by Jean Johnson
That sparked another fit of laughter in her, which squeezed the head of his shaft. His eyes rolled up into his head. Delving deep, Ellett rode her spasms of laughter until they became shudders of pleasure. For both of them.
Collapsing in the bliss of aftermath, he remembered to brace some of his weight on his elbows and knees. But it was alright; she cradled him close, stroked his braided hair and his sweat-damp shoulders. Pressed her lips to the side of his throat. He liked that. Drawing in a deep breath, he shifted enough to the side to rest on the bed, though he pulled her close.
“You are an incredibly beautiful, funny, intelligent, passionate woman,” Ellett murmured in her ear. “And I cannot remember the last time I had this much fun with anyone. You make it special.”
The casual look in hazel eyes melted and her mouth curved into a smile. Looping an arm around his shoulders, she pulled him close enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I like you, too.” Her smile spread into a grin. “Even if you are a land-man. And I’ll take you up on that offer to learn how to move during a Duel Arcane. And teach you how to be a proper ship’s mage, in exchange.
“One of these days, you Royal Guard types just might have to know these sorts of thing for real, after all. Plus, if we’re to put our two lands on even footing with plenty of trust shared all around, someone should teach you how to do it right.” Her smile took on a touch of shyness. “That, and it’s a lovely excuse to spend my free time in your company, since we still have a few days of sailing ahead of us before we reach the city. If you don’t mind?”
“I’d like that,” he told her, knowing it was the truth.
SIX
Bo’sun Jukol stepped between Ellett and the gangplank just as the Aurulan started to follow Mita down to the dock. The middle-aged man eyed him up and down, taking in Ellett’s plain blue linen clothes, then sighed. “I don’t know if you’re right about the ambassador up there, but you’ve done right by the Captain, teaching her your land-man tricks. And taking shots from her, and being polite to the rest of us, despite, ah ...”
Ellett offered his hand, cutting off the other man. “My pleasure.”
“Right.” Clasping it, Jukol shook hands, then clapped him on the back. “Watch your land-man legs on the dock for the first few moments, or you might fall off into the water. If you’re a diplomat for real, it’d be a shame to lose you.”
It wouldn’t have been diplomatic to point out that Ellett had spent the last several nights in the captain’s enchanted bed, and had grown used to the transition from sea to stability and back. Instead, he nodded, eyed the walled city waiting for him, balanced his duffel bag on his other shoulder, and picked his way carefully down the rail-guarded ramp. This was a city of mages and merchants, farmers and sailors, all of them self-reliant, independent, proud, and wary, and steeped in the magical traditions of half a dozen lands, plus the various spells they had developed on their own.
What he wanted to do was meet this Guardian of theirs who led ... Ellett stopped dead, just two steps onto the boards of the wharf. Someone or something was scrying him. Enemies do that when preparing for an ambush or setting up a battlefield ... but this is a deeper probe. A specific probe, with parameters that feel different. But, how?
Mita came back to him, weaving around several of the Jetta’s Pride crewmembers who had been given leave to disembark now that they were at their home port. She gave him a concerned look. “Ellett?”
He raised his hand to ward off her questions, but the tendrils of the scrying spell seized on his name, digging their hooks into it. Dissecting his identity. A flash raced outward in the next heartbeat, so faint that if he hadn’t been staring down at the boards of the dock, and thus at the shadows of the sailors making their way ashore around him, he wouldn’t have seen it.
But he did, and his gaze followed it as it flared up the legs of the crew and raced toward the shore. One of the stevedores helping to load crates onto a smaller ship tied up closer to the base of the wharf stopped and peered back up the length of the dock. The moment he spotted Ellett, he scowled and set down his crate.
“Hey! You!” Striding forward, he pushed aside a couple of the Pride’s crew and pointed a finger at the confused Aurulan. “I know you! You’re that Gods-be-damned murderer that burned that family of Haidans to death five years ago!”
