The Sorcerer Heir (Heir Chronicles) (48 page)

“Well,
Micah Jinxflinger
,” Dancer said, now resorting to the clan insult for wizards, “if Queen Marianna wants to hunt deer in summer, she can come up into the high country after them. As she always has.”

Bayar raised black eyebrows. “Where she can sleep on a dirt floor shoulder to shoulder with a dozen filthy
kinsmen
and go a week without a hot bath and come home stinking of wood smoke and sweat with a case of the night itches?” He snorted with laughter, and his friends followed suit. “I don’t blame her for preferring the accommodations in the Vale.”

He doesn’t know
anything
, Han thought, recalling the cozy lodges with their sleeping benches, the songs and stories told around the fire, the shared feasts from the common pot. So many nights he’d fallen asleep under furs and clan-made blankets with the thread of the old songs winding through his dreams. Han wasn’t clan, but he often wished he was. It was the one place he’d ever felt at home. The one place he didn’t feel like he was clinging on by his fingernails.

“Princess Raisa was fostered at Demonai Camp for three years,” Dancer said, his chin thrust out stubbornly.

“The princess’s clan-bred father has some archaic ideas,” Bayar replied, and his companions laughed again. “Me, I wouldn’t want to marry a girl who’d spent time in the camps. I’d be afraid she’d been ruined.”

Suddenly Dancer’s knife was in his hand. “Repeat that, jinxflinger?” Dancer said, his voice cold as the Dyrnnewater.

Bayar jerked hard on his reins, and his horse stepped back, putting more distance between Bayar and Dancer.

“I’d say women have more to fear from jinxflingers than from anyone in the camps,” Dancer went on.

His heart accelerating, Han stepped up beside Dancer and put his hand on the hilt of his own knife, careful not to get in the way of Dancer’s throwing arm. Dancer was quick on his feet and good with a blade. But a blade against magic? Even two blades?

“Relax, copperhead.” Bayar licked his lips, his eyes fixed on Dancer’s knife. “Here’s the thing. My father says that girls who go to the camps come back proud and opinionated and difficult to manage. That’s all.” He smirked as if it were a joke they could all share.

Dancer did not smile. “Are you saying that the blooded heir to the throne of the Fells needs to be…
managed
?”

“Dancer,”
Han said, but Dancer dismissed his warning with a shake of his head.

Han sized up the three wizards as he would his opponents in any street fight. All three carried heavy elaborate swords that hadn’t seen much use. Get them down off their horses, there’s the thing, he thought. A quick slash to the cinch strap would do the trick. Get in close where their swords wouldn’t do much good. Take out Bayar, and the others will cut and run.

One of the ginger-haired wizards cleared his throat nervously, as if uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. He was the elder of the two, and stocky, with plump, pale, freckled hands that gripped his reins tightly. “Micah,” he said in the Vale dialect, nodding toward the valley below. “Come on. Let’s go. We’ll miss the hunt.”

“Hold on, Miphis.” Bayar stared down at Dancer, black eyes glittering in his pale face. “Aren’t you called Hayden?” he inquired in Common, using Dancer’s Vale name. “It’s just…Hayden, isn’t it? A mongrel name, since you have no father.”

Dancer stiffened. “That is my Vale name,” he said, lifting his chin defiantly. “My real name is Fire Dancer.”

“Hayden is a wizard’s name,” Bayar said, fingering the amulet around his neck. “How dare you presume–”

“I
presume
nothing,” Dancer said. “I didn’t choose it. I am clan. Why would I choose a jinxflinger name?”

Good question, Han thought, looking from one to the other. Some among the clans used flatland names in the Vale. But why would a jinxflinger like Micah Bayar know Dancer’s Vale name?

Bayar flushed red, and it took him a moment to muster a response. “So you claim, Hayden,” Bayar drawled. “Maybe you fathered yourself. Which means you and your mother–”

Dancer’s arm flashed up, but Han just managed to slam it aside as the knife left his hand, and it ended, quivering, in the trunk of a tree.

Come on, Dancer, Han thought, hunching his shoulders against his friend’s furious glare. Killing a wizard friend of the queen would buy them a world of trouble.

