“You’re not our master,” the older boy declared, and Marsh stopped.
“What do you mean, ‘master?’” she demanded, shocked at the thought Gabe might have bought them.
“Well, he’s not our father!” the child declared, his tone belligerent. “No matter how often he says to call him that.”
Roeglin stopped and backed up a couple of steps to sit on the lower stairs. Marsh caught the look on his face and backed up to lean on the door. Her mind raced to try to work out what was going on.
“So why are you still here then?” she demanded. “He’s not forcing you to be here, is he?”
A look of pure scorn crossed the pre-teen’s face.
“He wouldn’t wanta try.”
Marsh decided to let that one slide, but she was relieved to hear the implication that Gabe wasn’t keeping them here against their wills. She forced her voice to take a casual tone.
“So why do you stay?”
The kid glared at her, and Marsh had to hide a smile at seeing a nearly identical glare cross the younger one’s face.
“None a your business.”
Marsh looked at the ceiling and made a show of lounging on the door.
“Sure it is,” she told him when she saw she had all of his attention. “Cos where I’m from? There’s been a bunch of very bad men taking folk from farms and leaving nothing behind, and I want to know you’re not about to open that gate while I’m sleeping.”
She dropped her hands onto her hips, following the downward glance of his eyes as he noted the sword strapped to her side. To her surprise, it was the younger one who answered.
“We just closed the gates,” he said, “and we won’t open them until Uncle Gabe says it’s safe.”
The “Uncle Gabe” was said with a defiant glance toward the older boy, and Marsh had to admire the resilience of the young. She decided to try a different tack.
“When did they come to your farm?”
She saw the boy’s eyes widen, and he scowled.
“Not your business either,” he snarled, and started walking toward her.
Since he was clearly intent on leaving, Marsh wondered what he intended to do—throw her out of the way?
Pretty much, Roeglin said, just as the boy reached her.
Marsh didn’t move. Instead, when the kid came within reaching distance, she arched an eyebrow.
“Neither of you look like a relative of mine,” she said, and Roeglin interrupted.
“Draw that blade, boy, and I’ll kick your ass into the middle of next week while shaking you so hard you can’t catch up.”
The boy’s mouth dropped open, and his face turned white. He turned slowly to face Roeglin.
“Where’d you hear that?” He gulped. “And what’s wrong with your eyes?”
Marsh followed the boy’s gaze and saw that Roeglin was no longer sitting on the stairs. No, the fool mage was standing at the bottom of the stairs and staring at the child, his eyes a glistening sheet of white as he studied the kid’s face.
“I took it from your mind,” Roeglin told him. “Just like I took your name, Geralt, and your brother’s name, Jean.”
Fear crossed the boy’s face, and he cast an anxious glance in his brother’s direction.
“You leave him alone.”
But Roeglin was relentless.
“I know you saw your father die and what the raiders said to make your mother go with them, and that they took your sisters.” Roeglin blinked, paused, and carried on. “And you are right. If you had not stayed hidden and kept Jean safe, neither of you would be here now.”
He stopped, letting silence fill the air before continuing.
“Marsh can find out where they went,” he added, indicating where Marsh leaned on the door, “and Marsh can try to get them back.”
Oh, Marsh could, could she? Marsh thought, but she watched the wary hope dawning on the boy’s face and forced herself to stay still as he turned toward her.
“Will you?”
Marsh shot Roeglin a glare and looked back to the boy.
“Would you really have tried to stab me?”
The boy ducked his head, but the flush of crimson rising up his neck gave her all the answer she needed.
“Had to keep my brother safe,” he mumbled.
“You’d have gotten yourself killed,” she shot back, glaring at him, and he lifted his head, studying her as though trying to figure out just how much she was bluffing.
Apparently, what he saw in her face was enough to convince him she wasn’t, and he paled.
“I’m sorry,” he said and gestured at his brother. “I couldn’t…”
He couldn’t, Marsh thought and followed the gesture. No, of course, he couldn’t.
“So,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“The wolves found us,” Geralt explained. “We wouldn’t go near them, so they chased us all the way to the waystation.”
“Unc…” He stopped as he caught himself saying the word and his eyes clouded. In the end, he shrugged and went on. “Uncle Gabe said we could stay, but we’d have to help out. Earn our keep.”
He looked at his brother, who was standing very, very still as he stared at Roeglin and Marsh.
“We all locked down?” he asked, indicating the mechanism beside the boy. Jean nodded, his head moving rapidly up and down as his gaze shifted between the three of them.
“Time to go,” Geralt said, holding out his hand. Jean hurried over to take it. “Aunt Ursula will be waiting.”
Jean nodded again, his brown eyes wide in a pale face. His attention moved swiftly from Marsh’s expression to Roeglin, and Marsh glanced at the shadow mage. His eyes had returned to their usual shade of hazel.
“You could let them go back to your cousin,” he said, and Marsh waited.
Sure enough, Roeglin had more to say.
“Or you could ask them what it is they don’t want Gabe to know.”
His words drew gasps of surprise from both boys, and Jean shrank closer to his brother’s side. Geralt, for his part, shot the mage a filthy look.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to look into someone else’s mind without permission?”
