Blademage Adept (The Blademage Saga Book 3) (4 page)

Rhysabeth-Dane covered her mouth and peeked at Mirsa with glimmering eyes before grabbing hold of the Master Mage’s hand and lurching after their companion.

“They say you’re the man we need to talk to,” Kevon said, stepping up to the bar and sitting down.

“Who says?” the man beside him asked, lowering his mug.

“Every ship captain who’s heard the words ‘passage’ and ‘Mage’ in the same conversation, for starters,” Alanna answered, taking a stool on the other side of the man. “Seems you have a pet Mage of your own, if the stories are true.”

“He wouldn’t like being called that,” the man laughed, “But there’s a lot of things Reko doesn’t like.” The man stood and extended a hand to Kevon. “Yusa’s the name, Captain Yusa. But you already knew that.”

“We did,” Kevon admitted, “But what we need to know is if we can buy passage on your ship.”

“Where are you headed?”

“We’d rather discuss it in-”

“Excellent!” Yusa clapped Kevon on the shoulder, and tossed two coppers onto the bar before gulping down the last of his ale. “Secrets is extra…” he whispered over the background noise of the small tavern, and turned to leave.

Alanna glared at Kevon, who could only shrug and follow the ship captain out onto the street.

“I don’t know about ‘extra’,” Kevon commented as he caught up to Yusa and matched his stride. “There could be trade opportunity where we’re headed though, Alanna here could help with that, make it more than worth your while.”

“The elves are particularly fond of Heartmelons, which will not grow on their home, but are abundant here. They…”

Kevon smiled at the brief slice of personality that showed through the assassin’s toughened guise.

“I’ll help,” she hissed. “But you’ll make it worth
my
while. Both of you.”

Captain Yusa stopped and glanced around before speaking. “Travel to the Glimmering Isle is something that is simply not done. I…” He looked over Kevon and Alanna for a minute, then laughed. “I’ll see what Reko has to say about it. Then I’ll probably do it anyway.”

“Yer certain of this Yusa? And this ‘Reko’ ye’ve never met?” Kylgren-Wode scowled as the longboat approached the pier. He blew the fresh shavings off of the alder grip he’d been whittling at, and tucked it in a pocket with its twin.

“Who can be certain of anyone?” Kevon asked. “It may have been different for you in the Hold, but we have all felt the sting of betrayal. We’ll feel it again. The important thing is to be prepared for it.”

“The games ye play are with yer lives, we gamble instead with honor.” The ambassador agreed. “Deception in the Hold would only feel like a knife in yer back, it wouldn’t really be one.”

Alanna’s glare hardened, her face flushing half a shade in an uncharacteristic show of outward emotion.

Kevon and Kylgren caught tossed lines from crewmen and helped secure the boat on the pier.

Captain Yusa waved the two aside and climbed up from the boat himself. “No offense,” he offered, brushing himself off and standing tall before the group. “I studied the Arts for a season, to no real effect. I still like to stay clear of metal. Sometimes I feel a connection to the sea. I’d hate to lose that.”

“No arguments here,” Kevon smiled. “Have you made your decision?”

“Master Reko is not completely convinced, but I am captain of my own destiny.” Yusa laughed. “I’ve spent too long fishing and following the coastlines. The men are ready for adventure, as am I. We’ll reprovision, and sail with the morning tide in two days.”

Chapter 8

Bertus knocked on the door well after the farmerfolk had left for the morning, a break in the routine of the previous few days. After riding from before dawn until after dark nearly every day the last week, the horses and the tempers of their riders were sorely in need of a break.

“Ready!” Alma smiled, opening the door and shouldering her share of the provisions. Martin grunted and hefted his saddlebags before following her out into the hallway.

“Breakfast is already on the table,” Bertus announced, taking Alma’s satchel and one of Martin’s saddlebags.

“I hope it’s strips of smoked venison and lukewarm water!” Alma’s eyes glinted mischievously as she slid past Bertus down the hallway toward the little inn’s common room. Martin chuckled and followed her out to the table near the fireplace.

“No,” Bertus whispered as they disappeared around the corner. “That’s lunch.”

