Mystic: A Book of Underrealm Page 3

  “I know three,” replied the other. “Brickands run rampant in this land. An odd name, but common as weeds.”

  Loren studied them curiously. The outriders spoke in strange voices and under their sun-brown skin were paler than any men she had ever seen. Yellow hair spilled to their shoulders, and they stood taller than most men. She wondered where they hailed from.

  But Loren had looked long enough to draw their notice. The sentry nodded at her and growled. “Who is that one? Not one of the warrior women, I know, for she is far too young.”

  “No indeed,” Jordel said. “I have traveled through these parts before and knew of a farmhouse not far away. I went to visit, and the girl wished to see the army.”

  The outriders traded a sly glance. Even the sentry’s face seemed to lighten. Loren’s cheeks burnt, understanding their thoughts and the lie she would have to toy with. She let her blush deepen and ducked her head under her cowl as she giggled.

  “I never thought to find so many of you here.” She let her voice quiver. “’Tis like seeing the great warhosts of old, something from father’s stories.”

  Gem rolled his eyes. She wanted to cuff him.

  The riders laughed. But the sentry scowled at Loren and turned to Jordel. “This is no place for sightseeing. She will remember our numbers as well as any enemy’s spy.”

  Jordel waved a dismissive hand. “She has no wish to return home just yet, nor if she did would any think to ask her about us. Mayhap she will travel with me for a while.”

  Loren tittered again and turned away as if bashful. “Only if I would be of no burden.”

  Again, the outriders laughed. One of them used the butt of his lance to jostle the sentry on foot. “No burden she would be indeed, eh? I say good for the man.”

  “Aye, leave them be, friend,” said the other rider. “She looks a pretty thing. Mayhap she would like to lighten the load of some others?” He grinned at Loren and kissed the air twice. Loren blushed deeper.

  Jordel’s hand crept to his side, where his sword hung ready. Loren’s heart skipped as the Mystic’s voice came sharp as steel. “Surely, no warrior of Dulmun would think to press himself unwelcome, even in this faraway land? A sellsword should have more honor.”

  The rider shrugged. “You mistake me, friend. I give an offer, not an obligation. I am not fool enough to invite a quiet dagger in the night.”

  Jordel visibly relaxed. “I am glad to hear tales of Dulmun gallantry are no exaggeration. But what of your own passenger? That is no quail strung across your saddle, though he looks small enough to be such a bird.”

  “This one?” The rider reached back and thumped Gem hard enough to draw a groan. “Mayhap a spy. Or simply a small child on his own, far from home. It hardly matters. He will get the question all the same, and like as not his end. You know the captain. ‘Silent and swift,’ he says again and again.”

  “Until I think my ears might fall off,” said Jordel with a nod. “But this one hardly looks to be a spy. Not even Selvan gets them this young.”

  “He moved like one and squealed when we caught him,” said the rider. “And now I think we had best be getting him on, for I have been too long without a meal.”

  Struck by an idea, Loren wandered forward, her eyes wonderstruck. She came to Gem, who stared at her with pleading eyes.

  “But this is only the little boy from the next farm over.” Her voice was singsong, airy and vacant, like a girl overwhelmed by the world. “I have known him since he was a pup, and a ripe squealer he has always been.” She raised her eyes to the rider, all innocence and curiosity.

  The world fell dead silent. Both outriders glared at Loren in sudden suspicion. Their gaze drifted to Jordel behind her, and she felt a sinking hole expand in her stomach. Gem winced as if dying.

  What have I done?

  “He told us he was a riverman’s son,” said one of the riders. “Wandering off from his father’s boat while it rested on the bank.”

  Loren’s mouth fell open, but she found no words, suddenly aware of the mounted men’s size and of the sentry standing unseen behind her.

  “So, riverboy or farmer’s son?” growled the other rider. “Which lie to believe? Mayhap we have laid hands on two spies rather than one.”

  “Or three—” the other began, turning towards Jordel.

  He never finished, for the Mystic was a blur with his drawn sword, hacking the front legs from under the man’s mount.

