“Back off, Conn,” Dianthe said. Alaric said nothing, just closed his enormous hands into fists. Sienne could guess how he’d gotten the insulting nickname Conn had flung at him.
Two other scrappers, both taller than Conn, sauntered up. All three, two men and a woman, had narrow faces with elegant noses and complexions fairer than usual for Rafellish. A family of scrappers, perhaps? Sienne looked to Dianthe for a clue as to how to behave. Whatever bad blood existed between Alaric and the trio, Sienne didn’t want to make it worse in her ignorance.
Conn looked at Sienne. “You’re not with these two, are you? I didn’t know they were making them so foolhardy these days.”
“She’s none of your concern, Giorda,” Alaric said. “And I think I warned you what would happen if you tried to interfere with me or mine.”
“Oh, yes, do take out that oversized toothpick of yours—but you’re not wearing it, are you?” Conn sneered.
“I’d hardly waste it on the likes of you, when I’ve got two perfectly good fists, as I’m sure you know.” Alaric took a step forward, and Conn took an involuntary step back, fear flitting across his face for the briefest moment before the sneer settled back into place.
“Throw a punch,” the second man said. “I’m sure the city guard will understand. No, wait, they told you if you started one more fight, you’d be banned from the city for a week.”
“I wouldn’t start a fight,” Alaric said, “but you can be damn sure I’d finish it. Now, get out of my way.”
“I want to be introduced to the young lady,” Conn said, stepping to one side. “Conn Giorda, wizard and famed raconteur. And you are…?”
Sienne cast a desperate glance at Dianthe, who widened her eyes trying to convey a message Sienne couldn’t understand. “Sienne,” she said. “Wizard.”
“Really? And you’re with Ham-fist?” Conn’s smile mocked her. “You must be very new to the city. Let me give you some advice, one wizard to another.” He stepped closer. Alaric put out a hand as if to ward him off, but stopped short of touching the man. Conn cast his mocking smile at Alaric, then nodded to Sienne. “He’s poison. No one works with him for long. And if he’s grown desperate enough to abandon his principles and work with a wizard, whatever plan he has cooking will probably get you killed.”
“That’s enough,” Dianthe said. She grabbed Alaric’s outstretched arm and put herself between the big man and Conn. “I didn’t realize your ego had grown bigger than your head. Or am I wrong, and the Berschelli job paid off for you?”
Conn’s smile disappeared. The woman said, “That’s none of your business. At least we’ve never lost a companion.”
“Let’s ask Kalanath Oushikdali what he thinks about that, Alethea.” Dianthe smiled. “Does it count as ‘lost’ if you disgust someone into leaving?”
The woman raised a fist and advanced on Dianthe, who stood her ground, grinning. Conn spun and grabbed her arm, pulling her away. “No, go ahead and pick a fight,” Alaric said. “I’m sure the city guard will understand. No, wait, they told you if you started one more fight, you’d spend a week in lockup.”
“This isn’t over,” Conn snarled.
“There is no ‘this,’” Alaric said. “But if we meet outside the city limits, we’ll see about changing that.”
The Giorda siblings circled wide around him, Conn still snarling. Sienne watched Alaric instead of them. He looked calm enough, but his hands were still clenched and he was breathing heavily. “Bullies,” Sienne said.
Alaric looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “What?”
“Trying to make you angry enough to start a fight. I take it this isn’t your first run-in with them?”
“No.” Alaric relaxed his hands and let out a deep breath. “We’ve competed for the same salvage a few too many times. Conn thinks that makes us rivals.”
“You know, if you want to leave…” Dianthe said to Sienne.
“What?” Alaric exclaimed.
“She has a right to know we’re not the most reputable pair. That might make a difference.” Dianthe cocked an eyebrow at Sienne. “Well?”
Possible answers choked her. I don’t care about your reputation. I’ve already spent your money. I don’t have a reputation at all. And, most telling, I’ve got nowhere else to go. She went with, “I don’t let bullies dictate my actions.”
