Shadow of the Exile (The Infernal Guardian Book 1)

by Mitchell Hogan

  The southern gate was unguarded. “Most of the traffic comes from the north and from the harbor,” explained Veika.

  A few crimson-skinned, bored-looking officials half-heartedly checked wagons and people for contraband as they entered and left: a poke of a pole into loose hay, a cursory glance at vegetables and livestock, a tap on sealed barrels to ensure they were full of liquid and not something else. One official’s eyes widened as he saw Veika. He had the same almond-shaped pupils, Tarrik noted. The guard waved them into the city without inspection.

  To Tarrik’s eye, the city’s residents were a stark contrast to those he’d seen in Ivrian. Most were crimson skinned of one shade or another with the same cat’s eyes Veika had, though colors ranged from pale yellow, to brown, to orange and golden. Traits of the Niyandrian race, guessed Tarrik. They appeared more cheerful and also smelled happier. There was less fear and anger in the atmosphere. So far the trio had passed only one squad of soldiers, all busy helping a wagoner change a broken wheel. The occasional dog weaved through the crowd, and there wasn’t a hanged corpse or gibbet in sight. Tarrik concluded that whoever ruled Niyas was more benevolent than those rulers on the western continent under the influence of the Tainted Cabal. But as he knew, the longer the leash, the more trouble a dog could get into.

  They rode along streets crowded with two- and three-story buildings on either side and past canals crossed by stone and timber bridges and narrow timber walkways for foot traffic. Veika exchanged a few words with all different types: shopkeepers standing in doorways, old women sitting at windows, food vendors on street corners, and even a couple of street urchins. Each conversation usually ended with him handing over a coin or two; Ren seemed content not to hasten him along.

  Finally Veika led them down a cobbled street and through an archway into the yard of a two-story, brown-brick building roofed with wooden shingles.

  “I’ll take care of the horses and your gear,” he said to Ren. “You go inside. Jendra’s expecting you.”

  Ren dismounted. “Tarrik will see to our bags. But I appreciate you looking after the horses.”

  Tarrik tossed both sets of saddlebags over one shoulder before taking up his spear. As he followed Ren, Veika called after him, “Watch your head.”

  A set of double doors led into a kitchen. Tarrik ducked beneath the low lintel. When he straightened, his head brushed a ceiling beam.

  A severe-looking, sharp-nosed woman wearing plain gray trousers and a navy shirt dusted flour from her hands before she greeted Ren with a smile and hug. Tarrik noticed a loaded crossbow on the central workbench and a knife block with enough steel to satisfy an eight-armed idol.

  “I came as quickly as I could,” said Ren.

  The woman—Jendra, Tarrik presumed—nodded. “I’m grateful. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  “Hush now. If one of the Nine is out of line, I have to act.”

  Tarrik wondered what rules there were for the Nine. Surely they could do whatever they desired. If they were like Ren, then they had great power and could avoid any consequences.

  Jendra returned to the task of kneading dough, pounding the mass as if it were the face of someone she wanted to punish. A greased loaf tin sat to her right, flanked by a cast-iron oven stoked with coals. “At first we were puzzled; then Veika found out that Lischen the Nightwhisperer is in Dwemor. She must have slipped into the city some months ago and kept a very low profile ever since.” She paused in punching the dough to wipe away a tear. “We should have realized when we found out it was children with the spark. It’s not right, and the Queen’s Guard can’t do anything . . . well, you know why.”

  “I’m here now,” Ren said. “I’ll sort this mess out, and everything will be back to normal.”

  Jendra snorted. “It won’t be normal for those whose children were taken. What of them?”

  Ren hesitated and bit her lower lip. “I don’t know.”

  “They’re as good as dead. You know it.”

  Ren stepped to the woman and held her shoulders. “I’ll put a stop to this, Jendra. I promise.”

  Ren was making a lot of promises, and Tarrik thought there was a good chance she’d break some of them. Tarrik understood now. “With the spark” must mean the children who had been born with dawn- and dusk-tide repositories, and thus the ability to use sorcery. Tarrik surmised that someone was abusing the children’s power or wanted it for themselves.

