Merchants and Mages (Highmage's Plight Book 2) (6 page)

  Warnings echoed through his mind as George fell backward and pulled

Se’and down.

  The next thing he knew, he was coughing, and had the oddest

feeling that the woman beside her wasn’t Se’and, but Cle’or.

  “Je’orj, thank the Lords you’re all right!” Fri’il shouted beside him. He shook his head. What was he thinking?

 
Se’and slapped him, “Don’t ever do that again!”

 
“Huh?”

 
“I don’t know, but whatever it was, don’t do it again,” she shook her head, and nearly fell over into the stream of water flowing past them. She pulled off her soaked livery.

 
“Staff, scan!  I want to know what’s happened.”

 
The staff’s glow flickered as it obeyed and replied,
:Scanning… There is no sign of the creature. Temperature is returning to normal.:

 
They heard a falc’s cry, rose and headed back toward the center of the tomb, only to find the place collapsed, open to the now clear blue sky.

 
“Raven?” George muttered and mentally reached.

 
‘!’ She sent.

 
“Is everyone all right?”

 
‘Coming!’

 
“No, we’ll come to you,” he muttered even as he saw the pale falc with her black crest settle on the rim of the breached earth above them. “This place is not safe.”

 
Se’and looked about them, “The orb. It’s gone.”

 
He nodded, seeing that most of the marble pedestal had been destroyed as well. 
:George, it appears to have used its enchantment to unbind the elemental.:

 
“I know,” he answered.

 
Se’and whispered, seeing the strewn jewels amid the melting snow,   “Should we take any of it?”

 
“Leave it…  We have disturbed this place enough,” he said, lending her a hand as they climbed up and out of the vault. As she drew herself up Se’and never wondered about the exquisitely woven anklet she now wore – or how her money pouch weighed significantly more.

If Prophecies Were Horses

Chapter 7

W
ith the orb destroyed, the awareness it suppressed awoke. Reality shifted around it. The black liveried Cathartans were here as prophesied. It watched the group gather and leave the Barrows – without the object they must have.

 
Its options were limited. The tomb’s secret had not been plumbed. However, the prophecy would be fulfilled. It would find a way to pass on its charge to the one foretold. The Carthartans were just a step in a lengthy ladder, after all.

 
The Prophecy must be fulfilled – or the once Demon’s wrath would one day erase humanity from the very face of this world and worse. Oh, much worse.

 
The awareness focused on one of the painted images in the hidden tomb far below the burial mound. It settled about the elf who was shown shaking hands with a dismounted man in a dark cloak, who bore an intricately decorated sword in a scabbard.  The hilt suddenly gleamed, then the sword faded back of the picture – as did one thing more.

Raven flew above the Barrow, its enchantment not hindering her in helping them recover most of the surviving horses. However, once they all left the central barrows, they found themselves inexplicably outside the Barrows altogether, and on an ancient paved road.

 
Cle’or had never felt so tired. Balfour rode double with her, his arms around her waist.  She allowed herself to lie back against him, though she hated herself for her weakness. She felt so strange and fingered her intricately crafted anklet. She had been afraid she might have lost it in the struggle when… when she’d fought beside Lord Je’orj? What was she thinking?  She’d never been inside the barrow. She didn’t even own an

anklet!

  She shook her head and touched the money pouch at her side, thinking it felt a bit heavier. But that was ridiculous, too.

 
“Je’orj, we cannot go on as we have,” Balfour averred as he slowed his mount still further, calling for a halt.

 
“Do you have a better suggestion?” George asked.

 
“We have to split up…  The Demonlord must know we were here in the barrows.  If you are to reach the Highmage in the Imperial Capital, we cannot go on as we have. At the very least, the livery our friends wear will make us difficult to forget.”

 
“Which is why we were taking this route in the first place,” George replied as Se’and and the others listened with interest. Their Cathartan livery was a matter of honor with them, after all.

 
“Yes, but with what happened in the Barrows, everything is different now.” Balfour glared at Se’and, daring her to disagree.

She sighed and nodded, which surprised him, then replied, “We concede that another approach may be necessary to see to your safety, Milord.”

