The Tattooed Duchess (A Fire Beneath the Skin Book 2)

by Victor Gischler

  She felt the spell hit her, like a blast of wind that tingled with eldritch energy. Immediately she felt as though she were made of lead. The strength from the bull tattoo kicked in to compensate, but she felt herself being pulled down to the ground, like the sudden increased weight of her would sink her into the soft ground up to her knees.

  Fighting the spell was again draining her spirit. Instead of running, she turned to fight.

  The riders pursued but kept their distance, letting the wizards do the work. The one with the moustaches kept chanting, maintaining the spell.

  Rina flung her sword at him.

  It flashed end over end. With the bull’s strength behind it, the sword closed the distance in an eyeblink. The two men on the horse barely had time to dodge aside, the wizard yelling and tumbling from the horse, hitting the ground with a dull thud. He seemed unhurt, but his concentration had been shattered, and he’d lost control of the spell.

  Rina felt the weight fall away from her. She ran.

  Toward them.

  Attack felt better than flight. It felt right.

  It felt good.

  Four other riders surged past the wizards, charging her.

  Rina ran and jumped, leaping into the saddle behind the first rider before he even knew what was happening. She grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed, felt and heard the bone snapped. She tossed the corpse aside and grabbed the reins, wheeling the horse around to face the others. The others turned their horses to run.

  Rina stood in the saddle, perfectly balanced, and leapt from one horse to the next, knocking the rider out of his saddle. She grabbed a dagger from the man’s belt as he fell, turned, and let it fly.

  The blade buried to the hilt in another warrior’s eye, and he went down screaming.

  She turned toward the other wizard.

  The warrior with the eye patch shouted over his shoulder at the round-faced spell caster. “Do something, you fat idiot!”

  Rina spurred the horse straight at them.

  She had to give the fat wizard credit. The terror on his face was plain, but he hung in, carving magical symbols in the air, spitting out the words of whatever spell he’d picked from inside his brain.

  It didn’t hit her physically as the last spell had. It was more a blow to her mind. The world blurred. As heavy as her limbs were before was how her mind felt now, clouded and sluggish. Everything slowed.

  Darkness seeped in from all sides and then she was floating and—

  —then the world—

  —sight, sound, touch—

  —vanished.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Brasley stood in the smoking ruins of the camp, holding his horse’s reins. The wounded were still being carried to the overworked surgeon’s tent. The sun had been up less than an hour. He watched Talbun and Hark approach, also leading horses, careful to step around the dead bodies.

  It was starting to smell bad. It would get worse as the sun climbed higher.

  Talbun’s tent had burned along with all of her possessions, but she’d managed to scrounge some clothing, men’s tan breeches tucked into loose-fitting boots. A cream-colored man’s shirt, cinched at the waist with a belt. She still had the dagger she’d picked up during the battle, hanging in a sheath from her belt. A dark-green cloak, clasped at her throat and thrown open, hood back.

  Give her a bow and quiver and she’d look more like a poacher than a wizard, Brasley thought. A very pretty poacher.

  The bishop was decked out again in his full plate armor. He had a grim look on his face. His squire had been slain during the battle.

  They stood in a small circle among the dead. Some of the tents still burned, and black smoke wafted past them.

  “Did you find out about Rina?” Brasley asked.

  “Nobody has seen her,” Talbun said. “And a woman’s body would stand out among the dead.”

  “The fires. Maybe . . .” Brasley didn’t want to complete the thought.

  “I checked her tent,” Talbun said. “It’s not one of the ones that burned. And all her things are still there. They’ve taken her.”

  Brasley shook his head. “No. I mean, how? With what she can do, how’s it possible?”

  “Magic.”

  Magic. Well, she’s a wizard. Magic is probably her answer to everything.

  They all let that sink in a moment.

  “What did you find out, Bishop Hark?” Brasley asked.

  “Inshaw is dead,” Hark said. “The senior captain is taking command. He seems less a fool than Inshaw, at least. He’s ordered the banquet tables and other useless gear abandoned, so they can make a faster march to Kern.”

