Merchants and Mages (Highmage's Plight Book 2) (25 page)

their rooms.

 
The manager stared after them a moment, then sent one of his wife’s kin off to find a city guardsman. “Oh, dear,” he muttered, thinking that things like this just were not supposed to happen in the respectable Upper City of Lyai, then again, since the merchant arrived nothing had been precisely normal. But the fellow did pay good coin.

His lovely partner edged past him, barely able to open the door before he could angrily kick it in. He carried his charge into the adjoining room and gently laying him down. “Make sure no one intrudes.”    

She nodded, then firmly slammed the door and barred it. 

  He unlaced the injured youth’s livery and jerkin, clearly upset and worried.

  “I’m all right, really,” the servant muttered faintly, dazed.

  Tossing aside his cloak, he sighed, “Lay back and don’t try to rise.”

  The youth grimaced, muttering, “Aye, Milord.”

The man unslung his seemingly wooden walking staff from his back. “Activate wards, commence scan.” The staff flared with light.

  Moments later, he whispered, “That’s better.” He mentally probed the darkening bruise and skull for fracture, something he could not do in public, when he revealed himself to those searching for him.

  He relaxed. “The blow’s not serious.” He focused tightly, encouraging the natural healing process to a feverish pace. The bruising began to fade around the edges. “Rest now,” he crooned, promising, “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fri’il muttered, her bosom no longer restrained as tightly revealing her womanish form. “I should have been on my guard.”

  “Less your fault than mine,” he replied, frowning. “Please, believe that.”

 
Se’and came inside, “Playing the merchant seems not so perfect a

disguise, after all.”

  “I merely forgot to take greed into account,” George said as he gazed

thoughtfully at Fri’il and gingerly touched the bruise, which quickly faded.

  “Any sign of Raven?” he asked.

 
“None,” Se’and replied. “But I’m sure she’ll be all right.”

 
Nodding, he muttered, “Sleep.” The command was like a breeze murmuring to the soul. Fri’il’s breathing slowed and sleep she did.

 
:George,:
Staff said through their mental link.
:I’ve detected a change in her hormone levels.:

 
He winced and muttered, “Which hormones?

 
Staff showed him.

 
He caressed the young woman’s cheek as she drifted into a deep slumber.

  “George, are you all right?” Se’and asked, frowning.

  “All right? I guess that’s a relative term. Fall across the universe, make enemies at every turn, be ridden by a crazed enchantment, and find yourself bonded to two ladies who have taken vows to die defending me. Yeah, I’m all right.”

 
Se’and shook her head, “Not just vowed to die defending you – defending our Household, Milord –
our Household
.”

 
He glanced down at Fri’il’s sleeping face and smoothed back her hair. “She’s so damn young. So are you, for that damned matter.”

 
Frowning, Se’and nodded, “She’s going to be just fine, Je’orj. I… I know you love her. She’s stronger than you realize.”

  Looking at Se’and, he said, “She’s pregnant.”

  Se’and’s heart missed a beat. “Uh, that’s wonderful.”

“Archmage,” the man rasped. “It did not go as we expected.”

 
The silver-haired head of the Lyai Province’s Mage Guild frowned thinly, “I take it that Talik’s people interfered as we feared they might.”

 
The man coughed, “Uh, the role of the heretic mages is still uncertain.”

  “Then if they did not use magery against you, what happened?”

  “Uh, the merchant rescued his servant himself... And there were the Lyai’s agents.”

  Archmage sat back. “Really? How interesting.”

The Lyai was, at that moment, listening to a report as well. “So, Terhun, apparently our fine Archmage feels that the sudden demand for Faeryn crafted goods the foreigner has created is a serious threat.”

  “Yes, Milord.”

  “Am I to take it that tonight’s activity was a warning that the foreign merchant will understand?”

  Terhun coughed, “If that was the Archmage’s intent, I believe he has seriously erred.”

  “Explain,” the young elvin lord and provincial governor muttered, looking at him thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps it is best if I explained exactly what happened this evening. Then you will understand my concern about exactly who should feel warned.”

 
The Lyai leaned closer toward his spymaster. “Do so.”

A blue haze glowed about the staff, warding their rooms. It cast a shadow over George’s now sleeping face. Fri’il lay beside him in bed, his arm thrown protectively across her. Se’and slept on the couch, her throwing blades under her pillow and on the table beside her, close at hand.

 
Suddenly there was a noise. George opened his eyes warily. The floorboards on his left creaked. He craned his neck ever so slightly and saw the silhouette of a large beast padding toward him.  It had come from the adjourning room, where they had left the window open, appearing get some fresh air.

 
It crossed the room silently and paused before him. Its eyes reflected the faint light and noted he was now awake, then it leapt upon the bed.

  He sat up and muttered in a whisper, “Raven.”

  The beast whined as it settled into his lap, then shimmered as its form changed. George held her; his naked foster–daughter softly cried. Se’and stirred and muttered, “Welcome home. Now some people are trying to get some sleep.” 

  “Shh, it’s all right,” George crooned softly to Raven. “Fri’il’s going to be just fine.”

  Shaking her head, Raven whispered, “Father –– I killed.”

  He sighed, “And you saved our lives.” The staff flared, unsatisfied with George’s memories alone. Raven sniffled and glanced at the computer staff.  Abruptly her thoughts were enrapport – one with it, and George. Her tension eased. She nodded, then curled up at the end of the bed.

  Se’and groaned, pulling the covers over her eyes. “See what you’ve gone

and done.”

  He nodded, “I keep wondering about that all the time.”

To Scry Another Day

Chapter 43

I
f he never played chess again, he would not regret it. He grimaced, looking back at the board. What was the point of being an Archmage, if you had to hide out months at a time?

