by Barb Hendee
"We can't leave him," Leesil whispered to her. "He'll just follow on his own. This way, if things go awry, I can stuff him in a coach and send the driver off before he can get out."
Having Vatz in tow wasn't among Magiere's considerations, but she reluctantly conceded that Leesil was correct about the troublesome little whelp.
Leesil stowed his toolbox inside the back of his surcoat, strapped on his sheathed punching blade, and announced that he was ready. However, Wynn provided two more surprises.
Rummaging through what the city guard had left behind, she'd found a pair of soft leather boots for Leesil. The young sage then announced that she was coming along.
Before Magiere or Leesil could refuse, Wynn waded in with more vehemence than either of them thought her capable.
Several deed signatures were foreign names, and thereby a translator might be needed. Neither of them had spent as much time as she in paging through city documents and were far less likely to fathom any quandary that arose. Lastly, she was adamant that no other choice was acceptable. She wouldn't give them city records, for which she was responsible, unless they agreed.
Magiere stewed silently as the motley band stepped into the street. Glancing back at Wynn with her parchments, and Vatz waddling along with a crossbow conspicuously hoisted over his too-small shoulder, she turned on Leesil as if this were all his doing.
"Don't say it," he warned. "Just get us a coach before half the city sees us coming."
Leesil looked no better than their two tagalongs, with his torn surcoat, quiver, crossbow, stilettos, and punching blade. He looked like a vagabond making a poor attempt to sell himself as a mercenary by mere show of arms.
With the hope that Leesil's other blade was finished, their first stop was at the weaponsmith. As their hired coach rolled into the area, Magiere scanned the passing shops, watching for one in particular. With relief, she spotted what she sought. A bit of misdirection was now needed, for which the boy and sage would prove useful.
As all of them except Chap climbed from the coach, and Leesil headed directly into Balgavi's smithy, Magiere grabbed Wynn by the arm and handed her some silver pennies.
"When he's done, have Vatz take all of you to the nearest clothier and get Leesil a shirt. Durable and as dark colored as possible. I'll meet you back at the coach."
Wynn nodded hesitantly. "Where are you going?"
Magiere glanced toward Leesil. To her relief, he held his second blade up, inspecting it before the bear-sized smith.
"There's more he's going to need," she said quietly. "Whether he likes it or not."
She left a puzzled Wynn behind and headed up to the shop she'd spotted along their way.
Built of dark, weathered wood with a narrow doorway, it was a tiny place. The carved sign swinging gently above the door read Shartek's, and below the worn letters was the shape of a hauberk crossed with a pair of gloves. Magiere stepped inside.
The shop was thick with the smell of acrid oil and a hint of iron, and the scent of cured leather she could practically taste in the air. A little old man in leather apron sat at a table working stain into an uncut hide. He nodded to her and continued with his tasks.
Goods were lightly piled on crude tables, from gloves and vests to skullcaps and craftsmen's aprons. The shopkeeper's bench was strewn with tools, scraps of hide, thongs, and bits of metal. She soon found what she sought hanging from a peg on the back wall.
The leather hauberk had a diamond pattern of iron rings woven to the chest with leather laces. Battle damage could be mended by reweaving instead of sewing. Of clever design, it was lightly padded without being too thick for flexibility. However, the sleeves were near elbow length and the skirt dropped too low. She pulled it down and took it to the old man.
"This'll do," she said, "but I need changes, and they must be done now."
The old man nodded, and she proceeded to tell him what she required. When finished, the skirt was tapered front and back, and split at the sides to just below the waist. The sleeves' were similarly shortened. It was not as "covering" as it had been, but Magiere judged the changes would accommodate Leesil's ways.
"How much?" she asked the old man.
"A silver sovereign," he replied without pause.
Magiere's breath caught, but it was a fair price. She counted out four silver shills, each a fifth of a sovereign, and the remainder in silver pennies. What was left might see them through two or three days about the city. She headed back with the hauberk bundled under one arm and found the others already waiting at the coach.
