Ink Mage

by Victor Gischler

  The final two came in slowly, spreading apart in an attempt to get on both sides of her. They were wary now. Rina hadn’t been the easy prey they’d expected.

  She braced herself, watching both of them in her peripheral vision.

  “Enough,” came a new voice from behind her.

  She didn’t turn, keeping the two men with scimitars in front of her. She judged the new voice as too far away for a sword swing. If he attacked, she’d be able to turn in time.

  The two men lowered their swords.

  “Pick up your brothers and go.”

  The two men picked up their fallen comrades and dragged them away.

  Rina sheathed her rapier and turned to face the newcomer. She spared a glance for her friends. Alem stood behind her horse. He’d cocked his crossbow and had loaded it with a bolt. Likely he’d thought to assist her, but she was glad he hadn’t fired into the melee. He wasn’t that good a shot and would just as likely have hit her as one of her opponents. Still, it was the thought that counted, she supposed.

  Maurizan leaned forward in the saddle, her hand cupped at her side in a way that Rina now recognized to mean she was holding the hilt of the dagger stashed up her sleeve. With a flick of her wrist she could send it flying or slip it in between a pair of ribs. Rina hadn’t seen her do it, but she’d watch the girl move and handle the blade and knew the gypsy girl had it in her, had maybe even used the dagger before to some bloody end. Whatever Rina’s opinion of Maurizan, she had to give her credit. She’d been ready to fight.

  The voice of the newcomer didn’t match his looks. His commands to the men had been confident and strong. But his face was lined and old like some ancient brown tree, his hair and beard long and white. He wore the same folded, draped robes as the others in the village, but instead of a vague brown or beige color, his clothes were a glossy deep green. A silver pendant of a snake wrapped around an eye hung on a chain around his neck.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Rina Veraiin,” she said. “We’re travelers. Your men wanted that fight, not me.”

  The old man nodded. “I think you must not be familiar with the etiquette of the Nomad Lands. Water is life. This is our well. Steal horses or gold and you would not take as much from us.”

  “I told them I’d pay.”

  “You cannot drink gold,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”

  The old man nodded slightly. “I accept your apology. Go in peace, and we will think no more of it.”

  “We don’t want to stay where we aren’t welcome,” she said. “We’ll go on.”

  The old man shook his head sadly. “No. You cannot. I am a priest of the Kashar. The people in this village serve the mountain. It is forbidden place for outsiders. You can turn and go back the way you came, but you cannot go on.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Tosh looked up to see Mother enter the common room. It wasn’t an unprecedented sight, but it was unusual. There were no clients at this late hour. As she strode toward Tosh, Mother raised an eyebrow at a pair of the girls, who stood immediately and left.

  She stopped in front of Tosh. “A word, if you please.”

  Tosh nodded. “Of course.”

  “Who’s the best?” she asked.

  Tosh understood what she was asking. The obvious answer was Tenni. She had trained with the sword the longest and had a natural aptitude. Most of all, she was driven. She wanted to learn. It would not be much of a lie to tell Mother that Darshia was best, or even Prinn. Both girls had come a long way. Tosh would be proud to stand next to either of them on the battlefield, and whatever Mother had in mind, Tosh wished more than anything to keep Tenni as far away from it as possible.

  Except Tenni wouldn’t tolerate that.

  And it wasn’t in Tosh to lie to Mother.

  “Tenni.”

  Mother nodded as if she’d already known the answer. “Bring her. And a pot of tea.”

  Tosh went to the kitchen. A girl named Urma was there, sixteen, too young to be working at the Wounded Bird, but that wasn’t true really. There were girls on the street who’d started younger. Urma had rich, brown hair, freckles and a sweet face. Tosh also noticed she had white, straight teeth, a feature most of the brothel’s clients overlooked when they came in wanting big tits and a round ass. Tosh couldn’t stomach rotten teeth in a woman, but who was he to say what primed another man’s pump?

