Merchants and Mages (Highmage's Plight Book 2)

by D. H. Aire

  “Uh, Farrel,” she replied.

  “That’s an unusual name. You’re not from the Empire, are you?”

  “No, I’m from Hollif,” she replied. The city–state lay just outside the Empire along the Southern Crescent’s coastline. “Where’s the coachman?”

  “Oh, he’s over there,” she replied following Fri’il. She pointed toward the carriage house. Yet, the house was dark. Fri’il paused and turned about a bit confused. The girl then smiled and threw herself into Fri’il astonished arms. The drawstrings of her blouse were drawn wide as she kissed the startled Fri’il passionately. “Oh, my, Master Farrel,” the young woman rasped as Fri’il struggled to extricate herself, while at the same time failing to note the carriage house door opening.

  The club struck the back of her head as the serving girl abruptly pushed her away. Fri’il’s eyes glazed over as she fell to the ground. The serving girl sighed, “What took you so long?”

  Fri’il was dragged roughly by her roughly dressed companion into the house, then bound as the serving girl pulled off her boots.

  Fri’il was coming around as the girl laughed, “Such small feet… Nice anklet. You won’t be needing it.” She moved to slip it off and as she touched it cried, “Ow, something stung me!”

  “Move off, lass!” the ruffian shouted.

  With a quick blown kiss to the bound luckless lad, the serving girl quickly shoved the gag firmly in his mouth. “All right, I’m going!” she said shaking her still smarting hand.

  #

  The owner smiled as the younger servant, chafing at the lengthening wait for his companion, rose and exited. The maitre d’ glanced at him casually, then walked up to the merchant and his lady.

  George noted Raven’s departure even as Se’and said, “My father would be pleased at seeing how you spend my dowry.”

  “Cathartan mores,” he muttered half-jokingly as the maitre d’ paused before him.

  “I’ve been asked to convey the fact that your coachman needed your servant’s help. I’m certain he’ll be back shortly.”

  George, for the first time, clearly sensed the falsehood in the man’s words, and wondered if he dared risk a mental probe of the man’s thoughts without the benefit of his computer staff’s enhancement.

  “Very well, thank you,” he replied as the maitre d’ nodded and left.

  “Ow,” Se’and rasped, reaching for her ankle. “Something bit me.” Her gaze lost focus, “Something’s wrong.”

  George closed his eyes, to hell with the risk, muttering, “Minimum level rapport.” The staff he had leaned against the table barely stirred. He let his mind float, relaxed and reached out to the man walking away... He sensed his unease –– then more, the thoughts underlying them. George’s eyes opened wide, then he endeavored to smile casually and replied, “There certainly is, damn it.”

  Raven’s nostrils dilated as she reached the open air. She hesitated as

  she glanced from the row of coaches to the carriage house. Grimly, she knew what would happen if rumors of a were spread through the city –– and also what Se’and would do to her if she changed form and ripped through these clothes and was forced to go naked through the streets.

  Discretion was not a talent she easily learned. Fri’il’s scent hung in the air. She walked into the bushes and took off her livery, jerkin, and trousers. The area was unlighted as she quickly undressed, then hid the clothes carefully beneath the bushes. She could hear someone coming toward her to investigate. She looked right and left, but knew she had no place to hide. Spreading her arms she shimmered, then in a flutter of wings flew off in the form of a large pale bird of prey.

  She settled quietly atop one of the coaches as the man paused at the odd sound of her taking flight, then confusion as he looked for where she had gone. Cocking her head to the right, gazing upon the other men –– men concealed from the dim lights of the courtyard. She felt a tentative mental probe. “!” she squawked.

  Her foster–father, Je’orj, and Se’and hurriedly exited the restaurant. “Coachman!” he shouted.

  Raven took wing and dove. The nearest tough suddenly smiled in anticipation before abruptly screaming as Raven’s talons clawed his face. A second man swung his arm over his head, ducking her attack, yet the bird grasped his arm in her talons. The man cried out.

