by Layton Green
That’s great, Will thought as he gasped for air. One look and she knows it’s all in my head.
Val and Caleb hovered over Will while Mala walked from body to body, examining the possessions of the fallen. The alley reeked of blood and viscera.
“Shouldn’t we leave?” Val asked. “How long before the cops—the authorities—arrive?”
“No one of consequence will enter this alley before morning,” Mala said. “And when they do, they won’t care.”
Will managed to catch his breath at the same time Mala returned from the other end of the alley, carrying Will’s sword and Val’s staff. Will felt a rush of emotion as she handed him the sword. “Thank you.”
“No gratitude is necessary. It was a transaction.”
“I didn’t realize you were a wizard,” he said.
She looked confused, then threw back her head and laughed. “Hardly. You’re unfamiliar with fire beads? Not an everyday item, grant you, but hardly an Old World artifact. Anyone can use them.”
Before Will could stutter a response, Val handed her the remaining portion of the payment. She in turn hefted a bag full of coins. “Your stolen gold.” Val reached for the coins, but she took a step back, retaining her grip. “A significant amount,” Mala said. “Far more than you led me to believe during our negotiation.”
“Your assumptions during negotiation aren’t my concern.”
She compressed her lips and released the bag. “Fair enough. Do you wish me to accompany you to your lodging?”
Lance coolly met her gaze as he wiped the remaining gore from his hammer with one of the men’s shirts. “How about an apology for almost getting us killed?”
Will was seeing a side of Lance he had never seen before. He wondered how many other people he had brained.
“Allira and I saved your lives. You’re lucky I’m honorable and returned your gold.”
Val stepped towards Mala. “Forgive us. It’s been a very long day. You have our utmost thanks for saving our lives and returning our gold. We’ll gladly accept your offer of a safe return, and if you’re willing, there’s another transaction I’d like to discuss.”
“Oh?”
“We’d like to hire you to kill a wizard.”
-14-
Will’s jaw dropped, and Lance stopped cleaning his hammer. Mala looked just as shocked.
Then she started to laugh.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Val said softly.
Her voice lowered as if someone might be watching, despite the solitude of the alley. “You’re either very bold or very foolish. Even if I were an assassin capable of such a feat, I sincerely doubt you could afford the service.” Mala nodded to Allira, and they started walking back the way they had come. “If you wish an escort, I suggest you hurry.”
Val called after her. “What if I were to offer one thousand gold pieces?”
Mala stopped walking.
“What’re you doing?” Caleb whispered.
“He’s trying to help Charlie and get us home,” Will said, though he had no idea how Val planned to transport Mala back to Earth. Maybe they could lure Zedock to this world.
“And he was worried about me flaunting gold? How will that help get us home?”
“There’s no point in going home with Zedock still around,” Will said.
Val shushed them with a hand.
“If the offer were a credible one,” Mala said, “then I would say that perhaps we should talk. But not here.”
“Then lead on,” Val said.
After a surprised stare, Mala turned on her heel and started walking. “Let’s go,” Val said, hurrying to catch up with the two women.
Caleb spread his hands when he caught up with Val. “Aren’t we going to think this through?”
“I have.”
A barrage of thoughts entered Will’s head as they fell into step behind Mala’s athletic stride, the calm but enigmatic Allira again taking rear guard.
Thought the First: They were all still alive!
Second: He felt like throwing up again every time his mind returned to the savagery in the alley.
Third: Despite the vomiting and the hyperventilation, his reaction to the violence wasn’t as bad as it could have been, which both excited and troubled him.
Fourth: Mala scared the bejesus out of him.
Fifth: How the hell had Caleb’s bracers shattered that knife in midair?
Sixth: Val was a far cooler customer than even Will had realized.
Seventh: Lance might have some issues.
Eighth: Any doubts about whether this world was real had just been buried like a foam cup in an avalanche.
Mala took them back to the Minotaur’s Den, which might have alarmed Will had he not just seen her in action. The crowd had dwindled, and Will noticed some of the patrons watch them enter, then look away before catching Mala’s eye.
After exchanging a nod with the bartender, Mala led them to a deserted corner of the pub. Will was still humming with adrenaline. He sat next to Caleb, who looked as somber as Will had ever seen him. Will nudged him. “You okay?”
Caleb ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Ask me after a few rounds.”
Lance sat on the other side of Will, the battle-lust draining from his eyes. A huge pitcher of ale arrived, more of a jug, and Caleb greedily filled his glass. Everyone took a mug except Allira, who filled a cup of water with a pinch of oblong leaves she extracted from one of her pouches.
Mala removed her sword and sat with her back against the wall, maintaining constant vigilance of the room. When everyone was settled, her eyes met Val’s. “Why is it you wish this thing done?”
Val sipped his beer. His legs were crossed, back straight, his face all business. “A wizard is holding someone we care about against his will, and he’s threatened our lives as well.”
“Did this wizard steal your powers?” Mala said.
Val spread his hands, implying everything, saying nothing.
“If we don’t do something,” Will intervened, not wanting her to probe further, “he’ll kill us all.”
“His motive?” Mala said.
“We have something he wants,” Val said, “and which we don’t wish to give him.”
