Stolen Dagger

by Shawn Wickersheim

  Beneath his hand, blood stained the front of his shirt. “Devin!” She rushed forward, her anger with him immediately forgotten. “You’re hurt!”

  “It’s just a scratch.” His face twisted in pain. “I’ll be fine.”

  She pulled his hand away. “This is more than a scratch!” She tore open his shirt and gave a startled cry. A wicked gash cut across his torso from just above his left nipple down to his right hip.

  “Ian did this?!”

  Looking embarrassed, Devin gave a faint nod. “That was the only reason I stabbed him, I swear.”

  Cecily helped him over to a chair. He fell into it groaning. Blood oozed from the nasty wound.

  “We must stop the bleeding.” She searched the patio for something to press against the torn flesh. Her eyes landed on his beautiful cloak.

  “No, not that!” He cried when she reached for it. “Mother gave that to me when I graduated from the Academy . . .” His head slumped forward, and his blood-stained sword dropped from his fingers clattering onto the bricks beside him.

  “Devin!” Cecily slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Devin, wake up!”

  His head bobbed, and his eyelids fluttered open. “Go . . . go fetch me a healer.” He pressed his bloody hands against the wound. “Hurry, my love. I’ll . . . stay right here.”

  “Yes, of course!” She kissed him lightly on the lips, hitched up her long skirt, and ran back toward the estate.

  Chapter 54

  Lord Devin Ragget watched Cecily run, delighting in the way her long, blonde hair streamed out behind her. Moments after she disappeared, a gust of wind stirred the air and he heard clapping behind him.

  “Another amazing performance! You really should consider acting for the stage.”

  Ragget turned in his chair, wincing slightly. Gylfalen stood a pace or two away shrouded in his usual hooded cloak. Only his pointy teeth were visible beneath his dark cowl.

  “Just when I thought you might lose her, you snatch her back,” the wind mage continued. He leaned over and examined the bloody gash. “Impressive. Especially for a self-inflicted wound.”

  “I had to do it,” Ragget grumbled. “I gave that idiot every opportunity to strike me, but he’s completely useless with a sword. For a moment, when he stumbled backwards into the tree, I thought he might end up impaling himself and ruining all our plans.” He glanced toward the estate. “Gah! I hope she hurries with that damn healer. This really stings.”

  “I assume Ian will live.” Gylfalen straightened and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “For now.” A touch of anger tainted his words. He couldn’t help it. “It was barely more than a flesh wound.” He grunted as he leaned forward and removed a sealed scroll from inside his folded cloak. “Deliver this immediately and then inform the others.”

  “So, you know about the defunct communication discs?”

  Ragget nodded. “Lipscombe fouled up.”

  “Shall I take care of him?”

  “Do you know how to sail through the Reef?”

  “Doesn’t anyone else?”

  Ragget shrugged. “My second ship was crippled on the underwater rocks leaving the jungle just last week. The third will have to stay put until Lipscombe returns with his cargo ship.”

  “I thought he was going to teach the other captains the safe way through.”

  “Apparently he chose not to share everything with them,” Ragget said.

  “I’ll keep my eye on him.”

  “No, I have Straegar doing that. I need you handling communications now, in addition to your other tasks.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “How did it go with Orrington?”

  “The forgery caused him to demand a duel just as you said he would.”

  Ragget nodded. It was so easy to trick others when their behavior was predictable.

  “Any word from the captain of the Intrepid?”

  Ragget studied the wind mage for a moment and finally gave a slight nod. “Things across the ocean are going as planned according to her last message though with the discs no longer functioning, I likely won’t hear from her again anytime soon.”

  “I could attempt a variation of my windspeak spell should you need to converse with her before her scheduled return,” Gylfalen offered.

  “I will keep that in mind, though Lysette has her orders and I trust she will see them fulfilled,” Ragget said. “For now, I’ll just have you handle the city-wide communications.”

  “Of course.”

