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

by D J Salisbury

  Several of the guards relaxed visibly.

  An older guard stepped forward. “I knew ye had the devils’ stamp on ye, for all ye be too small. It be the reason of the ’Casting, eh?”

  Viper kicked at a clump of grass and nodded. An Outcast slave-son, that was him all right.

  “Them overgrown yeller devils never did show no sense.” The old man smiled at some private joke. “State yer business.”

  Now, that sounded more auspicious. “I’m a trader opening a new route.”

  The guards chuckled.

  “New for me,” he amended.

  The old man nodded encouragingly. “What d’ye trade, laddie?”

  Finally they’d gotten to the heart of the matter, and this time he didn’t need to lie. “Weapons and gems.”

  The laughter stilled abruptly. “Ye gave weapons to them scorching devils?”

  Blast. Of course they’d object. “As few as I could manage, at the highest prices I could get.” He cleared his throat. “I’d forgotten they warred with others besides themselves.”

  The old man scowled, but sighed and scratched at his beard. “May be they kill each t’other with them. So. The yeller devils I cannae worry about, but the lass? Be she Outcast seeking a new home?”

  Zharyl looked thunderous and sucked in air.

  “No.” He smiled at his nercat and spoke hurriedly. “She’s from Melad, and she knows about being raided. She’s part of a quest to end the evil in the far north.” Lightning blast him, he shouldn’t have said that. Now he had to make a joke out of it.

  He grinned at the guards. “Our quest might help you eventually. I think there’ll be a war up north, and whole tribes of raiders will toddle off to join the fun. It should keep them out of your way for a while.”

  “I pray the Amber Lady hears you.” The old man gestured at the wagon. “We needs search your wagon afore we let ye into the city.”

  Viper nodded and stepped back toward Lorel. “Only, stay away from the guardian.” Blast, his mouth had diarrhea today.

  A young guard admiring Zharyl looked at him sharply. “What guardian?”

  “The one in my wagon.” Viper shrugged and grinned and searched for something inoffensive to say. “The one who kept the Setoyans from stealing my wares, or feeding me to the bahtdor.”

  The young guard climbed up on the driver’s platform and poked his head under the door. He jerked back, ashen faced. “Captain, there be abuelo snake in there the size of Ervin’s Hall.”

  What? He hadn’t even noticed the pony-sized serdil cub? “Nonsense.” He put his hands on his hips and grinned as foolishly as a magician who’d just muffed his best trick. “It’s not an abuelo.”

  The young man looked at him askance, but nodded. “It be’n’t marked like no abuelo hide I ever did see. What is it?”

  “It’s a guardian,” he repeated solemnly. How rare, an excuse with the advantage of being true.

  The captain grunted, climbed up to the door, and looked inside. His jaw dropped, but he bowed reverently. “That be Dreshin Viper,” he said as he climbed back down.

  Just like that? No fuss at all?

  Lorel laughed at his crestfallen expression. “Look at his face! Ain’t often somebody steals the kid’s thunder.”

  Not fair. He’d merely expected a little more reaction.

  The old man patted his shoulder. “Be it yer wagon’s guardian, or yer own?”

  “Mine, mostly. All of ours, somewhat.” He gestured at the four women. Oh, blast. Aramiel wasn’t far behind them. “My brother’s, too. But I don’t think he’ll come into town.” Please Thunderer, give the sandcrab the sense to stay out of a city he’d probably raided personally. “If he shows himself, come tell me and I’ll chase him away. You can’t miss our wagon.”

  The young guard blinked at him, glanced at the starfish, and looked doubtfully toward the gate.

  “It be surety enow. Let them pass.” The captain returned to his seat in the shade.

  Viper scurried up to the driver’s seat before the old man could change his mind. The women could follow on foot. At least until they were all through the gate.

  Looking shocked, the watching guards gathered close around their captain. “Ye’re letting a couple of plains raiders and a monster into the city?”

  “It be’n’t no monster,” the old man said as Viper shook the reins. “It be legend afore the telling.”

  ∞∞∞

  Ale and beef stew permeated the walls of the inn he’d chosen, reminding him of the Trader’s Inn and those happy times when he’d followed Trevor around. Never mind he’d hated it then. Those ‘boring’ days were the best in his life.

