Mystic: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “Why Annis?” said Loren.

  “She has the stones. I might need their aid again.”

  Something came over Xain as he spoke, and Loren did not like it. His eyes gleamed with a curious light, akin to and yet unlike their glow while casting magic. His lips drew back from his teeth, and the hunger in his face was unmistakable. Loren felt the desire to move far away.

  “We mean to prey on peasants, not wizards,” she said. “You should come, yes, but Annis should remain to guard our gear, paltry though it may be.”

  Xain’s mood soured. “If you do not respect my counsel, you may excuse yourself from my help. I will stay too, then, and help Annis tend to our things.”

  Loren felt something wrong in her gut. She did not know what this was about but did not like it and knew with certainty that she had no wish to leave the wizard with Annis, not even for a moment alone.

  “You will come with us, or we will not go at all,” she said. “You spoke truly in the first place: If we are hard beset, we shall need you. I will not risk both our lives on this errand without your help.”

  Xain’s jaw clenched once, twice, a third time. The fingers of his right hand ceased their endless picking and formed into a fist. Loren readied herself to spring back from the table, dragging Annis with her. But then the wizard he sighed, and Loren saw some of his frustration leave him.

  “Very well,” he said, his voice hollow and quiet. “We shall do as you say—Nightblade.”

  “Good.” Loren tried to sound as if she had noticed nothing amiss. “We should be off at once, then.”

  “But I am not finished!” said Gem, through a mouthful of stew-soaked bread.

  “Get up, Gem.”

  She dragged him from the table, his fingers grasping at the scraps on his plate, and they left the inn. As Xain readied himself, Loren stepped aside and whispered to Annis.

  “Where are the stones?”

  “Within my cloak, as they have always been,” said Annis.

  “Find another place to keep them. Off your person, if you can help it. They are too important to risk, and my trust that Xain will not steal is ill.”

  “Steal them? But I thought we meant to deal with him after all this—to give him half our store.”

  “We did,” said Loren, but corrected herself hastily. “That is, we do. But he may mean to claim his share early and leave us with nothing.”

  “Is he dangerous?” Annis looked over Loren’s shoulder to where he was stooped and lacing his boots.

  “He is a wizard. They always are.”

  “Ready, girl?” came Xain’s voice behind her.

  Loren turned with a smile. “Ready and eager. The Nightblade prepares to strike again.”

  Xain snorted and for a moment seemed his old self. “You are far too taken with that name, as well as the dreams behind it.” Then his face found its hunger, and his eyes fell upon Annis.

  Loren swallowed hard. “All great tales start with a name. Let us be off.”

  twenty-one

  THEY RETURNED TO THE CRAFTSMAN’S quarter. Despite what Loren had said at the inn, it pained her to think of robbing such simple folk. But her qualms left her soon after their arrival in the great square. Hundreds of paces wide it was, and with a great statue of an armored man in the center. His head was bare, and he held a sword aloft. Just at the statue’s feet, a wagon sagged to the side. Moving through the press of people, she saw why: The wagon had lost a wheel, and now the horses could not pull it. The owner, a large beast of a man with hair all over his face and arms, tried to lift the wagon where the wheel had come loose while a smaller boy tried to fit the wheel back to its housing. The wagon held scraps of lumber but only dregs—its cargo had already been sold. The woodsman’s cries of anger went unheeded by the swirling crowd.

  “This looks promising,” said Loren. “Come, let us see more.”

  They drew closer still. And just as they approached, the woodsman dropped the wagon and straightened with a cry of anger, turning on the boy beside him.

  “You useless whelp! If you don’t get that wheel on, you will regret it.”

  “The cart is not high enough, Da.”

  The boy was skinny and pale and hardly looked to be the son of a woodsman. “I can’t get it on unless it is higher.”

  “Talk back, will you?” And the woodsman lashed out with a punishing slap across the boy’s face.

  With boiling blood, Loren murmured to Xain and Gem, “Yes, this will do wonderfully.”

  “What do you mean to do?” said Xain.

