***
Irralith stood at the end of the farthest pier, looking out across the dark water. She raised one hand and spread her fingers wide, holding her palm outward. A bright green light suddenly shone from the palm of her hand, blinked three times, and was gone.
A moment later, another green light flashed in response from out on the water—a lantern with green glass, its shutters rapidly opened and closed.
“A boat is coming to pick us up,” Taren told Mira.
Irralith’s body was blocking his view of the wharf, so he couldn’t see any of his friends. His captor chanted again, and Taren watched in awe as the surface of the water rapidly solidified into an icy pathway. Irralith stepped onto it sure-footedly and strode toward a small skiff, fifty paces distant. Four men were in the boat, two of them working the oars hard, and the squeak of oarlocks and splash of water reached his ears as the boat quickly approached. They wore simple clothes like fishermen, but he suspected they were Nebaran soldiers. His suspicion was confirmed when he saw the man at the bow holding a crossbow along with the lantern, now providing a golden light.
A commotion sounded on the wharf behind them, and shouts rang out, along with boots pounding on the planks.
“Your friends are too late, Taren.” Irralith’s voice was smug. “But I’ve enjoyed this.”
Taren’s heart sank, for judging by the boat’s nearness, he feared she was right.
***
Mira saw the boatman’s signal but couldn’t see who it was signaling to. As such, she focused solely on reaching the boat itself, knowing that was Taren’s captor’s means of escape.
She cleared the next pier, leaping atop the dock then onto the seat of a moored sloop. After two long strides, her left foot caught the top of the gunwale. She launched herself forward, soaring across the six or seven paces of open water to reach a small fishing trawler. The boat rocked precariously when she landed, eliciting a startled shout from a figure curled up in the stern, clutching a bottle of wine.
“Oi, what the bloody shite, ya scamp!” A scruffy, bleary-eyed drunk squinted at her.
Mira recovered her balance, ignoring the incensed boatman. She hopped lightly onto the adjoining pier then paused a moment to check on her progress. Lantern light shone from the bow of the approaching skiff as it neared the end pier, now just two rows over. She adjusted her course, moving farther down the dock she was on before running up the gangplank and onto the deck of a large schooner. Someone shouted a challenge, but Mira was already leaping off the far side. The schooner’s greater height helped, for the jump was a long one. But she narrowly cleared the distance and landed aboard another single-masted sloop, setting the boat to rocking. Once upon the next-to-last pier, she saw she wouldn’t be able to reach the arriving skiff, for thirty paces of open water separated it from the nearest point on the end of her dock.
I won’t give up now.
A figure suddenly materialized in the distance, only a few paces from the boat, which she could see now was manned by four soldiers by the look of them. The heavyset woman, who Mira assumed was a witch of some sort, stood in the middle of the lake on a slick white bridge, apparently formed of ice. The approaching skiff was wide bodied, with two men on the middle seat furiously working the oars.
I see you now.
As if on cue, Taren’s thoughts reached her urgently. “Mira, the boat is here!”
“Taren, hold on, this might not go well.” What she was about to try she’d never performed for more than a short distance before. And that had been in a still, albeit frigid, pond formed from glacier runoff near the White Monastery.
Summoning the full force of her ki, Mira backed away down the dock and took a running start. She leaped as far as she could, legs churning in the air, and focused her ki along the soles of her bare feet. She cleared nearly a third of the distance to the boat in the air before her feet touched the water. Maintaining focus, she raced across the surface of the lake, her feet touching as lightly as a water strider, arms held out to her sides as if they could provide a small amount of lift.
The distance closed rapidly. Ahead, the witch was just climbing aboard the skiff, which rocked at her added weight. The guardsman with the lantern looked over and saw Mira. His eyes went wide, and he fumbled for a loaded crossbow on his lap. He brought it up to fire just as she reached the boat.