  He pushed his half-empty bowl over to Lorel and unfolded his map onto the table. If they didn’t find a wizard here, would it be better to go northwest to Zedista next? Or northeast to Kerov? A lot of strange people lived there. As did demons. The place ought to appeal to wizards.

  He ruled out Dureme-Lor. They hadn’t heard even a rumor of wizards in the far west. And he’d rather avoid the tiny islands of Feda and Taba. Their frighteningly religious populations were too small to support even a sorcerer.

  Ignoring the cooling stew, Lorel jerked the chart away from him and frowned at it. “We’re here, right?” She pointed at the lowest edge of the map.

  “That’s right.” He tried to retrieve it. “Why don’t you order another beer?”

  She yanked it out of his reach. “We started out here,” she pointed to the middle left, correctly tapping the Setoyan plains, “and we want to go here.” She pointed to Zedista. “Weaver’s dirty socks! Why’d we come all the way to Veriz instead of turning back after we found your fr– froggy brother?”

  Zharyl giggled.

  Viper groaned, leaned his elbows on the table, and hid his eyes in his hand.

  Bess patted his shoulder. “Has she always asked questions after the fact?”

  He shook his head. “She used to pester me every step of the way. I thought teaching her to read my maps would cure her.”

  Tsai’dona snickered and settled deeper on the opposite bench as if she were watching an opera. A comic opera.

  Lorel narrowed her eyes. “Well?”

  “We were too far south by the time we found him.”

  “And? I know you, kid. You ain’t never done nothing for just one reason.”

  “They collect the best amber in the world near here.” Blast. Gems had never impressed her, not even after he handed her a pouch of gold after selling them.

  His gaze darted around the tavern. The innkeeper was frowning at them, but the only other patrons were three men who didn’t appear to be merchants. “And there’s a very rare shellfish that lives only on this coast. It’s the source of a very expensive blue pearl.” Thunderer’s dice. Would she remember she’d pitched a fit over his purchase of Chiisai-Kei pearls?

  “We came all this way for a clam?” Lorel dropped the map and threw up both hands.

  He grabbed the chart and held it against his chest. He wouldn’t put it past her to tear it up, and it was one from Trevor’s stash. “It’s more closely related to an oyster.”

  “I like shellfish,” Zharyl said shyly.

  “Of all kinds.” Bess grinned up at the giggly nercat and reached for the map. She gently tugged it out of his grasp and studied it.

  “No, turybird. We came to see if there’s a wizard hiding here who might help us. Besides, when we found Aramiel, we were much closer to Veriz than Zedista.”

  Bess looked up and raised her eyebrows. “I thought you’d given up looking for wizards.”

  “What made you think so?” He must find a wizard to bind the weapons to their bearers. Especially now that he’d collected all of his fighters.

  She tilted her head. “You didn’t ask the Setoyans.”

  He snorted. “The tribes tolerate magicians because they’re amusing and never use any serious magic. And you must have noticed I didn’t claim to be a magician or a sorcerer. I wanted more respect
and less misery.”

  “So? What about wizards?”

  “The tribes hate wizards. All of them. You should hear the stories about their wizard wars.” He shuddered. Those vulture tales haunted his childhood dreams. No wonder he’d been wary of Trevor at first. “They might have murdered us all simply for asking about wizards.”

  Lorel’s silver eyes grew bigger than he’d ever seen them. “Weaver’s cold toes. How come you never warned us?”

  The turybird had to be joking. “And risk you blabbing about magic purely to start a fight? I didn’t need the stress.”

  Tsai’dona laughed. “You know her too well.”

  “You sure?” Lorel spread her hands. “You don’t think they’d like the story about you making a broadsword out of a black stallion, or a scimitar out of a volcano lizard?”

  Lightning blast her. He’d avoided telling his new followers about how the weapons were created. Having tales of his uncontrolled magic spread around could damage his haggling prospects. His nercat never stopped talking. She’d blab to someone, sooner or later.

  “You made the swords?” Zharyl gasped and swayed back. “Wait just a minute. Volcanoes are real?”

  Hadn’t he told her about their journey across the volcanic continent? He was certain he had. Hadn’t she listened?

