03- A Sip of Magic

by Guy Antibes

  “Gastoria. The Court Magician at Borstall until a year ago,” Horker said. Pol was surprised Horker would know Malden, but it seemed that Horker caught on that Pol didn’t really know the magician.

  Pol nodded and smiled, lifting a finger. “Right.” He shook his finger as if he suddenly remembered. “He enlisted the Court Magician to apply a truth spell. From the way Beastwell told the story, truth spells are not encouraged in North Salvan. I asked him about it and he said there was even a treaty forbidding them for nobles between North and South Salvan. He didn’t look too comfortable even using it on a common assassin.”

  Horker smiled. “I am glad I brought you along. I thought you were a lot smarter than you looked, and I was right. So you do think it’s all a setup?”

  Pol nodded. “I do, but it still doesn’t seem enough to start a war. There must be more to it, and we need to get more information. That’s what the Seeker kept telling me over and over. Try to put everything in a pattern. King Astor is going to invade the north anyway, so the treaty can’t be the only reason. There must be some internal positioning going on for this to make sense.”

  Horker nodded. “Did you know that’s a tip-off that the Seeker was a magician? If he was from South Salvan, he would say put everything in order.”

  Pol furrowed his brow in mock confusion. “But the Seeker was from Yastan. That’s not South Salvan.”

  Horker looked sideways at Pol. “Are you playing with me?”

  Pol smiled. “Maybe a bit.” He laughed along with Horker.

  “Enough. We’ll talk again after dinner. I suppose we’ll be stuck eating lunch in the kitchens or out of the castle.”