Mira didn’t stop, leaping right aboard. Her right foot shot out and caught the crossbowman in the face. The man cried out and toppled over the side. The sudden loss of his mass, combined with Mira’s added weight, sent the skiff rocking violently, jostling everyone aboard. She fell against the back of one of the oarsmen, slamming him into the man beside him. The woman cried out in alarm and nearly spilled over the side, but she was saved by grabbing onto the arm of the soldier in the stern.
The two oarsmen recovered, turning on the seat and trying to grab hold of Mira. She swatted aside their groping arms then delivered a straight punch to the first man’s ear, rocking him sideways. Her knee collided with the second oarsman’s chin, sending him tumbling to the bottom of the skiff. The third man lunged forward, stumbling over his comrade, but his brawny forearm struck Mira’s shoulder, throwing her back into the bow of the skiff. The short bow deck slammed hard into her lower back, and she grimaced in pain, grasping the gunwale to avoid sliding off the rocking craft.
The three men were crowding one another as they tried to draw short swords and daggers. Mira kicked the oarsman on her left in the belly. He folded over with an oof and toppled over the side. She hurriedly drew her legs back in to avoid a wild slash from the man on the right.
“Careful, you fools!” the witch shrieked, clutching onto the gunwale as the boat rocked violently with every movement.
The two remaining men drew back, and the woman shoved them toward the oars. She glanced off to her right, and a look of dismay crossed her face. “Hurry, take us out farther. I’ll deal with her.”
Mira glanced over and saw Ferret and Creel were nearing the end of the pier, separated by about twenty paces of water. The ice bridge broke apart at a command from the witch.
Mira regained her feet as the two men took up the oars and began stroking, turning the boat and then sending it surging forward. Before she could attack again, the witch barked another command in a foreign tongue.
Taren suddenly appeared in front of her, clutched to her chest and a knife pressed to his throat.
“Cease at once or I cut his throat!” she commanded.
Mira raised her hands in surrender. She saw no way out of the situation without Taren being harmed.
“Mira? What is going on?”
She frowned in confusion.
“She has a knife to your throat.”
“That’s not… Ah, another illusion. Act like you believe it and wait for an opening.”
“I shall.”
A moment later, the witch gave an ear-splitting shriek and clutched her temples. At that moment, the image of Taren disappeared, as did her illusory disguise. Revealed was a figure startling in appearance, with blue-gray skin and slitted amber eyes. The two soldiers were alarmed at the woman’s sudden change in appearance, cursing and reaching for weapons once more.
Mira instantly lashed out with sharp chops to the backs of both oarsmen’s heads. Without waiting to see if they were rendered unconscious, she stepped nimbly on the seat between the men and punched the witch on the chin. Her jaw snapped shut with an audible clack of teeth, and she would have gone over the side had Mira not dropped low to the bottom of the boat and seized her belt. The skiff rocked alarmingly, nearly capsizing, and water poured over the side and drenched Mira. She managed to haul the witch back in, throwing her unceremoniously down in the stern.
A quick glance revealed the two soldiers slumped over on the bench, unconscious, as was the witch. Mira took a moment to catch her breath, shocked that she’d actually made it onto the boat and succeeded in subduing her opponents without all of them ending up in the lake.
&
nbsp; However, she saw no sign of her charge. “Taren?”
“In her pocket,” came a faint reply, and she was relieved to hear his voice this time, not his thoughts.
Mira raised an eyebrow in surprise but rummaged gently in the witch’s pocket and was rewarded by pulling out a miniature Taren, shrunken down to the size of a mouse.
“The poison is finally wearing off,” he said, stirring sluggishly in her cupped hands. At her broad smile, he added, “Don’t laugh—it’s this damn magic ring she put on me.”
Mira couldn’t help herself. She was giddy with relief at finding Taren whole, and the absurdity of his transformation was too much. She laughed heartily, holding Taren up to her face, peering at him curiously.
After a moment, he laughed as well. “Gods, when this is finally over, we’ll have some tale to tell, won’t we?”
“We sure will. What did you do to that witch? I thought your magic…”
“I sent her a psionic blast—similar to how I contact you but forceful enough to cause pain and disorientation. I guess it worked.”
