Company of Strangers, #1

by Melissa McShane

  She shifted small stones from the top of the pile with her invisible fingers, not wanting to disrupt the pile into falling on someone, and tried to think of other things. Six artifacts, some of them possibly still working, and the pendant, and the coins…she had no idea if it was good salvage or not, but she was sure it wasn’t worth nearly what the distance viewer was.

  She’d lost track of time, so she didn’t even know if it was possible to catch up to the Giordas. To her surprise, she discovered she hated the thought of letting them win, not just because of the money, but because they didn’t deserve to triumph over her team. Amazing how she’d come to think of them as “her team,” where just days ago they’d been nothing but awkward strangers.

  She moved another rock, and a beam of watery light shot through the hole it made. It energized all of them, and they redoubled their efforts, tearing down the wall and ignoring the loose stones that fell occasionally. Finally, there was enough of a hole for them to clamber through, and Sienne urged everyone out, certain the fit spell should have ended minutes ago.

  The clouds had rolled in and threatened to open up at any moment. Filthy and drenched in sweat from their exertions, they stood outside the tunnel and surveyed the ruin of the tower. “Averran deserves great praise,” Dianthe said. “That was a miracle.” Then she gasped, and the next moment, she was a giant towering over them. Moments later, each of them were their correct size.

  “We need to find Button, and then follow the Giordas,” Alaric said. He still wasn’t looking anyone in the eye. “It’s not too late.”

  “It is too late, Alaric,” Dianthe said. “I can’t track anyone across this ground, and they might have gone anywhere.”

  “They’re going back to Fioretti, though, right?” Sienne said. “If we head that way…”

  “They’ll conceal themselves,” Alaric said. “That priest can no doubt continue to protect them from scrying.”

  “I have an idea,” Perrin said.

  “You don’t have any blessings for detecting them, do you?” Dianthe asked.

  “No, I do not. But what I have in mind is rather more subtle, and depends greatly on Averran’s good humor. I wish I knew what avatar their priest served, and wish even more my flask were full of aged brandy, but I believe it is worth trying. We will need a map.”

  “Button,” Dianthe said as if she’d just remembered the donkey. “Those bastards had better not have hurt him.”

  They circled the fortress and found Button hobbled where they’d left him, on the far side. Dianthe patted his nose in welcome. “Do you need the map now?” she said to Perrin.

  “Immediately, yes. Though if this fails, urgency is no longer our companion.”

  Dianthe dug around in one of the packs until she found a waterproof scroll case, tightly capped. She handed it to Perrin. “There are two that show where we are now.”

  Perrin extracted the roll of maps and scanned them until he found one he liked. “Where are we?” he asked. He hesitated, then held out the map to Alaric.

  Alaric took it and jabbed his finger at a spot to the left of center. Perrin took out one of his pastels and scribbled a dot where Alaric’s finger had landed. Then he sat cross-legged and spread the map before him, pinning the corners down with some loose stones. He closed his eyes and threw his head back as if addressing the heavy rain clouds. Kalanath took a few steps back. “Ah…I thought you already prayed to Averran, this morning,” Dianthe said.

  “That is true,” Perrin said. “But one may petition for blessings at any time, if one is willing to expend the effort and take the risk.”

  “There’s a risk?” Sienne said.

  “The avatars of God take exception to being treated like dispensers of divine power, as if they were pumps one might tap at one’s leisure. And they each have opinions as to what is important. If a priest’s opinion differs from theirs…let us just say they are not shy about expressing their displeasure.” Perrin’s tone was light, but his eyes were squeezed tight shut as if the light was noonday bright instead of wan and gray with impending rain.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Dianthe said.

  “If it means tracking the Giordas down, it’s worth the risk,” Alaric said, his deep voice startling Sienne. “And Perrin knows what he’s doing.”

  Perrin smiled. “Thank you. Now, if you please, silence, and perhaps you might all step back farther?” He rested his hands loosely on his knees. Sienne stepped back and nearly bumped into Alaric. She managed not to recoil. She wasn’t afraid of him, or disgusted; it was just that his continuing silence was unsettling, and she didn’t know what to say to break it. Time enough for that when they knew if the Giordas were out of their reach.