  The warrior pitched to the ground with a cry, and Gem tumbled from saddle to grass with a groan.

  Loren seized his shoulders and dragged him from the steed’s flailing rear hooves as the creature screamed in agony on the ground.

  Before Loren could cry out, Jordel struck again. This time, his blade plunged into the second rider’s chest, and the man fell dumbstruck from the saddle. Jordel grabbed the reins with his sword hand as he spun, shoving them over to Loren. She seized them without thinking.

  Jordel jumped forward, for the other rider had regained his feet. The taller man dropped his lance in favor of a curved blade at his waist, but in three quick strokes Jordel had struck the weapon away. His blade gleamed in the sunlight, and the rider fell to his knees, head rolling through the grass, spurting blood as it went.

  Loren wanted to scream but was struck dumb. Her eyes darted to the last man, the sentry on foot, his arrow nocked and drawn to the ear. He stood too far for Jordel to reach with a sword, and finally Loren raised her voice in a shout, trying to warn the Mystic, even though it was surely too late . . .

  The sentry let fly. The bowstring twanged. The arrow sailed for Jordel’s heart. But the Mystic’s free hand leapt up, faster than a lightning strike, and he batted the arrow aside. It sank deep into the ground yards behind him, buried up to the fletching.

  Loren joined the sentry in awe, even as Jordel lunged, even as his sword took first the archer’s hand, and then lay open his chest, and finally split the man’s head nearly in half down the middle.

  Red spurted Jordel’s body, spattering his face, his silvery hair, his light tunic. But Loren had grown numb to the blood, to the fighting and killing she had wanted so badly to miss. She could only see Jordel batting the arrow midair and could only think that she had heard of Mennet doing the same in one of Bracken’s ancient tales.

  Jordel turned and came to her quickly. Loren shied away, but he dropped to his knee beside Gem and drew the dirk from his boot. In seconds, the boy’s bonds were severed and the gag removed from his mouth.

  “Thank . . . thank you,” gasped Gem.

  “Up,” said Jordel, but he did not wait before raising the boy by the shoulders. He took the reins from Loren and leapt into the saddle, seizing Gem’s wrist and dragging the boy up to sit before him.

  “Come, Loren. Quickly.” Jordel held out a hand, ready to pull Loren up behind him.

  She could only stare, unable to move.

  A horn blast split the air. A sentry had seen the carnage, and now a second raised his horn. Another blast cut the air, and the sellsword camp was an anthill, with many men leaping to horseback throughout.

  “Loren!” barked Jordel. “I am sorry, but if we do not leave at once our corpses will join theirs. Come!”

  Loren hated it but could see the truth in his words.

  She raised her hand and let Jordel pull her up, sliding into the saddle behind him. She wrapped herself around his wide chest, linking her hands so she would not have to press her palms against him. Gem bounced back against her wrists as the Mystic spurred the horse in a circle, climbing over the hill and down the other side, riding east as fast as they could while the army erupted to life behind them.

  five

  THEY CAME UPON THE CAMP in a clatter of hoofbeats to find Seth standing by the carriage, a naked sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. The driver’s blades dipped as he saw them, but his face did not relax.

  “We are pursued,” said Jordel quickly. “Leave the carriage. Load the horses with whatever we cannot d
o without.”

  Seth said nothing and went to follow his order. Loren slid from the horse, suddenly eager to be away from Jordel. The Mystic dismounted next, and finally Gem jumped from the saddle, his spirits high.

  “You were like a great warrior from the old tales!” cried Gem. “You went through them like they were only children!”

  Jordel did not acknowledge Gem or so much as glance at the boy. Instead, he fixed Loren with a pointed gaze.

  “I did not wish it,” he said.

  “I have heard that said before.”

  “Do you think I am like the merchant? Have I given you cause to fear for your life? Poisoned you? Sent the constables to hunt you down like a dog, to lock you up like a murderer?”

  “Not yet,” Loren said. “But Damaris, too, killed others long before she turned her wrath on me.”

