His attacker slowed. Lorit saw him hesitate. His knife hand wavered slightly, but he kept advancing.
Lorit reached out with his senses to find the fire burning in the stove. He pulled at it, channeling the energy into the fear and shame as he projected it at the advancing man, but it only slowed him down. He raised his arm and swung the knife at Lorit, only to collapse in mid swing.
As Rakkun crumpled to the deck, Lorit saw Jilang standing behind him with the skillet grasped firmly in both hands. She poked the man with her foot and looked up at Lorit. “Not quite there yet, are you?” she asked.
Lorit felt flush. He dropped his eyes, and said, “I got us out of the ropes, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. We’re thankful for that,” she said. She nudged Rakkun once more, to make sure he was unconscious, before lowering the pan. “You want to take care of him?”
Lorit tossed the amulet to Ardser. “Put that around his neck.”
Ardser plucked it out of the air, and draped is around Rakkun’s neck in one motion. That should hold him when he wakes up,” he said, looking at Jilang. “That is, if he wakes up. You hit him pretty hard.”
The girl just smiled pleasantly and walked back to the stove with the skillet still in her hand, without saying a word.
Lorit sat down in the nearest chair, heaving a heavy sigh. He was as exhausted as if he’d just run a league.
Ryvor came in and sat next to him, looking over the two malefactors. “What should we do with them?” he asked.
“I don’t care,” Lorit commented. He turned to the two men, raising his staff, he projected all the fear and loathing he’d felt from the amulets at them. He pointed at Ryvor and said, “Your new master!”
“I don’t suppose it’s safe for Ardser here any longer,” Ryvor said.
Lorit pushed his chair back from the table, resting his head on the rough wooden planks. “I suppose I’ll have to take him with me,” he said wearily. “Can I have some tea while we wait?” he asked.
“The teapot is ice cold, and the fire is out. It will take a bit,” Jilang replied.
Bebrook
Bebrook was a bustling, mid size town, tucked on the west bank of the Strotailye River. The piers jutted into the river at regular intervals. Each pier hosted for several barges, loaded with trade goods for the city. They were guided to an open spot and quickly tied up. Ryvor went to find the Patrollers, and hand the two men over. Lorit hoped they were wanted for more than accosting Ryvor's family or else they’d be back on the street before the family completed their business.
Lorit packed up his things and made sure Ardser had a proper pack and provisions. He helped Ryvor and the girls unload the cargo bound for Bebrook and reload cargo headed back downriver to Mistbury Tye.
“Do you want me to contact your Ma?” Politaia asked. “She must be worried sick about you.”
“If you don’t mind, please tell her I'm all right, and that I’m doing just fine,” he lied.
“Sure you are,” she chided him. “I won’t add to her worry.”
“And my sister, please tell her that I’m doing well and learning to be a wizard. Onolt is her name. She’s about fourteen summers, and comes up to here on me.” Lorit indicated a height just below his shoulder.
“I’ll talk to her privately if I get the chance,” Politaia replied.
“You take good care of my boy, won’t you?” she asked. She’d packed provisions for the two of them and carefully selected the items that filled Ardser’s pack.
“Thank you for your kindness,” Lorit said. He rushed over and gave the woman a hug. He felt as if this were the last chance he was going to get to experience a mother’s love.
“Thank you for all your help,” she replied, hugging him tightly. She released him and grabbed Ardser by the arm. She drew him into a hug that looked as if it was going to break him in two. “Be careful, young man.”
She released the boy and pushed him toward the pier. “Off with the two of you,” she said. “Get on your way before the day’s completely spent.”
The two boys followed the road that lead from the pier into the town. To the right of the street were the long, low, open fronted buildings that made up the trading houses. They were populated with stall after stall of trade goods, packed from the ground up to the sagging beams that supported the dilapidated roof.