“Now that there seems to be no hurry,” Alma began as Bertus set down the bags and took his seat at the table, “Perhaps you can tell us more about why we have been hurrying.”

Bertus waited until the innkeeper left the pitcher of milk and dish of butter and returned to the kitchen before beginning to speak.

“What would you like to hear about first? Our battle with the Orclord? The ambush by fanatic Magi in the palace in Navlia? Or the showdown with Holten that burned down part of Eastport?”

“Begin with our connection,” Martin suggested. “Tell us about Master Holten.”

“Holten sent Kevon across the realm with a message that would have ended in his death. With a trinket that suggests your ‘Master’ had been involved in other serious crimes against the Myrnar. After years of hiding behind a curtain of iron and steel, Kevon finally faced his past not more than three days before I arrived in your valley.” Bertus cut a piece of ham and speared it with a fork already laden with scrambled egg.

“But Holten lives?” Martin asked as Bertus chewed.

“Mmm.” Bertus swallowed as he shrugged a shoulder. “The battle was… unusual. Kevon and another Mage slung fire at Holten, and he at them. Then… he seemed to turn to living flame, and escaped to another place, one opened by magic. Kevon and the other Mage seemed to think that he may have died there, but sent me to fetch you, should it not be the case.”

“It is good that we are far from there,” Martin agreed, reaching to hold Alma’s hand. “Though Holten was never one for sentiment, he was practical, and would likely use it against his enemies.” His eyes narrowed. “Now, what’s this about an Orclord?”

The torch lights and skyline of Smara showed against the southwestern horizon as Bertus sat watching the sun sinking behind it. The horses had been stabled hours ago, supper eaten and cleared away. The relaxed pace of the day had helped ease the tension that had been growing in his mind since they’d fled Laston, and given him time to think about how to proceed the next few days. Outsiders in Kron were treated differently than residents; catered to, but charged dearly for it. Smara was the center of that practice, and the most extravagant by far.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Martin asked, walking up behind him.

“No.” Bertus shook his head. “I’ve seen the sights in Eastport, feasted in the palace in Navlia, roamed the halls of the Dwarven Hold.” He sighed. “Your home was beautiful. I’m sorry you had to leave it, sorry that I was the one to tear you from it.”

“I’d much rather lose my land than my life,” Martin assured Bertus. “You may have saved us, or given us a fighting chance. That is no cause for sorrow.”

“He should have sent someone else. Someone older, stronger…”

Martin laughed. “The Kevon I knew, those years ago, would have looked up to you. From what little you’ve told us of your travels, I can only assume there is much more we’ve not heard.” His face grew somber. “I’ll do whatever you ask, follow wherever you lead, if you will keep my Alma safe.”

Bertus shrugged. “South, then. Until we have to choose to turn east for Navlia, or continue on to the frontier. The palace will have improved defenses after the last attack, but we’d stand out more there than we would blending into one of the units Carlo is commanding on the edge of the wastelands.”

“Until we must decide,” Martin agreed. “We should turn in for the evening.”

Chapter 9

“Faster,” Alanna whispered, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow visible in flickers from a distant torch.

Kevon grunted, weary already from the evening’s exertion, but thrust yet again.

The assassin shifted to the side, dodging the blunted wooden practice knife by the width of two fingers at most. She ducked as her student shifted his weight and slashed to the side, passing through the space where her head had just been. She rolled her neck as she straightened, smiling at the slight
pop
as the tension eased. A raised knee impacted Kevon’s arm on his reverse slash, stalling his attack. The precise application of force at his wrist and elbow caused him to cast aside the wooden knife, and after a few twists of the captive arm, the Warsmith found himself face-down on the dirt floor, unable to act except for twitching at the pain of the leveraged arm.

“You want to
protect
her,” Alanna mocked, pressing herself close upon Kevon’s prone form to whisper in his ear. “You can’t even protect yourself from me.” She squirmed a moment longer, as if to emphasize her complete control of the situation, before releasing Kevon’s arm.

Alanna rose and let Kevon struggle to a seated position and rub at the pain in his arm. “I was there when Carlo taught you not to fear getting hurt. That’s a start.” She sat on a nearby crate and leaned against the wall. “The less you fear, the easier decisions are to make, in combat, in life.” She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face, and wiped a smudge of dust from underneath her good eye. “But I don’t know how to teach someone not to fear death.”

