Merchants and Mages (Highmage's Plight Book 2) (19 page)

  The girl nodded at him, thinking she understood. “Your talisman is hidden. That’s wise. Keep it safe. Many’d steal it.”

  The elfblood chuckled, “What’s your name child?”

  “Keira.”

Keira watched them carefully. The three were very loyal to one another she quickly learned. There was something about them that she recognized. Cle’or’s movements spoke of great skill with the dagger she had threatened the tavern––keeper with. Me’oh, on the other hand, confused her greatly.

  The woman treated her tenderly and sought nothing from her. And the healer never raised a finger to her. They asked for no oath – yet seemed to expect her to deal honestly with them. The more fools, they. The healer’s talisman would bring her and her partner, the tavern––keeper, a great deal of gold. There were mages who would pay well for the least little enchantment – and whatever Balfour wielded, it must be a very important enchantment.

  It took two days, but Keira finally found the smooth stone he carried in his jerkin pocket, which he had set aside when he bathed.  It was smooth and worn... and like no stone she had seen in the Empire.
It must be the talisman.

  She next laid out her plan to pilfer it. It took her a
while, but she found another stone – it was smooth and brown, not quite in the same shape...  But it would fool him long enough for her to quickly get away with it.

  Her moment came while they were in the Lower City; she bumped into him and snatched it from his pocket. She left the other, and once they returned, she slipped it to the innkeeper.

  “Now scat, girl… before I find your next mark.”

  S
he nodded and ran – into Cle’or. “Going somewhere?”

 
Her eyes grew round, “I – I saw something in the market.”

 
“Really, if I were you child, I’d find another employer… and learn to trust people.”

Cle’or smiled and watched the girl flee. She entered the inn, “Good day, Sir,” she said with the thinnest of smiles.

  He smiled, watching her go upstairs. The stone lay palmed in his hand. He slipped outside and sold it to the half blind elfblood, wearing a ragged cloak.

 
“What’s this?”

 
“The source of the healer’s power.”

 
“This? It is but a stone, fool!”

 
“No, Master, it’s…”

 
“I don’t deal with fools,” the mage muttered a word. The innkeeper strangled and fell to his knees. “Now I’ll need to find another innkeeper and deal with this myself. How inconvenient.”

Cle’or saw the elfblood think better of throwing away the worthless stone. He instead slipped the apparently harmless smooth stone into his pocket.

 
“Yes, we’re as worthless game as that stone,” she muttered, then went to the innkeeper’s desk. She marked in the book they were paid in full and emptied half the pouch’s Imperial silver and bronze coins

the late innkeeper kept in his supposedly secure box.

Me’oh glanced downstairs. Cle’or nodded, Balfour had their bags. “Time to find new digs, my friends.”

 
Cle’or tossed him a smooth stone nearly identical to the first, “Perhaps, we’ll meet someone more trustworthy at the next inn.”

 
“You’d think kindness might breed trust,” Balfour replied as they went out the front door.

 
Cle’or grinned, “Ah, an idealist.”

 
“Thanks, I think.”

 
“That wasn’t a compliment,” Cle’or muttered.

 
Me’oh shook her head, “Yes, it was.”
  Cle’or shook her head, “Lords help us.”

Finding a Traitor

Chapter 32

T
he merchant, Jeo d’Aere, and his retinue entered the Hall. The Masters, journeymen, and apprentices watched in stunned silence as Dustin announced, “Master, this fine merchant offers us a prized commission.”

 
The senior Master rose from his chair, “What do you seek, Master Jeo?”

 
“The Lyai seeks a bane sword of the finest quality – or perhaps I should say of the finest Faeryn qualities you can embue?”

 
That statement echoed through the ramshackle Hall.

Se’and strode forth and set the sword before the Faeryn on central the dais. “We leave this in your keeping.”

  “We shall make it a sword of kings,” an old Faeryn mage promised.

 
“So we shall,” the senior mage replied, laughing, “So we shall!”  

In the Provincial Capital Archmage Constandine was gazing at the bane sword he meant to present to the Lyai. With this gift, so many of his plans would be brought to fruition. Without the Faeryn mages, the Guild would rule this province in everything but name, and the Lyai bearing that sword would proclaim himself as backing the Guild, undermining his own independence with every step he took.

