First and Last Sorcerer Page 20

  “No,” she whispered. “Don’t say that. Even if you could’ve . . . you couldn’t. It’s all right . . . Please, you did right.”

  Ghassan was lost by all of this, and apparently so were the others.

  “Leesil?” Wynn asked quietly.

  He shook his head as he both stared and frowned at the pair in the bedchamber entrance.

  Magiere looked up and across the room as her hand slipped down Chap’s neck and around his shoulders, as if she might grab hold to pull him close. He went silent as he buried his face in her neck.

  “I take it you have a plan?” she asked, looking first to Wynn and then directly at Ghassan. “And that would be a trap . . . with me as the bait.”

  Ghassan wondered how long she had been listening.

  “No!” Leesil snarled.

  He lunged one step toward her, stopped suddenly and turned, and then charged the table straight at Ghassan. Wynn grabbed at him, barely achieving a grip, and Shade came snarling out of the room’s back corner. Osha took two fast steps closer and stalled, visibly panicked and confused about what to do.

  Magiere kept her eyes locked on Ghassan.

  Yes, he mouthed at her.

  She looked to Leesil. “We don’t have a choice.”

  He thrashed out of Wynn’s grip and turned to her. “Yes, we do! We don’t have to do—”

  “Leesil!” Magiere cut in.

  Chap pulled his head out of her neck to look as well.

  Leesil’s eyes shifted everywhere as he panted in fury or panic. For one instant, he might have wanted to collapse. Then he turned slowly, and there was cold hate in his eyes as he looked at Ghassan.

  “If we can’t be located in here, by any means, then we aren’t doing a thing until she’s recovered. Understand?”

  Ghassan nodded. “Of course.” Satisfied that he had succeeded, he rose and grabbed his cloak. “I will find out how far the prisoner recovery efforts have progressed,” he said. “And how many guards are searching the city—and where. The scale of their efforts may help us estimate the rank or placement of Khalidah’s current host.”

  Brot’an stood up, and then his entire body went still.

  Osha glanced at Leesil in alarm, as if questioning whether he should act to stop Ghassan from leaving the sanctuary.

  Ghassan paused, waiting. Since the night before, they had treated him as a prisoner to be watched. He had indulged them, but this had to stop. If any of them tried to stop him now, it would be time to show them exactly what he was capable of.

  “Let him go,” Magiere ordered quietly, and looked at Brot’an. “I mean it. Everything has changed now. And again . . . he’s right.”

  Leesil shook his head in anger—and perhaps defeat. “What if you’re spotted?”

  Starting for the door again, Ghassan did not dignify the question with an answer.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As soon as Ghassan left the sanctuary, all talk of impending hunts ceased and Wynn turned her attention to making her rescued friends more comfortable. First she found a bucket and several large empty urns stored in various places about the sanctuary. She also gathered the urns she’d purchased at the market. Then she and Osha went downstairs, outside, and walked one block to the west to use a communal well. They filled their vessels.

  Though somewhat heavily burdened, they made their way back to the top floor of the tenement in good time.

  Rather than using her pebble, Wynn decided to try something else, just to see if it would work. Stopping at the false window, she set down her bucket to free up one hand, then knocked softly.

  “It’s me,” she whispered.

  The door opened from the other side and Leesil peered out.

  Good. That meant that so long as at least one of them was inside, anyone else could come and go as necessary.

  After bustling in, with Osha behind her, Wynn heard Leesil close the door, and she assumed full charge of the situation.

  “Osha, please take two of the urns and this bucket into the bedroom. Then try to hang a sheet in the doorway.”

  He nodded and went to work.

  Piles of blankets, sheets, and any other light pieces of cloth were soon gathered, along with the new clothing she’d purchased, both bars of soap, small pots of medicinal salve, and bandages. She also dug a wooden comb out of her own pack. Wynn then divided up these items. Leaving some of them on the table, she hefted an armload of others.

  “Magiere, Wayfarer . . . come with me,” she said, heading off for the bedchamber.

  By that point, Osha had strung a sheet across the bedchamber’s entrance for privacy. Wynn pushed the sheet aside and stepped in. Several large urns of water, along with the bucket, were now set between the beds. As Magiere and Wayfarer followed, Wynn set down her armload of blankets, sheets, and a bar of soap, and she went to check that the sheet curtain was securely in place. Leesil could remain with the other men and take his bath in the outer room, where she’d left him two urns of water, soap, blankets, and clothing.

  Shade’s nose then poked around one side of the hanging sheet.

  Wynn should have thought of the other “woman” in the group, and Shade pushed through to join them. At that moment, Wynn wished Shade might have stayed out in the main room with Chap. A daughter would do well to soften a little toward her father, but this was no time to worry about such things.

  Wynn found herself relieved by Wayfarer’s quick compliance, for this morning and last night the girl had been standoffish, almost cold. Most of that had been directed toward Osha, though strangely—or not—some of this had spilled over toward Wynn. As to the story behind another change of name for the quarter-blood girl, that could wait as well. Magiere and Leesil, and even Chap, now called her Wayfarer, and that was enough.

  Wynn’s attention turned to more immediate matters as Wayfarer and Magiere began to disrobe.

