Mystic: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “I feel I am learning everything in bits and pieces,” Loren said. “What happened to the carriage? Or rather its driver, for you and Xain did not leave Cabrus alone.”

  Annis’s face grew dark. “The driver proved himself less than staunch in his loyalty. Once we saw you with the Mystic, he chose to flee. Or rather, he aimed to leave us once he saw that Xain seemed set upon stalking you both. He did not like the idea of crossing a redcloak, and after seeing the wizard’s dark mood I cannot say I blame him. I know little of what the Mystics do but do know that even my mother must pay them respect. In any case, we found an inn upon the road. There the driver abandoned us, calling our purpose a folly he wanted no part in. He made us buy horses of our own, though to his credit gave us some coin for the purpose. A small pittance compared to his payment for transport, but still it allowed us to mount and ride on after you.”

  Loren let herself smile. After all the terror of her days in Cabrus, it seemed an eternity since she and Annis had spoken. She had almost forgotten the girl’s manner of speaking: a tumble of crashing words spilling from her lips like a waterfall.

  But a more serious matter tugged her attention. Loren glanced over her shoulder at Xain. The wizard sat well apart, tearing with almost vindictive fury at bread and meat from his saddlebag. He seemed preoccupied. Loren leaned in close.

  “You had a package when last we spoke—something you claimed from your mother before we left her company. Do you have it still?”

  Annis’s look grew furtive. She too stole a glance at Xain and then Gem. “Indeed.” She drew back her cloak to show an interior pocket and the edge of a brown cloth packet.

  “Xain does not know you have it?”

  “I have spoken no word until now. Do you know anything more of its purpose? It has been a great weight upon me these last many days, and more than once I have had the urge to fling it upon the road.”

  “I know nothing more than when last we spoke. Only the name magestone, and that they sit well outside the King’s law.”

  “If they are a wizard’s tool, then mayhap we should tell Xain. He may know of their purpose, or at least what we should do with them.”

  Loren remembered the shock and hatred on the constables’ faces when the magestones had scattered on the ground outside Cabrus—and still shuddered to think of that moment when she and Annis had fled from Damaris and earned themselves enemies beyond comprehension.

  Loren said, “Of things concerning wizards, I would sooner learn from those who have no spark of magic within them. For any matter of great power seems to attract only intrigue and ill will. Those I would avoid where I can.”

  Annis solemnly nodded. “Very well. When we reach a city, let us learn what we can. I will guard the stones with my life until then.”

  “No,” Loren said. “They are not worth that.”

  Loren heard Xain moving to rise behind her and shoved the girl’s hand back beneath her cloak. Together, they rose and turned to the wizard, who cast his blank eyes upon them. If he had heard their words, he gave no sign.

  “We have rested long enough,” Xain said. “Let us ride.”

  eight

  THEY RODE ON, UNTIL THE day faded and their horses picked their careful way through moonslight—though they often looked over their shoulders to nothing. Xain made them press on through the night, though he did let the horses slow to a walk. They sped their pace again at dawn and so passed another long, tense day of riding. Still, they saw no sign of pursuit, neither from the Mystic nor the army at their backs.

  “Mayhap the army found them, and they are embattled,” said Gem as they paused for lunch on the second day.

  “Mayhap,” said Loren, hoping that held no truth. She might not wish to ride beside the Mystic, but neither did she wish him harm.

  Xain said nothing.

  By the second day’s end, Loren nearly slept in her saddle, and mayhap would have had she not repeatedly jostled Annis to keep the girl mounted. Xain kept one arm wrapped tight around Gem as they rode, for his head lolled back and forth as the horse slowed and sped. He looked like a marionette dangling from the limpest of strings. Xain himself looked exhausted, and more than once he nearly let Gem spill to the ground.

  As sun kissed horizon, Loren pulled her mount to a stop, letting the river idly flow around the horse’s hocks. “We must rest, for the children’s sake. They cannot go on like this forever. And neither can we.”