  “Good,” Balfour replied, knowing that they normally argued quite heatedly when it came to matters the Cathartans felt tread on matters of honor. “Then we must split up for our own good – and we will have to disguise ourselves somehow, which means that livery must be put aside – for a time.”

 
“Disguised?” Cle’or rasped.

 
He nodded, “Yes.”

 
They rode in silence for a time as each considered what they could do, then Me’oh opined, “I could play at being a midwife to Balfour’s rustic healer.”

Cle’or shook her head, “And I, your trusty servant?
 No one would

believe it…
 and I will not abandon my charge.”

 
“Of course, not,” Me’oh replied, “but I’ve seen you work with horses – you have helped them birth.”

 
“What has that got to do with anything?”

 
“You’ll play a midwife, too.”

 
Cle’or seethed, preparing to refuse, then Balfour tightened his hold about her waist and whispered, “You’ll do it.”

 
“I’ll do it,” she muttered, knowing it was her duty, though she dreaded it.

 
“That’s all very well,” George replied. “But, I am sorry to say, I doubt I can put my skills to as good a use.”

 
Se’and frowned thoughtfully, unconsciously reaching down and fingering her elvin wrought anklet. “But I can… You and I shall be merchants traveling across the Empire in search of sale goods.”

 
“And we can always sell the jewels,” Fri’il suggested.

 
“Jewels? What jewels?” George muttered.

 
Fri’il reached into her money pouch, then poured several into her hands. “Why, these.”

 
Se’and’s eyes widened, “What?”

 
“I picked these up when Lord Je’orj and I were in the Barrow,” Fri’il said.

 
“When you were in Barrow?” Cle’or heard herself shout. “What are you talking about? I was in the Barrow with him!”

 
“What?” George said, glancing at Balfour who was frowning.

 
Cle’or opened her money pouch and poured jewels she’d collected while in the tomb into her palm. “See?”

 
Se’and swallowed, drawing her pouch opening it to stare inside. “Oh.”

 
Balfour muttered, “Uh, does this mean we’re rich?”

 
“It means something,” George replied, “but I’ve a feeling it doesn’t mean that.”

 
Fri’il frowned, “So we’ll be merchants.”

“Oh, I’ve something special in mind for you, and Raven’s role,”

  Se’and said with a rather smug look on her face. Fri’il didn’t like the

sound of that one bit, then reached down and fingered her intricately elvin wrought anklet as Se’and explained further. She groaned, knowing any protest would fall on deaf ears.

  Raven replied by tossing her livery to Fri’il and leaping off the horse into the air.  She shimmered and flapped her wings hard in anger. She did not want to play at being a boy!  Being a human girl was hard enough!

 
Balfour sighed, “That’s settled then?”

 
George nodded, “You know, for this to work, we must go our separate ways.”

 
Se’and led her mount close to Me’oh and they discussed details privately. Coin changed hands as Fri’il said, “Who am I going to ride with?”

 
George winced, looking away.

Se’and said, “Me’oh, this is too much.”

Fri’il suddenly grinned, “I know, I’ll ride double with Lord Je’orj.” She took her and Raven’s saddle bags and tied them to Je’orj’s   mount.

George shook his head even as staff mentally whispered,
:George, when did Cle’or, Fri’il, and Se’and start wearing those anklets?:

“Hmm, what are you talking about?” George replied. “They’ve always worn them.”

  His horse turned her head and looked back at him.

   
:They do?:
The staff glowed.

They do,
whispered a presence, then said to the staring horse, which was significantly larger than all the rest,
Stop that.

 
The computer ran a diagnostic, then stated,
:Yes, they always have.:

Lord Je’orj’s horse nickered, shaking her head.

George clasped Balfour’s hands as Fri’il mounted behind him.
 She looked all too sweetly at Se’and as she hugged him close to her.   George glanced behind him and sighed, “Well, my friend, it appears we really are parting for a time. Keep safe – and don’t let the ladies get the better of you.”

 
Balfour smiled as Cle’or weakly glanced back between them, “I’ll do my best. But I think it is you who has the more difficult task.”