 
One of his spies entered and bowed, “Archmage… The Lyai has commissioned another bane sword.”

 
“What!?”

 
“The factor met with d’Aere, who bought a sword from Ebrim and, well, took it to the Faeryn.”

 
The Archmage grimaced, “Well, then, we’ll just have to see that their sword suffers an unfortunate accident in its making. They are only lesser mages, after all.”

 
His spy grinned, “Most assuredly, Master.”

 
“Get word to our agent in their Hall. I want it done before I complete the

process of enchanting this beauty.”

  “Yes, Master.”

 
Nothing would interfere with his plans, which were actually bigger than Lyai. Oh, far bigger.

Dustin remembered looking at the Master and grinning. Oh, how hope had filled them all. How the Masters had begun the forms for enchanting the sword. It was like a dance.

 
Their hopes had fled. He had awoken to the shouting. The sword they had spent hours on was now slag. Only its hilt remained undamaged.

 
“Well, we can do another,” the oldest Master averred.

 
Master Galt simply said, “No.”

 
“Whyever not?” the Master asked.

 
“The traitor in our midst would just do it again. Or am I the only one who realizes that our wards have not been tripped.”

 
They looked about them.

 
“So, let us put this to the test, my brothers,” Galt drew a talisman from his pouch. There was a gasp. “No, Archmage Talik didn’t take it with him, when he left. He thought, well, perhaps it would come in handy.”

 
Galt slammed it against the slagged sword. “Let all who enchanted thee be revealed!”

 
The talisman glowed. Galt himself glowed, those who had participated in the enchanting, each and every one began to glow. The old Master stepped back into the shadows, but the glow about him revealed him.

 
All turned to him as Galt smiled, “Why, I don’t recall your hand in

the enchantment…”

  “No!” the old elfblood cried as wards of binding surrounded him and – his heart stopped. His body thudded the floor.

 
Galt sighed, “Oh, well, and he always seemed such a nice sort. Now, my true friends, I don’t fancy asking that merchant for another sword.”

 
Dustin heard himself say, “Uh, I think I can fix it.”

 
“What?”

 
“Well, Archmage Talik gave those old books to read – you know, the ones he stole, I mean, borrowed from the Lyai’s father’s private library.”

 
Galt laughed, “Well, give it a try then, lad.”

 
Dustin sighed, “Uh, I’m going to need a few things.”

 
“What?”

 
He hesitated, then told them. There was a shocked silence, then laughter. Galt shouted, “Well, you heard the lad! Search the city if you have to.  But I’ve no idea where we’re to get ‘love’ of virgin of the blood and this ‘hand’ that wielded the blade.”

 
“For the latter, do ya think it enough that the lady done placed it there could be said to ha’ wielded it?”

 
“Well, we’ll see now, won’t we?”

 
Dustin took a deep breath and muttered, “I think I know where I might find the love.”

 
“You lot go with him, he’s an enchantment to make!” Galt shouted, and the young journeyman found himself with an escort.

 
“Afta you’s, Milord,” said the older journeyman, who teased him often.

 
Dustin shouted, “Hope you can keep up!” He ran and they followed right on his heels.

Spelling the Sword

Chapter 33

T
here was a knock at the door. Fri’il answered it in her guise as a servant. “If you please, excuse us the early hour, but we have need of you back at our Hall.”

 
“Wait here a moment,” she said, closing the door. “Master Jeo, it is Faeryn mages.”

 
“Tell them I am dressing and will join them downstairs, shortly.”

 
Raven bounded into the next room to change and dress as George, glanced at Se’and who was hastily putting on a dress, “Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Help me with the damn laces!”

 
Fri’il was at the door, “He shall join you downstairs shortly.”

“What do you want?!” the old elvin woman exclaimed, staring at Dustin and his friends at her door.

  Swallowing hard, Dustin aske
d, “Uh, is Katrin here?”

 
“You would see my granddaughter at this hour?”

 
Katrin came running down the stairs. “Dustin!”

 
“Uh, hi, Katrin… Would you mind coming with us to the Faeryn Hall?”

 
“Me? That sounds wonderful!”

 
“You shall do no such thing, girl!” her grandmother shouted, pointing her hand and muttering a word.

 
Katrin grinned, “Sorry, Grandmother, I washed my own clothes. We’ve got to go.”