 
“Imperial mark for your thoughts, Talik.”

 
“Oh, just make your move, Hynrik.”

 
The human leaned back, “I’d have thought Galt’s last report would have at least made you happy.”

 
“So what if one foreign merchant prizes our work? We need more than that to rival the Guild’s near monopoly in the Province.”

 
“Well, if that’s how you feel about it,” Hynrik said, moving his piece, “checkmate.”

 
“Aw,” Talik muttered.

 
“You’re normally a much better playing than that, Milord.”

 
He stood. “By the Gate, there’s got to be a way. It’s bad enough to be called a heretic, but to have charged me with treason?”

 
“It’ll blow over, Milord. You’ll be back home in no time. We’ll deal with the trumped up charges. You’re the Lyai’s heir, after all.”

 
“That’s why I don’t think the charges are going to go away. Lord Amberling’s jealous of his power and my cousin, Empress Bless Him, needs his support more than he needs me.”

 
One of bells on the fireplace mantel tipped.

 
Hynrik gasped as Talik grabbed up his mage staff. Someone had breached the wards, which made the curious pass without realizing the cottage, or anyone, was here. Hynrik drew his bane sword. He’d served in the legion with Talik’s father decades past and had watched over the elfblooded lord’s son since he was a boy.

 
Hynrik warily glanced out the window, then stared, “It’s a blooming girl.”

 
“What?”

“Uh, hi,” the elvin young lady said.

 
“Who in the Empress’s name are you?”

 
“Oh, I’m Amira… and I’ve come to get your help, Lord Mage.”

 
“Well, a lovelier messenger I’ve never had. Care for some tea?”

  S
he smiled, “Please.”

 
“Hynrik, if you would be so kind.”

 
“Certainly, Milord.”

Esperanza sat in the clearing. She’d drawn logs together, but wasn’t certain about how to make a fire, since it wasn’t among the general scrying principles she’d been taught. She glanced at the angle of the sun and knew it was about time, then she heard the sound of hooves and up rode the scout. He slowed his mount, and glanced about.

 
“Ma’am.”

 
She smiled, “You’re not imagining me. If you’d be so kind as to go back and hurry your Sergeant and the cadre along you could be of great service to the Empire.”

 
He frowned.

 
“I’m an Imperial Scryer and we’ve company coming.”

 
He stared at her, then turned his horse about and spurred it, racing back the way he’d come.

 
“Now for the hard part,” she said to herself.

Amira placed a quiver of black metal tipped arrows on the table along with a small bag of arrowheads. The Archmage felt odd just being near them. “Where did you get those?”

 
“Excellent question, Milord. Please forgive me when I tell you that

I don’t exactly know. But I think I was in the Barrows.”

  Talik glanced at his longtime retainer and chuckled. “You’ve come a long way, then, and don’t look like you’ve ridden or walked far.”

 
“I haven’t.”

 
“Did you fly then?” he chuckled.

 
“Something like that.”

 
“You must have quite the gift.”

 
“I scry, Milord.”

 
“Then you belong in a Tower somewhere.”

 
“I’m one of the Consecrated.”

 
Hynrik stopped as he was about to pour more tea.

 
“Do tell,” Talik said, calling up a ward in his mind.

 
“I mean you no harm. I can prove it, if you’d like.”

 
“How?”

 
“What would you like to know?”

 
“Oh, this should be good. Fine, scry the Provincial Capital. Tell me how… how my friend, Galt, is doing.”

 
“Galt’s a Faeryn mage?”

 
He smiled thinly. “Yes.”

 
Amira nodded as Hynrik moved to bring her a bowl. “Will tea do as well as water, Milady?”

 
“I need neither. Lord Talik, please don’t be alarmed. You see, I need to bathe in water to scry.”

 
His eyes widened. He knew there was such a technique, but doubted the girl would bathe in front of them. “I’ve a tub in the back room.”

 
She shook her head, “Uh, I’ve a different technique. Please do not be alarmed.”

 
“What?” Talik muttered, then the young elfblooded woman’s clothes seemed to turn fluid.

 
Her gaze went unfocused and she muttered, “Galt, Faeryn mage, in Lyai… Yes, I see him. He is… haggling over the price of kitchen stasis boxes with an old merchant. He’s showing them the Faeryn craftsman mark. ‘One hundred golds, no less,’” she said in Galt’s voice, unlike anything she’d done before. “‘Please, Master Galt, that’s more than the Guild’s price.’” She took a deep breath, “’Then buy from the Guild, Master Ian.’ ‘I’ll make no profit doing that! Everyone in the city’s demanding Faeryn work. I’m losing money trying to sell their wretched lot. Oh, fine, one hundred golds each. Now let’s talk about them bed warmers, there.’”

 
Hynrik whispered, “Either she’s met both Galt and Master Ian or she’s the best act I ever seen, Milord.”

 
“What wards has he about him?”

 
Amira canted her head, held out her hand for a quill pen. The mage offered ink and paper. She drew. Describe the room. She did, and missed not a single ward’s sigil, which should have prevented her sight. Business was business and scrying could be close to spying. But among a Consecrated scryer’s gifts was the ability to seek any weakness in wards.

 
One thing he could not deny, the fluid swirling around her body was like nothing he had ever seen… yet, he remembered reading something of the sort but that – that was ancient magic and required, well, knowledge long lost.

 
“All right, I believe you. Now, why are you here?”

 
The fluid solidified and he found her clothed in elvin mail with the sigil of Niota emblazoned upon it. Amira took deep breaths, “The Empire’s been betrayed. Niota is under attack –– by an army.”