Alchemy's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 5)

by D J Salisbury

  “Orange represents anger and righteousness. Silver represents magic.” It coiled its body tighter and raised its head a foot above his. “This one is compelled to communicate with the hatchling.”

  That was new. “I’m listening.”

  “The hatchling utilizes the Masking Veil invocation most effectively.” It swayed from side to side slowly. Nervously? “This one approves of said expenditure of power and implores the hatchling to employ the enchantment constantly. However–”

  He knew there’d be a mosquito in the buzz of complements.

  “This one requests it be exempted from said invocation.”

  He blinked up at the swaying face. The serpent had the bluest eyes. “Exempted?”

  “This one opines it is critical this one and the hatchling maintain a mental link.”

  That made sense. Wait, why did it make sense?

  The Kyridon lowered its head until they were nose to nose. Pale blue eyes gazed into his. Peered into his mind.

  Caressed his soul.

  “The hatchling shall unlock its psyche to this one, but to no other.”

  Of course he would.

  He opened a Kyridon-sized hole in his Masking Veil. Reptilian thoughts slithered into his brain. Cold, impassive, obsessed.

  But he couldn’t see where they were focused. And he needed, needed, to know. On the quest? There wasn’t much time to finish it. It was crucial they find the weapons’ new owners right away. Or was it thinking about him, everything he’d done wrong, from getting kidnapped to wasting their time searching for him? Or was it intent on the journey? It would take a lunar, maybe two, to reach Noran, and they still had to cross the ocean and–

  The mental link slammed shut.

  The serpent’s eyes closed. Its head slumped to the ground. “This one is incompetent to persevere. The hatchling’s deliberations are irrational and chaotic. This one suffers rampant cephalalgia.”

  He’d given it a headache? Poor thing. He didn’t mean to.

  He stroked the serpent’s back gently. “We’ll practice again later.”

  “This one prefers to forestall further strenuous mental interaction.” It shifted its coils until its head rested in his lap. “Providing the connection is maintained, this one trepidations are assuaged.”

  Losing their link had upset him, too, even though he’d believed it necessary to keep the dragon from finding and killing him.

  Intense relief swept through him. It felt wonderful to have his connection with Kyri back, warmer and stronger than ever.

  Chapter 2.

  For eight dull days, Lorel kept an eye open for dragons, but none bothered to come back. Weaver snip their threads! She’d been hoping for a good fight.

  Traveling back through the mountains was even more boring, for all the kid worked at amusing them. Not that a girl could call language lessons fun. It took forever for him to start talking mostly-normal Zedisti instead of pidgin dragon, but he still insisted on teaching her and Tsai Nashidran. Who wanted to talk Nasty?

  “We have to travel through Shi, Na, and Dra while we look for the quest weapon’s wielders,” the kid said.

  Fraying kid.

  “You want to speak the language wohl enough to order beer,” he added.

  That, at least, made sense. Except for the dragony bit. She’d break him of that chatter sooner or later.

  He still reminded her of the pretty gold statues sold in Toranan-Yiet, the ones with slanty teardrops for eyes. Gold hair, gold skin, but eyes black as pits in a Kerovi hell. He looked closer to ten than fourteen, until you looked into his eyes. Lately she’d caught them looking the way dragons’ eyes did. Sorta empty, and far, far away. Then even the toad showed more life in its icy blue eyeballs.

  And when he slept, he chattered in dragon. That worried her. Shouldn’t he be getting over the winged weasel holding him captive by now?

  Worse, sometimes he sounded fond of the monster. It wasn’t healthy.

  And he was such a skinny little thing these days, and still barely more than four feet tall. Nobody’d ever take that kid serious.

  Even Tsai was lots taller, though she was only five foot and a hair.

  At seven foot three, last time she measured herself, Lorel was finally big enough to impress any stripe of warrior, and looked more like Tsai’s almost-seventeen than halfway to sixteen. Even Tsai thought she’d pass as seventeen, if nobody looked too close.

