“Beyond wealthy,” she said. “But Rance never behaved as if money mattered. He was a wizard, like me, and…we fell in love. At least, I loved him.” Loved him enough to sleep with him, which memory burned humiliation inside her.
“At any rate, Rance might not have cared about the Lanzano fortune, but other people did. Specifically, my parents. There are eight of us children, you see, and for all Beneddo has power and connections, it’s never been terribly wealthy. Sending me to school was a financial struggle. So my parents made an offer to the Lanzanos, a marriage alliance. Between Rance and…my older sister Felice. Heir to the dukedom.”
Dianthe opened her mouth to say something, but Sienne held up a hand. “I was so sure Rance would refuse, or propose that he marry me for the alliance instead of Felice. But he didn’t. He said he couldn’t go against his parents’ wishes, and what we had wasn’t that serious, anyway. The truth is, he liked the idea of being duke of Beneddo someday. And Felice is more beautiful than I am, so there’s that.”
She let out a sigh. “I should have let it go, but I was stupid and in love, so I went to my parents and begged them to alter the arrangement so Rance would marry me. I told them I loved him. I completely humiliated myself. And they said—” She swallowed, and tasted tears. “They said they couldn’t insult the Lanzanos by offering them the lesser sister. They actually called me that. I walked out of the palace and didn’t look back.”
Silence fell, broken only by the sound of the million crickets in the scrub surrounding them. Dianthe said, “And you became a scrapper.”
“It was the only way I could think of to earn a living where my parents couldn’t find me. I know they looked for me at first, because I had to use a lot of confusion spells to get away.” Sienne smiled bitterly. “I bet they regretted giving me that expensive education then. I am very good at confusions. At any rate, I figured I could lose myself in the big city, go out on some jobs, find a team…”
“Which you did,” Kalanath said. She looked at him, surprised, and he smiled. “Though I do not think this is what you intended.”
“It’s not,” Sienne said, “but I don’t regret it. Any of it.”
More silence. Alaric set down his sword and stretched. “You say you’re good at confusions,” he said. “Why don’t you show us how good?”
13
The pearly gray pre-dawn light reflected off the mist rising from the ground, turning it into a silver sea thigh-deep on Sienne. It swirled with every step she took, chilling and dampening her legs. Wading through fog was not something she’d ever pictured herself doing as a scrapper, but she’d found these past three days were nothing like she’d expected.
Ahead, Dianthe’s dark form blended with the tree line. Perrin and Kalanath were already gone to their positions. Only Alaric was visible to her left, huge and hulking and as quiet as it was possible for him to be, which wasn’t very.
Of the many plans they’d discussed and discarded before settling on this one, the one she least regretted losing was the one where she used sharpen to enhance everyone’s eyesight. It wasn’t as good as cat’s eye, which allowed genuine night vision, so the advantage it gave was dubious. And this close to dawn, there was no guarantee it would wear off before the sun rose. Blinding them as they entered the Giorda camp would ruin everything and possibly cost them their lives. She’d only used sharpen on herself, as their plan depended on her being able to read her spellbook, and hoped she wasn’t taking too big a risk.
“We don’t kill unless it’s their lives or ours,” Alaric had said when Perrin had tentatively broached the subject. “And they’ll likely feel the same way, if only because Conn Giorda can’t lord it over a dead man. We want the box, and that’s all.” Sienne had privately determined to make Conn look like a fool if she could. The memory of how dismissively he’d treated her still rankled.
Dianthe came to meet them when they neared the tree line. “I’ve positioned the others,” she said. “Alaric, wait here while I show Sienne where to go.”
“I can find my own way.”
“In the dark? Without making a tremendous racket?”
Alaric scowled, but said nothing. Dianthe said, “Stay close to me, and watch where you step. That priest is on watch, and he looks half asleep, but no sense taking chances.”