Movement past him showed several others heading Ellett’s way. Even the crew of Mita’s ship, whom he could have sworn he’d won over, were turning and glaring at him. Including Mita, who was frowning at him in suspicion. A flash of memory passed through his mind. The previous envoy . . . accused of child molestation ... chased by an angry mob—the spell!
It was already at the city gates, with who knew how many more innocent people waiting to be snared by its effects.
Not for nothing was he a mage-warrior, and not for nothing the Mage-Captain of the Royal Guard. This was not the first sabotage spell he had faced, though it was disturbingly cunning. And disturbingly fast. No time for subtlety!
Snatching one of the long daggers from Mita’s belt, he let his bag of belongings fall to the planks underfoot. Without hesitation, Ellett grabbed the blade with his left hand and pulled his palms apart, then knelt and slammed the blood-coated steel into the wooden dock with all of his might, releasing his power in a single, willful word.
“Break!”
Blood-red power flared out of him and raced up the length of the dock, chasing after that pale golden glow visible at the edge of his mage-sight. It whipped past crates and barrels—some of which broke open—past cranes and pulleys—whose rigging creaked and snapped—and kept going, moving as fast as he could pour his life’s magic into the command. Fisting his left hand to control the bone-deep ache of his wound, squeezing more blood out from between his fingers, he concentrated on shattering whatever it was that scrying spell had triggered.
It worked, in that the people already affected slowed, stopped, and shook their heads. Now they frowned from confusion, rather than outrage. Mita started to crouch next to him, then straightened, staring over his head at something that made her eyes widen. She quickly looked to either side.
“The docks ... are on fire? Bright Heavens, all of them are catching! And the spells are all failing!”
Ellett didn’t move. All of his attention poured into his counterspell, chasing down every last bit of that scrying enchantment. Only when he couldn’t sense it anymore did he ease his mental pressure and withdraw his energies back into himself. It was crude counter-magic, what he had done, but nevertheless powerful. Feeling dizzy, he sagged back on his heel and rested. Someone came down the gangplank and grabbed his arm, lifting his injured fist.
“Idiotic land-man!” Jukol’s brother chided him. The ship’s healer wrapped his large, calloused palms around the Aurulan’s fingers and murmured, pouring his own magics into Ellett’s severed flesh. That hurt even worse than cutting it had, for it added a burning sting on top of the painful ache. Enduring it stoically, Ellett peered past the broad-shouldered man at the damage his counterspell had wrought.
Anything magical which had been touched in passing by the scrying spell had suffered. Every last spell had been broken. Blood magic was incredibly powerful, and incredibly dangerous. Not just because it had bled most of his energies out of his body with the force of his will but because it always ran the risk of an evil taint. That way lies madness, and the whispers of the Netherhells. It may have been a selfsacrifice and thus not inherently evil, but I suspect I’m going to have to repair each and every damned, damaged enchantment to make sure nothing ill is attached to my soul, because of it.
Mita had moved to the end of the dock, where several of her crew had grabbed whatever cloth came to hand, shirts, sacks and the like, and had beaten the flames down to smoldering cinders. He heard her chanting something, and heard the splash of water on the underside, extinguishing the last of the flames. A glance at the other wharfs showed similar scenes. When he looked back behind himself, she wasn’t in sight
for a long moment. Then he saw her, rising up on the same sort of spell-stiffened water he had used to cross to her ship days ago.
A frown pinched her face as she stepped onto the charred boards. Mita strode back to his side just as the healer was prying his hand open, checking the healing of the cut for flexibility. He winced, but let the man probe the injury; he had some minor healing magics of his own, but this was a deep wound, requiring an expert touch.
Crouching, she touched his shoulder. “The part that caught on fire, it looks like it had runes scratched into the underside of the planks. I suspect all of them were marked. I’m not familiar with half the markings that were used, though.”
“I’m not surprised. I believe this was the same spell used to chase our last envoy off the docks under the spurious claim he was a child molester.” Ellett paused, gritting his teeth as the ship’s healer muttered another spell over his palm, making his fingers tingle with cold, pain, heat, and ticklishness all at once. The new spell faded, giving him room to speak without grunting. “In fact, I’d say it probably was designed to attack the reputation of any Aurulan arriving here in an official capacity ... and that the more official backing an arriving person had, the stronger the effects of the spell.”
