Merchants and Mages (Highmage's Plight Book 2) (24 page)

 
Raven nodded, “Good day.”

 
“Is everything all right?”

 
“Yes, all sleeping.”

 
“You didn’t notice anything, uh, peculiar?”

 
“Hmm?” Raven asked, innocently.

 
“Uh, never mind. Lady Se’and can key the sword by being the next person to touch its hilt with her bare hand… Otherwise, it can key to anyone.”

 
“I tell. Good day.”

 
“Uh, fine, then, we’ll be going then.”

The innkeeper was about to knock on the door to the merchant’s apartment when mage after mage exited. He stepped back, clearly frightened. The door closed behind then a moment, then opened again and two more exited.

 
The older of the two was grinning, “Ah, good night.”

 
“Tis mornin’,” the innkeeper muttered.

 
“Of course, it is,” Master Galt replied. “Well, we’d best be on our way.”

 
Dustin glanced back and said, “I wouldn’t disturb them, if I were

you. They’re sleeping.”

  “Sleeping?” the innkeeper muttered, fearing the young elfblood was describing a particularly dread spell. “I… uh, I won’t. I most certainly won’t.”

 
He went back down the stairs, the very familiar and ordinary stairs. His wife and her kin were gaping. Dustin shut the entry door behind them.

 
“Why didn’t you go inside, Aurno!” his wife yelled.

 
“Uh, they’s sleeping.”

 
“Sleeping? We can’ts have they’re like stayin’ here no longer! You’s tell them to leave right quick!”

 
He stared at her and straightened. “Not today, I’m not, woman! You lot, we don’t speak of last night ever! Understand me!?”

 
They stared at him.

 
“Understand me!”

 
“Yes, Uncle,” a few chorused.

 
He glared at them.

 
“Yes, Sir!” they all chorused, save his speechless wife.

 
“Now be about your duties, off with you!” he shouted. They fled, even his wife, however slow she was about it.

 
He blinked, glancing back upstairs. The younger of the merchant’s servants was now coming down the steps. “Master Aurno, need hot broth… tea.”

 
“I’ll see to it. I’ll have one of the lads bring up the tea when it’s ready – and see to that vegetable broth your master seems partial to.” The servant nodded and went back upstairs.

 
He didn’t want to know. Whether they were still sleeping or very much awake, he much preferred dealing with his wife’s kin –– much preferred it.

Se’and crawled out of the covers and put on a heavy robe, then went into the next room, leaving Fri’il to finish warming Je’orj. She stared at the bane sword, her sword, with the sigil of House of Ryff. The metal gleamed in a way it never had before and the metal itself, was a mirror of Fri’il’s own. Her hilt was less ornate than the House of Erone wrought blade, but it was no less beautiful to her. She drew it and felt recognition and kinship. She smiled, never had a sword felt so much a part of her body.

 
Still a bit chilled, she tossed off her robe and began dancing the sword practice forms. Raven returned and watched, thinking the motions were one of fluid beauty and that her foster–mother was as much an animal as she, herself, was.

Constandine stared into the blue flames as one of his Mage Guild journeymen exited the inn’s reinforced wards. He stumbled and fell, looked up, and apparently said, “They’re gone.”

 
“I know that you fool!”

 
The journeyman could not hear him, he knew, but what he saw next explained much.

 
A group of Faeryn mages carrying a bane sword strode out of the inn. They paused and frowned, “Too late, we’ve our sword.”

 
“But… but where are they?” the journeyman asked.

 
“Who?” Master Haft asked.

 
“The… Masters I came here with!”

 
“Oops,” Master Kith muttered.

 
“Sorry,” Master Daffid said, “We haven’t seen them. Send our regards to Archmage Constandine.”

 
Master Galt saw the Mage Guild journeyman run down the street.

“Daffid, what was that about?”

  “Seems the Guild’s misplaced some mages who, apparently, stopped by for a visit.”

 
“Oh… OH!” Galt laughed.

The scrying magefires snuffed out as Archmage Constandine screamed in rage.

Rivals

Chapter 42

T
he coach took them to the restaurant. Se’and smiled at him. It was impossible for George not notice how beautiful this, oh, so deadly woman was. She was an excellent bodyguard – a position which made her, uh, family, since she considered herself his wife by Bond. What made it worse was it was not her alone. The short-haired servant next to her was dressed as a boy. She wasn’t. Fri’il took her oaths as seriously as her former Cathartan sister–in–law. They considered themselves closer to sisters.

 
He chalked this one up to the old adage, “No good deed goes unpunished.” The young woman’s glances while they rode the coach were anything but coy.

 
They jostled slightly upon the stone streets before the coach finally slowed and came to a stop. The coachman opened the door. “Master d’Aere,” the man muttered as he stepped forth, “I shall water the horses. When you are ready to leave, you will find me hence.”

  George nodded, taking Se’and’s arms and escorting her inside. He inwardly smiled, sensing her confusion. This game was not one of her choosing, however much she seemed born to it. The
maitre d’
bowed, gesturing them into the dining room, then frowned as the boy servants moved to follow. “You may eat by the bar.”

