by Guy Antibes
“Please,” the Captain said.
“All of us?” Shira said.
Deaz smiled. “All. You are all warriors, with the exception of the Shardian woman. Warriors always have stories to tell.”
Fadden brightened. “How about the inn where we were staying?”
“I’ve been there before,” the Captain said, “and that is as typical as any other place.”
“Good.” Fadden sat back, obviously looking forward to the evening.
~
Fadden seemed to have a thing for lady bartenders and innkeepers. It didn’t take long for the bartender that he dallied with to join them at their table. Deaz brought along six officers, mostly young men. Once dinner had been cleared, they had mugs or wine goblets in their hands, and the conversation became livelier.
“Where have you seen action?” Kell asked.
“Mostly fighting bandits near our Botarran border,” Deaz said.
“Fistyra isn’t a particularly violent country, unlike Botarra. There are brigands bleeding over the border quite regularly,” one of the officers said. “We’ve all been posted along the border at one time or another.”
Another chimed in. “The Bossomian border, on the other hand, is sleep-inducing. We mostly have to send back smugglers trying to import their produce.”
“Ah, sometimes we have to confiscate their ill-gotten goods,” another officer said rubbing his stomach. “They do have good food, especially their meat.”
Fadden looked at the woman and spoke into her ear. His eyes widened at her reply, and then they both laughed. Pol wondered what she had said.
“We had our own adventures coming this far from the South Parsimolian city of Port Molla.”
“By way of The Shards, gentleman,” Captain Deaz said. “Loa is a refugee from the Magicians Circle there.”
All eyes turned to the Shardian. “We had a few fights, but most of the time we traveled south to Wailua and then took a Bossomian merchant ship to Bastiz. It went on to Bossom.”
“As they all do,” one of the soldiers said. “It’s a shame we can’t trade directly with anybody. If I want a Shardian carving, it has to come from Bossom.”
And that was how Bossom received tribute from their vassal, thought Pol. He felt sorry for the powerless Fistyrans, but he kept the sentiment to himself.
A soldier asked him about Pontifer Terria’s Hole.
Pol gave him a mostly accurate version. His invisibility was left out, but he did talk about using his locator skills. They all laughed when they found out that Pol had searched the Hole before Shira had arrived. Shira smiled throughout, probably because she was mostly left out of Pol’s story. Pol felt her gently squeeze his leg after he finished. He took it as a thank you.
Paki took the floor to talk about the siege of Boxall. Pol failed to recognize much of the story, but by this time, most of the soldiers including Captain Deaz, Kell, and Paki, had had more than enough to drink. Pol didn’t think much would be remembered in the morning.
Shira, Loa, and he had gone light on the drink. “It’s time for us to return to the palace,” Pol said as he rose from the table.
Everyone ignored him as he got up to escort the two young women, walking into a cool, but not cold, spring night.
Pol shielded Loa and Shira as they exited the inn. He wouldn’t be taken by those headaches again. Who knew if the Pontifer’s Hounds had an observer in Bastiz? Pol hoped they would have given up after nearly two months.
They walked into the cathedral square and noticed light coming from the windows of the large edifice. He turned to Loa.
“Did you go to the cathedral today?”
She shook her head. “We went to the market, the docks, and the merchant’s quarter where they make things in Bastiz.”
“Then let’s see if we can go in,” Shira said. “I wouldn’t mind visiting it again.”
Pol led them across the square and checked to see if the door opened. Something kept the door closed, but Pol examined the lock with his magic sight and threw his sight further. “Someone has slipped a bar through the door handles.”
He tweaked the bar from the handles and set it down on the floor quietly. Shira opened the door. They heard the bar rolling away. Six men dressed in black were assaulting two priests. At the sound of the bar, all straightened up and turned towards them.
“Stop that,” Shira said. Her voice clearly filled up the cathedral.
Pol was armed with his Shinkyan throwing knives and a bundle of three-inch skewer splinters. He untied the skewers with one hand in his pocket and pulled out a knife, so the attackers could see the blade.
“We don’t want to fight you. I’m giving you fair warning. Leave now.”
“What? A boy with a little knife?” one of the men said. “Go home to your mother, but leave the women behind.”
Pol’s face turned red, and he felt his ears heat up. He took a deep breath. “You don’t know whom you address,” he said.
At that moment, Pol felt the familiar pressure of a spell. He didn’t know what it did, but he didn’t care.
“So one or all of you are magicians,” Pol said as they approached the men.
Two of the attackers backed up a step.
One of the men extended his arms. Pol threw his knife, and it thudded into his target’s neck.
“You are a magician, and you know arms?”
“In my land I am called a pattern-master. I am trained at arms and am adept at manipulating the pattern.”
“Lies,” another man said.
Pol gripped a metal rod in his pocket and teleported it into the accuser’s heart.
The men backed up again and looked on in horror as their compatriot fell.
“Lies?” Loa said. She lifted her hand and let flames burn three feet long in the air. Pol could feel the heat.
“A woman magician,” another said. The attackers stood rooted to the cathedral’s floor.
“Three,” Shira said as she froze the remaining four men.
