The Rogue Retrieval (23 page)

“Understood, sir.”

Logan tapped his comm unit back on. “Don't call me ‘sir.' I work for a living!”

Mendez laughed. “Roger that.”

“It's all clear, Lieutenant,” Logan said over the comm unit. Treetops leaned and sighed in a strong gust of wind. “You'd better make it double-­time.”

 

“We came here thinking the ­people might dream of the things we take for granted. Peace, democracy, freedom of speech. Instead, most Alissians simply pray for rain.”

—­
R
.
H
OLT,
“R
EEVALU
ATING
A
LISSIAN
A
SSUM
PTIONS
”

CHAPTER 21

PRISON BREAK

L
ogan and Mendez established a base camp and got to work on the plasma field. The wind picked up; they were having trouble even stretching the netting by the time Kiara and the others arrived. The horses were exhausted and panicky. Kiara and Chaudri fought to secure them with hobbles while Logan and Mendez tied the prisoner to a sapling in the middle of camp.

They barely got the plasma field up before the storm hit. The wooded hollow offered some protection, but the tempest thrashed against it like a wild animal in a cage. Kiara allowed a small fire; they all more or less collapsed around it. Even Mendez seemed to have run out of steam; he offered to take watch but started nodding off almost right away.

Two hours later, Thorisson made his move.

His hands were bound behind him, but he arched his back enough to reach his boot. The heel twisted off. Hidden inside was a thumb-­sized cylinder. The laser torch cut through his flexsteel bindings like they weren't even there. He rose silently. The fire had burned down to embers; the chests of everyone in camp rose and fell slowly. Logan had been snoring for half an hour; he snorted. Thorisson froze in a half crouch. The big man rolled over, and resumed snoring in a steady rattle.

Thorisson began to move again. He paused over the sleeping form of Mendez, as if considering finishing the job his team had started. He moved on, though, stepping noiselessly away from the fire. He didn't go near the horses; there would be no getting one of those loose and away without waking the others. He slipped away toward the trees that were still whipping back and forth in the grip of the wind.

He was two paces from the edge of the plasma field when something tapped him twice on the shoulder. The stock of a loaded crossbow.

“You going somewhere?” Logan asked. He lowered the crossbow so that the tip of the quarrel pressed into Thorisson's back, right at the kidney.

Thorisson's shoulders drooped. He emitted a string of violet curses, most of them in a language Logan didn't understand.

“Sorry, I don't speak German,” he said.

“It's Swedish, you bastard!”

“Ah. Thanks for telling me.”

The man's face was a mix of frustration and disbelief. “You were
asleep
!” he hissed.

“Just because I was snoring?” Logan laughed softly. “My sergeant taught us that one, back in basic.”

L
ogan confiscated the laser cutter and searched the prisoner's other boot heel, turning up a small pocketknife. He'd put a static burst out on the comm unit, once Thorisson was in hand. It woke the others. Well, except for Chaudri, whose comm unit had
accidentally
fallen out again. No matter, Logan had given her a gentle nudge with the toe of his boot. They'd bound his wrists and ankles with new flexsteel ties, and set a real watch at night. Mendez or Logan kept a loaded crossbow pointed at him at all times.

“A word, Logan?” Kiara asked. They stepped away from the others while Mendez took prison guard duty.

“How did you know he'd try to get away?”

He shrugged. “Just played a hunch. It's what I'd do.”

“You could have told me about it,” she said.

“If I had, you wouldn't have slept.”

“That's not your call.” She'd never admit it, but she was upset at herself for letting the prisoner nearly escape under her command.

“You're right, Lieutenant. Won't happen again.”

She gave him a nod; that was that. They returned to the fire. Chaudri, irritable as she was at being roused, had another suggestion. “What about a bell or something?” she asked. “They did that with medieval prisoners sometimes. Tied them up in ribbons and hung bells on them, like they did the fools of royal courts.”

“I think we're a little short on ribbons and bells,” Logan said.

