Renegade Wizards (22 page)

The tavern was quiet; the Vagros had left in the late night and staggered back into the courtyard and their own wagons. A few slept upstairs, but for the coming few days, the Wanderer’s Welcome was closed to other business. It was a Vagros reunion, and even those growing number of Vagros who sold their wagons to live in cities such as Palanthas were welcome as cousins, as were kender. While the three kender accompanying the caravan had vanished into the streets with promises
of “I’ll be right back,” it was understood they wouldn’t be. There was no malice in their departure. Only an understanding and appreciation of the wanderlust in them all.

In their place came a half dozen other kender who turned up to visit with the Vagros. They, too, were welcome cousins, and a great game was made of “borrowing back” what the kender’s light fingers happened to take “unintentionally.” Tythonnia, Ladonna, and Par-Salian gripped their pouches like a drowning man might hold on to flotsam, and still, reagents and some copper managed to slip through their white-knuckled fingers.

It was for that reason, among several, that the three wizards sat alone in the empty tavern. They spoke lightly, their voices dimmed against any listeners, though they had to constantly remind Par-Salian of that precaution. He was growing upset.

“There has to be another way!” he said.

“Maybe there is,” Ladonna said, “but this is the quickest way I know of.”

“You’re talking about—”

“Shh,” Tythonnia said. “Lower your voice.” She looked around, but the serving girl was in the kitchen with the cook.

“You’re talking about stealing. Breaking laws.” His voice had dropped back down to a whisper.

“We
are
renegades,” Ladonna said. “I believe that makes us outlaws.”

“Yes, outlaws with sanction of the Wizards of High Sorcery,” he replied.

“Then why were those renegade hunters after us?” Tythonnia whispered, to which Ladonna nodded. “Why was
Dumas
chasing us?”

“I don’t know,” Par-Salian said. By his expression, that was bothering him as well. “But you’re talking about robbing the local merchants—breaking Palanthas law. Actually
breaking
it.”

“And how do you propose attracting Berthal’s lieutenant? Par-Salian, we don’t know who he is,” Ladonna said.

Par-Salian opened his mouth to argue, but Tythonnia knew Ladonna’s reasoning made sense. She interrupted him.

“Par-Salian, she’s right. Say we find the lieutenant. Then what? He won’t trust us, and we’ll have to try even harder to convince him. What happens if he tests us? Tells us to kill or hurt someone to prove ourselves?”

“You don’t know any of that,” Par-Salian replied.

“No, I don’t,” Tythonnia admitted, “but!” she added, stopping her compatriots from interrupting her, “but if we do things he might approve of, things to encourage him to contact us, then he’ll be less suspicions. We make him feel in control, and there’s less chance of a test.”

Par-Salian sighed. “I don’t like this. This goes against everything I believe in.”

“Not everything,” Ladonna corrected, her voice dropping. She looked away from their eyes. “You believe in the Wizards of High Sorcery and in Highmage Astathan, don’t you? And sometimes that means sacrificing your lesser beliefs on the altar of your greater ones.”

Both Tythonnia and Par-Salian were silent a moment, stunned by Ladonna’s heartfelt admission—she’d sacrificed some beliefs of her own. After a moment of being stared at, Ladonna shot them back a look of annoyance.

“What?” she demanded.

Tythonnia and Par-Salian shook their heads. There was no reason to embarrass her further.

“Nothing. Sorry,” Par-Salian said. “So … what’s the plan?”

To Build a Thief

W
e start petty,” Ladonna said.

The Labyrinth Market was a sprawling, open square in the Old City pinched between the verdant grounds of the Royal Gardens to the south and the Palanthas Trade Exchange district astride the docks to the north. To the immediate southeast lay the Great Palace, its spired towers emerging from a small forest of trees. Farther south, past the Royal Gardens, rested the haunted Shoikan Grove and the tri-horned minarets of Palanthas, the Spire of Lore and Doom. It was a crumbling edifice, centuries abandoned and inviolate even to its rightful owners, the Wizards of High Sorcery. If they could not enter it, much less pierce the Shoikan Grove that protected it, what hope had the city of tearing down such a dark stain?

Instead, the Tower of High Sorcery remained, and the people learned to ignore it as best they could. That included those in the so-called Labyrinth—an open square by night but by day, a maze of vendors and merchants who arrived to compete for space. With a small flagstone settled, they sold their wares on open blankets and from carts. It was a communal market, the pathways never set from one morning to the next, the vendors and their wares ever changing. Every day in the Labyrinth was new and fresh, filled with
the possibility of exploration.

“All thieves start petty, becoming more comfortable with thievery as time goes on,” Ladonna said. “For you two, though, we do this to build up your courage and because we must build a reputation. We cannot appear from out of nowhere. We must show a growing daring.”

