Summoner 7

by Eric Vall

  “Rise and shine,” I greeted as I roused the two beautiful women at my sides.

  Cyra stretched like a cat as she blinked sleepily into wakefulness. She moved languidly as she worked out the stiffness in every muscle, and her shirt rode up around her tanned, taut stomach. It was a delicious sight, but we had important tasks to do.

  Layla mumbled and buried her nose deeper into the covers, but I pulled them back without mercy. She whined and curled up into a ball, though it was only a matter of minutes before she was fully awake.

  “Come on,” I told her, “we’ve got town damage to fix and a bunch of clinic patients to question. I want to know more about what happened with Gawain before we arrived on the scene. After that, it’s a good long day of hiking ahead of us.”

  Layla emitted a pained groan and wriggled in search of the warmth of the covers.

  I grinned slyly. “If you get up quickly, I’ll buy you a cinnamon scone from the street vendors.”

  The petite summoner bolted upright with huge hazel eyes. “You really mean it?” she squeaked in a voice roughened by sleep.

  “Have I ever lied to you?” I asked seriously.

  She leapt up gleefully and hugged me around the neck with a force that nearly bowled me over. “Yay! Thank you, Gryffie!”

  “Whoa there,” I cautioned with a wince. “I feel like I just wrestled an ogre.”

  “You ought to do some stretches,” Cyra purred. “They’ll limber you right up. Everybody in the West does them before a day of hard work.”

  “No kidding,” I said thoughtfully as my eyes trailed down her body. Her generous curves trailed into a subtly muscled waist, and the sight of her bare skin was tantalizing no matter how many times I laid eyes on it.

  “No time for stretches!” Layla urged me as she pulled me up by my wrists. “We have cinnamon scones to eat!”

  I obliged the little summoner as I stood and let her tug me across the room. I paused as we reached my travel bag and began to pull fresh clothes from inside.

  “Maybe we’ll do some stretches next time,” I promised Cyra with a lustful wink.

  “Of course,” she agreed as her eyes glittered teasingly.

  We rushed downstairs at Layla’s urging and encountered Varleth already at the breakfast table. The inn was practically deserted, and he was nearly the only one present in the whole room.

  Two women remained in the corner, and one scarfed down a plate of eggs and bacon while the other simply sipped at a glass of apple cider. They looked like normal enough patrons, but I was surprised to see anybody still at the inn after the disaster of last night.

  “Morning,” Varleth greeted simply as we sat down at his table. “We going to go talk to the patients at the clinic for witnesses?”

  “You read my mind,” I told him as I slipped into the chair next to the banisher.

  I snaked one hand over and stole a slice of bacon off his plate. He seized my wrist before I could go far, but I brought my head down and tore off a bite anyway.

  “I paid for that,” the gypsy complained.

  “Consider this a trade for the potato skins I gifted to you yesterday,” I returned smoothly.

  “Gifts shouldn’t come with secret prices,” Varleth growled.

  “Excellent,” I quipped, “so you’re giving me this piece of bacon with no strings attached.”

  “Hey,” Varleth objected, but he didn’t have a good enough comeback to say more.

  I snickered as I celebrated my victory with another bite of bacon, and then I patted the banisher on the shoulder consolingly.

  “Enough chit-chat, cinnamon scones are waiting!” Layla swooped over to pull me up from my chair.

  “Come find us in the clinic when you’re done,” I told Varleth as I allowed myself to be led away.

  The gypsy swallowed his mouthful of food. “How should I know where that is?”

  I shrugged as Layla physically dragged me across the floor. “I believe in you!”

  Varleth rolled his eyes but returned to his food.

  Cyra, Layla, and I headed for the door, but we were stopped by an unfamiliar voice behind us.

  “Wait!” the voice urged.

  I turned to look across the room at the other occupied table. The woman with the apple cider looked at us expectantly, and I guessed she was the one who’d asked.

