“Shut up!” Ythnel screamed. “It won’t end this way. I won’t let it. There has to be some way to collect the water.” She tried to think, but Kestus kept laughing. “I said shut up!” She lashed out at the mage, her face twisted in rage. The blow snapped his head to the left, and he slid sideways to the bottom of the boat, still laughing quietly.
With an infuriated huff, Ythnel turned to Muctos and pulled his arms back inside the boat. She fought to conjure an idea, anything that might help them, but nothing came to mind. So she sat there staring blankly at the water dripping from Muctos’s hands to form pools on the floor of the boat.
That was it! She could use the boat to hold the water. Energized by the plan, Ythnel began scooping handfuls of water into the boat with abandon.
“Wouldn’t it be quicker to punch a hole in the boat,” Kestus chuckled. “Or better yet, just tip us over.”
“I’m not trying to kill us, idiot,” Ythnel hissed as she continued to shovel in the water. “I’m going to save us.” Kestus gave her a puzzled look, but kept quiet as she spent the next several minutes filling the boat with handfuls of water. When there was a sizable pool a couple of inches deep, Ythnel stopped. Positioning herself on the bow seat, she began chanting and moving her hands over the water. When she was done, Ythnel cupped her hand, dipped it into the puddle and raised it slowly to her mouth. Parting her dry lips, she took a sip.
It was fresh.
Crying with delight, she took another quick drink then moved to Muctos, raising a handful to his mouth and pouring it in. The mage sputtered, some of the water running down the sides of his face, but he drank most of it, and Ythnel gave him some more.
“I’m sorry.”
Ythnel glanced over to see Kestus sitting back up, looking at her with an expression on his face she could not read. She nodded, and he leaned over to get his own drink. Then he helped Kohtakah.
Twice more that day, they filled the bottom of the skiff with water and Ythnel purified it. There was plenty to drink, but Kestus had been right. With nothing to eat, none of them had the strength to paddle the boat against the current. So they drifted.
On the fourth day, as the sun was nearing its apex, Ythnel spotted something on the northern horizon. It was little more than a dark speck, but it was moving.
“A ship!” Ythnel cried, startling the men from their doze.
“You could be right,” Kestus said after staring at the speck for a few moments. “But how do we signal it?”
“I think I know a way.” Muctos began to wave his hands, silently mouthing words. Ythnel thought she saw “help” among those passing his lips. When he was finished, he pointed to the north and a gust of wind suddenly swept past the four of them, heading the same direction.
“Now we wait.”
They sat staring at the speck on the horizon for what seemed like hours, but when Ythnel looked up at the sky, the sun had barely moved. Looking back, she swore the speck looked larger. She said nothing, though, as it was likely a trick of her eyes either from gazing at the sun for too long or simply from her mind letting her see what her heart wanted. To take their minds off waiting, Ythnel suggested they purify more water. They were all scooping when Muctos shouted suddenly.
“I see sails.”
They all paused to look. Ythnel was sure the speck was larger now. And there was a ripple along one side, like wind fluttering a bedsheet hung out to dry. It was gone as soon as she noticed, but she was sure she saw it. Caught in a moment of hope, Ythnel stood up in the boat and began waving her arms.
“We’re over here! Over here!”
“Sit down, or you’ll capsize us before they get here,” Kestus scolded her lightly. She looked down to see the corner of his mouth twist up before he pulled her down. Then all four of them began to grin then laugh uncontrollably, tears streaming down their cheeks.
The square-sailed, double-masted merchant ship Lady Splendor made port in Mordulkin two days after picking up Ythnel, Kestus, Kohtakah, and Muctos from their skiff in the middle of the Bay of Chessenta. The Lady Splendor’s captain, a foppish halfling who favored bright silk shirts regardless of the occasion, was most generous in loaning the use of his cabin to the four during the trip. They were well fed and clothed, and Ythnel felt fully recovered from their ordeal as they walked onto the docks of Luthcheq’s smaller rival. The city looked similar to Luthcheq: its buildings of white stone crowded together, and its citizens moved about their daily business in an orderly manner, but the bounce in people’s step and the ready smiles on the their faces told Ythnel that below the surface, Mordulkin was a much different place.