The sheer exasperation in his tone made Marsh smile, albeit very briefly and with no humor whatsoever.
“Often,” she told them drily, “but he never listens. So…what is it you don’t want my cousin to know?”
The boys exchanged glances.
“Well?”
Geralt glared at Roeglin.
“Why don’t you just take it?” he challenged, but Roeglin shrugged.
“Someone said that was rude,” he replied, “and I’m trying to make friends with them.”
“By forcing them to tell you what they don’t want you to know?”
“It’s the only way to establish trust,” Roeglin said. “I need to trust you’ll tell Gabe what he needs to know, no matter how hard…and you need to trust that he won’t harm you when you do.”
The boy glared at him and rolled his eyes, taking another step toward the door. He stopped short, though, when Marsh didn’t budge. The boy glared at her in turn.
“You know, it’s very hard to tell Gabe anything when your big ass is blocking the way.”
Marsh shifted.
“Just make sure you do,” she said, “or I’ll be kicking your ass until you do, Gabe, Ursula, and the wolf pack or no…or didn’t you hear the hoshkat that came down the hill with me?”
“That was yours?” the boy asked. “I thought it had just gotten lost.”
As a way of dismissing her claim, it would have worked a whole lot better if he hadn’t looked so impressed. Marsh figured she’d made her point and stepped out of his way, leaving the path to the door free. At first, neither boy moved, then Geralt led the way to the door and out through it.
She got the impression that Jean wanted to run the instant the pair made it into the courtyard but that Geralt wouldn’t permit it. Letting them get a hal
f dozen paces ahead of them, she followed, walking into the waystation commons just after they did and watching them skirt Mordan’s sleeping form on the rug in front of the fire as they picked their way between sleeping wolves.
Ironshade’s head came up as the boys entered, and the wolf’s emerald gaze shifted from the boys to Marsh and Roeglin and back. With a sigh, the wolf stretched and sat up, and as if their leader’s movement was a signal, the rest of the pack stirred to wakefulness.
By the time the boys had caught Gabe’s attention, the whole pack was sitting up, ears pricked and attention divided between Marsh and Roeglin and the boys. Marsh reached out, seeking to touch the beasts in the room and calm them. She did not expect Ironshade to reach back.
What had his cubs done this time? Why were they afraid of the Hunt Master?
“Hunt Master?” Well, that was a new term for her cousin.
He directs the hunt when we must supply the den.
And by “den,” Ironshade meant the waystation. Of course, he did.
Marsh turned her attention to her cousin and the boys.
By now, Gabe had caught the worried looks on the boys’ faces—and connected them to her. He glanced up at her and back at Geralt and Jean.
“What’s the matter, boys?”
If Gabe hadn’t realized she was the reason for their distress, he did now, because both boys looked over their shoulders at her before turning their attention to him.
“We know when the traders are coming,” Gabe said. “We know when they’re at the bend above the pools.”
Gabe’s raised eyebrows told Marsh that this was news to him, and her cousin took a moment to formulate his reply.
“Surely that’s not what’s got you looking so worried?”
Geralt stared at him, and Gabe stared back.
“It is?” He studied their faces for a moment and shrugged. “Well, I don’t know how that sort of gift was looked on where you came from, but here, it is more than welcome.”
Silence followed his words as the boys stared at him, and he sighed again.
“What else?”
Geralt nudged his brother. When Jean looked up at him, Geralt did it again, and Jean gazed up at Gabe with frightened eyes. His voice was very small when he replied.
“This…”
He wove his hands through the air and held out his palm, showing the perfectly formed sphere of flame he was holding. With another glance at his brother, he turned and walked back to the door, carefully balancing the ball of fire in one hand and opening the door with the other. When he had it open, he tossed the fireball through and began to close the door.
He froze when a startled shout shook the night.
“Leclerc! What in the Deep’s dark ass do you think you’re doing?”
Leclerc?
Marsh shot Roeglin a dirty look and marched up to the door, grabbing Jean by the arm as she passed. She made it onto the porch out front and stopped.
“A la vache,” Jean whispered.
Marsh looked at the six very upset men and women standing in the middle of the courtyard and had to agree, even if she wasn’t exactly sure what a “vache” might be.
Think of a big, fat shev, Roeglin told her, showing her something like an oversized shev standing under a tree. The creature had curving horns, short mule-like fur, a donkey-like tail, and an outsized udder.
You just made that up, Marsh told him, not at all sure he had.
Nuh-uh. I’ll show you one someday.
One day, huh? As if she had any intention of exploring the surface world…or would take him if she did.
Ouch! I’m hurt, he said, and actually sounded it.
“Fine, you can come.” She surveyed the Protectors standing outside the station commons. “But only if you help explain this to them.”
Jean looked up at her.
“They think you did it?”
She glanced down at him, noting the excitement in his upturned face.
“Kid, they blame me for any strange shit that’s got something to do with magic.”
“That’s because she usually is the one to blame,” Roeglin told him, leading them past a scorch mark on the cobbles to where Gustav and the others were waiting.
