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

by D J Salisbury

  A beauty indeed. The honey-gold stone had a spider the size of his thumb frozen inside it. His pulse hammered a bit faster.

  It was a fair opening bid, but far lower than he’d hoped. He should have brought Lorel along. His hawk-faced turybird intimidated most men with her imposing height and impressive scowls.

  Bess looked across the square. Her jaw tightened.

  Jangling like a purse full of silver coin, Tsai’dona marched closer to him and laid her hand on her scimitar’s pommel. Two fingers waggled.

  Blast. Something was up. He had to hurry this session along.

  He frowned at the fidgeting merchant. “One bit of amber is not worth a Crayl knife.”

  “But see here, it’s as big as your fist.” The merchant rolled the resinous chunk between his fingertips. “Consider its occupant. Spiders in amber are very rare.”

  Viper scowled at the merchant’s chubby hands and at his own slender wrists. “My fists aren’t very big. People tell me so all the time.” It wasn’t the Verizi’s fault he was child-sized, but after Setoya the reminder stung.

  He took a deep breath and looked up at the merchant. “Besides, no matter how rare a spider is, a Crayl blade is twice as rare, and far more useful. A Crayl knife for that one and five smaller stones with insects, plus a bagful of small pieces.”

  “Too much!” The Verizi crossed his arms and peered down his nose.

  “I’ll throw in three black pearls from northern Dureme-Lor.” If they were as rare here as the surrounding tables hinted, even three should sweeten the deal noticeably. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a small black velvet bag, and placed three pea-sized ebony pearls beside the knife.

  The merchant leaned forward and stroked the pearls, obviously pondering their quality. He placed another amber chunk next to the knife. “Two stones with bugs, three large but empty.”

  “Three with, two without, plus a handful of broken bits.”

  “Done.” The merchant brought out a larger velvet bag, filled it with amber, and handed it across the table. He hid the knife and the black pearls under his counter.

  Praise the Thunderer, his haggling had gone well. It had been a fairly even exchange, but now that he knew how much the Verizis valued his pearls, he could ask a higher price.

  Shadows darkened the stall. A shadow that jangled louder than Tsai’dona did.

  The amber merchant glanced up. His eyes widened as if he feared a dragon attack. He ducked behind the squat table in an astounding contortion, given his stout body.

  “Hey, kid?” Lorel’s voice boomed through the booth as if she’d lost control.

  He couldn’t blame the poor man for hiding. His own best defense was in offence. “Where have you been?” He tucked the lumpy pouch into his jacket’s deepest pocket and turned to glare up at her.

  The turybird peered down at him through reddened, unfocused eyes. “Kid, where’s Zharyl?” Her ebony hair hung in dusty tangles over her shoulders.

  “She’s with you.” He stood and planted his hands on his hips. “And you’re drunk.”

  “I ain’t none.” Lorel touched her temple. Her fingertips came away streaked with scarlet. “Some Loom-breaker bashed me on the noggin.”

  “Thunderer, Gyrfalcon.” He stepped toward her, craning his neck back to examine her face. Her dark skin seemed unusually pale.

  “I near to busted his skull, I was so mad, but guards came and stopped me. Hauled the thread fr– frogger off.” She touched the sides of her head gingerly. “Told me slavers been nabbing tall women lots, lately.”

  “We’ve got to find Zharyl,” he whispered. His nercat kitten might be fierce, but she’d believe any lies they told her. Until it was too late.

  Tsai’dona stepped forward. “Bess and I will look for her, and for witnesses. We’re not their targets.”

  “I’m not.” Bess tapped herself on the chest. “But you’re exotic. Slavers would love to get hold of you.”

  Tsai’dona’s whole face turned gray-green, but she waved Bess out of the amber booth.

  “She’s warned now.” Lorel enunciated carefully, but every word slurred. “No slaver’s gonna sneak up on her.”

  “Let’s go, Gyrfalcon.” He needed to get her back to the wagon and check the damage. Kyri would know how to patch her up. “Stick close to me. The shape you’re in, you need me as much as I need you.”

