by Dan McGirt
“I know just the thing,” said Sapphrina, clapping her hands. “Jason, we’ll need your help.”
***
Under Merc's impatient eye, I helped the twins drag Lord Birksnore's corpulent corpus down to the plaza. We left him there chained naked to the fountain. He would be humiliated when the DormaDose wore off and his subjects found him there. This was less punishment than he deserved—but I had refused to let the twins roll him off the balcony to see if he would bounce or merely burst when he hit the hard ground below.
We departed Offal soon thereafter, leaving the city to its slumber. I was newly armed with a sword and shield and rusty chainmail stripped from our fallen foes.
The road was an unmaintained dirt track that followed the River Longwash, running first to the south before bending slowly westward toward the Brythalian frontier. The region between the kingdoms was all hills and rough scrub and stubby trees, unclaimed and almost uninhabited. Brythalia had no interest in expanding toward Darnk, while Darnk already had more rough scrub and stubby trees than it needed. It would take us several days to cross this no man's land.
Riding with a punctured posterior was painful, but the vivacious twins distracted me from my discomfort. When the road permitted, they rode to either side of me, plying me with questions. Mercury took the lead, looking dour and doing his best to ignore us.
“So you are not the get of a Demon Lord?” asked Rubis.
“No,” I said. “My father was a woodcutter.”
“Not Death's first cousin?” asked Sapphrina.
“I'm a humble woodcutter and turnip farmer, no more.”
“A peasant then?” said Rubis. “A vital and virile son of the soil?” She pursed her pillowy lips as if contemplating a favorite dessert.
“I’ve never heard it put quite like that, but, yes. We're all peasants in Darnk. Except the king, who is a king. We also have a lord or two, but we pay them little heed. Most of our nobles were killed a few generations back in the Great Turnip Tax Rebellion of 923.”
“How exciting,” said Sapphrina. “The common folk did much the same to our ancestors when Zastria became a republic. Many noble families were massacred. The survivors were stripped of lands and titles. Rubis and I are of noble lineage. But, strictly speaking, we're commoners just like you.”
“So no need for you to be intimidated by us,” said Rubis. “We're women of the people, willing to freely associate with almost anyone.”
“No doubt,” snorted Merc.
“What was that, Merc?”
“Nothing,” said the wizard.
“So how came you into the company of this sourpuss?” asked Sapphrina.
I related my tale from the beginning, leaving nothing out. The twins listened attentively, with few interruptions. “And here we are,” I concluded. “But tell me more of yourselves.”
“What do you wish to know?” asked Rubis.
“Everything.”
“I'll bet.”
Alternating every few sentences, Sapphrina and Rubis skimmed through their life story. Their mother, Jewella, was in her day the most beautiful woman in Zastria. She died giving birth to the sisters. Their father, Corun Corundum, was the richest man in Zastria and a member of the ruling Senate. They grew up among the rich and powerful, enjoying a privileged life of palaces, parties, and pedicures. That carefree existence ended when they defied their father by refusing to go through with the marriages of alliance he arranged for them.
“Zastrian girls don’t get to marry for love,” said Sapphrina.
“But the suitors Father picked were particularly odious,” said Rubis.
“Our refusal utterly upset the balance of power in Zastria,” said Sapphrina.
“We started a civil war, if you must know,” said Rubis.
“Helped start it,” Sapphrina corrected. “It wasn't entirely our fault.”
“Nevertheless, Father ordered us flogged for our defiance,” said Rubis.
“Flogged?” I was horrified.
“Scourged is more like it,” said Sapphrina. “He is used to getting his way.”
“But so are we,” said Rubis.
“We had planned our escape for some time, saving a portion of our allowance and skimming what we could from Father's treasury,” said Sapphrina. “Though we could own nothing in Zastria, we transferred our funds to a secret account with the Bank of Caratha.”
“To Caratha we fled,” continued Rubis.
“You can read the whole sordid tale in our autobiography,” added Sapphrina.