  Ragget waited for the mage to disappear into the wind. He didn’t. “Is there something more for us to discuss?”

  “With you needing all this extra work from me, I believe we should renegotiate our financial arrangement.”

  Ragget stared pointedly at the black handkerchief sticking out of the wind mage’s vest pocket. “Need I remind you what happened to the last mage who tried to alter a deal with me?”

  “The fire mage was an egotistical fool, I am not,” Gylfalen said sharply. “I told you not to use him, you did not listen. That was your choice, but it required more work for me. Lipscombe has obviously lied about the safe route through the Northern Reef and unless I miss my guess, he will demand additional payments for the truth, something which, I will point out you have already paid him for. You are at his mercy because without his knowledge, you have no way to reach the jungle. Because of this, ultimately, you will pay him. I suddenly find myself in a similar situation of power. Without the discs, you have no way of communicating with your men. You are at my mercy if you want to move forward with your plans. My price has gone up.”

  “How much?”

  “I’m not greedy.”

  “Of course not. How much?”

  “Not like the fire mage.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty percent more.”

  “Done.”

  Beneath his cowl, the wind mage grinned, revealing his twin rows of pointy teeth.

  Behind his slightly irritated facial expression, Ragget chuckled to himself. It was so easy to trick others when their behavior was predictable and since he had a talent for reading people he could usually discover their greatest sins. Once he knew that, he could control them.

  For many mages it was pride or greed. In Gylfalen’s case, despite what he said, it was both.

  “Cecily is returning with your healer,” Gylfalen announced. “I must go.”

  “It’s about time,” Ragget grunted. Blood leaked onto the flat of his stomach. “Don’t forget. Deliver the scroll and inform the others Ian will be seeing the king tonight. By tomorrow morning, I want-”

  A gust of wind drowned out the rest of his words. The wind mage was gone.

  Ragget lay back in his chair and stared up at his central tower. Soon, its real purpose would be revealed and the unimaginable power to change the country would be at his disposal.

  Ragget closed his eyes and allowed his arms to fall away from his wounded chest. He wanted Cecily to see him like this, helpless, vulnerable, weak, possibly dying from a wound she believed Ian had inflicted on him.

  It would make what happened next to the Gyunwarian Ambassador easier for her to accept. Ragget fought the desire to smile. The last thing he wanted Cecily to suffer from was a guilty conscience.

  chapter 55

  “Are you awake?”

  Tyran’s voice pulled Ian toward consciousness. He hurt. He didn’t want to open his eyes, and yet, he didn’t want to disappoint his son either. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Everything was a blur. He closed his eyes, summoned his strength and tried again. This time, he found Tyran sitting beside him on the bed. He looked anxious.

  “How do you fee, Fati?”

  “Fati?” Ian croaked. His throat was dry. He looked for some water. “You haven’t called me that since you were a little boy.”

  Tyran cracked a small smile and leaned over to give him a hug. “I was so worried about you.”

  Ian held Tyran close. “There’s no need to worry now,” he whis
pered in his ear, “I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

  “That’s not what the healer said.” Tyran pulled free and sat up. “He said it will take at least a week or more for you to heal properly.”

  “Have you been listening at the door again?”

  A bit of blush touched Tyran’s ears. “Kylpin told me to wait outside. He didn’t say I couldn’t listen.”

  “Eavesdropping isn’t polite,” Ian scolded him. “You know better than that.”

  “I know.” Tyran looked down at his hands. “But if I didn’t listen at doors, how else would I learn the things you don’t want me to know.”

  Ian laughed despite the pain it caused him. “And what sorts of things have you learned lately?”

  “I know Lord Ragget did this to you.”

  “It’s not important who did this to me,” Ian said. He glanced down at his left shoulder. A thick, white bandage covered the wound. He vaguely remembered Kylpin and Lumist carrying him up the stairs while Wynston summoned a healer, and then he recalled feeling the magical warmth of healing fingers probing the wound followed by the earthen smell of fresh grass and damp moss.