Wynn smiled as she appraised Leesil, which gave Magiere a sudden surge of irritation. Leesil now wore a heavy linen shirt of chocolate brown that suited him quite well, and his hair was covered with a charcoal scarf. When he spotted her, he threw up his arms.
"Are you content now?" he asked in challenge.
"Not quite." She tossed the hauberk to him.
Leesil unfolded it. When it hung open in his hands, he gaped at her, eyes wide in fury.
"Not on your life!"
"Put it on," she said.
"I can't fight in this."
"Leesil, you put it on"—her voice grew louder as she pointed to the smith's workshop—"or I'll hire four of their biggest men to pin you down—and I'll put it on you myself!"
Wynn backed against the coach in frightful embarrassment. Vatz watched eagerly, likely hoping Leesil would refuse just to see what would happen.
"Fine and well," Leesil snapped.
He climbed into the coach, and Chap scuttled out of his way. Wynn gave the driver their first destination, and Magiere waved her and Vatz inside. When she climbed in, Leesil was trying to remove his shirt.
"Over the shirt,, you half-wit," Magiere growled.
Leesil glared at her though the neck of the shirt halfway over his head, and Chap shifted away from him to the seat's far end. He jerked the shirt back down and fussed with the armor long enough to make his resentment apparent. Magiere offered no assistance, not about to give in to his little fit.
Once finished, Leesil tugged dramatically at the hauberk's collar and sullenly stared out the window. Instead of an overarmed vagabond, he now looked like a walking armory, but at least he was protected. Her gaze flickered to his right wrist, the open sleeve cuff not large enough to close across his stiletto hilt. The scars were just visible.
Yes, protected. But not from her—or himself.
* * *
Leesil sensed Magiere watching him. So she feared for his safety, but now that she'd taken it all into her own hands, why the worried glances? With her clashing moods and complications leaping upon them at each turn, he was getting fed up with everything—including her. Beneath the hauberk's leather, the shirt felt itchy, as if he'd slept all night upon an anthill.
Throughout the morning, the coach traveled most of the city's inner ring and the wealthier districts of the middle ring, only to have Chap jump out, sniff about once, twice, or not at all, and jump back into the coach. Past noon, Leesil's overtried patience was nearly depleted.
Suddenly, Chap sat up and sniffed, eagerly pushing his head out of the coach door window. Everyone looked up with anticipation, and Leesil leaned over the dog to look out as well.
They passed a small open market near a gatehouse, and several roving vendors had stopped their carts full of prepared foods at the busy crossing.
"Exactly what have you done to be hungry?" Leesil asked, about to pull the hound back inside the coach.
"A brief pause," Wynn suggested.
She leaned against the coach's sidewall, strained and tired. Riding around in the jostling coach appeared to have caught up with her.
"Yes," Magiere said. "I think so."
Leesil signaled the driver to stop. He'd barely stepped out, when Chap leaped clear and bounded down the street toward the makeshift market.
"Get back here!" Leesil shouted, but the dog disappeared into the crowd.
"We'll catch up to him," Magiere said. "It's not like he's going to
buy any food on his own. Or he'll beg his way into a handout again."
The noontime street was crowded with people on their way to or doing business in the market. Nearly all paused at a cart to purchase a skewer of roasted beef or hot pastry.
Leesil idly wandered, ignoring them, until a sudden shout caught everyone's attention.
"Thief! Stop!"
The crowds were too thick to see what the fuss was about, so after briefly craning his neck, Leesil continued on his way. Little caught his attention among the peddlers and rickety rolling carts, and finding that he was not particularly hungry, he wove his way back toward the coach.
There was Chap, sitting on the cobblestones and desperately trying to tear a bite out of an oversize sausage.
Leesil closed in on the dog. "What did you do?"
Chap ignored him. There was no telling how long that sausage had been in some vendor's cart, but it proved as tough as rolled sailcloth. For all Chap's wrestling, he couldn't break off a mouthful. The others had already returned and sat inside the coach. Vatz chewed at a stick of grilled beef while Wynn nibbled a potato pasty. Magiere sat quietly with nothing in her hands.
