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

by D J Salisbury

  Viper shrugged. “I can make fire. It should panic them. They might kill their captives, though.”

  “They’ll put out the fire first.” Callette waved her hand at the staircase. “If any of us are up there, we’ll be ready to fight. And to let your people in!”

  “We can do it.” Gayl sat up straighter.

  Mila’lalin looked skeptical, but nodded.

  “It might work.” He studied Callette’s voluminous Zedisti skirt. She couldn’t do much fighting, but the other women were wearing trousers, and should be able to move faster. None of them looked in the least like warriors, however, and that worried him. “It’s the best plan I can see. After the fire starts, somebody needs to get the door open. That’s our highest priority. After my warriors are in, you try to get the others out.”

  “I’ll break a window so your guardian can get in, too.” Callette picked up her pan of water and took a sip.

  “No! Don’t drink that!” He darted toward the cage. “It’s drugged. I’m sure of it!” Well, pretty sure. The slavers had to do something to keep their captives pliant.

  Callette dropped the pan as if it had burned her fingers.

  “Each of you pour some out. Make it look like you drank it.” He reached into Callette’s cage and put the pan upright in its corner. “Act sleepy and scared when they come down here. Let them think you’re defenseless.”

  Gayl and Mila’lalin emptied their pans at the far side of their cages.

  “We are scared,” Gayl muttered. “And defenseless.”

  The upstairs door rattled.

  He spun around and peered up the stairs. “Stay down and pretend to sleep,” he hissed.

  The girls dropped into the straw.

  He willed his light to disappear, backed into the farthest corner of the cellar, and cast an illusion of darkness over himself.

  Four men trudged down the narrow steps. The first, a slender velvet-clad gentleman, held a torch and a whip. The larger men plodded behind him, blank-faced with indifference.

  The thin man studied the girls’ still forms before unlocking the cages. “Get up,” he yelled. “Up! Come out here.”

  The captives slowly obeyed.

  Without a word, each thug grabbed a girl and hustled her up the stairs. The leader followed more slowly.

  Viper listened until he heard the door lock. Now it was his turn. Please, Thunderer, let Gayl’s plan work.

  He heaved stinky loose straw into piles and pushed it onto the lowest three steps. Using his will to lighten the piles, he shoved a dozen mounds of older, mildewed straw to the base of the stairs.

  Someday he’d learn to move big things with his magic instead of merely making them lighter. He could move a broom or a spoon just fine. Something bigger shouldn’t be too much harder.

  Well, maybe it should be. Conservation of energy said it would be. He needed to consult Trevor’s The Physics of Magic again. He’d never understood exactly what he did when he lightened the wagon. Hey, it worked. Maybe that was all that mattered.

  He shoved a final pile of hay toward the stairwell. It should suffice for a good, smoky fire.

  Now for the hard part: waiting for the right time to act.

  He clambered over the smelly straw to the stone steps and crept up to the door. He heard movement, but little else. He leaned his ear against the door and listened.

  A deep voice began chanting. A rapid, sing-song, auctioneer’s chant.

  Now it was his turn. He grinned, scooted down the stairs, and scrambled over the straw to the ground.

  After taking a shaky breath, he willed fire to ignite in the center of the pile.

  The flames spread more rapidly than he’d expected, but it didn’t produce the smoke he required. He’d burn down the whole building before anyone even noticed.

  Smoke. He needed smoke.

  He threw up his hands and willed Smoke! SMOKE!

  Wild, billowing black smoke filled the room.

  He fled the fire, coughing painfully, but refusing to drop his concentration. He forced his shoulders under the heavy outside door–

  Only to narrowly miss Lorel’s sword when it whizzed past his nose.

  Viper ducked and thumped his head against the door. “Thunderer’s dice! Will you pay attention?” He coughed up black gunk and spat it onto the dirt.

  “Sorry, kid.” She yanked the door open, but didn’t look the least repentant. “I was expecting you at the front.”

  He scampered away from the doorway – and out of reach of her blade. He trusted her not to cut him, but once she learned his ‘plan’ she was liable to swat him. “We need to be ready at the front.”