  Lorel nodded and winced.

  It was a terrifying measure of her injuries that she followed him without a single rude remark.

  ∞∞∞

  The night passed without a single word about Zharyl. He called a meeting inside the wagon, where Kyri could attend without terrifying the tavern staff. Starting a riot on top of everything else was more than he could handle today.

  Dealing with Lorel’s stubbornness was more than he could cope with right now.

  He pushed the serdil cub off his bed again, leaned back into Kyri’s coils, and tried to enjoy the relative safety of the top bunk.

  Its head tilted to one side, the serpent watched the four of them intently. What did it think about this quarrel? It hadn’t said a word yet. Did it even understand the point he was trying to make?

  He glanced down at Tsai’dona, who sat on the wagon’s only chair. She was calmly sharpening her knife and ignoring them both. No help there.

  Bess also sat back and watched, but he didn’t really expect help from her. His turybird wouldn’t listen to a noncombatant.

  Last night, he’d spent hours combing out Lorel’s tangled ringlets and daubing the blood out of her hair, all before she’d let him poultice and bandage her head. Afterward she’d fallen asleep flat on the wagon’s floor, with the cub curled on one side and Izzy resting on her chest. This morning she still wasn’t making much sense, but her eyes were more or less focused.

  “Turybird, we can’t burn down the slave pens,” he repeated.

  She scowled at him. “Sure we can.” She leaned her elbows on the floor of the wagon and stretched her legs out in front of her.

  She did look better. But she refused to listen to reason. His turybird seemed bent on getting them killed. Or jailed, which might be worse in a town like Veriz.

  Bess sat on her bench-bed, emulating Kyri’s posture. Unfortunately, she’d never had much influence over his turybird. He needed a warrior’s help.

  He scowled at Tsai’dona. Why didn’t the sandblasted girl stop messing with her knife and say something? She must have some opinion.

  “Slavery’s illegal.” Lorel slammed her fist on the floor to recapture his attention. She winced and touched her bandaged forehead. “It’s our duty to clean them out.”

  “Slavery is legal in Veriz.” He waggled his eyebrows at Tsai’dona, now openly begging for assistance. “You can’t view the world through Zedisti laws.”

  “Why not?” Lorel slapped her thigh. “Zedista’s got the best laws ever. We gotta kill them slavers. I wanna burn down the slave pens.”

  Bess leaned forward. “How many people do you plan to murder?”

  “All them slavers.” Lorel glowered at the old woman. “All of them!”

  “If you set fire to the pens, the slavers will escape, but most of the slaves will die.” Bess leaned back. “Tsai’dona and I looked for Zharyl in the pens. They’re old and half-rotted. Fire traps. The slaves would burn to death before they could find their way out of the maze.”

  Kyri arched its neck. “This one contends the bondage enclosures are not an element of the equation.”

  Praise the Thunderer. Kyri was someone the turybird might listen to.

  “I got the ‘not’ part.” Lorel leaned back and frowned at the serpent. “Whatcha mean?”

  “The wind’s essence was misappropriated against Verizi law, and therefore will be trafficked clandestinely.” Kyri dipped its head. “This one may have information to identify the location of said auction.”

  “Traffic?” Lorel frowned. “What, they’re gonna auction her?”

  Viper struggled to sit
up within the serpent’s warm coils. He shouldn’t let himself get comfortable. This was an emergency! “You’ve seen something suspicious?”

  “Humans perpetrate many fallacious undertakings, but during the preceding nocturnal period this one witnessed numerous elongated females being propelled into an edifice fabricated of igneous-stone blocks.” Kyri looked directly at Lorel. “Each appeared to be intoxicated.”

  “Drunk? Or drugged?” Lorel paused, apparently trying to make sense of Kyri’s information. Finally she nodded. “That’s the place, toad.”

  “I agree.” Tsai’dona sheathed her knife shoved her thumbs into her sword belt. “That’s got to be it.”

  “Maybe.” Viper climbed free of Kyri’s coils. “I certainly hope so. I’m going snooping to make sure. You three need to stay here.”