  Se’and ran forward, drawing a thin hilt–less knife in her hand, as the third man rushed to attack them. She cast the blade and was rewarded by the man’s faltering cry. Raven dove again and again until her victims fell sprawling upon the ground. A crowd was rushing outside into the courtyard as the pale bird took wing and seemed to vanish into the night, hoping as she crept, naked in human form, through the shadows that she would quickly recover her clothes. Or Se’and was going to kill her.

  George burst into the carriage house and found both their coachman and Fri’il. He cried out in rage as he untied her and plucked out her gag. “Se’and!”

  She hurried inside. She untied the coachman. “Sorry, M’lady. They hit me before I knew what was happening.”

  “Get the coach ready!” she ordered as he hurried out.

  George slung his walking staff across his back as Fri’il moaned, knowing it wasn’t safe here. He picked her up and she put her arms weakly about his neck. Se’and made sure the way was clear and they hurried toward the coach.

  “So the foreigner has ways of protecting himself,” the Archmage muttered.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “You did not see what unnatural creature attacked the men?”

  “No, Master... But I detected the faintest sense of something –– perhaps a talisman of High Magery.”

  “In any case, the merchant grew suspicious and reacted quickly.”

  His journeyman made no reply; merely watched the Archmage consider. His Master’s thin smile heartened him.

  #

  The Lyai stared at Terhun. “Let me get this straight. The woman took out

  one attacker with little effort, but a beast of some sort dealt with the other two?”

  “Aye, Milord.”

  “Yet, you know nothing of the manner of the beast that just happened to come along?”

  Terhun would not meet his eye.

  “There is more to this than you wish to tell me.”

  “I suspect more, Milord.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I may not, Milord.”

  The elflord sat back in surprise. “Your oath is clear!”

  “That is why I may not.”

  The Lyai stared, thinking long and hard about the wording of Terhun’s oath, which bound him firmly to him and the Empire –– specifically for the good of the Empire. How could the foreigner play into that oath? He was a foreigner and, really, no human could – the Empire was ruled by those of Elvin lineage –– descended of the Forty Great Families, who had followed the Guardian of the Gate, a title reserved for the Highmage of Aqwaine. Wait, there was one human who might meet the grounds of the Oath, the Highmage’s Hand –– a human of remarkable potential and the very reflection of the elvin Highmage’s spirit. Yet, Alrex’s Hand would be terribly old for a human these days. Wouldn’t he?

  “You’ve met His Hand?”

  Terhun paled and bowed, then considered his Oath carefully. The Lyai was likely the only ally the Empress had among the Provincial Lords, though he likely did not realize it. “The foreigner is most assuredly The Hand.”

  The Lyai gasped. “Oh, my, the Archmage does not understand in the least what he is letting himself in for... and a Hand who supports the Faeryn mages? Dear me.” He laughed, then quickly grew more serious. “Terhun, make a complete report, this instant!”

  The agent swallowed hard, knowing he would get no sleep this night.

  They burst through the inn’s doorway, shouldering past startled guests. The foreign merchant Jeo d’Aere rushed inside cradling his unconscious young servant in his arms. A trace of blood marked the lad’s livery and he had a bump on his head. “Out of ou
r way!” the merchant’s well-dressed companion shouted.

  The manager of the plush establishment hurried forward, “Oh, dear! I’ll contact the constabulary and send for a healer immediately!”

  “No, healer!” Jeo d’Aere rasped as his partner and his much younger liveried servant boy hurriedly preceded him up the stairs to

  their rooms.

  The manager stared after them a moment, then sent one of his wife’s kin off to find a city guardsman. “Oh, dear,” he muttered, thinking that things like this just were not supposed to happen in the respectable Upper City of Lyai, then again, since the merchant arrived nothing had been precisely normal. But the fellow did pay good coin.

  His lovely partner edged past him, barely able to open the door before he could angrily kick it in. He carried his charge into the adjoining room and gently laying him down. “Make sure no one intrudes.”