  Baby Bear grew an inch every single day, it seemed like. Feeding her puppy was getting to be a fulltime job. Sing to the Weaver, her girl slept a lot. Of course, the kid insisted that’s why she was growing so fast. She’d be the biggest serdil ever at the rate she was growing.

  His whining made her smile every time she thought about it.

  Still, travel went easy until the evening she let the fire pot go out. She’d’ve sworn it was Tsai’s turn to keep stuffing twigs in there.

  Fraying Tsai crossed her arms and glared.

  Izzy leaned against the kid’s back like it was hiding from her. Its black-pearl eyes pouted at her. Why was it being cranky? She never once yelled at it about keeping the fire pot fed.

  Nobody appreciated all the work she did.

  Baby Bear toddled over and leaned against her leg. Sing to the Weaver, somebody still loved her.

  The forest snickered. Meadow grass waved a thousand one-fingered salutes. She felt like a pile of Loom lint.

  Still, she’d dug fire pit and piled firewood inside the hole. She’d even caught four bunnies in her snares. But she didn’t have no way to get the fraying fire started.

  “Hey, kid?”

  He looked up from the book he said he was reading. It looked upside down to her. “What do you need, pine tree?”

  “Where’d you hide your matches stash?”

  He frowned at her. “Don’t tell me you used them all up.”

  Hadn’t he noticed she’d been babying the blood-woven fire pot for the last eight days? Maybe not. He could be pretty noodle-brained.

  She shrugged at him.

  Tsai rolled her eyes.

  The kid sighed, pointed at the fire pit, and turned a page in his book.

  “Kid–”

  Flames roared up through the wood.

  Lorel yelped.

  Tsai squeaked and fell backward onto her butt.

  Kyri stuck its head through a window and stared at the kid.

  Looked like he didn’t need matches no more. Maybe that’s what he did to drive the fraying dragon away. It flew off right after he’d pointed at the winged weasel the way he’d pointed at the fire.

  Baby Bear pawed at her knee, begging for dinner. “Mau?”

  “Bunny guts in a minute, sweetie.” As soon as she was sure the blood-woven fire would stay lit.

  The kid giggled. “Someone has a pellucid perspective on what’s vital.”

  Fraying kid talked worse than the toad, between big words and dragon gibberish. Wasn’t worth asking what he meant. She never knew if he’d translated right, or said something new.

  She trusted Kyri to explain as best it could. Usually still didn’t make no sense, but it was an honest critter.

  Honestly annoying, but truthful. She wasn’t too sure about the kid. He was getting better at lying. But she felt pretty safe. His nose still turned red when he knew he was fibbing.

  He turned another page.

  Was he really reading that thing? Nobody could read so fast. Not and remember all them words. Foreign words, at that. He had to be faking it.

  What he needed was to get up and move around. “Come on. It’s time for sword practice.”

  He glared at her, but he put down his book without complaining.

  His being good was just too weird. He’d fought against practicing this whole trip, but ever since the dragon nabbed him, he’d drilled with his little forked thingies every day without making a fuss.

  Hmm. Maybe it was because of the dragon kidnapping him.

  Tsai shook her head, but climbed into the wagon a
nd brought out four wooden swords and the kid’s bahtdor-bone saikeris. “These are the last of the practice swords.” She frowned at the sap-sticky wood. “Too many get broken.”

  Not her fault pine didn’t hold up long.

  “I’ll carve another one tonight.” The kid stood up and stretched. “I’d rather save daylight for reading.”

  “You read all day long, even if it’s your turn to drive.” She was sure he’d read all his books by now. Maybe twice.

  He shrugged, took his saikeris from Tsai, and settled into a lopsided fighting stance.

  She attacked, not hitting as powerfully as she could, or moving as fast, but swinging plenty hard to leave nasty bruises if he missed.

  He never missed no more. Her sword always got tangled in one saikeri’s prongs and thrust away. His other saikeri moved at her gut.

  She squirmed sideways and back to avoid getting stabbed, for all his hand was moving too slow to catch her. No point in getting lazy. Lazy would kill a warrior.