  “Let’s try the kitchens first. I’m starving,” Pol said.

  ~~~

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ~

  SHRO STOOD UP TO LEAVE when Horker and Pol walked into the kitchens. Pol was surprised by the size of the place. The space for food preparation dwarfed the kitchen at Borstall Castle.

  “This is the assembly room,” Shro said. “There is a bakery, a carvery, and another kitchen for everything else. Food gets brought in here for assembly onto plates.” She smiled. “The food is much better than Tesna, even for the servants.”

  Pol looked at the empty tables in the room.

  “And this is the servant’s dining room unless there is a large dinner, then the tables are used to stage the meal.”

  Horker inspected the room. “And if a body wants something to eat?”

  “There are always three or four cooks in the assembly room to get you what’s available. Generally, the menu consists of what the King and his retinue ate at previous meals. It might be a little strange, but…” She shrugged her shoulders.

  “What is available now?” Pol said, rubbing his complaining stomach.

  “I had a stew made from last night’s roast beef. I’m sure there is some left. King Astor held a state dinner for a noble from Finster, I think.”

  Pol’s mouth watered at her words. He walked up to the two rows of tables. Cooks with arms folded, chatting away, stood by doors leading into the kitchens.

  “Something for you and your friend?” One of the cooks approached Pol.

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  That got a laugh from the woman. “That’s what I’m here for, to do things that I mind.” She patted Pol on the shoulder and led one of the women back through the doors.

  “You can find a seat; we have plenty to choose from today,” one of the remaining cooks said.

  Pol looked back. A trio of young women dressed like maids of some sort sat at one of the tables talking away. It looked like they shared some juicy gossip, from their cackling.

  Covial Castle was much larger, and more organized than Borstall, at least between meals. He walked back and sat down with Shro and Horker.

  “I’ve been filling Acolyte Shro in on what happened. He might be able to put some Shinkyan perspective on our situation.”

  Shro grimaced. “Now I know why the Captain included me. I think the both of you, especially Captain Horker are in trouble.”

  “I agree, unfortunately,” Pol said. “Can’t we just withdraw to the Guardian forces?” Pol quickly discounted that path before the Captain said anything. He had to rescue Kelso if he could.

  Horker shook his head. “Not now. Once we arrived we were committed.” The self-confidence that Horker typically showed was missing.

  Pol wondered if he needed to show Horker some of his abilities. If they were in trouble, all three would need to work together. He learned that in his Seeker class back at Deftnis, but he missed consulting with Darrol, Val, or even Paki. Perhaps he’d have to rely on Shro to give him an honest reading, but he was still leery of fully relying on a potential enemy.

  He still didn’t know where Demeron had ended up. Could her contacts have taken him? Pol doubted if she would even know. Perhaps Val, Darrol, and the Shinkyans were at a tavern somewhere else in South Salvan swapping stories. The thought brought a smile to Pol’s face, but he knew it couldn’t possibly be true.

  Shro punched him on the arm. “Wake up. You’re daydreaming.”

  Pol sighed. “I’m just thinking of friends that I left behind.” He took a deeper breath. “I’d like to go out of the castle and look around. I’ve never been to Covial before, and I may never return.” He hoped he’d never return, but in order to return, they would have to leave first. Pol was all for leaving first and not coming back.

  “I’d like that,” Shro said. “Your meeting was so short I never did get an opportunity to see the sights.”

  “Sights,” Horker snorted. “Would you mind if I tagged along? I’d like to do some thinking about our situation and sitting in this castle…” He shook his head. “Manda’s attitude is not reassuring. That’s all I’ll say of that here.” Horker looked around the nearly empty room. “Finish eating, and then I’ll give you a tour. I’ve visited Covial plenty of times.”

  They exited out the front gate wearing clothes that didn’t emphasize that they were monks, although all three of them had short, short hair, especially Pol.

  “This way,” Horker said. “King Astor likes citizens buying their goods in shops, but there is one good open-air market for out-of-town vendors.”

  Like Borstall and the other cities Pol had been in, they walked through the best neighborhoods tucked in close to the castle, and then watched the buildings become less ornate. The Shinkyan influence began to wane by the time they approached the market.

  It looked to Pol that the people of Covial were buying necessities. The food carts were nearly empty, but the other vendors still had more than enough to sell. The citizens of the city weren’t much happier than those they saw on the way in.

  “Do the people always wear such glum expressions?” he said to Horker.

  “No.”

  “There aren’t a lot of working-age men and boys either,” Shro said.

  Horker looked down at her. “Are you turning into a Seeker, too?”

  Shro’s lower lip extended into a pout. She had better watch her mannerisms now that she was constantly with Horker, Pol thought.