The first stall was filled with lumber stacked neatly, the next was filled with sacks of ground corn but the content of the third was unmistakable, even before they reached it. It was filled with swine, rutting in the mud and dung, packed to such an extent that the poor swine had to fight, just to get by one another to reach the water troughs. Lorit guessed that there must have been over a hundred swine in that small pen.
“Makes me homesick,” Lorit told Ardser. He shoved the boy as if to push him into the pen.
“That makes you homesick?” Ardser asked. “Where were you born?”
“On a homestead outside of Mistbury Tye,” Lorit answered. He walked over to the pens and reached inside, scratching the head and the ears of one of the swine. “They like that,” he said, inclining his head to the swine that was crowding the fence trying to get a little more attention from him.
“I don’t know how you manage to put up with the smell,” Ardser said, holding his nose.
They continued on another block until they reached the market square. It was a large open area, cut by paths running parallel to the streets. Each of the resulting squares was populated by carts filled with a variety of produce, leather craft, wood works and even potions.
“Who are we looking for?” Ardser asked Lorit. He looked around, as if their charge was going to walk right out of the crowd and introduce himself.
“I’m not sure,” Lorit answered. “I think I’ll know when the time comes. Let’s just enjoy the market for a while, shall we?” He walked over to a cart stacked with loaves of travel bread. It was piled high with small, fist sized loaves. They were thick and crusty, and needed to be soaked in something before they became edible. Their only benefit was that they would last for months in a pack.
A young girl arrived carrying two baskets slung from a yoke around her neck. She was about Lorit’s age, with long brown hair that hung down in curls from beneath her scarf. Each basket carried a dozen or so, steaming, fresh loaves of bread. “How much for the fresh bread?” Lorit asked as she set them down and started to place them carefully on the cart.
“They’re three loaves for five coppers,” she said. She looked up at Lorit as she continued to assemble the stack. The gentle breeze would carry the aroma of the fresh bread throughout the market, overcoming even the smell of the swine, if that were possible.
“How much for one loaf?” Lorit asked. The smell was overwhelming and even though they’d just eaten, he couldn’t pass up the freshly baked bread.
“Two coppers,” she said. “Didn’t you learn your figuring?” She smiled at Lorit and twirled her hair.
“Three for five isn’t two each,” Lorit replied. “I learned my figuring. How about some fresh butter to make it whole?” He pointed to a small pot nestled in back of the cart between the travel bread.
“That would be all right, I guess. You want me to put it on for you?”
“If you don’t mind,” Lorit answered. He watched as she pulled out a large knife and sliced the fresh bread in two. It was so fresh, that nothing but a razor sharp knife could’ve cut it, without destroying the springy loaf. She opened the pot and stabbed the knife into it, slathering butter generously on both halves of the loaf. She put the two halves together and handed them to Lorit.
“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” he said, taking the loaf from her hand.
As his hand briefly touched hers, Lorit felt a tingling sensation. It felt something like the feeling he got when he did magic but somehow strange and different. He pulled away from her so quickly that he almost dropped the loaf.
The girl jerked her hand back just as quickly as Lorit had. S
he looked at him with a startled look. “Who are you?” she asked. “WHAT are you?”
“My name’s Lorit. What am I? I’m just a simple young man on a journey, nothing special,” he lied.
“Not so simple, I’d venture,” she said. She motioned him closer to her, and whispered, “Are they looking for you, too?”
“Who would that be?” Lorit was certain he already knew, but he wanted to hear it from her.
“The temple,” she whispered.
She picked up one of the smaller loaves, quickly sliced it in half and spread a thin layer of butter on it. She pointed to Lorit’s dripping loaf. “Eat that before it gets all over everything.”
He handed half of it over to Ardser who eagerly tore into it.
“I am Lorit and this,” he motioned to the youth, “is Ardser.”
“You already said that,” she chided him. “That you’re Lorit, I mean, you didn’t introduce Ardser.”
Lorit hoped this wasn’t going to be his charge, but was afraid that she was.