  This member of the Nine, Lischen the Nightwhisperer, had been abducting children who had the potential to become sorcerers. And Ren pretended to care. Why? These people were fools to trust her.

  “Where should I put our gear?” he said, sick of the farce.

  Jendra seemed to notice him for the first time. She looked him up and down and gave him a disapproving glare. “Upstairs, third door on the right. You’ll sleep in the stables.”

  “He’ll sleep in my room,” Ren said firmly.

  Jendra’s mouth dropped open, and she paled. “My lady, a savage! I cannot condone—”

  Ren cut her off. “There have been several attempts on my life over the last few weeks. I need my bodyguard close. There will be no impropriety—I assure you.”

  With a final glare at Tarrik, Jendra turned back to her dough and began shaping it. “Well,” she huffed, “it’s not for me to tell you how to live your life. Once you’re settled in and washed up, come back down, and we’ll discuss what information we have over a light meal.”

  “As long as there’s hot tea as well,” said Ren with a smile.

  “You know there will be. Hurry along, and we can get started.”

  Tarrik followed Ren up a set of creaking stairs and into a small room with only one bed. It would be large enough for two, just. Perhaps there was opportunity here . . . forced intimacy could play tricks on people, cause their animal instincts to override their conscious minds. Accidental touch had a way of awakening desire and lowering one’s guard. If he was fortunate, he would find a chink in her armor to exploit. Ananias’s powerful essence churned away inside him, and he touched against its surface briefly. The hardness of the barrier was almost reassuring, as if his salvation was nearly within his grasp.

  Ren opened the curtains to let in light through a narrow window with an ornate iron grille in the shape of a vine. Expensive-looking bars, decided Tarrik. He noted that all the other windows in the building sported the same security. The bars would keep out thieves and intruders but also trapped inside those who might want to escape. Other exits must exist, then, maybe a rooftop door or an underground tunnel.

  “Put our gear on the floor in the corner, and come down to the kitchen,” Ren said. “It’ll be dark soon, and we’ve no time to waste.”

  “We often seem to run into sorcerers of the Nine,” Tarrik said. “A strange coincidence.”

  Ren gave him a flat stare. “This is the circle I operate in. It would be odd not to encounter them.”

  Tarrik didn’t believe her. Ren had gone out of her way to bring them here, at considerable personal risk and expenditure of her power, to pretend to help people whom she’d gulled into trusting her. “Don’t tell me you’re helping these people out of the goodness of your heart. You’re doing it because you want to sabotage one of your fellow sorcerers.”

  “I don’t expect you to believe me,” she said coldly. “Which is why I won’t explain myself to you.”

  He changed direction, trying to push her off balance. “What happened to the bodyguard before me? Did he die in your service?”

  Ren paused, and her lips drew into a thin line. “There are frequent assassination attempts on all Tainted Cabal members. I was somewhat incapacitated at the time and wasn’t able to shield him.”

  “Dangerous enemies make you a dangerous woman.”

  “Some think so.”

  As did Tarrik. Ren was formidable, but even the hardest stone could be made to crack.

  “In most instances your lack of curiosity is to your advantage,” Ren add
ed. “In others, it will be your undoing.”

  Tarrik inclined his head. “I am so advised.”

  “Do you think I don’t know you’re mocking me?”

  “I care not either way.”

  “I would prefer your presence here to be bearable.”

  “For you or me?”

  She scowled at him for a heartbeat, then turned her gaze to the room. “The bodyguard before you suffered an unfortunate cant which made a pincushion of his body. His blood covered the walls and floor. Can you, Tarrik Nal-Valim, demon of the Thirty-Seventh Order, protect yourself against such a cant?”

  His hand tightened on his spear. “You know I cannot.”

  “Best remember that. Give me good reason to keep you alive.” She turned her back on him and left the room.

