by Dan Koboldt
“My sister has offered a good suggestion,” Alethea said.
Or maybe they’re sisters. “Let’s hear it.”
“Do you know how to throw a knife?”
He was careful to keep his face neutral. “I do.”
Alethea clicked her tongue twice. All of the women wrapped up their meals and stood. One of them produced a circular wooden plank about a foot in diameter. Alethea’s sister held it tight in both hands, perpendicular to the ground. Alethea moved back about ten feet, drew her belt knife, and flipped it almost casually. Thunk. It stuck right in the center of the wood. A good thing, since her sister’s face was only about a foot behind it. The other women all snapped their fingers in a sort of chorus. A miniature applause.
Then another woman moved up, drew her knife, and threw. Wham, another bull’s-eye. More snapping fingers. They went right after one another like that. Not every woman hit the exact center, but no one missed the board. The next thing Quinn knew, Alethea held out the knife toward him, handle-first. “Your turn.”
“Whoa, hold on. I’m not a professional like you.” And if he so much as scratched Alethea’s sister, he could only guess at the unpleasant fate that awaited him.
She pouted at him and somehow made it look predatory. “You did say you wanted to have fun.”
He sighed. “Guess I had that coming.” He took the knife and tested it. It was a bit heavier than the flashy props he’d used onstage, but the balance was perfect. Ten feet. Three and a half rotations. He flipped the knife over and took it by the blade. Whispered a prayer, and threw it before he thought better. He didn’t even think to use the magic. He relied completely on muscle memory. The knife flailed through the air and buried itself in the board. A little high and off center, but close enough. He grinned, more relieved that pleased with himself, while the warriors snapped their approval.
Oh, but it wasn’t over. Another woman took the board. Alethea’s sister threw first. Thunk. A perfect throw. The other women followed in turn, many of them using their left hand this time. Quinn sort of eased back a little. He’d done it once, but didn’t trust his luck to hold a second time. Even the best magicians never tried the same illusion twice on the same night, with the same crowd. That was just asking for it.
Alethea spotted him. “You’ve one more throw to make.”
“I wasn’t going to press my luck.”
“In Tukalu, it is bad luck to throw once.”
“Oh, sure, now you tell me.” He took the proffered knife, and set himself up exactly as he had before. Same hand, same distance. He could do this. He put the blade between his finger and thumb. Nice and easy. Just hit the wood. He wound up.
Alethea leaned close and breathed, “Don’t miss, handsome.”
He missed the board by about two feet. The knife didn’t hit anyone, mercifully, but clanged loudly against the low stone wall that bordered the green. He cursed while the women roared with laughter. Alethea laughed hardest of all. He glared at her, but she returned this with a mocking wink. His face had to be bright red. He smiled, feeling sheepish, and shook his head. They set me up for that one.
Moric appeared at Quinn’s shoulder while the women were still chuckling to themselves. “I hate to tear you away from this,” he said, his tone dry as papyrus.
“Oh, please do,” Quinn said.
“We’re starting again.”
“Thank the gods.” He turned to Alethea, whose eyes still twinkled with merriment. No doubt, she’d been the mastermind of the little prank. “Thank you for the hospitality, but I have to go.”
“Aw, that is unfortunate. We were just starting to like you.”
“I’ll see you around.” He made his tone firm enough to suggest a veiled threat. Not that he ever wanted to have his ass handed to him in a fight or anything, but because he felt it was the right thing to do.
She smiled, showing her teeth. “I look forward to it.”
He turned with Moric and walked away, forcing himself to keep a relaxed pace.
“Interesting lunch?” Moric asked.
“That’s an understatement.”
“What possessed you to join a Tukalu knife-throwing contest?”
“The more they like us, the less likely they are to kill us.”
Moric gave him a side glance, maybe to see if he was serious. “You’re a surprising man, Quinn. Entirely wrong about the Tukalu, but still surprising.”
They spoke late into the afternoon, until Quinn’s brain could no longer absorb details of Holt’s troop movements or Relling’s proposed countermeasures. They’d come to dominate the conversation in any case, to the point where he and Anton merely offered the occasional polite observation but otherwise stayed out of the way.
At last, Holt apologized that the meeting had to end—he needed to get back to Valteron. He stood, and they all did likewise.
“I’m glad you came, Moric. This bodes well for the future of Alissia.”
“Let us hope so,” Moric said.
“May I have a moment in private with your . . . apprentice?” Holt looked meaningfully at Quinn.
“Take as long as you need,” Moric said.
Quinn followed Holt out of the pavilion and across the green, heading west. Alethea and one of her guardswomen shadowed them, close enough to be noticed but not to eavesdrop.
“So,” Quinn said. Alone at last. There were so many things he wanted to ask the man who’d defected from CASE Global to start this whole mess.
“So.” Holt smiled in a way that said he was thinking exactly the same thing. “I suppose it’s no accident that the Enclave’s vote involved circumventing my arcane protections.”
“You’re probably giving me a lot more credit than I deserve,” Quinn said. “There was already momentum toward reconsidering the agreement with Valteron. I just gave it a little . . . push in the right direction.”