 
So do I,
George thought. “It is all agreed then… We’ll meet in the Imperial Capital.”

 
“But we’ll first need to build our credentials in the Provincial Capital,” Balfour said.

Raven flew overhead; she circled, watching as Se’and rode beside her foster–father, Fri’il riding double, tucked snugly behind her lord in the saddle.

 
George winced slightly, his headache building.

 
:Do you really wish me to increase rapport?:
Staff asked.

 
“Do it,” George muttered, shaking his head, moving Fri’il’s hands which were making him rather uncomfortable.

 
“Something wrong?” Se’and asked, glaring at Fri’il, who was grinning.

 
“The, uh, Summoning seems positively gleeful.”

 
“What?” she said in surprise.

 
The staff glowed in its bindings against the saddle. “I believe that we accomplished what it wanted. Something it wanted very much.”

 
“What are you talking about?”

 
He swayed in the saddle ever so slightly, “It’s making me feel, uh, giddy.”

 
:Now that is a prevarication, if I have ever heard one,:
Staff said.

 
He ground his teeth withholding a reply, careful to not look too closely at Se’and. She would most certainly misunderstand. Or understand all too well, and he was not prepared for where that might lead. He was already in way too much trouble where Se’and and Fri’il were concerned.

The younger woman turned her face away from Se’and and gently
rested her head on his broad shoulders with a satisfied smile. She

heard the lie, too, and was inordinately pleased with herself.

 
With a frown, Se’and rode ahead of them.

 
“Stop that,” George muttered.

 
Fri’il chuckled ever so softly as Raven watched warily, not liking her foster–father's new horse in the least. No one even seemed to think it odd he suddenly rode a different mount. When the wer prepared to warn his foster-father she heard a mental voice she had come to recognize,
'Shh, little one. All is well.'

 
She veered off and returned to scouting, leaving the Summoning to its little games, while on the ground, the slightly aggrieved horse in question disliked the squirming couple on her back. The warhorse nickered, wondering about what other surprises were in store for her.

 
The Summoning began humming, rather pleased at how well things were coming along. That sound echoing through George's mind made his headache all the worse.

 
"Argh," he muttered, grimacing, knowing, without a doubt, that he was again in the midst of the ancient Chinese Curse, ‘may you live in interesting times.’ "Stop that!" He moved Fri'il's hands higher as Se'and looked away.

 
"Hmm," Fri'il whispered, "this better?"

 
"Fri'il... Would you rather I dumped you off?"

 
"Uh, not really, Je'orj... I mean, Milord."

 
Se'and spurred her mount ahead of them. George knew this was going to be a very long trip.

That night, Balfour stared glumly at the fire, hoping he had made the right decision. They came across a small settlement that afternoon and Balfour

had bought plain cloaks and other garb

  Cle’or and Me’oh were making adjustments to them. Cle’or’s distaste for her dress was clear. However, she seemed pleased that it was billowy enough to conceal many of her daggers and throwing

knives. Hiding her sword was another matter.

  Warming his hands by the fire, he doubted he would ever feel quite

warm enough ever again after having confronted the ice elemental. “I dread how cold it will get tonight,” he muttered.

  Cle’or shivered, “I’m freezing just thinking about it.”

 
Me’oh chuckled, looking at Balfour. “I would not worry, if I were you, Cle’or.”

 
“Huh?”

 
“Cle’or, you can be so infuriatingly obtuse at times.”

 
She blinked, startled. “You aren’t suggesting…”

 
“I’m a Cathartan––trained healer, Cle’or. You need to keep warm and Balfour’s elfblooded body temperature runs a bit hotter than anyone else’s I know of.”

 
Balfour heard that remark and hastily offered, “In that case, Cle’or, feel free to use my extra blanket.”

 
Thoughtfully, Cle’or considered and replied, “No, my lord husband.  I would not think of doing that.”

 
He swallowed hard and moved a little further from the fire, feeling uncomfortably warm now. Cle’or actually smiled to him self––consciously. He hurriedly rose and looked through his things for that extra blanket.