“I've got an IR beacon,” Mendez said. “Seems to me it would serve the same purpose.” Every team sent to Alissia carried these, to help locate one another in a crowd, or rendezvous at night in the rough country. It stood to reason that Alissians wouldn't have the technology to see infrared, but Logan wasn't so sure about some of the nocturnal predators. That was part of why they hadn't used theirs yet.

If a wild dog or something got ahold of Thorisson, hey, that was just bad karma.

Of course, the prisoner would damage or toss the IR beacon the first chance he got. If he knew about it. Logan sauntered over to where Thorisson lay hog-­tied. “Got anything else you're holding?”

Thorisson didn't answer. Logan searched him anyway, half to check for weapons or tools, and half to attach the IR beacon—­a small disc, about the size of a quarter—­on his back. He'd be easier to find now, if he slipped away. They couldn't obsess too much more over security. They had bigger problems in front of them.

The Landorian plateau ended not far to the west, with a mountain range that marked the Felaran border.

 

“Most stage magicians work alone. We have trust issues.”

—­
A
RT OF
I
LLUSION,
D
ECEMBER 12

CHAPTER 22

HIDDEN THINGS

Q
uinn didn't have much to pack. He'd returned his book to the library, and assured Mags that it never left his possession. She glared at him all the while. It was like she could
smell
Moric's fingerprints on the pages. Beyond that, his possessions were meager. He almost wished he had a saddlebag or a suitcase, just to have something to do other than pacing in his chambers.

Then the rose perfume hit him.
Uh-­oh.

Jillaine stood in his doorway, with her hands on her hips. She wore a light, diaphanous dress that was the color of moonlight.

“Hi there,” Quinn said. He smiled to cover the nerves. An old stage trick.

“You're leaving.”

“Yes. Moric agreed to let me come on the mission.”

“To where?”

“No idea. They're not exactly consulting me on this stuff.”

“At least you get to go.”

“I tried to get him to bring you.”

“Did you?”

“Of course.” He spread his hands out. “I talked you up as much as I dared to.”

“I can guess how that went.”

“Yeah.” He elected not to tell her about the choice Moric had given him.
I'm in deep enough as it is.

“How long will you be away?” she asked.

“I don't know, a week?”

She glided into his room and made a survey of it. “So why does it look like you're not coming back?”

He'd packed everything and even tidied up.
I guess it does seem that way. Damn.
He looked at her and just couldn't lie outright. “I'm not sure when I will.”
Or
if
I will.

He was fairly sure he wanted to, despite the lack of progress, but it really wasn't up to him.

“Don't take too long, or I might not be here,” she said.

Two things happened at once: she stood right in front of him, and he discovered he couldn't move. Not even a little finger. “What—­”

She stood on her toes and kissed him. A soft, warm, lingering kind of kiss. Her perfume filled his nose. It was like time stopped. He wanted to put his arms around her more than anything in the world. But he might as well have been made of marble. She pulled away.

No, no, no, no. . .

But he couldn't even speak. She gave him a little smile, turned, and left. It was a good five minutes before he could move again.

He doubted that was by accident.

M
oric's security team assembled on a grassy ridge overlooking the Enclave settlement. Quinn hadn't been up here since his involuntary arrival nearly a month ago. So much had happened; it felt like months.

And Jillaine . . . wow. She knew how to tell a man goodbye.

He hadn't made much progress on the magic yet, but he still had one hell of a briefing for the lieutenant. Of course, that assumed she and the others were still alive. And that they'd be able to catch up to her.

Two other magicians rounded out the team. There was Sella, of course. She had her hair wrapped into a tight bun and wore a plain gray cloak; it took a moment for him to recognize her. The other was a young man, slender and pale-­haired, who went by the name Leward. Quinn had heard of him; he had a reputation for fire magic. He looked young for a full-­fledged magician, a fact he'd tried and failed to address by growing a goatee. A water witch and a fire wizard. Moric sure liked to cover his bases.

Guess that makes me the token impostor.

The bald magician himself appeared a few minutes later, leading four stocky animals that looked suspiciously like mules. “Our clients are mounted, it seems, so we'll need these to keep a close eye on them.”