"Not hungry either?" she asked him.
"Let's move on while they finish," Leesil suggested, shaking his head and turning to Chap. "Get in, you gluttonous little thief."
Chap whined in frustration, the sausage still whole between his jaws, and hopped into the coach. Leesil followed, signaling the driver to continue.
Squatting on the floor between the seats, Chap pinned one end of the sausage under a forepaw and began pulling on the other end. He shook his head, gnashing his teeth as he tried to grind a piece loose.
"Serves you right," Leesil grumbled at him. "Next time wait until I can buy something edible."
Vatz finished his own repast and grabbed the sausage's end from under the dog's paw. "You stupid mutt, you're never going to get a bite that way."
Leesil was caught unaware as the boy snatched a stiletto right out of his wrist sheath.
"Give me that," Magiere said, grabbing for the blade.
"I can handle this," Vatz growled back, evading her.
Chap backed between Leesil's legs, growling and refusing to release his would-be meal. Vatz laid hold of it with both hands, unable to cut off a piece with the stiletto. Leesil grabbed the dog to get the sausage out of his mouth while Magiere grappled with Vatz again for the stiletto. Wynn leaned away, protecting her potato pasty from getting smashed in the four-way flailing until it all ended quite suddenly.
The sausage snapped.
Chap lurched back against Leesil, muzzle flung up, and grease and ground meat spattered across Leesil chest. Magiere grabbed Vatz's wrist as the boy recoiled against her, and his half of the sausage was slung into the air.
It smacked against the coach's roof, slopped down on Chap's head, and spattered sausage guts all over Leesil's sleeves.
Everyone fell silent as Leesil stared down at himself in disbelief.
Wynn dropped her pasty out the window, apparently losing her appetite. Magiere merely wrinkled her nose in disgust before hailing the driver to stop the coach.
"You're supposed be a Fay?" Leesil hissed at the hound.
With a whine, Chap snapped his jaws once and the sausage stump vanished with a gulp.
Leesil held out his hand to Vatz.
The boy made a hurried attempt to wipe off the stiletto's handle on his pants and only managed to smear the blade with grease before handing it back hilt first. Leesil stepped out of the coach to brush himself off and scrape the remaining mess from the coach floor. Chap whined again.
"You disgusting pig," Magiere muttered. "Get up on that seat and stay there."
Chap gave Vatz a quick snarl before doing as ordered.
"What?" Vatz asked, looking at Magiere. "I was trying to help."
"Move," she answered with a swat across the top of his head, and pointed to the coach corner farthest from Chap.
Leesil shouted to the driver to move on. His new shirt was ruined, though he didn't know why that bothered him, as he hadn't wanted it in the first place. He rolled up the grease-covered sleeves, picking off sausage bits along the way.
Once again, he caught Magiere watching his every movement. Trying not to alert her to his awareness, he let his arm drop to his lap and her gaze followed again. He looked down, thinking perhaps he'd missed some smear on his arm, but it was clean right down to the scars.
Leesil traced the white line where he'd slashed his wrist open, and then the jagged arcs made by her teeth. Magiere shied away to stare out the window.
Cold awareness raced through Leesil.
The prey they sought, her uncertainty of their future, or even the anmaglâhk, weren't the reason for her distance or fear for him.
The danger that Magiere feared most was herself.
Magiere watched the stone houses of the quiet, wealthy street pass by outside the coach.
"We only have one more," Wynn said. "Then we are done, if it is not the lair."
Leesil glanced out the window, then turned to Magiere. "Sun's going down. You want to leave it until morning?"
"No, we still have time," Wynn added. "We are near enough."
Leesil was correct, but as much as the sage's insistence surprised Magiere, she preferred to have it all over and done. The day was wasted and, by midafternoon, she'd given up hope of finding what they sought.
"All right, the last one," she agreed.
Wynn called out the final location to the driver, and they rolled on. The young sage stayed at the window, leaning out for fresh air. The smell of sausage still lingered inside the coach. Vatz grumbled a bit, but otherwise had remained quiet for the rest of the day. And so had Leesil, strangely enough.