  Raven bared her teeth as Fri’il hurriedly nodded, “My Lord.”

  George hastily shook his head, “Give them a table by the door. I want them close by.”

  The
maitre d’
frowned before replying, “But, of course, sir.”

  Raven smiled, delighted, then before George turned away he mentally gave her a cuff. A sudden look of contrition crossed Raven’s face before she, carefully in keeping with her role, more meekly followed Fri’il to their table. Se’and sighed in relief, happy disaster had been averted.

“I told you to separate them,” rasped the owner to the
maitre d’.

 
“But, sir…”

  “Get them out of here. The older servant there… that lad can be easily enticed to get some air, I should think.”

  Swallowing hard, the
maitre d’
nodded, “Of course, sir. It shall be done at once.”

The restaurateur leaned back in his chair and glanced at the wealthy merchant and his mistress. Grinning thinly, he muttered, “You will learn a very important lesson tonight. The cunning grow richer, the foolish, poorer.”

A serving girl brought them their menus as the
maitre d’
looked at them in mild disgust. Raven’s gaze narrowed with dislike. She didn’t trust the man. However, the serving girl was so pleasant, she began to relax.

  However, Fri’il was becoming uncomfortably uneasy. The serving girl’s smile was directed at her – the apparently handsome young servant. She brought them their meals, she bent, lingering long of enough to display her modest bosom. Fri’il coughed, blushing.

  Raven frowned, concerned. “Are –– you ill?”

Amusement twinkled in the serving girl’s eye as she paused to state, “Should you desire anything after your dinner, entertainment rooms await your leisure.” Then, she added, meeting Fri’il’s gaze, “I would be honored to give personal service.”

  “Our Master would not be pleased.” but the girl had already gone. Raven looked at her, puzzled.

Fri’il ate almost perfunctorily before she said, “Raven, there’s no need for you to mention any of this to Je’orj or Se’and.”

  She frowned, shaking her head. “Fine,” she muttered, wondering just what exactly Fri’il felt she should not mention.

Appetite returned, Fri’il was just finishing her main course when the serving girl returned anxiously. “Sir, your coachman wishes to speak with you; although, he wishes not to disturb your Master.”

Fri’il glanced at Raven, tensing instantly. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Raven nodded as Fri’il rose and followed the serving girl outside. She looked uneasily toward Je’orj and Se’and’s table. She unconsciously sniffed the air, seeking the scent of magery. Yet, she detected nothing and willed herself not to overreact. They were safe. Those that hunted them had lost their track. Nothing to worry about, she told herself, yet she had a nagging feeling that they were, indeed, in trouble again. The question was what to do about it.

“What’s your name?”

  Fri’il turned as she came to the entry and saw the serving girl standing there.

  “Uh, Farrel,” she replied.

  “That’s an unusual name. You’re not from the Empire, are you?”

  “No, I’m from Hollif,” she replied. The city–state lay just outside the Empire along the Southern Crescent’s coastline. “Where’s the coachman?”

  “Oh, he’s over there,” she replied following Fri’il. She pointed toward the carriage house. Yet, the house was dark.  Fri’il paused and turned about a bit confused. The girl then smiled and threw herself into Fri’il astonished arms. The drawstrings of her blouse were drawn wide as she kissed the startled Fri’il passionately. “Oh, my, Master Farrel,” the young woman rasped as Fri’il struggled to extricate herself, while at the same time failing to note the carriage house door opening.

The club struck the back of her head as the serving girl abruptly pushed her away. Fri’il’s eyes glazed over as she fell to the ground.  The serving girl sighed, “What took you so long?”

 
Fri’il was dragged roughly by her roughly dressed companion into the house, then bound as the serving girl pulled off her boots.

 
Fri’il was coming around as the girl laughed, “Such small feet… Nice anklet. You won’t be needing it.” She moved to slip it off and as she touched it cried, “Ow, something stung me!”

  “Move off, lass!” the ruffian shouted.

  With a quick blown kiss to the bound luckless lad, the serving girl quickly shoved the gag firmly in his mouth. “All right, I’m going!” she said shaking her still smarting hand.

#

The owner smiled as the younger servant, chafing at the lengthening wait for his companion, rose and exited. The
maitre d’
glanced at him casually, then walked up to the merchant and his lady.

 
George noted Raven’s departure even as Se’and said, “My father would be pleased at seeing how you spend my dowry.”

  “Cat
hartan mores,” he muttered half-jokingly as the
maitre d’
paused before him.

  “I’ve been asked to convey the fact that your coachman needed your servant’s help. I’m certain he’ll be back shortly.”

  George, for the first time, clearly sensed the falsehood in the man’s words, and wondered if he dared risk a mental probe of the man’s thoughts without the benefit of his computer staff’s enhancement.

  “Very well, thank you,” he replied as the
maitre d’
nodded and left.

  “Ow,” Se’and rasped, reaching for her ankle. “Something bit me.” Her gaze lost focus, “Something’s wrong.”

