Sorcery's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 2)

by D J Salisbury

  Lorel’s jaw dropped. Don’t go near her?

  Faye spun around, stomped through the tall doorway, and slammed the oak door so hard a picture fell off the wall.

  The three squeaky women crossed their arms and glared at her. The two snooty men strolled toward her with fisted hands.

  She’d love to fight with them. She’d have no problem taking them both down. She could probably lay them flat without breaking a single blister.

  But the boss would get mad. Madder than she already was, anyway. She might be able to beg forgiveness if she stayed out of trouble long enough. And staying out of trouble started with not smacking Faye’s workers around.

  The two men raised their fists. The limp threads. Neither of them even knew how to make a good fighting fist.

  One of the woman hustled toward a distant doorway.

  She better leave before the miswoven female called in the City Guard.

  Bright sunshine slapped tears into her eyes after the dimness of the warehouse. Mangy birds squawked and fluttered around the marble steps. She hoped they pooped all over them steps.

  Lorel guessed she’d have lots of time to work at the stable now. That thought made her smile and swallow the lump in her throat.

  Chapter 4.

  Viper’s rear end was freezing. Or falling asleep.

  Sitting on the icy stone floor wasn’t one of his better ideas. But the kitchen floor was the only surface in the house big enough – and clear enough – to hold everything he’d hauled up from the Lab.

  He couldn’t quit until he finished this project.

  Concentric rows of books surrounded him like patient spectators at a play. But this audience required all of his concentration to ensure their cooperation. He leaned against the kitchen wall and glared at a single member of his team. “Page, turn.”

  Trevor would have hysterics when he heard him make a chant work while speaking in Zedisti. Whether they’d be hoots of exhilaration or wails of fury, he didn’t know.

  The page of a book two rows back and three to the left wafted over.

  “Not you.” Viper scratched his head absently. “Page, return.”

  The page turned back.

  “Now, you. Page, turn.”

  The neighboring book to the right turned a leaf.

  He scribbled a sentence into his notebook and leaned forward to read a book in the back row. He wrote another note, then turned in a half circle to search through a larger tome, nine rows over and four rows back.

  He must have fifty books laying open on the kitchen floor. Trevor was going to spit seven little moons when he got back.

  Or he’d laugh. The old man did have a magpie’s sense of humor.

  It was a comfortable feeling, to belong in this warm and welcome place, to have all the knowledge available to civilized man at his fingertips. He finally understood why Trevor hated traveling – a thin bedroll with a tiny fire held no charm when compared to a warm kitchen filled with books on a rainy spring day like today.

  He pulled a candle closer and admired the title page of his notebook. Precious and Semiprecious Stones of Menajr. Resignation mixed with pleasure shivered down his spine. Trevor had set him quite a task: Compile a brief and concise treatise on the properties and general locations of all the precious and a selection of semiprecious stones.

  Time you published your own scholarly work, the old man had said a lunar ago. Never too early to start publishing.

  Thunderdrums, he could barely state the subject, much less do a better job than anyone else. Although he must admit, no one else seemed to have done it, seeing as he needed, oh, forty three… fifty seven tomes to compile just one little book. Not a bad idea, setting him to do a job that no one has done before. That way he couldn’t fail. And he was nearly finished. Only a few more references left to check.

  Could he really publish his own book? Why not? All he needed was time and perseverance. And a little magic. He stabbed his finger at a couple of books. Pages turned in response.

  He pointed his finger at the cold fireplace. The log ignored his effort.

  Thirty-nine points for the log, zero for him. None of his modified chants created so much as a spark. An illusion of fire wouldn’t get supper cooked.

  Was his fear of burning himself with magic holding him back? Real fire didn’t bother him, but now that he knew what it was, Trevor’s magical flames gave him chills. And the old man would laugh at him if he ever noticed.

  He’d find the right book to teach him how to light a real fire eventually. There must be a chant for it somewhere.

  And sooner or later Trevor would remember to find a book on shields. Or to lecture him about them. Either would do. Until then, he’d work on his little publication.

  He turned back to his audience of books, content.