When he'd touched the scars, her mouth and throat turned dry. Perhaps they still itched or ached.
Chap suddenly raised his head and sprang up on the seat to stare out at the passing houses. A low rumble began in his throat as the fur along his back rose. Vatz tried to climb out of his seat to get to Chap's window. Magiere pushed the boy back and crouched on the coach floor at the hound's side.
Leesil swung out the other coach door and spoke softly to the coachman. "Don't stop yet."
"We should be right in front of it, I believe," Wynn whispered.
Magiere watched Chap closely. The hound's eyes shifted back and forth as he sniffed the air, and then settled on one house.
It was a three-story, solid stone structure with arched windows and a wide front door, much like many along the street. Chap's rumble grew as his jaws opened and his jowls pulled back. Magiere closed her hands over his muzzle.
"Don't!" she ordered. "No noise. The sun is almost down, and we don't want to warn them. Understand?"
Chap rolled his eyes toward her and let out a muffled yip.
Magiere shivered and released him. She still wasn't accustomed to the idea that Chap understood her words and even responded intelligibly in his own fashion.
The coach continued another four or five houses down the street, then rolled to a quiet stop. As Magiere opened the door, Chap leaped out. He didn't run toward their destination but stood waiting, fur bristling.
Magiere glanced down, but the topaz amulet wasn't glowing. Perhaps she needed to be closer. As Leesil came around to join her, Wynn and Vatz stepped out as well. To Magiere's surprise, Wynn reached up and handed the coachman some coins.
"What are you doing?" Magiere asked.
"This is the correct house, is it not?" Wynn answered.
"Wait…" Leesil started.
Before Magiere could respond as well, Wynn waved the driver off. The coachman cracked the reins, and the horse stepped into a trot down the street.
Leesil put a hand over his face, and Wynn looked completely perplexed at his reaction.
"You and Vatz can't be here for this," he finally added. "We don't even know what we're dealing with."
Vatz's little face flushed. "I didn't sit in that damn
coach all day for nothin‘. I'm here to earn my share of the coin."
Magiere's voice dropped to a deep menacing tone.
"When exactly did we agree to that?" She turned on Wynn without pause. "And you… you can barely keep your food down when facing a stale sausage!"
Wynn pursed her lips at the insult. "I am no true mage," she said as if it were a confession, "but all sages learn the simplest things in their general studies. Domin Tilswith has trained me in the principles of thaumaturgy. Though we do not know the kind of magic you faced, I may be able to help, perhaps, if such arises again from… Chane."
As she spoke the name, her oval face flushed slightly, but her back remained straight.
"You're no more than an idle dabbler," Magiere scoffed. "Whatever Chane is, he's far beyond what you could deal with."
"Oh, for the love of mutton," Leesil spit out. "This is madness."
"You two are staying outside," Magiere said. "And that's the end of it."
"That won't work," Leesil said. "We can't protect them if anything gets out of the house. And if we wait to get rid of these two, any undeads inside might sense we've been here already. By tomorrow morning the place would be empty… or worse, they'd be waiting for us."
Leesil was right, again, and Magiere found it intensely annoying. If only they'd come to this house first. Catching their prey in daylight was now hopeless, and they couldn't afford to wait.
"All right, we may yet have surprise on our side," she said with disgust, and then turned on the sage and the boy. "But you two do as you're told and keep silent."
She led the way slowly along the row of stone and timber houses, all the while watching for signs of movement or life. She stopped one dwelling away from the one they sought and dropped down on her haunches.
Built of heavy, mortared stone, it wasn't what she'd expected. At least not compared to the warehouse backrooms and underground chambers used by Miiska's undeads. Leesil slipped forward to crouch beside her.
It sat sedate and respectable amongst its neighbors in this quiet and well-to-do street, front door to the left atop three steps. There was one wide window with heavy shutters closed over it. The next two floors up each held two windows evenly spaced but similarly protected.