  The kid’s biggest fighting problem was he was too careful not to stab her. Of course, if he did, he’d likely kill her. Those three-pronged fork thingies were lots sharper than they looked. The side prongs were only five inches long, but the middle one was at least twelve. That one could go right through her. If he ever hit her with enough strength to bother a butterfly.

  Fighting against him was the weirdest thing she’d ever done. Even limping worse than usual from his ankle stump getting blisters from the new boot padding, he moved fast, catlike, both slinky and elegant. He jumped like a cat, too, lots higher than he ought to on one leg. But he was so short he got under her guard just by crouching. And when he held still, he kinda disappeared.

  After eight days of practice he was good enough to hold off either her or Tsai, but not both together.

  She planned to work him up to it.

  After a few minutes, he yelled, “Hold.” He stepped out of the practice ring and stripped off his jacket.

  Good, she’d finally pushed him so hard he’d warmed up. Now she’d work him harder.

  He wouldn’t take off his shirt again, she’d bet. He never acted bothered by his other scars, and for such a little guy he had way too many. But he was prickly about the strange new one on his upper arm that looked like an inked-on dragon. But who ever heard of white ink? Was it a really a scar? Or a brand?

  But he wouldn’t talk about it none. Just put his shirt back on like he was ashamed of it.

  She understood all about shame. She’d never ask him about it again. Even if wanting to know where he got it was driving her to jump off the Shuttle.

  ∞∞∞

  Two days later, the kid stuffed his book inside his jacket, handed her the reins, stood up on the driver’s bench, and sniffed the air.

  Careful not to pull off the skinny-butt’s trousers again, Lorel tugged on his pant leg. “Sit down before you fall off, Loom lint. It’s too early for Tsai to get back.”

  “You just wish it was you out there scouting.” He plunked his butt back down onto the seat.

  So he’d finally figured it out. Silly kid.

  He took the reins out of her hands and turned the team into the valley they were about to pass.

  The fraying nags walked faster.

  “Hey, Tsai didn’t leave no marker there. You’re going the wrong way.”

  He held the reins out of her reach. “I know what I’m doing.”

  She could’ve grabbed them easily, his little arms were so short, but she leaned back against the wagon door instead. “Have it your way. I’ll take a nap.”

  “Leave a marker for Tsai’dona first.” He grinned up at her, as sassy as a gull that’d stolen her dinner. “She’ll need it to catch up with us.”

  Fraying kid. But she slid off the bench and piled up some big rocks with a broken branch pointing into the valley. Nothing too fancy, since she expected to take it apart in an hour or two, after the wagon got stuck.

  Instead, maybe a mile later, the wagon rolled out onto the beach.

  He looked away from her, staring out across the ocean. Hiding a snicker, she was sure. But why smirk about his magic?

  Weaver’s cold toes, the kid had way too much magic. She should’ve sent him out scouting on Tsai’s little mare.

  Except he wouldn’t ride no horse, ever. Even on the rare times he tried, he did it all wrong.

  Tsai’s job was safe. Until Lorel got a horse of her own. A long-legged horse, maybe even the warhorse the kid had promised her.

  The blue roans trudged through the clingy white sand until they got down to the watermark. On wet sand they moved out a lot faster.

  The kid never looked at her. Still smirking, she was sure. He never watched the water so much before.

  Still, the ocean was worth staring at. Waves taller than Zedista’s clock tower crashed against the shore. Salt mist seasoned the air. The light was as clear and bright as a newly-sharpened sword.

  “It’s gorgeous, ain’t it? I can’t wait to see it during an Alignment.”

  Looking a little green, the kid turned away from the water. “Care to make a bet on how long it takes us to reach Noran?”

  “Who cares how long it takes? We’ll get there when we get there.” She tugged the reins out of his hands and urged the team to walk faster.

  No way was she making a bet with that boy. Not for farthings or seashells. He always won.

  Chapter 3.

  Twelve days after they reached the beach, Viper sighted the outskirts of Noran on a forested mountain high above the shore.