And here Quinn thought he'd gotten away from the horseback riding. But he was the student-­trainee, so he bit his tongue and kept quiet. Moric took them higher up the ridge to a wide, round stone. A perfect circle was etched into the stone's surface, as well as other runes in some strange language. The symbols and markers looked unlike anything he'd yet seen in the library. He wondered if the reading glasses would work on them.

“We're headed to a place on the northern edge of the Landorian plateau,” Moric said. At his gesture, they all stepped on the stone. In the shuffle, Quinn snuck a photo of some of the symbols with his wrist-­camera.

They managed to fit the animals on the stone as well, though doing so involved putting one of their rear ends right up next to Quinn's face. He couldn't think that was by accident, but had no chance to call Moric out. The magician had already started an incantation.

The light was just as blinding as he remembered, and after-­images played across Quinn's vision. He felt the cold first; they'd traveled from the island's persistent summer to late autumn in northern Alissia. The air was dry here, and thin. A bleak gray sky stretched overhead. He shook himself and rubbed his arms; Moric's arcane teleportation disconcerted him. The mules were unaffected by it, though, as were Leward and Sella.

Other than Quinn, then, only Moric was slightly worse for wear; the effort of bringing them all here had exacted its price from him. Quinn guessed he'd need sleep before long.

“Lew, a concealment spell, if you'd be so kind,” he said. He must have seen the interest on Quinn's face. “It's a minor enchantment that helps keep us hidden from prying eyes.”

“So we'll be invisible?” Quinn asked.

“Not entirely,” Sella said. “We'll blend in better to our surroundings, and be harder to pick out from afar. Someone might still spot us, though.”

“True invisibility requires a far more powerful bit of magic,” Moric said. “I'm sure Leward could do it, but he wouldn't be much use to us afterward.”

The young magician had begun an incantation while he walked in a slow circle around the rest of the group.

“It will help him if you remain still,” Moric added.

Quinn held his breath. His skin tingled, as if building up static electricity. Lew completed the circle, made a gesture with one arm, and ended his spell. There was a
settling
to it, like a light but unseen cloak wrapping around his shoulders.

“It's done,” Leward said. “I, uh, hope it's all right.”

“A bit abrupt for my taste, but it will do,” Sella said.

His face fell, until Moric said, “Relax, lad. We're a big group.”

Quinn couldn't help but feel relief that Sella was as hard on others as she was on him. He held out his arm in front of him. The gray of the cloak darkened to the rich brown of the mud beneath his feet. He lifted the same arm up high, and now it became a lighter gray, almost matching the heavy clouds. “That's spectacular!” he said.

Leward blushed. “Thanks.”

“You'll have to teach me that one.”

“It's not so difficult, really. Just a matter of—­”

Sella cleared her throat. “I'm sure you'd prefer to leave instruction to the Enclave instructors, wouldn't you, Leward? We wouldn't want Quinn losing a foot out of carelessness.”

Leward bowed his head. “By all means.”

“We need to get moving, in any case,” Moric said. “Into your saddles, please.” He leaped onto the nearest mule in a manner that almost certainly defied physics. Sella floated up and into her saddle with precise elegance; Leward had scrambled into his own saddle and then looked embarrassed to have not done so with the use of magic. Quinn found the stirrup with one foot and mounted in a single movement, careful not to catch himself on the unusually high pommel. All of that practice with Logan was paying off.

Sella noticed it, too. “You've ridden before, I take it,” she said.

“Some,” Quinn admitted. He looked around, momentarily puzzled. “Where are the reins?”

“Reins?” Moric laughed. “These are Tioni mules,” he said, as if that were enough explanation.

“Well, how do I stop him?”

“You really don't know?”

“No.”

Moric grunted, either surprised or disbelieving. “Observe.” He put his palm against the side of his mule's neck, and said, “Forward, please.”

The mule began plodding forward at a slow pace. After a few steps, Moric touched it again. “Stop, please.” The mule came to a halt. Moric looked back at Quinn. “Clear enough?”

Smart mules. Alissia would never cease to amaze him. Quinn laid his palm against his mule's neck. “Forward,” he said.

Nothing happened. The others laughed.

“You forget your manners, boy,” Sella said. “Try it again. Politely, this time.”

Quinn tried it again. “Forward,
please
,” he said.