The mist dwindled as they went deeper into the forest, then vanished entirely. Sienne regretted its loss, though it hadn’t given her any real concealment; it had simply been a comfort. The trees grew close together, their branches tangled, which meant no light reached the forest floor and there was very little undergrowth. There were, however, plenty of fallen branches, and Sienne had to step carefully so as not to noisily break any of them. Her breathing seemed painfully loud in the silence, rough and raspy though she wasn’t exerting herself. Dianthe, by contrast, was so silent Sienne wouldn’t have known she was there if the woman hadn’t been a moving shadow right in front of her.
Dianthe stopped and held up a hand, and Sienne obediently stopped walking. Dianthe leaned in close to her ear and murmured, “The camp is just a few paces ahead. Do you need to see it?”
Sienne nodded. Dianthe gestured, and they moved forward at half speed until Sienne could see three tents pitched around a banked campfire. Sienne froze as someone passed between her and the fire. The priest. Dianthe whispered, “Ten minutes, then you start the confusion spells.”
Sienne took out her pocket watch and flipped open its cover. It still didn’t tell the right time, but now her watch, Perrin’s, and Alaric’s all showed the same wrong time, which was just as good. Dianthe squeezed her shoulder and vanished the way she’d come. Sienne put the watch on the ground and lowered herself to sit near it, setting her spellbook in her lap. The Giordas’ camp was on a very gentle slope, and she sat at the top of the rise, which gave her an excellent view of the tents, the fire, and the pacing priest. He stopped occasionally, once very close to her, and she saw him yawn. If he was sleepy, so much the better.
She checked her watch. Another three minutes. Quietly she turned the pages of her spellbook, stuck her finger in to mark her place, and turned more pages to a different spell. She was fast, but preparation was better than speed.
She could think of a lot of ways this plan could be better. First on the list was if all of them could communicate with each other somehow. That was the sort of thing divine magic was for, but Perrin had said Averran would definitely not communicate with him at this time of the morning, and anyway it was a blessing it took practice to use properly. Failing that, she wished she could alter Dianthe’s vocal cords, let her speak with Alethea’s voice, but she needed physical contact with Alethea for that. Dianthe was taking a tremendous risk without it. But she’d said “It’s not the first time” and shrugged when Sienne pointed out the danger.
Finally, she wished she knew the force spell. If Conn was capable of it, he likely had other offensive spells at his command, and if this ruse didn’t take him out immediately, he could turn them on her and her companions. Her friends. She hoped her inexperience didn’t betray them all.
The pocket watch showed twenty-four past five. Sienne glanced at the priest. His attention was on something across the campsite. Quietly, she read off the first confusion spell, blinking away the rainbow haloes it left across her vision. She looked again, beyond the priest, and focused on a group of three trees that would be perfect for someone to hide behind.
A loud crack cut across the night. The priest froze, then turned toward the sound. A scuffling sound, like someone walking not too cautiously across dead grass. The priest trotted toward the sound, not very rapidly. Sienne thought he looked reluctant. Then Alaric’s voice said, “He’s seen us! Go!”
Heavy footsteps pattered from left to right in the distance. The priest shouted a warning, then said, “It’s a raid! Hurry!”
Dark forms emerged from the tents, two tall, one short and compact. The footsteps grew closer, and Alaric again shouted, “Stand your ground!”
&n
bsp; “After them!” Conn shrieked. “Osfald, stay here and protect the camp!”
The three Giordas pounded off into the distance, following the sounds of retreating footsteps. Stealthy movement next to Sienne heralded Dianthe’s arrival. She was laughing silently. “That was good,” she whispered. “I almost believed it myself.”
“Stand behind the tree,” Sienne said, flipping the pages of her spellbook to the next marked place. This one was more difficult. In a whisper, she read out the complex phrase, then had to close her eyes to keep her balance against the dizziness. With her eyes still closed, she let memory give shape to the image she wrapped around Dianthe. The height was right, the hair and eyes should be darker, narrow face, elegant nose… She opened her eyes and found herself face to face with Alethea Giorda.
“Did it work?” Dianthe’s voice came from the thin-lipped mouth.
“Except for the voice, of course.” Sienne glanced past her. “Be careful.”
