by Megan Derr
After he was cleaned up, Tolan picked him up and made certain his clothes were settled properly—after all this trouble, he refused to let the troublemaker freeze to death.
"It's started snowing," Layla said, looking out a window. "Best be careful, and stop frequently to warm up."
Tolan nodded, and said irritably, "I know, I know." He sighed and said more patiently. "Thanks again, Layla."
"No trouble," she said easily. "I'm certain his Secret will turn up in due time. Now get on with you. Daylight is wasting."
"See you later," Tolan said, and departed. Outside, the streets were still packed with drunken morons, the smell of ale and cider and less legal substances clogging the air, underscored by the scent of all manner of food, and other odors far less pleasant. It was no place for him, let alone a baby. When he found Secret, he was going to give the bastard a good solid knock upside the head.
He trudged through the city, carrying along an increasingly heavy, and increasingly cranky, Goz. Minutes seemed like hours, and hours seemed like a living hell. No one knew 'Secret'. No one knew Goz. No one had heard of anyone searching for a lost baby.
When he finally broke down and spoke to the various City Guards he was able to find, he got a whole lot of nothing but an overwhelming urge to commit a public disturbance.
After he beat Secret half to death, he was going to charge the bastard a bloody fortune for all of this. Two bloody fortunes.
With Goz crying and fussing, himself three quarters numb and eight quarters exhausted, Tolan made his way back home as quickly as he could manage. He fumbled with the key, dropping it three times before he finally managed to get the damned door open and them inside. Throwing his things on the floor, he stumbled his way to the nearest sofa, stripped off their sodden gear, and made certain Goz was settled, warm, and secure before he dragged himself to the fireplace.
When at last a fire was going, he swung the kettle over it to heat water for tea, then went to his master's desk and pulled out the bottle of brandy he wasn't supposed to know about. Fetching a teacup, he filled it half full with brandy, then finally returned to Goz.
Sniffling and repeating 'Torn find Secret' over and over, Goz clambered into his lap and clung to Tolan for dear life. Tolan held him, petted and caressed in what he hoped was a soothing manner, and wished miserably he actually knew what to do with the poor thing. He took a sip of brandy, then made himself stand again, taking Goz into the back to at least get him cleaned and changed, and into his proper clothes. Then he fetched a blanket, and wrapped Goz in it, and returned to the main room.
By then, the water was ready and he made a cup of tea. Letting it steep, he made certain Goz wouldn't tumble off the couch, then went into the back again, down into the cellar where a jug of milk was kept. How exactly did one feed a baby? He should have paid more attention to what Layla was doing—except she hadn't really seemed to do more than let Goz have at it.
That probably wouldn't work as well with milk. Hmm. Well, he'd figure something out. He was pretty certain babies shouldn't have tea, and there was nothing else that would work. Except the brandy, but he knew that was an even worse idea than the tea.
Except, when he got back upstairs, Goz was fast asleep, burrowed into the blanket like it was some sort of nest, still muttering 'Torn' and 'Secret' in his sleep when he wasn't busy trying to suck on his little fingers.
Tolan set the jug of milk aside, and moved to the couch, gently scooping Goz up and stretching out on the couch himself. Then he settled Goz on his chest, and the blanket over both of them. He should probably move them to the bed…but it was warm and comfy here…what he should really be doing was trying to find someone or something that would help him locate Secret, but…it really was nice,warm, and soft and Goz was holding so still. He actually looked harmless when he was asleep, and a short nap wouldn't hurt…
He jerked awake to the sound of his door slamming open—then everything went crazy. People were talking, shouting, grabbing, throwing. Goz was crying, and Tolan roared in outrage as someone yanked the baby away, but then he hit the floor and clutched at his jaw, where someone had punched him hard.
"You, boy," said a man in dark clothes, with a heavy beard and eyes too dark to determine their color, "are in a great deal of trouble for kidnapping the Seabolt heir. Take him," he said curtly.