Dianthe let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Good, because the city is fresh out of scrapper wizards who are willing to work with us.”
Alaric shook his head and walked on. “Not to discourage you,” he said, “but let’s hope you don’t regret it.”
5
Sienne woke at the first light of dawn and lay looking out the window and thinking of nothing in particular. To her surprise, she didn’t feel anxious the way she had the night before, when she’d lain sleepless from nerves and excitement about the coming day’s adventure. She’d packed all her gear neatly, folded her nicer clothes into the chest of drawers, and tried not to think about the possibility that Master Tersus might sell her things. That would mean she wasn’t coming back. It was still better than indentured servitude or returning home in disgrace.
She’d met Master Tersus the night before, and he’d turned out to be an old man, probably in his seventies, but spry and agile like a man twenty years younger. When Dianthe had introduced them, saying only that Sienne was her new companion and in need of a room, Master Tersus had said only, “Five soldi a week, two for meals, more than that if you want me not to rent the room out while you’re gone, no subleasing,” and turned away. It comforted Sienne to know he was mercenary-minded. So long as she paid, he’d keep his word.
She rose and dressed, then shouldered her pack and her bedroll and hesitated in the doorway. She was too excited to feel hungry, but shouldn’t she eat something anyway? If only to keep Alaric from rolling his eyes at the inexperienced wizard passing out from hunger at midmorning.
She went down the stairs to the kitchen where Leofus, the cook, was already hard at work preparing Master Tersus’s meal. “Porridge,” he said, pointing with the wooden spoon that might be permanently attached to his hand. Sienne took a bowl from the sideboard and helped herself, adding a scattering of golden raisins. She set her pack in the corner and took a seat. It was good, for porridge.
Heavy steps on the stairs alerted Sienne to Alaric’s arrival. In his left hand he carried a sheathed sword, the biggest weapon Sienne had ever seen that wasn’t meant for siege warfare. It was almost as tall as she was, and Sienne had to admit it was more appropriate to Alaric’s size than a more ordinary weapon. How did he carry it? If he slung it at his side, he’d spend all his time kicking it out of the way. But could he draw it easily if it were strapped to his back?
Alaric nodded to Leofus, scooped himself a generous bowlful of porridge with the smallest grimace, and was halfway to the table before he noticed Sienne. Sienne bristled inwardly at the way he stopped in his tracks, then made a decision to sit anyway that was plain on his face. She smiled pleasantly, but said nothing. Her earlier resolve to win him over was eroding fast.
They ate without speaking for a few minutes, Sienne feeling increasingly uncomfortable. She reminded herself of the fifty lari and potential reputation building and tried to ignore her dining companion. At least he wasn’t being openly antagonistic.
Alaric shifted in his seat. “You’re not from Fioretti?” he said, startling her.
“No. Beneddo,” she said, then cursed herself silently. All right, he probably wouldn’t guess her identity just from that, but she needed to be more cautious.
“That’s far north.” He wasn’t looking at her, but at his bowl.
“Not as far north as you come from.”
“No.”
Silence fell again. Sienne tried, “Have you lived in Fioretti long?”
Alaric visibly tensed. “Six years,” he said, with a finality that suggested Sienne not pursue that line of questioning. Well, that was fine by her.
&
nbsp; “Do you…like it here?” she said.
“Sometimes. It’s where the best jobs are.”
“What kind of jobs do you prefer? Dianthe said, not the typical salvage kind.”
Alaric raised his eyes from the bowl. “You really are a babe in arms, aren’t you?” he said. “You have no idea who I am.”
“Just what that Conn Giorda insinuated yesterday. Should I?”
He actually smiled at that. “Not if my reputation will scare you off. I don’t have time to find another wizard with the shrinking spell.”
Now Sienne felt nervous. She’d dismissed Conn’s remarks as spite, but if Alaric said the same…he had a reputation that might scare her? “Is it the kind of reputation where you get your teammates killed?”
It came out more sharply than she’d intended. Alaric’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he said. “And I don’t take unnecessary risks or lead my companions into ambushes. You have nothing to fear. I may not like wizards, but I won’t let you come to harm.”
