeks darkened further. “Be gone with you, before I change my mind and have you detained!” he blustered, flapping his right hand at Daks again while he drew something out of his robes with his left.
Daks took another wary step back at the move and braced himself for an attack, since he couldn’t quite see what the brother held. A moment later, his gift told him exactly what it was, but the knowledge only made him marginally less uneasy—especially since Rassans were, by their own laws, not supposed to use enchanted objects beyond the thirty-six stones of Harot.
Daks’s heartbeat sped as he tried to decide his next move. From the feel of it, the brother had used some sort of message or summoning stone. It would key an answering response in another stone somewhere else, and Daks was pretty sure he didn’t want to meet whoever was on the other end. When the brother cast an impatient glance in his direction, Daks bowed and made to look as if he was leaving, and the brother turned his attention back to the man on the ground.
“Get up. By order of the Brotherhood, I demand you get up,” the brother said peevishly. But when he received no response, he kicked the prone body in the side. “Get up. Identify yourself.”
Daks was still trying to convince himself to do the smart thing when the brother apparently grew impatient and landed another hard kick. The defenseless man moaned, and Daks sighed inwardly.
Shura’s going to kill me.
“Hey, uh, Brother? How about I help you get this poor guy to a healer. He looks pretty heavy. Uh, let me be of service to you, or whatever,” he offered stiltedly as he began to edge closer again.
Daks knew the correct words he was supposed to use, the formal ritual phrasing all Rassans had beaten into them for addressing members of the Brotherhood, but some perverse part of him just couldn’t bring himself to say them. He was still too pissed off and keyed up.
The brother gaped at him like he couldn’t quite believe Daks hadn’t just evaporated because he waved his limp little hand. “Are you a simpleton? By the power of the Holy Order of Harot, and Quanna, Moc, and Chytel themselves, I order you to leave. What happens here does not concern you. You have heard my command. Obey or face the consequences of your insolence.”
“I’m only trying to help,” Daks stalled while he struggled to come up with some sort of plan.
The brother inflated himself to his full height—which was still several inches shorter than Daks—and declared, “Not another word or you shall be remanded to the guard.”
Daks glanced down at the still unmoving man on the ground. He looked so vulnerable, so helpless. He’d obviously been desperate enough to escape the brothers that he was willing to chance the night market… and Daks had chased him right into one.
“Did you hear me? Or are you too simple to understand?” the brother hissed snidely.
A muscle in Daks’s jaw ticked a second before he closed his eyes, took two steps forward, and sent his fist into brother’s round face. Before the man could do more than yelp in shock and pain, Daks hit him again with all the frustration and anger he’d built up over the last several months—Hells, years—laying him out.
He did say “not another word.”
The impact on his knuckles felt way too good as he grinned at his own joke, but reality crashed closely behind his little act of rebellion.
Cursing himself for the fool the brother had called him, Daks quickly bent and hefted the Seer onto his shoulders. The tromp of many booted feet in the distance goaded him into motion quicker than anything else could have, and he lumbered away as fast as his overburdened body would carry him, the man’s lumpy bag thumping him in the ass with each labored step. Whatever was in that bag was hard, sharp-edged, and heavy, and he wished he’d had time to untangle it so he could leave it
behind, but too late now.
He’d just reached the shadowed alley he’d come through earlier when flickering torchlight wavered across the buildings on the far side of the square. He cast one quick glance behind him to gauge the level of threat and nearly stumbled in surprise at what he saw. The men who had come to the brother’s call were definitely armed, but they weren’t wearing the blue of the King’s Guard, nor were they wearing the red robes of the Brotherhood. They weren’t in any kind of uniform at all.
What the…?
Whoever they were, he couldn’t afford to be caught by them. Grunting with the strain, he adjusted his heavy burden and huffed and puffed back the way he’d come, swearing at every bruise that damned bag made on his rump. Shouts rang out in the night behind him, orders made, but they echoed strangely through the empty streets. He had no way of knowing if the others had found his trail or not, so he simply plowed on while his legs, back, and shoulders screamed in protest.
