The Sorcerer's Plague bots-1

by DAVID B. COE

  "You're right," he said. "I am a Weaver. Is that a problem?"

  "Tha' depends on you. Weavers have been known t' stir up trouble now an' again. From what I hear, that's even been true in th' Forelands recently. I don't know how my kind deal with yar kind in th' North, but here, we know how to handle Weavers. Ya remember that."

  "I will," Grinsa said, still refusing to break eye contact with the man.

  "Can we go now?"

  The guard indicated Cresenne with an open hand. "Is she a Weaver, too?"

  "Why don't you ask her?"

  His expression soured, but he turned to Cresenne, and said, "Are ya?"

  "No, I'm not."

  At that, a smile flickered in the man's eyes ever so briefly. "All right," he said. "Ya're free t' go." He and his comrade stepped out of the way, allowing them to enter the city.

  Only when they were some distance from the gate did Grinsa realize that his fists were clenched, the skin stretched so tightly over his knuckles that it hurt. He flexed his hands and shook his head slowly.

  "For all the foolish Eandi I encountered in the Forelands," Cresenne said, "I've never in my life felt as hated as that man just made me feel."

  Grinsa looked around, enduring the stares as best he could. "It can't all be like this."

  "No. Only half of it."

  They found the farrier's shop and stepped inside. At first they saw no one and Grinsa called out a tentative "Hello." Almost immediately a young man emerged from the back. He was tall and lanky, with red hair and bright blue eyes. Seeing the Qirsi, he stopped, his eyes narrowing. "What d' ya want?"

  "We're here to see Dren Meigen. We were sent by the captain of the Fortune Seeker."

  "Pa!" the young man called, his eyes never leaving the two of them, as if he expected them to attack him at any moment.

  A second man stepped into the shop, and Grinsa knew immediately that this was the young man's father. He was the image of the other- same color hair and eyes, same square handsome face. But where the son was merely tall, this man was positively hulking. He stood even taller than his son, and he was broader in the chest and shoulders than the guards at the gate had been. He kept his shoulders somewhat stooped, as if he feared that he might not fit in the shop if he straightened to his full height. Grinsa had never seen a bigger man.

  He looked Grinsa over, then placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "It's all right," he muttered to the boy. "Ya're th' ones Rois sent?" "Yes. We're grateful to you for selling us the horses."

  "I'm doin' it fer Rois."

  "Of course."

  The man gestured over his shoulder. "I got 'em out back." With that he turned and stepped out of the shop, trailed closely by his son. Grinsa and Cresenne had little choice but to follow.

  They walked through a musty storeroom, and pushed open a door that let them out into a small paddock. The bay and dun were tied at the far end of a plot of wispy grass, but the man and son stood nearer to the door beside a white nag and an old chestnut plow horse.

  "Here ya go," the farrier said.

  Grinsa shook his head. "Those aren't the horses Captain Dungar described for us."

  The man raised an eyebrow, but he didn't look surprised. "No?" He wasn't much of a liar. Probably a man of his size didn't have to be. Who among the Eandi would ever challenge him?

  "He said he'd arranged for us to buy the dun and bay over there." "That right? At what price?"

  "I think you know the price, sir."

  "Surely no' th' twelve sovereigns we talked about fer these two." Cresenne glared at him. "You bastard!"

  Grinsa put a hand on her back. "How much?" he asked.

  The farrier eyed Cresenne briefly, an eyebrow raised and a small smile on his lips. Then he turned to Grinsa. "I'll give 'em t' ya fer twenty."

  He felt Cresenne gathering herself to say something more, but he pressed hard against her back and she kept silent.

  "No," Grinsa said. "We'll pay twelve, as you agreed. And we'll take the dun and bay. Again, as you agreed."

  "I didn' agree t' any such thing."

  "Are you saying that Captain Dungar lied to us?"

  "No, white-hair. I'm sayin' tha' ya're lyin' now. Rois knows I'd never agree t' sell such fine beasts, at tha' price, t' th' likes o' ya." He grinned. "And so does every man in Yorl."