“Then I don’t care what your reputation is,” Sienne declared. She wanted to ask him why he didn’t like wizards, but was certain he wouldn’t answer.
They were nearly finished with their porridge when Dianthe ran in, looking disheveled. “I overslept,” she said. “You let me oversleep.”
“It’s not my place to wake you,” Alaric said, making Sienne wonder for the first time if Alaric and Dianthe were lovers as well as long-time companions. Probably not, she concluded. They didn’t look at each other or touch each other the way two people in love would. She scowled into the last scrapings of porridge in her bowl. As if she knew anything about it. She was the last person who’d recognize real love when she saw it.
She waited outside with her gear for Dianthe and Alaric to finish packing, then followed them down the waking street to the market, which was just stirring to life on this beautiful day. Alaric’s destination was a stable just outside the western edge of the market. It sprawled between two large streets, big enough to house at least a hundred horses, and busy even at this early hour. The familiar smell of horses and manure overrode the scents of the harbor, making Sienne feel suddenly homesick. She blinked away stupid tears and focused on Alaric’s broad back.
Then awareness struck. “Are we riding?” she asked Dianthe.
“Just as far as the first outpost,” Dianthe said. A look of dismay touched her eyes. “You do know how to ride, don’t you?”
“I—yes, of course,” Sienne said without thinking how that must sound. It wouldn’t be “of course” for most of the people in Fioretti. “I just thought taking horses into the wilderness was supposed to be a bad idea.”
“Which is why we aren’t doing it,” Dianthe said. “We’ll ride until we have to leave the road, and then we’ll take just the donkey to carry our gear. This stable has a deal with the scrappers—rent a horse here, return it at any of the outposts within twenty miles. You like horses?”
“I don’t hate them.” She’d never been horse-mad, not like her older sister who she was not going to think about ever again, but she was a competent rider.
The stable had a low ceiling and was full of horses, most of them just waking up and poking their inquisitive noses over their stall doors. Sienne and Dianthe waited while Alaric negotiated for the rent of five horses. The donkey, it turned out, belonged to Alaric outright.
Negotiations complete, they led the horses into the yard to saddle and bridle them. Sienne put tack on a bright chestnut mare while Dianthe loaded the donkey. The donkey was a spry little thing, as quick-stepping as the mare, and Sienne wondered how long Alaric had had it, and whether it had gone on many adventures with them.
The mare butted her hand as if chastising Sienne for not giving her her full attention, and Sienne petted her nose. “The stable owner says your name is Spark,” she murmured. “It’s a good name. I can make a spark myself, though I doubt Alaric wants me to do so. He’d probably say flint and steel is as good for starting a fire as magic.”
“It is,” Alaric said, startling her. “Do you have your gear stowed? These horses are pack animals rather than warhorses, but you can’t overload them and not see them get wearier than they should.”
“I do know how to saddle a horse. And it’s not as if settling my gear is all that hard.”
“Even so.” He checked over her work. Sienne thought he looked disappointed that he couldn’t find anything to correct. “Mount up. We have to meet the others at the Storm Wind Bridge.”
Sienne mounted easily, hoping to show him she was competent in this, at least, but Alaric had already turned away. Irritated, Sienne wheeled Spark in a smooth turn and followed the others out of the stable yard.
The whispers and covert glances began almost immediately. The first time she noticed someone pointing at her, fear shot through her, fear that she’d been discovered and would have to leave Fioretti. But no one shouted her name or accosted her horse. After the fifth time she caught someone staring, she realized she wasn’t drawing attention for being her father’s daughter. It was because, dressed the way she was, mounted on Spark, and in company with Alaric and Dianthe, she was, for the first time, clearly a scrapper. Not just a scrapper, but one headed off for the wilderness and who knew what kind of adventure.
Sienne relaxed and fingered the edge of her spellbook, nestled between her shirt and her suede vest. There had to be a better way to carry it, one that kept it on her person while still making it easily accessible. Maybe there was, and she was just too ignorant to know about it. Something to look into.