  “I know he stole the jungle outpost,” Tyran added. “And that mother is with him.”

  Ian shot upright and immediately regretted moving so quickly. Pain crackled through his shoulder like a lightning bolt. He cradled his injured arm, closed his eyes and waited for the pain to subside. “Why . . . why do you say that?”

  “You talk in your sleep sometimes.” Tyran chewed on his bottom lip, a habit he’d picked up from his mother. “Did she really go to him?”

  Ian shook his head. “No . . . I . . . I was just having a bad dream. Your mother is at the castle visiting her family.”

  Tyran’s face crinkled in doubt. “Are you sure?”

  “That is what she told me last night before she left.” He watched Tyran closely. He seemed willing to accept that as the truth. Ian sighed to himself. The statement was true even if it was in fact a lie. Cecily had told him she was going to the castle. Just because she chose to deceive him didn’t mean Tyran had to know the ugly truth. Besides, according to the nasty letter he had received earlier from Lord Orrington, she was with him, not Lord Ragget.

  Ian closed his eyes and pictured the woman he’d seen peering down at him from Ragget’s fourth floor window. He supposed it could have been another Yordician woman with long, blonde curly hair. Many Yordician women wore their hair in a similar fashion. Cecily was their princess and her garments and hairstyle were often duplicated by the masses.

  “Why did Lord Ragget hurt you?” Tyran asked.

  “I don’t know. Apparently, he doesn’t know how to get what he wants without hurting others.”

  “Did you hurt him back?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Ian hesitated. He imagined himself trying to wield the giant’s massive sword and he was suddenly ashamed by his ineptness. “Just because someone tries to hurt you, it doesn’t mean you have to hurt them back.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that attitude leads to war.”

  Thunder rumbled and shook the estate. Ian glanced past Tyran at the bank of un-shuttered windows. Bolts of lightning danced across the western horizon and the dark clouds filled the sky. Any moment the heavens would open, and the rains would come.

  “Like in the past,” Tyran continued his barrage of questions. “When Gyunwar and Yordic were at war?”

  Ian nodded.

  Tyran’s face darkened. “Why don’t the Royal Wardens arrest Lord Ragget and throw him in the dungeon?”

  “Because I haven’t informed them of his crime yet,” Ian replied. “But I will tell the king about it personally when I see him tonight.”

  “Sebastian said you should stay in bed.”

  “Sebastian?”

  “He’s the new healer. He seemed very nice. Much nicer than our old healer.”

  “I’m sure Sebastian is just being overly cautious.”

  “I want you to be cautious too!” Tyran said.

  “I will. But I must see the king tonight.”

  “Can I come too?”

  “No. Not this time.” He playfully tousled Tyran’s hair. “I need you to stay here and keep an eye on the estate while I’m gone.”

  Tyran raised an eyebrow. “Do I get to order the servants around?”

  “Only Wynston.”

  Tyran chuckled mischievously and hopped off the bed. “I have to go make plans for him.”

  “Be nice,” Ian called after him. He waited until after Tyran had left the room before summoning Wynston.

  “Yes, M’lord?”

  “I think I should warn you-”

  “About Tyran being ‘in charge’ while you visit the castle, yes, I know.”

  “Eavesdropping again? Now I know where Tyran gets it from.”

  Wynston cleared his throat. “According to my nephew, you need bed rest for at least a day or two.”

  “Your nephew?”

  “Sebastian. I know how much you hate inexperienced healers, so I summoned him earlier today when you returned home this morning looking . . . shall we say, less than well.” Wynston cleared his throat again. “And considering the condition you returned in this afternoon, it was a good thing I did.”

  “Yes, you did well, Wynston, thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Now, if I may, I can reschedule your meeting with the king-”

  “No. I will see the king tonight as planned.” Ian eyed Wynston sternly. “And I don’t wish to debate the issue.”