  Tsai’dona shook her head. “You’ve swallowed the bog, this time.”

  Bess gestured at the smoke oozing around the sides of the cellar door. “What have you done, pet?”

  “I’ve set fire to the stairwell.” He flicked his fingers at the building. “Three friends are in there waiting for the slavers to notice. They’ll try and open the door.”

  Kyri? He concentrated on linking with the serpent’s mind. Watch for a broken window. He sensed an impassive serpentine assent even as his inner strength dribbled into the link.

  He leaned against the wall until the dizziness passed. “Things should get interesting soon.”

  “We might have to break our way in.” Tsai’dona stalked along the side of the building, gravel crunching under her boots.

  “I hope not. It’ll be too obvious.” He held up a finger to quiet Lorel. “The guard will attack us for assault, and they might be in on the crime.”

  Lorel grumbled, but nodded.

  Broken glass crashed to the ground. Smoke poured out of a window.

  Kyri slid off the roof and into the opening.

  He turned to his bodyguards. “Shall we create a distraction?”

  Tsai’dona looked at him askance. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a fire in the building.” He spread his hands wide. “Shouldn’t someone help?”

  The women gawked at him for a moment, but after a moment all three grinned.

  “Fire!” Lorel shouted. Veriz ought to hear her voice clear to the city gate.

  “Fire! Fire!” The four of them sprinted to the front of the house and pounded on the door. Other voices followed them, screaming about fire.

  People poured out of nearby houses. Most observed which house was smoking and went back inside, but a few ran closer.

  “You got a friend in there?” a stout man asked.

  Viper nodded breathlessly, unable to say a word above Lorel’s bellowing.

  “Jason, bring an ax,” a matron shouted over her shoulder. “There be a fire!”

  The young man behind the matron looked at her doubtfully. His frown spread into a wicked grin. “Coming, Ma.”

  He adored these people. So quick to understand the proper priorities.

  Jason reappeared only moments later. He raced to the building and slammed his bronze ax against the door. A large chip flew into the street, but the door thudded like a four inch slab of oak.

  “ ’Scuse me.” Lorel took the ax out of Jason’s hands and herded the townsfolk away from the entrance.

  Viper glanced at her bandaged face and raised his eyebrows. Could she really knock down a door that heavy? Probably. He tugged Bess out of range.

  His Gyrfalcon lifted the ax and spun on her heel.

  The ax head hit the lock square on. The deadbolt screeched and burst loose from the frame.

  Lorel handed the ax back to Jason. “I always wanted to try that.” She drew her short sword and charged through the door.

  “Newfangled way to douse fire,” the stout man said.

  Viper grinned and followed Tsai’dona into the building.

  Acrid smoke choked the room. He willed his magical smoke out of existence and wished he could disperse the real stuff. He chanted up a breeze and tried to direct smoke through the broken window.

  It would do for now.

  He whir
led and searched the gloom for the captives. He found them huddled in the far corner, guarded by Kyri, who had coiled itself like a monstrous rattlesnake.

  Zharyl was there, drugged but safe. Callette lay bleeding in Gayl’s lap, dead or unconscious.

  The fighting focused on Lorel and Tsai’dona.

  He crept along the wall to reach the prisoners. None of the slavers seemed willing to argue with Kyri. Three dead bodies explained why.

  “We’ve got to get out of here quickly.” Trying to cradle her head, Viper lifted the unconscious girl’s shoulders out of Gayl’s lap. “Can you carry her?”

  “Between us we can.” Mila’lalin wrapped her arms around Callette’s shoulders.

  Gayl jumped to her feet. “Can you handle the other three?”

  “I’ll manage.” Viper glanced at Zharyl and her drugged companions, but he had other problems. “Kyri, there are townsfolk outside. Some might come in to help.”

  “This one shall utilize prudence.” The serpent uncoiled one loop and arched taller. “Should the citizens penetrate, this one shall ascend the hatchling to attain the protuberance. This one shall defenestrate from said location. Until such juncture, this one shall safeguard the hatchling and the Menajr daughters, awaiting functional assistance.”