Eventually, he ran out of strength and had to stop to catch his breath and think. He couldn’t go back to the Dog and Duck. Even if he could make it that far, it was too dangerous to Faret and his family. Plus, someone was bound to see him carrying a body across his shoulders eventually, and report him to the guard.
He let out a low groan as he set his burden down and slid to the ground next to him. Judging from the signs of neglect and disrepair of the neighborhood, he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. From the smell alone, he figured he’d somehow looped back toward Arcadia.
Seven Hells.
At least he’d lost his pursuers. That was something.
With a hiss of pain, he climbed to his feet before his muscles could seize up and began to search for somewhere to hide. Near the end of a small street lined with run-down, rotting buildings, he found a little hovel that looked like it hadn’t been inhabited by anyone but rats in a long time. It would have to do for now. The old latch on the door had rusted shut in the salty damp, and Daks had to force it open, but he took that as another good sign no one would happen by and discover them.
Slinging that heavy body over his shoulders again wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had to do, but it certainly wasn’t the best. He’d been tempted to drag the still-unconscious man the last bit, but he didn’t want to leave any telltale ruts in the muddy ground. Plus, the muck under his boots smelled pretty awful, and he certainly didn’t want to bring any more of that in with them than he had to.
Once he’d dumped his burden inside, closed the door, and slumped onto the dirt floor next to the inert body, he finally let himself acknowledge just how royally he’d fucked up.
Shura’s not only gonna kill me, but she’s going to take great pleasure in making it as slow and painful as possible.
Chapter Two
RAVI JOLTED awake, his heart pounding. Every muscle in his body complained at the sudden movement, and he clamped his eyes shut again as he stifled a moan. He tried cracking one experimental eye, only to close it again as an all-too-familiar knife of pain stabbed through his skull—a Vision hangover, a big one. Fear quickly replaced shame as he realized he wasn’t home, and he also wasn’t alone.
“Are you finally awake?” a gruff male voice asked peevishly in trade tongue.
Ravi squinted through his pain at the gloomy interior of the room. The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it past the throbbing in his head. A large body moved in the shadows, but thankfully didn’t come any closer. Still, Ravi quickly made another scan of his surroundings, noting the window and door to his right and the shabby, abandoned feel to the place.
Once he’d identified the only exit, he swung his wary gaze back to the man in the shadows. The guy sat far enough away that Ravi could probably make a run for it. Hard to tell under the thick wool of his cloak, but he looked too bulky to be fast, especially if Ravi caught him by surprise.
Biting his lip, Ravi surreptitiously tested his limbs as he strained to remember what had happened. He’d been in the warehouse district, because Vic had finally come through with a time and place for one of the night markets. He’d packed his bag and taken off as soon as the others had gone to sleep and the mighty bells of Blavod Keep had rung the correct hour.
By the time he’d reached the square, his knees had been shaking so badly he could barely stand, and then a Vision had hit him out of the blue—an embarrassingly intimate one that left him sweating and confused. The Visions were coming too often now, but this one had happened without any provocation at all. He’d been alone, for gods’ sakes. It was only a matter of time before the Brotherhood caught up to him. No matter how scared he was, he had no choice but to leave.
That first step toward the door after the Vision had cleared was hard, but he’d taken courage from it and forced himself to take another… only to stop again as someone started yelling at him.
Ravi’s heart sped, his face flushed, and his hands curled into fists as the memories began coming through much more clearly. A small, distressed sound escaped his throat before he could call it back, and the shadowy figure sharing the hovel with him moved closer. He loomed over Ravi before he bent down and peered at him closely in the dim light.
“Are you all right?” the man asked in a voice Ravi finally recognized. “I’d offer you water, but—”
The guy didn’t get to say anything else because Ravi punched him in the face.