“The staff?”
Val again spread his hands.
“Does this wizard have a name?” she said.
“Zedock.”
Her eyes widened.
“You know him?” Will said.
“He’s a necromancer of some repute. Hardly an arch-mage, but powerful nonetheless. And a necromancer . . . it would perhaps be unfair to say that all of their ilk are evil, but it does take a certain person who desires to work with the dead in such a fashion.” She gave a small shudder, which Will did not find comforting.
“He’s a Freeholder, like most necromancers,” she continued. “Though he doesn’t eschew the Congregation because he lacks power. Since you’re still alive, I imagine he’s given you a deadline to respond? Or have you fled?”
“Suffice to say time is of the essence,” Val said.
Mala raised her eyebrows but said nothing.
Will knew there were more holes in their story than a closet full of Caleb’s jeans, yet, as Val had gambled, money talks.
Val drained the last of his mug. “So do we have an agreement?”
Mala crossed her arms, her assortment of jewelry tinkling. “You speak Standard in an accent with which I’m unfamiliar, you have weapons you’re unaware how to use, you splash gold as if it were grog, you know nothing of New Albion or the Protectorate or the Realm at large, and you have a wizard’s stone—Azantite, no less—yet no wizardry to accompany it.”
She matched Val by downing her ale, then interlaced her fingers on the table. “I won’t attempt to kill this wizard for you, but perhaps I can give such a ridiculous endeavor the shadow of a possibility of success. The price, however, will be the same.”
Lance turned to Val. “Why don’t we just hire another wizard to do it?
”
Mala gave a harsh laugh. “Strictly forbidden by the Congregation. Approach the wrong person, and you’d be killed upon the asking.”
Lance sank back in his seat.
Caleb said to Will under his breath, “Good thing she wasn’t the wrong person.”
“What’s your proposal?” Val said.
“That which I do best,” she said. “For the likes of you to defeat even the weakest of wizards, you’d need extraordinary help. Magical help.”
“Such as?”
“An item or items of potent arcane power.”
Now we’re talking, Will thought.
He debated telling her about his sword, but Val wasn’t saying anything, so Will decided to follow suit. They could always tell her later, and it was best if she knew as little about them as possible. She had just intimated that a magic sword alone wasn’t enough to defeat a wizard, and from what they had seen of Zedock, Will whole-heartedly agreed.
Yet he had so many questions, and Will’s gut told him that at some point, they were going to have to trust someone.
“The black market is an option,” Mala continued, “but I’m unaware of anything currently for sale powerful enough to suit your purpose.” She refilled her mug and cupped it in her hands, eyes thoughtful. “Are you aware of a deceased wizard named Leonidus? No, of course you’re not. Leonidus was an accomplished geomancer, a member of the Congregation who recanted his vows and supported the uprising in the Eastern Protectorate.”
“You can do that?” Will said. “Break from the Wizard’s Congregation?”
Saying the word congregation creeped him out, as if this world’s Eye of Sauron were watching.
“Conspiring against the Congregation is not a thing they are likely to forgive. But what earned Leonidus a death sentence was an act he allegedly committed during the uprising. The Congregation claimed he assisted with the murder of the Chief Mage of the Eastern Protectorate.”
“Why’d he do it?” Caleb asked.
“Leonidus fell in love with a slave-girl. A gypsy. He decided the treatment of her people was wrong and opted to do something about it.”
Will could almost feel the chill in her voice, and he looked at her sash and colorful jewelry with new eyes. “You’re a gypsy.”
“That I am,” she said, with an undercurrent of both pride and sadness. Her eyes flicked towards Caleb as if expecting him to speak, but Caleb didn’t seem to notice. Allira was still absorbed in her tea.
The table was silent for a few moments. “When Leonidus was betrayed,” Mala continued, “the Congregation made an example of him by public execution, searing him alive with slow-burning wizard-fire. Leonidus maintained a fortress keep on an island in the Eastern Protectorate, and to deter future rebellions, the wizards ordered his vassals to desert the keep and raised the Congregation’s flag on his tower, leaving it to wave above his remains as a warning.”
“A tragic tale,” Val said, “but how does it apply to us?”
Her voice lowered even further and she scanned the room before she spoke. “What the Congregation doesn’t know is that Leonidus went further than the murder of a fellow wizard. He spent years creating a trio of magical items that, when wielded together, would in theory allow a common-born to combat a wizard.”
Will and Lance leaned forward in their chairs, and Val steepled his hands. Caleb looked ill and reached for the pitcher of ale.
“It’s believed these items of arcana still exist,” she finished, “hidden by Leonidus somewhere inside the abandoned keep.”
“If the Congregation doesn’t know about them,” Val said, “then how do you?”
Her eyes were shrewd, and she leaned back with her beer.
“Because someone hired her to find them,” Will guessed.
Mala’s lips curled upward. “Clever boy. The leader of the Revolution, Leonidus’s brother-in-law, approached me with an offer to retrieve the items.”
Boy, Will thought?
“He wasn’t worried you might turn him in?” Val said.
“A fellow gypsy? On the contrary, he informed me I was his third choice of mercenary. Not because of my discretion, which he never questioned, but because of my price.”