"I didn't kidnap him!" Tolan bellowed. "He found m—"
Pain flashed in the back of his head, and the lastthing he heard was Goz shrieking for Torn and Secret. *~*~* "Steady now," said a voice that instantly made Tolan think of brandy and velvet and satin; of all the things his clients did that they didn't want their spouses to know they were doing with other people. How the hell he could think of such things when he hurt in a way he did not ever want to experience again, he didn't know. But that voice reached past the pain and pulled the impressions right out of him. It was the sort of voice an Enchanter would kill to have, he though inanely, then finally managed to get his eyes open.
The room was dark, and it smelled like an alleyway after three dozen drunks had made use of it for a variety of purposes.
Then everything came flooding back. "Goz!" he said, and shoved sexy-voice away in a blind panic. "Where is Goz? Is he all right—"
"Shhh," the voice soothed, and firm hands grasped his arms. "Steady now, or you'll be sick. I've healed most of the damage done, but too much sudden movement and you'll regret it." "Urgh," Tolan replied, already regretting it. "What the hell is going on? Where am I? Where's Goz?" He scowled as something else occurred to him. "I didn't kidnap him—oh shit, they said he was the Seabolt heir.Gods damn it all to hell and back—"
Laughter cut him off, and Tolan glared at the man he could not really see in the gloom of what he now realized was probably a prison cell. He was amazed they simply had not killed him. "Are you always this chatty and scattered when you're frightened, little Finder?"
"Shut up," Tolan snapped. He pushed away from the aggravating voice and reached out to steady himself, then slowly stood up. "I have to find Goz, and you can bugger off."
The man laughed again. "It's Goss, actually. Goss Ralien Seabolt, only son of Lord and Lady Seabolt, and their proclaimed heir."
Tolan drew up short, abandoning his feeble attempts at the damned locked cell door to turn and peer at the indistinct shadow at the other end.
He heard the man murmur a few words, felt the whisper of magic against his skin, and then light flooded the cell from a ball of white-blue light. Tolan stared. The man before him was tall and broad-shouldered, not overly-muscled but not exactly skinny either. He had short black hair framing a face that was beautiful in a cold, sharp way—like snow, or maybe ice would be more apropos. He was dressed in light leather armor over a dark green tunic and black breeches, with boots that came to knees.
Tolan bet his eyes were gray. "You're Secret!"
Laughing, the man swept him a bow. "Shaw Seacrist,at your service, apprentice."
Seacrist? Tolan made a sound that was equal parts curse and cry. "Seacrist? As in Master Finder Seacrist?"
"Guilty, I’m afraid." Tolan was not typically given to losing his temper. In his line of work, one needed patience. Finding an object could take five minutes, or five weeks—even months. However, the past several hours of his life had been utterly wretched, even if Goz was maybe cute, and it was all this bastard's fault—Master or no Master.
"You're a bloody Master Finder," he howled, all but throwing himself across the room to start swinging and hitting at random like he did the brats who were always throwing or stealing things. "You're a gods' damned Master Finder and you lost a baby? What sort of idiot—and now they've arrested me and I’m going to be hanged and it's all your fault, you bloody stupid—"
He scowled as a leather-encased hand clapped over his mouth, and stupid Secret—Seacrist—laughed. "Temper, temper, little Finder," Seacrist said, the continued more seriously. "I am sorry for the trouble you've been caused. I won't let anyone hang you, especially since…
" He sighed. "No, you've been dragged into this far enough. Come on, I'll take you somewhere safe."
Tolan pulled away. "You'll tell me what's going on, and I want to see Goz—Goss—to make certain for myself that he's all right. Obviously you're too stupid to take care of him, if you lost him."
Seacrist laughed again. "You're awfully fiery for a Finder." "No," Tolan said, "I'm not. Something about being arrested for kidnapping a child I was only trying to help just brings out the angry in me—especially since I was trying to help him find you and now here you are, laughing at me and wholly unconcerned that Goss is still missing."
The levity vanished from Seacrist's demeanor in the blink of an eye, and his voice was cold when he spoke. "No, I am deeply concerned. I need to get him back, because I assure you that the last place he needs to be is back in the arms of his family. I was trying to get him away when everything went to hell."
Tolan frowned. "I’m horribly confused right now. What's going on? Where are we? What in the hells are you talking about—and what are you doing here?"