“All they told me was that I was to meet someone here, in Bebrook. They didn’t tell me what to do after that. Do you have any ideas?” he asked her.
“I’d suggest an inn. There’s one just up the road,” she pointed to the street running alongside the market. “Take that street until you get past the temple. Go another block, then take a left. The first inn you come to is the Prancing Pony. If they don’t have room, or their rooms aren’t to your taste, continue south for another block, and you’ll come to the Lazy Dog.
“I have to finish off the day and pack the cart,” she explained. “I can find you at one of the inns just after sundown. The market has to be clear before Evening Prayer.”
The Prancing Pony was average, as inns go. It was two stories tall, with guest rooms above and the dining room below. The better rooms were above the dining area, the less expensive ones were above the stables.
Lorit negotiated a price of two silvers and five coppers for a room that the two of them would share. The room was over the stables and slightly dusty. A pallet of woven straw covered with a tattered blanket formed the bed. The water jug was filled with tepid but clean water. The wash basin had an ornate floral pattern that was faded and cracked.
There was a single chair, and a small table along the wall near the wash stands. A candle holder covered in wax sat on the table, with a fresh candle stubbed into it. Lorit dropped his pack and took the seat. He motioned to Ardser to do the same. “Might as well rest a bit before dinner.”
Ardser dropped his pack next to Lorit’s. “What you did to those men who attacked us. How did you learn that?” he asked.
“I just figured it out,” Lorit said. “I’ve had some training from a couple of the wizards. Mostly in dreams, but once even in real life.” Lorit played with the staff Rotiaqua had given him at their parting. He idly rubbed the inlaid gem embedded in the gnarled wood as he spoke, remembering the Sorceress who had given it to him as he did.
“That amulet,” Ardser continued, “What was that? How did you overcome it? I was unable to do anything when it was around my neck.”
“I guess I just figured out.” Lorit shrugged. “I thought if I stopped fighting it directly, and worked with the magic, I could get around it. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
There was a light rap on the door. “Dinner service has begun, sirs,” came the voice of a young boy. “The dining room is open.”
“Let’s get our dinner,” Lorit said. He looked at the packs and decided that they would be safe in the room. For good measure, he visualized a strong wire fence surrounding them. He imagined them enmeshed in twisted strands of wire sporting barbs two digits long and razor sharp. “That should keep them safe.”
They found a place in the dining room, off to one side. It was close enough to the fireplace to keep them warm when the evening cooled off, but not too close. A young boy arrived shortly. He was younger than Ardser, about twelve summers in age, and was a head shorter than Lorit but looked strong for his age.
“What can I get you, gentlemen? We have a meat pie for six coppers, fowl for seven coppers, the bread is two coppers. We have brown, black and white. I recommend the white, “he said, explaining the menu.
“Ale is three coppers a flagon, two coppers for watered ale or wine,” he continued.
“We’re waiting for a friend. Just two flagons of watered ale,” Lorit answered. He dropped the four coppers on the table. The boy reached for them, but Lorit covered them with his hand before he could pluck them from the table. Then he reached into his pouch and pulled out two more coppers handing them to the boy. “I think we can have a loaf of the white bread while we’re waiting.”
Just as the serving boy returned with their ale and bread, the girl from the market arrived. She squeezed herself onto the bench, next to Lorit. She reached for his newly arrived flagon of watered ale and took a thirsty swallow. “Thanks for ordering for me,” she said. She tore a chunk from the loaf and stuffed it in her mouth.
“Hmm, not bad,” she said. “Gran would approve of this. My name is Chihon.”
Lorit caught the eye of the serving boy. He pointed at the watered ale flagon and raised one finger indicating that he needed another. The boy smiled and disappeared off to the kitchen. Quickly he arrived with a replacement flagon and placed it on the table.
“Are you ready to order, madam? Sirs?” he asked.
“Meat pie,” Ardser said.
“Fowl,” Lorit answered.
