Ink Mage

by Victor Gischler

  Or maybe she would.

  Tosh tensed and waited, heard soft footsteps coming around the bend in the tunnel.

  The two girls stepped tentatively around the corner. Darshia’s hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. With her was the hawkish brunette who’d lost a brother when Klaar had fallen. Prinn was her name. Both wore loose clothing and carried Perranese-style long swords

  “We’re not late, are we?” Darshia asked.

  Tosh frowned. “Late for what?”

  Darshia held up the sword. “Well … uh …”

  Tosh glared at Tenni. “Tenni!”

  “What?” Eyes wide and innocent. “Oh, them? I just thought, well, you know. The more the merrier.”

  “Have you told anyone else?”

  The girls all shook their heads quickly.

  “No one else,” Tenni said. “We promise.”

  Tosh blew out a sigh of relief. “Okay. Fine. But nobody else knows. Tenni, this is your big idea so you’re now deputy sword tutor. Start showing Prinn and Darshia the basic defensive stances, and then later—”

  More footfalls came around the bend. Tosh turned his head, saw the girl with the chubby face and sandy, frizzy hair called Freen. She was holding a sword. There were two more girls behind her.

  “Is this where we do the sword fighting?” Freen asked.

  Damn it!

  * * *

  General Chen ate at the former duke’s desk in the castle study. Chicken breast and field greens and something called a baked … what was it? Ah, yes. A potato.

  Potatoes were brilliant things. He’d also had them mashed with a heavy dose of butter and fried with salt. Sixty bushels of seed potato were already on a ship back to the emperor. He would not be surprised if such a thing changed the Imperial economy. Or maybe not. In the meantime, Chen had enjoyed potatoes with nearly every meal. Often double helpings.

  Chen felt his belly. A very thin layer of softness had formed over the middle. Had his men been indulging in the local cuisine as much as he had? Perhaps too much butter on the potatoes.

  Giffen chose that moment to enter. He nodded a slight bow to the General, and Chen gestured him to sit.

  “You’re finding the duke’s apartments comfortable?” Giffen asked.

  Chen smiled tightly. Giffen had assumed he would be moving into the duke’s rooms when he began his puppet rule of Klaar, but as they were the best rooms in the castle, naturally Chen had taken them for himself.

  He changed the subject.

  “I have not received any word from Captain Tchi’s expedition,” Chen said. “Should I be concerned?”

  Giffen shrugged. “I can’t imagine why. Look, she’s hiding someplace, probably trying not to soil her pants. Her family is dead. She has nothing. All your man Tchi needs to do is find her and shut her up before she talks to somebody.”

  Chen grunted. “Perhaps.”

  Still, if Chen did not hear from Tchi in a few more days he would have to send riders, and really, he couldn’t spare any more horses. He hated this place. And the food was making him fat. He looked at the plate in front of him. Half a potato remained.

  Chen pushed it away.

  “I am thinking of moving the garrison outside of the walls,” Chen said. “City life is making them soft. Taking Klaar was only the first step. There will be many battles ahead of us.”

  Giffen shook his head. “Really, I can’t advise that, General. The blizzards will start in a month. I don’t question the heartiness of your men, but I don’t fancy their chances in those flimsy tents.”

  “There is good timber here,” Chen said. “I will start the men building barracks. We’ll rotate a company at a time into the city to keep the peace. The population is reasonably docile, yes?”

  “Yes,” Giffen said carefully. “Klaarians are slowly accepting Perranese rule. For the most part.”

  “For the most part?”

  “The people do not like to see the labor gangs, the former soldiers,” Giffen said. “The men are in leg irons, and it’s a vivid reminder that they are a conquered people.”

  “Discontent will pass eventually.” Chen drummed his fingers on the desk. “It is decided. I will have the men begin work on the barracks immediately. It will keep them busy and keep them sharp. I don’t care for idlers in my army. ”

  “And what about our missing Captain Tchi?”

  Chen sighed. What indeed?

