“Is this it?” said Djeri. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” she said. The water had partially filled the track back in, but she was confident of the pattern. “It’s a bit old but we’ll see . . .” She touched the track and was jolted by the strength of the memory. Gasping, she withdrew her hand.
“What was it? What did you see?” Djeri asked.
She frowned at him, unused to being around people who understood her ability. “It was strong. This track is at least three weeks old, but it felt as new as a track just made yesterday. Even stronger. It’s kind of hard to explain.”
She followed along the stream, touching each track and being startled by the power of it each time. The beast was strong, confident, and loyal. It was moving with a purpose, but without a clear understanding of where it was supposed to go.
Tarah scratched her head. “You said you met two of these rogue horses, Djeri?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Would you say they’re smart?” she asked.
He nodded. “Well one of them was part man and I’d say he was smarter than most. His name was Samson and during the siege he was put in charge of all the stablemen. Uh, the other one, its hard to say. Her name was Gwyrtha and she was part lizard. She was sweet though and it seemed like she knew what was being spoken. Sir Edge talked to her like she was a regular person.”
“Well this one seems smart too, but it’s like he doesn’t know where he’s going,” she said.
“It’s a he, then?” Djeri said.
“Yes, or at least that’s the feeling I get. I’ll understand more with each track,” she said. “We should destroy the tracks as we go, don’t you think?”
“It would be better if we didn’t have to backtrack to do it,” Djeri agreed.
“Right, well the best way to do it in the mud is just to smudge it a bit with your foot and kick some dirt into it. The main thing is to make it unrecognizable,” she said.
“I wouldn’t have recognized them as they are,” he replied.
“You’re not a professional tracker. That’s who we’re supposed to be hiding them from,” she reminded him.
They went to work covering the tracks she’d found and then started following them further up the stream, destroying them as they went. Tarah was quite impressed with the beast. The more glimpses she got, the more she got the feeling that the intensity of the memories had something to do with the strength of its spirit. It was like the intensity of five or six tracks all at once.
“You planning to work for the academy forever, Djeri?” Tarah asked at one point.
“What do you mean?” he replied.
“You know, dwarfs live a long time,” she said. “Are you gonna work for them all that time?”
He let out a short laugh shaking his head. “I really haven’t thought about it. I’m an academy man through and through. I can’t imagine working for someone else. But who knows where I’ll be a hundred years from now? Who knows where the academy will be?”
“You’ll eventually retire, right?” Tarah touched another track and was jolted with a partial thought from the rogue that made her sure he was carrying some kind of load on his back. “I guess what I’m saying is, what will you do when you’re no longer a warrior?”
“I don’t know,” Djeri said, covering up a track with his boot. “It’s hard to imagine a different life. I tried blacksmithing once. I didn’t have much of a talent for it, but I guess I could see myself doing that one day.”
“You could settle down and start a farm,” she suggested.
“Ha! I’d rather eat a turd,” he said, shaking his head.
“Come on!” Tarah groaned, standing up and facing him.
“What? Farming’s not for me. My parents struggle at it every day. It’s the same thing over and over.” He smudged another track. “I didn’t realize you liked farming.”
“It’s not that,” Tarah said, putting her hands on her hips. “It’s the word ‘turd’. For nature’s sake, you use it all the time! It’s like it’s the only swear you know.”
Djeri looked at the ground, an odd smile on his face. “You know I figured this was coming sooner or later. All my friends ask me eventually.”
“Yeah? Well what’s it about, then?” she asked with a scowl. “Is it some running joke where you just keep saying ‘turd’ until some idiot asks you why?”
The dwarf laughed. “It’s not like that. It’s just that when I was young I had a bit of a foul mouth.”
“You don’t say?” Tarah replied.
“My mother got after me about it all the time until one day my father came to my room and sat me down. He said that since he couldn’t make me stop cursing altogether, he’d make me a deal. I was allowed one word only. As long as that was the only word I used, they would stop giving me grief about it,” Djeri said. “And I’ve done my best to stick by that deal ever since.”
“And you picked ‘turd’?” Tarah said incredulously.
“It’s the perfect word!” Djeri exclaimed with a wide grin.
Tarah folded her arms. “Explain yourself.”
“It’s versatile. I’ve thought up tons of ways to use it over the years. Also, it isn’t so foul you can’t say it in front of mixed company.” He shrugged. “And it also didn’t hurt that it was my mother’s least favorite word.”
“Yeah, that’s the real reason,” Tarah said. She went back to her work, kicking through a track with her boot. “But I wouldn’t say it in front of company,”
“Oh wouldn’t you?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
Tarah smiled slightly, “Well some company maybe, but-.”
There was a plunking noise and a small golden orb rolled in front of them. It emitted a brief flash and Tarah couldn’t move. She could breathe, but the rest of her body was stiff. In the periphery of her vision, she could see that Djeri was frozen as well.
Tarah heard the stomping of many boots and soon they were surrounded. Tarah couldn’t see them all at first but two of them came to stand in front of her. They were dwarves. Both of them wore dusters and wide-brimmed hats. Even more distinctively, they both had handlebar mustaches, a style Tarah had never seen on a dwarf before.