“You asshole! This is all your fault!” he yelled as he surged to his feet and stumbled toward the door.
Under normal circumstances, he would have made it, even with his bag and the extra layers of clothes weighing him down. But the second Vision he’d had last night must have been a doozy because his legs still weren’t working right. He’d just reached the door when thick arms wrapped around him from behind and lifted him off his feet. He struggled, knowing how dangerous physical contact was, but the bastard was as strong as an ox. His arms were like tree trunks, and his chest as broad as the side of a barn.
“Stop wiggling, you little shit, and calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m trying to help. You’ll get both of us caught if you go running out there blindly.”
Ravi ground his teeth, but he eventually blew out a breath and forced his body to go limp, relieved another Vision didn’t appear imminent at least.
After the man cautiously put him down, Ravi put some distance between them and growled, “Like you helped me last night, you Rift-blighted imbecile?”
My one chance, he sobbed internally.
In frustration, and with just a hint of caution, he tugged his hood back in place, hiding his face and putting another couple of feet between them. Best to not tempt fate. The one Vision he’d had involving this man was quite enough.
What in the Seven Hells do I do now?
He was so fucked.
Yesterday, he’d been so sure the gods had finally cut him a break, given him a way out that would protect the people he cared for most. He should have known better. The gods had cursed him with this life; why would they bother showing him kindness now?
He curled his hands into fists again as he saw red and took a step closer to the asshole who’d destroyed the only chance to escape he was likely to get. He couldn’t vent his frustrations on the gods, but this guy seemed mortal enough.
Luckily, a good look at the man forced Ravi’s brain to intercede on his body’s behalf, stopping him from doing something really stupid. The guy wasn’t much taller than him, but he was nearly twice as broad. Even in the weak early light coming through the cracked and dirty window, Ravi could tell this wasn’t someone he should mess with. Wild, shaggy dark brown hair escaped the valiant efforts of the leather thong at the base of the man’s skull. His throat, jaw, and cheeks were shadowed with thick stubble, making the bright pink slashes of two long, jagged scars along his neck and jaw stand out like lightning through storm clouds. His nose had obviously been broken a few times, and his heavy brows made him look threatening, despite the big calloused hands currently being held out in a con
ciliatory gesture.
“Hey, look. I was just trying to help,” the guy huffed. “You don’t want to go to one those night markets. Believe me. You’ll end up somewhere even worse than whatever you got here.”
His tone had just enough condescension to spike Ravi’s temper again. Despite knowing he was physically outmatched, the temptation to throw another punch began to win the argument in his head. But then the guy’s dark blue eyes caught the pale light, and they triggered the memory of that damned Vision. Suddenly, Ravi’s cheeks burned from something more than anger. Flustered and unsettled, he hugged his bag close to his chest and spun away to pace the cramped, dirty space.
“Worse?” he fumed to cover his discomfort. “Are you kidding? You led me straight to a bloody brother. How could it be worse?”
“You saw that, huh?”
“Yeah, I saw that,” he repeated sourly.
“To be fair, the brother was already looking for you,” the guy said with a shrug. “He was a Finder. He felt your magic. I was just trying to get there first.”
Ravi goggled at him as new terror flooded his body and his anger soared to keep pace.
“Oh, well that’s just great,” he practically screeched. “That makes it all better that you butted in where no one asked you and wrecked everything for both of us.” Forgetting his earlier caution, he closed the distance between them and stabbed a finger into the air an inch from the man’s crooked nose. “I told you to stay away from me. I ran away from you. Couldn’t you take the hint? If you hadn’t gotten near me, I never would have had that second Vision! I could’ve gotten away!”
“Lower your voice.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he calmly reached to push Ravi’s finger aside, forcing Ravi to snatch it away before they touched. “Second vision? That’s right. There were two. I forgot about that. The first was how I found you. So, what was it?”
“What?”
“The Vision. I heard the second one, the prophecy, but what was the first?”
Prophecy? How he found me?
The Seer Page 4