Fortunately, they’d overheard them.
“You mean she’s not?”
Roeglin shook his head.
“Not this time.”
“Then who…” Gustav let the words go as he caught sight of the boy.
Izmay gave a disparaging snort and looked a Marsh in disbelief.
“You’re blaming a kid?” she asked. “That is unbelievable. I wouldn’t have thought you’d stoop that low.”
“Hey!”
“Not a good defense, Marsh,” Gerry scolded, but his blue eyes were teasing.
“But I didn’t…” Marsh began, and Gustav poked her in the chest.
“Then how come I almost lost what little hair I’ve got?”
He bent his head showing her an angry red patch of scalp surrounded by dark edges. Beside her, Jean gasped.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I should have thought.”
Marsh wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him tight against her side. She didn’t need to look at his face to know the poor kid was nearly in tears. Giving him a quick squeeze, she pushed him back into her shadow and raised her finger, tapping Gustav firmly on the breastplate.
“Captain Moldrane,” she said, more for Jean’s benefit than anyone else’s, “if I’d wanted to fry your face with a Deeps-be-damned fireball, do you think I’da missed that badly?”
“You mean…” Gustav’s eyes tracked to where Jean was now standing beside Roeglin, holding the shadow mage’s hand like his life depended on it.
He looked back to Marsh.
“Are you telling me that that the waif really threw the fireball?”
“Hey! Watch who you’re calling a waif.”
All eyes turned to the waystation porch where Geralt and Gabe were standing. Geralt didn’t give them time to reply.
“That’s my brother, and if he wants to toss a fireball into the courtyard, then you’re just going to let him!”
“The courtyard I don’t have a problem with,” Gustav snapped back. “It’s when the little merde-for-brains throws one at my head that I have a problem.”
Geralt didn’t have an answer for that. By now Gustav had moved into the light of enough glows that the burn from where the fireball had brushed past his head was clearly visible. He turned to Marsh.
“I don’t suppose you could…” and Marsh realized what she should have done the moment she’d seen the damage.
“Merde! I’m sorry, Gustav. Give me a minute.”
Around her, the courtyard stilled, save for the faint movement as Jean and Geralt crept closer to watch, Gabe and Ironshade shadowing their every move. Trying to ignore the fact she had an audience, Marsh carefully placed her fingers around the edges of the burn. Gustav flinched, but he put his hands on her shoulders and held on as though he’d fall over if he didn’t.
Marsh didn’t want to think of what would happen if he did.
Instead, she pushed all thought of falling from her mind and focused on the energy around her. As she looked for it, she became aware of its sluggish flow through the cobbles, the life flowing through the air, and the life forces in the people around her.
“I’m going to need to borrow some of your energy,” she said, looking at the guards.
Izmay gave a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Sure, kid. Just don’t take it all.”
The others shrugged.
“Go ahead.”
“Sure.”
“Okay.”
Marsh took a deep breath and focused on the energy around her, taking a little from each of the guards and the boys. She figured it wouldn’t hurt them to help fix what they’d broken. Leaving Gabe and the wolf out of the loop, she pulled the energy to her hands and pushed it over Gustav’s scalp.
She hadn’
t realized the boys had gotten so close until Jean gave a soft exclamation of amazement.
“Whoa! Can you show me how to do that?”
“Yeah,” Geralt snarked. “It might be good for him to know how to fix what he breaks…”
The words disrupted Marsh’s concentration, and she hastily checked to see how much more healing Gustav’s head might need. None, as it turned out…although a haircut might be in order.
As she thought it, Gustav raised a hand to his head and felt the inch-long hair that now covered the area.
He straightened up abruptly, giving her a look that was torn between outrage and mortification. For a long moment, Marsh thought he was going to shout at her, but then he shook his head, pressed his lips together, and walked past Gabe into the waystation.
No one made a sound until the door had closed behind him, then Gerry dropped to his knees howling with mirth. Izmay turned to Henri and leaned her head against his chest, and Zeb and Jakob just shook with laughter. Marsh didn’t see the funny side, but Roeglin was snickering, and Gabe chuckled.
“I’ll show him where the razors are,” he said.
Marsh nearly asked him not to, since she had to sleep that night and she wasn’t sure she wanted to if Gustav could arm himself with a razor. Geralt sputtered at the thought, and she gave the boy a look that brought his amusement to an abrupt halt.
“About that,” she said, and they both knew she meant his snooping inside her head. “Didn’t you have objections to your head being read without your permission?”
The boy scowled at her and Jean looked from one of them to the other, his small face creased with worry. Marsh laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Jean. I’m pretty sure Roeglin can talk to him about that. Looks like those two have plenty in common.”
Her tone of voice said Roeglin had better talk to Geralt about his abilities, and she had no doubt the mage was far enough inside her head to know it. She decided not to push it but turned herself about instead and went inside, leaving the guards to follow.
5
Surface Skirmish
“Well, that was interesting,” Gabe said when they were all settled around one of the tables and Ursula had joined them from the kitchen. He looked at the two boys. “You should have told us about your abilities.”
Trading by Firelight Page 4
