Hunted (Book 3)

by Brian Fuller

  “You know,” Gerand commented, “if Volney could be as at ease with women as he is with children, he might do better.”

  “I think he has found a woman he is at ease with,” Gen remarked, Gerand nodding thoughtfully.

  When they announced their intention to go, Tolliver burst into tears and Lena’s face darkened and fell, though she tried to hide it.

  “How much is your rent for this place?” Volney asked as they donned their gear.

  “One copper a month.”

  “How much do we have left, Gen?”

  Gen had spent part of the idle days using Trysmagic to create silver coins, and he produced a coin pouch and set it on the table. “That should keep your landlord off your back—and hopefully off the premises—for some time.”

  Lena crossed to the table, face suspicious, and pulled open the coin purse.

  “I wish you wouldn’t. . .” Gen objected a little too late.

  Lena’s eyes bloomed with disbelief. “This is too much! I could buy this place with this and have enough left over to eat like a Queen for years!”

  “Sounds like a worthy plan,” Volney said, taking her hand and kissing it. “You have done us so much good, we could never truly repay what we owe.”

  “Will you come back?” Tolliver asked, face cloudy.

  Volney stooped and smiled. “Of course! By the time I return, I’m sure Lizard will be starved and need a huge helping of Tolliver!” He playfully poked the boy’s ribs and stood, eyes sad. “Farewell!” he said, leaving quickly to hide his emotion.

  They retrieved the horse from the mine and set out on the snowy lane, Lena waving to them from the open door, Tolliver in her arms. Volney glanced back at the humble house several times before it disappeared from view.

  “I think Volney might actually come back here someday. More than a toothy lizard has captured his interest, I’d wager,” Gerand teased.

  Volney’s face turned uncharacteristically serious. “I will come back here, and I don’t want to hear any teasing from you two about it. Do not ruin this for me. Just let me enjoy this little dream of mine before I get killed in Ironkeep.”

  Only the snow and mud complicated their journey to Nowain, and in two days’ time they approached the small city Torbrand had directed them to. It was situated on a flat plain peppered by enormous oaks, and, like Tell, the city center itself consisted of a few buildings that serviced nearby farmsteads.

  “Where did Torbrand say to go?” Gerand asked as they approached late on a cloudy afternoon.

  “He told me to inquire after the rat catcher, who is, apparently, a Portal Mage on an Aughmerian payroll,” Gen answered. “They sneak spies into Rhugoth through here.”

  “How does he get away with that?” Volney asked, outraged. “The Portal Guild would shut off access to all of Aughmere if they found out!”

  “Just think of what Unification means to the Portal Guild, Volney,” Gerand explained. “For now, they are a necessity. If Portals do still exist after Unification, they become a convenience. Portal Mages won’t want to make enemies now for fear of offending potential future customers who will have other options.”

  As they neared town, they concealed their swords beneath their long cloaks to avoid suspicion. The road through town remained deserted as they passed a smithy’s house, the forge cold. A meaty-faced man cracked a shutter as they walked by, closing it quickly.

  “Someone’s around. Should we inquire here?” Gerand asked.

  “Yes,” Gen replied. “I’ll keep out of sight. If Lena recognized me, others might do the same.”

  Gerand took the lead, knocking softly. A behemoth of a man opened the door a sliver, eying them suspiciously.

  “Excuse me,” Gerand said, “but we are in search of a rat catcher that lives nearby. Could you direct us toward him?”

  The smithy humphed in disdain. “If you mean Tory, then he’s in the last building at the far side of town. If you have a rat problem, I’d take it up with the catcher in Chale. Tory’d rather keep a rat for a pet than kill it.”

  “Thank you. Our apologies for inconveniencing you on a cold day,” Gerand said. The smithy shut the door as if the young man had the plague.

  “Friendly town,” Volney observed.

  They walked in the direction the smith indicated, but before they reached their destination, Gerand stopped them in the middle of the street. “Look, we need some sort of a plan or we’ll be slaughtered. Ironkeep is crawling with Eldephaere and Churchmen. I hardly need remind anyone here about what happened when we ran into Padra Nolan. I’ve never felt so worthless in all my life. Then there’s the issue of your face, Gen. No offense. Even if we try some disguise, we can’t conceal your face without arousing suspicion.”