  “They don’t intend to pursue the Perranese?” Brasley asked.

  “It appears not,” Hark said.

  “Then it’s just us,” Brasley said.

  Talbun and the bishop exchanged glances.

  Brasley frowned. “Okay, is there a reason we wouldn’t go after her?”

  “We don’t even know she’s still alive,” Hark said.

  “They could have killed her here,” Brasley said. “Why kill her, then haul off her body?”

  “A fair point.”

  “The better point is that there are a few hundred of them,” Talbun said, “and only three of us.”

  “Are you a wizard or not?” Brasley said crossly.

  “And what would you know about it, boy?” Something fierce and impatient lit her eyes. “I’ve taken on armies in my day, but I’ve always chosen the time and manner of such confrontations.” She gestured at her borrowed clothes. “I’m not exactly in top form right now.”

  Some wizard. Can’t go into battle without the right outfit.

  “Let’s not bicker.” The bishop sounded weary. “The question still lies before us. What shall we do?”

  Talbun sighed. “There’s something important—critically important—at the Great Library in Tul-Agnon. I think Rina would want me to fetch it. If it’s even possible. It’s one of the reasons we set out from Klaar in the first place.”

  “Whatever you find is pointless without Rina,” Brasley said.

  Talbun hesitated. “Perhaps.”

  “Look, I’ll just go myself then,” Brasley said. “And you can do whatever you want.”

  “No,” Talbun said. “You have to come with me. You know how to negotiate the nobility. She told me she has faith in your ability to talk fast and to trick your way along. Also, I’ve been away from court politics for nearly a century, and we’ll need help talking our way into the library. It’s why she wanted to bring you.”

  “I thought it was because she trusted me.”

  The wizard shrugged. “That too.”

  “I’m not just abandoning her.”

  “And if you can track them, and if you catch them, and if she’s still alive, what do you hope to accomplish against so many?” Talbun asked.

  “I don’t know. Something. I can hang back and wait for an opportunity,” Brasley said. “Or find her and come back for some of these king’s men to help me get her back. Anything is better than trying nothing.”

  “I’ll go,” Hark said.

  Brasley blinked at him. “You’ll go what?”

  “I’ll go after her,” Hark said. “That many men will leave an obvious trail. It won’t be difficult to catch up.”

  “And then what?” Brasley asked.

  “Same as you. I’ll think of something.”

  “It’s a good compromise,” Talbun said quickly, trying to bring the subject to a conclusion.

  Brasley rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I don’t like it.”

  “Let me go.” There was an urgent sincerity in the bishop’s voice. “I pledged to help her, and I don’t feel like I’ve been very helpful so far.”

  A pause. Brasley briefly met the bishop’s eyes. A curt nod.

  “It’s settled then,” Talbun said. “The direct route is through the wilderness to Tul-Agnon, but going to Merridan and then taking the river up i
s faster.” She turned to Hark. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Bring her back,” Brasley said.

  “I’ll do my best,” Hark said.

  “I’ll tell Becham we’ll be joining his party for the capital.” Talbun led her horse away.

  “Bishop.”

  Hark looked up. “Baron Hammish?”

  This time Brasley held the man’s gaze. “I don’t want to hear you’ll do your best. I want to hear that you’re bringing her back, that you’ll find a way.”

  “As long as there’s life left in my body,” Hark said, “I’ll bring her back.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Sherrik’s waterfront roiled with chaos.

  The duke’s ships had escorted the Witch of Kern into port. Tosh and all aboard had breathed a sigh of relief when the ships had appeared to drive away the Perranese raiders. The joy had evaporated rapidly upon seeing the turmoil of the Sherrik wharves. The few ships still in port were scrambling to provision and cast off before they were trapped by the inbound Perranese fleet.

  Rumors spread through the waterfront like a virus. The Perranese had five hundred ships. A thousand ships. Two thousand. They were coming to burn the city. To loot the city. To enslave the population. To rape all the women. To murder everyone.

