Trip slumped. He hadn’t meant to scare her and certainly not to hurt her.
Was this what it meant to be a sorcerer? That no matter how well-intentioned his actions, there was the potential to do as much harm as good?
Sorry, Jaxi said. I just wanted to warn you she was watching. I didn’t think you’d fling coins at her.
I don’t think the coin was the problem.
No. Now you’ve learned why we rarely make telepathic contact with those who aren’t expecting it. The average person finds it alarming to hear a voice in their head, no matter how wise and sublime the owner of that voice is.
Are you describing you or me? Trip asked.
Me of course. Nobody would describe you as wise.
Trip wished he could feel indignant about that comment, but he feared “nobody” was correct.
All right. He scooted across the rooftop, grimacing when his shirt stuck to the tarry substance Jaxi had noticed, and found a drainpipe of his own to skim down. We’ll opt for the direct route. Are you both prepared to save my butt if I get into trouble?
Naturally, Azarwrath said as Trip headed for the front door of the whitewashed stone building.
Indeed, Jaxi agreed. We’re prepared to save your butt day and night. It’s why Sardelle sent me along, you know.
I thought she sent you because you incinerated a diaper, Trip thought. While it was still attached to her baby.
No. She agrees that I’m not the ideal babysitter, but she sent me to make sure you don’t turn into a megalomaniac dragonling that we have to worry about.
Trip stubbed his toe on the single step leading up to the door. Jaxi hadn’t admitted that before, and his stomach knotted at the idea that Sardelle—and through her, possibly General Zirkander as well—didn’t trust him.
Does she deem that likely? Trip asked softly.
Not at this time, but we’re concerned that an old Cofah soulblade flung himself into your hands. We don’t know what Azarwrath’s motivations are or if he’ll try to manipulate you into being something you’re not. Or at least, something you weren’t. Like loyal to Cofahre instead of Iskandia.
Trip paused with his hand on the door latch, expecting Azarwrath to chime in with a disgruntled comment. But he realized Jaxi had been directing the words solely at him.
I don’t think he’s angling for that. Trip rubbed the metal latch with his thumb, the back part of his mind noting a few pits and rusty spots that he could have smoothed out with the proper tools. Does General Zirkander share Sardelle’s concern?
Nah, he said you’re a good kid and would tell Azzy to toss himself in a volcano if he tried to turn you into a Cofah sympathizer.
Ah. Trip closed his eyes, surprised at how much emotion welled within him at the simple statement. That Zirkander barely knew him but believed that with such certainty. Good. It’s true.
He didn’t know how anyone could think he would betray the country where he’d grown up, where his grandparents still lived. And his army colleagues and friends. He wanted to be a hero to Iskandia, not a traitor.
It’s just a mild concern, a hedging of possibilities, Jaxi assured him.
I understand. And he did, but he couldn’t help but feel deflated that Jaxi had been sent to keep an eye on him rather than to assist and guide him.
With an alarmed lurch, he realized Jaxi might be suspicious of his motives for staying here, for wanting to finish Dreyak’s mission for him, or at least find out what had happened to him. Did Jaxi believe Azarwrath might have been the one to suggest it?
He remembered being surprised when he’d learned he was subconsciously protecting his thoughts now and that the soulblades could no longer read him all the time, unless he made an effort to let them see into his mind. Or if he was distracted thinking about things like voluptuous naked curves and, as Jaxi had said, left his bank vault door flapping open. Being opaque to the soulblades now might make them—make Jaxi—less certain of him.
The door opened, almost knocking Trip off the top step.
A stern-faced man with bare muscled arms the size of tree trunks—or, in this place, two-hundred-year-old barrel cactuses—stepped out. No less than six daggers and two pistols hung from his belt. He frowned, pausing to eye Trip and the two swords sheathed at his waist.
That’s not the bookkeeper, is it? Trip asked the soulblades as he said, “Sorry, sir,” out loud.
Does he look like a bookkeeper? Jaxi asked as Azarwrath offered a simple, No.