The charmcaster Bayar sat frozen a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Then his face went white with anger. He extended one imperious hand toward Dancer, took hold of his amulet with the other, and began muttering a charm in the language of magic, stumbling over the words a bit.

“Micah,”
the more slender fellscat wizard said, nudging his horse up close. “No. It’s not worth it. The fire was one thing. If they find out we–”

“Shut up, Arkeda,” Bayar replied. “I’m going to teach this base-born copperhead respect.” Looking put out that he was forced to start over, he began the charm again.

Try and be a peacemaker and see where it gets you, Han thought. He unslung his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming at Bayar’s chest. “Hey,
Micah
,” he said. “How about this? Shut it or I shoot.”

Bayar squinted at Han, as if once again surprised to see him. Perhaps realizing he would, indeed, be dead before he could finish the hex, the wizard released his grip on the amulet and raised his hands.

At the sight of Han’s bow, Miphis and Arkeda pawed at the hilts of their swords. But Dancer nocked his own arrow, and the boys let go and raised their hands as well.

“Smart move,” Han said, nodding. “I’m guessing jinxes are slower than arrows.”

“You tried to murder me,” Bayar said to Dancer, as if amazed that such a thing could happen. “Do you realize who I
am
? My father is High Wizard, counselor to the queen. When he finds out what you did…”

“Why don’t you run back to Gray Lady and tell him all about it?” Dancer said, jerking his head toward the downslope trail. “Go on. You don’t belong here. Get off the mountain. Now.”

Bayar didn’t want to back off with his two friends as witnesses. “Just remember,” he said softly, fingering his amulet, “it’s a long way down the mountain. Anything can happen along the way.”

Bones, Han thought. He’d been ambushed too many times in the streets and alleyways of Fellsmarch. He knew enough about bullies to recognize the trait in Bayar. This boy would hurt them if he could, and he wouldn’t play fair doing it.

Keeping his bowstring tight, Han pointed his chin at the wizard. “You. Take off your jinxpiece,” he ordered. “Throw it down on the ground.”

“This?” Bayar touched the evil-looking jewel that hung around his neck. When Han nodded, the boy shook his head. “You can’t be serious,” he snarled, closing his fist around it. “Do you know what this is?”

“I have an idea,” Han said. He gestured with the bow. “Take it off and throw it down.”

Bayar sat frozen, his face going pale. “You can’t
use
this, you know,” he said, looking from Han to Dancer. “If you even touch it, you’ll be incinerated.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Dancer said, glancing over at Han.

The charmcaster’s eyes narrowed. “You’re nothing more than thieves, then,” he sneered. “I should have known.”

“Use your head,” Han said. “What would I do with truck like that? I just don’t want to have to be looking over my shoulder all the way home.”

Arkeda leaned in toward Bayar and muttered in Valespeech, “Better give it to him. You
know
what they say about the copperheads. They’ll cut your throat and drink your blood and feed you to their wolves so no one will ever find your bones.”

Miphis nodded vigorously. “Or they’ll use us in
rituals
. They’ll burn us alive. Sacrifice us to their goddesses.”

Han clenched his jaw, struggling to keep the surprise and amusement off his face. It seemed the jinxflingers had their own reasons to fear the clan.

“I
can’t
give it to them, you idiot,” Bayar hissed. “You
know
why. If my father finds out I took it, we’ll all be punished.”

“I told you not to take it,” Arkeda muttered. “I told you it was a bad idea. Just because you want to impress Princess Raisa…”

“You know I wouldn’t have taken it if we were allowed to have our own,” Bayar said. “It was the only one I… What are
you
looking at?” he demanded, noticing Han and Dancer’s interest in the conversation and maybe realizing for the first time that they understood the flatlander language.

“I’m looking at someone who’s already in trouble and getting in deeper,” Han said. “Now, drop the amulet.”

Bayar glared at Han as if actually seeing him for the first time. “You’re not even clan. Who are you?”

Han knew better than to hand his name to an enemy. “They call me Shiv,” he said, fishing a name out of memory. “Streetlord of Southbridge.”

“Shiv, you say.” The wizard tried to stare him down, but his gaze kept sliding away. “It’s strange. There’s something… You seem…” His voice trailed off as if he’d lost track of the thought.