  Praise the Thunderer, they were well ahead of schedule. He figured they’d traveled over five hundred miles in twenty-two glorious spring days, with only three storms and one Alignment to entertain Lorel. If only the rest of the journey could be this easy.

  Lorel was slumped on the bench beside him, snoring louder than a flock of startled crows. She’d wake up as soon as she smelled food. Or sniffed out brewing beer.

  The empty beach opened onto a trail so narrow the sides of the wagon scraped against the fir trees’ bark. The path ended on a gravel road that wound around the edges of town.

  Still favoring her sword arm, Tsai’dona rode her little mare closer to the team. He needed to find a healer to check her arm. The thought of Lorel setting a broken bone left him worried for Tsai’dona’s health.

  Noran’s wooden buildings stood in ranks like weary soldiers on parade. From the battered appearance of the walls, he’d bet the area got a lot of rough weather. Thunderer willing, they’d be gone before another storm blew in. Sheltering together inside the wagon again would drive them all to leap off a cliff. Who’d have guessed a serdil could be afraid of thunderstorms?

  Today the whiny cub and his old Boot rode inside the wagon with Kyri. He trusted the serpent to stay hidden, but all bets were off with Boot and the increasingly curious cub. Chances were the folk around Noran would know the creature for the monster it was. A serdil with short-but-humanlike fingers? There’d be riots in the streets.

  And what would they think about Boot? No, about Izzy. The new name fit the toy. But the way the leather prairie dog responded to words still gave him the willies. It behaved as if it really understood what was being said. No magical construct should do that. Maybe he’d captured a sprite.

  Praise the Thunderer, Kyri had promised to keep them both quiet once they reached town. He wished a reminder in its direction.

  Reptilian agreement whispered back at him. Both of its charges slept.

  How could a stuffed animal sleep?

  He’d worry about it later. Right now he needed to guide the team into the courtyard of an inn.

  The crunch of gravel gave way to the rattle of cobblestones.

  Lorel awoke with a snort. “Where?”

  Tsai’dona groaned as she swung off her horse. “I smell food. At least, I think it’s food. Rancid fat and overcooked water buffalo?”

  The inn stank of Nashidran cooking, a greasy style of food he didn’t miss. Noran was
an imperial colony, therefore Na’s customs must control it. “Deep-fried, battered beef is my guess.”

  “Smells good to me.” Lorel dropped from the driver’s bench and headed for the door. “Hey, innkeeper!” she shouted in Zedisti.

  They wouldn’t get good service if she insisted on speaking the wrong language. Maybe no service at all. He’d warned her the locals always spoke Nashidran. According to his books, they were rabid about following imperial fashions.

  He stayed seated on the driver’s bench in case the owner decided to chase them off.

  A wrinkled old man stomped out of the inn. He wiped wet hands on his apron and scowled at all three travelers. “Go away, hooligans,” he said in Nashidran. “You ain’t got the money to park your wagon here.”

  He’d expected that reaction, given their tattered clothing. Viper pulled three silver patrons from his jacket pocket and jingled them in his hand. “I want two rooms for ten days, including meals and feed for the horses. And a bath for each of us.”

  “Including them bony horses?” The old man snickered, but reached up and snatched the coins. “Five days.”

  Hey, it wasn’t his fault the team’s ribs showed so badly. He’d stopped at every grassy spot between here and the dragon’s mountain, but he hadn’t been able to keep weight on them any better than Lorel had.

  “Eight.” He started to slid down from the driver’s bench, but changed his mind. The extra height might give him an advantage.

  “Six days.”

  “Eight.” He should’ve started at fifteen days. The old guy was trying to gouge him. Nashidran patrons were valuable, and he didn’t have many in his coin box.

  The old man eyeballed him for a minute, but nodded. “Eight days, three meals each, good feed for the horses. But liquor’s extra.”

  “A fair deal.” Now he could slide to the ground and stretch. “Where do you want the wagon?”

  “The grandson gonna move it before he unharnesses your team.” The innkeeper escorted him into the building as a teenaged boy strolled up and led all three horses away.