  “No way, kid!” Lorel leapt to her feet and hit her head on the wagon’s ceiling. “Bitter blood in the Warp and the Weave!” Clutching her head in both hands, she eased back onto the floor.

  Tsai’dona crossed her arms. “What if you get caught?”

  He slid down to the floor. “Kyri will know.”

  Bess blinked at him. “How?”

  Lorel glanced up, frowning. She studied him a moment, but shrugged. “If old toad can chase you across a whole mountain range, I guess it can find you in this pintsized town.”

  “I’ll get inside the building. If it looks likely, I’ll hide there.” He pointed at his turybird. “Don’t fuss at me. I swear I’ll stay out of sight. After dark I’ll sneak out and open a door. Then you can do your damage.”

  Tsai’dona nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

  Lorel grinned for the first time since the attack. “I owe them slavers more than a lump on the noggin.”

  “If the hatchling emancipates an aperture, this one will proffer assistance.”

  “I’ll get a window open.” He reached up to his bunk and stroked the serpent’s velvety coils. “Now, tell us about the lava-stone house.”

  ∞∞∞

  Even before he knew it was the right place, unreasoning dread set his heart pounding.

  The multicolored-stone house had tall, arabesque keyhole windows and doorways, a slanted cellar door on one side, and a clematis-covered-lath arbor on the other. It should have been handsome.

  The mere sight of it left him shaky. Goosebumps rose on his arms, chills raced down his spine. If he were less sure Zharyl was held captive inside, he’d run down the street screaming.

  Instead he inhaled a shuddering breath and searched for a way in.

  No one seemed to be inside the house, but several men sat in the shade of the arbor, where they could watch both the front and back doors. There were no windows on the first floor, and the second floor windows were too narrow for even his small frame.

  As far as he could tell, the cellar was the only safe entrance. But it was secured by a padlock the size of both his fists put together.

  He scrounged a thorny twig from behind a neighbor’s house, crouched in the shadow of the target house, and poked the twig into the padlock’s guts. It earned him three badly scratched fingers.

  Lightning-blasted padlock. Why hadn’t he learned to pick locks while he was stuck in Sedra-Kei? Was he allergic to learning anything useful?

  He leaned against a stone wall warmed by the afternoon sun and tried to reassess his position.

  Sandblasted padlock. There had to be a way around it. Deathwind-desiccating chunk of metal. How would a wizard get past it? He’d scorch it to bronze slag, he supposed.

  How would a thief do it?

  What an interesting question. He should go look for an answer.

  He jumped up and strode down the alley, heading for the worst part of town, fully aware that without Lorel to protect him he was slaver’s bait. He tried to look confident and alert.

  He caught the eye of a scrawny sunburnt child who was perhaps ten years old. He stopped and jerked his chin at the boy.

  The child sidled over, keeping well out of reach, but not looking terribly worried. Not surprising, since the boy had a three inch advantage in height.

  “Do you know anyone who’d pick a padlock for three shillings?” Please, Thunderer, let them use Zedisti shillings here. He hadn’t bothered to trade for any local coinage.

  The boy frowned at him. “Make it four.”

  “Done.”

  “I’ll do it. Show me where.”

  Viper led the way back to the slaver’s house. Once there, he was careful to remain out of the sight of the men in the arbor.

  The boy stayed several paces behind him. “This be a really bad place, bud.” He pulled a bit of wire from his vest and stuck it in the lock. “Don’t get caught. They’ll make ye wish yerself dead before they sell ye.” The lock clicked open.

  “Thanks. I’ll remember.” Viper tossed the boy his coins.

  The child grinned. “Luck on ye.” He ducked into the next alley.

  Now for a bit of security, as temporary as it may be. He rearranged the lock until it appeared fastened, as long as no one looked too closely, squeezed under the heavy door, and eased it shut behind him.

  Darkness ruled the cellar. The place stank of moldy straw and urine. And of fear and despair.

  He concentrated on using darksight and details emerged.