  Xain blinked hard, looking at Loren. His lids rose slower than normal. “The Mystic will not stop. Not if I know his kind.”

  “He has ridden slower than us, I tell you. He had to, or risk passing our trail when we left the river.”

  Xain blinked again and looked down, confused. “We are still in the river.”

  “That settles it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Find your way to land, wizard. Your wits are addled.”

  Loren seized Xain’s reins and spurred both horses forward, riding in tandem until they reached dry land.

  “Only for a few hours,” insisted Xain.

  “Agreed,” said Loren. “I am tired, not eager to be found.”

  Gem only woke enough to keep from tumbling out of his saddle. Once Xain lowered him to the ground, he lay upon the grass and slept. Annis dismounted more demurely, taking the time to hobble her horse and fasten its reins to the branches of a willow stooping over the water. Then she, too, lay upon the ground and fell to slumber before unpacking her bedroll. She curled herself next to Gem, her head resting against his shoulder. The boy slept on, heedless.

  Loren saw Xain sway on his feet and sighed. “You are nearly dead from exhaustion. I will take the first watch and wake you with two hours gone.”

  “There is no need,” said Xain.

  He raised his eyes. They glowed fire white in the darkness. Loren saw nothing else, but she heard it—a faint whispering in the wind. And she felt it—a brush against her cheek, a murmur along her skin. The bright glow left the wizard’s eyes and slowly dimmed to nothing. After a moment, the sound and feeling passed. Loren suppressed a hard shiver.

  “What sorcery was that?”

  Xain grunted. “A spell of warding. A wall of air now stands around us. It will not bar a determined attack, but a blow upon it will pull me from the deepest sleep. None will come upon us without warning.”

  “A firemage has more talents than simple flame, it seems.” Awe made Loren forget her weariness. “Why do you fear the Mystic if you have such tricks? What harm might he bring you?”

  Xain scowled. “I told you he does not mean to kill me, nor to maim. The Mystics may yet be terrible when they go to war, but greater still is the danger of their velvet tongues. They spin lies as a weaver does cloth, and their schemes stretch beyond the most ambitious plots of both merchant and king. Find yourself stuck in their web of intrigue, and you are not likely to ever escape.”

  Loren gulped as her throat grew dry. Fingers strayed to her dagger. Xain followed the motion, and his eyes hardened when again they found hers. He turned to pull the bedroll from his saddle.

  Loren thought she might sleep uneasily, but her head hit the ground and everything faded to black.

  Her eyes opened to a bright blue sky and an urgent hand on her shoulder.

  “Wake up!” said Gem, shaking her. “We have all of us overslept, it seems, though I hold the wizard most to blame. A mind such as mine requires rest.”

  Loren stood to find Xain furiously throwing his bedroll into his saddlebag, his every movement sharp, angry.

  “Your barrier,” said Loren. “Is it breached?”

  “It stands undisturbed. They have not yet found us. But they could be upon our heels. Dawn has long since passed.”

  Loren looked up to the sun several fingers above the hill tops. She could not believe she had slept so long. After trudging through too many unrested hours, they were now forced to ride on and hope for the best.

  In minutes, they were mounted and riding, with the wizard pushing their steeds to the limit
. Even running in the cool river water, Loren’s horse burnt beneath her, and a thick lather formed on its flanks, its breath harsh, gasping from flared nostrils.

  “How long can they run like this?” she asked. “You said yourself they are no good if they die beneath us.”

  “Long enough, I hope,” said Xain, “for today we should reach the water town of Redbrook. There we will trade our horses for a boat.”

  Loren was used to the open road, wide country, and a clear sky above. But in flight, she would rather be behind city walls, where buildings and rooftops were aplenty to hide.

  Xain spoke truly. Long before Loren thought to ask for lunch, they spotted a black streak crouching on the horizon. As they rode ever southward, the streak became a long stretch of squat buildings peeking above a derelict wall made of stone and wooden spikes. The wall and buildings both had the look of an afterthought, ramshackle constructions erected in some curious blend of haste and lethargy by whoever happened to wander by each day. As they got closer still, Loren saw their river had joined a larger one, running until it passed through the town’s center before them.