  “Never you mind. Remain silent. Your tongue is as smooth as a sandy riverbank. Gem, watch for the purse, and take it as soon as you may.”

  “Aye.” From the tone of Gem’s voice, Loren did not imagine he held any more love for the woodsman than she.

  “Ho, friend!” Loren said amiably. “You look to be in a fix.”

  The lumberjack turned to her, scowling. “And what to you? Be off, beggar.”

  Loren gave her cloak a little flourish, and she saw the lumberjack’s eyes flick to its fine black cloth. “No beggars here, friend. Only a passing maiden who sees a stranded carpenter.”

  She saw the woodsman’s chest puff out slightly. Loren knew as well as any woodsman’s daughter that carpenters were a highly regarded profession. “Only a simple woodsman, my lady,” said the man with a leer. “Though bless your sweet tongue.”

  “A woodsman? Truly?” said Loren, feigning delight when she wanted to slap him. “I was a woodsman’s daughter until my father came into fortune. He fought for the king and earned himself a title.”

  “Then he is a fool who got lucky.” The lumberjack grinned. “Fighting wars is no business for a man who likes living, though I am pleased to hear a fellow workman got some good from it.”

  Loren kept her smile bright. “Indeed. But I cannot let a fellow craftsman suffer so. Come, cousins. Let us help with their wagon.”

  “Not that one,” said the woodsman, pointing at Gem. “I will not have him getting hurt on my account. Look at the little waif. He has gone days without food for certain.”

  “He is of that age,” said Loren. “Three lunches have filled those legs today alone with room to spare.”

  “’Tis a sign of health,” said the woodsman. “I wish my son were the same.” He cuffed the boy beside him. Loren’s heart broke with his yelp.

  “There is time yet,” she said. “Come, then, cousin.”

  Xain looked around blankly until Loren seized his arm and pulled him to the wagon. Gem stood back, eyes darting everywhere, waiting. Together they lifted, the three of them heaving as the wagon rose, and the woodsman’s son fitted the wheel to the spoke. Then the woodsman cut himself a new spar to stick through the hole, and the wheel was fixed.

  “Many thanks,” said the woodsman. “I hope you expect no pay from a simple man like myself.”

  “I would never dream of such,” said Loren. “Payment spoils the virtue of deed.”

  “As I have always said. Though that shan’t stop us from taking a good coin or two from those who need our wares, eh?” The woodsman laughed loud and long, as though sharing a joke.

  Loren joined the laugh, hating the man more by the moment. “Right you are. I imagine things must be quite well for you here, with the city worried about the Dorseans.”

  “Arrows, fortifications, even stocks for deserters.” The woodsman glanced around and, seeing no one else near, reached into a hidden compartment in his wagon. His hand reemerged with a purse bigger than his fist, filled almost to bursting. “Just look at the measure of their need. Mayhap I can buy myself a title like your father and never need wield a sword to earn it.”

  Over the man’s shoulder, Loren saw Gem perk up. “My wishes are with you, my friend. But hide that quickly. They say this city has more thieves than cobblestones and never more so than now.”

  “I doubt it not,” said the woodsman, stowing the purse again. “Hoy! Gillam! Get yourself on the wagon quick. We are off.” His
son scrambled to obey.

  “I wish you safe travels under the sky,” said Loren.

  “Yourself as well, and may they soon take you away from this place.” The woodsman extended a hand. “If ever you travel along the Greatrocks, look for my village. ’Tis two days north by horse. Gillam is my name, as well as my son’s. We shall put you up and feed you well, though I am sure you would find our fare meager.”

  Loren was taken aback for a moment but swiftly recovered and took his hand. “Thank you, Gillam. I am . . . I am Damaris. May we meet again.”

  Gillam gave her a firm handshake and went to the back of his wagon to prepare it for travel. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gem wave the coin purse behind the man’s back. Silent as a fox and just as fast, Loren stole to the front of the cart. There the boy Gillam looked down at her in wonder, still nursing a welt on his face.