“Is this the enforcer headquarters?” Trip asked. It was a stupid question, but nothing else popped into his mind. He hadn’t concocted a cover story to explain why he might want to enter.
Because powerful mages don’t need cover stories, Telryn.
Simply tell him to step aside while you ooze some power at him, Jaxi added. You did it on the way into town with Kaika and Rysha.
When I did that, I wanted people to sense that it would be unwise for them to wonder about us and our wagon. I wanted to protect the babies.
Well, now you can want to protect your butt cheeks. Do it.
“Yes. But we don’t work with your kind.” The enforcer squinted at Trip. “You better get off our steps and ply your trade elsewhere.”
Trip had been in the process of taking a deep breath and attempting to project his aura outward, but the reaction startled him.
“My kind?” he asked, not able to hide his puzzled tone.
“Bounty hunters.” The enforcer waved at his swords. “Seen enough of you to know one. Damn independent rogues. We—” he thumped himself on the chest, “—handle collecting criminals here. And getting paid for it.”
Distaste trickled from the enforcer along with a vibrant memory. He had recently been stalking a wanted man and had been about to apprehend him when a bounty hunter leaped from the shadows, driving a dagger into his target’s chest. The enforcer had battled the bounty hunter for the right to decapitate the wanted man, but had lost the fight, nearly being knocked unconscious. He’d watched his rival slice off the target’s head and stalk off with his prize.
“Ah.” Trip noticed the memory hadn’t included anything about the beheaded man actually being a criminal, just that someone powerful had wanted him dead. “I have a quick question for someone inside. Step aside, please.”
Trip tried to let some of his aura slip through, as he’d done the day before, but he’d had a better reason for it the day before. Now, he felt like a bully trying to use his powers for his own gain.
The enforcer squinted suspiciously at Trip even though his legs moved, as if of their own volition, and he stepped to the side of the door. Trip met the man’s stare, silently urging him to continue away from the building. The enforcer headed down the stairs.
Realizing the man would be as likely to know about Dreyak as any of the enforcers, Trip turned and asked, “You don’t know anything about a shaven-headed Cofah warrior that was killed and strung up by the docks, do you?”
“Just that he was worth two hundred vreks,” the enforcer said, shrugging. “I didn’t get him. Fraxog did, I think.”
“Is he here today?” Trip pointed his thumb toward the door.
“Nah, he’s always out on patrol. Does extras so he can get all the wanted thugs roaming around after dark. He’ll probably be able to buy a palace soon with all the bounties he collects.” The man curled his lip, eyeing Trip’s swords again, and Trip could sense his sway over him slipping away.
“I’m a traveler, not a bounty hunter.” Trip willed the man to believe him. “Who paid Fraxog the bounty?”
“Paymaster Jamrok.” The enforcer waved. “Last office in the back.”
The enforcer turned his back to Trip and stomped off, wallowing in bitterness and thinking again of the wanted man he’d lost out on.
So long as he wasn’t after Trip, Rysha, or Kaika.
I feel disgruntled that I’ve been mistaken for some thugly bounty hunter’s weapon, Jaxi thought.
Perhaps you should have glowed at him. Trip stepped inside
to a large marble-floored room with light coming through the slitted windows in the walls. Wisely and sublimely.
Undoubtedly so.
A couple of enforcers at desks frowned in Trip’s direction when he entered. Once again, thoughts of cover stories came to Trip’s mind, but he envisioned a human version of Azarwrath frowning at him, eyes dark under bushy gray eyebrows.
Instead of opening his mouth, Trip willed the people not to notice him. He tried not to think how contradictory it was for him to use his powers—and make his aura more noticeable—while doing this.
The enforcers turned back to the books and papers on their desks. Trip let out a relieved breath. He’d done it with the cultists, when he’d ordered them to give up the search and return to the bowels of their mountain sanctuary, but that had been for the good of his team. Why did manipulating people for his own gain seem harder? And… wrong?
The soulblades, apparently not privy to his thoughts, did not comment.