  When Tosh stepped into the kitchen, Urma abruptly moved away from the jar that held the sweetbreads, eyes going wide and innocent, hands clasped behind her back.

  Tosh didn’t really care if the girl filched a snack. “Where’s Tenni?”

  A shrug.

  “Get her,” he snapped.

  She bolted from the kitchen.

  Over the weeks, Tosh had become something of an authority at the brothel. The younger girls hopped when he gave a command. Even veterans like Darshia and Prinn usually honored his requests without question. It wasn’t a responsibility he’d asked for or wanted. It had just happened. Even the bruisers Lubin and Boon followed his lead.

  Tosh ripped the strong, black tea leaves into shreds and dropped them into one of the good ceramic pots, poured kettle water in on top and covered it with the lid. He put pot and cups on a tray and carried the lot back into the common room where Tenni sat across from Mother at the center table. He poured each of them a cup and sat.

  Mother sipped, squinted at Tosh. “Have you told anyone what we discussed?”

  “No.”

  Tosh glanced at Tenni. He knew her well enough to read her face. She was curious but also slightly annoyed that he knew something she didn’t.

  “I’m glad you know how to keep a secret,” Mother said.

  He hadn’t told anyone because he didn’t want it to be true. Maybe Mother would come to her senses and they could all forget about her reckless plan. He should have known better. Mother didn’t forget, didn’t forgive and didn’t yield.

  “Since Lord Giffen began his puppet rule, the Perranese have relieved him of his duties as steward,” Mother said. “Chen has filled all vacant administrative positions with his own bureaucrats. A self-important stick insect of a man named Dra’Kreeto has been appointed Chamberlain for Castle and Keep and performs all of Giffen’s old duties as steward … just at a slightly different rank.”

  They sipped tea.

  Mother’s eyes flicked up to Tenni and Tosh over her teacup. “Does either of you know the man?”

  Both shook their heads no.

  “No matter,” Mother said. “Urma knows what he looks like and will show you tomorrow. I want both of you to recognize the man on sight.”

  Tosh frowned. “He’s one of Urma’s clients?”

  “No,” Mother said. “But Urma’s mother is a barmaid at a tavern near the castle, a place called the Bawdy Baron. Have you been there?”

  “Too classy for a simple soldier,” Tosh said.

  “Dra’Kreeto is a frequent patron,” Mother said. “After Urma shows you what he looks like, watch him a few days. See when he comes and goes to and from the tavern. It’s my understanding he has armed men with him at all times. Find out how many and how well armed.”

  “What’s this man to us?” Tosh asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Mother said. “After you observe him a few days and discover when he might be vulnerable, I want you to murder him.”

  Silence stretched, only for a moment, but Tosh suddenly felt heavy. The room seemed to darken.

  Tosh spread his hands. “But why?”

  “I’ll do it,” Tenni said.

  Mother ignored the girl and narrowed her eyes at Tosh. “In a very short time, you’ve made yourself a valuable addition to our family here at the Wounded Bird, Tosh. But I’m the boss, the captain, the queen, however you want to put it. When I need to explain something, I will. Right now I don’t. You don’t have to like it. You also don’t have to stay. Are we clear?”

  Tosh swallowed hard. “We’r
e clear.” The idea of being turned out in the thick of winter didn’t appeal. The thought of being separated from Tenni was worse.

  Mother’s eyes shifted to Tenni. “You’ll do what you’re told and when.”

  Tenni averted her gaze. “Yes, Mother.”

  Mother patted her hair, exhaled slowly, composing herself. “See what you’ve done? You made me lose my temper.”

  “Sorry, Mother,” Tosh said.

  “It’s not your fault.” Mother sighed. “So much to do and so little time. It wears on the nerves, doesn’t it?”

  Yeah, and scheming to murder a Perranese official is as soothing as warm milk.

  “Oh, I almost forgot to mention,” Mother said. “Naturally, it has to look like an accident.”

