Ink Mage

by Victor Gischler

  And ran.

  * * *

  The world blurred.

  Her arms and legs pumped like a machine, and at times it felt like her feet barely touched the ground. She passed through tiny villages, past the alarmed, disbelieving faces of farmers not sure what they’d seen—maybe the apparition of some long-dead sorcerer riding the wind, a ghost, a trick of the light.

  She would push herself until she knew she needed rest, sleep off the road under a tree and start again as soon as she was ready. It became harder each time to rip herself away from the embrace of the spirit. Weylan’s ghostly warning rang in her head, but she ran on. She ran by starlight. She ran on through the day.

  A man could ride his horse into the ground and make it to Merridan in a little over a week.

  Rina reached the outskirts of the city in three days.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Merridan’s Central Postal Exchange was in the posh part of the city only a few blocks from the palace. Rina was acutely aware of how she looked—road weary, muddy, hair matted. Likely, she smelled too. Her appearance earned her a few suspicious glances, but maybe it was the black armor and the rapier hanging at her side that kept anyone from commenting or getting in her way.

  Walking beneath the vaulted arch of the Central Postal Exchange was like entering the frenzied palace of a foreign monarch. A long line led up to a podium on a raised dais. Runners in the livery of the Postal Exchange scurried in every direction.

  The line moved slowly. Rina looked around for another option. There was none. If she wanted to talk to an official representative of the Postal Exchange, she needed to wait in line, and seeing the looks on the faces of people on the way out, she suddenly didn’t feel very optimistic. But this is where Brasley had told her to come. It was a big city. Brasley hadn’t known exactly where he’d end up, and the Central Postal exchange was an easily identifiable landmark and a natural place to leave a message.

  Rina finally reached the head of the line, and the stuffy dignitary stared down at her over his podium. He had a long, curled moustache and wore a uniform as ostentatious as a general’s— gold piping and buttons, a brass badge of office with the King’s crest.

  “What is your business with the Central Postal Exchange?” he demanded.

  Rina lifted her chin. “I am Duchess Rina Veraiin of Klaar.” It was worth a try. Maybe a title would impress him. Maybe not. This wasn’t a backwater like Klaar. It was the capitol of the kingdom, and likely one couldn’t swing a cat without hitting a duchess or an earl or a count. “I was told to come here in case I had any messages.”

  One of the functionary’s eyebrows ticked up half a notch and Rina thought he was deciding if he believed her. She certainly didn’t look like a duchess.

  He held up a finger. “A moment.”

  He opened a large book, ran a finger down one page, chewed his lip, flipped to another page. His face brightened “Ah.”

  From beneath the podium he brought out a bell and began ringing it. The sound was so loud and piercing that Rina flinched.

  The response to the bell was immediate. A pair of tall double doors flew open across the chamber and a pair of runners in postal livery sprinted toward the podium.

  Rina worried she’d inadvertently set off some kind of chain reaction. “Uh, maybe I—”

  “Special instructions have been left for you, Duchess Veraiin. Where is your retinue?”

  “I have no retinue.”

  “I see. And where is your luggage?”

  “I have no luggage.”

  He frowned, his moustache twitching with annoyance. Evidently, not having luggage and an entourage didn’t match his idea of a duchess. He turned to the two runners who turned out to be pimply-faced youths maybe fourteen years old. “Bring around one of the postal carriages immediately.”

  They bowed tersely and ran away at full speed.

  Everything happened rapidly after that.

  Rina was hustled out of the post office to where an enclosed carriage drawn by four horses waited in the street. A driver nodded to her respectfully. One of the pimply youths held the carriage door open for her, and the other clung to the rear of the carriage in the footman’s position. She climbed in, not even having the time to form one of the dozen questions that swirled in her mind.