  She nodded, then firmly slammed the door and barred it.

  He unlaced the injured youth’s livery and jerkin, clearly upset and worried.

  “I’m all right, really,” the servant muttered faintly, dazed.

  Tossing aside his cloak, he sighed, “Lay back and don’t try to rise.”

  The youth grimaced, muttering, “Aye, Milord.”

  The man unslung his seemingly wooden walking staff from his back. “Activate wards, commence scan.” The staff flared with light.

  Moments later, he whispered, “That’s better.” He mentally probed the darkening bruise and skull for fracture, something he could not do in public, when he revealed himself to those searching for him.

  He relaxed. “The blow’s not serious.” He focused tightly, encouraging the natural healing process to a feverish pace. The bruising began to fade around the edges. “Rest now,” he crooned, promising, “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fri’il muttered, her bosom no longer restrained as tightly revealing her womanish form. “I should have been on my guard.”

  “Less your fault than mine,” he replied, frowning. “Please, believe that.”

  Se’and came inside, “Playing the merchant seems not so perfect a

  disguise, after all.”

  “I merely forgot to take greed into account,” George said as he gazed

  thoughtfully at Fri’il and gingerly touched the bruise, which quickly faded.

  “Any sign of Raven?” he asked.

  “None,” Se’and replied. “But I’m sure she’ll be all right.”

  Nodding, he muttered, “Sleep.” The command was like a breeze murmuring to the soul. Fri’il’s breathing slowed and sleep she did.

  :George,: Staff said through their mental link. :I’ve detected a change in her hormone levels.:

  He winced and muttered, “Which hormones?

  Staff showed him.

  He caressed the young woman’s cheek as she drifted into a deep slumber.

  “George, are you all right?” Se’and asked, frowning.

  “All right? I guess that’s a relative term. Fall across the universe, make enemies at every turn, be ridden by a crazed enchantment, and find yourself bonded to two ladies who have taken vows to die defending me. Yeah, I’m all right.”

  Se’and shook her head, “Not just vowed to die defending you – defending our Household, Milord – our Household.”

  He glanced down at Fri’il’s sleeping face and smoothed back her hair. “She’s so damn young. So are you, for that damned matter.”

  Frowning, Se’and nodded, “She’s going to be just fine, Je’orj. I… I know you love her. She’s stronger than you realize.”

  Looking at Se’and, he said, “She’s pregnant.”

  Se’and’s heart missed a beat. “Uh, that’s wonderful.”

  “Archmage,” the man rasped. “It did not go as we expected.”

  The silver-haired head of the Lyai Province’s Mage Guild frowned thinly, “I take it that Talik’s people interfered as we feared they might.”

  The man coughed, “Uh, the role of the heretic mages is still uncertain.”

  “Then if they did not use magery against you, what happened?”

  “Uh, the merchant rescued his servant himself... And there were the Lyai’s agents.”

  Archmage sat back. “Really? How interesting.”

  The Lyai was, at that moment, listening to a report as well. “So, Terhun, apparently our fine Archmage feels that the sudden demand for Faeryn crafted goods the foreigner has created is a serious threat.”

  “Yes, Milord.”

  “Am I to take it that tonight’s activity was a warning that the foreign merchant will understand?”

  Terhun coughed, “If that was the Archmage’s intent, I believe he has seriously erred.”

  “Explain,” the young elvin lord and provincial governor muttered, looking at him thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps it is best if I explained exactly what happened this evening. Then you will understand my concern about exactly who should feel warned.”

  The Lyai leaned closer toward his spymaster. “Do so.”

  A blue haze glowed about the staff, warding their rooms. It cast a shadow over George’s now sleeping face. Fri’il lay beside him in bed, his arm thrown protectively across her. Se’and slept on the couch, her throwing blades under her pillow and on the table beside her, close at hand.

  Suddenly there was a noise. George opened his eyes warily. The floorboards on his left creaked. He craned his neck ever so slightly and saw the silhouette of a large beast padding toward him. It had come from the adjourning room, where they had left the window open, appearing get some fresh air.