Kestus led them away from the docks and into the city. As they had discussed on the ship, the plan was to rent some rooms at an inn Kestus had stayed at previously, where they would wait while he tried to get word to his contact. The quartet walked down wide streets full of shops, taverns, and inns. Kohtakah had been given some crude crutches as a parting gift from the Lady Splendor’s captain, and he used those to amble along. Ythnel noted how none of the storefront signs were faded, the paint depicting bolts of cloth, steaming plates of food or liquid-filled vials was not chipped. Likewise, the building facades were clean and showed little signs of age. It was quite a contrast to her home of Bezantur, where only the large temples and the nobility could afford to, or cared to, keep up their property. Either the merchants of Mordulkin did well for themselves or the wealth was spread around by some larger governing body that sought to create an atmosphere of prosperity.
Their first stop was a squat building on a street corner with a sign hanging out front. Painted on it was a pile of coins sitting atop of an open book. The four walked in and found themselves in a cozy antechamber. A small fire smoldered in the hearth to the right, providing a comfortable level of heat for the room. In the center of the area was a writing stand. Through a doorway in the far wall, Ythnel could see the edge of a desk and hear the scratching of a quill on parchment.
“Just a moment. I’ll be right with you,” a dry voice called from around the corner in the office. The scratching stopped, and a thin, older man with wispy curls of white hair appeared. He wore a black jacket with sleeves that fell just short of his wrists over a plain linen shirt tucked into black pantaloons. When his eyes fell on the group, one thick, bushy eyebrow arched in a look that clearly questioned whether they belonged in his establishment. Ythnel realized their secondhand clothing probably made them look like beggars. The clerk opened his mouth, but Kestus spoke up before he could say anything.
“My name is Kestus Aentius. I have an account with you. I am here to make a withdrawal. As you can probably see, I and my companions need to refresh ourselves.” The old man seemed to consider this for a moment before shuffling back into his office. He returned shortly, his arms wrapped lovingly around a thick, leather-bound book. He laid the book upon the writing stand and began to thumb through the first pages.
“Aentius … Aentius … Aentius. Ah, yes, here we are. Oh.” Both eyebrows rose slightly. “Will you be making a large withdrawal today, Master Aentius? I may need some time to collect the necessary—”
“No, I just need one hundred authokhs.”
The clerk breathed a sigh of relief. “Very well. If you will sign here?” The old man held a quill out for Kestus then indicated a place on the page where the mage was to sign. When he had done so, the clerk went once more to his office. He stopped before a section of the far wall and mumbled something Ythnel couldn’t quite hear. The wall disappeared to reveal an iron door. The old man spoke again, and the door swung inward, a secret vault now visible beyond. He returned with two bulging coin purses and handed them to Kestus.
“Will there be anything else?” The clerk closed his ledger when Kestus shook his head. “Until your next visit, then, Master Aentius.” He bowed slightly and shuffled back to his office. Kestus turned and headed out the door.
Their next errand took them to a tailor’s shop a street over from the coinlender. Kestus had them al
l measured and ordered outfits made, despite Ythnel’s protests. He then purchased clothing from the merchant’s current stock to replace the ill-fitting hand-me-downs given to them aboard the Lady Splendor.
They finally came to stop before a sign that depicted a beast with the head of an eagle, the body of a lion, and wings of flame. The building was two stories high, with glass-paned windows on both levels and a black iron-hinged door that swung open silently at Kestus’s touch.
“Olaré, gentlefolk.” Behind a waist-high counter to the right of the entrance stood a man in a green tunic and brown linen vest, his thick mustache hiding the upper half of the broad smile he offered. “Welcome to the Flaming Griffon. Interested in a room or two for the night?”
“Two adjoining rooms,” Kestus replied. “We’ll need a cot in one of them.”
“Of course. How long will you be staying?”