  Lorel smirked and rubbed her chin in a failed attempt to hide her expression. “Or the one about making a seahorn from a shark’s tooth, or a flute from a dragon’s claw?”

  Bess frowned. “From a shark?”

  Zharyl yelped, “A dragon’s claw?”

  Lorel slapped her palms on the tabletop. “Or maybe they’d like to hear about the time you fought off a dead wizard what wanted you for its slave?”

  Oh, no. Don’t go into that. He didn’t want to even think about RedAdder, much less talk about her. Besides, she didn’t want him for herself; she planned to give him to her master.

  Bess leaned away from the table. “A dead wizard? As in a ghost?”

  Zharyl shrieked, “A dragon’s claw?”

  Praise the Thunderer, the girl was focused on something other than the ghost. He patted her hand. “Don’t listen to her. She exaggerates everything. She’ll be a storyteller in her old age.”

  Zharyl frowned anxiously. Tsai’dona and Bess laughed.

  Lorel’s head jerked backward. “I ain’t ever getting old! Besides, ain’t it all true?”

  He was so not answering that question. “Enough silliness.” He raised his hands for attention. “Let’s get moving. Lorel and Zharyl, head down to the port and look for pearls. Watch for weapons shops, too. We’re sure to get some business here. Bess, Tsai’dona and I will go to the market and look for amber merchants.”

  Lorel stood and glowered at him. “Why can’t me and Tsai go together?”

  “I need one of you to guard me while I’m carrying trade goods.” He grasped her arm and tried to push her on her way. “Besides, I want to get some work out of you before you settle into a tavern.”

  She glared down at him, immobile. Her lips twitched.

  Zharyl stood open mouthed.

  But Bess got the joke and laughed. She grabbed his arm and towed him toward the street.

  Tsai’dona grinned, and raised an invisible flagon in salute, and followed them.

  But three men blocked the door. The other diners he’d noticed earlier. What was their problem?

  Lorel and Tsai’dona strode closer to him, flanking him.

  The man in the red robe nodded at his turybird. “She claims you crossed the Dragon’s Eye Range.”

  Viper tried to shrug nonchalantly. “A side trip we took between Padue and Noran.”

  Tsai’dona snorted.

  The rotund fellow in an ill-fitting maroon robe and a floppy blue hat crossed his arms. “She claims you did magic. Created items out of mythical creatures.”

  “Don’t deny it,” said the bony guy in tight purple trousers and yellow shirt. “We can see by your aura you’re a sorcerer.”

  “Or a magician.” Red Robe flung one hand toward the stables. “Only a magician would traipse around with such an appalling wagon.”

  Viper scrutinized the trio for the first time. Blast, all of their auras had the silvery sheen of magic. And all of them were laced with angry orange streaks.

  Blue Hat plunked his hands on his chubby hips. “How can you make such claims? Don’t you realize you’re damaging our integrity?”

  What a turtle turd. Like he cared about their reputations. But he needed to keep the peace; Lorel’s antics were already annoying the innkeeper. “She’s just teasing our new friends.”

  “Magic is sacred.” Purple Pants waddled forward and shook his finger. Didn’t he know how awful he looked, with all of his bones and bits silhouetted by the tight, plum-purple silk? “You mustn’t allow any such claims.”

  What was it with these guys? But they should have information he needed. He must be polite. “Please forgive my ignorance, gentlemen. Perhaps you could enlighten me.”

  Blue Hat preened. Red Robe nodded condescendingly.

  “I need to speak with the local wizard. Could you tell me his or her address?”

  Purple Pants blanched and backed away. Blue Hat froze, looking trapped.

  “You can’t,” Red Robe snarled. “We can’t.”

  Can’t what?

  “Kingfisher is dead,” Purple Pants whispered. “CricketFrog fled that day without even gathering her possessions.”

  Tsai’dona’s chainmail jangled as she shifted position. “Where’d she go?”

  “Feda,” Blue Hat whispered.

  “We don’t know,” Red Robe growled. “You don’t need to know.” He grabbed his compatriots by the elbows and shoved them out the door.

  The innkeeper slammed his hands on the bar. “Scorching sorcerers! They didn’t pay up!”