“Good thing it did.” She sighed, relieved that the ordeal was all over.
“Mira! Everyone all right over there?” Creel was waving from the end of the pier.
“We are,” she called back. “Now I just need to figure out how to row back to you.” She’d never rowed a boat, but the mechanics didn’t look too difficult.
Before she could drag the unconscious soldiers into the stern and take their place on the bench, Ferret stepped up beside Creel holding a thick coil of rope.
“Ahoy there!” Ferret tossed the bundle of rope out over the water. Her throw was a good one—a few coils landed across the bow deck. “I’ll pull you in!”
Mira secured the rope to the mooring hook, and Ferret hauled them in. Her strength was so great that the skiff’s bow rose up from the water, creating an impressive wake behind them. A moment later, Creel was giving Mira a hand out of the boat and onto the dock.
Some of the guardsmen milling around goggled at her, for her nightgown was soaked through and plastered to her body. Her ki was depleted, and she was shivering as she rapidly lost body heat.
“Someone give her a cloak,” Creel ordered.
None of her friends must have had the time to secure warmer garments either before taking up the chase, but a few of the guards were cloaked.
A guardsman stepped up and offered his cloak, which Creel draped over Mira’s shoulders. She gratefully wrapped it tightly around herself, thanking the guard.
“What happened to Taren?” Ferret asked, crowding close.
“He’s here.” Mira held him up.
Ferret gasped, then began giggling. Soon Creel chuckled, and Mira joined in also.
“Very funny,” Taren said, and at his small voice, they laughed even harder. “But I’m a fool, and I suppose I deserved this.”
A seasoned guardsman looked at them as if they had gone mad. “Uh, sir, about that lot in the boat…”
Creel regained his composure. “Aye, please feel free to arrest those bastards. Bind and gag the witch.”
“Aye, sir.”
Several of the guards swarmed the boat, dragging the two soldiers free, followed by the witch, whom they handled with extreme reluctance. The three prisoners were stirring by the time they were laid out on the dock. One other Nebaran was splashing in the lake, swimming toward the pier, where a pair of guardsmen pulled him free then held him at swordpoint. There was no sign of the last Nebaran, who had probably drowned.
“Well, well. What have we here?” Creel stood over the stirring witch as a guard worked to bind her hands.
“What type of creature is she?” Ferret asked, staring at the witch.
“She’s a changeling… a hag spawn,” Creel said.
The changeling regained her senses then, and a distraught expression flitted across her face when she realized she had been captured. “I remember you, monster hunter.” She eyed Creel warily with her unnerving gaze, and Mira sensed her fear.
Creel had the blade of his dagger at the changeling’s throat in an instant, and the guards backed away nervously. “And I you, Irralith, get of Hephynore. I see my compassion was misplaced in sparing your miserable hide all those years ago.”
“Please, that bitch Nesnys was going to execute me! I defended myself against her soldier scum, but they got the best of me and took me captive. I had to barter for my life! Look, even now she has me bound.”
She tapped an iron collar around her neck, stamped with some kind of sigil. Creel grunted and prodded it with the tip of his dagger, as if to verify it was real.
“Is being a survivor a crime?” Irralith asked. “I simply wish to be free of that fiend and her ilk—surely you of all people can understand that?”
Creel regarded her intently, the blade held motionless against her throat. “Perhaps,” he finally said after a long moment, “but you shall face the queen’s justice, not mine. Gag her.”
“No, please, you can’t—mmph!”
The senior guardsman shoved a gag roughly in Irralith’s mouth and tied it tightly. A moment later, the changeling and three Nebarans were hustled away toward the dungeon.
Creel noticed Mira’s shivering and turned toward the senior guard. “Oh, Sergeant—would you please send for a carriage to pick up the lady? She’s had a long night.”
“At once, sir. My pleasure, ma’am.” The sergeant saluted sharply and sent one of his men off at a run, but not before Mira saw the awed look on his face. She wondered if he’d seen her run across the water, a feat even she had been unsure she could pull off.