  * * *

  Tchi looked up from his place by the fire where he sat sharpening his sword. One of his men came through the trees toward him.

  “Did you find them?” Tchi asked.

  In answer, the warrior stepped aside and gestured to the horse he led by the reins. The bodies of five warriors were draped over the saddle.

  Tchi stood, went to the slain men, examined them, lips pursed as he thought. He’d explicitly told them to scout ahead. Nothing else. There must have been a reason for them to engage in battle. Perhaps they’d been surprised.

  It didn’t matter. They were dead. Five of the elite guard.

  “Did they encounter a superior force?” Tchi asked.

  “There’s no way to know for certain,” the warrior said. “But I examined the scene of the melee. I think it was only two, maybe three people. But the only bodies were our own men.”

  That was not encouraging news. Tchi admitted to himself he wasn’t sure what to do. He would not admit the same to the men.

  “Gather a detail of men and bury the bodies,” Tchi ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And bring me our fastest horse and best rider.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  As soon as Rina and Klarissa stepped out of the tubs, attendants appeared with soft warm towels. Young gypsy girls scurried around them, patting them dry. Rina recognized one of the faces.

  “Maurizan?”

  The girl smiled at her. “Hello, milady. I hope you are refreshed.”

  “Call me Rina. Milady doesn’t sound right. I’m not duchess of anything. Not really.”

  “You are to us,” Maurizan said.

  Maurizan sounded so utterly sincere, Rina couldn’t stop herself from smiling. And the girl showed no surprise at the elaborate tattoos on her back and shoulders. Because she knows. She understands what I am.

  “I also wanted to come see you personally,” Maurizan said. “To tell you that your friends are well. They’re at the feast and enjoying themselves.”

  “That’s good,” Rina said. “You have my thanks for making them feel welcome.”

  Maurizan tossed the towel aside and held up a robe made of some kind of soft animal fur, lined with deep green silk. It was an extravagant garment. Rina noticed another young servant girl helping Klarissa into a similar robe. I understand. They are a poor people, but Klarissa is an important person. These small luxuries show privilege. Speaking to her like this means something.

  Message received.

  “Brasley is very clever and witty,” Maurizan continued. “He’s entertaining everyone with his stories.”

  Rina rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet.”

  Maurizan helped Rina slip her arms into the sleeves. Rina pulled the robe around her, cinched it tight with a thick, braided cord. It was warm and soft and quite possibly the most comfortable thing she’d ever worn. Maurizan set a pair of ankle-high leather slippers in front of her. Rina stepped into them. Fur lined.

  Could this be what walking on clouds felt like?

  “Your clothes are being washed and will be returned to you,” Maurizan said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Uh …” Maurizan hesitated. “Alem is also doing well.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Is he … what I mean to ask is if anyone and Alem … or are you …?”

  Rina turned her gaze on the girl. She hadn’t meant to glare. It just happened.

  Maurizan backed away a half step. “Not that it’s any of my … I mean …”

  “Maurizan.” Klarissa’s voice was crisp.
<
br />   The girl’s head snapped around to look at Klarissa. “Mother?”

  “Thank you,” Klarissa said. “You may go now.”

  “Of course.” Maurizan bowed her head quickly, then turned and scurried away.

  Klarissa took Rina by the arm, led her out of the bath house. “Come. Let me show you what my gift for you entails.”

  The night was clear and cold, but Rina pulled the fur robe close, watched her breath twist away on an easy breeze. Their footfalls crunched in the snow. The bright stars overhead seemed close enough to touch.

  Klarissa stepped away and held out one arm.

  Something dove at them from the sky, a white flapping, and Rina stepped back, threw up an arm to fend off—

  An owl.

  It landed on Klarissa’s outstretched arm. A small owl with wide, golden eyes, feathers bright white and soft.

  “His name is Pontis,” Klarissa said. “He’s my familiar. There are other familiars, of course, but in my family we’ve always used birds. The tattoos bond us to them. I can see through his eyes. Sense what he senses.”

