The Mage's Daughter 2: Book Two: Enlightenment

by LeRoy Clary

  “Three large coppers. One more copper for the scabbard.”

  She handed him a small silver coin and accepted seven large copper coins in change, along with her old throwing knife. She agreed to return in three days for the new knife and scabbard.

  They left the stall, and Sara said, “I have never seen anyone wear two knives, let alone three.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? That one is for you.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. I’d love to learn to throw like you, but I thought, you wanted a third to wear. By the way, did you notice his strange hat?” Sara said.

  “Of course. I don’t think he’s from around here. His speech was stilted and odd.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, too. The hat gave him a foreign appearance. I’m wearing my green pants and shirt, and you your dress, plus the wraps on our heads. We don’t look like strangers to Indore. We need to find a place to buy different clothes.”

  Prin glanced at her bare feet. “And shoes.”

  “Yes, and the clothing should be odd, or foreign, to make us look like new arrivals, like the knife seller’s hat. You could tell right away he was from across the sea, or somewhere far away.”

  “Easy enough,” Prin laughed, turning and walking back to his stall. She returned a few moments later and pointed. “That way. We’re looking for a green tent with a beautiful fat woman who is his wife. She sells hats.”

  They found her, perhaps ten stalls away. She also wore a similar hat as the blade seller, not as tall, but the flat sloping brim effectively shed water, and would shield their eyes from the sun if it ever came back out, and protect their scalps from sunburn. They purchased four similar hats, in four colors. They exchanged them for the wraps of material around their heads, wraps that now looked like more like bandages than foreign dress. Prin wore a green, and Sara a blue hat. The hat seller said nothing about their white, bald heads, but had reacted with a wince when she saw them.

  The fat woman with the huge smile then told them where to buy good shoes from a friend of hers. Soon they both wore soft, sturdy boots as they went looking for more clothing. Prin had worn simple shifts her entire life, which was two flat pieces of crude material sewn together with wide straps over each shoulder. As they strolled among the stalls, getting used to their new boots, a display of dresses caught Prin’s eye.

  The dresses were simple shifts made of a durable material in various shades of brown and tan. They were longer than the knee-length she was used to, these hanging well below the knee, but with a skirt that made a slight flair so the legs could easily move. Many of the local women wore them. Some added a splash of color with a colorful belt, embroidered design, or flowers pinned to them.

  The neckline was almost square, allowing for easy reach to the throwing knife while hiding it at the same time. They were perfect, and the stall had a changing room. When they left, the satchel Prin carried held two more shifts and the spare hats.

  The rain had stopped. Now they only had to find a place to spend the day, and to sleep, avoiding inns if possible. They bought two hard rolls stuffed with soft cheese and stood at a short counter to eat them.

  Sara said between mouthfuls, “Have you noticed him?”

  “Who?”

  “The man following us. Don’t turn to look yet, he’s moving to my left and just coming into your line of sight. The one with the bare sword.”

  Prin glanced his way. He was studiously avoiding looking in their direction, but by that avoidance, he made himself known. His sword was longer than normal, his hand on the hilt tipping it up as he moved, but the blade was bare. No scabbard. The sharp edges of the sword threatened anyone nearby if he turned quickly, but people parted for him. They didn’t appear wary or scared, but they deferred all the same.

  She looked at his belt and saw a large iron ring fastened around it. The sword went through the rusted iron ring to support it instead of wearing a scabbard. He wore a loose gray shirt made of thick material like homespun, with long sleeves. On the cuffs of the sleeves were two hash marks sewed side by side. It was a uniform of some sort.

  “Tom, the farmer, warned us about them,” Prin said.

  Sara said, “He’s been near us for a while. Watching.”

  “Let’s move away and see what happens.”

  “Down to where the ships are docked. I want to check a few things.”

  Prin turned her back to him and followed Sara. They made a few turns as they left the bazaar, but each time she glanced behind, he still followed. Have they found me, already?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Prin and Sara strolled down the cobblestone streets to reach the enormous amount of activities required to unload and load cargo ships. The military man with the bare sword had followed behind them, always keep pace as he watched their every move. He no longer bothered to hide or pretend otherwise. For any looking their way, they might think he escorted them, and from his aggressive stance with the few who wandered too close, he permitted no interference.

  Prin and Sara had nervously walked beside each other after leaving the bazaar, along paved city roads between shops selling goods and services until reaching the docks. He never tried to speak to them, and he didn’t seem threatening—but for the sword at his side. He just maintained the same pace and bland expression.

  Prin tried to keep him in the corner of her eye. Is he after me? An assassin?

  Sara carried the backpack, her bow and quiver strapped to it, not unlike many other travelers. Prin carried her satchel, the thick leather straps wrapped around her wrist to both protect it from being snatched and as a warning to thieves, thanks to the apple family.

  Prin glanced at Sara and reacted again to the sight of her as a stranger. Instead of the usual green pants and tunic, with a flowing mane of black trellises, Sara had been transformed. She now wore the tan colored dress, the boots that covered her ankles, and the hat with the point on top that gave her a different appearance. Added to that, her head was bald. She looked far different than when they had crossed the mountains a day earlier.