  Xain let the horses slow to a trot as they finally traded river for road. As they drew nearer to the walls, the horses slowed to a dull walk. Xain spoke as if making a proclamation.

  “The town of Redbrook. An outpost of Selvan in name but peopled by a lazy and unambitious folk. Still, they have their charm and do not ask many questions of travelers, for they see them aplenty. Nor are they overly fond of Mystics—a quality I often admire and never more so than now.”

  Loren studied the town, so much smaller and quainter than Cabrus, grander than her own village in the Birchwood, and utterly unlike either place in manner or form. They approached the walls to find a single wooden gate swung open rather than drawn up. Its bottom rested deep in the mud and looked as though it had been immobile for months. A single guard sat watch, ancient and leaning on a pike. Loren saw a wineskin resting under his chair.

  “Who goes there?” called the guard as they approached.

  “Travelers from Cabrus,” Xain said. “Seeking passage east along the river for Wavemouth.”

  “A pretty young family, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  Loren blushed, realizing he took her for Xain’s wife. But did he think her the mother of Gem and Annis, with Loren’s youth and the girl’s dark skin? She looked again at the wineskin.

  Xain, meanwhile, proved the picture of courtesy. “My thanks. May the sun warm your brow and the river cool your toes.”

  They rode through the gates with no further word, the guard giving a single bleary nod upon passage. Loren felt a twinge of guilt as they passed and remembered the army of sellswords that lay many leagues to the north. Jordel had said they might be marching upon Redbrook, though he thought it more likely that they made for Wellmont or one of the other western cities. What if he were wrong? If Xain was right about this town, they would be unprepared when war reached their doorstep.

  And Loren saw no reason to doubt the wizard’s word behind Redbrook walls. Every building seemed to lean. It did not make them seem weak or rickety, so much as relaxed and waiting for a moment of excitement. She imagined each building, every house and inn, as a farmer resting his forearms upon a fencepost while watching the sun marching through sky.

  People matched their homes, most sitting or standing in positions of sloth. Clothing varied in tone only between the dark brown of dyed wool and the lighter shade of dry burlap. Many wore hats woven of river reeds. Those walking the streets moved without hurry, and often Loren had to slow her horse to keep from trampling them underfoot. Outsiders within the town were easy to spot—they moved faster, faces bearing signs of purpose as they cut through the uncaring locals.

  “What in the world is wrong with them?” Gem wondered out loud. “Even the children move like old men.”

  “This town has not seen battle for many generations,” said Xain. “No other kingdom has made true war upon Selvan in centuries, and Redbrook has no wealth to make itself the target of a border skirmish with Dorsea. Even Selvan scarcely remembers they are here. Day in and day out, these people fish, farm the lands, and spend their days with their families. After a time, it is easy to forget that troubles plague the outside world.”

  Xain seemed to harbor contempt for the simple folk, and Gem looked horrified. But Loren felt a settling calm while walking the streets and found it hard to mind that Jordel and Seth still promised pursuit. She caught herself nodding and smiling at each passerby as they did the same and soon felt at peace in their company.

  A thought came in a flash. Aside from her parents, Loren’s own village in the Birchwood felt very much the same. Nothing moved too quickly, nor did anyone speak overloud. Life simply continued as it always had and always would. Loren thought she might have stayed for a while in Redbrook and found herself happy.

  But that was madness. A Mystic haunted her footsteps, and behind him an army.

  “We must make for the river,” said Xain. “We will find a boat to take us east along the Dragon’s Tail until it meets Wavemouth. There a ship can take us to one of the outland kingdoms in the east, to wait for a while until our heads are less sought after by . . .” He looked around, as though suddenly cautious of being overhead. “Well, less sought after in general.”