“Well, what do we have here, Boss Donjon?” asked one with a blond mustache.
“I dunno, but they’re messin’ with our dag-blamed tracks,” said the other, a squint-eyed dwarf whose mustache was jet black. He pulled a long cigar from within his duster’s pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Let’s take ‘em back to Shade and see what he wants done.”
Chapter Thirteen
“But Molly. It’s not about that.” Arcon pleaded, clutching the steward’s arm. “Just hear me out.”
The steward yanked her arm free from his hand, her eyes delivering a warning glare. “We both know that’s not true, mage! And just because you have the scholar’s favor it does not allow you to molest a steward.”
“Come-come, Molly dearest” Arcon said with a pouting lip. “I thought you liked being molested.”
They stood near the doorway to her chambers, an austere set of rooms, all white marble with cushioned accents. The place reminded him of what he’d imagined princess’ rooms to be like when he was a child. Only the princesses of his dreams didn’t have crow’s feet.
The steward’s face colored slightly. “Arcon, as much as I enjoy our sweet times and as much as I enjoy letting you convince me for minor favors, you go too far. I will not let you interfere with my duties. If you try to press me, I will be forced to report your proclivities.”
“By the gods, can’t we just kill the woman?” Mellinda complained. Her dislike for the woman had grown with each night he had been forced to spend with the steward.
Tempting, but I don’t think I’m in a safe position to start murdering people right now, he replied.
Arcon had been relieved when Scholar Aloysius had agreed to protect him. Molly had told him the dark wizards had been informed that he wasn’t to be touched. In fact, one night wh
en she was feeling particularly talkative she let slip that the wizards had recalled two more basilisks that had been searching for him. But the last two weeks had been agonizingly slow.
“Molly, please,” he said. “I wouldn’t dare ask you to do anything unbecoming of a steward of your stature.”
“That’s exactly what you’re going to ask me,” she replied.
“Just listen to my request, please,” Arcon said, giving her the smile that had melted her heart so many times before. “If you feel I’ve overstepped my bounds, go ahead and report me.”
“I am a hair’s breadth from doing it now,” she warned, but folded her arms and allowed him to speak.
“The token Scholar Aloysius gave me has been helpful.” He grabbed the pin set in his collar, a square metal carving of an open book with a scroll lying across it. “And it lets me come and go from the homeland, which I am grateful for.”
“However?” Molly said with a roll of her eyes.
“My access is extremely limited,” he said, his hands up defensively. “I wish to help the scholar! That’s why he gave me his protection in the first place. But I can’t do the research necessary to help. This thing won’t give me access to any of the libraries in the homeland and on top of it all, I still have a curfew at night.”
“This is all true,” Molly said. “Your pin identifies you as an asset to Scholar Aloysius. Nothing more.”
“I understand that, dear one,” he said patiently.
“Dear one?” Mellinda said. “Really? Ugh, if I had a body you’d be making me ill.”
Arcon cleared his throat, “However, isn’t there a way that I could get a request in to the scholar to raise my classification? Isn’t there something higher than ‘asset’ which would allow me into the libraries at least?”
“Yes! There’s something higher. You could be an official assistant or an honored guest. Both of those have privileges. Indeed, you could even be a steward. Then you would have access to everything!” Molly’s face had grown redder with each sentence. “But you’re not! Would you like to know why? Because you’re a nobody! A peon! Do you know what a peon is?”
“Yes, Molly,” he said dully.
“At the risk of being vulgar, I’ll tell you,” she said with an angry laugh. “A peon is someone whose worth is so low that it is societally acceptable to urinate on them! Do you understand?”
“I know what you’re saying,” Arcon replied. He kept his gaze down, but his hands were clenched into fists.
“Good!” Molly said.
“Kill her!” said Mellinda. “Please, just put the rings on and explode her from the inside. Better yet, shrink her down to the size of an ant and squish her! No one will ever know.”
Arcon chose a different tactic, thickening his voice with sadness. “I apologize for offending you, Molly. Please know that I-I’m not from here and I don’t understand all of your customs.” He fed a small amount of water magic to the corners of his eyes, causing an overflowing of tears. “I just want to help Scholar Aloysius and I-I don’t want to be a disappointment to you.”
He turned away and sat on the edge of her bed, wiping the wetness from his cheeks. As he did so, from the corner of his eye, he saw a look of guilt upon Steward Molly’s face.
“I can’t believe it. That might actually work. Where did you learn manipulation like that?”
Oh please, he said. It’s how you convinced me to carry one of your eyes around the Mage School every morning.
“Well-uh,” Molly began, choosing her words very carefully. “Now that you understand your place here, I’ll tell you this. I informed Scholar Aloysius of your desire to access the libraries a few days ago. He is considering it, but . . .” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll mention it again, though I don’t think it will change anything.”
“Thank you!” he said, turning and embracing her. He kissed her neck in the way he knew she liked. “Thank you so much, dearest. I know it must be a difficult thing to bring up, but I’m glad he listens to you.”