“Naughty Nymphs,” said Rubis. “It was twelve weeks on the Caratha Times bestseller list.”
“Not only are we rich and fabulously beautiful,” said Sapphrina. “We're famous too. Not quite as famous as you, however.”
“Am I famous?”
“Infamous, rather,” said Rubis. “You’re Arden’s Archvillain.”
“So I’m told.”
“We have achieved a certain prominence in Caratha,” said Sapphrina. “Which does not sit well with Father. From time to time he sends agents to abduct us back to Zastria.”
“But they are easily bribed—or otherwise dissuaded,” said Rubis.
“Was that how you came to be sold into bondage? Some revenge of your father’s?”
“No,” said Sapphrina. “At first we thought his men had taken us. But they were instead in the hire of one of our high society rivals.”
“Aurora Nightdew,” spat Rubis.
“The treacherous witch came to gloat before they shipped us off to Rumular,” said Sapphrina. “She was much amused by the notion that we would spend the rest of our lives as scullery maids for some backwoods Brythalian baronet.”
“Birksnore bought us for the price of a broken down donkey,” said Rubis. “We arrived in Offal less than a week ago. We were already planning our escape.”
“But we are very grateful for the rescue,” said Sapphrina, batting her eyes.
“Very, very grateful,” said Rubis. She winked.
***
By the time we stopped to make camp for the night, I had ceased to be shocked or embarrassed by the suggestive comments of the sisters, for it was apparent to me that their flirtatious manner was more show than substance. They were not quite the naughty nymphs they pretended to be. But they were, to be sure, a bright, brave, and resourceful pair. I was completely charmed.
Mercury, however, was still annoyed by their presence.
“They will slow us down,” he groused as I helped him set up a small tent he produced from within the folds of his magic cloak. We decided to pass the night in a little copse atop a low hill between the road and the river.
“They haven't so far,” I said, glancing down the slope to the river bank where the twins were tending the horses.
“We've only been on the road a few hours. Tomorrow we'll be in the saddle all day. And the next day. And the next. And so on for weeks. They won't be able to maintain the pace we must set.”
“They might surprise you. They've got more experience in the saddle than I do.”
“I don't doubt that, but the Black Bolts will soon pick up our trail in Offal. I don’t want them to catch us out here. In that event, your pretty friends will only be in the way. They might get us all killed.”
“We beat the Black Bolts before.”
“What if Natalia attacks? Or the Red Huntsman? Or Isogoras? Or all of them at once? Those girls are our weak link, as any enemy will realize.”
“So what would you have us do, Mercury? Abandon them in the wilderness?”
“No. But we must be rid of them as soon as possible.”
“Before we reach Raelna?”
“Yes.”
“You said Brythalia was no place for unescorted women.”
“Brythalia is bad. But Hell is worse.”
***
The sisters shared the tent while Mercury and I took turns on watch. The night proved uneventful. The next day we were up and riding before dawn. We traveled four leag
ues over rugged terrain before sundown. Even so, Mercury was unsatisfied with the pace. We covered almost twenty miles the next day. Stiff, sore, filthy with sweat and grime, we stopped for the night. We were still some fifteen leagues from the Brythalian frontier.
“We're going to bathe in the river,” announced Sapphrina. She eyed me with a challenging smirk. “Care to join us, Jason? You look like you could use a good scrubbing.”
I blushed. “Maybe later.”
“We'll be waiting,” said Rubis.
The sisters strolled arm in arm to the water's edge. With no concession to modesty, they shed their clothes and dove naked into the water, laughing and splashing. I tried not to look in their direction as I assisted Mercury with the tent, but my eyes betrayed my good intentions with alarming frequency.
The wizard tensed. A worried frown crossed his face.
“What is it?” I asked, involuntarily glancing toward the river. Just to make sure the wet, glistening, soaped-up twins were safe, of course.
“We have been observed.”
I looked about and saw no one. “By whom?”
He shook his head. “By magic. Scrying. I detected the signature energies with my heightened magical awareness.”
“Of course you did. So what are you saying? Someone spotted us in a crystal ball?”