His mule hesitated another second, as if making a point, and then started moving.

“Unbelievable,” Quinn said.

T
ioni mules never seemed to tire. They'd ridden at a good pace for two hours when Moric made an announcement. “I believe we're at our destination. Our protectees should be along in a day or so.”

“Why didn't you just bring us here?” Quinn asked.

Moric shrugged. “I brought us to a place that I knew well, where we might expect to have privacy.”

“Transportation magic is not for trifling with,” Sella said.

“Do you trust Holt?” Quinn asked.

“As much as I trust any politician,” Moric said. “Perhaps more than some. He's given us reason to believe that we share similar interests concerning Alissia.”

Quinn wanted to ask what that would be, but didn't dare risk seeming too curious. Like everything on this mission, Holt was a subject for a delicate touch.

“I take it you have a strong opinion of our mutual friend,” Moric said.

“I've got an opinion about everyone,” Quinn said.

“Even of me?”

“I'd rather not say.”

“And Sella?”

“I'd
definitely
rather not say.”

“Good lad. You're learning after all.”

They dismounted and let the mules graze. Sella did something to create a tiny spring that welled up in the middle of camp. Moric and Leward began working on some joint piece of magic: they stood side by side, arms held out so that their fingers and thumbs formed a circle. This they swept back and forth while speaking the incantation. They were looking for something.

“Got them,” Moric said. He spread his arms farther apart; an opaque circle flickered into existence between them.

Now Quinn could see it, so he ambled over for a look while trying not to appear overeager. It was like looking into a circular window that let out into another place. Same sky, same mountains in the background, but they looked much closer. Five figures in the middle of it drew his eyes. They were all mounted, and moving northward at a steady gallop. He recognized Kiara, Logan, and Chaudri, but the other two men were strangers to him. Was one of them Holt? Probably not, seeing as how the Valteroni Prime had still managed to offer the guild contract. The Latino definitely had a military vibe about him.

There was something familiar about the other guy, but Quinn couldn't place him. He edged closer to the window for a better look. Recognition struck him like lightning.

Thorisson.

The guy from the theater back in Vegas who'd given him the jack of spades.
What the hell is
he
doing here?
Maybe he'd been with CASE Global after all. The thought turned his insides to ice.

How much did I tell him?

On his third day on the island facility, before they'd come through the gateway, Quinn had reached out with the jack of spades.
I might have overreacted a little.
But he'd just learned that his performance would take place in another world entirely, and Logan had gone to great lengths to explain how likely it was he'd die here.

Thorisson had promised to get him out, but then Kiara moved up the mission timetable and it was too late. Now, here he was.

Leward adjusted the window, centering it right on Thorisson. “This one's got his hands tied together.”

Moric harrumphed. “The Prime didn't mention a prisoner.”

He's not with CASE Global.

Quinn must have made a sound, because Moric glanced back and noticed him.

“Quinn, something wrong?”

“No,” Quinn said quickly. “No, nothing. I've never seen that kind of spell before.”

“It's called a scrying. Just a window to a distant place, nothing more.”

“How far away are they?”

“Not more than an hour's ride. They're behind schedule; they must have encountered some—­” He paused, for Leward had tugged urgently on his shoulder. “What?”

“Look at this,” Leward said. “About a league north of them.” He enlarged his own scrying window so that they all could see. A group of horsemen rode against the same backdrop of mountains, only they were headed in the other direction. They were armed and armored in burnished plate metal, with banners flying from the tips of their striped lances. It was like something right out of Camelot. They rode two abreast in a long column; there had to be sixteen or eighteen men.

“Who are they?” Quinn asked.

Sella, drawn by the tone of Leward's voice, frowned at him. “Strange that you would not recognize your own countrymen. That's a Landorian patrol.”

Whoops.
He'd failed to notice the colors on the banners. “We didn't get a lot of patrols in my village,” he said.

“Nor do most villages, or so I'm told,” Moric said. “They rarely come this far, unless they're after smugglers. Unfortunately, our friends are about to ride right into them.”

He let the scrying window fade away and led them to where they'd tethered the Tioni mules. They mounted.