  “Unless he dresses like a girl,” Volney offered. “They have to wear those veils, right, like the Chalaine does?”

  “Correct,” Gen affirmed. “I think our best bet is to pose as servants. I will have to dress as a woman to hide my face, but I can also conceal our weapons that way, as well.”

  “Provided you can find the clothes of an Aughmerian servant girl who is tall and fat enough to accommodate your height and all the extra baggage,” Gerand added.

  “So Gen will steal the clothes off some poor slave girl and invade Ironkeep in a dress. So much for Tolnorian honor and dignity!” Volney quipped.

  Gerand laughed. “He’s been Rhugothian for over a year now, so he’s willing to sink to whatever depths necessary to get the job done.”

  The Portal Mage’s home was a simple log cabin lined on both sides with orderly stacks of wood. A healthy cloud of smoke puffed from the chimney, someone singing and airy tune inside.

  “I’ll remain outside until it is time to go so I don’t raise an alarm with Tory,” Gen informed them. “If we wait two hours, it should be the dead of night on the Menegothian shard, and we’ll have the night in Aughmere to come up with a plan. See if Tory has anything to help us. If he wants a password, use cloven hoof.”

  Gen walked over to one of the woodpiles to get out of sight, and then Gerand rapped on the door. A gangly, youthful man answered, face happy but curious.

  “Are you Tory the rat catcher?” Gerand asked.

  “Yes,” he answered, face unsure. “Is the snow and cold driving the beasties indoors?”

  “Actually,” said Gerand, “we are here on a mission from Torbrand Khairn.”

  “He’s no longer in charge of the Black Vine,” Tory said. “High King Khairn now directly oversees the operations into Rhugoth. What password were you given?”

  “Cloven hoof.”

  Tory’s face registered shock for a moment, but he quickly covered it up. “Well, I suppose you are welcome, then. Come in.”

  Gerand and Volney crossed the threshold into a wide room, wooden planks squealing beneath their feet. A fire burned hot in an expansive fireplace. A narrow table with high backed chairs waited in front of the flames. Tory closed the door and invited them to sit.

  “Will you take some refreshment, or were you looking to cross immediately?”

  “We want to cross in two hours,” Gerand replied. “Where is the Portal?”

  Tory said, “In my bedroom, as it turns out. Let me warm some spiced cider for you.”

  Tory disappeared into a room that ran behind the double-sided fireplace, returning with two clay mugs a short while later and placing the drinks in front of them.

  “I apologize for the darkness of the room. It is simply too cold to open the shutters, and the Black Vine does not see fit to provide me with the means to buy some of those wonderful Rhugothian windows.”

  “The fire and the warm drink are comforts enough,” Gerand thanked him.

  “Very well. I’ll prepare some supper. Are you expecting anyone else?”

  “In a couple of hours, yes. Just one more.”

  “I will plan accordingly. If you should need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Tory disappeared into the kitchen again, bow
ls and utensils clanking and scuffling as he worked.

  “That has to be the most accommodating Portal Mage I have ever run across,” Volney commented quietly. “Most I’ve run into seemed a little arrogant or mightily irritated.”

  “Like I said,” Gerand yawned. “They’ll actually have to sell their services after Unification, if they have any services to sell at all. I imagine they’re all being much nicer these day. I am so tired. Trudging through the snow really takes it out of me.”

  “Me too,” Volney agreed. The warm fire crackled and popped pleasantly, as Tory hummed a tune. The warmth caressed their tired bodies as they leaned back comfortably and drank.

  Tory, sentry of the Black Vine, chopped a carrot precisely and patiently as he waited. Cooking always calmed him, and the singing helped him to drive distractions out of his head so he could think more quickly. Of all the Black Vine jobs, sentry was almost as unglamorous as scribe. Sitting around waiting for people to come and go provided few opportunities for distinction. He’d learned the art of hospitality in hopes of setting himself apart. His hospitality did that, but he found out that his unusual skill had, instead, cemented him in his position.