  Under normal circumstances, the Sherrik waterfront saw a thousand ships coming and going each day, trade from all coasts, exotic gems and curiosities up from the Red City, spices from as far as Fyria. Sherrik grew fat on the tariffs. Now the port hosted just over twoscore ships, stragglers frantic to push off and be gone before the city came under siege. Even with so few ships in port, the piers were crowded and hectic. Scared citizens attempting to book passage on the last ship out. Opportunistic hucksters selling provisions at five times the normal price. Desperate ship captains trying to find qualified hands to fill the gaps in their crews.

  Sherrik was a city teetering on the edge of war, and the last of the rats scurried to desert what they suspected was a sinking ship.

  Between the waterfront and the city proper were the great stone walls that rose sixty feet high and circled all of Sherrik. Seven cobblestone roads led from the waterfront through seven arched gates and into the city. On a normal day, trade goods streamed at a steady rate through all seven portals. Now only the middle gate was open, the portcullises lowered and iron doors closed on the other six. Any minute the city would seal itself.

  Tosh pushed a handcart with four barrels of water on it. There was an additional barrel filled with rum, which he planned to sample immediately upon escaping this madness. Alem followed him closely with another handcart and another three barrels of water and a case of hardtack and beef jerky of dubious quality.

  Barazz had sent them into the city to gather whatever provisions they could, the priority being water. They could go on half rations, but they couldn’t make it to the Red City without water. Tosh and his people had gone to the center of town, where water could be had for free at a community well.

  However, they’d had to pay outlandish prices for the barrels and the handcarts.

  They passed through the middle gate and headed down the pier to the Witch of Kern. Maurizan and Tosh’s girls flanked them, hoping swords and daggers and tough glares would discourage anyone who wanted the barrels.

  This place is minutes from full-blown panic, Tosh thought. We’ve got to get back on the ship and get out of here.

  They passed a fat, sluggish cargo ship, and Tosh thought they’d made it. The Witch of Kern was in the next berth.

  Then a half dozen burly sailors stepped out to block them.

  “How much for the barrels?” The leader was tall and tan, gold hoops in his ears. “We’ll give you double whatever you paid.”

  Kalli’s hand fell to her sword hilt.

  “Thanks anyway,” Tosh said. “We’re not selling.”

  The sailor with the gold hoops put his hand on one of the barrels. “I’m not asking. Maybe we take them for nothing.”

  “And maybe you’ll lose that fucking hand, cocksucker,” Tosh said.

  The men behind the leader with the gold hoops stirred and grumbled, pulling short knives and belaying pins.

  Shit. Sixty more seconds and we’d be on the ship. Now it has to get ugly.

  “Tough talk for a man with a bunch of pretty-girl bodyguards,” Gold Hoops said.

  Maurizan drew her daggers. “You die first. For water. Is that how you want to be remembered?”

  He grinned at her. “Maybe we’ll take you and the barrels. It gets lonely at sea.”

  There was a tense moment. Tosh could feel it; the air itself tightened, the two parties facing each other on the pier, coiled to strike, muscles taut. In the next second, he’d hear the hiss of blades drawn from sheaths, and they’d be at it.

  Instead he heard a booming voice from down the pier. “Stand aside, you men.”

  The one with the gold hoops turned to see Barazz fast walking toward them, his hand on the hilt of a sheathed cutlass. Ten members of his crew strode behind them, all meaning business, naked blades in their hands. Barazz’s message was clear. Get out of the way or get killed.

  Gold Hoops gestured to his men to stand back, a sneering grin on his face. “Sure. No problem here. We were just talking.”

  Tosh hurriedly pushed the cart past them, Alem and the others following. Crewmen took over the barrels and began hauling them up the gangplank.

  “Thanks for fetching these,” Barazz said to Tosh.

  “I wish it could be more.”

  “It’s enough to get us to the Red City,” Barazz said. “How bad is it in there?”