 
“What?”

 
Dustin waved his hand and warded the door, shouting, “Run!”

 
The door shook, then exploded into splinters as her grandmother cast a spell, then yelled, “Girl, get back here!”

 
They rounded the corner and Katrin was laughing as she clutched Dustin’s hand. His face was red and he was relieved to know he was right. She loved him. That was the ingredient he needed. What he was going to do to keep his distance afterward he had not a clue.

“Well, that sword has certainly seen better days,” George said, both awed and amused.

 
Fri’il and Se’and were clearly less than pleased.

 
Dustin returned with an elvin young woman in tow. “Do we have everything?” the journeyman asked.

 
“Everything,” the senior Master said.

 
Dustin nodded, “Good… Now the fun part, this spell to return that which has been ruined by magery calls for the tears of scryers,” a mage brought a vial close. Dustin dripped it down the length of the slagged metal.

 
“The touch of thirteen talismans, representing the prime houses of the Empire,” Dustin said.

 
Galt shook his head, knowing how difficult “borrowing” some of them had been. It was sheer luck that the Lyai had four in his archive, needed for oaths and other official business of the Court. He wondered when the Mage Guild would realize there were Faeryn sympathizers in their midst – and hoped they wouldn’t notice the theft of their five talismans. The others, well, the Faeryn now owed rather large favors to certain elfblooded families and sundry persons in the city, who did not wish to admit having such talismans in their possession.

 
Thirteen mages touched the talismans to the metal in the heraldic order beginning with the Empress’s House and ending with Niota.

Dustin then said, “The hand of the sword’s bearer – which I think means you, Lady Se’and… Grip the hilt.”

  Se’and started to reach out, then stopped, “Farrel, grip the hilt.”

 
“Me?”

 
“It’s Erone’s, Farrel.”

 
Faeryn mages frowned as the young servant’s slim fingered hand gripped the pommel.

 
“Flame of one who loves the caster,” Dustin said, glancing ruefully at Katrin.

 
“Uh, what do I do?” she asked.

 
A Master shouted, “Perhaps give her a torch.”

That brought laughter.

  “Ahem,” Master Galt said, “Dustin, embrace and kiss her, while invoking the spell!”

 
“Uh, hmm, Katrin.”

 
She came into his arms, glancing back at the mages, “Don’t mention this to my Grandmother!”

 
The mages nodded, many smirked.

 
Dustin embraced her, awkwardly kissing her.

 
“Uh, it seems to me,” Katrin said, “you’re going have to try a bit harder. But then again, what do I know of magic?” She then kissed him hard.

  “Huhhmmm,” he mumbled.

  Galt shouted, “Try concentrating on the spell, boy!”

 
“Mmm, wha… Ohhh,” eyes widening, he did.

 
The sword snapped free of the table and rose up in Fri’il’s hand. Her eyes glowed as Katrin and Dustin’s clothing started to smoke as their kiss grew in passion.

 
Then something else happened…

Fri’il saw herself being given the sword by a wizened Mother Shaman in black robes. “You must go to the Empire and save an Elf Lord’s life.”

 
“But why?” she heard a voice that was not her own reply.

 
“That is the price for this sword saving the Secondson’s life, I have foreseen it. Remember, you must save the Elf Lord life.”

 
“But…” she nearly protested.

  “Yes, you understand what I’m saying.”

  “So I must leave Catha…”

 
“You must go alone. Tell no one.”

 
“Not even my daughters?”

 
“I’m sorry. They will be told that you died in an accident.”

 
“I’m not coming back, am I?”

 
“No,” the mother shaman said.

 
“But the sword will one day,” Fri’il heard herself say in a small voice.

 
The mother shaman frowned, leaning forward, “I have foreseen it… What? Who are you?”

 
“Mommy, this woman is funny. She doesn’t know who you are.”

 
Fri’il felt faint, glancing about as the mother shaman demanded, “Who are you?!”

 
“Mommy’s the Lady Farrel, the bearer of True… She will right Erone’s path and help bring about the prophecy about Uncle Vyss.”

 
Fri’il gasped for breath, disoriented, knowing there was a gentle presence standing at her side.

 
“Shouldn’t I have told her that, Mommy? Mommy?”

 
“This? Who’s Uncle This?” she heard the mother shaman rasp as if from a great distance.