“Something like that.”
“The Society?”
“I don't think so. What I felt was far more powerful than any scrying device the Society could master. I have felt it before. It was the Black Mirror of Ouga Oyg.”
“What, may I ask, is the Black Mirror of Ouga-Oyg?”
“Ouga-Oyg of the Thousand and Thirty-Two Eyes, Less One, is among the more puissant of the Demon Lords. The Peeper From the Pit, as he is called, possesses a great enchanted mirror with which he can spy on events almost anywhere in Arden. I sensed its power upon us.”
“Then the Demon Lords know where we are.”
“A Demon Lord knows where we are, but not necessarily who we are. The impression was fleeting. Likely, the Peeper was merely browsing the countryside. He may not have noted us at all. But it troubles me that his attention is drawn to this part of the world.”
“Why?”
“Because this is where we are.”
“Oh, right. I knew that.”
“Our interview with He Who Sits On The Porch was obscured by a misdirecting magic mist and he transported us several leagues away afterward. But the Demon Lords may have been drawn to the disturbance. We must guard our words, actions, and even our very thoughts. If the Peeper turns the full power of the Black Mirror upon us, he will be able to read them all.”
“You're making me paranoid.”
“Good. Paranoia keeps you alive.”
“Ho, Jason Cosmo!” called Sapphrina from the river. “Won't you be a good hero and come scrub our backs?”
“We'd return the favor gladly!” added Rubis.
“Go ahead,” said Merc, with an uncharacteristic smile. “You really could use a bath.”
***
Later that night, Mercury woke me for my turn on watch. The night air had gone chilly. The waning moon was obscured behind a bank of clouds that glowed like luminous frozen smoke.
“It has been quiet,” whispered Merc. He nodded to the wall of darker clouds gathering in the west. “We will have rain tomorrow.”
“That should obscure our trail,” I said.
“And slow our progress,” said Merc. “And get us wet. Good night.”
Mercury rolled himself into a blanket and was soon fast asleep. I stood and stretched and ambled around the perimeter of our camp to get my blood flowing. I checked on the horses, and then strolled to the river bank. The Longwash slid through the night like a great dark serpent, writhing and murmuring hypnotically. An occasional moonbeam broke through the clouds and danced lightly across the river in glints of silver before winking out as if it had never been there at all.
I sat beside the river for a long while, reflecting on all that had befallen me. Wizards, bounty hunters, mercenaries, the struggles of gods and demons. I almost wished I were back in Lower Hicksnittle.
Almost.
Hearing a light tread behind me, I realized I had been a poor watchman while lost in my reverie. I half-turned to see one of the twins standing behind me. In the darkness I couldn't tell which of them it was.
“Sapphrina,” she said, answering my unasked question as she sat down beside me. “I was looking for you.”
“Why?”
“I have yet to thank you properly for rescuing us.”
“No thanks are needed.”
“I think otherwise. You have added to your own danger by helping us.” She clasped my hand in hers and brought her face close to mine. “I am grateful.”
“I could not have done otherwise,” I said.
“I know,” she whispered. Her breath was sweet and warm on my cheek. “Your motives are so honorable. You didn't even blink when we revealed our father's wealth. You’ve made no improper advances—which is bruising to our egos, but touching. You are a rare and noble man, Jason Cosmo.”
I shook my head. “I'm just an ordinary man.”
“No, you're not,” she said. “I have never met any man so brave and decent and kind.”
She clasped my face in her hands and delivered a long, lingering kiss, then stood and returned wordlessly to the tent.
I could get used to this hero business.
*****
Chapter 7
True to Mercury’s prediction, it rained the next day. And the next. And the day after that. The downpour did not relent for five rainy days. The Longwash overspilled its banks, sweeping aside boulders and trees as it rampaged southward. The rising water forced us to abandon the track beside the river for higher ground. Alert for flash floods and mudslides, we picked our way along the hilltops. When we emerged from the wilderness a week later, my companions and I were drenched, chilled, dirty, and exhausted. Our horses were nearly spent from the effort of trudging through thick mud. We wanted nothing more than to kick off our boots and prop up our feet by the hearth of a homey inn.
