by Dan Koboldt
So the goal of a sailor on shore leave was simple: get as ridiculously drunk as he could afford to, in the shortest possible time. The group they’d followed spilled into the broad lamplit drinking room and took over half the bar. Julio wedged himself between a pair of them and made room for Veena. Within ten minutes, they were buying drinks for two Valteroni sailors. They made small talk over the first couple of ales, and then Veena finally got down to business.
“So, where you in from?” she asked.
“North coast o’ Landor,” said the younger sailor, who’d said his name was Kip. He had a narrow chin and a poor attempt at a goatee. Couldn’t be more than eighteen years old.
The other sailor hadn’t offered his name—even after Julio bought the second round—so Veena made a mental note to call him Chinless. He’d earned it, with those jowls.
“This time of year?” she asked. “Gods, that must have been cold!”
“You don’t know the half of it,” said Kip. “We were freezing our arses off most days. Barely got around Pirea before the ice took over.”
“We came down from Pirea on a shore-sweeper ourselves,” Veena said. “Weather’s really starting to turn up there. Hope you’re headed somewhere warmer.”
“Back home to Valteron. Orders of the Prime and all that.”
Chinless stepped on the younger sailor’s foot, and gave him a dark look that said, Don’t talk about where we’re headed.
“Oh, it’s all right. We’re headed there ourselves, I don’t mind telling you,” Veena said.
Chinless relaxed a little, but still never joined in the conversation. He and Julio were well-matched in that. It was like they’d begun a contest to see who could drink the most ale while speaking the fewest words. At one point they both emptied their glasses at the same time. Julio signaled the innkeeper for two refills, and tossed the coins across to cover it. He and Chinless made eye contact, touched their glasses together. Then they went right back to drinking in silence.
“Have you been back to Valteron City this year?” she asked.
“Not since the new Prime took over,” Kip said. “We were already headed north when we heard about the former one’s passing, and Cap’n thought it might be a fine idea to get as far away as possible.”
“Clever of him.”
“He’s got a sharp nose for coin. S’why we hate to go back right now.”
That was an odd sentiment, for someone who’d been away too long.
Veena played innocent. “I’d have thought you’d be excited to get home again for a bit.”
“Not if it means we’re pressed into service.”
“Gods, you think you might?”
“That’s the rumor. Why else would the Prime order us home?”
Veena shrugged, but her mind was spinning. Valteron’s trading fleet was massive. If Holt managed to get them under his rein for military purposes, he’d dominate the oceans. No, he’d dominate the entire continent, with that kind of transportation locked up. Sure, they’d lose out on trade for a while, but the Valteroni treasury could probably weather that storm. Her thoughts raced forward to these worrisome ends while Kip prattled on.
“. . . just like to have something to work for, you know? If we make good time and Cap’n picks the right cargo, there’s bonus pay on top of things. If we’re working for the Prime, there’s a flat fee and that’s it. Just take these men here for this price, no negotiations. No questions asked. Not a lot of profit in that.”
“I hear you,” Veena said. She was listening on autopilot, but she didn’t want to come across as rude. It wasn’t like Julio was going to carry on this conversation on his own. “Maybe that’s not why the Prime is recalling you, though.”
“We can dream, can’t we?” Kip laughed. “We’ll know soon enough. Got a half-empty hold right now and we’re leaving port with the tide tomorrow.”
The barkeep signaled last call. It was time to press a little. Veena toyed with an errant strand of her hair. “You think the captain might be willing to take on a few passengers, since you’re so light?”
Kip’s face grew more serious, as if he knew he’d spoken too much and wanted to fake at sobriety. “You’d have to ask him that, o’ course.”
“’Course. And we will.” She slid a round gold coin along the bar so that it clinked softly against Kip’s ale glass. “Maybe you’ll put in a good word for us, eh?”
“Be happy to!” His brow furrowed. “What did you say your name was again?”
“I’m—” Alarm bells rang in her head, and she just caught herself before blurting out her real name. “Tina.” She gestured to Julio. “And that’s Rico.”
Julio smiled in wry amusement. She had to admit, that might have been a tad stereotypical.
“Tina and Rico,” repeated Kip. “Can’t promise much, but I’ll put in a good word.”
Ten hours later, Veena and Julio rode over two-foot swells in a hired water taxi toward the Valteroni ship. It loomed ever larger as they grew near. This could go south in a hurry. They had all of their possessions with them, on the off chance the captain would take them on. If this glorified rowboat were to capsize, they’d probably lose all of it. But most of the sailors were already back on board. This was their only shot.
“Take us closer,” Veena told the pilot.
Julio was starting to turn green. She had to ignore that, and focus on the mission.
“How close you want?” asked the man out of the side of his mouth.
He was ancient as old leather, and the plug of chewing tobacco had been in the one cheek since they’d met him. The two men working the oars turned out to be his sons. Wide was the word for them; it described the chins, the shoulders, even the legs. They were near-mirror-images of one another, right down to the small plugs of tobacco they were gnawing on while trying to hide it from the pilot.
“Close enough to hail them, not to catch an anchor line,” Veena said. “How does that sound?”