Han sighted down the shaft of his arrow, feeling sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. If Bayar wouldn’t give, he’d have to figure out what to do next. Just then, he had no clue. “I’ll count to five,” he said, hanging on to his street face. “Then I put an arrow through your neck. One.”

With a quick, vicious movement, Bayar yanked the chain over his head and tossed the amulet onto the ground. It clanked softly as it landed.

“Just try to pick it up,” the charmcaster said, leaning forward in his saddle. “I dare you.”

Han looked from Bayar to the jinxpiece, unsure whether to believe him or not.

“Go on! Get out of here!” Dancer said. “I reckon you’d better think about how you’re going to put that fire out. If you don’t, I guarantee the queen
won’t
be happy, whether she asked you to start it or not.”

Bayar stared at him for a moment, lips twitching with unspoken words. Then he wrenched his mount’s head around and drove his heels into the horse’s sides. Horse and rider charged downslope as if they were, in fact, trying to catch the fire.

Arkeda stared after him, then turned to Dancer, shaking his head. “You fools! How is he supposed to put it out without the amulet?” He wheeled his horse, and the two wizards followed Bayar at a slightly less reckless pace.

“I hope he breaks his neck,” Dancer muttered, staring after the three charmcasters.

Han let out his breath and released the tension on his bow, slinging it across his shoulder. “What was all that about your Vale name? Have you met Bayar before?”

Dancer jammed his arrow back in his quiver. “Where would I meet a jinxflinger?”

“Why did he say what he did about your father?” Han persisted. “How does he know that…”

“How should I know?” Dancer said, his face hard and furious. “Forget about it. Let’s go.”

Obviously Dancer didn’t want to talk about it. Fine, Han thought. He had no room to complain. He had enough secrets of his own.

“What about this thing?” Han squatted and studied the jinxpiece warily, afraid to touch it. “Do you think he was bluffing?” He looked up at Dancer, who was watching from a safe distance. “I mean, do you think they need this thing to put the fire out?”

“Just leave it,” Dancer said, shuddering. “Let’s get out of here.”

“That jinxflinger didn’t want to give this thing up,” Han mused. “Must be valuable.” Han knew traders of magical pieces in Ragmarket. He’d dealt with them a time or two when he worked the street. A taking like this could pay the rent for a year.

You’re not a thief. Not anymore.
If he said it often enough, it just might stick.

But he couldn’t let it lie. There was something malevolent yet fascinating about the amulet. Power emanated from it like heat from a stove on a cold day. It warmed his front, making the rest of him feel colder by comparison.

Using a stick, he lifted the amulet by its chain. It dangled, spinning hypnotically in the sunlight, a green translucent stone cunningly carved into a snarl of serpents with ruby eyes. The staff was topped with a brilliant round-cut diamond larger than he’d ever seen, and the snake’s eyes were blood red rubies.

Han had dealt in jewelry from time to time, and he could tell the craftsmanship was exquisite and the stones were prime quality. But the lure of the piece went beyond the sum of its parts.

“What are you going to do with that?” Dancer asked behind him, his voice overgrown with disapproval.

Han shrugged, still watching the spinning jewel. “I don’t know.”

Dancer shook his head. “You should pitch it into the ravine. If Bayar took the thing without permission, let him explain what happened to it.”

Han was unable to fathom pitching it away. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d want to leave lying around for somebody–maybe a child from the camps–to find.

Han fished a square of leather from his carry bag and spread it on the ground. Dropping the amulet in the center, he wrapped it carefully and tucked it in his bag. All the time wondering, How had it come to this? How had he and Dancer ended up in a standoff with wizards? What was the connection between them and Dancer? Maybe it was just the latest in a long line of bad luck. Han always seemed to find trouble, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

CINDA WILLIAMS CHIMA
(
www.CindaChima.com
) wrote her first novels in middle school. She is the
New York Times
best-selling author of
The Warrior Heir
,
The Wizard Heir
,
The Dragon Heir
,
The Enchanter Heir
, and the four books of the Seven Realms series:
The Demon King
,
The Exiled Queen
,
The Gray Wolf Throne
, and
The Crimson Crown
. Cinda is a graduate of the University of Akron and Case Western Reserve University. She lives in Ohio with her family.