  Rina considered. “If I get the familiar tattoo, will I be bound to an owl?”

  Klarissa shrugged. “It depends. Our hunters went out late this afternoon.” She motioned for Rina to walk with her. “This way. I want you to meet someone.”

  Rina followed her down a narrow path that twisted into the trees. The limbs closed over them, creating a tunnel in the forest and blotting out the starry sky.

  The flames of a campfire flickered ahead, and when they rounded a bend the trees parted into a small clearing. A gypsy wagon with faded paint sat between two large trees. The wheels were broken, and thick vines crept up the side. The wagon hadn’t moved in a long time.

  The silhouette of a hunched figure moved around the fire, poking it with a crooked stick. As Rina approached, she saw it was an old woman with a dowager’s hump wearing the bright skirt and blouse of the gypsies. She had a bright red cloth with a tight blue floral pattern wrapped around her head and tied under her chin.

  The old woman looked up as the two women approached. “This is her?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Klarissa said. “Duchess Rina Veraiin of Klaar.”

  Rina had the sudden feeling she should bow or curtsy. She settled for a respectful nod.

  “I’m Milda. Turn around, child,” the old woman said. “Drop your robe.”

  Rina hesitated, glanced at Klarissa, who nodded for her to go ahead.

  Rina turned, opened the robe and lowered it past the small of her back. The cold air hit her skin, breaking her out in goose flesh.

  Milda traced boney fingers down Rina’s spine. “Oh, yes. This is Weylan’s work, all right.”

  Rina looked over her shoulder at the old woman. “You know him?”

  Milda gestured to Klarissa. “Show her, Daughter.”

  Klarissa turned, lowered her robe just as Rina had a moment earlier.

  Of course. She couldn’t have the Bird Familiar tattoo if she didn’t already have the spine tattoo first. Rina hadn’t seen it in the steam, and in the tub Klarissa hadn’t turned her back toward her. The ink had faded with the years, but the distinct lines and runes were clear. No wonder Klarissa seemed to know so much about Klaar. She’d been there and had known the old wizard.

  “The one down the back is called the Prime. Mother has the same ink,” Klarissa said.

  “You’ll have to take my word for it. I’ll spare you the sight.” The old woman cackled.

  Rina and Klarissa pulled up their robes and fastened them. Milda hobbled around the back of the wagon and returned a moment later carrying a wicker cage. Something fluttered within, snatching at Rina’s attention.

  The old woman beckoned. “Come and see.”

  Rina stepped forward, bent to look at the bird fluttering on its perch within the cage. It was maybe ten inches long, a bird of prey with a hooked beak, green plumage on top and white underneath. “What is it?”

  “A Forest Falcon,” she said. “It would have been nice to bring you one of the great mountain eagles, but we had little time. I think they did quite well considering the short notice.”

  “He’s magnificent,” Rina said.

  “He is young and strong,” Milda said. “If you allow me to ink the Familiar tattoo on you, then you will bond with him.”

  Rina searched the old woman’s face. “What does that mean exactly? Klarissa says I will see through his eyes.”

  “Yes. But there’s more. You’ll share a kinship. When he dies, you will feel it. You will lose a part of yourself. My familiar was a large and crafty raven. He served me a long time, but when he passed, it took me months to recover fully. In everything there is sacrifice.”

  “There is always a price,” Rina said. “Weylan told me that.” It was a relief finally to know the old mage’s name.

  “Is he tutoring you?” Milda asked.

  “No,” Rina said. “He’s dead. The wasting sickness. It took all of his power to hold it a bay, but he used that power to help me instead, and he died.” As it came out of her mouth, it sounded to Rina like a confession. How ungrateful would she be if she didn’t live up to the gift on which Weylan had spent his life?

  “I’m thankful for what you’re offering me,” Rina said solemnly. “And I accept.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Rina sat perfectly still on a small wooden stool as the old gypsy woman went about the delicate task of inking the tattoo across her face. A false move and Milda might stab her in the eye, although she seemed to have steady hands for a woman of her advanced years. Klarissa stood close, holding a candle to light her face. They sat under the stars, away from the fire so Rina wouldn’t sweat.