“I think I’ll have the meat pie, too,” Chihon replied. She pushed the bread towards the center of the table and brushed away the crumbs before her. She turned to Lorit and asked, “Where are we going?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Lorit answered. “Zhimosom sent me here to find you. Along the way, I ran across Ardser. He didn’t tell me what to do next. I’ll have to try to contact him tonight.”
“I don’t think we have to do anything right away,” she said.
“We were attacked on the barge by two men who were looking for Ardser. We can’t stay here long, or we’ll attract the wrong kind of attention,” Lorit explained.
The door to the inn opened, and a tall, thin man entered. The hood of his black robe was thrown back revealing his shaved head. He carried a staff which he placed against the wall as he took a seat at a table across the room from them. He surveyed the room before he sat. Lorit worried that they received more attention than they merited, but the priest didn’t take any overt action.
He nudged Chihon. “Speak of the devil and he appears.”
“We haven’t done anything wrong. He shouldn’t have reason to be suspicious,” she countered.
“Let's hope for the best,” Lorit answered her.
The serving boy arrived with their meals. Lorit thought the fowl was a bit tough but otherwise tasty. As he enjoyed his dinner, he felt a slight uneasiness. There was a feather light tug at his head. It was similar to what he’d felt in the temple, when the priest was interrogating him, only much more subtle.
He was ready to dismiss it as his overactive imagination, when Chihon placed her hand lightly on his. She kept looking straight ahead, but whispered in his direction. “Did you feel that?”
“You felt it, too?” he asked her without turning.
“Yes. Do you know what’s happening?”
“Unfortunately, I do. I felt this before, when I was held captive in the temple. My tormentor used a similar spell to pull memories from my mind. This is much more subtle, but it means he’s probing us, probably looking for a reaction,” Lorit explained. “Just sit still and ignore it. I think I can shield us.”
Lorit envisioned the encircling fence around the table. He focused on making it reflective to magical influences but not to light. It solidified in his mind’s eye taking form to protect the three of them.
They ate in relative silence, trying not to look over at the priest. When they finished their dinner Chihon said, “I must be getting back to my Grandma�
��am.”
“I don’t think it’s safe. That priest is on to something. If he guesses that you were one of the ones he felt, he’ll be after you,” Lorit warned. “You aren’t safe anymore. Stay with us. We’re leaving early in the morning.”
“I can’t, my Grandma’am will be worried. I’ll join you in the morning.”
“We can explain everything to her tomorrow morning, on our way out of town,” Lorit insisted.
“I really shouldn’t. My Grandma’am…” she trailed off as the Priest turned to look in their direction.
“No argument,” Lorit said. “I can shield us from him, but if you head back there alone, you’ll be exposed. You’re staying with us.”
Chihon looked from Lorit to the priest and back. “I suppose that will be all right.”
Lorit dropped an additional two coppers on the table, for the boy, before they headed up to the room. Once inside, Lorit relaxed somewhat, hoping they had avoided the watchful eye of the priest.
Chihon looked at the packs. She walked over and examined them carefully. She placed her hand above them and gently pushed down through the air. Her hand stopped about a span above the packs. She moved it up and down as if testing something and looked over at Lorit questioningly.
“What’s the matter?” Lorit asked.
“I can sense the protection. There is no physical reason I can’t touch the packs, but as I get close, I get a strong feeling that if I do, my hand will be slashed to pieces. It’s rather odd,” she said. “What did you do to them?”
“I made sure no one would touch them while we were out of the room.”
“Aren’t you worried that the priest will sense this?” she asked, straightening up. She headed over to the bed and lay down, stretching out.
“I shielded them from the priests. I should do the same for this room, too,” he said. Lorit reached out his senses and imagined the walls, floor and ceiling slowly becoming reflective to magical investigation. He knew they would not need to see out of the room and he hoped his shields would prevent the priests form prying while they were inside.
Foundling Wizard (Book 1) Page 11
