Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2) (19 page)

Xan started to agree as he didn’t want his sister wandering around alone. “Do you think you’ll have time to do that and buy a map of the area and a spy glass—a good one? Oh, and Brant a new shirt.” He handed Dylan a gold piece.

“Xan, this is a triad. Can we afford this?”

“We’re going to need to scope out the place when we find Ashley. I don’t know how else to do it.”

Dylan nodded. “I’ll get it cheap.”

“Get the best one you can. Figure our lives depend on it, because they might. Same with the map.” Xan eyed his sister. “I guess I’ll go with you.” He paused. “But our supply of medicine is low, too. Crap!”

“Alexander Conley! Are you implying that I, a grown woman, need a minder?”

Her glare told him that he better not be doing just that, so resigned, he gave up while he was behind. Leaving Brant preparing to nap, the others departed the inn in separate directions.

Xan patted his satchel and whistled. Would he ever again have enough funds—and the justification—to walk into an apothecary shop and buy whatever he wanted? Definitely more variegation bark. And it wouldn’t hurt to be able to make more of the knockout drug for the darts. What else? More painkillers, obviously.

And licuna seeds.

Xan halted mid-step.

No. Even if the seeds were much more effective than the bark, he no longer had the dreams draining him. He had no need for the drug.

But he wanted it.

Xan had had the stages of addiction drilled into his head early in his apprenticeship. His like of taking the drug signaled danger. Want turned to need. Need became all-encompassing. Destruction resulted.

The seeds were too risky to use.

They would, however, be a huge help in shaking off the fatigue from constant traveling. A little extra pep in his step might be the difference in getting away from Justav. Obviously, Xan wouldn’t give any to the others—especially not his sister—but he was an apothecary; he’d know when to stop.

He shook his head. Not worth the risk. Besides, two weeks had passed since he’d had any, and he’d barely noticed the lack. Best to ignore the want.

Resolved, he entered a building to find a shop much like Master Rae’s. Neat rows of bottles and baskets lined every square inch of the walls. Xan inhaled deeply, filling his nose with the scent of all manner of powders and ointments. It smelled like home.

A man with a close-cropped beard and long gray hair tied with a leather strip glanced up from a worktable. “Be with you in a sec.” He scooped two handfuls of green ovals into a small black cauldron.

“I don’t recognize that herb,” Xan said. “What are you making?”

The man grinned at him sideways. “Dinner.” He hung the pot over a flame in the corner fireplace. “How can I help you?”

“An ounce of valerian, a basket of temwort, a bottle of frogtoe root extract, three packs of dried honeybud leaves, two pounds of shaved variegation bark.” Xan paused, his heart pounding. “And licuna seeds.”

As soon as those last words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. Why had he said that?

The man eyed him, all trace of friendliness disappearing. “Most of that is no problem, but I only sell the seeds to apothecaries.”

Xan was trapped. Backing out with a “never mind” would make the shopkeeper suspicious. Not only would Xan risk not getting the supplies he needed, but the man might alert the town constable.

The other option—using Master Rae’s letter to prove Xan’s status as an apothecary—was just as risky. The document listed his real name, which Justav could use to track him.

Which choice was the least chancy?

If the catcher had to canvass local shops, he was probably far enough off the trail. Sometimes you had to solve the immediate problem even if it increased your potential for danger later.

Xan dug the letter from his satchel and laid it on the worktable.

The man held the document at arm’s length and tilted his head back. “Rae over in Eagleton, huh? Does he still use water strained through greyheart flowers to treat brownboil fever?”

Why would anyone use an itch reliever to … Oh. “Master Rae advocates rest and lots of tea for minor ailments. Is my answer enough to prove myself or would you like me to mix a couple potions?”

“You understand that you’re young to be what you claim?” The apothecary held out his hand.

Xan shook it.

“Tom Haziltin.” He paused. “And you understand why I don’t just hand out licuna seeds to anyone asking?”

“Absolutely.” Xan should never have even asked for the stupid things. What had he been thinking? “Too high a dose can kill and they’re highly addictive. Master Rae only tolerates their use for the most extreme cases.”

Tom’s raised eyebrows asked the obvious question.

“This merchant traveling through Eagleton needed someone to look after his pregnant wife until they got back home.” Xan shrugged. “I thought, see the world, earn a couple of silvers for my trouble. How was I to know the man was hooked on the seeds?”

“Pregnant, ay?” Tom said. “You didn’t ask for any podwich oil.”