“What happened to the first two parties?” Will said.
“They never returned from the keep.”
Will swallowed, and even Val’s poise seemed forced. “I see,” Val said. “And did your own journey fail?”
“It never began. My would-be employer was arrested for treason the day after he hired me.”
“That’s quite a coincidence,” Val said.
She rasped a laugh. “Assumption is ignorance in a finely tailored coat. Rest assured it was not I who notified the Protectorate.”
“How do you know he was telling the truth about the items?” Val said, unperturbed.
“When someone pays an exorbitant amount of money upfront for a retrieval,” she said, “the items usually exist. But no, I haven’t seen them myself.”
“What are they?”
“A ring of shadows, an amulet of magical absorption, and a spear of piercing.”
“Magic piercing?” Will asked, remembering the bullets stopping in midair as if hitting a wall.
“Aye.”
“Why were they hidden in the keep?” Val continued, peppering her as if examining a witness. “And why the need to hire a mercenary team?”
“As you well know,” she said, again with a lightly mocking tone, “the home of a wizard is a dangerous and well-guarded place. The creation of magical items that combat the powers of a wizard is an act forbidden by the Congregation. Leonidus would have wanted them protected uncommonly well.”
No one had much to say about that.
“Sounds like a wild goose chase to me,” Lance muttered finally. He nudged Caleb. “You listening to this? Help me talk some sense into them.”
Caleb wiped foam off his mouth. “I quit listening once I saw the look in my brothers’ eyes that means they’ve made up their minds, no matter if ten necromancers and a team of Navy Seals are patrolling this island keep.”
“A team of what?” Mala asked, who seemed the least impressed by Caleb of any girl Will had ever met. Allira, too.
“Forget it,” Caleb muttered.
Mala put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Given your need for haste, we would have to journey through an unsettled portion of the Southern Protectorate, a forbidding prospect in and of itself. We’d resupply at Limerick Junction, after which lays a day’s journey to the island. Then, of course, we shall have to search the abandoned keep, with who knows what manner of peril waiting inside.” She looked Val in the eye. “I can’t guarantee a safe return. Or any return.”
Caleb blanched, and Will’s eyes slid away.
“I’d also require a hundred more gold for horses, supplies, and a few additions to the party. Half up front, nonrefundable, the other half payable upon a successful return.”
“What if the items are gone?” Will asked.
Mala gave a slight shake of her head. “The wizards would have publicized such a find. And I would have heard if the items in question had entered the black market. Given the need for secrecy, I assume the knowledge died with Leonidus and his brother in law.”
Val clasped his hands on the table. “In your professional opinion, do we have any other viable options?”
“To kill a wizard? You?” Her expressive mouth curled into a smirk.
Val watched her closely, fingers steepled on the table, lips pressed in a thin line. “Then I suppose you’re hired.”
-15-
Mala told them to bring the gold and meet her “two days hence at six in the morning, outside the Minotaur’s Den, prepared to depart.” She also said not to get killed in the meantime.
Sage advice, Will thought, given that without Mala’s protection, there was nothing to stop the next group of thugs from rolling them, or worse. The deadly reality of their situation had fully sunk in, and Will felt as vu
lnerable as a lap dog in the jungle.
After leaving the Minotaur’s Den, the brothers collapsed into separate quarters, with Lance offering to sleep on one of the rugs. Will couldn’t remember the last time he had been this tired. He thought never.
Will woke the next morning to find Lance making coffee in the kitchen, straining crushed coffee beans through a sock-like contraption. Water came from a bronze tap above the sink, and Will wondered at the source. New Orleans had plenty of water; the problem was treating it. The water from the tap smelled neutral and tasted clean, and Will wondered whether the wizards sterilized it with magic or had another solution.
“S’up?” Lance said. “Coffee?”
“Affirmative.” Will felt almost giddy at the prospect of partaking in a ritual familiar to home.
“Have we woken up from the bad dream yet?”
“Negative,” Will said. “Seen Val?”
“He left a note on the table, said he’d be back soon.”
“He left? What’s he thinking?”
“Dunno, but I’ve seen cops on stakeouts who keep better hours than he does. Does your brother ever sleep?”
“Not that one. The other one makes up for it.”
Half an hour later, Caleb yawned as he walked into the kitchen, running a hand through his cowlicks. “Whatever it is you think I did, you’re probably right.”
They drank their coffee in silence around the wooden kitchen table. When they heard the front door open, Will beat Caleb to his feet as Val swept into the room with a rolled up piece of parchment in his hand.
Will felt like strangling his eldest brother. “How about you not go out there by yourself any more?”
“Sorry,” Val muttered, insincerely.
“What’s that?” Lance asked.
Val unrolled the parchment and laid it on the table. “A map. Cost me one of the thin silver pieces at a general store down the road. The proprietor called the coin a groat.”
They crowded in. Will felt a stab of excitement when he saw that the map portrayed an area with roughly the same dimensions as North America.
Only the name at the top was New Albion, and large swaths of the map east of the Mississippi were divided into sections labeled Protectorates, none of which had anything to do with the borders of the United States.