  It crossed the room silently and paused before him. Its eyes reflected the faint light and noted he was now awake, then it leapt upon the bed.

  He sat up and muttered in a whisper, “Raven.”

  The beast whined as it settled into his lap, then shimmered as its form changed. George held her; his naked foster–daughter softly cried. Se’and stirred and muttered, “Welcome home. Now some people are trying to get some sleep.”

  “Shh, it’s all right,” George crooned softly to Raven. “Fri’il’s going to be just fine.”

  Shaking her head, Raven whispered, “Father –– I killed.”

  He sighed, “And you saved our lives.” The staff flared, unsatisfied with George’s memories alone. Raven sniffled and glanced at the computer staff. Abruptly her thoughts were enrapport – one with it, and George. Her tension eased. She nodded, then curled up at the end of the bed.

  Se’and groaned, pulling the covers over her eyes. “See what you’ve gone

  and done.”

  He nodded, “I keep wondering about that all the time.”

  To Scry Another Day

  Chapter 43

  If he never played chess again, he would not regret it. He grimaced, looking back at the board. What was the point of being an Archmage, if you had to hide out months at a time?

  “Imperial mark for your thoughts, Talik.”

  “Oh, just make your move, Hynrik.”

  The human leaned back, “I’d have thought Galt’s last report would have at least made you happy.”

  “So what if one foreign merchant prizes our work? We need more than that to rival the Guild’s near monopoly in the Province.”

  “Well, if that’s how you feel about it,” Hynrik said, moving his piece, “checkmate.”

  “Aw,” Talik muttered.

  “You’re normally a much better playing than that, Milord.”

  He stood. “By the Gate, there’s got to be a way. It’s bad enough to be called a heretic, but to have charged me with treason?”

  “It’ll blow over, Milord. You’ll be back home in no time. We’ll deal with the trumped up charges. You’re the Lyai’s heir, after all.”

  “That’s why I don’t think the charges are going to go away. Lord Amberling’s jealous of his power and my cousin, Empress Bless Him, needs his support more than he needs me.”

  One of bells on the fir
eplace mantel tipped.

  Hynrik gasped as Talik grabbed up his mage staff. Someone had breached the wards, which made the curious pass without realizing the cottage, or anyone, was here. Hynrik drew his bane sword. He’d served in the legion with Talik’s father decades past and had watched over the elfblooded lord’s son since he was a boy.

  Hynrik warily glanced out the window, then stared, “It’s a blooming girl.”

  “What?”

  “Uh, hi,” the elvin young lady said.

  “Who in the Empress’s name are you?”

  “Oh, I’m Amira… and I’ve come to get your help, Lord Mage.”

  “Well, a lovelier messenger I’ve never had. Care for some tea?”

  She smiled, “Please.”

  “Hynrik, if you would be so kind.”

  “Certainly, Milord.”

  Esperanza sat in the clearing. She’d drawn logs together, but wasn’t certain about how to make a fire, since it wasn’t among the general scrying principles she’d been taught. She glanced at the angle of the sun and knew it was about time, then she heard the sound of hooves and up rode the scout. He slowed his mount, and glanced about.

  “Ma’am.”

  She smiled, “You’re not imagining me. If you’d be so kind as to go back and hurry your Sergeant and the cadre along you could be of great service to the Empire.”

  He frowned.

  “I’m an Imperial Scryer and we’ve company coming.”

  He stared at her, then turned his horse about and spurred it, racing back the way he’d come.

  “Now for the hard part,” she said to herself.

  Amira placed a quiver of black metal tipped arrows on the table along with a small bag of arrowheads. The Archmage felt odd just being near them. “Where did you get those?”

  “Excellent question, Milord. Please forgive me when I tell you that

  I don’t exactly know. But I think I was in the Barrows.”

  Talik glanced at his longtime retainer and chuckled. “You’ve come a long way, then, and don’t look like you’ve ridden or walked far.”