  Seth came to Jordel before he could reply. The driver had cut the carriage horses free and both bore saddlebags packed with supplies. In one hand he held Jordel’s red cloak.

  “Ready we are, and the sooner gone the better, I say.”

  Jordel took the cloak and fastened it about his throat. “I shall ride with the boy.”

  “You are heaviest. I shall take him.” Seth put one set of reins in Jordel’s hand and went to Loren with another.

  Loren took a hasty step back. “I have not enough skill in the saddle.”

  Seth growled, “Can you keep from falling off, at least? Any horse that bears you and one of us will be caught. You will ride alone or doom us all.”

  “I will ride beside you and keep a ready hand on your horse’s reins,” said Jordel. “We must travel with speed, but you need not fear.”

  Loren bit her tongue before telling the Mystic that her fright did not stem from the horse. Instead, she seized the reins and swung herself up into the saddle.

  Jordel took her reins, and together they led their horses out of the trees and onto the road. There the Mystic spurred his mount to a gallop. Loren flung herself down and seized her beast’s neck, clinging for dear life as its muscles bunched and thrust beneath her. Every jostle threatened to pitch her from the saddle, but somehow she held on.

  They rode on and on, slowing to a trot once an hour to keep the horses from collapse. Loren turned to look back whenever they slowed but never caught a glimpse of the sellswords. As the sun neared the horizon far to their right, she felt herself almost relax. It seemed they would not be pursued, or that their pursuers had left them behind. By sunset, Jordel allowed the horses to walk.

  He turned to Loren. “They do not pursue us. Why?”

  Loren was surprised and not entirely pleased by the question. “I am in no mood for your riddle games, Mystic.”

  Jordel gave a heavy sigh. “Loren, I understand your concern. But if I had not struck when I did, they might have alerted the others. If they had, we should not have rescued Gem so easily.”

  “Easily? Three bodies lay soaked in blood behind us. Their bones will rest forever far from their homes, untended by their families. Mayhap they had wives, brothers, sons, who will never know how they died.”

  “And yet that is the lot of a sellsword, and no man signs the company bill without knowing that truth.”

  “A fine excuse from the man who laid them to waste.” Even as she spat it, Loren pictured him stopping the arrow midflight.

  “I make no excuse,” said Jordel quietly. “I have killed fewer men than I could in my life, and yet over many years the number has blistered like a wound. There is always a way to avoid it. But I am like any man, and prone to error.”

  “It was fury not error that drove your blade. And no words of yours will tell me otherwise.”

  Jordel left Loren alone after that, though she often caught him looking. Soon, Seth found a clearing not far off the road but near the river and hidden by a rocky rise. There they made a camp with no fire, for Jordel feared detection. Seth chose to erect a tent, but Jordel went without as did Loren. Gem still felt drawn to lie and look at the stars.

  The air hung thick and silent with tension, broken only by occasional, meaningless words from both Mystic and driver. Gone were any thoughts of asking on Jordel’s childhood. She didn’t even wish to look upon him. After a bland meal swiftly eaten, Loren stood. “I shall be back.”

  “Where are ye going?” Seth eyed her with suspicion.

  “Nowhere that is your business,” she snapped.

  “To make water, then?”

  “Let her be, Seth.” Jordel looked up at Loren and studied her for a moment too long. “Will you return?”

  Nostrils flaring: “I said I would.”

  “Good.” The Mystic nodded, and that was that. Loren headed for the river, following it south until she could no longer hear the murmur of Seth and Jordel exchanging words.

  She found a log jutting out into the river, and there she sat with bare feet dipped in the water, boots behind her on the bank. She tilted her head back to stare up at the stars, but they seemed to glow red. She imagined them doused in the blood Jordel had spilled that morning, and the image was slow to leave her mind.

  “He had no choice, you know.”

  Gem’s quiet voice startled her, and for a moment Loren thought she might slip from the log. But she regained her balance with a quiet curse as the boy sidled out to sit beside her.

  “There is always a choice. Always. Even choosing to die, rather than kill, is a choice.”