  “Maybe. I’m smarter than the average Shinkyan, and we are a very intelligent race,” she said. “I have eyes to see and a mind to make sense of what I observe. Don’t you?”

  Horker laughed. “No ‘Captain, sir’?”

  “That would be inappropriate if we are trying to maintain a civilian profile…sir.”

  “Go ahead and maintain, Shro. I am satisfied with the brainpower that accompanies me,” Horker gave Pol a sideways glance and then looked down at the Shinkyan sword, “and the protection as well.”

  All three entered the marketplace. Pol pointed out stockings sold at a stall and nudged Shro.

  “You’ll need those when you start marching. Dry socks keep your feet warm and help prevent them from blistering,” Pol said.

  “How did you know that?” Horker asked.

  Pol shrugged. “I saw it a number of t
imes when I read about logistics and infantry tactics.”

  “How many books have you read?” Shro said.

  “Hundreds,” Pol said.

  Shro shoved the stockings that she had bought into her clothes. She led them around the market where she spied a weapons tent. “Speaking of protection,” she said. Shro went inside, and Pol and Horker followed.

  A Shinkyan of all people sat behind a counter. His black-haired head barely poked above the top. The man stood up. He wasn’t quite as tall as Shro. That would help Horker continue to think she was a male.

  They all examined the weapons for sale for a bit.

  “Have you any good throwing knives?” Pol asked. He had the six that he picked up at the monastery, but like arrows in a quiver, he could use more at hand if he had to fight.

  “It depends on how proficient you are,” the man said with an accent similar to Shro’s. His eyes turned to her and looked at Shro up and down.

  The Shinkyan said something in a singsong language that Pol couldn’t understand. Horker blinked his eyes with surprise. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Shinkyan spoken before.”

  “Then count your blessings my words are said in peace,” the man said.

  Shro laughed. “A typical Shinkyan saying meant to intimidate. I would say he doesn’t quite mean it. We are an insular race, after all.” She then spoke Shinkyan. Pol didn’t think a person could speak so quickly.

  As she spoke, the man’s expression changed. They conversed and the Shinkyan merchant’s face relaxed. Pol thought he knew what happened. He looked over at Horker, who had already started rummaging through the boxes of weapons.

  Shro grinned. It looked genuine to him. Seeing a fellow countryman probably lifted her spirits. Perhaps she even got a message off.

  “I had asked what do you have in throwing knives before Shro interrupted,” Pol said.

  “Shro?”

  Evidently she must have used a name that Shinkyans didn’t generally use.

  “Oh, Shiro, right?” He looked at Shro and she nodded back. “Shiro. We often barely breathe the first sound. Shiro, Shro.”

  Pol had never noticed, but he could catch the man saying ‘Shiro’ better than when Shro said it.

  “Okay. Throwing knives?” Pol said.

  The Shinkyan looked at Shro. “Is he any good?”

  “An expert, by my eye,” Horker said, walking up beside Pol.

  The man put a hand to his chin. “You will have to practice to use these, but they are attacker weapons.”

  “Attacker?” Pol looked at Shro.

  “Assassin.”

  “I’d like to see them,” Pol said. Plenty of people had looked down on his ability at knife-throwing and often called them what the Shinkyan referred to ‘attacker’ weapons. Pol looked at knife throwing as something equivalent to using a bow and arrow.

  The man rummaged around the tent and found a small wooden box. Pol didn’t recognize the script that covered the top. It must have been Shinkyan writing. He smiled as he opened the lid. Knives filled the cavity stacked tightly together, each separated by a thin piece of paper.

  “Those don’t have any handles,” Horker said. “Do you put your own on?”

  Pol shook his head. “I’ve seen this style before. The Seeker had a bagful of knives. He had four knives like this.” Pol picked one up and waved it in front of him. “These are meant to be hidden on your body. A handle of any kind would make them more visible and destroy the balance.”

  “There are a lot of knives in there,” Horker said.

  “How much for all of them?” Pol said.

  “All?”

  “If I use these in battle, am I going to spend time retrieving them?”

  Horker’s eyes lit with understanding. “Like arrows in a quiver.”

  “He is an expert,” Shro said to the man.

  “A Lion for the box,” the Shinkyan said.

  “That’s a pretty steep price,” Horker said.

  “I wouldn’t sell them to a man who didn’t know how to use them. I will make you a wager. If you can hit that tent pole over there four out of five times, I will give them to you. Otherwise, a Lion.”

  Horker blew out a breath. “That doesn’t even give you a chance for a lucky throw.”

  “Deal!” Shro said, beaming.

  Pol nodded and took out five of the blades. There must have been thirty or forty in the box. He hefted each one. They were weighted exactly the same way. He threw the first right into the tent pole.

  “Is that one?” Pol said.

  “You did it one time. Can you do it again?” The Shinkyan smiled.

  Pol looked back at him out of the corner of his eye and noticed something funny about the man. He wore a disguise, as well. Pol let that fact roll around in his mind for a moment. He turned and sank another knife in the pole.