  “But-”

  “I’m famished. Why don’t you ask Gertrude to send up a little something special for me?”

  Wynston’s mouth pinched tight. “Yes, M’lord.” He left the room without saying another word.

  An hour later, with his stomach still mostly empty, Ian dressed for his visit with the king. He wore a simple outfit, black leather trousers and vest and a plain heather-gray silk shirt. Wynston gave him a disapproving look.

  “At least wear a cravat,” Wynston said, exiting the dressing room behind him. He was carrying a couple of them in a variety of colors. “Or one of your long brocade coats.”

  “For the hundredth time, no!” Ian said. “I feel comfortable in my Gyunwarian clothing, and King Henrik doesn’t care how I dress. Despite my news, this meeting is supposed to be an informal one, just a casual visit. This and my black hooded cape is all I’m wearing.” He eyed the annoying silk ties in Wynston’s hands. “And if you’re not careful, I’ll burn all of those when I get back!”

  “Don’t forget your sword belt this time,” Wynston reminded him yet again.

  “I am going to the castle, Mother, not the docks!”

  Wynston grunted and crossed his arms. “Shall I summon Denton and a squad of men to follow you?” A mischievous glint sparked in the old man’s steely eyes. “Or perhaps I should inform Gertrude you barely touched her Entrayale? I told her earlier, when you ordered me to speak with her, to make something extra special for you.”

  Ian glanced over at his discarded plate and the barely touched remains of the stuffed sheep’s stomach. Trying to punish Wynston by sending him off to see Gertrude had not turned out as well as he had hoped.

  “Fine, I will take the family sword,” Ian relented, “but ONLY if you dispose of that,” he pointed to the plate, “without Gertrude’s knowledge.”

  Wynston nodded, but he still did not relax.

  “What is troubling you, old man?”

  “That list is a long one.”

  “Tell me,” Ian glanced at the antique Bel’yowlyian water clock in the corner. “I have a few moments before I must leave.”

  “My men have been unable to find Mason or Zerick.”

  “It has only been a day. We’ve been searching for the Thief of Belyne for over two weeks without success.”

  “Also, I received a list from the mage guildmaster. He balked at first, as you said he would, but he assures me
none of his mages were responsible for the warehouse fire or the attack on Captain Caleachey’s ship.”

  “So, it was a rogue,” Ian said. “Will the guildmaster help us find him?”

  Wynston shrugged. “I’ll make certain he’s inclined to do so.”

  “Very good,” Ian turned toward the door. “Let me know if you hear anything more.”

  “M’lord?”

  Ian stopped. “I thought you were finished.”

  “Hardly,” Wynston said. “Much has happened over the past couple of days, the fires, the missing cargo, the strange letter and box in your cloak, the duel request, your condition upon returning home this morning, Ragget’s attack this afternoon . . . Forgive me, M’lord, but I am worried about you and your safety.”

  The blood drained slowly from Ian’s face. With all the commotion concerning Lord Ragget, he had completely forgotten about Josephine, but the mention of the letter and the box had brought it all back again.

  Adulterous fraud!

  Ragget’s words echoed in his mind and his stomach lurched. The small bit of dinner he had eaten threatened to come back up. Ian swallowed. It couldn’t be a coincidence!

  Somehow Ragget knew about the alleged rape!

  But how?!

  “M’lord, are you ill?”

  “I will . . . I will take care of everything . . .” Ian stammered.

  “I can help you,” Wynston offered. “There was a time once, long ago I know, but when you counted on me to handle-”

  “No.” Ian turned toward the door. “You do enough for me already keeping this estate in order.”

  Wynston followed him out the door. “I do the job you have chosen for me, M’lord. But given a choice, I would rather perform my old duties. I was trained as a-”

  “No,” Ian cut him off. He patted the old man’s shoulder. There were still steel-like muscles beneath his coat. “I will go to the king and with his help and counsel I will resolve all these problems peacefully. Times have changed. This is best course of action. Trust me.”