  Doubly worse, playing nursemaid to a spoiled Portal Mage ground on his patience, and he considered his patience above average. The only satisfaction he could derive from the unfortunate responsibility was reporting throughout the pathetic town that the Portal Mage was his retarded brother. Judin’s antisocial personality and disdain for small rural towns kept him close to the cabin and out of trouble, while Tory only had to leave to keep up appearances as a rat catcher, a job he executed as ineptly as possible to keep business down.

  The first young man’s head hit the table with a thunk, and Tory raised his head and started counting. His companion’s head hit four seconds afterward. The sentry shook his head. He had tried to measure the drug precisely for their respective body weights so they would fall at the same time. A four second differential, while satisfactory, would not do to help him advance his hopes of acquiring the rank of spy.

  Calmly, he pushed the diced carrots into the stew pot and swung it over the fire. Wiping his hands, he crossed back into the main room to find his two victims resting awkwardly on the table.

  At least they didn’t spill the drinks, Tory thought as he opened the bedroom door. A blast of cold hit him. Judin, still in his bedclothes, huddled under several blankets, book in hand. He had opened the shutters wide.

  “Is someone here?” Judin asked, displeased at the interruption.

  “I’m afraid so. I need to speak with Padra Athan, if you would open the Portal, please.”

  “Let me finish this chapter. . .”

  “Now, Judin, or tonight’s meal will burn.”

  As the sun fell, Gen started to regret his decision to stay outdoors. The departure of the clouds and the arrival of evening ushered in a bitter cold. While mentally he could ignore it, his body wasn’t so silent on the matter. The smoke from the chimney smelled invitingly of warmth, and the woodpile dug unpleasantly into his back. He’d already created a small oval track in the snow from pacing listlessly when he abandoned the uncomfortable touch of the woodpile.

  When did I become so soft? he wondered.

  That thought and the faint buzz in his head that signaled the nearness of the Portal reminded him of the enormity and even preposterousness of the mission ahead, and he returned to stand to the side of the house, closing his eyes and disciplining his mind and feelings. He could not fail. He needed to return to the emptiness that had propelled him in his first few months at Rhugoth.

  The severity and depth of his guilt and the power of his love for Mirelle, the Chalaine, and his friends had driven clarity from his mind, and he sought it now for their sake. A need to escape pain had motivated him before. Now he needed discipline to help others escape it. He closed his eyes briefly, breathing in and out and emptying his mind.

  The sun had nearly set when the front door around the corner opened, and the sound of several heavy footsteps hinted that soldiers had come out of the structure and roughly closed the door behind themselves. The sound of the footfalls was not right, and Gen held up, listening. Gruff voices joked about the cold briefly, the tenor of one sending a chill up Gen’s spine. Inching quietly to the edge of the building, he poked his head around the corner, pulling back quickly. Captain Omar and two Aughmerian soldiers stood guard at the door.

  Gen froze. The calm he had invited before dissolved at the sight of the brutish guard that had tormented him in Tell and hurt Regina. Reason told him that Gerand and Volney were captives and that he should flee back to Mikmir, but those voices of wisdom again failed to shout above Gen’s noisy, resurgent emotions. Knowing what strength it would cost him, he turned the corner, striding evenly as he killed Captain Omar’s two companions by unmaking a portion of their brains while simultaneously clogging Omar’s throat. While surprise still held Omar, Gen created a band of stone around the Captain’s arms.

  Gen crossed to the ailing brute, the vulgar looks and massive, neckless head queuing unwanted memories in Gen’s mind. Roughly, Gen grabbed him by the top of the breastplate and yanked him forward.

  “Remember me, Omar?” Gen asked as Omar’s eyes widened from shock, face purpling. Gen removed the obstruction in his throat. “Quietly now, Omar. Quietly.”

  “You are dead!”

  “Do you think the Ilch could be killed so easily, Omar?”

  Omar’s eyes widened. “Spare me!”

  “Oh, I’ll spare you, Omar, if you can remember something.”

  “What”

  “Her name, Omar. Do you even remember her name?”