“You don’t think Master Rae made sure I laid in plenty of supplies before I left?” Xan shook his head. “Neither of us counted on injuries and weather putting the caravan so far behind schedule or on one of the guards needing a sleeping potion every night.” He sighed as if working for the merchant were a constant series of trials. “I didn’t stock seeds, obviously.”

Tom frowned. “Don’t know that I can stomach feeding an addict.”

“I understand. My mentor wouldn’t either.” Xan barked out a harsh half chuckle. “Can’t imagine the talking to he’d give me if he found out.” Maybe that would keep Tom from dashing off a letter to Master Rae at the first opportunity.

Xan shrugged again. “I’m not sure what choice I have, though. The merchant controls the purse and the food. He even owns the horse I’m riding. If I refuse, I’ll be out on my butt with no resources. With the storm we passed, there’s not going to be too much traffic headed Eagleton way before spring.” He cast a hopeful expression at the apothecary. “You don’t have an opening, do you?”

Tom grimaced. “Sorry. This shop barely supports me.”

Given the appearance of the town, Xan had figured that. He turned toward the door. “I’ll just have to try the next town and hope I don’t run out before I get there.”

Xan stepped several paces before Tom spoke.

“Lad, wait. I won’t gainsay a fellow apothecary. If Rae saw fit to give you your letter, that’s good enough for me. Give me a few minutes to get your order together.”

Great. Now Xan was affecting Master Rae’s reputation. Why had he asked for the seeds? As soon as he exited the shop, he was going to bury them in the dirt where they couldn’t hurt anyone.

Tom gathered the regular supplies before putting a key in the heavy lock that secured a large armoire. “How many?”

“Fifty?”

Tom’s face darkened. “No one should take that many in a year, addicted or no.”

Xan winced. Stupid! Why had he asked for so many? “Less is fine. Thirty? I’ve got money.”

“Let me see your eyes, lad.”

Afraid to speak, Xan nodded.

Tom stretched the skin around Xan’s eye between his index finger and his thumb and peered closely. “You’ve no sign of being addicted, but I still don’t feel right about this.” He exhaled sharply. “Three silvers for the seeds and five coppers for the rest.”

Xan remembered Dylan’s example. “Two silvers and three—”

“Take it or leave it. I’ve a mind not to sell to you anyway.”

While Tom counted twenty seeds into a leather container, Xan pulled the required coins from his pouch. His heart raced, and his hand shook as he reached for the supplies. As soon as the last bottled disappeared in his satchel, he fled the shop.

His darting eyes spotted a dark alley, and with no one watching, he ducked into it. A perfect spot to get rid of the seeds. He paused. Getting them had been stressful. Seemed silly to waste all of them. Taking one before dumping the rest wouldn’t hurt anything.

“Bad idea,” he muttered. “Such a bad idea.”

Xan shook his head and popped a seed into his mouth. A bolt of energy hit him, and his body couldn’t contain it. His arms and legs twitched. He shut his eyes and let the sensation wash over him.

Maybe just one more.

Footsteps dragged across a wood floor. Brant’s head shot up. Years of sleeping in the field and rising to surprise inspections had taught him to come alert instantly.

The room door closed. Lainey plopped onto the other bed and buried her head under a pillow.

Light streamed through the window, so it was still early. She’d probably just decided to take a nap after finishing her shopping. The way she’d moved seemed off, though. Was she upset? Had something happened?

“You okay?” he said.

“Fine.” The word sounded of tears as it squeaked out of her.

“You sure?”

“I saw someone … thought I saw someone who couldn’t possibly be … here.” Her voice choked up more. “Nothing to worry about.”

She’d been acting strange since they’d left Eagleton. Must be homesick. Shouldn’t Xan have talked to her or something? Probably too focused on seizing Brant’s position to notice her problems.

Brant shook his head before laying it back down. She’d told him not to worry, so he wouldn’t. He drifted back into oblivion, and it was after nightfall before he woke again. Lighting a candle revealed Lainey sleeping soundly, but neither Dylan nor the asshole had made it back yet.

After running a washcloth over his face and combing back his hair with his hands, he checked himself in the mirror and grinned. The serving girls were going to love him. He frowned. Duty first. Fun after completing his mission.

Brant secured the door behind him and headed toward the sounds of muffled conversation and cutlery scraping plates. At the bottom of the stairs, he stepped into the common room and found three-quarters of the tables filled. Dylan, seated at one of them, waved. His expression was smug enough. Must have gotten everything he’d been looking for at a good price.

