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

by D J Salisbury

  That’s what he was afraid of. “Wait up!”

  “It’s almost dusk, kid. We gotta get ready for your show.”

  Blast. And here he’d managed to put it out of his mind. Well, they’d frighten off the poor girl, retrieve the flute, and scamper out of Melad. Once she started screaming, skipping the performance would be the least of their troubles.

  As soon as they entered the stable, Zharyl planted her feet in manure-scented sawdust. “What an amazing coach! Are those real starfish? How did you attach them? Where did you find them? I’ve never seen blue starfish before. Are they magic?”

  “It ain’t no coach.” Lorel tried to boost Zharyl up to the driver’s bench. “It’s a proper magician’s wagon.”

  The girl pivoted out of reach. “I can climb up by myself, thank you.”

  Grinning evilly, Lorel bowed and stepped back.

  Viper dashed between them and swarmed up to the platform. He jerked up the door. “Kyri, we have a guest.”

  Zharyl nudged him forward. “Sorry. I can’t balance on this little bench.”

  He fell headfirst inside the wagon. Praise the Thunderer for Tsai’dona’s bench, or he’d have broken his neck.

  Zharyl swished her skirt aside, helped him sit up, nudged him out of her way again, and climbed down into the wagon. When she stood upright, her hair barely brushed the uppermost curve of the ceiling.

  Izzy watched her from the top of the bolts of fabric, but the girl didn’t seem to notice the animated toy, not even after it waved a paw at her.

  She examined the dim interior and clapped her hands. “This is so amazing! Look at all those swords. And axes. And books! I’ve never seen so many books in my life. Oh, you already thought of selling fabric in Setoya. Do you think they’d be mad if I brought some, too? Where will I sleep? I don’t think more of us will fit in the bottom bunk. There’s already an awful lot of us. Can we empty the top bed so we’ll have more room?”

  Kyri lifted its head off the top bunk. Coils and coils of brown-striped pink scales glimmered in the dim light.

  Zharyl gasped and froze.

  Outside, sitting on the driver’s bench, Lorel snickered.

  In the distance, Tsai’dona whispered, “What’s happening?”

  Kyri bowed its head. “Salutations, wind’s essence. This one exults in the quest companion’s advent.”

  Zharyl shuddered, squared her shoulders, and wobbled through a curtsy.

  Viper’s jaw dropped. She was accepting a monster-sized snake that calmly?

  Lorel groaned.

  “Thank you for the welcome, your grace.” The tall blonde curtsied again, quite sturdily this time. “My name is Zharyl. Whom have I the honor of addressing?”

  Just like that? No fuss or bother? The girl had nerves of bahtdor bone. His turybird would have her hands full if she tried teasing this child.

  Lorel moaned and slapped her forehead. “Not another one.”

  Still outside, Tsai’dona whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  “This one is designated the Kyridon.” The serpent tilted its head. “Does the wind’s essence petition for erudition?”

  Zharyl drew in a breath, paused, and frowned. “What?”

  Viper reached up and patted her elbow. Sandblasted too-tall female. “It’s wondering if you have a question.”

  “I have seven thousand questions. What exactly is the Kyridon? Why is your wagon full of swords and axes and books? Why books, of all things? How do we go about questing? Why are we headed to Setoya?”

  The last question was the easiest. “We need to find the last weapon’s wielder.” He pointed at the huge, gold-engraved black broadsword.

  Zharyl nodded. “It will take a Setoyan to carry that one.”

  “We trade in weapons, normally.” He jerked this thumb at the turybird sitting on the driver’s bench. “The magic shows were her idea, to explain the gaudy wagon. Which was an accident! At least, I didn’t do it.”

  Lorel snickered. “Watch out for the kid’s magic. Weird stuff happens all around him.”

  Too true. “Lorel has bahtdor bone swords, which have their own magic. Tsai’dona is the first weapon’s holder, of the volcano-born scimitar.”

  “Not my idea!” Tsai’dona shouted. “I didn’t want the bog-rotted thing.”

  “Calm down, pet.”

  Praise the Thunderer for Bess. Maybe she could keep his crew in line. He had a feeling he couldn’t.