  Her hair was light brown and curly, and her long nose was slightly off-center as if it’d been broken once a long time ago. I didn’t think I recognized her, but last night had been pretty chaotic, so maybe I was mistaken.

  “Are you those mages who saved us from the gunman?” the unknown woman continued.

  “That’s us,” Layla piped up.

  The stranger grinned in response and nudged her companion with an elbow. The other lady was pudgy with a round face and a bob of straight, dark hair. Large laugh lines had begun to form at the corner of her small, pursed mouth. At the nudge, the pudgy woman stopped shoveling eggs into her mouth, and she smiled happily at Layla’s answer.

  “Oh, we were hoping it was you!” the bigger woman cut in excitedly. “I’m Gracia, and this skinny one next to me is Ilda. I want to thank you so much for your help stopping that thief.”

  “Thief … ? ” I wondered aloud. “Oh, the fire mage with the gun.”

  Ilda nodded emphatically. “Yes, that one. We didn’t see him in person, but we heard about it later. What good luck we weren’t in our shop!”

  “We own the apothecary together, you see,” Gracia added as she bobbed her head. “We were at home, fast asleep, when it all went down.”

  My face fell. “I’m so sorry about your store,” I apologized.

  “Nonsense!” declared Ilda with a gesture of her thin hand. “You’re the ones who ran off that thief, and if I’m not mistaken, the whole street might’ve burned to the ground without your hard work.”

  I gestured to Cyra. “You have her to thank for extinguishing the fire. I just hope the building is salvageable.”

  “Why, it’ll be fine with some elbow grease,” Gracia said cheerily. “I’m more glad somebody had the foresight to save my augments and herbs. I found my trunks on the first floor totally unscathed, so I’m guessing that was you?”

  Cyra smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. “That was Gryff’s work.”

  I hadn’t known what to do once I’d gotten the herbs safely out of the building, so I simply put them back on the counter after Cyra’s wetweavers had done their jobs. I knew an apothecary’s herb supply could be very valuable out here in the Wilds, since some ingredients would likely have to be shipped in custom orders from the far reaches of Mistral.

  “You did a fantastic job, Gryff,” Ilda complimented.

  I hesitated before I asked, “I realize you didn’t see the thief, but have you heard anything about why he was in town or where he was going next?”

  The two women glanced at each other with perplexed expressions.

  “Well,” Ilda said, “I heard through the grapevine the thief was talking to some folks around this inn for a while, but I couldn’t tell you what got said.”

  “He didn’t start shooting immediately?” I asked.

  “Didn’t sound like it,” Gracia answered with a shrug of her round shoulders.

  Ilda tutted as she shook her head. “Villains shooting people in the streets. What’s this world coming to, hm?”

  “It’ll be okay,” Layla assured them with a cheeky smile. “We’re going to track that thief down and catch him before he hurts anybody else.”

  I grinned. “Thank you so much for the chat, ladies. Enjoy your meal and your cider, but I think we ought to be going.”

  “Oh!” Gracia waggled one arm back and forth in goodbye. “Of course, heroes like you must be busy as bees. Make sure to stop by our shop later, alright? We’ll have a little secret gift for you all if you do.”

  “Adorable little mages like you three could always use a pair of wise, apothecarist benefactors,” Ilda added with a sly lift of her brow
s.

  “Her wisdom comes from her senior age,” Gracia quipped as she ribbed the other woman.

  “Hush, you cow,” Ilda responded with a pleasant smile.

  “At least I don’t snore,” Gracia retorted before she turned to stage-whisper at us. “If you heard her, you’d swear it was a bear.”

  “Uh--” I hedged nervously.

  Ilda cut me off. “Gracia sings badly in the shower instead. Ever wondered what a drowned cat sounds like?”

  “Just stop in for a visit and find out!” Gracia exclaimed with a warbling laugh.

  The two ladies tittered mischievously as we returned three pained, uncomfortable smiles in their direction.

  “That, ah--” I fumbled over my words.

  “Thank you for the offer,” Cyra cut in as she saved me, “maybe we’ll stop in later, but we might be too busy. Have a wonderful day, you two.”