Dianthe/Alethea smiled. “I’m always careful,” she said in a passable imitation of Alethea’s voice. She turned and sidled along out of sight. Sienne sat, clutching her spellbook, then realized she might need to run and stood up.
The priest had a loose handful of white things Sienne identified as blessings after a moment and was sorting through them. Perrin’s way was more efficient. He withdrew one, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again when Dianthe/Alethea stumbled forward and swayed as if exhausted.
“They got the drop on us,” she said. “We have to hide the box.”
The priest, Osfald, waved the blessing at her. “I’ll ward the camp—”
“That’s no good. They’ll have all the time in the world to break through. No, Conn says get it hidden and we’ll come back for it later.”
Osfald stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “Conn said that?”
Sienne whipped her book open and whispered the echo spell again. Footsteps sounded in the distance, drawing nearer. “Hear that?” Dianthe said. “They’re coming now. Go get the box. I’ll hold them off.”
The priest gave her one last considering look, then ducked inside one of the tents. Dianthe drew her sword and paced in front of the tent, looking for all the world like someone watching for her enemy’s approach. Sienne held her breath. The sound of fighting, a real sound now, broke out in the distance. That was bad. They weren’t supposed to engage with the Giordas. Sienne bounced on her toes and bit her lower lip, mentally running through the spells she knew.
The tent flap opened, and Dianthe turned toward Osfald, her hand outstretched. “I’ll take—”
“Our Lady of Light, bless your servant,” Osfald intoned. A blast of orange light exploded from his hand, taking Dianthe square in the chest. She dropped her sword and stepped back, almost losing her balance. A ripple passed over her, like heat radiating off hot stone. Alethea’s illusory image vanished. Osfald stared in horror at Dianthe, his hand drifting down to his side. Dianthe shook off her momentary dizziness and charged at him, bowling him over.
“Get the box!” she shouted.
Sienne startled. That had been meant for her. She shoved her spellbook into her vest and ran for the tent, dodging the thrashing forms of Dianthe and Osfald wrestling for the upper hand. The tent was a wreck of disturbed bedrolls and loose clothing. She kicked someone’s boots—whoever it was would be miserable running around in the forest barefoot. She picked up and flung aside a bedroll, kicking at the ground cloth underneath, though it was clear the box wasn’t there. She tossed clothing out the open door, wondering why it was going so dark. She blinked to clear her eyes and realized the sharpen spell was wearing off. She was running out of time.
She made herself work methodically, pushing the contents of the tent to the back as she moved from side to side. Someone’s sword tripped her, and she kicked it half out the door and kept looking. The box wasn’t there.
Cursing, she hurried out of the tent, saying, “It’s not—”
Dianthe and Osfald were gone. She was alone in the camp. Distantly, she heard the sound of shouts and more fighting, though not the clash of sword against sword. She pushed her hair out of her face, wishing it was long enough to braid it the way Dianthe always did, and ran to the next tent. They’d bought her some time, and she wasn’t going to waste it.
The next tent belonged to a single person, and after an initial search Sienne deduced it was Alethea’s, given the small boots and leather jerkin shaped to a female form. She went through it thoroughly and again didn’t find the box. She rejected the idea that they’d already hidden it and ducked out of the tent.
“You,” Conn Giorda said. “I didn’t think they’d send you.”
Sienne froze. Conn stood about ten feet from her. He cradled his spellbook in the crook of his arm and stared her down. “Interesting tactic,” he said. “I suppose it’s you we have to thank for sending us scattering through the forest chasing echoes? Very clever for someone who’s a raw beginner.”
Sienne said nothing. “Let’s have you drop your knife—just let it fall, then kick it away,” he continued. Sienne drew the knife from its sheath and dropped it to land point-first on the ground, where it teetered and then fell over. She gave it a hard nudge with her toe, watching her freedom go skittering away.
“Now, hand over your spellbook.” Conn extended his hand. Sienne slowly began extracting it from her vest, frantically casting about for something she could do. He was alone, though she couldn’t hear any more fighting, so who knew where his companions were.