Traffic on the Storm Wind Bridge was already brisk by the time they reached its western foot. Sienne didn’t recognize Perrin at first, because he’d pulled his long dark hair back from his face, which was pinched as if the light were too bright. He wore the kind of clothes Dianthe had told Sienne were too fancy, a fine linen shirt and a vest embroidered with silver and copper threads, and his thigh-high boots looked too shiny for anything but indoor wear. A ring on a silk cord hung around his neck, a man’s heavy ring set with a bright red stone. As they drew nearer to him, Perrin saw Sienne looking at it and casually tucked it into his shirt.
“I give you good morning, fair sir, gentle ladies,” he declared, pressing one hand to his heart. “I’m sure Averran would smile upon our journey if he were at all inclined to be pleasant before eleven o’clock in the morning.” He swayed, and Sienne realized he was already a little drunk. Despite what she’d said about the priests of Averran, she couldn’t help wondering why he couldn’t stay sober at least until afternoon.
“Just so he grants your prayers for our protection, he can be as cranky as he likes,” Alaric said. “And there’s the last of us now.”
A young man was crossing the bridge toward them. He was very good-looking, with dark red hair and strong cheekbones that, combined with his umber skin and narrow eyes, declared him to be Omeiran. Sienne watched him with great curiosity. She had seen Omeirans in Fioretti, but never met one. Kalanath Oushikdali moved as gracefully as a cat, never stepping out of anyone’s way, simply managing not to be there when they were. He wore plain, well-worn clothing that on his exotic form looked totally out of place, as if he were meant to wear flowing silks and the desert robes of his distant home. His boots, Sienne noticed, came only to his ankle, not his knee like hers did, and he carried a steel-shod staff in his left hand.
“Kalanath. Good morning,” Alaric said, raising a hand in greeting. “This is Dianthe, Perrin, and…Sienne.”
Sienne was starting to get tired of Alaric pretending not to remember her name, and she was dead sure it was pretense. The next time he did it, she would call him on it.
“Good day,” Kalanath said. His speech was precise, almost clipped. “I am glad to meet you. It is good that we fight together.” His accent turned that into zat and together into togezzer, but otherwise was perfectly intelligible.
“Let’s hope there’s not a lot of fighting,” Dianthe said. “Wastes resources.”
; “As you say,” Kalanath said, bowing slightly. He mounted the horse whose reins Alaric handed him, not very gracefully, which surprised Sienne. Well, he couldn’t be good at everything.
Alaric waited for Perrin to boost himself into his saddle, which he did in a competent way that was completely at odds with the drunken fool he appeared to be. “We ride for the first outpost,” Alaric said, “which we should reach by noon. Then we’ll strike out into the wilderness. When we’re safe from prying ears, I’ll explain this job more fully. Any questions?”
“Any chance of a drink when we stop at noon?” Perrin asked.
“Probably.”
“I have no other questions.”
“Then ride out,” Alaric said, and heeled his horse around to head westward.
The hushed pointing and commentary continued all the way through the market district and into the streets where the various crafter guilds were located. There, the men and women transacting business barely glanced at them, only seeming to notice them when they had to step out of the horses’ way. Even then, it was generally to stare at Alaric and Kalanath, visibly foreign. Sienne was grateful for the anonymity, though it would be a fluke if she were recognized. Still, she didn’t relax until they passed through the Dexter Gate and were well and truly on their way.
Long grasses burned gold by the hot sun of first summer waved languidly in the light breeze that blew off the coast. From where they rode, the ocean was distantly visible as a bright patch of reflected light, dimming occasionally as high, wispy clouds passed in front of the sun. They rode in a loose bunch, not quite single file but not abreast, with Sienne near the middle of the pack. She didn’t know how that had happened, and wondered if there were some kind of protocol for how scrapper teams rode or walked. Putting the non-combatants in the middle made sense, but they were on the highway, which was well traveled and not prone to bandit attacks, so what was the point?
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