  Ten seconds later they were clattering down one of the city’s cobblestone streets, citizens leaping out of the way as they flew past. They turned into an extravagantly wealthy neighborhood; various flags and coats of arms were displayed on the gates of each manor. Abruptly the carriage turned and passed through a gate. The two-story manor house ahead of her was enormous, with fluted columns on each side of the grand entranceway.

  Two lines of servants stood in rows on either side of the steps leading up to the front door like some kind of welcoming committee. Did they know? Did somebody run ahead to tell them she was coming?

  The carriage stopped and the footman was there in a flash, opening the door and offering a hand to help her down.

  She looked up as she exited the carriage, saw a man slowly descending the stairs toward her. He wore long, plush robes, some kind of official gold chain around his neck, a soft, floppy hat with a garish red plume from what enormous bird Rina couldn’t guess.

  With a lurch in her gut Rina thought she understood what was happening. Somebody very important had discovered what was happening in Klaar. Now Rina was being called to task. Somebody important—maybe the king himself!—wanted to know why there had been a delay in warning the rest of Helva that the Perranese had invaded.

  She looked at the man again, trying to guess who could possibly—

  Oh, shit. It’s Brasley.

  * * *

  The servants had escorted her to a second-floor, corner room with wide windows that offered a good view of the extravagant neighborhood. Not that Rina saw it. She’d flopped into bed, had slept the rest of the day and through the night into mid-morning.

  They brought her breakfast as she soaked in a large tub of hot water. Maids circulated steadily through the room to add warm water to the tub.

  Rina plucked a pastry from the silver tray next to the tub, bit into it. Light. Some kind of berry filling. It was perfect.

  “This isn’t really necessary,” Brasley said from the other side of the tri-section, silk screen. “I would gladly have waited for you to finish your bath.”

  “Then you would have been waiting a long time because I’m not getting out of this tub any time soon,” Rina said. “Maybe not ever.”

  “It’s awkward to talk like this when I can’t see your face.”

  “Just stay on your side of the screen. You know what my face looks like.”

  A sigh came from the other side of the screen. “I suppose you have questions.”

  “A manor house? Servants? New robes? Yeah, you could say I have a few questions.”

  “Please. Not just a manor house,” Brasley said. “This is the Consulate of Klaar, the official presence of the duchy in Merridan. The flags haven’t been delivered yet.”

  “How can you afford this?”

  “As the official representative of Klaar, I was able to establish a line of credit at the Royal Bank.”

  “What?”

  “I had to prepare for your arrival, didn’t I? You’re a duchess, after all. You have a reputation to maintain.”

  “I haven’t been duchess long enough to establish any kind of reputation,” Rina said.

  “I’ve been taking care of that,” Brasley said. “I’ve been whispering in various ears what an important person you are. Into the ear of the secretary of the Royal Bank, for one.”

  “So really I’m paying for all this.”

  Brasley laughed. “Unless we can’t get rid of the Perranese. In which case nobody is paying for it.”

  Rina laughed too.

  “There’s lots to do,” Brasley said. “You do need to get out of that tub.”

  “No.”

  “I’m serious. There are
people coming to take your measurements. Better if you’re not wet.”

  “Measurements for what?”

  “Clothes,” Brasley said. “You can’t meet the king in that grim armor you arrived in.”

  Rina’s heartbeat ticked up. “You were able to arrange an audience?”

  “Audiences are booked full for the next two months. It’s impossible. And the wrong way to go about it anyway. The last thing you want is an official audience with the king.”

  “Then what are the clothes for?”

  “A ball.”

  “A what?”

  “A formal ball at the palace. Everyone important will be there,” Brasley said. “And don’t worry. I’ll be your escort. It will look good for you if you’re there with somebody handsome.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Six days’ hard riding, up at dawn and riding into the darkness each day. Always keeping the river to their right. They were lucky Alem knew how to take good care of the horses.