  Until his studies were rudely interrupted by a shrill shout. “Trevor?”

  He considered hiding under the kitchen table until the anxious voice went away, but Lady Many Rings was sure to find him there sooner or later. She was much smarter than Bahtdor Nose.

  “TREVOR!” And she was a lot louder. Her vocal range was better than the opera diva they’d listened to a lunar ago.

  How did Trevor know sorcerers were coming before they turned up? It certainly took longer to climb the Lab stairs than it ever took him to arrive in response to their noise, and there was no way that Trevor could actually hear anything down there, anyway.

  “TREVVOORRRRRRR!” Such beautiful tremolo. The woman would make a magnificent opera singer.

  Marise swooped into the kitchen like a prima donna conquering the stage. She posed in the doorway and pushed back her white hair, but wilted when she saw Viper. “Where is that man?”

  Glittering rings on her fingers lit up the room. Billowing teal and fuchsia fabric burned his eyes. He turned his back on the ancient woman and her mind-searing dress. “Let me get you some wine.”

  “Altrada bless. Look at all these books! Whatever are you doing?” She thrust both hands into the air. “And where is Trevor?”

  “How may I help you, Marise?” Trevor asked quietly.

  Viper hid a grin and poured sweet white wine into two glass goblets. Trevor’s timing was perfect, as usual.

  The old man frowned at him, but nodded when he poured a scant inch of wine into the third goblet.

  “I just received news out of Dra. Dreadful news.” Marise accepted a goblet and gulped down half its contents. “Two more sorcerers there died during spell casting – different spells at different times. They appear to have been attacked through the thaumaturgical web from a fairly long distance.”

  Trevor’s eyebrows rose. He sipped at his wine and gestured for her to continue.

  Marise squirmed. “At least, wizard Mink says that’s what happened, but she can’t pin down who or what did it. She thinks the attack came from Shi or nearby, so she’s going up there to look into the affair.”

  How in Menajr was the old woman getting her news? Out of a bottle? He’d have heard if any wizards were in town.

  “That’s terrible.” Trevor slapped his forehead. “Are none of us safe?”

  Was the old man mocking her? Given Trevor’s obsession with wizards, he’d know if Mink was in Zedista. And Marise must have stopped in several places with her gossip, considering how wobbly she was.

  Viper sipped at his wine. Sweet tartness stung tears into his eyes. “Why would a wizard attack a sorcerer?”

  “Mink isn’t sure it was a wizard.” Marise held out her empty goblet.

  Of course she’d want more before he’d had a chance to enjoy his tiny ration. Viper resisted the temptation to pour wine over her weaving hand and managed to fill the cup.

  Marise drained her goblet a second time. “Whatever it was, we are all in grave danger. I’m dreadfully worried.”

  “Aren’t we all,” Trevor said softly. He met Viper’s eyes. “Aren’t we all.”

  What were they worried about? It hadn’t struck south of Dra. Most of the attacks
were centered around Na and Shi. The northern wizards would sort it out soon enough.

  Trevor eased the goblet out of Marise’s hand and set it and his own on the kitchen table. His eyebrows soared to his hairline when he noticed all the books laying open on the floor, but he merely said, “Close those. We have an errand to run before the meeting.”

  “Oh, the meeting.” Beringed fingers flew to her mouth. “I need to warn everyone before the meeting starts.”

  Viper knelt and closed each book tenderly. Old Marise would be lucky to make it to the Trader’s Inn, even if she didn’t stop for more wine. He’d never pegged her as a heavy drinker before, but she was milking her gossip for every goblet.

  “Raulin wants everyone to have time to form an opinion.” She batted her eyes at Trevor. Or blinked away tears. “She thinks we need to take action, but we fear half our members will argue against it.”

  Trevor snorted. “The Society thrives on argument. We’ll talk them around. Deciding on measures we can undertake will be the difficulty.” He place an arm around Marise’s shoulders and walked her to the front door.

  Viper stood, brushed off his knees and trousers seat, and grabbed his boots out of the corner. If he didn’t hurry, Trevor would be halfway to the Trader’s Inn before he got the door locked.