  * * *

  “I demand to see General Chen at once!” Giffen’s face was red, a light sheen of sweat from running up the stairs to the general’s—formerly the duke’s—private office.

  The prim functionary sitting at the table and frowning didn’t impress Giffen in the least. Giffen had spent his share of time as a prim functionary himself. He could muster just as much self-importance and bluster as the general’s private secretary.

  However, the two guards who stepped up to bar his way couldn’t be ignored. No amount of bluster would get him past their blades.

  “I told you, Lord Giffen,”—he said Lord as if they all knew the title to be a fiction—“that the General is in conference with his officers at the moment and not to be disturbed. If you’d care to wait—”

  Giffen had just drawn breath to harangue the petty functionary with fresh obscenities when the heavy wooden door of Chen’s office swung open. A dozen Perranese officers flowed out, talking among themselves in their own tongue, walking past Giffen and shouldering him out of the way as if he were a surplus article of furniture.

  When the officers had passed into the corridor, Chen stepped out, frowned. “Giffen. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Giffen said, “General, did you really send an expeditionary force into the lowlands?”

  “No.”

  Giffen blew out a sigh of relief.

  “It was an attack force,” Chen said.

  Giffen’s face turned a new and interesting shade of crimson. “But why? This is reckless! All of our secrecy has been undermined! You can’t possibly think—”

  Chen calmly held up a finger, and Giffen clapped his mouth shut.

  “Before you say something regretful,” said the general, “come into my office. I’ll explain.”

  Giffen sneered past the secretary and into the office. Chen shut the door behind them.

  Giffen opened his mouth, but a sharp glance from Chen shut it again.

  “Do you think me a fool?” Chen asked.

  Is this a trick question?

  “It’s just …” Giffen cleared his throat. “On the surface, it would seem that sending a large force out of Klaar would be … rash. Our plan has been to keep your presence on Helvan soil a secret until reinforcements can arrive in the spring.”

  “The secret is out,” Chen said. “Plans change.”

  Giffen’s eyes widened. “What do you mean the secret is out?”

  “It was a hopeless ambition in the first place, if you ask me,” Chen said. “The idea that we could land an invasion force on the continent and not be discovered is ludicrous. I told them so at the war council.”

  Giffen paced. “The king will send troops. We’re undone.”

  “Calm yourself.” Chen’s patience was strained. “Word has reached Merridan of our arrival, but this contingency has been foreseen.”

  “Foreseen?” Giffen clenched his fists. “Damn it, what do you mean?”

  Chen spun and advanced upon Giffen, jaw set and eyes sharp. “I’m in no mood, Giffen. I’ll explain, but if you don’t like it, it’s not my concern. You understand?”

  Giffen fought down his scorn. “Explain then.”

  “It was always known the gamble could fail,” Chen said. “In fact, it has mostly succeeded and only failed at the very end.”

  Giffen rolled his eyes. He should have known he couldn’t count on these foreigners. In Giffen’s eyes, the plan was simple. They would use Klaar as a foothold and then move on with the spring thaw. Giffen would be left to rule the duchy without interference. But if Helva knew of the invaders, then an army might be marching to repel them even now.

  “What do you intend?” Giffen asked.

  Chen said, “The only thing that matters is that I follow orders. It is by a happy circumstance that my orders coincide with my preference. I’m a battle general. Garrison duty doesn’t suit me. I’m glad for a chance to press forward.”

  “And for what?” asked Giffen. “You can’t conquer Helva with the men you have now.”

  Chen smiled patiently. “Of course not. That was never the plan.” He gestured to a table on which there was a map of the kingdom spread wide. Both men leaned over the map and peered intently.

  “My orders are specific.” With a forefinger, Chen traced a trail from Klaar down into the lowlands of Helva. “These lands are sparsely populated with scattered villages. I’ve promoted Tchi to Commander and sent him with eight hundred men to seize the region. There are no major townships or cities, so the force should be sufficient.”

  “It doesn’t matter if there aren’t major cities,” Giffen said. “The king will still see it as an incursion.”