  Milda had already stenciled the feathers at the corners of Rina’s eyes and now worked to neatly print the lines of magical runes. She used one of the falcon’s tail feathers, shaved to needle sharpness, to work the ink into Rina’s flesh. The ink itself had been mixed with a few drops of the falcon’s blood. Milda had stirred it slowly in a ceramic bowl as she whispered ancient spells.

  In a moment of vanity, Rina wondered how the tattoo would look on her.

  Alem will think I’ve gone native.

  And why Alem’s opinion should matter, Rina couldn’t guess. But, well, it did for some reason. Brasley would of course poke fun at her, but that was to be expected. His attempts at wit hardly affected her anymore.

  The old woman sat back, tilted her head as she squinted at Rina. At last she nodded her satisfaction. “It is finished.”

  Klarissa set the candle aside and began fastening something to Rina’s left forearm. She looked down, saw it was a leather bracer, lined on the inside with lamb’s wool. Klarissa cinched the leather straps tight and buckled them.

  Milda had already trudged back to the wicker cage. She bent with a muted grunt and opened the cage door.

  “Try it,” Klarissa said.

  Rina tapped into the spirit and immediately felt the presence of the falcon. The bird sprang from the cage, flapped its wings three times rapidly for loft and then glided smoothly to Rina’s outstretched arm, tucking in its broad wings at the last second as it pulled up and gripped the leather bracer.

  There was no language spoken between her and the familiar. The bond didn’t work that way. Rather, the bird somehow sensed what Rina wanted, and she could sense the mood of the falcon, knew even now that it was getting used to her, was curious about her.

  But she knew also, even in this early stage of their bonding, that the falcon would obey.

  “How many in your tribe have the bird familiar tattoo?” Rina asked.

  “I do and my mother,” Klarissa said. “No others.”

  “Nobody else? Really?”

  “It won’t work without the Prime,” Klarissa explained. “And there are precious few wizards who know the spells. With Weylan’s passing, maybe nobody does.”

  A shame so few wizards know the secret. An army of ink mages could come in handy. Or maybe tha
t’s the point. To prevent such a thing.

  Rina closed her eyes, and the falcon instinctively flew into the air, gaining altitude quickly.

  As Klarissa had warned, her own senses were completely cut off. She now saw through the eyes of the falcon.

  Stars filled her vision, wheeled and blurred as the falcon spun, the ground coming into view. Rina’s stomach fluttered as the bird dropped and angled away across the forest. She was flying. The wind washed over her. The world spread out below. She knew both of her feet were on the ground, but the illusion was so complete it thrilled her.

  She soared.

  The falcon’s eyes were keen, even at night. But of course they would be. The bird was a predator.

  She commanded the bird to turn north without really even knowing how she did it. The falcon simply understood her wishes and obeyed. It traced the path back the way they’d come earlier when Maurizan had led them to the hidden valley.

  An orange glow in the distance. A campfire, Rina realized abruptly. She’d never seen one from this height before. The falcon dove for it, landed in a high tree branch.

  Perranese warriors and their horses. She counted at least a dozen, but there were likely more. Sentries out beyond the firelight at the very least. They were close. No more than five miles by falcon flight.

  Rina’s eyes popped open, and she turned to Klarissa. “My friends and I need to leave before first light,” she said. “I’ve seen the Perranese camp. They’re bedding down for the night, but they’ll come first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll tell my people to prepare your horses and fill the saddlebags with provisions.”

  “More gifts,” Rina said. “You and your people have been very kind.”

  Klarissa smiled warmly. “When the time is right, I’m sure you will remember us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Tosh descended the ladder into the cave below the brothel and heard the voices by the time he reached the bottom, including the high squeal of Tenni’s daughter Emmon.

  He rounded the bend and saw Emmon jumping up and down on the bed.