  But the old man stood waiting for him on the front porch. “One must wonder.”

  Marise wobbled down Thorn Lane and turned toward the wealthy part of the city.

  “About?” Viper tore his gaze from the eye-searing dress. No Setoyan would consider wearing colors that bright. How could they sneak up on prey? Not even during wars had he seen colors that garish.

  “Her information is usually quite accurate.”

  What information? Oh, Marise’s. That was hard to believe.

  Trevor grinned and thumped his back. “Never mind. Come along. We have an errand to complete.” He led the way to Market Square, down a grubby little alley, and to a shabby little shop.

  Essentially Dra, Herbal Imports, the sign above the entrance read.

  Sweet steam from the bakery next door tickled Viper’s nose. His belly growled. Would Trevor stop for a biscuit before the meeting?

  Trevor opened the door and waved him in. “Remember, be polite,” the old man murmured.

  “You little snip,” Frujeur roared. “I’ll–”

  Viper’s jaw dropped. He’d barely gotten inside the shop. What had he done now?

  “I’ll– I’ll sell you in Shi! I’ll–”

  Trevor gently pushed him aside and strolled through the door. “You’ll do exactly what to my apprentice?”

  Bahtdor Nose bobbled up and down like a broken Jack-in-the-Basket. “Not your apprentice, mine. And I’ll do anything to her that I like.” He crossed his arms and glared at Viper. “Has that brat learned anything yet?”

  “Why, yes.” Trevor swept leafy crumbles from the whitewashed counter. “He’s into the third level at the moment.”

  Almost into the third level. How generous of Trevor to gloss over his failure with shields.

  “Which means you owe me double, old man. I expect two mandrake roots out of you for the insult. Although, if we postpone payment a few more lunars he’ll reach the fifth. I have a spell which requires five whole mandrake roots that I’d love to try.”

  “Nonsense.” The herbalist shoved his hands onto his hips. “I’ll believe he’s gotten past first level when I see it. But that can wait. I have news.”

  “Speak up, man, speak up.” Trevor leaned against the counter and smirked.

  While Bahtdor Nose rambled on about dead sorcerers, with seven times the words Marise had used and far less sense, Viper’s attention was captured by a pile of old, dirty books in the corner. Only 5 pence each, the sign next to them read. He had four pence in his pocket. Could he talk the price down?

  The Sex Lives of the Kraken Ant. No thank you.

  Poisonous Creatures of Kresh. Shudder. Not that he’d ever travel to Kresh. Those were critters he didn’t need to worry about.

  The Sexual Practices of the Emperor. They must be joking. Oh, a novel. He should have guessed. Was there a book in the pile worth five pence?

  Sex and the Single Sorcerer. What was it with Frujeur and sex? No wonder these books hadn’t sold. They were barely better than toilet paper.

  At the bottom of the pile was a grubby little book with no lettering on the black leather spine. With his luck, it was another sex manual. The sex lives of snakes. But now he was curious.

  Trevor and Bahtdor Nose were still sniping at each other. He had time to look it over.

  He worked it free of the stack and opened it gingerly. Dust blew into his face. The title page needed a few seconds translating. Grimoire, in Old Tongue! All books in Old Tongue were worth sovereigns, not pence. What was Frujeur thinking?

  He’d bet a sovereign (if he ever managed to save that much) that Frujeur couldn’t read cursive Old Tongue. Couldn’t even recognize it. That the cold goat had no idea what this book was worth.

  He’d have so much fun bargaining him down to three pence.

  But what was the book about? Grimoire, by RedAdder. Wait, RedAdder was a wizard’s name. Wasn’t a grimoire a book of spells?

  Had he really found a wizard’s spellbook? He turned to the first page, a table of contents. A very organized wizard. That was convenient.

  ‘Masking Veil. A shield spell that makes the user invisible to mage sight, but not physical sight.’ Which didn’t sound terribly useful.

  ‘Atmospheric Liquefaction. Pulls water from the air.’ Why would anyone want to do that?