  “Of course,” Chen said. “We’re counting on it.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Our spies at court in Merridan tell us the king now knows we occupy Klaar,” Chen said. “What our spies do not tell us is what the king might do about it. Seizing a chunk of the lowlands gives us a bargaining chip. Our diplomats can allow the king a minor political victory by demanding we withdraw, which we will do happily. We won’t leave Helva, obviously, but we’ll retreat back to Klaar, which will be enough for the king to save face. He’ll tell his courtiers the Perranese are contained in some unfashionable, backwater duchy that nobody wants to visit anyway.”

  Giffen considered. It wasn’t a terrible plan, but there were too many variables, one of which was trying to predict the king’s mood. “It won’t end there. However unpopular Klaar is at court, the duchy is still Helvan soil. The king will be obligated to take action.”

  “Yes, but later,” Chen said. “Diplomatic envoys will be sent with demands. Responses will be carefully composed and sent back. More envoys will be sent for clarification. Negotiations will stretch into weeks and months. Helva has known peace for years. Its people have grown soft. War is an uncomfortable business and nobody except a few saber-rattling hawks will be eager for conflict. They don’t know what we know. The Perranese Emperor is committed to conquest. The diplomats will talk and talk, but the ships will arrive and the armies will march.”

  Chen smiled thinly. “We will have our war, and nothing can stop it.”

  * * *

  They barely made it down to the lowlands before the snows closed the pass behind them. Returning to Klaar—to the city itself—would not be possible until spring. If the column of soldiers had delayed even a few hours, departure would not have been possible.

  The first few hours of marching had been bitter and dreadful, the snow flying on a harsh, stinging wind. The weather had eased once they’d come down from the mountains.

  Tchi rode his horse up and down the column, inspecting the men. At first, Tchi had inwardly questioned General Chen’s decision to build barracks and house the men outside the city walls. But the men were the better for it—sharp, disciplined and in shape. Tchi had seen garrison troops go soft, but the general had avoided that problem admirably.

  To Tchi, eight hundred men was an awkward fighting force. Not large enough for great conquests, but still too large to move and strike quickly. But Chen had explained his mission, and Tchi had to admit it was the right force for the job.

  The first village they reached beyond Klaar’s border
had taken a look at eight hundred armed and fully armored men and had capitulated immediately. As had the four villages after that. The routine was the same every time. They would identify the mayor or village elder or whomever passed for an authority figure and have him declare in front of the assembled villagers that they were all now loyal subjects of the Perranese. Tchi’s men would then confiscate half of the village’s livestock, grain and potatoes in support of the troops.

  They’d kept killing to a minimum. Tchi wasn’t keen to leave an enraged population behind them.

  Tchi reined in the horse, pausing at the enclosed box wagon, a sort of miniature moveable fort on four wheels which rattled and shimmied along the muddy road. He resented the wagon for stealing away two of his precious horses. He’d only been allowed twenty, and they were needed for the advance scouts.

  He leaned toward the wagon, knocked on the door.

  The door opened and Prullap’s round face appeared. He and Jariko had been wrapped in furs since the trek began, huddling out of the icy wind in the wagon. The wizards were not soldiers and not expected to march. So far they had also not been very useful.

  Prullap grimaced as the cold air hit him. “What is it?”

  “We’re coming to a town,” Tchi told him. “It’s bigger than the previous villages.”

  “I’m sure your men are more than capable,” Prullap said. “You have our full confidence.”

  “I was hoping for a bit more,” Tchi said. “Scouts report a sturdy palisade around the town and a barred gate. If you could conjure something especially destructive, it would help. I’m not keen to storm the walls, and it would take time.”

  Prullap frowned. “Let me consult with Jariko. Perhaps we can come up with something.” He slammed the door shut.

  Tchi spurred his horse to a gallop and wondered just exactly when the wizards would prove their worth. Frankly, he still thought he could make better use of the horses.