The pilot spat over his shoulder, then looked her up and down. “Sounds like you know yer business.” He smacked the starboard twin on the back of his head. “You heard the lady.”
The twins weren’t much for chatting, but managed to row in near-perfect unison. They had the craft in position near the Valteroni ship within minutes.
“Not bad,” Julio said. He flipped a silver coin to the pilot, who caught it, bit it in the good side of his mouth, and tucked it away.
“Might say we know our business, too.”
“All right, Veena,” Julio said. “Work your magic.”
She stood to hide her nervousness, and straightened out her dress as best she could. It was black and formfitting and a foolish thing to wear on a sea voyage. But she needed any edge she could get.
“Hello, the ship!” she shouted.
A man appeared at the rail a moment later. He wore a broad-brimmed hat studded with several large feathers. The hat looked to be made of felt. Or suede. It was about as ridiculous a thing to wear as her dress. But it also made him the captain of the Valteroni ship.
“Hello, yourself,” he said.
“Any news?”
“We’ve been up north. You want to hear about the ice and cold?”
“Not particularly,” Veena said.
“Then what can I do for you?”
This was the tip of the spear; she had to approach it just right. “We thought perhaps you might be headed toward Valteron.”
The captain hesitated. “And if we were?”
“I’d like to buy passage. For my manservant, and myself.”
Julio managed to keep his face neutral, though it clearly was a struggle. She’d given him advance warning about this part. It didn’t take an anthropologist to recognize that a single woman stood a much better chance of gaining passage on a deepwater vessel than a married one. She’d have Julio at hand to protect her, of course, but the perception of availability might seal the deal.
He still didn’t have to like it.
“Can’t
help you, I’m afraid,” said the captain.
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“We’re not taking any passengers.”
“You’re riding pretty high in the water, Captain. I’m guessing your hold is, what, half-empty?”
The captain stared at her for four heartbeats. Probably wondering how she could have guessed it. “Even so.”
“We’d pay handsomely.”
“I’m sure you would. Pains me to say it, but we’re under strict orders.” He moved back from the rail, until only the feathers on his hat were visible. They moved astern as the captain headed back to his wheel.
Orders from Richard Holt, the Valteroni Prime, Veena realized. She took a breath. It was time for plan B, and Julio would like this even less. “Perhaps it would be useful if I told you my name.”
Julio’s hand was on her shoulder, trying to stop her. His eyes were wide in alarm. “Don’t!” he hissed.
Veena knew it was a risk, but this was the only ship headed to Valteron, and the only way to get on board. “What choice do we have?” She slid out of his grip. “It’s Veena Chaudri.”
The feathers went stock-still. Then the captain’s head appeared again. “Did you say—”
“Veena. Chaudri,” she repeated. “Can we have a berth now?”
He cleared his throat. “Anything you want, m’lady.”
Chapter 26
Into the Fire
“One of the best things about performance magic is that there’s always more to learn.”
—Art of Illusion, August 15
Quinn hadn’t even dressed when the parchment slid under his door. The sight and sound made him jump. For more than one reason. The fact was, he’d installed a motion sensor out in the hallway, hot-linked to his comm unit, but the thing hadn’t made a peep. He yanked his door open. Nothing moved in the hallway. He didn’t hear any footsteps, either. So how the hell did this parchment get here?
He probably didn’t want to know.
He found his optics, and thanked his lucky stars that he had them. The note was from Sella.
Class has moved to center island, at the amphitheater. Today only.
He sighed. Over the past few days, Sella had buried her students in mud, dangled them by their heels over the edge of a waterfall, and forced them to climb the sequoia-like trees along the island’s western shore. This last one wouldn’t have been so bad if Alissian tree rats weren’t so damn territorial. None of these had conjured so much as a spark out of Quinn, though they’d certainly left a mark or two on his person.
And today there’s a location change. This didn’t bode well.
He dressed and hurried out to the Landorian tower’s common room, which was just as spacious as the Pirean one, but somehow not as cheerful. Every morning, a new spread of fruits and breads would appear on the massive central table. He’d never thought to ask who replenished it, or where the food came from. Maybe I’m supposed to be putting in on that.
He ignored the food anyway, and made a straight shot for the ceramic kettle that hung beside the hearth. Landorian tea had a strong, slightly bitter flavor, but was the best source of caffeine on this side of the gateway. He filled one of the clay mugs about a quarter full. That was his limit. The one time he tried a full cup, he wound up with the shakes for the rest of the day.
He gave himself plenty of time to walk to the amphitheater, where the Enclave magicians had put him on trial just a few months ago. He still couldn’t believe he’d managed to win them over, earning the chance to stay on as a student. The amphitheater was packed that day, too. Standing room only, which normally he’d have appreciated, if it weren’t for the looming threat of execution.
Now, windblown leaves danced across the empty benches. What the hell? Maybe Sella had meant outside the amphitheater, not in it. He hurried across the stage and out the far side. Being alone in a wide open space made him nervous. Then he spotted her, about fifty yards south of the amphitheater. He broke into a jog and told himself it was mainly for the exercise, and not because of the lashing he’d get if he were late.