  “Bess is the second wielder, chosen by the seahorn. It’s on my bunk beside Kyri.” On top of a bolt of black velvet. It had seemed appropriate when he’d stuffed it up there, and Bess seemed happy with the arrangement.

  Izzy waved again, but the girl ignored it. If she even noticed it. Kyri was pretty distracting.

  Zharyl tilted her head, eerily echoing the serpent’s posture. “What’s your weapon?”

  Magic didn’t count? Well, she’d never seen him do any. He snorted at himself. He couldn’t do any strong magic unless he had Hreshith-bone dust in his hands to supply the power.

  And it probably wasn’t what she meant, anyway. He pulled open a drawer and lifted out his pair of ‘forked thingies.’ “These are saikeris, an ancient Setoyan weapon. I can hold off a swordsman twice my size with these.”

  “But not a swordswoman,” Lorel muttered.

  “I can until Tsai’dona rescues me.”

  Zharyl swung around and glowered at his turybird. “You’d attack the boss?”

  Lorel smirked. “Every day.”

  The nercat-brave child raised her fist.

  All they needed was for his turybird to beat up a local before they ever left town. He tugged on the back of the girl’s blouse. “They’re teaching me to defend myself.”

  “If you say so.” Still frowning, Zharyl turned back and studied the creature draped across his bunk. “What’s the Kyridon’s part in the quest?”

  He glanced up at the serpent, who continued to study the girl. “Kyri instigated the quest. It found out about the Mindbender and warned us.”

  “A Mindbender?” Zharyl clutched the flute to her chest, stumbled backward, and sat down hard on Tsai’dona’s bench. “We’re going after a Mindbender?”

  “Not until we have all the weapons linked up with fighters.” No need to worry her about finding a wizard to do the linking. Not yet. Battling a Mindbender was scary enough.

  No sane person wanted anything to do with a wizard.

  Lorel thumped her fist on the doorjamb. “We gotta hurry, kid. Sun’s going down. Time for your magic show.”

  Blast. “We need to cancel it. I haven’t done any shopping.”

  Lorel rolled her eyes. “Sing to the Weaver!”

  “For food, bahtdor bait.” He crossed his arms and glared up at her. “Unless you plan to eat plains grass until we meet up with a tribe.”

  “I can go shopping,” Bess and Zharyl said at the same time.

  Tsai’dona laughed. “That’ll save us hours. Come down from there, Sentakai, and help me finish harnessing the team.”

  Lorel grunted, but moved out of the doorway. “You’re almost finished, Loom lint.”

  Zharyl frowned. “Sentakai?”

  “It means ‘Too Tall’ in Duremen-Lor.”

  The girl’s face turned pink. Well, pinker. He should ask Bess to buy a hat for her. Her pale skin wouldn’t survive the hot plains sun.

  A problem for later. Right now he had to worry about the next couple of hours. What tools should he use for this magic show?

  He rummaged through drawers and cabinets, collected a mishmash of gear, and stuffed it all into a black velvet bag made from the wrinkled velvet he’d gotten in Shi. There was plenty left over to cover a table, if he ever got around to buying one.

  The wagon jerked forward. Tsai’dona must have harnessed the horses while they were bickering. He hadn’t taken that long picking out the stuff he’d need.

  He shooed Zharyl outside, placed his bag of paraphernalia on the floor beneath Tsai’dona’s bed, and climb
ed out of the rattling wagon, onto the driver’s bench.

  Bess and Zharyl scooted aside to give him room.

  He dug a pouch of Nashidran coins out of his innermost jacket pocket and handed it to Bess. “Flour. Cooking oil. Jars of fruit.”

  “A barrel of beer,” Lorel shouted from her position at the team’s heads. “Two barrels.”

  Viper shrugged. Beer wouldn’t last half a lunar with the turybird around, and they could always use the empty barrels, for firewood, if nothing else.

  “And rice, please,” Tsai’dona added.

  “I’ve traveled before, pets.” Bess frowned at him. “Jars?”

  “If you can find them. We may be stuck with dried fruit.” He glanced at her skeptical expression and grinned. “It’s not as though we’ll carry anything on our backs. And the tribes will pay high prices for them, empty or full.” He pointed his chin at Zharyl. “And get her a wide-brimmed hat.”