Trip strode down a wide corridor, ignoring mostly empty side offices and angling toward the one he’d seen in the bounty-hunter-hating enforcer’s thoughts.
He walked in without knocking, startling a man sitting at a desk. The paymaster, presumably.
A vault door was open behind him, and he whirled to slam it shut before reaching for a pistol secured in a hidden holster under his desk.
“Relax, my friend.” Trip held the man’s gaze, willing him to be at ease, to see him as a welcome visitor rather than a mistrusted stranger.
For a few seconds, the paymaster didn’t move. His hand hovered under his desk, an inch from the pistol’s holster.
“I am in need of your services.” Trip was tempted to offer money, since that seemed to be how things were done around here, but he had very little and none in the local currency. General Zirkander hadn’t had an extended stay in Lagresh in mind when he’d sent Trip off on this mission.
The paymaster settled back into his chair, leaving the pistol in its hidden holster. He eyed Trip’s sword scabbards, taking a long look at each one before speaking.
“Unless you work for Terror Tay, Bhodian, the Silver Shark, or the Overseer, I can’t help you.”
Aren’t those charming names? Jaxi observed. What happened to Bhodian? He didn’t keep up with his membership dues for the Brutish Nickname of the Month Club?
“I’ve actually been in contact with the Silver Shark,” Trip said.
The paymaster had thought of a beautiful bronze-skinned woman with black hair shot with silver as he said the name. Her name. Lustful fancies had accompanied the image with a focus on full breasts and a dress that accented them. Though Trip wasn’t sure he wanted to encourage the paymaster to spend more time thinking of her, the images accompanying the other names had been fuzzier. Besides, the woman had looked Cofah. It was a stretch, but maybe Dreyak had known of her and contacted her.
“Oh? The Shark doesn’t usually take on new people and has no reason to acquire a mage of his own.”
The paymaster waved casually and still appeared relaxed, but his eyes were intent. Because Trip had seen his thoughts, he recognized the trap.
“She finds useful people… useful.” Trip was so focused on letting the paymaster know that he knew the Shark’s sex that he forgot to organize the rest of the sentence to have more punch.
Do yourself a favor, and don’t go into speechwriting when you retire from piloting, Jaxi said.
No plans for that.
Wise.
The paymaster snorted and didn’t acknowledge that Trip had seen through his little trap. “I can imagine what use she finds for you, Green Eyes.”
It took Trip a moment to realize what the man was suggesting. When he did realize it, he blushed like a twelve-year-old boy getting a speculative wink from the girl next door. So much for striding in like a majestic and powerful mage.
Stop blushing and pay attention, Jaxi advised. He knows you’re manipulating him and that you have power.
“A Cofah warrior was killed here recently,” Trip said, acknowledging Jaxi’s words with a mental nod. “Were the enforcers responsible? My new acquaintance wants to know.”
He doubted his words would convince the paymaster to spill information, especially if he was being careful because he believed Trip was a sorcerer, but if answers to the questions rose in the man’s thoughts, that might be enough.
“I believe your acquaintance already knows all about that. One of her messengers dropped off the payment in advance for the Cofah’s death and came by to ensure that Gull and Voxin, our two resident mages, helped with defeating him.”
“That’s not what she told me,” Trip said, feeling far more on the defensive than he should have, considering he was leading this questioning session. But he could see from the paymaster’s thoughts that he was telling the truth. A squirrelly man with two missing front teeth had brought the payment by several days earlier, and the man was known to work for the Shark, among others.
“Maybe you’re just her latest bedroom toy, Green Eyes.”
A flash of sullenness entered the paymaster’s thoughts, and Trip sensed that he wished to be a bedroom toy for the woman. That was surprising since his vision of her seemed to be of someone around fifty. She was still striking, no doubt, but Trip would have expected the enforcer to lust after younger women.
“Not a confidant,” the man added.
“Why would the Shark want to kill a man from her own homeland?” Trip asked, hoping to confirm whether or not she was Cofah. Just because she had bronze skin and straight dark hair didn’t assure she came from the empire’s home continent.