  “Boy,” she whispered. “Come with us.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  Xain had followed Loren and now seized her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  She shook him off. “You have no need to stay with a father who beats you. I ran from home. You can, too. Come with us, but quick! Now!”

  “You are a fool, girl,” said Xain, trying to pull her away.

  Little Gillam withdrew in fear. “Who are you? Get away from me!”

  “I saw him hit you. No parent should treat a child so. Come with me, and you can find a better life.” She reached for the boy’s hand, but he yanked it away from her grasp.

  “Da!” cried the boy, sliding away on the wagon’s seat. “Da! Help!”

  The woodsman appeared like a ghost, his face finding its earlier scowl. “Stop yammering, boy. We are ready.”

  “Da, she wants to take me away!” cried the boy Gillam, thrusting an accusing finger at Loren.

  The woodsman paused in confusion and rounded on her. “What is this?” he said, his voice suddenly low and dangerous.

  “The boy’s mad.” She gulped. “I know not what he speaks of.”

  “She said she would take me away. I don’t want to go, Da.”

  It seemed the right time to escape, but before Loren could move she found Gillam’s iron grip upon her. “What is this, then? You trying to take my son away from me?”

  His other hand swept up to strike her, but Xain caught his arm. “That would be a mistake, friend.”

  Gillam released Loren and gave Xain a great shove with one hand, at the same time catching his wrist. Xain fell to the ground, and Gillam twisted his arm. The wizard cried out in pain.

  Gilliam roared: “Constables! Constables!”

  They must have been close, for a man and a woman in red leather appeared on the instant. “Who calls for the King’s law?” the woman said.

  “These ones tried to take my boy.” Gilliam pointed a meaty finger at Loren. “Them and their little . . . where is the child?”

  Gilliam spun around, searching for Gem. The constables looked at Loren and Xain, brows raised in confusion.

  “This man is spinning a tale,” Loren said. “I am Damaris, of the family Yerrin, and I can assure you I . . .”

  “She tried to take me away!” cried the boy.

  “There was a third one,” said Gillam loudly. “He must have . . . wait . . .” His eyes squinted like a pig’s. He released the wizard and ran to the wagon’s side. He felt around underneath for a moment and rose with a roar of hatred.

  “My coin! They have taken all my coin! Everything I had!”

  He stomped around the wagon, approaching Loren with his raised fists. The woman stepped forwards to cut him off while the other constable stepped up to seize Loren’s arm.

  “Where is that little whelp of yours?” cried Gillam, trying to push past the constable. But even he was not so foolish as to strike the King’s law. “More thieves than cobblestones, indeed! Where is my purse?”

  “We know not what he is saying,” said Xain, finding his feet. “He attacked us in madness after we helped him with his wagon wheel.”

  “Woodsmen may be large, but rarely mad,” said the constable holding Loren’s arm. He looked into her eyes. “You are of the family Yerrin, you say? I have seen more than a few, and their look you have not.”

  “She is a thief!” spat Gillam. “And has my coin!”

  Loren said, “I have nothing. You may search if you wish.”

  “We will, and more besides,” said the constable. “This mess needs sorting.”

  “There is nothing to sort! She has robbed me!”

  “We shall have the truth of it soon,” said the constable. “You will come with us. And bring the boy.”

  Xain stepped up, and Loren saw a terrible look in his eyes. But before he could whisper a word of power, Loren cried out, “No!”

  Xain stopped, a hand held out before him.

  “No, Xain,” Loren said, more quietly. “’Tis fine. We shall go. This will be sorted. After all, we have stolen nothing.” She looked at the wizard, trying to broadcast her meaning. Gem was gone. Without him and his coins, Gillam had no case against them.

  Xain relaxed, giving Loren a slow nod.

  “This is madness!” Gillam blustered. “I have been robbed, and you lot mean to ask me questions?”

  “You will come to answer or spend the night in a cell,” said the constable. “Which shall it be, woodsman?”

  Gillam fumed. He grimaced, growled, and ground his teeth. But he had little choice. His boy climbed down off the cart, and the constables led the lot of them out of the market, pushing through the curious crowd that had gathered around them.