  George closed his eyes, to hell with the risk, muttering, “Minimum level rapport.” The staff he had leaned against the table barely stirred. He let his mind float, relaxed and reached out to the man walking away... He sensed his unease –– then more, the thoughts underlying them.  George’s eyes opened wide, then he endeavored to smile casually and replied, “There certainly is, damn it.”

Raven’s nostrils dilated as she reached the open air. She hesitated as

she glanced from the row of coaches to the carriage house. Grimly, she knew what would happen if rumors of a were spread through the city –– and also what Se’and would do to her if she changed form and ripped through these clothes and was forced to go naked through the streets.

  Discretion was not a talent she easily learned. Fri’il’s scent hung in the air. She walked into the bushes and took off her livery, jerkin, and trousers. The area was unlighted as she quickly undressed, then hid the clothes carefully beneath the bushes. She could hear someone coming toward her to investigate. She looked right and left, but knew she had no place to hide.  Spreading her arms she shimmered, then in a flutter of wings flew off in the form of a large pale bird of prey.

 
She settled quietly atop one of the coaches as the man paused at the odd sound of her taking flight, then confusion as he looked for where she had gone. Cocking her head to the right, gazing upon the other men –– men concealed from the dim lights of the courtyard. She felt a tentative mental probe. “!” she squawked.

  Her foster–father, Je’orj, and Se’and hurriedly exited the restaurant. “Coachman!” he shouted.

  Raven took wing and dove. The nearest tough suddenly smiled in anticipation before abruptly screaming as Raven’s talons clawed his face. A second man swung his arm over his head, ducking her attack, yet the bird grasped his arm in her talons. The man cried out.

 
Se’and ran forward, drawing a thin hilt–less knife in her hand, as the third man rushed to attack them.  She cast the blade and was rewarded by the man’s faltering cry. Raven dove again and again until her victims fell sprawling upon the ground. A crowd was rushing outside into the courtyard as the pale bird took wing and seemed to vanish into the night, hoping as she crept, naked in human form, through the shadows that she would quickly recover her clothes. Or Se’and was going to kill her.

  George burst into the carriage house and found both their coachman and Fri’il. He cried out in rage as he untied her and plucked out her gag. “Se’and!”

  She hurried inside. She untied the coachman. “Sorry, M’lady. They hit me before I knew what was happening.”

  “Get the coach ready!” she ordered as he hurried out.

  George slung his walking staff across his back as Fri’il moaned, knowing it wasn’t safe here. He picked her up and she put her arms weakly about his neck. Se’and made sure the way was clear and they hurried toward the coach.

“So the foreigner has ways of protecting himself,” the Archmage muttered. 

  “Yes, Master.”

  “You did not see what unnatural creature attacked the men?”

  “No, Master...  But I detected the faintest sense of something –– perhaps a talisman of High Magery.”

  “In any case, the merchant grew suspicious and reacted quickly.”

  His journeyman made no reply; merely watched the Archmage consider. His Master’s thin smile heartened him.

#

The Lyai stared at Terhun. “Let me get this straight. The woman took out

one attacker with little effort, but a beast of some sort dealt with the other two?”

  “Aye, Milord.”

“Yet, you know nothing of the manner of the beast that just happened to come along?” 

 
Terhun would not meet his eye.

  “There is more to this than you wish to tell me.”

  “I suspect more, Milord.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I may not, Milord.”

  The elflord sat back in surprise. “Your oath is clear!”

  “That is why I may not.”

  The Lyai stared, thinking long and hard about the wording of Terhun’s oath, which bound him firmly to him and the Empire –– specifically for the good of the Empire.
How could the foreigner play into that oath? He was a foreigner and, really, no human could – the Empire was ruled by those of Elvin lineage –– descended of the Forty Great Families, who had followed the Guardian of the Gate, a title reserved for the Highmage of Aqwaine. Wait, there was one human who might meet the grounds of the Oath, the Highmage’s Hand –– a human of remarkable potential and the very reflection of the elvin Highmage’s spirit. Yet, Alrex’s Hand would be terribly old for a human these days. Wouldn’t he?

  “You’ve met
His Hand
?”

  Terhun paled and bowed, then considered his Oath carefully. The Lyai was likely the only ally the Empress had among the Provincial Lords, though he likely did not realize it. “The foreigner is most assuredly The Hand.”

  The Lyai gasped. “Oh, my, the Archmage does not understand in the least what he is letting himself in for...  and a Hand who supports the Faeryn mages? Dear me.” He laughed, then quickly grew more serious. “Terhun, make a complete report, this instant!”

The agent swallowed hard, knowing he would get no sleep this night.

They burst through the inn’s doorway, shouldering past startled guests. The foreign merchant Jeo d’Aere rushed inside cradling his unconscious young servant in his arms. A trace of blood marked the lad’s livery and he had a bump on his head. “Out o
f our way!” the merchant’s well-dressed companion shouted.

 
The manager of the plush establishment hurried forward, “Oh, dear! I’ll contact the constabulary and send for a healer immediately!”

  “No, healer!” Jeo d’Aere rasped as his partner and his much younger liveried servant boy hurriedly preceded him up the stairs to