“We’re not sure, but this should cover us for a few days.” Kestus set the remaining coins in a stack on the counter. “Have dinner sent to our rooms when it’s ready please.”
“Certainly,” the innkeeper fawned, scooping up the coins and dropping two keys in their place. “Your rooms will be up the stairs to the left there. Will there be anything else?”
“Uh, a bath would be nice,” Ythnel suggested.
“I’ll have water drawn right away, milady.” With a knowing smile, the innkeeper rang a bell, summoning a flurry of servants. The trio made their way past the front desk and up the short flight of stairs while orders were being given.
The rooms were comfortable; each had two single beds, a writing table, an armoire, and a window that looked out onto the street. No sooner had Ythnel flopped on her bed than there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find a maid ready to lead her to the bathing room. Her new linen dress draped over her arm, Ythnel followed the older woman down the hall. Once inside the steamy room with the door closed, Ythnel shed her old clothing and slipped into the tub.
“To the trash with these, milady?” the maid asked, holding up the dingy garment between her index finger and thumb. Ythnel nodded before sliding under the water.
After braiding her hair, Ythnel joined the men in their room for dinner. Kohtakah and Muctos sat on their beds, plates of roasted mutton and stewed vegetables resting in their laps, while Ythnel sat at the writing table, shoveling the food in as fast as she could chew and swallow. At least she hadn’t drooled as the first tendrils of aroma drifted to her nose. Not that either of the mages would notice, buried as they were in their own meals. Kestus had either already eaten or was not hungry because he paced the floor with an air of impatience. Ythnel was dabbing up the last pools of juice with a thick slice of bread when there was a knock at the door. Kestus practically ran to open it.
“Master Rueldarr said you had a dispatch to send?” A young boy stood in the doorway fidgeting.
“Ah, yes. Ythnel, if you wouldn’t mind handing over that envelope on the desk.”
Ythnel noticed for the first time a small envelope with the name “Crarl Ormane” scrawled on the front. When she grabbed it, her fingers pressed against a hard blob of sealing wax on the back.
“See that this gets to the Jedea Academy before sunset, boy. There’ll be some extra coin if I hear it was so.”
The youth nodded vigorously, grabbed the envelope from Kestus, and darted down the hall.
“So, I take it the recipient of that envelope is your contact?” Muctos asked from his seat on the bed.
“Crarl Ormane is the name I was given by my contact. That’s who the letter is addressed to. I don’t know if it’s an actual person or just some sort of password.” Kestus strolled back to his cot and sat down. While he had visibly relaxed after closing the door, there was still something pensive about his mood.
“What is the Jedea Academy?” Ythnel asked.
“It is the oldest school in Mordulkin for students of the Art,” said Muctos. “It was founded by Soldim Jedea, the first ruler of the city. The Jedea family has ruled Mordulkin since the rebellion that ousted Unther from Chessenta.” Muctos paused, and his eyes suddenly lit up. “What if your mysterious benefactor is a member of the Jedea family?”
“Let’s not get our hopes up,” Kestus cautioned.
They retired to their rooms for the night. Ythnel inquired with a maid about a switch, which earned her a strange look, but one was retrieved from the inn’s stables. She performed her nightly prayer ritual and slept soundly.
When Ythnel finished her prayers the next morning, Kestus was already out running some errands. He returned shortly after she finished a late morningfeast. He had with him a couple of new purses of coin and their tailor-made outfits. Ythnel asked if there had been any response to his letter, but the mage shook his head.
Lunch went by, and there was still no word. Ythnel wanted to get out and stretch her legs by walking through the city, but Kestus counseled patience. Everyone needed to be here and be ready to go should a reply come requesting an immediate meeting. Finally, as they were finishing dinner in the common room of the Flaming Griffon, a message was delivered. Kestus read through it silently while everyone else finished their meals. He set the note down on the table, pushed his chair back, and stood up.
“Let’s go.”