  “Headgear for all of us, I think.” Bess shrugged and reached over him to pat the girl’s arm. “Where’s the best place to find supplies?”

  “Right here.” Zharyl cupped her hands around her mouth. “Stop for a moment, please.”

  Bess cringed.

  His whole head vibrated. He clapped his hands over his ears, far too late to protect them. “I beg you, don’t shout while you’re sitting next to me.”

  Zharyl’s face crumpled.

  “Now listen.” He patted her hand. “You have a gorgeous voice.” Well, a powerful one, though rather strident.

  The girl sat a little straighter, but tears filled her eyes.

  “It’ll be perfect if we get separated and need to find each other. It’s simply too formidable for close quarters.”

  “Mother says I mustn’t shout indoors.” She wiped moisture from her face. “I never thought it’d be a problem outside.”

  He felt like an abuelo snake slithering through bahtdor droppings for upsetting the child. But his ears still rang. “Not to worry. But keep your voice down while you’re right next to anyone.”

  Zharyl nodded. The wagon stopped, and she swung to the ground.

  Bess whispered, “Thank you,” and climbed down from the driver’s seat on the opposite side. She strolled up to the girl, grasped her wrist, and led her away.

  Within seconds, Zharyl was chattering on as normal. Praise the Thunderer, she was soon out of earshot.

  Lorel spun on her heel and walked backwards beside Poppy. If she wasn’t careful, the wicked cub would tangle her in its leash and drop her on her rear end. “You sure you wanna take her along?”

  “No choice. Every ploy I thought would stop her failed.”

  Tsai’dona giggled. “I was sure her mother would squelch her, but not even meeting Kyri slowed her down.”

  He shrugged and swung the team’s reins idly. “The flute chose her.” Even if the instrument didn’t have the magic to influence events – and he wasn’t certain it didn’t – Kyri definitely did, and probably had. “We’re stuck with her. Try not to make life difficult. For me, at least. She may not notice when you play the sand lizard.”

  “You got a point. She’s fraying silly.” Lorel turned to face the main square. “Where you wanna set up?”

  Blast. The big fountain was straight ahead. And it was surrounded by thousands of children. Hundreds, anyway.

  He wished he’d never agreed to this magic show manure.

  A narrow alley on the far side of the square looked barely wide enough for the wagon. Good. No one could sneak up behind him there.

  Two people stood in front of the shops on either side. He pointed at them. “Go ask if we can park in their alley.”

  Lorel nodded and loped around the fountain. She saluted the pair, pointed at the alley, at the wagon, and at her feet.

  His turybird didn’t need a word of Nashidran to get her point across. He wondered what she was saying. Or thought she was saying. Her enunciation was… inventive.

  She jogged back, waving him forward.

  He raised one hand and guided the team in her direction.

  Both of his bodyguards leapt up to the driver’s platform and settled on the bench on either side of him.

  Lorel tried to grab the reins. “I’ll back it in, kid.”

  He smacked her hands away. “As many times as I snuggled this hulk into a tiny arroyo? You should trust me more.”

  “What’s an arroyo?” Tsai’dona asked.

  “A pintsized dry canyon. It’s a Setoyan word.” He reined the team up in front of the left-hand shop. “You’ll see lots of them on the plains. Or rather, cutting across the plains. All of the water is in canyons, and that’s where the trees grow. And where most of the animals live.”

  The team started backing even before he gave the signal, and eased the wagon into the alley as though they’d done it every day of their lives. Not a single starfish got scraped off its sides.

  “They are amazing.” Tsai’dona shook her head. “It makes me wonder what Frederick did before he died.”

  Lorel gawped at her. “Magicians go all over the world, noodle brain.”

  Hundreds of children – hundreds of thousands – trundled toward them, pointing and cheering. Or jeering, he wasn’t sure which.

  He clutched his knees to keep them from seeing how hard his hands were shaking. “Sorcerers prefer to stay home and study.”

  Both girls laughed.

  Lorel thumped him on the back. “Then you make a crappy sorcerer, kid. You ain’t never home no more.”

  “It’s not my fault!”