Pol ran to the priests. They hadn’t been killed, but they needed treatment. Pol hadn’t used his healing powers in weeks, but he went to work and healed broken bones, and even had to repair some internal bleeding. The priests groaned, even though both were unconscious when he began his work.
A family walked in the door, now open, and gawked at the scene.
“Fetch guards!” Pol said.
One of the priests regained consciousness. “I thought I was dead.” He looked at the two attackers on the floor. One was dead, and the other nearly so as he bled out from his throat. “They must be from the guild.”
“Does this happen often?” Shira said.
The priest shook his head. “I’ve heard of attacks, but not in the cathedral.”
Guards rushed in along with a gaggle of priests, Homan among them. He looked surprised when he saw Pol conversing with one of his priests.
“What happened?”
“These men attacked your priests,” Loa said. “We took care of them.”
Pol looked over and saw a little pride in the Shardian’s face.
“Magicians,” Pol said. “They threw a few spells at us, but we were prepared.” Pol looked over at one of the men and retrieved his knife. The man had died.
“What of these standing men?”
“I’m sure you would like to talk to them, Prelate,” Shira said.
He walked in front of each man and nodded. “I will.”
“He healed me, Prelate Homan,” the priest said. “I’m sure I was dying.”
Pol straightened up. “Seekers generally pick up a few healing techniques,” Pol said.
“I guess,” Homan said.
“There are enough of you people here. We will leave you to your investigation. I imagine the magician’s guild was creating a little leverage before the Council meetings.”
Homan looked at Pol for a few moments. “I think you are right. We will discuss this more in the morning…if you are willing.”
Pol managed a smile. “We are.” He made sure he included Shira and Loa. He wouldn’t enjoy the walk back to the palace after he had killed two men, but then he remembered that he had saved two priests, too.
The three of them moved through the expanding crowd streaming into the cathedral and made it back to the palace.
“Did you shield us?” Shira asked with narrowed eyes.
“As a precaution, only,” Pol said, ready for punishment. He closed his eyes, but found moist lips pressing against his cheek.
“Thank you. I didn’t even think.”
“Neither did I when Pua died. I vowed never to let that happen again. I was just being considerate.”
“No nagging?”
Pol shook his head. “Would I ever nag you?”
Shira kissed him quickly on the lips. “Yes. Thank you, again.”
Loa smiled at Shira and kissed Pol’s other cheek. “You are our hero,” she said.
“My hero,” Shira corrected. At least the two young women laughed at Shira’s comment.
~~~
Chapter Twenty-Two
~
Pol sat at breakfast with Loa and Shira when Captain Deaz, looking a little worn for so early in the morning, accompanied Homan and joined them in the visitors dining room.
“We suspect the guild. You killed two magicians. The others were hired by the magicians.”
“Were there other attacks last night?” Pol asked.
Deaz nodded his head. “We’ve heard of three so far in Bastiz. All at small churches sprinkled around the city.”
“The same men?” Pol asked.
Deaz raised his eyebrows. “Could be. I’ll have my men check the time of the attacks.”
“What are you thinking?” Homan said.
“Just filling in a pattern. I’m wondering how committed the magicians guild was to the attacks. If they were coordinated with different groups, I think you’ll have a larger problem than if there was one set attacking everyone.”
“You are thinking of protection?” Deaz said.
“Maybe that’s what it is. I don’t know. Sometimes you just need more data to determine the pattern, and sometimes that data changes what you thought you understood.”
Deaz shook his head. “I think that is too philosophical for me.”
“But you do comprehend?”
Deaz nodded.
Homan just looked on and smiled. “Maybe I need to send young men to the Empire for training.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Ranno Wissingbel in Yastan. He is an aide to the Emperor, and the Seekers work at his direction.”
“You will give me his information before I leave this table?”
Pol smiled, now that he had pawned off a politically ticklish request to the Emperor’s Instrument.
“I can use your name?” Homan said.
Pol nodded. “For what it’s worth, I’m not at the top of the Emperor’s Seeker list.”
Homan peered at Pol. “You should be. Would each of you mind telling me what happened last night in your own words?”
Loa and Shira gave their own particular perspective of the evening, and Pol went through his actions one last time, trying to emphasize the girls’ contributions.
Homan ran through their statements. “So you can see through locks?”
Shira had let that one slip.
“It’s also how I heal,” Pol said, trying to change the subject. “I see inside of things. I think of it as an extension of the external pattern that I see. Once you can detect what is wrong, then you can tweak it back to normal. My healing works on injuries, but I can’t do a thing for illnesses.”
“The magicians guild has healers, too, but they can’t do what you can.”
Pol nodded. “I learned from likely the best healer on Eastril, maybe Phairoon.”
“Fadden called you a prodigy. I think you are much more.”
“Not me,” Pol said. Shira kicked him underneath the table.
Pol tried not to react, but Homan’s eyes drifted to Shira, and he smiled.
“Interesting. Now, this Ranno Wissingbel’s address.” Homan shoved a paper and pencil towards Pol.