The petty tyrant sat across from him, and Brant almost turned to go back upstairs. He never ran from a fight, though. After plastering a smile on his face, he joined them.

Xan’s knee vibrated as he bounced his foot up and down. “The store had loads of supplies. I got the frogtoe root extract, the dried honeybud leaves, the variegation bark, and more. Good prices, too. I found the shop with no problem. How about you? Did you have a good nap? How about Lainey? Did she make it back? We haven’t seen her yet.” The words tumbled from his mouth as if he couldn’t hold them back.

Brant struggled to make sense of the flood. “What the blast is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Xan put his hand on his knee and pushed. His foot stilled. “Lainey? Do you know where she is?”

Brant eyed him. “She’s asleep in the room.”

“Told you she was fine.” Dylan yawned and put down his fork. “I’m done here. C’mon, Xan.” He frowned at Brant. “Unless you want us to keep you company?”

“That’s okay. Get some rest.” Brant wouldn’t have minded shooting the shit with Dylan for a while, but the less he saw of the other one, the better. He handed over the key. “I’ll be up before too long.”

Brant motioned to a serving girl. The golden-haired beauty’s large breasts, framed so perfectly by her bodice, jiggled as she approached. Too bad the innkeeper had said all the rooms were full. Maybe the barn.

He sighed. Eat. Get the information. With luck, there’d be time for other activities later.

Spiced stew was a nice change from grilled bear meat, and the buttered potatoes were much better than all the green crap Lainey pushed on them. He groaned. She’d been sent out for supplies; they probably had bags full of green peas and asparagus.

He washed the food down with a tankard of ale and scanned the room. The men at most of the tables wore the dirty, plain garb of common workers—local field hands who’d tell him all the rumors he wanted for the price of a drink. Not likely to be much truth in their tales, though.

One man, sitting with a woman and two children, might have been a craftsman. His clothes, full of rips and holes, appeared like they once had been fine. Or the guy could be a bum who’d stolen them from a refuse pile.

The inn door opened, and three soldiers dressed in the duke’s blue-and-gold livery entered.

Crap. Brant ducked his head. He’d always seen fighting men as friends, but these three represented the law. What if the catcher had sent word ahead?

Brant risked a glance, ready to bolt if they showed too much interest. A tall, muscular man with balding white hair and a full mustache bore the rank insignia of a sergeant. Pips on the shoulders of his two companions revealed them to be corporals.

As they sat at a table, nothing they did made them appear remotely interested in finding escaped mages. Even so, it was best to stay clear of them. Brant would have to be careful to not draw attention to himself as he pumped the locals for news.

On the other hand, soldiers were likely to know more than anyone else about both Lady Ashley’s kidnapping and whatever troubles the innkeeper had referred to. What was the likelihood those three were on the lookout for Brant and his friends?

Maybe he should risk it. Obtaining the best information could be all the difference to avoid making the wrong choice. How many wars had been lost because the general didn’t have the facts right?

Dylan would tell him it was too dangerous. So would the asshole. That settled it. No guts, no glory.

As the men ordered their food, Brant considered his best strategy for getting them to talk. All armies constantly searched for good recruits. Playing that role should get him started at least.

After they finished eating, Brant carried his ale to their table and set it down. He held his arm so the calluses on his sword hand faced the soldiers. “May I sit?”

Three gazes measured him as if he was a slab of meat, taking in his muscles and the hilt showing above the scabbard hanging from his belt. None looked all that happy to see him.

Perhaps approaching them might not have been Brant’s best ever idea. “I’m considering joining an army. Will you tell me about your unit?”

The sergeant gave a curt nod and introduced himself as Pruitt. “We’re not with just some outfit, son. We represent Duke Asher. You can’t get more elite unless you go all the way to Escon to join the Queen’s army.”

“Sounds perfect.” Brant took a seat and put his flagon on the table.

The sergeant barked a harsh chuckle. “Even if you’ve got as much skill with that sword you’re wearing as you think you do, best get some experience under your belt first.”

Brant fingered his hilt. Maybe a brief lesson was in order as to exactly how much skill he possessed.

“Cheer up, lad,” Sergeant Pruitt said. “What with the war coming, there are plenty of opportunities. The duke’s called in his retainers. Any number of them will be looking for recruits.”

Brant wanted nothing more than to wallop the guy. After trading a few strokes, these sorry excuses for non-coms would beg him to join.

But that would accomplish nothing. He grimaced. Best to get back on point. “War?”

“Haven’t you seen all the refuges on the road?” the sergeant said.