  Tarrik heard her footsteps fade as she descended the stairs. His jaw clenched, and he paced around the room, trying to work out his anger. Stay alive, then absorb Ananias. That was his plan. After that . . . he’d have to figure out another plan. Ren was not someone to take lightly.

  Tarrik did as he was told and stored their bags, then went downstairs.

  Jendra poured black tea into three blue-glazed mugs, all chipped and cracked. Veika was already sipping his tea, his eyes fixed on Tarrik.

  Jendra picked up a jar and offered it around. “Honey?”

  “Yes, please,” said Ren.

  When she’d added a spoonful and stirred, Jendra turned to Tarrik, who shook his head in disgust. He sipped the tea to try to fit in. The infusion was hot but tasted like leaf-strewn water left to stagnate and turn brown.

  “He doesn’t speak much,” Jendra remarked.

  “I didn’t employ him for his conversation,” said Ren.

  Jendra chuckled softly.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to rest tonight?” Veika asked Ren. “We can gather more information tomorrow, and maybe you can scry for the Nightwhisperer too. We’ll be in a better position to act then.”

  “You won’t be acting,” said Ren. “It’ll be just Tarrik and myself. There will be too much sorcery, and you’ll be in danger. Now, tell me what you know.”

  Veika’s lips pursed, and he stroked his beard, obviously put out by Ren’s refusal to include him. Eventually he grimaced and, voice tight with tension, said, “A young girl went missing a few months back. Her mother sent her out to buy bread and a few other things, and she never returned. There was the usual outcry, and the locals came together to search for her, but they couldn’t find any trace. Most assumed the worst: a lunatic who prefers his women young, or she was taken by slavers. After a week most stopped searching, except for her family.” He paused and coughed. “The girl had recently been tested for sorcerous aptitude, and a school had offered her an apprenticeship.”

  “Which school wanted her?” asked Ren.

  “The Evokers.”

  She let out a low whistle. “A rare talent then. The Evokers are picky, so much so it’s a wonder their school hasn’t died out.”

  Tarrik glanced sidelong at Ren. Her father, Contian, had been the grandmaster of the Red Gate Covenant, who were one of the Evokers’ main rivals. Did she also belong to an ancient school of sorcery? Did she have contacts there she could use? If so, he wouldn’t have thought she would still be welcome there, not now that she was a member of the Tainted Cabal. But humans often kept the people they hated close, a peculiarity Tarrik found puzzling.

  “The Evokers said they hadn’t seen the girl since the testing,” Jendra added, topping up everyone’s mugs as she talked. “They were quite put out at losing her, as they thought they had a good one in the girl. Even attempted a scrying, which didn’t work. From that, they assumed the girl was no longer inside the city.”

  Ren tapped her nails on her mug. “And then they found her body?”

  Jendra dropped her gaze to the floor. “Yes. Floating in a canal. Not a mark on her, but that’s common with drownings.”

  “And that’s what caught your attention: the fact that she was still in the city but the Evokers hadn’t been able to scry her.”

  “Yes,” said Veika, placing his mug on the table. “We put the word out to see if there was a pattern—whether children with the talent were disappearing after being tested and accepted by one of the sorcerous schools. It seemed there weren’t any others, but then I found out Lischen was here. Her reputation is, as you know, quite . . . nasty.”

  “What else do you have?” Ren asked.

  “We discovered that other children had gone missing. With a little digging, we were able to confirm they were all tested and rejected. Each bore a black mark rather than a red one.”

  Tarrik glanced at Ren, wondering what the marks signified. She answered before he opened his mouth to ask.

  “Each child tested for arcane aptitude is marked on their index finger with black or red ensorcelled ink. Black for the rejects, and red for those with a spark that could be fanned into flame. The schools select from among the red-marked children and often give their chosen a pin to wear denoting their school. However, sorcery isn’t respected everywhere. In some parts of the world, children with sorcerous ability have their throats cut.” She sipped her tea, frowning. “If the first missing girl had great potential, why bother taking rejected children?”

  “We don’t know,” said Jendra. “We’re not even sure the disappearances are related.”