The first test of thievery was a simple one. Ladonna would distract the cart owner while Par-Salian filched an apple from one of his baskets. Should the cart owner see or give chase, Tythonnia was to help whoever was in most danger using the most subtle magics available to her.

As planned, Ladonna went to distract the cart’s owner by dropping her cloth sack in front of him. When she bent down to pick it up, her breasts pressed against the loosened braces of her doublet. The man’s attention immediately focused on the delicate curve of her bosom, and he missed Par-Salian’s pass at his cart.

Tythonnia’s gaze flitted to Ladonna’s chest, but she was surprised that the sight did nothing to titillate her—a thought which troubled her even more. But as quick as that, Ladonna straightened, shot the cart keeper a shy smile, and walked away. Tythonnia glossed over her own concerns and went to rendezvous with the others. When they gathered again, Par-Salian showed them the apple he’d nicked. Ladonna and Tythonnia smiled and congratulated him, but Par-Salian could only blush in reply.

“Please,” he said. “May I return it?”

As quick as a magpie, Ladonna plucked the apple from his hand and took a juicy bite out of it.

“Not anymore,” she said, smiling and chewing. “But here’s the good news: it’s Tythonnia’s turn now.”

They spent two days in the Labyrinth, stealing small things here and there, always under the watchful eye of
Ladonna. Par-Salian’s guilt slowly diminished, though not entirely, and Tythonnia found herself enjoying the tasks more than she cared to admit. But then Ladonna decided to change the rules on them. As Tythonnia approached the cart on one occasion, Ladonna again provided the distraction, tripping and falling into the chubby merchant’s arms.

Tythonnia didn’t even break her stride as she picked up a wooden statuette from his blanket. Ladonna pointed at her, however, and cried, “Thief!” The shocked merchant immediately turned on her.

Tythonnia froze at Ladonna’s outcry, standing still long enough for the merchant to grab her wrist. The merchant squeezed and forced her down to one knee. Ladonna vanished into the crowd again.

“Steal from me, will you?” he roared. He raised his other hand and backhanded Tythonnia across the face. The blow stung her cheek and split her lip. Before she could register the blood that spilled from her mouth, however, another blow caught her in the jaw.

“Please, stop,” she shouted. “I’m sorry!”

The man clenched his fist, preparing to beat her, when he suddenly froze. His eyes went vacant, and before Tythonnia realized what was happening, Par-Salian was pulling her from the merchant’s grip. He shoved the merchant hard enough to topple him to the ground. That shook him from his stupor. The merchant suddenly came to life again and struggled to rise, but by then, Par-Salian was already pulling Tythonnia away through the crowd. She staggered and he tugged hard enough to produce a yelp of pain from her.

After their escape, Tythonnia and Par-Salian arrived at the edge of the Royal Gardens where two white fir trees bent toward each other to form a natural arch to the maze of pathways beyond. Ladonna, however, wasn’t there, which
was just as well. Tythonnia was ready to murder her. Her skin was hot with shame, and the most venomous anger she’d ever experienced took hold of her. She could barely think. She wanted to sink her teeth into Ladonna’s neck; she wanted to cry, scream, rage, hurt, punish.

“Why?” Tythonnia said. It was the only question she could think to ask. She didn’t dare ask more. Already her throat ached, and she knew that to speak was to start crying. She refused to cry in front of anyone and felt angrier for being brought to that state.

“I believe—” Par-Salian began then he caught her glance. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Do you wish to talk—”

“No,” Tythonnia growled. Her eyes misted and she scraped away the tears with her forearm.

Par-Salian said nothing. They waited a few minutes in silence while Tythonnia paced. “I’m going,” she finally said.

“Where?” Par-Salian asked.

“The inn,” Tythonnia said, again feeling that overwhelming ache in her throat and that mist that covered her eyes.

Par-Salian kept in step with her, not saying a word, for which Tythonnia was grateful.

They arrived at the Wanderer’s Welcome. Tythonnia stormed up the wood stairs, her anger and frustration building with each step, it seemed. She brushed by a man with sea-blue eyes with nary an apology, not that he stopped to ask for one. By the time she reached Ladonna’s door, she was ready to break it open. Only Par-Salian’s quiet and steady encouragements not to jump to conclusions kept her from doing so.

Instead, Tythonnia hammered on the door and was surprised when it swung open under her barrage. Ladonna stood on the opposite side of the room, ready to meet her. That was
all it took for Tythonnia’s world to turn red. Her vision narrowed, the edges turning black until she was staring down a dark tunnel. The only person she could see, the only person that mattered was Ladonna, and in that moment, Tythonnia absolutely hated her beyond sense or comprehension. She loathed her, wanted nothing more than to hurt her the way she’d been hurt.