“That much I understand. My former employer has a proven ability to recruit people who can get things done.”
That almost sounds like a compliment. “You ain’t kidding.” He had to admit, he rather enjoyed being able to slip back into casual speech, without fear that something would be lost in translation.
“I’d love to know how you managed to infiltrate the Enclave in the first place.”
“Well, it started when Moric kidnapped me.” He went on to recount the story of his kidnapping, trial, and eventual acceptance as one of the Enclave students. Holt listened to it all without comment or interruption. It nearly seemed as if he were making a mental recording of the entire affair for future entry in one of his reports. Wouldn’t that be something?
“So basically, it’s through a little bit of cheating and a lot of luck that I’m still alive,” Quinn finished.
Holt barked a laugh. “Now you’re giving yourself too little credit, I think.”
“I’m serious,” Quinn said. “I’ve only been here a few months, and I’ve lost count of the times I was a sneeze away from a violent death.” He couldn’t resist adding a little jab. “Some of which was your fault, by the way.”
“My fault?”
“The wyvern, for starters.”
“Ha! I’d nearly forgotten about that. If it’s any consolation, you’ve been a thorn in my side as well.”
“I’ve been a thorn in a lot of sides lately. Just ask Moric.”
Or Kiara.
“Yes, well. You’ve answered a number of nagging questions for me, but one remains. What made you turn against the company?”
Quinn knew this one would be coming, but his carefully rehearsed answer felt insufficient. “It’s a number of things, really. Spending time at the Enclave. Learning that I could use magic on my own. Getting a glimpse of what CASE Global would do, if they considered us a threat.”
“What about Captain Relling?”
“What about her?”
“Did you know who she was, when you first went to the Enclave?”
Now Quinn had to chuckle. “Oh, yes. She’s hard to miss. And
so is the Victoria.”
“Yet you chose not to tell the company about her. May I ask why?”
It was interesting that he chose this line of questioning, and when Quinn put it together with Holt’s muted reaction to seeing her, it pointed to a surprising theory. “Probably for the same reasons you did.”
Holt put his lips together, and hesitated just long enough.
Gotcha. “So you did know what happened to her,” Quinn said.
“I had some suspicions. The fact that you also concealed her from the company will work to our advantage. And it certainly brings a point in your favor.”
“I can sense a but somewhere ahead.”
Holt nodded. “Withholding information is something one can easily correct. But revealing your identity to Alissians, to magicians no less, was a far more serious act.”
“I know,” Quinn said. “But I wanted to earn their trust.”
“May I ask why?”
“Come on, do you really have to know everything?”
“Understanding your motivations will help me trust someone who, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, seems to enjoy playing both sides.”
“Touché.” Quinn looked behind them, to make certain they were well and truly alone. “Well, the thing is, there’s also this girl.”
Holt raised an eyebrow. “A native?”
“Yes. She started out as a source, and she shouldn’t have been more than that.”
“But you fell for her.”
Quinn smiled. “Yeah, the whole thing kind of got away from me.”
Holt squeezed his shoulder. “Believe it or not, I understand how it can happen.”
“Now you know the catalyst for my change of heart,” Quinn said. “Now you know pretty much everything.”
“Oh, I doubt that. You seem like the kind of man who always keeps a card up his sleeve.”
“Old habits die hard.”
“Ha! I imagine they do. Even so, I think you’ve satisfied my concerns for the moment,” Holt said. “And I believe that, if you’re willing, I could make use for you in the campaign against CASE Global.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“From what I understand, you have a penchant for finding trouble.”
“So they tell me,” Quinn said dryly.
“How would you like to do it intentionally, on behalf of this little coalition we’ve formed?”
“To what end?”
“To make things difficult for the company, in the same way that I did for your retrieval team.”
With mercenaries, magical barriers, and wild dogs. “I have to admit, that kind of sounds like fun.”
“I can think of no better role for an ambitious young magician.”
“I’m going to need help, though. I’m still a beginner at this.”
“Moric seems like a good teacher.”
“He is.” Quinn glanced back at the pavilion. “But the recent flip-flopping, as you put it, has won me a sort of unofficial suspension.”
“Say no more. I’ll take care of it,” Holt said.
Oddly enough, even though he’d just met the man, Quinn believed him. Holt got impossible things done like some people changed their clothes. More and more, it was apparent why he’d so easily taken control of Valteron.
“Come let us return to the group,” Holt said. “It will be dark before long, and my Tukalu guards get jumpy as wildcats when they can’t see any threats before they come.”
They turned back toward the pavilion, where Moric and Anton stood watching them with guarded looks of interest.
Wondering what the Prime and I might have to discuss in private, no doubt. Quinn smiled, just to throw them off.
Alethea and her sister doubled back, running soundlessly, to take up a position flanking him and Holt.
“They seem very capable,” Quinn said.
“The Tukalu are among the finest warriors in Alissia.”
“Are they all women?”
“Alethea’s group is. As for the others, I couldn’t say.” Holt gave him a knowing look. “I’ve found it’s best not to ask too many questions.”
“Right. Apparently they’ll just start asking you ones right back.”
“Got a taste of that, did you?”
“My curiosity got the better of me,” Quinn said.