Unfortunately, there weren’t any in Grimmel. It was a grim little place, not so much a village as a logging camp. The forest region of northern Brythalia boasted oak, ash, elm, birch, and maple mingled with cedar, fir, and pine. The Brythalian forest was said to be the overgrown remnant of the primal nursery wherein The Gods first cultivated the various kinds of trees. This was a questionable claim, considering both the colossal destruction wrought during the Age of War and the fact that none of the trees in the region were more than a few hundred years old. But every nation needs its points of pride. Darnk claimed to be the home of more than five hundred and sixty-seven varieties of fungus found nowhere else in Arden.
Grimmel was a collection of crude bunkhouses, a mess hall, a guardhouse, and a few storage sheds clustered atop a barren mound of earth and stone near the flood-swollen Longwash. The twangy rasp of saws and the loud crack of axes from the surrounding forest suggested that most of the men who lived here were at work. Perhaps a dozen loggers and brown-shirted Brythalian men-at-arms milled about the camp itself. They offered no words of welcome as we rode into the encampment, but boldly eyed Sapphrina and Rubis with hungry leers. Mercury and I rated only surly glances.
We stopped in the center of the camp. The men spread out in a loose circle around our horses, surrounding us. Most were armed with axes, staves, or knives. The few unsavory soldiers reached for their swords. So did I. Most of the workers in these camps were criminals sentenced to hard labor. Their supposed jailers were not much better, as criminals could also be sentenced to service in the Brythalian army. Guards and guarded were united in their intentions toward us.
“I advise you girls to stick close lest you be dragged behind a woodpile and never come back,” said Merc.
“We're outnumbered,” I said quietly. “Should I make the first move?”
“Let me handle this.”
Eyes hidden behind his sunshades, Mercury silently studied our would-be assailants. No one moved. No one spoke. Merc suddenly raised his right hand and pointed at the biggest man present, a burly logger holding a thick tree branch like a club. Five thin beams of blue light lanced from Merc's fingers and converged on the man's bare chest, which promptly exploded in a spray of gore and shattered bone. He fell over backward in the muck. Blue smoke curled from the ragged hole in his chest.
“I am Shadrizar the Sadistic,” announced Mercury in a low, menacing voice that gave even me chills. The loggers and soldiers backed away fearfully. “I seek lodging for myself, my squire—and this pair of man eating vampire-succubi she-devils from Hell!”
On cue, the faces of Rubis and Sapphrina lit up with a ghastly green glow. Sharp, protruding fangs appeared in their mouths. The entire mob fled into the forest, except for a single soldier who was apparently rooted to the spot in sheer pants-wetting terror.
Mercury pointed at him. The guard flinched like a whipped dog. “You! See to it! Or I will feed you to them now!”
The twins smiled their fangsome smiles. The soldier blanched and hurried away.
Mercury threw back his head and laughed like a maniac. “That is what you call creative intimidation,” he said. “With a simple Blue Bolt of Death and a minor illusion, we have averted a senseless and time-consuming slaughter. Although a slaughter of this lot might be a public service.”
“Wasn't that risky?” I asked. “Can not the Dark Magic Society track you when you use your power?”
“Minor spells, quickly cast,” said Mercury with a shrug. “The traces will soon wash away in the ethereal tides. All that will come of this is some welcome cooperation. Ah! Here is the camp commandant now, no doubt to offer us his best accommodations.”
***
Indeed, the commandant bunked elsewhere for the night while we occupied his cabin. The furnishings were plain, but for the first time since leaving home I slept with a roof over my head, even if I was on the floor. The twins shared the bug infested bed—but only after cajoling Mercury into magically fumigating it and producing some clean sheets from the transdimensional depths of his cloak. We all took a turn on watch. Despite Merc's display of sorcerous might, there was a small chance the convicts and their keepers might regain their courage and have another go at us in the night.