  “Not one I would ever make,” Gem snorted. “I value my own neck above another’s. Even yours, if you will forgive my saying.”

  “I do forgive your saying.” Then, with a sharp shove, Loren pitched Gem into the river.

  He sank beneath the current with a yelp, and Loren let herself laugh. His head broke the surface a moment later, arms thrashing. She heard him cry, “Help!” before he sank again.

  She realized her mistake immediately. Gem had grown up in Cabrus. The city’s filthy waterway was not fit for swimming, and he had likely never learned. She pitched herself into the water, her arm finding his thrashing form almost immediately. She seized it before swimming for the riverbank. A few strokes brought Loren to standing depth, and she only caught Gem’s elbow in her ear once or twice before she had him safe on the dirt, sputtering and coughing.

  “You crazy witch! Were you trying to kill me?”

  “Oh, leave off.” Loren gave him another shove, and he fell into the sand. It stuck to his soaked clothes as he stood. “How was I to know you could not swim? Besides, the river’s practically shallow enough to stand all the way across.”

  “For you, perhaps, you great tree,” Gem grumbled. He ducked into the shallows again to get the sand off. “My body was built for wisdom and cleverness, not for height.”

  Loren laughed, and soon Gem had wrung himself as dry as he was going to get. Together, they climbed to the top of the bank where grass formed a cushion to sit. Loren cast her hair in the warm summer night’s breeze, thankful the air had not cooled overmuch since daylight.

  Gem spoke first. “In any case, what do you mean to do about it? If you would sooner take a blade than use one, that is your way. It is not Jordel’s, nor most people’s. Will you abandon anyone who dares fight for their life? You will soon find yourself more alone than you might wish.”

  “I will not bandy about with a killer. Nor excuse those who take a life when they could spare it. You saw the way he fought. He could have struck those men unconscious without spilling their blood.”

  “He acted quick, out of fear. And without knowing half what he was doing, as you did when you threw me into the drink. I might have died, but would you have spent your life moping?”

  Loren looked over in shock. “Of course. Do you think you mean so little to me that I would not mourn your death? I mean to see your old age, Gem, a rich and lazy scholar who spends his days reading books.”

  Gem scoffed and turned away.

  Loren placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him back towards her. “I mean it, Gem. I would ha
ve done anything to save you, from the water or from the riders today. I only think it could have been done without murdering men whose names we know not and who did us no harm.”

  Gem pursed his lips. He slowly looked up into Loren’s eyes, his own glinting with starlight.

  “I will tell you something now, Loren, and speak to you true. No one has ever stuck themselves out for me before, certainly never so far as you. It takes getting used to. But those men today would have killed me, and not honorable or quick. Given a choice, I will take the man who spills blood for me over the girl who takes an hour figuring out a way not to injure, and the decision will not cost me a moment.”

  Loren’s heart felt suddenly frozen. Slowly she withdrew her hand. “Well, perhaps next time I shall let them carry you off to die, then.”

  “I meant no offense. Only . . .”

  “Only nothing. Come, we should be getting back.”

  Though he followed, Loren could see the misery in his expression and gait. Yet she could not find it within her to care. Was she mad for holding that each life was sacred? That no one, man or woman, held the right to kill with ease?

  If I am the only one, then curse them all. I would rather stand alone on the side of right than with an army at my back on the wrong.

  But that did not calm Loren’s roiling doubts nor help her to sleep. She lay awake staring up at the moon for a long, long time before slumber finally claimed her.

  Loren came awake with a start, a rough and dirty hand covering her mouth. She was instantly alert and tried to pry off the hand to let loose a scream. But in the next instant her eyes met the face above, and her body fell to sudden stillness. Dark locks swung from the man’s head, and a quiet smirk painted his lips.

  “Greetings, Loren of the family Nelda,” said Xain. “Now come quick and quiet, before the Mystic opens his eyes.”

  six

  IT WAS A MOMENT BEFORE Loren felt fit to reply.

  When her nerves calmed and her heart found its usual pace, she reached up, pried the wizard’s fingers from her mouth, and whispered, “What are you doing here?”