  “Toodle-oo!” the strange women chimed together as we left.

  The door closed behind us, and we strode hastily down the main street. The morning pedestrian traffic was coming in quickly, but it wasn’t too crowded to prevent us from walking as one group.

  “I like them,” Cyra spoke up, “eccentric people are fun.”

  I snorted. “They’re certainly special. Notice that Varleth didn’t make it known he was with us?”

  “We should go visit them later anyway,” Layla said. “I wonder what they’ll give us. Could be a cake, or maybe a tray of brownies.”

  I gave her a look. “Food is clearly not on your mind at all, I see.”

  The auburn-haired summoner grinned. “Maybe I’ll stop once we get those cinnamon scones.”

  I sighed, but in truth, I was just as excited as she was for a sweet breakfast. I led our group back to the spot I’d first seen the bakery yesterday, and we ordered a round of cinnamon scones with a crackly topping of sugar.

  “Delifshush,” Layla said through an enormous mouthful of cinnamon scone.

  “I think that means it tastes good,” Cyra translated as she licked sugar off her fingers. “Too bad Erin didn’t get to eat these.”

  “I’m sure there’s good food in Balvaan,” I pointed out, but I did miss the mimic’s sunny charm already. “Besides, she’s probably just as happy sleeping on the airship right now. We get to spend the whole day questioning Gawain’s victims.”

  Layla and Cyra finished their scones, and together we made our way to the clinic. We had to ask for directions a few times, but the town wasn’t too large, and a few minutes later, we were there.

  It was an older building done in wood logs and sealed with clay. The roof was steeper and more dramatic than the usual style, and the entire thing was only one story tall, unlike the buildings around it. I could see where they’d added on a new partition, since the style was similar but the wood looked clean, light, and new. Newer construction wasn’t strange to see in Millervale, and it was a good sign of the town’s prosperity.

  The front of the clinic wall was painted with a giant white circle. Inside of it, a smaller, concentric red circle filled the middle. That symbol signified healers could be found in the building, so anybody with a serious injury would know where to go.

  A sign on the door told any visitors to come in and wait in the lobby chairs to be serviced. If it was an emergency, we were allowed to knock on the operation room door.

  “Nice place,” Cyra commented after we’d gone inside.

  An enormous filing cabinet against one wall dwarfed the rest of the room, but I had to agree. There were eight plush chairs against the wall with red upholstered seats, and we took our places in them.

  The room was empty, but there was a small desk against one corner with a clipboard and a quill. I guessed it was something like a guestbook, but I didn’t have enough knowledge of clinics to know for sure.

  I’d visited Meriden’s office countless times during my time at the Academy, but the setup there was much more casual, and Meriden knew most of the students well enough to never have to ask for forms. Her services were free to us while we were enrolled, so we walked in and out all day long without a concern.

  Suddenly, the door swung open, and a flustered-looking man in white scrubs came out. He made it all the way to the filing cabinet before he noticed us in the chairs.

  “Who are you?” he asked shrilly, and he looked like he was close to a breakdown at the prospect of new patients.

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “We helped treat some of your patients last night, and we’re tracking down the mage who did this to them. We just want to ask them some questions about what happened.”

  “Ask them some questions?” he repeated nervously. “Oh no, no, I can’t let you do that. This is a place of healing.”

  “Really?” I asked as my heart sank.

  “Absolutely,” he affirmed with an agitated bounce on his feet. “You’d better leave if that’s all you wanted.”

  He turned to rifle through the filing cabinet drawers. Each one was full to the brim with papers, and I couldn’t imagine having to sort through so many.

  “Tell you what,” I offered. “If you get the old healer mage who was first on the scene last night, she can confirm our story.”

  “I can’t simply comply with any old demand,” the man scorned in a derisive tone. “Perilla isn’t here for your beck and call. She’s a master of her craft, not some lowly secretary.”