  For anyone searching for the young woman who crossed the mountain pass with Hannah, or Prin as she now called herself, they would never suspect the woman walking at her side was the same. If they had a description, that worked to Sara’s benefit.

  Stealing another glance, Prin confirmed her thoughts and added to them. If Sara appeared a stranger from another land, so must she. Assuming she had changed in appearance as much as Sara, Prin found encouragement that she might not be recognized. Then she remembered the man with the bare sword standing ten paces from them. She turned. He still followed them, always keeping his distance.

  Sara steered them to a billboard plastered in old and new fliers that were marginally protected from the rain by a little roof. Sara paused to read the sign at the top, then moved closer to read the smaller handbills posted on it.

  Prin stood back several wary paces, keeping watch on all who came close, especially the one with the bare sword, while she mentally practiced her reading by working out the letters on the top of the sign. The S was easy, and so were the H and I. The next letter could be a B or P, but then she eliminated the B as she realized where they were standing. She looked out over the port and the activity that reminded her of an anthill. SHIPS. Those were the letters at the top, and she had read the word for herself, but the second word made no sense to her. Still, it was a start.

  Sara reached out and tore one paper notice from the wall. “This is the one we want.”

  “Now what?”

  Sara folded the paper and slipped it into her backpack. “Look around, Prin. Sailors, dock workers, and foreign travelers move about their business everywhere, all looking different and acting strangely. Many of them are big and strong men, cargo handlers. What do you think will happen if one of us screams for help because a man is attacking us?”

  “They’ll come running. Probably a lot of them,” Prin said, confused at Sara’s comments.

  “I think so too. So, wh
y don’t we go start a fight? You get ready to scream loud enough to churn cream into butter. I’ll do the fighting.” Sara spun around and marched, not walked, directly at the man in the uniform who was lounging near a signpost not even bothering to pretend he ignored them.

  She stomped the hard heels of her new boots on the wooden deck to draw his attention as she approached, each strike of her heels a warning. She pulled to a stop a single step away, fists balled on her hips. She said, “Why are you following us? And don’t even try to say otherwise.”

  He didn’t change his posture or act upset. Then he slowly stood straighter and squared his shoulders. His voice came soft and educated. “Good morning stranger. I am a servant of the Order of the Iron Ring, a ring for which there is no beginning and no end.”

  Sara backed off a step. “What does all that mean?”

  “I noticed you are new to Indore, and my order of service wishes that you come to no harm while in our city.”

  “You’re protecting us? Or following us? Which is it?”

  “I am watching over you. Without obligation. We provide our services without a fee, but some wish to reward us. You see, Indore can be a dangerous city, and we are pledged to help strangers safely navigate their way within it.”

  Prin couldn’t hold back, “That’s why you’ve been watching us.”

  Sara said, “You look more like a soldier.”

  “I am a fighter for the rights of those who cannot protect themselves, so yes, I am a soldier of a sort.”

  He hadn’t changed expression, the tone of his voice, or stance, other than to turn to look at them with bland eyes when speaking. Prin glanced at the bare blade and said, “Scabbards are made for a reason, you know. Ever cut somebody or something by accident with your sword?”

  Finally, he smiled. “Yes, when I was younger and less careful.”

  “Then, why wear it like that?” she persisted.

  He took a step back and placed his right hand on the hilt of the sword. With the unique sharp twang of iron scraping iron, he pulled the sword and then held it across both palms as he offered it to Prin to observe. He said, “The twin edges of my sword scrape against the inside of the iron ring each time I pull or replace it, keeping the edges sharp for your service.”

  She dutifully touched the edge with her thumb and nodded in appreciation. “That’s a good trick. I wonder if I could have a scabbard made for my knives to do the same?”

  “You wear a blade?”

  After a slight hesitation, Prin reached behind her neck and pulled the throwing knife. He nodded appreciatively. She reached under her skirt and removed the smaller blade and extended it. He reached for that one also and turned the thin blade over on his palm while examining it. Then he handed both back, handles first.

  “What do you think?” Prin asked, ignoring the warning look from Sara.

  He said, “Utilitarian. And both well-made. What is the enchantment on the small one you wear on your leg?”

  His tone had remained flat, but the warning from Sara slowed her response. Prin asked, “Does it matter?”

  “Not officially. I was just wondering.”

  “So, I’m not in any trouble because of it?”

  “I am here to help, nothing else and I’m sorry if I was too inquisitive.”

  Prin said, “In that case, I don’t know what the enchantment is. I didn’t even know it had one.”

  He almost smiled, but managed to avoid it. “Most people would not see the dark enchantment. I have received training to perceive such things, and I sense there is much more than the odd knife about the pair of you. Beware, I am not the only one trained in sensing such things.”

  Sara said, “What do you sense about me?”

  He just nodded in her direction and said, “A sorceress should always be wary in a strange land.”

  “Did that have anything to do with you following us?” Sara asked, not bothering to ask how he knew she was a sorceress. He obviously had the powers of a mage, or at least, some of them.