  Tarrik had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He supposed the simplest tricks worked for a reason. The first girl was too obvious, so her abductors had changed their tactics.

  “We’ll focus on the first girl then,” Ren said. “What was her name?”

  “Aleena. Her mother is a basket weaver, and her father harvests and dyes the reeds.”

  “No sorcerers in her immediate family?”

  “There was a grandfather originally from a small settlement who was found to have talent late in his life. But at that age there’s not much the schools can do with potential sorcerers. From what we could find out, he worked for sorcerers apparently but never passed any of the tests.”

  Ren grunted. “That must be where she got it from. I need to know exactly where her body was found. And then I’ll go and talk to the Evokers.”

  “What do you think is happening to these children?” Jendra’s voice cracked with emotion.

  “Nothing good. Which is why I need to act tonight.”

  Tarrik cursed inwardly. He was loath to help these idiots, but in the long term the gesture would work to his advantage. If he offered information now, they would begin to trust him. And more importantly, Ren would value him, hopefully enough to keep him alive. If Ren sent them out chasing down false leads, then there was a greater chance this Lischen would know someone was on her trail. Would that be good or bad for Tarrik? On the whole, probably bad. If there was a brawl between Ren and this other sorcerer, he’d likely be obliterated by the backlash. Ren wouldn’t waste her power shielding him if that meant putting herself at a disadvantage—she’d already said as much about her previous bodyguard. Better for her and Tarrik to remain in the shadows so they could strike at a time of their own choosing.

  Tarrik cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. “The latest missing children, which finger was inked?”

  Veika waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s always the index finger.”

  “Which finger were they inked on?” repeated Tarrik.

  Ren caught on first. “The family might not know which finger it should be. Just a black mark would be good enough for them.” She regarded Tarrik thoughtfully. “You’re suggesting these children could have passed the test and should have been marked with red ensorcelled ink but were marked with black to show they were rejected, but on a different finger so the abductor could identify them.”

  “It’s a possibility,” said Tarrik. “Easy to determine who’s who for later.”

  Ren nodded. “And when they were taken, no one connected it with their potential sorcerous ability. It’s possible. Highly poss
ible. Veika, gather as much information as you can on those missing children and the schools that tested them. Someone’s been bribed—it has to be one of the testers. And for something of this magnitude, it’ll involve a lot of coin. Have your people ask around about any local sorcerer who’s come into money recently. Someone buying expensive items perhaps, or carousing at upscale establishments. That will be the clue we need to investigate further. Tarrik and I will wait for you in the Sun, outside the Queen’s Guard citadel. We can head off from there as soon as you find something.” She flashed Tarrik a smile. “Thank you.”

  Veika drained his mug, nodded to Ren and Jendra, and left, ignoring Tarrik.

  He inclined his head. Best to leave it there and not press too hard for an acknowledgment that he’d been extremely helpful.

  “And the Nightwhisperer?” asked Jendra.

  “I’ll scry for her. We of the Nine have a bond that cannot be broken, although it may be disguised at times, at great cost. I’ll find her.”

  “And my task?” asked Jendra.

  “Stay here. You’re too valuable to lose, and this could become dangerous very quickly.”

  Jendra looked put out. “I can wield a crossbow, and my knife work isn’t too shabby.”

  “There will be no safe place once the sorcery starts flying,” Ren said, “and that’s the most likely scenario here. Even if Lischen isn’t involved, a sorcerer of great power must be to make use . . .” She stopped. “Never mind. Stay here, please. We’ll let you know if you’re needed.”

  Tarrik could tell that Ren knew exactly what was happening to the children and was loath to reveal it to Jendra. He could think of a few ways to make use of fledgling human sorcerers, and he’d seen experiments conducted on a young boy once. He had no doubt the children would be dead or horribly abused. Why hold back that information? Was it due to weakness? Or did she want to keep Jendra and Veika from questioning whether Ren herself might be capable of such atrocities? She might even be involved in all of this already, her actions now a smoke screen.