  Grinsa nodded slowly. This much he'd known already. He had no legal recourse. Dren had signed no papers, and no one in this city would take the word of a Qirsi against that of the farrier, even if they knew the man to be a liar and a cheat. The Fortune Seeker might still be at the pier, but even the captain might not be able to help him. Yes, he was Eandi, but he was also a Forelander, which probably made him suspect in the eyes of the people of Yorl.

  "Come on, Grinsa," Cresenne said, still staring at the man, her eyes blazing like siege fires. "We'll get horses elsewhere."

  But Grinsa didn't move. "I'm not leaving without the horses we were promised."

  "That's fine," Dren said. "Twenty sovereigns an' they's yars."

  "So, you admit that the bay and dun were the ones you discussed with the captain."

  It took Dren a moment. Then his face reddened. "I joost knew ya was talkin' 'bout them uns."

  "You're a liar, Dren. And what's more, you're a bad one."

  The man's face turned to stone, and he picked up a large hammer from the railing beside him. "I've knocked men cold fer less 'an that, white-hair."

  He'd meant to provoke him, and had hoped that the farrier would take up a weapon. Reaching for his magic, Grinsa shattered the hammer's head, so that fragments of iron fell to the ground all around the farrier's feet.

  "But not a Weaver," Grinsa said evenly.

  The farrier stared at the useless piece of wood he still held in his hands.

  "I shouldn't have to tell you what other powers I possess," Grinsa said. He drew upon another of his magics, and a moment later the plow horse, which was not tied to anything, began walking toward the farrier's son. At first, not understanding what was happening, the young man ordered the beast to halt. When it didn't, he tried to shove it away. That didn't work either, and slowly, the old horse forced the boy backward toward where the dun and bay were tied.

  "Pa?" he said, sounding frightened, his eyes darting back and forth between his father and the advancing plow horse.

  "Call him off!" Dren said.

  "Tell your boy to untie those horses."

  Dren took a menacing step toward Grinsa, but before the Qirsi could do anything, a bright yellow flame burst from the ground just in front of the farrier, stopping him in midstride and forcing him back.

  "I'm not a Weaver," Cresenne said evenly. "But I've got a bit of power as well."

  "Tell him to untie the horses," Grinsa said again.

  The man licked his lips. "This is thiev'ry," he said. "Ya white-hair demons is robbin' me o' what ain' yars."

  Grinsa glanced at Cresenne and nodded once. Immediately, her conjured fire died away, and Grinsa grabbed the man's throat in his hand. Dren wrapped his powerful hands around Grinsa's wrists.

  "Let go of me," the Qirsi said, "or I'll shatter every bone in your body just the way I did your hammer. Do you understand?"

  The farrier glowered at him, but after a moment he nodded and dropped his hands to his side.

  "Have you ever heard of mind-bending magic, Dren?"

  The man shook his head.

  "It may have a different name here. I'm really not sure, nor do I care. It's a power that allows me to make you do whatever I want you to do, say whatever I want you to say. I can force you to tell the truth and admit exactly what you and Rois agreed to earlier today. The problem with mind-bending magic is that it's not that precise. It can hurt if it's used too roughly, and sometimes the damage can't be undone. Now, I'm usually pretty good with my magic, but you've angered me and, well, who knows what might happen if I try it on you when I'm angry?"

  While much of what Grinsa told him about mind-bending power was true, this last was no
t. He had no doubt that he could use his magic on the man precisely enough to avoid hurting him. But he didn't want to use it at all.

  "So rather than risking an injury that might leave you permanently addled," he went on, "you might want to consider whether it wouldn't just be better to admit that you're lying, sell us the horses, and be rid of

  us for good." He let go of the farrier's throat and stepped back. "Fine then," the man muttered. "Ya can have th' damn horses." "So your son can hear."

  "Ya can have th' horses," he said again, loudly this time.

  "The dun and the bay."

  "Yeah, th' dun an' th' bay."

  "And what was the price?"

  Dren exhaled through his teeth and looked away. "Twelve."

  "That's the amount you and Captain Dungar agreed to, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, we agreed t' twelve."

  "But, Pa," the boy called from beside the two beasts, the plow horse positioned in front of him like a sentry. "Ya said-"

  "Joost shut up and bring th' beasts here."