  They paused when they finally reached the bridge. Alem’s gaze drifted up the road north to Merridan and Rina. He was strongly tempted to keep following the road north. No matter how powerful the tattoos made her, she was still alone in a big city. Brasley might not even be there. Frankly, Alem didn’t completely trust the man.

  But Alem had never been to Merridan, and his understanding was that it was huge beyond all comprehension. He could wander for weeks and never lay eyes on Rina. The only reasonable thing to do was to follow Rina’s instructions.

  He turned his horse east and galloped across the bridge, Maurizan riding close after him.

  Three hours later she shouted for him to stop, and he did.

  He looked back at her. “What’s wrong?”

  Maurizan slid from her horse, walked stiffly to the side of the road, rubbing her backside. “My ass! My ass is what’s wrong.”

  Alem fought to keep the grin off his face. “Looks fine to me.”

  If she was amused, she was doing a great job of keeping it hidden. “Why are we riding so hard? I’ve been in the saddle more than I’ve been on the ground these last few days. I’m raw in places a lady should not be.”

  He dismounted and followed her into the tall grass along the side of the road, letting the horses graze. “What if something’s gone wrong? She might have to leave Merridan as soon as she gets there. I don’t want her looking for us and we’re not there waiting for her.”

  Maurizan turned abruptly, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him close. “I’m getting a little sick of hearing about her.”

  She pulled his face down to hers, mashed her lips hard against his. His arms went around her. Maurizan’s tongue snaked into his mouth. Her other hand roamed down the front of his pants, and Alem went light-headed as her fingertips brushed against his growing length. Her fingers tightened around him as her kisses became more insistent.

  He pulled away, panting. She smiled up at him, threw her cloak off, pulled loose the laces at the top of her blouse. It fell open to the top of her cleavage; goose flesh rose in the cool air.

  Alem looked around frantically. “Here?”

  “I think you know I’ve been waiting,” Maurizan said. “I’m sick of waiting. We haven’t passed a village in an hour.”

  Alem looked around again. They were in the middle of nowhere. Trees. Tall grass. “I … uh …”

  She pulled him close again, kissing him. She stepped between his legs, her thigh rubbing him.

  He pulled away.

  Don’t! Thicko! What are you doing?

  Maurizan blinked at him.

  “We should … we should get going.”

  Fool!

  She blinked at him again.

  “There’s not much daylight left, and we really should get as far as—”

  The loud smack of flesh on flesh. His head spinning around. Bright stars exploding in front of his eyes. He staggered back. Hot pinpricks spread across one side of his face. He lightly touched the cheek where she’d smacked him.

  She’s fast.

  When Alem finally blinked his eyes clear again, he saw her riding away east down the road. He ran for his own horse to catch up.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  They rode in the open carriage down Temple Street, passing all the places of worship, the temples bigger or smaller according to the popularity of the deity. The Temple of Dumo was the biggest, naturally, and unpopular sects like the Cult of Mordis didn’t have temples within the city limits, finding it more practical to set up shop at some secluded spot in the wilds.

  Nobody knew where the outlaw cults called home, but they hadn’t troubled anyone in years.

  Rina pulled her cloak tightly around her. The night was cold, and the material of the custom made ball gown was fashionable but thin.

  “I wish you could cover that with some makeup or something.” Brasley sat in the carriage next to her.

  Rina frowned. Brasley was concerned what people would think of the tattoos around her eyes. Evidently fashion and favor could shift on a whim at court. Rina didn’t care. The tattoos were part of her now. People could accept them or not.

  “There’s no point in worrying,” Rina said. “And if you mention it again, I’ll punch you in the throat. I’m already nervous enough.”

  Brasley threw up his hands. “Fine. Fine. At least the others are covered.”

  The blue silk ball gown had long sleeves that concealed the tattoos on her upper arms and a high stiff collar in the back that covered the tattoo on her neck. The collar fastened in the front with a glittering sapphire broach. At Brasley’s insistence, the front opened to reveal a bit more cleavage than Rina would have wanted, but Brasley had told her it was the current style and he didn’t want the other snooty women at court turning up their noses at her.