“Faster,” Conn said.
Sienne concentrated on the air above his head. For half a breath, a giant glob of water hovered there, then fell, drenching him and making him shout in anger. Sienne turned and ran for the trees.
A hammer the size of a hay wagon smashed into her back, propelling her forward ten feet to slam into a tree trunk. Gasping for air, she clung to the tree, scrabbling with her fingers to keep herself upright. She’d never felt such pain in her life. She tried to lift her head, but her neck seemed to be broken.
Footsteps approached. “That was truly inspired,” Conn said. “You’ve pissed me off, but I can admit it was a bold move.” He wrenched her left arm behind her back and dragged her off the trunk. Her knees wouldn’t support her, and she feared they were broken, too, except surely they’d hurt more if they were. They were just numb, a terrible gaping numbness that extended everywhere she didn’t hurt. A spasm ran through her, and she tasted bile just before she vomited on her boots.
Conn waited while she threw up, then resumed dragging her back toward his camp. “You know, I underestimated you. I thought, because you allied yourself with Ham-fist, you were a fool. I can see now you just didn’t know any better. Not your fault, if you were new to Fioretti. And it’s not too late for you to correct that mistake.”
He dropped her next to the dead campfire like a bag of old clothes and walked away out of her sight. Sienne tried to turn her head to follow him, but force had left her incapable of more than the tiniest movements of her fingers and toes. She tried to be grateful her neck wasn’t actually broken, but panic had set in, and her heart was beating fast enough she could hear it.
“Where’s Milo?” she heard Conn say.
“On his way back,” said Alethea. “He went far afield chasing what turned out to be an echo, the idiot.”
“And Osfald?”
“No idea. They must have lured him away somehow. But the box is still here.”
Conn grunted an acknowledgement. “So, we’re left with the question of what to do with you.” It took Sienne a moment to realize he was talking to her. “You’re not the best hostage in the world, since I imagine Ham-fist doesn’t care much about the fate of a wizard.” He came to stand in front of her, then crouched to put himself at her eye level. “He hates us, you know. Kitane knows why. Maybe a wizard killed his mother, or something equally heart-wrenching. Whatever the reason, getting you back will only matter to him insomuch as it lets him score against me. So I have a pr
oposition.”
Sienne blinked at him. The feeling was coming back into her face and hands, but blinking was all she could manage. “Join me,” Conn said. “You have potential. With me as your mentor, you could go far, maybe even end up with a team of your own someday. You’ve got a couple of spells I don’t know, so I’d benefit as well. It’s more than Ham-fist can offer you, that madman looking for magic that doesn’t exist. What do you say?”
He looked utterly sincere. Sienne spat in his face.
Conn cursed and struck her a powerful blow across the face that made her ears ring and tears spring to her eyes. He stood and wiped his face. “Tie her,” he told Alethea. “Leave her where she’s visible. I want them to know we’ve won.”
Alethea flung Sienne on her face and wrenched her arms behind her back. Sienne closed her eyes as scratchy rope went around her wrists. She told herself the others wouldn’t abandon her, reminded herself that it was Alaric who’d wanted her magic to play a key role in the plan, that he didn’t hate her. But she’d never felt so alone as she did just then, bound and with her face pressed into the mucky coarse grass. Her only comfort was that Conn appeared to have forgotten her spellbook; it still pressed hard against her stomach. Not that it did her any good now.
Alethea finished binding Sienne and rolled her onto her back. “You’re going to regret trying to trick us,” she said.
Sienne worked her mouth, found it dry but capable of speech. “Didn’t try,” she whispered. “Succeeded.”
Alethea kicked her in the side, making her whimper. The pain was just one of many, but the effects of force were subsiding. It still made Sienne reconsider the idea of taunting her captors. She rested her head on the ground and looked up at the canopy of leaves. Pale light filtered through them in places, telling her dawn had come. Where was everyone? They had failed to get the box, but they were free, so what was the next plan? Sienne couldn’t believe Alaric wouldn’t have a fallback plan.
Company of Strangers, #1 Page 16