  The young man did as he was told, leading the two horses to where his father was standing. Grinsa pulled his pouch free and counted out twenty-five qinde. He held out the coins to the boy, who glanced at his father, as if unsure of what to do.

  "Take th' money," Dren said sullenly. "An' give 'im th' beasts." Once he had the reins in hand, Grinsa nodded to the farrier. "Thank you, Dren. I've enjoyed doing business with you."

  "Git out," the man said. "An' I wouldn' linger in town too long if I was ya." He bared his teeth in a grin. "It might no' be safe."

  Grinsa had started to walk away, but he stopped now, and with no more than a thought, he lit the man's apron on fire. Letting out a cry at the sight of the flames, Dren threw himself to the ground and rolled back and forth until they had been extinguished.

  "White-hair bastard!" he growled, looking up at the Qirsi, smoke rising from his clothes.

  "I wouldn't set foot outside your shop until we've cleared the city gate," Grinsa told him. "That wouldn't be safe."

  They led the horses out of the paddock and into a narrow alley behind Dren's shop. From there, they made their way back onto the main avenue and into the city marketplace, where they hoped to buy a pair of saddles.

  "How long do you think it will be before he comes after us?" Cresenne asked, as they searched the market for a saddler.

  "Not long at all. But we won't stay any longer than it takes to buy some food and find a saddler. As far as I'm concerned we can buy the first saddles we see."

  Yorl's marketplace was large, and difficult to navigate, but there were so many peddlers selling their wares that they soon found all that they needed. Before long, the horses were saddled, their travel sack was filled with dried fruits, salted meat, and flat breads, and they were on their way to the city's west gate. Before they reached it, however, they spotted the farrier and his son searching the streets for them, accompanied by four of the city guards.

  "Damn," Grinsa muttered.

  "We bought the horses as agreed," Cresenne said, as if reassuring herself. "We did nothing wrong."

  "Dren won't have said anything about the horses. He doesn't have to. I lit his apron on fire. That's why they're looking for us." He looked at her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it."

  "I'm glad you did. I was ready to; you just beat me to it."

  "So what do we do?" he asked.

  She thought a moment, and as she did, Bryntelle let out a small cry. A smile crossed Cresenne's face, and then vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. "Leave this to me," she told him.

  Grinsa only had time to nod before Dren spotted them, thrusting out an arm with a triumphant smile on his face. He led the guards and his son to where they stood, his long strides carrying him so quickly in their direction that the others had to run every few steps to keep up with him.

  "That's 'im!" the farrier said, stopping a few steps from them and looking back at the uniformed men. "That's th' Qirsi who tried t' burn me!"

  "Is tha' true?" one of the guards asked, staring hard at Grinsa.

  "Actually, it's not," Cresenne said.

  "What?" The farrier shook his head and looked at the guards. "She's lyin'!"

  "I'm the one who did it. Not Grinsa." She held out her hand, palm up, and an instant later a bright golden flame jumped to life there. "As you see, I have fire magic." The fire died away and she lowered her hand. "I shouldn't have done it, I know, but he threatened us and I I… I feared for my child." Remarkably, a tear slid down her face. Grinsa nearly laughed out loud at the sight of it. "You have to understand," she went on, her voice trembling slightly. "We're strangers to your land. And you all seem to hate our kind so much. And then this man threatened us that way. I just didn't know what else to do. I'm so sorry."

  "I tell ya, she's lyin'! Ya can' believe a word she says, or 'im neither!" "You didn't threaten us?" Grinsa said. "You didn't tell us that it wouldn't be safe if we chose to linger in the city?"

  "Did ya say tha' t' them?" the guard asked.

  "No!" the farrier said.

  It seemed that the guard knew Dren well enough not to believe him. He just eyed the man for several moments, saying nothing.

  "Yeah, all righ'," Dren admitted. "I said it."

  “Why?”

  "They stole those beasts from me!"

  "What?" the guard said. "Why didn't you mention that before?"

  "Because it's not true!" Cresenne said, indignant now. "We paid him the equivalent of twelve sovereigns. Twenty-five qinde in Forelands money. He might even have the coins with him now."