  Gayl wrinkled her nose and looked at him. “What did it say?”

  “Kyri will guard us until somebody else shows up to rescue us. Afterwards it’ll leave by the window.” He took a roll of cord from his coat pocket and tied the waists of the drugged women together. “Anybody who doesn’t know better might try to hurt my guardian.”

  Mila’lalin glanced at the three dead men. “Not a smart idea.”

  “Right.” He tugged on his improvised leash. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Silent for the first time in waking memory, Zharyl followed him trustfully, and the other drugged girls clung to her. Mila’lalin and Gayl carried Callette in a mismatched chair made of their arms. With Kyri slithering between them and the rest of the room they reached the doorway safely.

  Viper poked his head past the broken door.

  Bess was waving her arms at a trio of city guards, apparently delaying them with her arguments. They didn’t look anxious to join the noisy battle.

  Jason’s mother peered at him from the front of a gathering crowd.

  “These girls are drugged and another is hurt.” He handed his leash to the matron. “Can you help them?”

  The matriarch nodded and led the string of victims toward her home.

  Gayl and Mila’lalin handed Callette to the stout man and Jason.

  When the girls lingered, Viper begged, “Stay with them. Please guard them. The blonde is my friend.”

  The girls shrugged and followed the older woman.

  He ducked back into the room and tripped over – and fell on his nose on top of – a slaver convulsing on the floor. Blast. It was getting messy in here. He rolled off the body, staggered upright, and paused to survey the situation.

  Five slavers were still attacking. Seven looked dead, or at least out of action.

  Lorel and Tsai’dona fought back to back, holding their own, but both warriors were bleeding.

  One of the downed slavers staggered to his feet.

  “We’ve got to stop the fighting and get out of here,” he told Kyri.

  The serpent reared up and gazed at him.

  “I know. I’ve got to do it on my own.” He backed close to the wall. “Will you protect me from the window ledge?”

  Kyri spiraled up his body, climbing him as a balance pole. Its long form surged up and up until most of it rested on the ledge. It released its hold on his shoulders and drew up its tail.

  Praise the Thunderer, the last innocent was out of danger from the slavers’ swords. Now it was his turn to act.

  He leaned against the wall and concentrated on creating an illusion. A pair of moving illusions. Nothing fancy – no, something very fancy, a pair of images to disconcert the perverts. He held them inside his mind until they were stable, and focused until the details were clear. But they weren’t terribly scary yet.

  Time was running out. They’d do the way they were. He willed the illusions into the room.

  His bodyguard’s forms misted and appeared to transform into coiled, woman-sized serpents with arms. And swords. And inches-long fangs in reptilian-yet-human faces.

  Blast. They looked far too much RedAdder for comfort.

  The slavers screamed and backed away.

  “Companions of mine,” he shouted in his deepest, most theatrical voice. In his own ears, the words sounded pitifully squeaky. No time to change it. “Demons of mine. It is time to leave this place.”

  Tsai’dona backed toward him. She threw a startled glance at the serpent illusion on Lorel, but kept moving backwards.

  His turybird reluctantly followed.

  He nodded to Kyri, who slithered away to the broken window. Once both girls passed through the doorway, he released the illusions.

  Had the slavers noticed? At this point, it didn’t matter. He simply didn’t have the strength to hold them any longer.

  He fought down dizziness and hustled his bodyguards away from the door. “Let’s get out of here before they get brave enough to see if Kyri is guarding us.” He frowned at the blood on both warriors. “And get you patched up.”

  “Was a good fight, kid.” Lorel cleaned her bloody swords on her sleeves.

  Tsai’dona grinned and rolled her eyes. She yanked a cloth out her pocket to clean her own blade.

  So typical of both of them. Shaking his head, he led them to the matron’s home. Or at least, to the house where a crowd had gathered, singing and laughing.

  Jason opened the door and bowed, grinning like a cat sated on cream, and escorted them to his mother’s kitchen.