  “Let it be known, girl,” said Gillam beside her. “I will see you face the King’s justice for this. They take a finger for every stolen penny in Wellmont. Then they pull teeth. You will be a cripple by the time they are done with you.”

  “Enough,” said one of the constables, pushing Gillam along—and not gently.

  Loren’s mind raced. Without Gem, the woodsman seemed to have little claim upon them. But what if someone recognized Loren and Xain from their earlier search for work? What if someone happened to know the inn where they stayed? The constables would go there, and they would find Gem—presumably with all of Gillam’s coin. That must not happen. Her decision to go peacefully seemed less prudent. Though she was still unwilling to let Xain roast them when, in truth, he and Loren were in the wrong. She must quickly think of an answer.

  At last, they reached a tall, wide building with a yard bordered by a wooden fence. Constables drilled with blunted swords behind it. Men cried out in the muggy afternoon, and each clash of steel made her flinch. Behind them, a wooden gate closed with an ominous click.

  “Well, this bodes excellently,” said Xain.

  The station’s front door opened, and the constables led them inside. The lower floor held a large common room like the station in Cabrus, with a desk where a clerk waited to record their names. But there, too, were many wide tables for officers to eat and talk. At one of those tables sat a constable with armor trimmed in gold, sitting in council with many figures in red cloaks and hoods.

  One of the figures looked up at them and froze. Then he stood, casting off his hood to reveal silvery hair and piercing, pale blue eyes. Loren felt Xain stiffen beside her.

  Beside Jordel, another figure stood—smaller, slighter, with pale skin and dark eyes. And next to Jordel’s expression of wonder, Vivien’s hungry smile turned Loren to ice.

  twenty-two

  “LOREN, OF THE FAMILY NELDA,” said Jordel. “I am surprised to find you here, though I suppose I should not be.”

  Xain had frozen beside her. Loren risked a glance at the wizard, hoping he had enough wisdom to remain silent and still. Though the fear was plain on his face, she saw no light in his eyes, and his hands did not move.

  Jordel came around the table with Vivien at his side. The other Mystics turned to watch. The constables who had captured Loren and Xain clearly did not know what to make of this, for they looked uncertainly at ever
yone. Gillam, too, looked confused though still angry and suspicious.

  “What offense brings them to the King’s law?” said Jordel, addressing the constables. “Wait, I have a guess: thievery.”

  “That is right enough, my lord,” said the constable. “Suspicion, anyway, though if you know them for the thieving kind it makes our job easier.”

  “I am afraid you will have to grant a pardon and release them into my care,” said Jordel, sighing as he looked at Loren. “Though they may not wish to come, I think they will prefer it to a cell.”

  “Hold a moment!” said Gillam. “These two have stolen a purse of my coin, and I shall not leave without justice.”

  Jordel studied him. “I have no doubt they wronged you, though if I know this girl, it was not without cause. Still, never let it be said the Mystics did not uphold the King’s law. Vivien, see to it.”

  Vivien looked behind her and motioned to one of the other Mystics, who pulled from his cloak a purse of coins. This he threw to Gillam, who caught it in a deft hand and opened it. The purse looked twice as fat as the one Gem had taken, and within it Loren saw the gleam not of silver, but gold. Gillam stared, his jaw so slack it nearly struck his chest.

  “’Tis far more than his purse held,” said Xain, fuming.

  “I thought you said the woodsman was spinning tales,” said the constable holding his arm.

  Xain’s face flushed with anger, and Loren glared at him. “You call me a foolish girl, yet you speak with the grace and skill of a sow.”

  “It is no great shame to be a poor liar,” said Xain, but still he would not meet her eye.

  “Enough of this,” said Jordel. “We require haste—more than you know. Constable, leave them in my care.”

  “I am not partial to thieves,” said the one holding Xain, and her grip tightened.

  “All folk have their uses if the cause is great enough,” said Jordel, with a look at Loren. “I will invoke my rights under the King’s law if I must, but I would rather you gave them to me with trust than by duty.”