  Especially given the magical cost. ‘Every action demands an equal penalty from the user’ was one of the many rules Trevor had impressed on him. Equal, unexpected, and unnamed, though usually from the spell caster’s physical strength.

  ‘Obsidian Mirror. A scrying spell built on a stone mirror.’ He was a long way from learning scrying spells, but his sneak-reading implied water mixed with purple ink worked best. Stone sounded impossible.

  ‘Mass Alleviation. Incantation to lighten a heavy load.’ So far, this was the only spell that sounded useful. He didn’t have time to struggle through the rest of them. Old Bahtdor Nose had noticed his interest.

  “You want that filthy thing? Five pence.”

  He could read the blasted sign. Viper opened his mouth, but glanced at Trevor’s frown. Be polite. Right. Plus rudeness was a bad way to start a bargaining session. “It’s awfully dirty. And it’s full of chicken tracks instead of writing. Do you think it’s in code?”

  Frujeur shrugged. “It’s newly in from Dra. Five pence.”

  “It might be fun to figure out the code.” Viper pulled three pence out of his pocket, looked at them doubtfully, and held out two coins. “Would you take two pence for it?”

  Bahtdor Nose sighed. “I’ll take four pence, just to shut you up.”

  Good. Now he could afford the book. “Four pence for a tiny, dirty book in code?”

  “Five pence.” Oops, he must have overplayed his hand. Or Frujeur was playing dirty. A serious bargainer never backed out of a position.

  Trevor slammed his hand on the counter. “Enough. I propose a new wager, old man.”

  “What?” Frujeur’s voice was sullen, but his nose quivered with excitement.

  “If the child can perform two second level chants of your choice, you give him the book and hand over the mandrake you owe me. Your biggest mandrake root. I’ll pay a shilling for the book and forfeit the root if he fails.”

  “You’re on.” Frujeur ducked behind the counter and hauled out a fat brown book. He yanked it open near the middle. “Incant a bezoar to detect toxins.”

  Incant a who to do what? Viper looked up at Trevor for a translation.

  The old sorcerer frowned. “You cold goat, you know perfectly well that’s a fifth level incantation.” Trevor looked at the ceiling and announced, “Apprentices first study talismanic sorcery during third level enquiries.”


  His face must have been blank, because Trevor added, “In talismanic sorcery, an object is imbued with a spell that can be triggered at a later time.”

  “Like a magical amulet in hero’s tales?”

  “Precisely.” Trevor turned back to Frujeur. “I stipulated second level magic. You forfeit one chant.”

  “Now wait!” Bahtdor Nose roared.

  “It is clearly written in the bylaws of the Society. You are a member in good standing? And wish to remain so?”

  Frujeur wilted and nodded. He heaved over a chunk of pages and leafed through the front of the book. “This should do.” He shoved the book at Trevor for approval.

  Viper stood on his toes to peer over the countertop at the page. ‘Straighten the String.’ He didn’t know that chant, but it was only three lines long.

  ‘Streng, strecchen full.

  ‘Complere, unbindan, et hal,

  ‘Iwwiz mycel usus enprou.’

  He hastily memorized it and nodded at Trevor.

  “It will do.” The old sorcerer searched through his pockets. “I don’t believe I currently have any string in my possession.”

  “I have something better.” The herbalist reached behind the counter. “The mastery of a chant includes modifying it, doesn’t it?”

  Trevor nodded.

  Frujeur smirked and laid a tangled gray ribbon on the counter.

  It was the strangest ribbon he’d ever seen, and his sisters owned baskets of them. Viper laid the grimoire on the countertop and poked at the tangle.

  And jerked his hand back. Sweat popped out on his forehead.

  That wasn’t a ribbon. That was a skinny snakeskin. Even the tiny head was still attached.

  Bahtdor Nose honked a laugh and extended his hand toward Trevor. “One shilling, you said.”

  “Slow down, I haven’t started yet.” Didn’t want to start, either, but old Bahtdor Nose was not going to win this bet. “I can barely see it.” How he hated being short, but right now it made a good excuse. “Let me put it on a table.”