~
The timing of the beatings supported a single group at work in Bastiz, and that fact helped break the stubbornness of the attackers, but they maintained that the magicians hired them. But Pol couldn’t really understand the magicians’ motive. Something didn’t fit, but since he couldn’t figure it out, he didn’t mention it to anybody.
Fadden caught Pol and Shira walking through the Palace gardens in the sun.
“So while we were besotted, you two and Loa save two priests and uncover a vicious political strategy. Is that it?”
Shira shrugged. “If you and Captain Deaz are unable, others have to rise to the challenge.”
Fadden’s smile faded. “If you weren’t targets of the magician’s guild before, you are now. I wouldn’t go around gloating.”
Pol looked at Shira. He had felt pretty good about his accomplishment the previous night, but now Pol wasn’t so sure. “Should I have let the priests die?”
Fadden shook his head. “You know better than that. I just want to make sure we are all prepared. Does the attack change the pattern, in your humble estimation?”
Pol didn’t like Fadden’s implication that Pol was arrogant, but was he? “It’s not my humble estimation. It might. The motive, in my mind, is elusive. I think this just emphasizes the high stakes involved. If Homan discovered an influence on the attacks outside of Fistyra, I think that would clarify the possibilities. Do you agree?”
Fadden looked at both of them. “I don’t have the political grounding that you two have. I’m a swordsman first, and then a magician. You both cut your teeth living in nasty political situations. That said, I agree, since I’m not without some mental capability. It doesn’t matter who provoked the violence. I don’t see the attack benefitting Homan or King Ricord.”
“We still don’t know if Namion successfully got a revolt going in South Parsimol,” Shira said.
“Yes, we do,” Fadden said. “King Ricord has just gotten word that the Pastor has been chased out of Demina. The revolution is going, but we don’t know if it has been successful. The information is weeks old.”
“There isn’t a unified south,” Shira said.
“Does Botarra need South Parsimol?” Pol said. “Has Botarra ever ruled Fistyra?”
Fadden nodded. “Half a millennia ago, but that only lasted through a short dynasty. Fistyra has been independent, if you want to call it that, ever since.”
Pol reached back into his history lessons from a few years ago in Borstall. “If the Pontifer wants to stir up his people to retake lands they once had, he is still a danger to Fistyra.”
“Is he that cynical?” Fadden said.
“You should be able to answer that better than either of us,” Shira said.
Fadden sat down on a garden bench. He looked at his hands and then up at Pol and Shira. “He is.”
~
King Ricord strutted out to the palace courtyard to see his Prelate off. Pol and his group stood by their new horses. The King had gifted them with clothes in the style of both Bossom and Fistyra. With full provisions, that meant that they now had two packhorses to carry their additional things.
Their stay in Bastiz had extended to two weeks. Fadden had progressed to Bossomian lessons, which Pol found the easiest to learn, since Fistyran and Bossomian languages shared a more common ancestry. Homan had even taken to talking to them in Bossomian from time to time in the past few days while they prepared for the council.
The Prelate merited a carriage and fifty soldiers as protectors, as well as a contingent of twenty priests. Some of them looked as fit as the soldiers. Pol wondered if there were magicians among them. The Prelate had admitted as much the night before since he was more circumspect previously.
“Be wary while you travel. Although you’ll be closer to Bossom’s border than to Bastiz, don’t
look for any help,” the King reminded Homan. The Fistyran monarch looked nervous.
“Worry not, Your Highness, I have more than soldiers and priests protecting me, at least as I travel towards Malcia.”
The King commanded the column to move forward.
Fadden told the group to mount. Pol led, riding with Shira, followed by Paki and Fadden, and Loa and Kell brought up the rear. Behind them twenty soldiers followed with three supply wagons.
Homan had told them that they wouldn’t be spending nights in the open, but it was always a good practice to be prepared. The soldiers and priests would be camping outside the cities and towns that they passed.
Pol agreed with Homan’s caution. He had prepared more of the metal rods and had five bundles of ten of them in his bags and two on his person. He hadn’t lost any of his Shinkyan knives for a long while and made sure he had six or so on him, as well. Fadden had insisted on a chainmail shirt for Loa, so they all wore protection as they took off for Malcia, which was more than a week away.
After a while, Pol looked back at Bastiz in the distance. It looked better from the land than it did from the sea, he thought. A soldier interrupted his sightseeing.
“The Prelate would like a word, Sir Cissert.”
Did Pol develop a title while in Bastiz? He smiled and said farewell to Shira and followed the soldier up along the column to Homan’s carriage. Pol climbed into the carriage while it was moving.
“You asked for me?”
Pol’s heart nearly stopped. An old acquaintance sat next to Homan. Namion smiled at Pol.
“I see you’ve survived rather well without me,” the Seeker said.
Homan straightened out his dark red robe. “Namion brought word to us about the state of South Parsimol’s revolution.”
“I can think of no one better,” Pol said, eyeing a man Pol did not consider a friend.
“I see you rescued Shira from the Hole. That actually helped my cause, since I started a rumor that a South Parsimolian carried out the rescue. The Pontifer’s Hounds had to split up and head west to Demina and east to the Fistyran border. I heard they were bitterly disappointed Shira couldn’t be found.”