“Hence the accusation of you being a mass murderer, instead of just a child molester. That makes sense,” Mita allowed. “Disturbing sense, but sense. You come here with so much authority, the spell literally blazed to life, determined to destroy you before you could reach the shore.”
“No, my counterspell caused the runes to catch on fire,” he corrected her, shaking his head. “It’s like the sparks you see in a Duel Arcane, my magics versus the power of whoever carved them into your docks. All of your docks, because he or she would have to make sure any emissary sent from my people would be caught and targeted before they reached the city.”
“There, your hand’s better,” the healer murmured. “You’ll be hungrier than a starving dog in a few moments, and everything will ache and be tender, but there’s no fear of infection. You did lose a fair bit of blood, though. Try not to spill any more, and drink plenty of water with your next meal.”
“Thank you,” Ellett murmured. He glanced at his palm, bisected by an especially straight, pink-healed line, and guessed it would finish healing without any noticeable scarring. He switched his gaze to Mita, who looked worried. “On the bright side, I’m pretty sure this was a passive scrying spell, and that it wasn’t connected directly to its caster, which means he hasn’t been alerted to its destruction, yet. There’s only one person who would be afraid of a real envoy coming to Jetta Freeport. Let’s pay him a visit.”
She shook her head, fluffing out her auburn locks with the movement, and spoke under her breath, leaning close enough to keep her words private. “First, a visit to the city leader. That much magic—blood magic—will have alerted the leader to your presence. It’s best if we reassure our leader as to your intentions. And if L ...” She stopped herself from mentioning the name, showing some discretion in the quick flick of her eyes around the dock. “Well, if your clever foe hasn’t been alerted as you suspect, we can simply summon the person in question, and deal with them then.”
Grasping the hilt of her dagger, she worked it back and forth, grunting with the effort until the point, embedded firmly in the planks from the force of his blow, rocked itself free.
“And if they have been alerted?” Ellett asked, digging a kerchief out of the square blue sleeve of his eta so that she could wipe the blade clean.
She grinned and accepted the cloth, rising from her crouch. “Simplicity itself. I may not be the admiral, but I am the captain of the flagship, and it is my right to demand that all vessels stay in port ... at least for twenty-four hours. Unless it’s a very clear-aether day—and it doesn’t feel like it, thanks to your little blood spell just now—our quarry cannot mirror-Gate out of here.”
In just a few firm strokes, she had the blade clean enough to sheathe. He occupied himself with finding the drawstring to his duffel bag so that he could sling it back over his shoulder. Ready, Ellett accepted the hand she offered, letting her pull him to his feet. “You can sense the aether?”
“It’s like weather-sense, or mage-sight, if a bit more difficult.” She shrugged. “It’s something that can be developed with practice.”
“Ah. Like moving during a Duel Arcane,” he murmured, following her across the dock. As much as he wanted to make amends for the broken spells around him, they had a bigger problem to contain, an impostor who clearly didn’t want a real Aurulan official to show up on his doorstep. Mindful of his commoner clothes, and the stains from his wound which had made their way onto his thigh, he thought of the carefully wrapped bundle at the bottom of the bag bouncing at his back. “Should I clean up a bit, first? I did bring one set of court clothes with me.”
“When we send for our quarry, I think,” Mita told him. “The person you are about to meet doesn’t stand on formality.”
The person he met didn’t even stand, Ellett discovered.
The person who held the position of Guardian of Jetta Freeport was barely tall enough to reach Ellett’s shoulder, had a head of golden hair more curly than anyone Ellett had ever seen, and a pair of lively blue gray eyes which gleamed behind a nose-pinching version of a pair of single-lensed, gray-tinted viewing loupes. She didn’t stand, because the entire time she held her interview with him, the young woman constantly moved. And she didn’t walk so much as flit. Nor did she hold the title of Guardian, officially.