  “O most cantankerous Lord,” Perrin said. Strands of hair blew into his face, but he didn’t swipe them away. “I realize we have spoken once already today, and my importunities must annoy you greatly. I have a request that you are of course free to deny, but I hope you will demonstrate the generosity you are renowned for, as when you granted the desires of the Lady of the Fens.”

  He paused, his head tilted as if listening, and shook his head minutely. Drops of sweat rolled down his temples. “O great and irritable Lord, my plea is entirely selfish. My companions and I seek an item that was stolen from us, and we know not where to look for it. I will not ask you to scry for us, as I am certain one of your fellow avatars has granted our enemy the blessing of conceal—” A look of horror flitted across Perrin’s face before he controlled himself. “Of course I do not suggest that you are weaker. You are, after all, gifted with wisdom, which allows you to see what is hidden far better than anyone else.”

  He went silent. Sienne made herself breathe. “I beg of you, turn away your crankiness,” he finally said. “If you will show us where our enemy will be at…seven o’clock tomorrow morning…we may overtake them, and you will not come to blows with one of your fellows.” Another silence. “I respectfully disagree, my Lord, my sobriety is not an improvement—” His breathing was labored and rapid. “Of course it is entirely up to you, o Lord of choler and irritability, but I assure you we would all be very grateful.”

  The clouds parted, and a beam of light no bigger around than a copper centus struck the map. Perrin opened his eyes and swiftly marked the spot with his pastel. “Thank you, my Lord Averran,” he said, and collapsed.

  The others exclaimed and surged forward, but he was already sitting up and waved them off. “I have never done that before,” he said. “It is far more wearying than I imagined.” He dropped the pastel into its packet, stood, and brushed off his rear end. “Please tell me you can find this location.”

  Alaric took the map. “We’ll have to move quickly, and we won’t be able to sleep long,” he said. “Though at seven o’clock they might be on the move already.”

  “They will not,” Kalanath said. “The Giordas like to sleep late. They will be in camp at that hour.”

  “We might actually be able to surprise them,” Dianthe said.

  “Let’s march,” Alaric said.

  Sienne wound her watch as they went and set it to her best guess at the time, based on the sun she could barely see. They were going to be very wet in about half an hour, she judged. She looked at Alaric’s back, so familiar and now so strange. What magic was hidden inside him? She couldn’t bear it any longer.

  “Alaric,” she said.

  “He doesn’t want to talk about it, Sienne,” Dianthe said.

  “Well, he can’t just change shape and expect us to not be curious!”

  “She’s right,” Alaric rumbled, but said nothing else.

  “So…what was that? How can you be a…a were-unicorn? Unicorns are mythical!”

  “Clearly, they are not,” Perrin said.

  “He is not were,” Kalanath said. “He is too big. The unicorn is too big, I mean.”

  “Right,” Alaric said. He sounded weary, as if he’d been beaten soundly and then forced to march fifty miles. “Were-creatures always
mass the same whichever form they’re in. My…other self…weighs more than a ton.”

  “So if you’re not a were-unicorn,” Sienne said, “what are you?”

  “Not quite human,” Alaric said. “My people are called Sassaven.”

  “Faithful,” Sienne said automatically.

  Alaric turned to look at her, though he didn’t stop walking. “What was that?”

  “Sorry. I meant…the Ginatic word for ‘faithful’ is sa’asava. It was just coincidence.”

  Alaric let out a bitter laugh. “Probably not,” he said. “It would make sense. We were created, hundreds of years ago, by a wizard who wanted utterly loyal servants. He tried breeding humans with dogs, reasoning that dogs have an inherent bond with men, but the dogs were too small to contain the amount of magic it took. So he used horses instead.”

  “But that was no horse,” Perrin said.

  “No.” Alaric shook his head. “Most of the Sassaven are horses in their other form. Only a few of us, maybe one in ten, take…unicorn shape.” He said the word reluctantly, as if it tasted bad.

