by Jeff Wheeler
For a moment, she was transfixed with terror, reliving the experience of the pain and trauma that had not only stolen her smile but had made her afraid of the dark and of being alone. She had worked hard to conquer those fears and disappointments. And she was an Oath Maiden, not the helpless youngling she had once been. He would not get the best of her again.
“What is it?” Captain Staeli said in a growl, noticing her altered state. He followed her gaze to the window.
“Apokaluptis,” Trynne breathed in a low, quavering voice, invoking another word of power. It was the word used to unmask a disguise, to reveal the true nature of something hidden. She felt the pulse of Fountain magic in her mind, as if a large boulder had been catapulted into a lake. The ripples shot out from her in all directions, totally unnoticed and unfelt by those around her.
But there was suddenly a man standing at the window.
Her father had described Dragan as a handsome man, though riddled with pox scars, with long sideburns and a hawkish nose. The sideburns had grown to a short beard flecked with gray. He wore clothes that would have marked him a nobleman except for the abused, patchwork quality of them. His eyes, though—his eyes were like staring into death. They were haunted, menacing, and utterly ruthless. They were staring at her with such hatred it made her insides turn oily and weak.
“Dragan,” Trynne whispered hoarsely, still in shock from having encountered him in the city of Marq.
Her weakness lasted for just another moment before a vengeful fury blazed up inside her like an iron poker yanked from the depths of the furnace, glowing with power and heat. It startled her with how hotly it burned. This was the man the Espion had been hunting since before her birth. She had unmasked his illusion, noticed him as he had noticed her, and she was going to drag his sorry carcass back to the palace of Kingfountain so he could stand trial for treason. But no matter what he’d done to her, to her father, she would not kill him. No, she had sworn an oath never to do that.
She shoved the book she had just purchased into Captain Staeli’s surprised hands and rushed to the door.
Dragan fled.
“I can wrap that in paper if you want to protect it?” the bookmaker called after her, but Trynne was heedless of his words. Another patron opened the door. Trynne collided with him, but she didn’t even pause to apologize before slipping past him. Dragan’s fancy ratty jacket stood out, and she fixed her sights on him and hurried through the crowd, not quite running but trying to gain ground.
He walked with a brisk vigor, tapping his hat politely at those he passed and stealing from several with deft hands that infuriated her, knowing that it was deliberately done because she was watching him.
Staeli caught up to her, his voice a growl. “Is that the one?” he seethed. “The false noble? He’s of the age. Are you sure?”
“I have never been more certain,” Trynne answered, her heart thundering in her ears. Dragan was keeping just ahead of them, slipping through the crowd. She felt him trying to cloak himself in his magic, but the force of her spell was still at work and he couldn’t hide yet.
“Then it’s no accident we were here today,” Staeli grumbled. He stuffed her new book into his pack as he walked. He sounded more emotional than usual, and Trynne realized it was because he harbored his own deep resentment against Dragan. He had been called as Trynne’s protector because of him. Their fates were all entwined.
“Faster,” Trynne said, breaking into a jog. She wished she had a moment to change from her Brugian-style dress into the men’s clothes she had brought to compete in the Gauntlet. People were looking at her with annoyance for barging through the crowd, but she couldn’t care less as she dodged past the whippet dogs. Her eyes were fixed on the back of Dragan’s head, popping in and out of sight amidst the rabble.
“If we lose sight of him . . .” she whispered under her breath.
Suddenly Dragan broke into a run, cutting through the crowd, deftly weaving through several people.
“He’s going for the bridge!” Staeli warned, and began to run as well.
Trynne wondered if she should cry out to enlist others to help, but they were close to him. Surely they would make it. Dragan jogged up a narrow stone bridge, plowing his way through the crowd as people grunted and hollered at his rudeness. Some of the dogs began barking with the commotion, and soon it sounded as if the entire city was joining the chase as the yaps and barks spread like wildfire.