Instead she was, officially, the Chief Librarian of the Freeport University. The university, he learned, was something like the Academies found more commonly elsewhere, but instead of following one primary discipline of study, such as healing, spellcasting, military skills, a particular craft skill, it contained all such disciplines. The library was therefore the largest building in the whole city, and well guarded behind rune-carved walls.
The young woman didn’t even bother to wait for introductions when Mita led him deep into the stacks of shelves on one of the upper floors. Instead, she assessed him in a swift look from head to foot, then stuck out her hand. The one not carrying an open book, that was, which happened to be her left hand. Ellett, perforce, had to shake hands with his own left hand.
“Callaia, Chief Librarian of the university. Captain Mita didn’t say what position you hold, but I think I can guess. From the scar I can feel on your palm, you’re the author of that rather powerful piece of primal blood magic not half an hour ago. You also have the finely crafted, subtle shielding of an Aurulan Royal Guardsman about you. Since I doubt they would send a peon, you’re either a Sergeant, the Leftenant, or the Mage-Captain ... and if your name is Ellett, then I welcome you, Captain, to Jetta Freeport. I trust you’ll not run out of here screaming at the accuracy of my assessment?” she asked, before releasing his hand and moving farther up the row of shelves.
Mita tipped her head, silently urging Ellett to keep up with the short woman. He hastened to do so, catching up in just three long strides. “Ah, yes, that would be my identity, and, no, I don’t intend to flee. I’m actually impressed, rather. I should also apologize profusely for the disruptions to the various dockside magics, but ...”
“No apologies necessary. I’m afraid some of the fault is mine. I’ve been rather preoccupied with my studies, and foolishly assumed the docks were still fine. The author of that particular spell was very audacious, carving it upon my planks.”
For a moment, she scowled at nothing, then looked into her book, flipped through a few pages at a steady rate, sighed, and snapped the book shut. A swing of her elbow sent it lofting up into the air, where it floated up and back several feet before slotting itself neatly into place somewhere near the ceiling. She didn’t stop to see if it did re-shelve itself properly, but continued on, forcing Ellett and Mita to keep pace or be left behind.
Lifting her finger, Callaia continued bristly. “Mind you, I do realize that the people of Aurul
also have a claim on the offending spellcaster’s hide—Captain Mita was kind enough to mirror-scry me and inform me about the lovely little chats you’ve been having. But considering most of his offenses have taken place on Jettan soil, and have tarnished the Jettan name, I’d like to think we can claim some precedence in the matter.”
Holding out her hand, she caught another book that came deftly sailing down from another spot overhead. Opening it, she skimmed a few pages, spending nothing more than two or three heartbeats per pair of pages, then sent it flying back into place. She moved on with another flurry of short but quick steps, and once more Ellett had to keep up with the woman. He couldn’t quite decide if she was a hummingbird, from her swiftness, or a butterfly.
Hummingbird, I guess. If she wore a noblewoman’s etama coat, with ... thigh-length sleeves, I think her rank would be rated at ... then she’d definitely look like a butterfly. The thought amused him, but only for a moment. He organized his priorities and addressed her.
“Yes, about the whole set of incidents that brought me here, Chief Librarian,” he stated, mindful of his oath not to mention the word Guardian out loud. “I’ve exchanged scryings with my own people, and we’re very confident none of the Aurulan vessels described as the attackers on your merchant fleet are ones that actually exist within the known registry of Aurulan ships. At least, the lawful registry. I can also reassure you upon a Truth Stone, or a wand, or whatever spell you deem fit to cast, that Lord Stelled, cousin to Seer King Devin, is most assuredly dead.”
“Whereas the ‘Lord Stelled’ we have here is certainly a powerful enough mage to have crafted the spell on the docks, which I studied from afar while you were still walking all the way up here,” Callaia agreed. “As well as strong enough to have spell-shaped his face. Assuming he bothered to look like the original Lord Stelled, which I do not doubt.” Catching another book, this one a slender volume, she tapped one corner of it against her chin. “Such magics as were carved onto our wharves were a subtle lot. Very exacting. Very deep in the details of their search parameters, yet without a single excess rune.”