  The matron grabbed Lorel’s wrist and pushed her into a chair. “Ye be a right mess.” She slapped a steaming rag on his turybird’s bleeding shoulder.

  Lorel yelped, but turned to peer at Zharyl, who was sitting in a corner with the other drugged girls. “She all right?”

  Bess patted his nercat’s back. “She’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

  All of his friends appeared to be in relatively good shape. Now he could get some answers.

  He sauntered over to Callette. “What happened to you?”

  “We couldn’t get to the door, so I threw a pewter goblet at the window.” Callette touched the back of her head. “I snatched it right out of the skinny guy’s hand. I figured your guardian could open the door.”

  “Then the water-stealing slaver hit her on the head with a wine bottle.” Gayl tapped Callette’s shoulder. “Still, the window broke. I thought your guardian would get you in. I nearly cried when I saw it didn’t have hands.”

  Mila’lalin sagged into her chair. “I nearly kissed it after it started biting slavers.”

  “Poor toad would’ve passed out!” Lorel slapped her thigh and cackled. “You suppose it’s like the frog in the stories and would’ve turned into a prince?”

  “Sit still,” the matron scolded. “I’m not through with this bandage yet.”

  “Kissing it doesn’t work.” Tsai’dona leaned against the wall and examined her fingernails.

  Zharyl stared at her, blearily aghast. “You didn’t!”

  Tsai’dona shrugged. “It didn’t pass out.”

  Laughter drowned Zharyl’s protest.

  “What’s a toad got to do with it?” asked one of the drugged girls.

  Bess patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, pet.”

  The matron glanced out her window. “I hope those monsters burn with the house.”

  “The city guards grabbed them.” Jason bobbed on his toes, as pleased as if he’d captured the slavers himself. “The guard snagged them while they snuck out the back. It was really strange, watching blood-covered fighters sneak out of a burning house.”

  His mother tied the last knot in Lorel’s bandage. “I hope the court locks them up
forever.”

  Mila’lalin glanced at Callette’s bandaged head. “Forever won’t be nearly long enough.”

  Callette nodded. “I want to go home.”

  “Don’t nobody wanna go to a tavern?” Lorel held her own head and moaned theatrically. “I need a beer.”

  Gayl looked up and grinned. “I know a tavern that serves Zedisti ale.”

  Callette’s eyes widened. “Where?”

  “Zedisti ale?” Lorel bounced to her feet. “Where?”

  Tsai’dona sighed and sank into the turybird’s abandoned chair.

  According to Snochaus’s Treatment for Concussion, no one with a head injury should consume alcohol. Not that telling Lorel would do any good whatsoever. But maybe he could catch her attention and slow her down.

  “Did you have to tell her?” He groaned theatrically and banged his forehead against the kitchen wall. “Now she’ll drink up all my amber profits.”

  Chapter 26.

  Weaver’s cold toes. She’d busted her thread this time. She’d be stuck inside the inn all day long. Not to mention all night, too.

  Of course, since she’d let the priss get hurt, it was only fair she guarded Mistress GoldenHair while the brat slept the day away. And it was such a gorgeous, sunny day.

  Watching a sleeping body was lots more boring than guarding the kid while he dickered over his little rocks.

  But she’d let the kid down, and let the priss down worse. She’d barely seen the guy who cracked her noggin, and never noticed when his buddies carried the priss off. Now she’d pay for her dereliction of duty.

  Good thing her sword teachers wouldn’t never hear about it. They’d beat her into purple mashed mangos for being stupid.

  The kid never scolded her one bit. Sure, he was cranky at first, but soon as he realized they had a problem, he got serious.

  She wished he’d get serious and sell the fr– froggy crystal. She’d caught him staring into it again just this morning. From the way he blushed, he’d been spying on his washed-out linen again. Meeting the girl was the worst thing that ever happened to him.

  Well, a boy could have nastier habits than watching a girl sleep. Both her brothers did.

  Sleeping Beauty stretched and moaned. “Why do I have such an awful headache?”