  The lack of a handle affected the throw, so if he bought them, he would have to change the way he threw these.

  “That’s two!” Horker said, grinning. “Two more to go.”

  Pol took another. The blades were made out of a very good steel, likely the same kind that someone had used in his sword. He threw.

  This time the blade veered and pierced the tent.

  Horker sighed, but Pol looked back at the smug look on the Shinkyan. He nodded to the man and sunk another blade in the pole, using a sip of magic to fight the pressure that the Shinkyan had put on the pattern of Pol’s throw.

  Pol heard a grunt behind him. He looked to see the Shinkyan put a palm against his forehead. The merchant had just revealed herself as a powerful magician, another strong female Shinkyan magician wearing a disguise, he thought. Pol looked at the merchant a little more closely and noticed that he looked a bit off. He recognized that he’d have to identify a disguise better than he now did.

  He’d show Shro something. Horker stood in front of him, so he couldn’t see Pol’s throw. His attention was on the pole with three knives sticking out. Pol smiled at Shro and nodded to the merchant and held the knife, point first, towards the pole and teleported the blade into the wood.

  He heard a crack and the pole began to bend. Silence filled the tent until Horker clapped his hands. “I didn’t think you could get enough force without a proper handle.” He turned around beaming.

  Shro gave the merchant a warning look and pointed towards Horker with her chin. The Captain missed her signal. She clapped her hands. “See? He is an expert. More expert than even I thought.”

  “You have a rare gift, young man,” the merchant said.

  “I’m going to go find the knife on the other side,” Horker said. “You can meet me outside with your knife box.” He left the three of them.

  “A gift,” the merchant said. “I’ve never seen such a thing before and certainly not from a man.”

  “I thought I’d show you that my third throw wasn’t a mistake on your part.”

  “Indeed. I have been schooled.” The Shinkyan bowed. “The knives are rightly yours. I only ask that you don’t use them against a Shinkyan unless in self-defense.”

  Pol bowed back. “I will give you my word.”

  “Let me look at your sword,” the merchant said.

  Pol had left his long knife in his room, but he slipped the sword from its scabbard and presented it to the weapons merchant. He walked to the pole and removed the knives. Since Horker wasn’t there, he ran his hands along the pole, matching the pattern of the wood and making it whole. The knife holes were gone.

  “My penance for winning our wager,” Pol said.

  Shro walked to the pole and ran her hand along the surface. “You are a surprising person.”

  “More than surprising. I will see that others receive your message, Shiro.” The merchant said the name correctly as Pol would do in the future. “This was someone’s heirloom, a very good sword. Take good care of it.”

  “You were lucky you didn’t hit anyone. The knife ended up in the next tent, stuck to a box,” Horker said, meeting Pol and Shro
as they stepped out of the tent. “I thought he’d make us pay for breaking the tent pole.”

  “He’s had it happen before,” Pol lied. “So he knew how to get it fixed.”

  “As good as new,” Shro said.

  Pol could feel his face color. He still wasn’t comfortable lying like Val was. Pol didn’t know if he ever could. He clutched the box.

  “I’ve never seen throwing knives like that. I’m sure you have, Shro.”

  She nodded. “Sometime they are not made like knives but like a spiked wheel, still flat. It requires a different technique,” Shro said, looking around as the market tents ended and a shopping district began.

  Val had something similar he called throwing stars. Maybe he had bought them from a Shinkyan weapons merchant in a far city. Pol wouldn’t be surprised if Shinkya had a number of merchants selling weapons around the empire, all shorter than the average man and looking a bit ‘off’.

  ~~~

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ~

  HORKER TOOK THEM INTO AN INN JUST BEFORE SUNSET.

  “Other than architecture in the ‘Shinkyan style’, I didn’t see anything that other cities might not sell,” Shro said. “I should show you Tishiko, our capital, where the Queen lives.”

  Pol smiled and pronounced it like the merchant had pronounced Shiro. “Is that it?”

  Shro giggled. “It is. Nothing ‘in the style of’. Just the real thing.

  Horker went to the bar counter and ordered food.

  “I thought strangers weren’t allowed in Shinkya,” Pol said.

  Shro kept smiling. “I’m sure I could keep you safe in my country, although you wouldn’t want to travel into Shinkya on your own. We Shinkyans are a funny lot.”

  Pol laughed. “You are a funny person…at times.” He made a straight face to let her know he wasn’t serious. He looked at Horker across the room and leaned towards Shro. “You were looking for that tent.”

  Her face lost the look of amusement. “Now you’re not the only one cut adrift by losing their friends. I can now do what I wish.”

  “And what is that?” Pol asked.

  “Follow you to see what you will do. I believe you can do more to save Shinkya from these rancid monks than I ever could.”