The brisk walk to the residential district, where the academy was located, took a little more than half a candle. The sun was just dipping below the skyline of the city, casting everything in shades of deep purple and golden orange. The houses that lined the streets ranged from simple, single-family dwellings to large mansions with landscaped terraces covering an entire block. As with the merchant district, all the buildings here showed similar signs of regular upkeep, and Ythnel wondered at the amount of coin it would take to maintain so much property.
The Jedea Academy grounds were even more immaculate than its neighbors’. Spring-green grass of uniform height surrounded the two-story complex and was split in the front by a white granite walkway that led from the curb to an ornate, oak door. Brilliant white stone, shining in the fading sunlight, was austere in its lack of decoration. Four square towers formed the corners of the academy, and its sloped roof was covered in tiles of twilight-gray slate.
Ythnel brought up the rear as the quartet walked single file to the door. Kestus looked at them over his shoulder then rapped his knuckles against the solid wood, producing a muffled sound that was barely audible to Ythnel.
“You’re going to have to put a little more muscle into it, Kestus, if you expect anyone to hear you,” she kidded. Muctos chuckled, which turned into a throat clearing when Kestus glared at him. The mage went to knock again, but the door opened and a young woman with long, straight black hair stuck her head out.
“I’m sorry, but the library is closed for the night. Please come back tomorrow.”
“We’re not here to look at books,” Kestus interjected, pulling the note from a pouch on his robe. “We have an appointment with Crarl Ormane.”
The woman’s face scrunched up in a mix of puzzlement and frustration as she took the paper from Kestus. “Wait here,” she said after glancing at it. The door closed, leaving the four to stand waiting out in the gathering night.
“Certainly a hospitable bunch,” Ythnel said. Kestus opened his mouth, but the dark-haired woman reappeared at the door before he could say anything.
“Follow me, please.”
Just inside the door was, indeed, a library. Ythnel gazed in awe at the shelves upon shelves of books that stretched across the carpeted floor. She felt insignificant, surrounded by the collected volume of knowledge, and cringed inwardly as the muffled tread of the group passing through the room disturbed the silence that hung in the air like a mantle of respect.
They came to a door and the dark-haired woman knocked once before ushering them into the small office beyond. Piles of books covered most of the floor, with paths cleared between the door, a reading chair, an overflowing bookshelf, and a desk. The desk was occupied by an older man who thumbed thro
ugh a dusty tome by the light of a brightly glowing quill that rested in an inkpot set on the corner of the desk.
“Master Thilymm, these are the people here to see Crarl Ormane.”
The old man looked up, seemingly aware of his visitors for the first time. He placed a marker in the book, closed it, and set it on the desk before standing and dismissing their escort with a nod. He wore a conical hat that covered any hair that might still be on his head, which made his thick, white mustache stand out even more. A jeweled medallion hung around his neck, the multifaceted sapphire reflecting the light of the enchanted quill on the desk as it rested against the silky fabric of his light blue tunic.
“Welcome, welcome. I am Ovros Thilymm, Head Librarian of the Academy.”
“Where is Crarl Ormane?” Kestus asked.
“He is not here.”
“What? But the note said we were to meet him.”
“No, the note said to come to the academy.”
Ythnel tensed. This conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn. They had no weapons, but she was sure she could take the old man out before he could call to any hidden allies.
“Don’t play word games with me,” Kestus fumed. “The note was signed by Crarl Ormane.”
“I assure you I am not playing a game. Crarl Ormane is not here because it would be impossible for him to. He is nothing but a name.”
“You were right,” Muctos muttered. Kestus nodded, but frustration still showed on his face.
“Fine, so we’re not going to meet Crarl. Who are we going to meet? Or was there some other reason we were invited here?”
“You can relax,” Ovros said, looking right at Ythnel as though he had read her mind. He was more observant than she gave him credit for. “You are going to meet the person you came here to see. Let’s go upstairs.” He scooted past them and led them back out through the library to a door in the middle of the back wall. The librarian put his medallion against the wood of the door and uttered something unintelligible. A chime sounded, and the door swung open as the single, clear note faded away.
Maiden of Pain Page 19