The paymaster shrugged. “She’s a businesswoman. I’m sure she puts threats to her financial interests ahead of personal feelings toward her countrymen.”
It was all Trip could do to keep his mouth from dropping open. Business? What could Dreyak have been saying or doing that would cause someone to find him a threat to his—or her—business? He felt lost in this entire conversation.
“Assuming she has any feelings left for her countrymen.” The paymaster shrugged again. “She’s been in Lagresh longer than I have.” The man eyed Trip’s swords again. “You’ll have to talk to her if you want to know why she pays to have the people killed that she does. We don’t interrogate our benefactors around here.”
Trip almost asked where he could find the woman, but remembered he was supposed to be an associate of hers already. “I’ll do that. Tonight, when we’re enjoying each other’s company at her place.” He winked and smirked, trying to emulate the expression Leftie adopted when he was certain he would be sleeping with a woman that night.
Stop that, Jaxi said. You look like you got something in your eye.
Fortunately, the paymaster wasn’t as much of a critic. A surge of envy flooded him, and he imagined himself traveling out to the woman’s floating warehouse to romance her in her upstairs loft.
Trip grimaced. He was glad to learn the woman’s location, but chagrined that she lived somewhere it would be difficult to reach unobserved. He would either have to steal someone’s boat to get out there or levitate across the harbor with the soulblades’ assistance—he wasn’t that accustomed to using channeled air on himself yet. Either option would have to wait until dark.
“Thank you for your assistance.” Trip started to lift his fingers in an Iskandian military salute, but stopped mid-gesture and instead brought his hand to his stomach and bowed.
Did they bow in this country? He had no idea.
You better stick to piloting and shooting things, Jaxi said. You would make a horrible spy.
Are you this critical with Sardelle? Trip asked, backing away from the desk.
She values my criticism. It helps her grow as a person.
Trip was beginning to appreciate that Azarwrath was proving to be a less verbose soulblade. Maybe because he was older, he needed more naps.
Really, came Azarwrath’s dry response.
Trip grinned because he’d intentionally l
et that thought slip out. It pleased him that he was starting to have some control over when other telepaths could read his mind and when they couldn’t.
When have you caught me sleeping? Azarwrath added. I simply don’t feel the need to fill your head with inane chatter, unlike a certain other soulblade.
My chat is pithy and wise, Jaxi said. And also relevant. Trip, use your spymaster skills on that paper before you leave.
Already in the doorway, Trip paused and looked back as the paymaster slid a sheet of paper out of a folder on his desk. Trip expected a wanted poster, but the page held two images on it, not of people. Were those swords? He squinted, but couldn’t see the ink drawings well from there.
Use your senses or enhance your vision, Azarwrath advised.
Trip was about to ask how, since he’d previously only used his senses to detect life and nearby terrain, not distant artwork, but Azarwrath did something to his eyes first. He felt a little itch, and his vision sharpened so that he clearly saw swords—no, a sword and a scabbard—drawn in the picture. Something about the runes or hieroglyphics on the scabbard was familiar.
That looks exactly like Kasandral, Jaxi thought.
The chapaharii sword that Captain Ahn and Colonel Therrik share? Trip had seen it in the hangar when he’d briefly met Captain Ahn. As he scrutinized the drawing, he realized one of the runes matched a rune on the side of Dorfindral’s scabbard. Maybe it was on Eryndral’s too.
Yes, Jaxi replied. Note the reward on the top.
I see it. Five thousand vreks. What is that in nucros?
I’ll have you know that nothing embossed in the runes on my scabbard claims that soulblades are experts on global exchange rates.
In other words, she does not know, Azarwrath said.
Do you? Trip asked.
About seven thousand nucros.
Do you actually know that or are you making it up? Jaxi asked suspiciously.
Do not forget that I worked with pirates for many years, Azarwrath said without any hint of pride. If anything, he sounded chagrined. Pirates are well aware of what the goods they acquire are worth around the world. They sometimes sail to different countries to get better rates.
Unraveled: Heritage of Power, Book 4 Page 3