  And here he’d had to pay for his crew’s meals in advance. But the insult might work to his advantage. He reached into his trouser pocket and tossed a silver patron at the man. “My apology for the inconvenience.”

  The innkeeper stared at the coin as if he’d never seen a patron before. Maybe he hadn’t, this far south. But silver would spend anywhere.

  Lorel sucked in a breath.

  He kicked her shin. “They contributed the information I sought.” Didn’t want it, but he needed it. He wouldn’t waste much more time in Veriz hunting for wizards. “Ascertain which piers the nacre merchants subsidize.”

  “What did he say?” Zharyl whispered. “Can’t he ever talk like a normal person? What does he want us to do?”

  “No idea.” Lorel sighed melodramatically. “He’s getting worse’n the toad.”

  The innkeeper shoved the patron into his apron pocket and pointed south. “Ask for the Taban pier. Pearl divers live near there.”

  Lorel nodded, grabbed Zharyl by the shoulder, and hustled her out.

  Praise the Thunderer, he might get some trading done today after all. He bowed to the innkeeper, gestured to Bess and Tsai’dona, and marched out to the street.

  Chapter 25.

  If it weren’t for slavers, Veriz would be the ideal city for earning a profit. Everything was available here. For a price.

  Fruit sellers hoisted platters of bright tangerines above their heads and sang praises of their tangy sweetness. Velvet-swathed booths displayed trays of ruddy gems, cages of screeching birds, or gleaming bronze knives.

  Drunken warriors wandered from inn to alehouse, singing romantic ballads off-key and at the top of their lungs.

  Hard-eyed guards stood on every third corner.

  For the unwary, the city was as dangerous as the deathwind. The gullible would find the price brutally steep.

  Lorel and Tsai’dona would enjoy Veriz purely for the challenge. Protecting a gem merchant in this rowdy town meant a bit of excitement for his bored bodyguards.

  Bess walked beside him as he perused the market. Tsai’dona marched directly behind them. Pickpockets eyed his little band and decided t
o look for victims elsewhere.

  Even this close to the plains, the city belonged to the desert. Dust shrouded everything. Pulverized yellow grit paved the bazaar grounds. The buildings were built of drab blond sandstone or burgundy-and-butter lava. Brightly colored canvas shaded the booths in the center of the main square.

  Was the city beguiling? Or merely dismal? If it weren’t for the cheerily canopied bazaar, he’d call it depressing.

  But he felt safer than he had since leaving Sedra-Kei. All he needed to make the day perfect was to find a wizard. And a bookstore. Preferably before Lorel rejoined them and fussed about the delay.

  A troop of dancers whirled past, their drummer beating on kidskin with wooden swords. Children galloped beside them, begging for sweets and kicking up even more dust.

  Chains of shackled slaves trudged between the snarling whips of slavers.

  If it weren’t for the slavers, he’d consider taking a booth in the bazaar. He loved bargaining. It was almost as much fun as reading.

  Tsai’dona’s face was tinged olive green. If he’d known there’d be so many slavers, he wouldn’t have brought her here. Surely the port was clear of the perverts. Sailors hated slavers.

  But he’d wanted to escape Zharyl’s chatter for a while.

  Where was Lorel? Probably hoisting ale in a Zedisti-run tavern on a pier. Though Zharyl might put a lid on his turybird getting too drunk. The girl was so innocent, getting into trouble wasn’t any fun.

  Lorel’s fondness for beer was another problem he couldn’t do anything about at the moment. He might as well keep his mind on business.

  It didn’t take long to find an amber dealer. He settled on a low stool under the maroon awning, nodded at the dark-skinned, tubby merchant, and reached inside his jacket.

  Bess eased into the awning’s shade and watched the bazaar warily.

  The sad-eyed man frowned at him. “I don’t deal with children.”

  “You’ll deal with me.” Plunking a Crayl knife on the dusty velvet tablecloth guaranteed the merchant’s complete attention. “I have more Crayl blades, if we come to an agreement.”

  The man’s soulful brown eyes widened. His throat bobbled, but he still had to wipe drool from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll trade you this beauty for your knife.” He pulled a three-inch ball of amber from a tray under the table and placed it beside the knife.