“I admit that surprised me.”
“That I played their game, or that I came back in one piece?”
“Both,” Holt said.
They reached the pavilion, which the guardswomen began to dismantle in haste. They pulled the stakes, wound their ropes around them, and broke down the main structure in about thirty seconds. Quinn did his best to stay out of the way while Holt bade farewell to everyone.
“You said I could have Quinn as long as I liked,” he said to Moric. “Were you serious about that?”
“I should point out that he is still a student of our arts,” Moric said.
Anton jumped right in. “If you need a magician, we will provide one who has more experience.”
Now I know what they had to discuss in private. Quinn could guess the thrust of that conversation, too. Keep him out of the way, however possible.
“He may be new to the study of your arts, but I think we can all agree he has a certain set of skills,” Holt said.
Moric chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Perhaps another more experienced member can accompany him, then? As a chaperone, and to continue his education.”
Oh, well-done, Quinn thought.
Anton made a conciliatory gesture with one hand, like a king granting a request. “Moric can do it.”
Moric shot him an irritated look. Apparently that wasn’t part of the plan.
“That’s fine with me,” Quinn said quickly, before an argument could take root.
Holt smiled. “It will provide an opportunity for him to prove himself. To you, and to me. If he succeeds, I’d like to find other uses for him.”
Moric’s lips twisted like he’d swallowed a lemon. “Very well. How would you like him to do that?”
“Nothing too difficult, I should think.” Holt smiled.
“I want him to borrow an egg from a neighbor.”
Chapter 18
Natural Fears
“When it comes to Tioni mules, manners come first, and all else comes second.”
—R. Holt, “Overview of Alissian Husbandry”
Felara seemed to get colder every time Quinn went there. He rode west from the southern tip of the mountain range that concealed the gateway cave a few hundred leagues to the north. Moric had taken him here, with a promise to return two days hence to pick him up again. This would be his test mission for the coalition, his tryout. A cake walk, Holt had called it. Meeting a trader in exotic native creatures. Sounds like a recipe for an untimely death.
The farm he sought was exactly where the Prime had promised—at the end of a long, straight road paved with porous volcanic rock. Black rock. Little puffs of ground ash drifted across the road and swirled around the mule’s hooves. He’d specifically requested a horse for this little mission. Specifically. But no, Holt claimed that all decent mounts were already committed elsewhere.
But he could spare a Tioni smart mule, of course. There never seemed to be a shortage of those whenever Quinn needed to ride somewhere.
A pungent, familiar odor crossed his nose.
“Stop, please.”
The mule plodded forward a couple of steps and then deigned to halt. Quinn caught another whiff of it, and then he was certain. The farm smell came mostly from manure, but also a mix of hay and animal musk. When Quinn was a boy, his grandfather used to take him on hunting trips in rural areas outside of Vegas. Quinn used to complain about the smell. His grandfather would always chuckle and say, smells like money to me.
“All right, continue, if you’d be so kind,” he told the mule. It grated him a little to be so polite, but if the animal detected a hint of sarcasm or impropriety, it would b
e a long walk back to the rendezvous spot.
North Felara had a short growing season; most farmers had better luck with livestock than crops. Holt’s contact here, Callan Rainswood, was unique among these; he ran a sort of menagerie specializing in exotic animals for security, sport hunting, and “other forms of entertainment.”
Quinn hadn’t pressed for details, but kind of wished he had.
The road here ran across the top of a rise, with the land falling away to either side. Clumps of evergreen trees gave way to more open terrain, most of it snow-covered. He hadn’t seen any sign of civilization for half a day, and was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of prank arranged by Moric, when he encountered the fence. It ran in on either side of the road, a wooden stockade job that had to be eight feet tall. Mounted and up on the road, Quinn was just high enough to see over the top. That’s how he first noticed the animal tracking him on the right-hand side. It looked like an ostrich, but taller and with thicker legs. The beak, too, was curved downward like a bird of prey.
It paced languidly alongside the fence, peering at Quinn with overlarge eyes. It made no sound. It didn’t even blink. Disconcerting as this was, it paled in comparison to what appeared on the left side of the road. Four Alissian wild dogs appeared out of the woods and loped alongside the fence. Their coats were mottled browns and grays, the perfect color to blend into the Felaran undergrowth. They were built like Rottweilers beneath their shaggy coats. Veena had said that even if captured as pups and raised in captivity, Alissian wild dogs eventually turned on their owners. They would not be tamed. Were it not for the ten-foot fence keeping them back from the road, they’d be trying to hamstring Quinn’s mare right now.
Veena had assured him that wild dogs were mostly nocturnal, but these ones were tracking him in broad daylight. Guess she didn’t know everything. She’d still known so much, though, and it was clear he’d not taken enough advantage of her encyclopedic knowledge of this place. Too late to change that now.
Ahead, he began to pick out the buildings of several low-set buildings. More fencework appeared, partitioning off the landscape in ever more complex delineations. The good news was that it forced the Alissian wild dogs away from the road; they melted into the woods and disappeared from view. The road ran straight up to a story-and-a-half cottage with white siding and a thatched roof. A man leaned against the frame of the open door.