  “I am sworn to protect all travelers, not just those blessed with abilities. It made no difference.”

  Sara stepped closer. She looked him in the eye and said, “A fool can try teaching a man to be a mage for a hundred years, but if the man does not have the ability born to him, it will be a waste of a hundred years. What are you?”

  He squirmed a little under her words, but said, “Some believe that we of the Iron Ring have some mage within us. I cannot say for sure.”

  Sara relaxed, accepting his response as truth. “I’ve reconsidered. There is a way for you to help us.”

  He only nodded for her to continue.

  “We are new to Indore, as you know. We are looking for a place to rent, or to buy if the price is right. Our father is a spice merchant. At home, he stored his spices for on the ground floor, and we lived in a small apartment above. We are looking for such a place.”

  He paused. Then, almost smiled again. “There are such places. Are you concerned with fashion in the building?”

  “No,” Prin said without thinking.

  Sara corrected her, “But we want a part of the city where we might step out at night without fear.”

  He looked at Prin. “Like your knives, you wish utilitarian but well made. Yes, there are such places.” He pointed away from the ships to a part of the city they had not yet explored. “There is a steeple taller than the other roofs. See it?”

  Both Prin and Sara nodded, looking across the rooftops to where the city was built on the long slope of a hill. The buildings in sight were one or two stories tall, mostly made of brick, the bricks probably made of river mud, with roofs that didn’t slant as much as those higher in the mountains. Prin appreciated the simplicity of the construction. But standing high above was a thin steeple or watchtower.

  Sara said, “Who would we speak with?”

  “There is a man near that steeple, located on this side of it. He buys, sells, and rents buildings, especially ones in that area. His name in Chalmers. I wish I could tell you he is fair in his dealings, but you must haggle to reach a good price.”

  Prin said, “If I wanted to donate to your order, how would I do that?”

  “Any of the Order of The Iron Ring are authorized to accept donations and convey them to our coffers.”

  Prin slipped a coin into his hand. He didn’t look to see the denomination or color of the metal before placing it in a pocket with a flap and button.

  “And if we find we need your services again?” Sara asked.

  “Donations are made with your name attached. Any of my order will respond to requests from those who support us. They will know you anywhere in the city.”

  Prin said, “Would you consider walking up to the steeple and showing us where to find Chalmers?”

  “That would be my privilege.”

  As they started walking, Sara whispered, “I would have never thought to ask if we could pay him, or if he could show us the way.”

  “That’s because I’m only thirteen and don’t know what to ask and what not,” she laughed. “I just don’t know all the rules yet.”

  The man hadn’t given them a name, and they didn’t believe he would. He was part of an order, a tiny portion of a whole. He pointed out a few small places of interest as they walked, a shop for meat, a reasonably priced seamstress, and the maker of soap and candles. They passed by two other members of his order, both with long, bare swords resting in iron rings on their belts. He made a hand motion and explained it would tell them Prin and Sara were benefactors of their order and under their protection. Prin had no doubt the men would remember, and spread the word.

  The situation of hiding from her pursuers from the kingdom of Wren again came to mind. She wondered at the reception they would receive when asking the Order of The Iron Ring about her. She suspected it would be cold, and nothing would be shared. The order might even warn her. But she might be wrong.

  Still, it almost seemed as if she had hired friends to p
rotect her. If nothing else, the thieves, pickpockets, and muggers wouldn’t come around when one of the order escorted her on the streets. Perhaps the word would spread around Indore that they were protected. It seemed she had made a valuable ally.

  Eventually, the three reached a nondescript building near the steeple they used as a navigation beacon. Prin expected that it would soon become a landmark for finding their way around the city. The man pointed to a doorway, then quietly slipped out of sight down an alley without a word, and disappeared.

  Prin said, “Back down by the port, I read the sign by myself. It started and ended with S, and in between were H, I, and P. Ships.”

  Sara flashed a brilliant smile. “Exactly right. The first word was ‘ships,' and the next word was ‘movements.’ The billboard had information about the ships that arrive and depart, their cargo, needs for sailors, and the ports they travel to.”

  “You took a paper.”

  “It tells of a ship that departed three days ago, named the Julianna. It says the ships returns here one time a year, and it travels to far off ports where few other ships sail to, in case you wish to ship something with it. It won’t return for a full year. If anyone wants to check our story, they’ll have to wait. Why don’t you choose a name for the place where we came from?”

  “Any name?”

  “Make it pretty. Exotic. Like a place with lots of islands.”

  Prin said, “How about a beautiful place called Evelyn?”

  Sara said, “That is perfect. A tribute to the sorceress who helped us escape.”

  “And who we will one day see again and reward,” Prin added. “But now we need to find a place to live.”

  They had crossed the street while speaking and were standing in front of the door that had been pointed out to them. They were still talking when it opened, and a rotund man with a wild head of curly hair and more savage looking mustache said, “Don’t just stand out there. Come inside and rent a place to live from me.”

  “How did you know what we want?” Sara asked, not moving an inch.