This is the only way I can see to get through to her,
Kevon thought, glaring at the parody of his love that sat sneering at him from less than two sword lengths away.
The only way that Alanna has mentioned Marelle’s return as even possible.
He closed his eyes and thought back to the evening they met, years ago just outside the North Valley. The children they had been then would be terrified at what they had become. The evening walks, the stolen glances between Elburg and Eastport whorled through his mind, a blur of green eyes and satin ribbons, punctuated by clacking wooden swords and sprinkles of her laughter. Their last evening together in Eastport, the folded note he still kept in a pouch, in a pocket close to his heart.

So close to getting her back,
Kevon’s teeth clenched at the realization.
If fear is all that is standing in our way… I would rather die than lose her this time.
He rolled his right shoulder in a few slow circles, recovered the stick-knife, and climbed to his feet.

“Again.”

Alanna woke, stifling the scream that nearly escaped her lips. Fragments of the nightmarish memory forced themselves into her, white-hot shards of reality that had severed Marelle almost completely from the world. If the assassin thought hard enough, she could remember things from Marelle’s life, but aside from the occasional twinge of guilt, the shopkeeper’s daughter had effectively died the same day as her father.

Kevon snored softly beside her. The two had fallen asleep, exhausted from the brutal combat practice.

She felt his fingertips resting against the small of her back, and cursed the part of herself that wished his arm was draped around her waist. Wriggling away, she sat up, stretched, and pulled her boots on before venturing outside.

“Yer awake!”

Alanna faked a smile and instantly regretted not staying in the room and trying to take advantage of Kevon. “Good morning, Ambassador.”
At least the other one is quiet,
she thought, glancing over to where Rhysabeth-Dane studied in a corner by Mirsa.
If she weren’t so fond of the Mage…

“The last crates of Heartmelon are waiting to be loaded on the ship,” Captain Yusa announced, looking up from the map spread out on the common-room table. “If we can get them and ourselves aboard in the next two hours, we’ll be on our way.”

Alanna folded two strips of bacon from a platter beside Mirsa into one of the thin, chewy griddle-cakes they’d become familiar with since leaving Eastport, and took a bite. “Give me a few minutes, and the ambassador and I will help you with the loading.” Still chewing, she returned to the room, where Kevon was starting to stir.

“Shh,” she cautioned, strapping on the last of her usual weaponry, a small brace of throwing knifes across her lower back, hidden easily under her light jacket. “Rest a bit longer. We’re starting on the last loads to the ship now.”

His grunts of protest were cut short by two fingers pressing between his shoulder and collarbone. The area was already sore from the previous evening’s practice, but radiated pain in twinges all the way down his arm as Alanna pressed him back down against the bunk.

“I’ll be back,” she laughed, as the Warsmith sulked, defeated.

Kylgren-Wode led the way out into the pre-dawn gloom, where the beginnings of light to the east showed scattered banks of fog below at the waterfront, out into the bay.

“Hold,” Captain Yusa barked, as they reached a curve in the road that overlooked the docks below. He waved his cloak in front of the torch he carried in a cryptic fashion, and peered out at the sea.

One of the ships nearer to the shore than most blinked a light several times, and the same pattern of light flashed from below them on one of the docks. Yusa nodded and continued down the road. “They’re ready.”

Alanna peered down at the waterfront, pretending not to notice the movement behind them in a shadowed alley. She followed behind the others, flicking her arm so that a knife slid free of its wrist sheath into her waiting hand. “You trust your crew?” she asked the Captain as she closed within a few steps.

“Good men, all.” Yusa affirmed. “I’m a fair Captain. Sometimes business is slow, but I’ve never had problems. Reko might have something to do with it.”

Anger at the Mage’s name flared, Alanna’s grip on the throwing knife tightened. “Well,” she whispered, “Someone’s been talking.”

She whirled, throwing her knife as the two swordsmen rushed from the alleyway. The leading assailant grunted at the weapon’s impact against his chest, but did not fall. The second blade blossomed from his throat, a third glancing off the second man’s shoulder.