  Omar’s eyes darted about as if searching different cubbyholes in his mind. Gen reached down for his sword when Omar rammed his forehead into Gen’s face. Gen rocked backward.

  “Help!” Omar yelled frantically. Gen stepped forward, pulled Omar’s sword from its scabbard, and punched it through his heart and into the door behind. Omar’s cry and the sword sticking through the door set footsteps inside the house to sprinting. Gen leaped away back to the woodpile, jumping on top as people in the house worked to push Omar’s corpse away from the door.

  Gen pulled himself up onto the snowy roof, hands pushing through the snow to clutch the thatch beneath. He could sense the Portal almost directly beneath him. Scooting forward, he dissolved part of the roof with Trysmagic, finding a bedroom below with a dark-haired man standing near the active Portal in his bedclothes, eyes closed in concentration.

  I hope that’s the Portal Mage, Gen thought as he stood, opening a hole in the roof beneath his own feet. The Portal Mage yelped as Gen hit the floor hard, cracking the wooden planks. The Portal winked out. In a moment, Gen’s blade flashed up under the chin of the frightened man.

  “Where are the two soldiers that were here?”

  The Mage swallowed hard. “Taken. Taken through.”

  “The Portal. Open it,” Gen commanded with a slight prod of the sword. The Portal flared to life, and Gen grabbed the shrieking Mage by the arm and pulled him into the Portal with him. Once they were through, he knocked him unconscious with the hilt of his blade. The Portal closed just as Gen noticed two Eldephaere. As Torbrand had told him, the Portal opened into a small storeroom. A weak lamp behind his opponents turned them to advancing shadows.

  They yelled a warning and took a step toward him. Gen surged forward, lengthening his body and thrusting his sword through the neck of the first. Pulling back into a more compact stance, he flicked his blade to the left to decapitate the other before his raised stroke could fall.

  All planning voided, Gen kicked open the storeroom door and waded into a kitchen full of Eldephaere. Two he blasted to the floor with the force of his kick, and, with a combination of killing Trysmagic, Kuri-tan, and quick strikes, he cut down eight vacant-eyed Church soldiers and sprinted out into the hall. His magic was nearly spent, but the Im’Tith brand on his chest let him know the Chalaine was somewhere close by, and
this infused him with drive. While he could sense her, he had no way of knowing which way would lead to her in the maze of doors and side corridors around him.

  This isn’t going to work! a voice that sounded like Samian shouted in his head. You have done exactly what they wanted. Get back to the Portal and retreat!

  Gen weighed his options. He could try to hide in the keep or awaken the Portal Mage and return to his friends. Even as his will wavered, a flood of pain from the Chalaine poured over him as it had almost every day since they left Tenswater.

  They are doing this to get to you! Run!

  Gen could not obey the wiser voices in his mind. To use the Chalaine so abominably just to get to him was unforgivable. It would stop, either by her departure or his death.

  Decided, he sprinted through the halls, one way as good as another, trying to narrow his choices by attrition. Guards popped up in front of doors and around corners with alarming regularity, and he dispatched them all with as much rapidity and stealth as he could manage. The bodies he could not hide, and, as his frustration mounted, a hue and cry was raised in the keep, servants and soldiers pouring from doorways.

  Gen ducked into a room from which several female servants emerged, finding what he had hoped—loose servant dresses and veils. Finding the largest he could, he slipped it over his head and affixed the headdress and veil. The sword’s scabbard poked the brown cloth out a bit in the back, and it was shorter than he liked, but he didn’t take the time to feel foolish, stepping out into the hall and resuming his quest in the midst of a chaotic search. None of the men seemed to spare him a second glance, though some of the women regarded him strangely. He pressed on.

  After several minutes of wrong turns and avoiding patrols, he found a long, well-lit hallway bedecked with trophies of war and fine tapestries. He walked as inconspicuously as he could until the hall terminated at two darkly stained oaken doors with two Eldephaere standing guard in front. The Chalaine was somewhere in a straight line behind those doors. The two Eldephaere regarded him quizzically for a moment before he used Trysmagic to stop their hearts and send them to the floor. He dragged them away from the door to clear room to open it, listening carefully but hearing no sound from the other side.