Seacrist laughed. "You really are a bit of a spark, aren't you, little Finder?"
"Stop calling me that," Tolan snapped.
"And so respectful," Seacrist murmured, obviously amused. "Let us get out of here, and I will explain if you like—after all you have been through, you are owed that much." He held out one hand. "Come on."
Tolan frowned at him, but reluctantly placed his hand in Seacrist's. Seacrist tugged him sharply forward, until Tolan had to place a hand on Seacrist's chest to avoid his face winding up pressed against it. The hand holding hislet go, before wrapping around Tolan's waist—then Seacrist spoke several low words, and a cold far worse than anything winter could muster washed over him.
Then they were standing in his shop, which was dark and messy and—" How the hell did you do that?" Tolan demanded. "You're a bloody Finder, how are you capable of Shifting? Never mind, I don't care." He sat down on the nearest piece of relatively whole furniture and buried his face in his hands. "How did you even Find me?" Because that much was obvious—Seacrist had Found him in the prison cell, and obviously Shifted there to get him. Why, he didn't know, but it seemed clear that's what he'd done.
"Never mind my tricks," Seacrist said, righting a knocked over chair and carefully inspecting it. Satisfied with whatever he found, he sat down and braced the ankle of one leg over the knee of the other, settling his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepling his fingers together. "Now—I have been trolling this city all day, attempting to find Goss. I hid him when it seemed as though I was about to be caught, and fled to lose the bastards. When I came back, Goss of course had gone off somewhere. It was only about an hour ago that I learned of you—too late. I found the mess here, and tracked down people who knew you. From their descriptions, and the books here which belonged to you, I was able to Find you where they had locked you up."
Tolan shook his head. "Why is it bad for Goss to be with his family?"
"What do you know of the Seabolts?" "The same things everyone knows," Tolan said with a shrug. "The King may wear the crown, but it is the Four Families which really rule the country. Seabolt rules the north, Seacrist the west, Seamont the south, and Sealore the east. The Seabolts have been struggling to bear a son for the past several years— so to say he is in danger from them is absurd."
"Not," Seacrist said softly, "if their power was waning."
Tolan opened his mouth, then closed it again, unable to think of anything to say to that.
It was…it couldn't be. "That's just myth and legend," he finally managed.
Seacrist's silence was not reassuring. The Four Families were nigh on legendary. The Seacrist before him now was one of the best Finders in the whole country—some said the world. Such power was always attached to wild stories—some good, some bad.
Of the bad, the most popular stories were those of the sacrifices. Once upon a time, the old stories went, the kingdom had been a land of chaos—factions, clans, war, blood, and magic that went unchecked. Magic without limits was a terrible, frightening thing.
Power could be lost or gained, it was said, through various means. Sacrifice, back in those dark days, had been the most popular choice. Animals known to be strongly bound to one element or another…other mages…
The oldest stories said those that had eventually become the Four Families sacrificed their own blood to help their power grow. Untapped power was the most potent, for it had not yet been shaped and molded. A block of wood, waiting to be carved. While still a block, unshaped, untouched, it held all the potential of the world. Only when the path was chosen, a particular magic selected, was the block whittled down to a particular shape—magic lost, magic gained.
Untapped power was the most potent, and according to old myths, a proper sacrifice would give that untapped power to the sacrifice. All the better, the stories went, if sacrifice and sacrificed were of the same blood. Oak to oak, ash to ash, maple to maple.
A child still little more than a babe…
"It can't be true—who would be that sick?" He demanded.
"The Seabolts," Seacrist said flatly. "I learned of what they intended, and attempted to get the child well away. So far, I have failed. I must save Goss before it is too late."
Tolan felt sick. "There is still time?"
"Yes," Seacrist said softly, "though only just. Three days from now, they will make the sacrifice." "Isn't anyone else going to stop them? They can't just do that to a gods damned child!" Tolan bellowed. "Can't the King? Why are you—" He shut his mouth with an audible click, too furious to even know what to say. "They can't do that."