  This was no root cellar. Nor was it a wine cellar. Instead of supplies or furniture, it held piles of rotting straw and a dozen stout bronze cages.

  Human-sized cages. And three were occupied.

  Zharyl was not among the captives. Blast.

  To be sure, he crept from cage to cage, but his nercat kitten was missing. He was sure she’d arrive after dark, though. How many slavers could operate illegally in a town this small?

  Too many. But all he could do was rule them out, one building at a time.

  Careful not to wake the women, he explored the rest of the basement. He stole up a narrow staircase and tried to open the door. The doorknob rattled, but the heavy door would not budge. “Another Loom-tangling lock.”

  Straw rustled deep in the cellar. “Who’s there?” whispered a young female voice.

  He slunk down the steps. “A friend,” he whispered back. “We’re going to get you out, but we have to wait until dark.”

  “They’ll be here after dark,” whispered a second voice.

  “I know, but they have a friend of mine.”

  “You didn’t come to help us?” moaned a third voice.

  “I’d never have known about you, if they hadn’t snatched my friend.” Viper smiled, knowing the women couldn’t see him. “I have a Zedisti friend who’d kill me if I even suggested leaving you here. We’ll get you out.”

  “Always did like the Zedisti,” said the first voice.

  “I’m Zedisti,” retorted the second.

  “In that case I take back everything I said about you.”

  Viper laughed.

  “Could you light a torch?” begged the third voice.

  Several heartbeats passed before he decided how to answer. “Not a torch. The smoke would give us away. But I know a little magic. Enough to make a light, if you’re not afraid.”

  “I’m more afraid of the dark and the cockroaches,” the first voice said dryly.

  The girl had a point. Viper held his hand aloft and summoned light to his fingers. He shaped it into a ball and willed it to hang in front of the cages.

  Three pairs of eyes squinted up at the light. When he lowered his hand, the eyes shifted to stare at him.

  Two of the three women were nearly as tall as Lorel, and all three were as young as Zharyl. None were Verizi. From their features, he guessed them to be from Zedista, Kerov, and Dureme-Lor, with no one local to defend them.

  “Are you a wizard?” The owner of the first voice was as dark and as tall as Lorel. She had to be from Kerov.

  “No. I’m only a minor sorcerer. I’m called Viper.”

  “I’m Gayl.” The girl pointed her thumb at the next cage. “The Zedisti is Callette
.”

  “My name is Mila’lalin,” said the third, the one he’d pegged as Duremen-Lor. She wasn’t as tall as the others, but she had Tsai’dona’s exotic eyes and straight black hair. “Why don’t you open these cages?”

  “I don’t have a key. Besides, we don’t want the slavers to know anything has changed.” He frowned and glanced at the staircase. “Listen, we need to make a plan that my crew can take advantage of. I have two warriors and a– a magical guardian coming to back me up. But we need to know what we’re going to do once they attack.”

  Gayl leaned back against the bars of her cage. “Something else is bothering you.”

  “I’m supposed to sneak out and open the door after the slavers get settled in.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m also supposed to open a window to allow the guardian to get in. But I can’t even get upstairs.”

  “The room upstairs is big and empty.” Callette wrinkled her nose. “The ceiling is really high, like there used to be a second floor up there, but there’s no floor to hide on now. Nothing to hide behind, either. You couldn’t open the front door unseen.”

  Unless he cast an illusion on himself and risked crossing to the door unnoticed. Not a great plan.

  “Did you come through the cellar door?” Mila’lalin shifted onto her knees. “So, once the slavers come and put your friend down here, why can’t we all sneak out?”

  If only his life were that easy. “We will. If.”

  “If what?”

  “If they don’t leave more than one guard. If they don’t take you upstairs instead. If they don’t leave the new captives upstairs until they’re all sold. If nothing else goes wrong.”

  “I see what you mean.” Mila’lalin slouched against the bars of her cage. “We need a different plan for everything that could happen.”

  “How about if we let them get settled in, push a bunch of straw at the bottom of the stairs, and set it on fire?” Gayl looked at him. “Do you have matches?”