Captain Staeli reached the bridge first and elbowed his way through. Trynne was hot on his heels, trying to keep sight of Dragan and failing amidst the sea of bobbing heads. She felt another prickle of Fountain magic and sensed that he had turned invisible on the bridge. Her spell had ended over the water. She remembered her mother had once said that some spells didn’t work over water at all; it was a natural barrier that provided protection from some of them.
Staeli stopped halfway across the bridge, searching the crowds, his face growing agitated with anger. “I lost him!” he snarled.
“I feel him still. Follow me,” Trynne said. She could sense his power, although she could not see him, and knew he was just ahead of them. In fact, she sensed him along the rail. “He’s almost to the other end!” she shouted, hurrying forward.
Staeli responded immediately and continued to press against the crowd. The hostile glares and occasional counter-shoves ended when they finally reached the other side. With all the distractions swirling around her, Trynne focused her thoughts and sensed the direction he was going. She was the only one who could lead them and she knew invoking the word again would be useless. All he would need to do was dart over another bridge, or run far enough out of range.
Dragan led them through a crowded main street before darting into an alley. She followed, drawing out a small dagger hidden in her girdle.
As she and the captain slowed to a brisk walk, Trynne sensed Fountain magic coming from behind them. There was another Fountain-blessed person in the area.
Had Dragan assembled other criminals who were Fountain-blessed? Was he luring them to a place where they’d be outnumbered and then murdered? But how could that be? How had Dragan known that Trynne would be there in the first place?
“I sense another one behind us,” Trynne said, touching Staeli’s shoulder. He jerked his head at her in surprise. He could not see their foe at the moment, but it was obvious he trusted Trynne’s powers. His faith in her was heartening.
“How far away?” he asked, glancing backward.
“Not far. They can feel me just as I can feel them. We’re being followed as well.”
“I don’t like this,” Staeli said, shaking his head. “We’d better catch him before the other catches us.”
“I agree,” Trynne said. “Then we run.”
She started down the alley, still sensing the invisible thief ahead of them. Staeli stayed close, but he continually looked backward, keeping watch for their tail. The alley was full of twists and turns and overcrowded hovels built atop each other. There was very little room to maneuver and side streets opened up quickly around them. A noxious sewer smell hung in the air.
Dragan kept pressing forward, going down and sideways, forcing Trynne to follow him. It did feel like he was leading her through a maze, one that he knew and she didn’t.
Soon, they came across a street gang dicing in the midst of one of the alleys. Dragan slipped through the band unnoticed, pausing only to shove one of them hard into his fellows, which startled them and then made them aware of Trynne and Staeli.
“That was clever,” the captain muttered darkly under his breath as the gang rose up, their clothes in tatters. Trynne felt the presence of the other Fountain-blessed closing in from behind. They were going to be trapped between the gang and their pursuer.
“Oi, looks like these two have lost their way,” said the leader of the band. He had a jaunty, foul look and much bravado.
“A pa and his little waif,” snickered another.
Trynne sensed Dragan slip a
round the corner ahead, and that blazing poker of anger inside her flared white-hot. He was getting away! As soon as he joined the main street again, he could slough off his magic, making it impossible for her to track him from afar.
Captain Staeli drew his swords. He might not have understood their language, but there was no misunderstanding the tone.
“He’s got weapons, man,” one of the gang said worriedly to the cocky leader. “Could be the prince’s spies . . .”
“Nah, dressed too well,” said another.
“The girl is ugly enough,” snorted another man.
Trynne and Staeli had slowed down and stopped. The other Fountain-blessed person would be arriving soon.
She looked at the captain and then nodded. “Be quick.”
Captain Staeli grunted with a smirk. “It won’t take long.”
Then her protector rushed into the gang like a dog itching for a fight. He struck with the flat of his blade and his elbows, stomped with his feet, and used his shoulders to crush them into the brick walls. Several tried to grab him and gang up on him, but Staeli was efficient, brutal, and adept at cracking skulls.
One of the gang slipped past him with a dagger. “Oi, lass! I’ll take that purse if you please,” he said, jutting his chin toward her purse and wagging his dagger at hers. “The blade too. It’s nicer than mine.”