  Tsai’dona snorted. “Right. You accidentally traveled all over the world.”

  He sighed. It wasn’t his fault he’d been Outcast from Setoya, chased out Zedista by a murderous ghost, and chosen for a quest.

  Well, maybe it was his fault Trevor had been murdered. He had bought the grimoire the ghost was attached to.

  But right now he had bigger problems. Millions of gap-toothed children were advancing on his wagon. “Battle stations, ladies.”

  Lorel snortled, and Tsai’dona giggled, but both swung down from the driver’s seat and stood by the horse’s heads.

  Blast. The team was in the way. Next time he needed to set up a couple of hours before the performance so he could get the horses back to the stable.

  Maybe he could make the whole business sufficiently inconvenient that Lorel would stop insisting he put on the sandblasted shows. He could dream, anyway.

  He lifted the door and reached inside the wagon. Praise the Thunderer, his bag of tricks was on the bench. Which wasn’t where he’d left it. Had Kyri decided to help him?

  But he didn’t dare ask the serpent. Too many witnesses might see something they shouldn’t. A panic wouldn’t create a good atmosphere.

  He pulled the bag out and closed the door. Firmly.

  A plump gray-haired man and a skinny white-haired woman marched through the crowd and past his bodyguards. They paused beside the driver’s platform and scowled up at him. Sorcerers, by the silvery sheen of their auras. Both of them appeared to have eaten crabapple-stuffed sandcrabs for lunch.

  Lightning blast them. He didn’t need a confrontation before a flashflooded show.

  Still, he’d best deal with them before they pushed him off the Deathsinger’s cliff. He set the velvet bag on the driver’s bench and bowed. “May I help you?”

  “We don’t like magicians in our town,” the man growled.

  What a curmudgeon. The local kids probably threw cow patties at this guy. “I’m leaving in the morning. My assistant promised this show, and I refuse to let the children down.”

  The horde of little brats cheered.

  Lorel crossed her eyes at him.

  Tsai’dona rested her hand on her sword pommel and raised her eyebrows.

  He shook his head. Threatening sorcerers with a fire-hearted magical scimitar could only cause trouble. More trouble than they could deal with while there was a regiment of Nashidran soldiers in town.

  The woman planted
her wrinkled hands on her scrawny hips. “You aren’t a magician. You’re a sorcerer. What game are you playing?”

  The old man frowned and shook out his fingers.

  He had to be kidding. A magical dual? Viper eased a shield around himself and his crew and team, just in case the sandcrab did something stupid. “Are you putting on a show for the children?”

  The man froze. His round pink face turned bright red.

  The old woman stamped her foot. “I said, why are you here?”

  That wasn’t what she’d said. But he’d get his own questions answered while she was pestering him. “I’m looking for a wizard. Is one in town?”

  Both sorcerers turned gray. The man backed away, shaking his head as though he’d gotten midges in his ears.

  The woman was made of bahtdor hide, apparently. She didn’t budge. “Why? What are you after?”

  He couldn’t tell them about the Mindbender, or the quest.

  Wait, why not?

  A serpentine thought slithered across his brain, unreadable but distinct.

  Oh. Kyri didn’t want them to know. What else could he say? The sorcerers in Noran were terrified by–

  He fought back a smile. “I’m trying to stop the creature who’s been murdering sorcerers in the thaumaturgical web.”

  The old woman gasped.

  The man’s face became ashen. He turned and hobbled away.

  Yup. That had the desired effect. Almost.

  The old woman pressed her hand to her forehead. “I wish you great success. Our wizard died two lunars ago.”

  Blast. Another dead wizard. One he’d missed by such a short time. When would he find a live one? Would he ever find a living wizard, one who’d agree to help him? The quest would fail unless he found a sane, or half-sane wizard.

  Tears shone in her eyes. “He was my last living child.”

  Her son? And he’d been whining about the inconvenience of not meeting the man. Abuelo snake fodder didn’t begin to cover how awful he felt. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  She lifted her chin. “Don’t be sorry. Stop the howling dog eater.” She spun and marched after the old man.

  After that confrontation, the magic show thundered by faster than a herd of enthusiastic bahtdor. Even the tricks that went wrong got enormous applause.