"No, they can't," Seacrist agreed. "As to others interfering—that would send the Seabolts fleeing. We are attempting to collect enough information against them; we nearly have all we need to see them strung up in the palace square. This is not the first time they've done something beyond the pale—it's merely the first time we've stood a good chance at catching them at it." He was quiet a moment, then said, "I am sorry you were unwittingly dragged into this affair. You will be compensated—"
"You can take your compensation and choke on it," Tolan snarled. "I want to help save Goss, and then I'm taking him away from all you bloody incompetent morons so no one else can sacrifice him or lose him."
Seacrist stared at him, then laughed loud and long. "You are a spark, little Finder. I think perhaps you are wasted in this little hovel studying under a master who is only interested in finding the next barrel of ale to be drained."
Tolan glared at him. "Are you eyeing me up for a sacrifice?" he asked, just because he was angry and wanted to make someone else mad too.
It didn't work. Something flashed, hot and bright, in Seacrist's eyes, but it wasn't anger. Whatever it was, it made the room suddenly insufferably warm, and Tolan wished he'd kept his mouth shut.
"Seacrist has its traditions, little spark, but such bloodthirsty sacrifice is not one of them." "My name," Tolan said scathingly, "is Tolan Lakeith. Not little Finder, not Apprentice, not spark or anything else you come up with. Tolan."
"At your service, little spark," Seacrist said with a smirk. "You may call me Shaw, if you like, or Seacrist. I think you've made it clear that 'my lord' will not be forthcoming, and I do not prefer to stand on ceremony anyway."
Tolan abruptly recalled that it should be 'my lord' and that if Seacrist felt like it, he could have Tolan punished for the intolerable rudeness he had been displaying for the past hour or so. If the worst he was going to get was that aggravating 'little spark' then he should just quit while he was ahead and suffer in silence.
Instead, he pushed on, "I want to help save Goss."
"No," Seacrist said. "I understand why you care, and it speaks well of you that you do—but this is no adventure for apprentices. It is far too dangerous."
"Yes," Tolan said acidly, "and if I don't go along it might be Goss who suffers. You already lost him once. Gods only know what you'll do next time. I'm coming."
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Seacrist stared at him, then shook his head and laughed softly. "All right, little spark. But do as I say, without question."
Tolan opened his mouth to say not likely, then shut it again, and nodded stiffly instead.
He could see from the smirk on Seacrist's face that he hadn't fooled anyone.
"I'm serious," Seacrist said more seriously. "Do you think a family which would kill its own child would hesitate to kill you? Stay close to me, and do what I say."
"All right," Tolan said quietly. "What are you going to do with Goss once you've saved him?"
Seacrist shrugged. "I do not know, yet," he said. "That is likely a matter for the King to decide."
Tolan kept his opinions to himself. "So, are we going now?"
"Shouldn't you get cleaned up and ready for the journey, little spark?"
"I’m not little," Tolan groused, but realized that he was being rather hasty. Standing up, he trudged across the wreckage to the backrooms to prepare for only the gods knew what. Half an hour later, absently wondering where his idiot master had fallen down drunk that he was still oblivious to the fact his shop had been trashed by child-sacrificing bastards, he settled a pack on his back and rejoined Seacrist in the main room.
Seacrist was facing the fire, his back to Tolan. His shoulders were even broader than Tolan had remembered, narrowing to trim waist and hips. He wore a sword casually at his hip, something Tolan had not really noticed before. His hair was pitch black, seeming to absorb the firelight. Being called 'little' annoyed Tolan to no end, but there was no denying standing even this close to Seacrist made him feel small. He'd never been more than just barely average in height, and Seacrist was taller than anyone else he knew or had even seen in passing.
He turned, and Tolan tried to pretend he hadn't been staring. "Ready?"
Tolan nodded. "Where are we going?"
"Why, to Castle Seabolt, of course," Seacrist said with a smile. "Hold on tight." "How in the hell does a Finder use Shift?" Tolan asked, and tried not to notice how Seacrist's arm felt curled around his waist, pulling him up against that broad chest. Now was not the time to start lusting after someone completely out of his league. Seriously. They were going to save a child from becoming a blood sacrifice—there was no way lust was appropriate.