“You know that… creature?” Mira asked Creel while they watched them go.
“Aye. I had the misfortune of encountering her mother once, a frost hag of great power. This whelp of hers I spared since she was but a child. I see that may have been in error. But life can be difficult for such creatures, scorned and mistrusted for their nature and inhuman appearance. Too often, they take the easy path—those of brigands and petty tyrants.”
The group started back down the dock, following after the guards.
“I think I can walk,” Taren said. “Will you set me down?”
Before Mira could do so, Ferret reached in and gently scooped up Taren, studying him as if he were a delicate wounded bird.
“I think he’s kinda cute like this, don’t you, Mira? Maybe we should leave him as is?”
Mira could sense the playfulness in her manner and smiled at the girl.
Taren sighed exaggeratedly then stood up in her palm. He raised his hands in a dramatic gesture. “Don’t make me magick you, Ferret,” he warned.
“Oh, gods, please don’t!” Ferret lowered him to the dock and backed away, fluttering her hands like a terrified and distraught maiden, her good humor evident to all of them. Creel and Mira laughed.
Taren removed a tiny gold ring from his finger. As soon as he did, he instantly returned to his normal size. He studied the gem-studded ring a moment, which also had returned to a normal size, then shrugged and stuck it in a pocket. He fixed them all with a wry smile.
“Thank you, my friends. This has been a long night for all of us.”
“Good ballad fodder, for sure,” Ferret said. “I couldn’t believe how you ran across the water, Mira. That was…”
“Magnificent,” Taren supplied. “I slipped into your head for a moment there, when your focus was so absolute.”
“Just doing my duty,” Mira said humbly, embarrassed to be at the center of attention.
Creel clapped her on the shoulder. “Damn fine work, lass.”
She beamed at the praise. “Is your magic back now that the poison has worn off?”
Taren frowned, closing his eyes a moment, but then shook his head. “No. I need to question Irralith and find out what she did to me.”
“Charwort extract, I reckon,” Creel said. “She was disguised as the serving wench, no? Then she had plenty of opportunity to slip it in your wine. Probably tain
ted the whole table, or at least those wine drinkers, but no one else would notice the effect, save for a mage.”
“Charwort extract? I haven’t heard of it,” Taren admitted.
“Aye, its preparation and use aren’t common knowledge. The extract is harvested from the stalks of charwort vines, which grow primarily on the slopes of The Spine. The extraction process is fairly difficult and the plant rare. Mages are keen to see it destroyed when they come across it, for obvious reasons.”
As they walked, a stiff breeze picked up, and Mira shivered, clutching the borrowed cloak tighter about her. With the excitement finally over, she felt totally drained after the chase and fight and expenditure of so much ki. The cold was bleeding off the last of her strength, particularly through her bare feet, and her back ached from the hard fall on the boat. By the time they reached the sloping street leading away from the port, she was having difficulty putting one foot in front of the other. Curling up in front of the hearth in her room, swaddled in blankets and drinking a kettle of hot tea sounded wonderful indeed.
Taren slowed his pace to match hers as the other two walked a bit ahead. He lifted Mira’s arm and draped it across his shoulders. “Let me support you for a change, my formidable protector.”
“No, I’m fine,” she said automatically, ashamed at her weakness, standing straighter and starting to pull her arm free.
“Mira,” he said firmly, holding her wrist gently so she couldn’t pull free, “you’ve done more this night than anyone could ever expect. Saved me from my own foolishness once again. Let me do this for you.”
His rust-colored eyes were almost pleading, and the mixture of concern and pride she found on his face made Mira’s heart swell. As they retraced their path back to the castle, she allowed herself to relax her rigid self-discipline for once. She leaned against him, grateful for not only his support but also his warmth.
When the carriage arrived a few minutes later, Mira and Taren climbed aboard, as did Creel and Ferret. Content that she’d managed to redeem herself after her earlier blunder, and with some warmth returning to her chilled body, she relaxed enough to doze off on the way back.
Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3) Page 27