  The carriage turned onto King’s Boulevard and immediately hit a traffic jam. Hundreds of other carriages were trying to pull up to the palace to disgorge passengers, the entire aristocracy of Merridan all attempting to arrive fashionably late at the same time.

  Brasley stood in the carriage to get a look. “This will take forever.”

  “We should get out and walk,” Rina suggested. “It’ll be faster.”

  “Faster but not appropriate,” Brasley said. “My duchess may be from a backwater region, but by damn she’s going to get the same fanfare as anybody else.”

  He grinned and urged the driver to speed up into the line, cutting off the carriage of another noble who shouted obscenities.

  What would have been a five-minute stroll turned into thirty minutes of waiting in the carriage line, but at last Rina and Brasley arrived at the front entrance. An attendant in the garish livery of the King climbed out first, followed by Brasley, who deftly slipped a coin into the attendant’s hand and briefly whispered into his ear. The attendant nodded and offered his hand to help Rina down from the carriage.

  The attendant drew a deep breath and then bellowed, “The Duchess Rina Veraiin of Klaar and Sir Brasley Hammish of Klaar.”

  Heads turned to look while simultaneously pretending not to care. A mutter ran through the crowd.

  Brasley offered his arm. Rina took it, and they entered the grand arched entrance hall.

  “Was that really necessary?” she whispered from the side of her mouth.

  “One’s name should always arrive slightly ahead of one’s person,” Brasley whispered back.

  As they passed through the hall, pages scurried up to relieve them of their cloaks. They paused at the top of a high stairway, and a herald shouted their names again, but this time nobody paid attention. Rina paused to gawk at the sea of people in the ballroom below.

  A swirl of colors, all the exotic birds showing off their best plumage. And so many of them. Rina would never have thought Merridan teemed with so many earls and barons and counts.

  And duchesses.

  Rina’s father had always referred to the Merridan aristocracy as way too many idle mouths to feed. Now she had a hint of what he’d meant
.

  Brasley nudged her gently, and they slowly descended the wide stairway into the social snake pit that passed for the upper crust of Helva’s capitol.

  * * *

  At first, there were a number of awkward moments in which they ran a whirlwind gauntlet of introductions to minor nobility. Rina marveled at Brasley’s ability to match names and faces without fail, and at how he seemed to know the family history of each person they talked to. Rina did her best to smile and nod and mumble something polite. A few of the ladies gave her odd looks, and Rina realized it must be the strange sight of her tattoo.

  Just as her head began to spin, she felt an arm go around her, and one of her hands in Brasley’s. They spun a slow circle around the dance floor amid the festive throng. Brasley was light on his feet, and Rina was surprised to find the experience enjoyable.

  “What are you smiling at?” he asked.

  “You’re a good dancer.”

  “Of course,” he said. “How else do you think I charmed half the women you just met? I’ve been sweating on Klaar’s behalf at some of the fanciest parties of the season.”

  Rina grinned. “Your sacrifices have been noted, Sir Brasley. What happens now?”

  “We wait.”

  Not a very satisfactory answer, but Rina found herself swept along by the music, and she had to admit again that Brasley was rather charming in his own way. Her thoughts drifted to Alem. And to Maurizan. She hoped they were safe out there on the road and felt a pang of guilt that she was wearing a new dress at a royal ball while they were probably holed up somewhere cold and wet.

  Rina’s thoughts were interrupted by a face scowling at her from the crowd. Rina blinked, looked again as Brasley spun her around. No doubt about it, a plain woman with a wide, curvy figure in a deep green dress was staring daggers at her.

  “What’s wrong?” Brasley asked.

  “Why should anything be wrong?”

  “I’ve held enough women in my arms to sense a mood shift.”

  I’ll bet you have. Her eyes shifted to the woman in the crowd. “Her.”