  “It must be a true magical transformation, like fit,” Sienne said.

  “Must be. I know very little about it.”

  A horrible thought struck her. “Are you…hundreds of years old?”

  Alaric laughed, and the sound made her relax, because it was genuinely amused and not at all distant or bitter. “No, I’m twenty-five. We only live as long as the average human, though the unicorns live a little longer.”

  “But you are Ansorjan,” Kalanath said.

  “We were, originally. The wizard who created us lives in the Pirinin Peaks. He took Ansorjans for the root stock.”

  “How long ago was that?” Perrin asked.

  “We’re not sure. Maybe five hundred years?”

  “That predates the wars,” Sienne said. Then Alaric’s words caught up with her brain. “What do you mean, he lives in the Pirinins?”

  “He’s still alive.” The way Alaric said it made Sienne wish she could hide, anything not to have to face him in his anger. “At least he was when I fled. He stays young by taking the heart of a unicorn, a new one every year or so, and making that unicorn a vessel for his own heart. It…corrupts its host body, eventually killing it, and then he repeats the process. Someone that evil would naturally be expected to live for a thousand years.”

  “The Sassaven are under his thrall,” Dianthe said. “We’re looking for a ritual to counter that, to free the others. It’s why we know non-necromantic rituals are possible. Alaric’s seen them performed, to bind his people to the wizard.”

  “But you knew the ritual in that room was not the one you sought,” said Perrin.

  “The one I’m looking for has things in common with the binding ritual,” Alaric said. “I’ll recognize it when I see it. Then I’ll use it to free my people. And I’ll kill the monster with my own hands.”

  That left them all with nothing to say. Finally, Sienne dared, “How did you break the force spell?”

  “The horn has magical properties,” Alaric said. “It can break certain spells, ones that persist. The hooves, too, but there wasn’t enough room in there to kick the wall.”

  Sienne noticed how impersonally he spoke of horn and hooves, as if they didn’t have anything to do with him. Maybe that was how he felt about his other form, like it was a separate creature. “So…are the Sassaven the source of unicorn myths? Because I would have sworn unicorns were mythical.”

  Alaric shrugged. “Probably. Very few people see the Sassaven in their other form, horse or unicorn. But the imagery had to come from somewhere.”

  Sienne thought of the pictures of unicorns she’d seen, delicate and slender, and compared the images to the reality of Alaric in unicorn form, huge and muscular like a draft horse. She wanted to ask how it felt to transform, what it was like being a horse, but that felt uncomfortably like prying, and they’d already intruded on his privacy enough. “Thank you,” she said instead.

  “For what?”

  “For trusting us.”

  “Dianthe was right, you might well have performed your transformation in private and left us none the wiser,” Perrin said. “It is an honor.”

  “We will not tell,” Kalanath said. “I am certain of this for all of us.”

  Sienne, watching Alaric’s back, saw his neck redden. “I don’t want anyone to know about it, because I don’t want to be treated like a monster, or some unnatural creature. But I think you all have enough secrets that you understand how important it is to protect them.”

  “I hope that was not a hint that we must all share, to be even,” Perrin said.

  “No. But I hope you realize Dianthe and I know how to keep a secret.”

  They walked on. A fat drop of water landed on Sienne’s arm, then another. Soon enough, the rain went from a sprinkle to a deluge, soaking them all. It wasn’t a cold rain, but it was uncomfortable enough that Sienne wished she’d thought to provide herself with rain gear. It hardly ever rained in the summer, so it hadn’t occurred to her. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

  Ahead of her, Alaric’s blond hair turned dark with water, and his thin cotton shirt plastered itself to his back. What was it about calamity that sharing it with others made it easier to bear? Dianthe had pulled out a floppy hat from her pack, but the rest of her was as wet as everyone else. Sienne’s spellbook lay warm across her stomach. It was as impervious to water as to everything else, but she felt compelled to protect it from the rain anyway.