“Take it, then,” Trynne said, turning the hilt to face him. He looked a little surprised by her quick acquiescence, but he reached for it all the same. She deliberately dropped it, and as soon as his eyes tracked toward it, she kicked him in the face, breaking his nose and dropping him.
Her magic twinged in warning as another man rushed up to grab her. Spinning to the side, she dodged the outstretched arm and felt the weakness of his momentum through her magic. With a quick snatch, she grabbed his wrist and used his charge to spin him around and into the wall. He collided with the stone, grunting in pain and shock. Trynne grabbed the back of his shirt, then kicked the side of his knee sharply.
Trynne glanced up just as their pursuer entered the alley. It was a woman, wearing a hooded cloak and a beautiful dress in the Brugian style. Their two magics clashed for a moment before recognition settled in.
It was Morwenna Argentine, the poisoner of Kingfountain.
Captain Staeli kneed one of the gang members in the stomach and then shoved him down. Between the two of them, they had mastered eight or nine men, and most were collapsed in a heap.
“Morwenna!” Trynne gasped in surprise. She did not release her grip on her magic, which she quickly used to search for the poisoner’s weaknesses. Their meeting like this was highly suspicious, especially after the close call with Dragan. As Trynne’s magic worked, she sensed the poisoner was armed with three daggers, a needle comb, and an assortment of poisons, including vials and powders and a spring-loaded ring on her finger. Trynne sensed that Morwenna’s body was disciplined and fit from her training at the poisoner school. But through the defenses, she sensed one glaring weakness. Morwenna’s neck was vulnerable. She could be choked, strangled, drowned—anything that could stop her breath. It was a little surprising to see such a thing. Morwenna was trying to gauge her in the same way, but the poisoner’s magic could not penetrate hers—it parted around her like a river around a stubborn boulder.
The two stared at each other with suspicion and then, almost as if by mutual agreement, let their magics subside.
The poisoner approached warily, casting her gaze first to Trynne and then to Staeli. She noted the bodies sprawled in the alley.
“Well, you’re certainly the last person I expected to find at the end of this chase,” Morwenna said, her eyes still showing a bit of mistrust. “I was following two Fountain-blessed. Where is the other?”
“What are you doing here?” Trynne asked, still feeling wary and confused. “I thought you were in Pisan?”
Morwenna’s eyebrows lifted. “I was. I finished the school a year ago. I’ve been on assignments for my brother ever since. Did you come here through the ley lines? Of course you did, why am I even asking. That’s how I came as well.”
Trynne’s eyes bulged with surprise at that. The ley lines were a closely guarded secret, normally used only by trained Wizrs.
“I learned about them in Pisan,” Morwenna said. “Who were you following? I heard one of the competitors for the Gauntlet was Fountain-blessed. An archer from Legault. Was that him?”
Trynne shook her head. “No. I was after a man named Dragan.” She looked at Morwenna carefully to see if she recognized the name.
Morwenna did startle, her eyes widening with surprise. “The man who attacked you?” she whispered. “That was him? Where is he now? I don’t sense him anymore.” She was staring down the alley warily.
“He led us into this rabble before slipping away. He’s not using his magic right now.”
“If he’s here,” Morwenna said firmly, “I need to find him and arrest him. The Espion has been hunting him for years.”
“But why are you here? Are you on a mission to hunt Dragan?” Trynne asked, still not certain how to handle all the information she had just received.
Morwenna blinked with surprise. “No, I’m here because of the Gauntlet. Fallon asked me to come. Does he know you’re here?” Her eyes lit up with interest. “He didn’t mention you were coming too.”