  The door swung open again, and the old healer from yesterday appeared from the room within. Her pinned bun of gray hair was covered by a white hat this time, and her old-fashioned clothing was hidden by a white coat, but it was unmistakably her.

  “I’m certainly not a secretary,” she scorned with a gnarled hand on one hip, “but I can also throw my own visitors out, thank you very much, Jenkins.”

  The shrill man scoffed and reared back as if he’d been slapped, but her keen gaze seemed to cow him out of responding.

  “Suit yourself,” Jenkins snapped as he brushed past Perilla to exit through the same door.

  The old woman sighed as the door slammed shut behind him. “Don’t mind Jenkins,” she said. “He’s fresh out of the Academy and hasn’t yet realized our fancy schooling doesn’t make us any different from regular folks.”

  “I get it,” I responded with my mind on how Gawain used to act. “He’ll change eventually, once he realizes he’s not the biggest fish in the pond anymore.”

  “He’ll change once I really start cracking my whip,” Perilla corrected me with a loud cackle.

  Her attitude made Cyra and Layla giggle, and we shared a moment of friendly laughter together.

  “Where’s that little mimic gone off to?” Perilla asked as she raised her bushy grey eyebrows.

  “Going to copy another friend’s magic in Balvaan,” I explained, “and that brings us to our real reason for being here. I’m afraid we need to ask your patients about the mage who attacked them.”

  Perilla pursed her lips and nodded gravely. “Normally, I would refuse your request. We don’t let soldiers waltz in to question anybody they want, and believe me, I’ve denied some important people.”

  “I understand,” I responded as I tried not to keep the pleading tone from my voice.

  “However,” Perilla crackled out, “I’m going to make an exception for you three kids. You could’ve strolled away and gone to bed last night after the action was over, but instead, you stayed behind to help me treat patients. You’ve impressed me with your upstanding morals, so I’m willing to let you into our recovery room.”

  A grin broke out across my face, and Layla clasped her hands together in relief.

  “Now, now,” Perilla calmed us down with a dismissive wave, “I still have conditions. Wash your hands just like I show you, and no touching the patients at any time. If they don’t answer a question the first time, you’re not allowed to ask again. This is going to be stressful for them to talk about, so your tone must be quiet and calm at all times.”

  “Got it,” Cyra responde
d with a vigorous nod.

  “We won’t let you down,” Layla assured her.

  Perilla showed us how to wash our hands, which was a method of tilting and lifting our forearms so the water dripped down to our elbows as it dried. I didn’t understand much about why the recovery room had to be kept so clean, but Perilla assured us this step was important.

  Before she led us through the final door, the elderly woman stopped us with an upraised hand.

  “A few more things,” she warned. “Don’t get in the way of any healers or assistants, and don’t wake sleeping people. No gawking at the patients or invading their privacy.”

  We all consented easily to those rules, and she led us through the door without any more preamble.

  The room was painted a pale, soothing blue, and large windows shone out into a cozy courtyard behind the building with trees and grass. The patients’ beds were lined up in rows with curtains hung from the ceiling between each to give them some solitude. Jenkins and a couple other healer-types walked between the beds to check on patients, change out bandages, and do other sorts of menial but necessary tasks for the healing process.

  I split our little group up so we each only had to ask a handful of patients, but most didn’t have much information to give us.

  “I didn’t see it start,” said a man with a bushy black beard, “I was just walking through the area after work when I got caught up in the fight.”

  I thanked him and moved on.

  “I saw him talking to Mr. Lannmire,” said a young woman. “He does street repair around these parts, a nice fellow.”

  The next patient was awake too, so I asked the same questions.

  “He was asking for some kind of directions,” quavered an old man with a scar across his chin. “Don’t know where to.”

  I went to the final woman, who I recognized as the one I’d saved right as we’d started the fight against Gawain.

  “Oh, you!” she exclaimed as I walked up. “Thank you so much! I wouldn’t be here without your bravery.”

  I flushed and waved off her thanks bashfully. “Do you know how the fight started?” I asked.