  “Bad,” Tosh said. “I guess a lot of people have fled the city because they’re starting to loot the empty houses. Have you ever been in a city under siege? A long one?”

  “No,” said the ship captain.

  “Neither have I,” Tosh said. “But I’ve heard stories. If it goes on too long, they’ll eat the dogs and cats first. Then rats. Then each other. I hope we’re not sticking around.”

  “We’ll shove off as soon as these barrels are loaded.”

  “Suits me,” Tosh said. “A shame. I always wanted to see Sherrik. Just not like this. Maybe someday I’ll get back this way and—”

  A surge in the crowd noise drew their attention back to the city walls.

  The crowd boiled around the last open city gate, people pushing and shoving. Screams. Panic.

  The chain-link clank of the portcullis lowering rose above the crowd noise and thunked into place like the final nail in a coffin. The people went mad, the frenzy redoubling as the iron doors thudded closed behind the portcullis. Sherrik was officially sealed. People inside would stay there. People outside would have to fend for themselves.

  Suddenly cut off from the safety of the city walls, the hysterical crowd turned their attention to their last possible refuge.

  The ships.

  The mob stormed down the pier like a living thing of a thousand seething parts. Men and women with hastily packed bags and bundles on their shoulders. They pushed their way to the fat cargo ship in the first berth and attempted to go up the gangplank. Armed sailors stood in their way at the top. Shouting. People holding up bags of money. Pushing. Threats.

  The first man knocked off the gangplank sparked the rest of the mob to push forward. More sailors appeared to push them back. A woman fell and then another man. The crowd pushed past the sailors blocking the top of the gangplank and soon crawled over the deck like ants. Weapons were drawn. Blood spilled.

  “Get that last barrel aboard,” Barazz shouted. “We’re going. Now.”

  Already some on the ground were looking to the next ship.

  They were about to pull up the gangplank when the ruffian with the gold hoops in his ears and his men appeared at the bottom. “Take us.”

  “That a joke?” Barazz asked.

  “We know you’re shorthanded,” Gold Hoops said. “Don’t be stupid. We’re all experienced hands.�
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  “Who’s in charge?”

  “I am,” Gold Hoops said. “These men’ll do as I tell ’em.”

  Barazz turned to look up at the rigging. He waved his hand, then pointed at Gold Hoops.

  A crossbow bolt shot from the crow’s nest and buried with a thuk in Gold Hoops’ chest. He grabbed at it, eyes wide, stumbling backward, halting steps before he fell and tumbled off the other side of the pier and into the water.

  Barazz repeated his question to the other five men. “Who’s in charge?”

  “You are,” said one of the smart ones.

  “Then cast us off and get up here.”

  Within seconds the gangplank had been hauled up and they’d pushed off. Barazz shouted at the men in the rigging. He wanted full sail and out of this harbor with all possible speed.

  The crowds lined the pier now, shouting and waving for the Witch of Kern to come back. A woman held up a baby for all on the ship to see.

  “Can’t we take them?”

  Tosh looked to see Alem had joined him at the railing. He waved at the crowd, all of them along the pier and up and down the wharf. “All of them? There are thousands.”

  “We could take some.”

  “How do you choose?” Tosh asked. “Who lives and who dies? There’s a war starting. It will get much uglier than this.”

  Somehow a fire had started on the cargo ship. Black smoke filled the air. Some of the men and women on the pier leapt into the water, trying to swim after the Witch of Kern.

  “I feel sick,” Alem said.

  “Well,” Tosh said, “you have to be alive to feel sick.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Tchi sat on his horse and watched the three riders approach.

  “You should kill her now.” Yano sat on the horse next to Tchi’s, also watching the riders come.

  “If we have to, we will,” Tchi said. “Right now we don’t have to.”

  Yano turned and spat. A moment later he said, “When the wizards sent the demon and that great flying lizard, that was to kill her, wasn’t it?”

  Tchi bit off a sharp retort. Yano would take Tchi’s losing his temper as some petty victory. “I saw an opportunity and took it.”