  Dren's hand strayed to his pants pocket. "It's less 'an they's worth!" he said, before the guard could demand that he produce the money. "They practic'ly stoled 'em from me! They threatened me wit' their magic! Th' boy will tell ya!"

  "He'll also tell you, as will the captain of the Fortune Seeker, that twelve sovereigns was the price he agreed to."

  The guard waved both hands and shook his head. "I don' care 'bout any o' this. It's no' my place t' git ya a better price fer yar beasts, Dren." He looked first at Grinsa, then at Cresenne. "Ya should be on yar way. This is no place fer yar kind." He started away, gesturing for the other guards to follow.

  "I oughta kill ya both where ya stand!" the farrier said, his fists clenched.

  The guard stopped and took a step back in their direction. "I heard tha', Meigen. Ya're lucky I don' put ya in th' gaol straightaway. Now git back t' yar shop an' leave them be!"

  At first the farrier didn't budge, and Grinsa readied his magic, just in case. Finally, though, the man shook his head and started to walk away. "Come on, then," he called to his son. "They's no' worth th' trouble." Grinsa and Cresenne didn't move until they'd watched the two of them cross the marketplace and disappear around a bend in the road. Once they were certain that the farrier was no longer a danger, they started toward the gate again, climbing the steep road that led past the fortress. "How did you do that?" Grinsa asked her as they rode.

  The hint of a smile touched Cresenne's lips. "Do what?"

  "You know perfectly well what. You actually made yourself cry." "So? Bryntelle does it all the time."

  He laughed. "You mean to say you learned it from her?"

  "Not entirely, no." She held up her hand-the one on which she'd balanced the flame when she showed the guards that she possessed fire magic. Her palm was red and had a small blister on it.

  "Cresenne!"

  "It's all right. I just let my healing magic fade a moment before I extinguished the flame. It hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes, but it's nothing I can't heal."

  "You're mad!"

  She raised an eyebrow. "It worked, didn't it?"

  He could only nod. "Yes, it worked."

  "Then stop complaining."

  "Yes, my lady."

  She smiled, sunshine lighting her face.

  Leaving the city proved to be far easier than entering it had been. They dismounted before the west gate, expecting to be
questioned again. But though the guards at the city wall eyed them warily as they walked past, the men didn't stop them or ask them any questions.

  Grinsa and Cresenne led their mounts through the gate and onto the road outside the city walls. There they simply stopped and stared at the landscape that stretched before them. They were at the top of the rise, on an even level with the outer walls of the fortress. A broad golden plain ran away from them in every direction. No doubt the expanse was dotted with towns and villages, but from just outside the walls of Yorl, Grinsa couldn't see any of them. What he did see, looming in the distance, ringing the plain, were enormous snowcapped mountains, their peaks as jagged as demons' teeth. Grinsa knew from the captain that Eagle's Pass lay due west, and that it afforded fairly easy passage through the mountains. But still he couldn't help but be daunted by the sight of those peaks.

  "It's beautiful," Cresenne said.

  "It is."

  She turned to look at him. "Do you wish we'd stayed on the Fortune Seeker?"

  "No. You told me yourself that Bryntelle wasn't eating well while we were aboard the ship. And I like your face better without that pale shade of green it always seemed to have when we were on the water."

  Cresenne laughed. "Thanks." Her expression sobered. "Do you wish we'd stayed in the Forelands?"

  He reached for her hand and held it to his lips. "There's nowhere I'd rather be than here, with the two of you. I swear it." He faced the plain and mountains again. "This is home now. And as you say, it's beautiful."

  He took Bryntelle from her and held the child while Cresenne climbed onto her mount. Bryntelle was awake and smiling, her eyes as pale and perfect as candle flames.

  "This is home now," he whispered again.

  Bryntelle gave a squeal and grabbed at his finger. He kissed her forehead and handed her up to Cresenne. Then he swung himself into his saddle, and together they began the long ride westward toward the Qirsi clans.

  Chapter 8

  TIVSTON, NEAR OWLLAKE, REAPING MOON WAXING