That uncomfortable nauseating sensation blossomed in Trynne’s stomach again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The King’s Poisoner
Trynne was so shocked by Morwenna’s statement that she stumbled over her next words and felt her cheeks flush. “No—that’s not—I wasn’t—”
“I’ve embarrassed you,” Morwenna said, touching her arm. “Forgive me. I’m still so surprised to find you here. This isn’t the proper place to become reacquainted.” She glanced down at the writhing bodies of the gang and smirked. “I’m glad Captain Staeli was with you, so you didn’t have to use much of your magic,” she added conspiratorially. “The last word you uttered was what drew my attention. I felt it from far away. Come, let’s go the way you felt Dragan going. What did he look like? How would I recognize him? I’ve heard very few have actually seen him. Some have taken to calling him ‘the Ghost.’”
Trynne quickly described what they had seen him wearing as they all walked briskly to the end of the alley. Shortly thereafter, they arrived at the main street on the river’s edge. Everywhere Trynne looked, there were dogs on leashes, men and women in identical black velvet hats, and street vendors. The air hung heavy with the scents of food and the blooms in a nearby flower wagon.
The foot traffic went both ways, and there were gondoliers in the river scooping their way along in both directions as well. Morwenna clung to Trynne’s arm as they stood in the alcove, watching the crowd.
“I love watching people,” Morwenna confided. “But now we’re trying to spot a man in shabby nobleman’s clothes. One without a whippet.” She clucked her tongue. “If only I’d come sooner. I’m going to hate having to report this to my brother and your father.” Morwenna frowned at the thought, still searching the crowd. Then she turned and raised her eyebrow in an almost accusing way. “I do need to report this, Trynne, despite our friendship. Does your father know you’re here? Will he be upset if he finds out?”
Trynne was still battling her inner demons and almost didn’t hear the question. Morwenna had been invited by Fallon to meet her in Brugia? What did that mean? How did she know about ley lines? Trynne’s curiosity was screaming to know the answers.
“Father doesn’t know I’m here,” Trynne said, shaking her head. “But my mother does. She sent me to get a book—”
“From the bookmaker’s shop!” Morwenna said, suddenly interested. “It was that old copy of The Vulgate, wasn’t it? I saw it in the window yesterday when I arrived.”
“You know about The Vulgate?” Trynne asked.
“Everyone knows about The Vulgate, Trynne,” Morwenna said, dropping her voice lower. “Wh
at they don’t know about is the secret that’s hidden in plain sight. You know of it, of course, or I wouldn’t be talking about it. Your mother is a Wizr, after all. I’m so jealous of you, Trynne. You get to be tutored by a truly exceptional woman. I tried to get Myrddin to tutor me, but he insisted that I must discover the words on my own. You’re special, though. What you have access to at Ploemeur is infinitely better than the scraps I found in Pisan.” She squeezed Trynne’s arm. “I can see that I’ve concerned you, so let me catch you up quickly. Then I want to take you to Oberon’s—that’s where Fallon is hiding until the Gauntlet starts,” she added in an undertone.
“It starts today, doesn’t it?” Trynne asked hopefully.
“Actually, it starts tonight,” Morwenna said. “The trials begin at dusk, so there’s still the whole day ahead. The darkness makes the challenges harder. How unlike the house of Asturias to make things complicated!” She gave Trynne a pretty smirk.
Morwenna had truly become a beauty since they had last met at the royal wedding. Her confidence had expanded and she seemed very aware of her alluring looks.
“So you didn’t come to see Fallon face the Gauntlet?” Morwenna asked.
“No, I didn’t,” Trynne said. “So he’s in hiding, then?”
“Of course! Prince Elwis hates him and has his men out searching the streets for him. He’s offered bribes to innkeepers to rat him out.” Morwenna grinned mischievously. “He’s staying at an Espion stronghold, so of course they won’t find him. He’s going to the Gauntlet in disguise so that nothing interferes with him winning the badge fairly. You’re clever to dress up as a Brugian as well.” She only glanced at Trynne occasionally, her eyes still searching the crowd for Dragan.
“Any luck spotting him, Captain?” she asked Staeli.
The captain, who was keenly observing the crowds, just shook his head no in response. His bearded mouth twisted into a discontented frown. “Too many people.”
“How do you know of the ley lines?” Trynne asked.