  They entered the forest after a few minutes, where the rain no longer fell so heavily, but the rattle of the drops on the foliage made it impossible to carry on a conversation, had they wanted to. The rain dwindled to a persistent drizzle after about thirty minutes and stopped entirely after an hour. Dianthe brought out the map and examined it. “We’re about an hour away from where the Giordas will be in the morning. I don’t get it. We shouldn’t have caught up with them so quickly.”

  “They probably camped when the rain started, and decided not to pack up just for another hour’s worth of travel,” Alaric said. The clouds were heavy in the west, but it was still possible to see the sun hanging halfway below the horizon. “Cocky. They don’t think we can find them.”

  “So should we camp? Or try to attack them?” Kalanath asked.

  “Camp, and rest, and rise early,” Alaric said. “We’ll ambush them before first light.”

  “I am utterly grateful to you,” Perrin said with an exaggerated sigh. “My weariness knows no bounds, and I would prefer to dry off before sleeping.”

  “This is as good a spot as any,” Alaric said, and lowered his pack to the ground.

  There was no dry wood for a fire, so they made do with dried meat and some apples for their dinner. Sienne went behind some close-growing trees to change into her other clothes, which were not perfectly dry, but much better than the alternative, even if her shirt was hopelessly stained with soot from the artifacts. She sat on a log outside her tent and pretended there was a roaring fire, and hot soup. Even coffee would be welcome now.

  “I wish I knew a spell for evoking fire,” she said idly.

  “We could use it to burn the Giordas’ camp,” Alaric said.

  Sienne eyed him warily. “Or we could use it to dry this wood and start a campfire.”

  Alaric shrugged. He was seated on the damp ground near her and engaged in cleaning and sharpening his sword.

  “You have given much thought to the offensive uses of magic,” Perrin said.

  “Being nearly enslaved to an evil wizard will do that to you.”

  “I am not certain one’s upbringing determines one’s destiny. Take Sienne, for example. Being her father’s daughter—”

  Perrin stopped, a look of chagrin crossing his features. Sienne felt the blood drain from her face. “Wait, whose daughter is she?” Dianthe asked, her brow furrowed.

  Sienne glared at Perrin. “Pray, forgive me,” Perrin said. “I forgot myse
lf.”

  “Is it important?” Kalanath said.

  “How do you know?” Sienne asked.

  Perrin said, “Messages were sent to many in the capital, from the…an important man seeking his daughter Sienne. It is not an uncommon name, but when I saw the initials on your spellbook, I drew the right conclusion. You need not fear, Sienne. No one here will give you away.”

  “Whose daughter?” Dianthe demanded.

  Sienne closed her eyes and drew out her spellbook. She traced the letters on the cover, S V. She blinked away unexpected tears, and said, “This seems to be a day for revelations.”

  “If it turns out you’re secretly half carver, you’re sleeping outside,” Dianthe said.

  “No. It’s just that my father is the duke of Beneddo. I’m Sienne Verannus.”

  Dianthe mouthed the word Verannus. Kalanath said, “A duke is important, but I do not know how important is Beneddo.”

  “Fairly important. It’s the largest city before you reach the Empty Lands, so it’s almost the northern frontier. My father and mother have influence even in Fioretti, with the king. I didn’t think they’d enlist the nobles of the capital in searching for me.” She heard the bitterness in her voice and didn’t try to stop it. “Didn’t think they’d search hard for me at all.”

  Dianthe took a seat on the log next to Sienne. “That sounds like a story.”

  “One that doesn’t make me look good.” Sienne sighed. “I don’t know if you know how noble families work. Perrin might. It’s common for noble families to send their children to foster with other noble families, to make political connections and so forth. For me, because I was a wizard, my parents arranged for me to foster in the dukedom of Stravanus, which has one of the best schools in Rafellin. I liked it okay. I’m not much of a student except in magical things, so I excelled at linguistics and magic and was utter crap at maths and geology. And then I met Rance Lanzano.”

  “I know of the Lanzanos,” Perrin said. “They are quite wealthy.” His voice sounded tight, as if there were things he wasn’t saying. Sienne thought about pursuing that line of inquiry, anything to avoid having to talk about Rance. But she already felt better not carrying this burden of secrecy.