“Scholar Aloysius listen to me?” she said with amusement. “Arcon, you really do know nothing. I may be chiefest of his green-sashes, but I’m no red. He listens to me regarding the care of his household and the occasional visitor, but that is it.” She shook her head and walked back to the doorway. “Now leave here discreetly, sweetling. And since I am doing you such a huge favor I expect to see you back here tonight.”
“Of course, dearest,” he replied. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The moment she was out the door, he sighed and fell back on the bed. This was truly ridiculous work. Seducing a middle-aged steward had not been on his list of ways to gain power.
“It most certainly wasn’t on mine,” Mellinda grumbled.
“I’m doing what’s necessary,” he reminded her.
“Perhaps, but it doesn’t mean I like being present for the event.”
“Would you prefer I lock you away?” he asked.
She had to think about that one for a moment. “No.”
“Then stop complaining.” He looked in the mirror and used air magic to clean some of the steward’s makeup from his cheek. The woman slathered herself with it. Even more so since they had started their dalliance. “What do you think? Will my little performance do any good?”
She gave him a mental shrug. “I suppose another bug in his ear can’t hurt.”
“Hmm.” Arcon left Molly’s chambers dissatisfied. There had to be a better way to advance his cause with the steward, but what was it?
He checked to make sure that the guards weren’t watching as he exited the steward’s quarters. What to do next? There wasn’t much for him to do during the day. He could go into Mallad and prowl the taverns in hopes of picking up some information. The complaints of the lower inhabitants had proved interesting from time to time. But such endeavors seemed useless now that he had the scholar’s protection. With a sigh, he began wandering the gardens.
After a few minutes gazing uninterestedly at the exotic plants, he sat down on a stone bench under the shade of a lilac tree. Arcon rubbed slowly at his temples. He needed access. He needed a way to rise in stature so that he could enact his plans.
I’m just going to have tell him, he announced. There’s no way around it.
“The scholar?” Mellinda said warily. “You want to tell him what?”
I want to go through with our plan, Arcon decided.
“That sounds easier than it is,” she said. “He obviously doesn’t want to see us just yet.”
“But why is that?” he asked aloud. I have skills he can use. I have knowledge that could be helpful. Why is he leaving me sitting here to rot?
“He’s a gnome,” Mellinda grumbled. “He’ll live as long as he wishes to. This means he has patience. Something I wish I still had. Being trapped in your mind is boring, dear Arcon. Especially when you’re just sitting around all the time.”
You’ve changed, Mellinda, Arcon said.
“Oh?”
You were clever once. Calculating, methodical, alluring. You were a planner. You thought up schemes that brought the known lands to their knees. Now you do nothing but make pithy remarks as I go through my day.
She chuckled. “That’s what I’ve been reduced to. Compared to my old heights, my existence now is just a joke.”
He leaned forward, peering at the well-trimmed grass as if in hopes something would come out and announce the answer. But of course there was nothing. The grass in this place was like the lawns at the Mage School. It didn’t serve a purpose except for something to look at. It would be so much more useful out in a field somewhere feeding some sheep.
He snorted. Right now he was just like this grass in Molly’s eyes. Pretty to look at but basically useless. Just something to . . .
He cocked his head. Wait a minute. He was being foolish. He had a resource. A good one, even if it was a dangerous one. He just wasn’t putting it to use. Mellinda.
“What?” she said bore
dly.
At the height of your power, what was your greatest skill? he asked.
“Plotting,” she said. “Outthinking my opponents.”
I think it was more than that, he said. It was understanding your opponents. You’re ability to read people was what made you so dangerous. It’s how you snared me, finding my weakness and then latching on like some kind of unburnable leech.
“That’s not so hard with a thousand years’ experience,” she said, sounding flattered. “It’s also easier with the mind power of hundreds at your disposal.”
Then tell me. What did you notice during our first visit with Aloysius? Arcon asked. Figure him out. Tell me what you learned.
She thought for a moment. “I’ve told you this. He is different. Unlike other gnomes, he’s not bogged down by his focus. He’s intelligent enough to become a top scholar and at the same time able to function without constant hand holding. It’s rare. A once in a thousand years oddity.”
That’s not what I’m talking about. Something about the way he interacted with me told you that I should bow to him. Why?
“Because of his focus,” she said “He tells the world it’s the creation of powerful items, but his every action and the way he surrounded himself showed me that his true focus was just the accrual of power.”
Alright. That’s helpful, but there’s something else. Something else . . . He stood from the bench and paced, rubbing his chin.
Mellinda stirred in realization. “He liked you. I saw it in his eyes. He liked your boldness.”
“That’s it, then!” Arcon turned and walked towards the central building, crossing the useless grass lawn. I’ve got to be bold. He’ll leave me sitting here like any ordinary asset unless I can get his attention. He started up the steps and was met at the top by a steward wearing a green sash.
“Good morning, mage,” he said, his expression showing only mild curiosity. “Can I help you?”
Tarah Woodblade Page 20