Besides the disheveled man with his family, Brant hadn’t seen anyone meeting that description. He shook his head. Maybe they hadn’t reached as far as Dobinshire yet.

“Asherton is preparing for a siege,” the larger of the two corporals said.

The last time Brant’s dad had received orders from the duke, there had been no mention of anything of the sort. How had things gotten so bad in a couple of months? Vierna had the largest standing army of all the duchies and wielded more influence with the queen than most. How could anyone think they’d actually take its capital city? “Who would attack us?”

It was the sergeant’s turn to grimace. “Duke Irdrin of Truna.”

“That’s the duchy to the southeast of us, right? Dastanar borders it to the south?” Brant had never heard of an Irdrin, though. “What happened to Duke Whiteknapp?”

Sergeant Pruitt cocked his head. “You know your geography, son.”

Crap. Brant needed to be more careful not to call attention to himself. Most mercenaries didn’t exactly have a lot of schooling. “Had some temporary work as a merchant guard. Feller talked a lot about his travels.” He shrugged. “Listening got me better pay.”

“Uh huh,” Sergeant Pruitt said.

An awkward silence fell across the table.

Brant gulped down a long swallow of ale. Retreating would be just as suspicious as pressing forward. “So Duke Whiteknapp?”

“Terrible, terrible tragedy, it was,” the smaller corporal said. “His wife and son died when their carriage tipped. A few weeks later, the duke passed on of heartbreak. Just took to his bed one day and didn’t get up.”

The accident could have been caused by a kineticist and the illness by a death mage. Then again, Brant could have been spending way too much time with a certain person who saw plots everywhere.

The sergeant shot the smaller corporal a look. “Guess it’s not exactly a secret.” He sighed. “Irdrin was the duke’s councilor. With the ruling family out of the picture, he stepped right into power. Ever since, he’s pushed to expand his border. The real trouble began about a month ago. What with all the posters, surely you’ve heard about Duke Asher’s daughter going missing?”

Brant nodded. “On the inn door.” Though unlike what Xan saw, that one didn’t have a sketch.

“This next part isn’t close held, but it’s not wide knowledge either.” Sergeant Pruitt lowered his voice. “Days after the kidnapping, Duke Asher received a letter from Irdrin pledging his assistance in ‘finding’ the girl in return for Vierna being surrendered.”

“Duke Asher loves that girl. Dotes on her, he does,” the larger corporal said. “But would our duke sacrifice the duchy even for the light of his life? Not a chance!”

“We got word a week ago. Truna’s army is headed Asherton way.” The sergeant spat. “The duke ordered preparations be made and still nary a word on his daughter.”

Brant sipped his drink. “If the city’s going to be attacked, aren’t you needed there?”

“The blood was still warm when we found the bodies of Lady Ashley’s guards,” the larger corporal said. “The duke dispatched the entire castle guard, five hundred men, and the standing army, another thousand, to find her. Sent riders and birds to the border stations. Had roads in all directions closed.”

He leaned toward Brant. “Now, it’s possible they got the niskma through the lines, but the smart money is on them being craftier than to try it. They’ve likely hid her someplace.”

“Which is why we’re scouring the countryside praying for a miracle instead of doing something useful back at the castle.” Sergeant Pruitt reached into a satchel and brought out a sketch of a comely young lady. “If you see anyone looking like this girl, find any of the duke’s men.”

Wow. Xan had good taste but man, did he shoot for girls way out of his reach. Brant almost laughed.

“Something funny, son?” the sergeant said.

Brant’s mood sobered quickly. “No, sir. Just had a funny thought about something else.” If only he had Xan’s way with coming up with clever stories. “Guess I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

Sergeant Pruitt humphed. “There hasn’t been a number put to the reward for her safe return, but the talk is it’ll involve lands and a title. Someone who knows something and doesn’t speak up, on the other hand ...” He drew a finger across his throat.

“Sorry, sir.” Brant gulped before standing. “I don’t know anything, sir.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” the sergeant said, “but if you did find out something, you’d tell us, right?”

Brant nodded vigorously.

“I thought so.” Sergeant Pruitt smiled. “There’s an outpost about halfway between Ruferburg and the city on the Asherton road. You’ll always find troops there, and we’re headed there ourselves in a few days. I’ll keep a lookout for you.”

Brant backed away before turning. He had to stay calm. Drink and chat with other patrons like he had nothing to hide. Maybe the sergeant wasn’t as suspicious as he’d seemed.

Or maybe Brant had gained them a whole new enemy.