Sella stood in a circle of black dirt that he’d never noticed before. Knee-high boulders lined the perimeter, each of them flat-topped like a bench. Nothing grew inside the circle. The dirt was loose and dark, like a fresh-plowed field.
Jade leaned against one of the stones, wearing a practiced look of bored disinterest. The nameless skinny kid arrived ten seconds later, and doubled over to catch his breath. Judging by the sheen on his face, he’d run most of the way here.
“Let’s get started,” Sella said. “Any progress since last time?”
The skinny kid shook his head. Jade mumbled something under her breath and looked away.
Quinn refused to look at anyone.
“I take that as a no,” Sella said. “Very well, then. You’ll remain in this circle until I give you permission to leave.”
“That sounds ominous,” Quinn muttered.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing.” He climbed over a rock bench and hopped down into the circle. The smell of char assaulted his nose. Little puffs of dirt flew up as he landed, and swirled away on the breeze. No, not dirt. Ashes.
I’m standing in a goddamn fire pit.
And Sella had already started chanting.
The flames had shot up seemingly at random. All that Quinn and the other two students could do was dance around to avoid them. Which never worked, because Sella could see them the whole time.
She was a master at psychological torture, too. Quinn saw a place near the middle of the ring where flames never seemed to touch. The second he edged over to it, a flare-up engulfed him to the waist. That was around the time that his pants started to smolder. He racked his brain to figure out a way to cheat. They were in close quarters, so the projector was out. He tried digging deep for the real magic, but found nothing. I need a miracle.
Jade planted her feet and held her arms out, palms facing at the ground, fingers curved just so. Her face was a mask of concentration, the most emotion Quinn had ever seen from her. She bit her lip so hard it had started bleeding. Her eyes were somewhere else.
The hair on the back of Quinn’s neck stood up.
Something changed in Jade’s part of the circle. Try as they might, no flames could touch her.
And they did try. Sella chanted louder, and the iridescent flames shot up around Jade. Heat rolled off them in waves. Sweat poured down the girl’s face, but she held them at bay.
Quinn felt his mouth fall open. He took advantage of the brief respite to slap the smoldering debris from his pant legs. Thank God for the company’s flameproof synthetic blend, or else he’d have been a walking torch.
The skinny kid wasn’t so lucky. He screamed as his right pant leg caught fire. He hopped and waved it around, which only fanned the flames.
Quinn stripped off his jacket. “Here, over here!”
The kid kept hollering and dancing around, oblivious. Quinn ran and tackled him to the ground. Then he smothered the flames with his jacket, hoping it wouldn’t scorch too badly.
“Thanks!” the kid panted.
“No problem,” Quinn said.
The tower of flames surrounding Jade dissipated. Quinn clambered to his feet, in case that meant the flame-torture was about to start up again.
But Sella clapped her hands. “Wonderfully done, Jade!” She hopped over one of the boulders in a surprising show of agility.
Jade fell to her knees. She was drenched with sweat, and her dark hair hung in wet strands across her face. But she looked completely unharmed, despite Sella’s best efforts to the contrary. Quinn stared in amazement. Unreal.
The old woman knelt beside her, and they spoke in hushed tones.
“Gods, my legs are like cooked meat,” the kid said.
I should ask him his name. But it was well into the awkward period to do that now. Sella’s bound to yell it at some point anyway.
“Mine, too, but I think you got it worse,” Qui
nn said.
“How is it that Jade’s not even touched?”
“She had a breakthrough. I guess you missed it.”
He whistled under his breath. “She must be a fire mage.”
Quinn looked over in time to see Jade shrug and roll her eyes at whatever Sella was saying. “Yeah, that fits.”
Chapter 27
Good Feeling Gone
“Wealth is wastefulness.”
—Tioni proverb
Quinn spotted Anton’s prim butler heading up the steps to the Caralissian tower door. “Hey there!”
The man paused midstep, but somehow adopted an elegant pose. “Yes?”
“Is Anton in? I wonder if I could have a word.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No. But I’m afraid it’s a matter of some urgency,” Quinn said. “And discretion.” That should pique his curiosity.
“I’ll make an inquiry.” He started inside, then paused. “Quinn, was it?”
“That’s right.” And I think you knew it.
The man disappeared into the tower interior. Quinn probably should have followed him in, but where the Pirean tower welcomed visitors, something about the Caralissian tower seemed to deter them. Maybe it was the silence, or the dark interior. They might as well post a sign: No Outsiders.
The butler returned a minute later. “Right this way, if you please.”
Anton waited in the same dining room as before, in the same seat, wearing a crushed velvet jacket in olive green. “Quinn! What an unexpected pleasure.” He gestured to the chair beside him.
“I enjoyed our dinner the other night, and I’ve been giving our conversation some thought.”
“And?”
“I’m warming to the idea of an Enclave that owes nothing to the Prime of Valteron.”
“That’s a welcome surprise. What changed your mind?”
“Disturbing news, I’m afraid.” Quinn made certain to choose his words carefully. “The Prime is making preparations for something big.”
Anton leaned forward in his chair. A hawk-like intensity pierced his causal demeanor. “What preparations?”