  The river did not lie far away, and the street carried them towards it. Soon, Loren heard the gurgling of water again. This time stronger, swelling on the air like a choir. She saw why when they reached it. This river stretched far, far wider than the one they had followed south, wider even than the Melnar by the Birchwood back home. Loren had never seen so much water all in one place and looked with distrust upon the stone bridges spanning its width.

  But even as she stood in awe at the river’s great size, Annis yelped with fright and seized Loren’s reins. The girl kicked her horse hard, guiding both mounts down a side street. Xain cried out and followed, swerving when Annis ducked between an inn and a smithy where their horses came to a sudden stop in the deep mud lining the town’s every street.

  “Stay out of sight,” Annis said. “’Tis an agent of my family. My cousin, I think, though distant. His name is something ridiculous, like Fortinbras.”

  In a flash, Loren dismounted and moved to the alley’s mouth, leaning around the edge to look back at the main thoroughfare.

  From the bridge stepped a small procession of horses and men on foot. At their head rode a tall man, his skin as dark as Annis’s, his hair close cropped and flecked with grey. Unlike Annis or Damaris, or any member of the Yerrin that Loren had seen, this man was fat, and wore it poorly. He draped himself in garish silks and clothes of finery that looked more ostentatious than fancy. He laughed too loud and too long.

  But it was not the merchant that drew her eye nor the men riding before and behind him—clearly bodyguards. Nor did Loren look upon the small train of followers behind the man, tittering at his every laugh and looking at him furtively from behind long lashes. Instead, Loren looked upon the woman riding at the merchant’s side.

  The woman sat short and slender in the saddle, her horse sized to match. The merchant’s charger towered above the smaller horse, and Fortinbras must have stood two heads taller. But the woman was as a dagger of pure steel beside an ornamental greatsword; the greatsword, though bedecked in gilt and prone to glimmer, had little purpose beyond display—the dagger was meant for swift and deadly deeds done in the dark. So seemed the woman. Her eyes and hair were like shadows, her skin fair enough to seem ghostly. She reminded Loren of the tales she had heard of elves, pale ethereal things who lived beyond the ken of men.

  A deep red cloak hung at her shoulders, its hood thrown back, clasped at her throat with a silver pin. Loren could not see its design from so far away but would have wagered her every belonging that it was the badge of a Mystic.

  Even as Loren drew it all in and began to sweat along the back of her neck at the knowledge, the Mystic woman turned to look at her.
It was as though she knew Loren lurked in the shadows and what dwelt in her mind besides. Their eyes met across the distance, and Loren blanched beneath her gaze.

  Then the procession moved on, and the Mystic slipped behind another building. Loren, freed from her gaze, stepped back into the alley with a long sigh and leaned against the smithy’s wall.

  “What?” said Xain. “What did you see?”

  “You will not like the sound of it. I saw the Yerrin but do not think we need fear him much. Yet at his side rides a Mystic, and I would rather not guess at her purpose. I am certain she saw me.”

  Xain sucked a sharp breath between his teeth. “Did she recognize you? Did she know your face?”

  “Of course not,” said Loren, scoffing. “How could she? Word could not have come from Jordel so quickly, nor do I think he would have sent any.”

  “It is not Jordel that worries me but Damaris.”

  “Xain is right,” said Annis. “My mother would have sent word to all our clan as quickly as riders could carry it. They may well know of your looks and be wary to spot them, thinking we travel together.”

  “They would be right to think so. But I said already the merchant did not see me. Would your family work in league with them and tell them to look for me as well?”

  Annis thought hard. “I do not know for certain, but it seems unlikely. The Mystics are too nosy for my family’s liking.”

  “Then I doubt the Mystic knows to look for me, or for you. In any case, she took little notice.” Loren shuddered despite her cloak and the day’s ample heat.

  Xain said, “At last, it seems you learn wisdom in dealing with their kind. We would do well to move on. I have no wish to work against the agents of your family and the Mystics at once. A clever foe is hard enough to outwit. Two may be impossible.”

  After checking once more to ensure the merchant train had passed, he led them out of the alley and back to the main street. They turned left and rode their horses slowly across the bridge.