  Wayfarer looked bone thin and her wrists were badly bruised, but Magiere was now almost unmarked.

  Wynn was well aware of how quickly Magiere healed. Aside from being more pallid than before, and malnourished, there wasn’t a single wound on her. Even her torn wrists showed almost no sign that she’d been manacled. Disturbing at the least.

  Wayfarer stood frozen, naked to the waist as she stared down at her soiled pants. Wynn had expected bashfulness, but the girl looked as if she was in physical discomfort. Wynn peered closer and realized it wasn’t a matter of modesty. The fabric of those pants had adhered to Wayfarer’s legs in several places after a moon of fear-sweats, grime, and bodily filth without bathing.

  “Getting them off might hurt . . . a little,” Wynn said.

  Wayfarer nodded, and as Wynn helped peel off the pants, the girl winced several times, though she never made a sound. When it was done, Wayfarer sat down on the floor and leaned against the nearer bed’s side. Wynn was about to toss the ruined pants into the corner and get the salve when she heard a slowly growing hiss resembling an angered cat.

  Magiere stared down at the girl’s marred, reddened legs. For an instant Wynn thought Magiere’s irises began to expand; under fury, those irises would swallow any color with pure black.

  “No! Do not lose yourself,” Wayfarer warned, nearly frantic. She looked down at her own legs. “And please do not tell the others.”

  Wynn eyed Magiere sidelong. She waited tensely for anything that might go wrong and force her to shout for Leesil or Chap.

  With a shudder, Magiere dropped into a crouch before the girl. She reached for a sheet atop the pile of cloth and tore it, shredding it as if it were gauze. Dunking one piece into a water urn, she wrung it out and was about to place it over one of the girl’s legs.

  Magiere hesitated, her voice strained as if speaking were difficult. “Just . . . let it . . . soak for a . . . short while.”

  At the girl’s nod, Magiere carefully draped the dripping cloth over Wayfarer’s leg.

  Wayfarer winced, and Magiere paused before placing another soaked rag over the girl’s other leg.
By that point Wayfarer was shaking from the pain. Magiere reached out, took Wayfarer’s face gently in both hands, rose a little on her knees, and leaned in to touch her forehead to the girl’s.

  “You’re strong,” Magiere whispered, “so very strong, my girl. And no one’s taking me from you again.”

  As Wynn’s eyes began watering, she fumbled about for the bar of soap.

  Not long after, Wayfarer removed the damp strips of sheet and managed to wash her own body. Wynn offered to help wash her hair by having her lean over the bucket. Some water was splashed onto the floor, but that couldn’t be helped with this makeshift method of bathing.

  After that, she dabbed salve on the girl’s legs and helped her dress while Magiere took up the soap, knelt by an urn, and began to wash herself. Once she was clean, Wynn helped wash her hair, and then Magiere too dressed in some of the clothing purchased. Wayfarer wore the smaller red tunic and Magiere took the midnight blue one.

  When all was settled, the three women—and Shade—left the bedchamber and went back into the main room.

  Leesil had finished for the most part, though he hadn’t pulled on his new tunic. His hair was still dripping wet but cleanly white-blond once more. He already wore the muslin pantaloons, which fit him quite well. Though thinner than Wynn remembered, his chest and arms were still tightly muscled. He let her tend to him with salve before he pulled the burnt-orange tunic over his head.

  Watching him from a few paces away, Magiere said, “That color suits you.”

  If nothing else, Wynn’s three friends were now clean and hopefully a bit more comfortable. Magiere stepped closer to Leesil as Wayfarer sank down into a chair on his left side, and Wynn couldn’t help assessing them.

  By this point Wayfarer’s hair was nearly dry in the warm Suman air. The red of the tunic flattered the girl’s tan skin and green eyes, and her brown hair was long and thick. Wynn did not remember her being so beautiful.

  However, she had hoped the local clothing would help her friends blend in a little better, and that was clearly not the case.

  Magiere’s clothing fit her slender frame well, but the lightweight pantaloons and dark blue tunic made her look only more exotic. Her skin was white and her hair was black with bloodred tints in bright light. In this part of the world, that was unusual at best. She would need to wear a cloak with the deepest hood.

  At least they had plenty of cloaks.

  Throughout all of this, Brot’an sat cross-legged on the floor near the window, offering neither comment nor assistance.

  Magiere settled on the floor directly in front Wayfarer’s chair, and the girl immediately reached for the comb on the nearby table. She began untangling Magiere’s damp black hair, and the sight turned Wynn nostalgic.

  In the past, she’d often brushed and braided Magiere’s hair. That seemed so long ago. Now she took care of herself and her own companions, and she glanced toward the main room’s dim back corner.

  Chane lay dormant beneath a blanket, and so far no one had mentioned him. That was best, though it wouldn’t last.

  And then there was Osha.

  He stood near the front door. His gaze shifted toward Wayfarer, remained there a moment, and then moved to Wynn. He looked away quickly, as did Wynn, and she found Chap watching her intently. Her various worries must have been apparent on her face.

  She and Chap had always read each other with a fair amount of ease, and he must be nearly overwhelmed by so many things in their current situation:

  A daughter who refused to acknowledge his existence.

  A vampire in their midst—and being forced to accept his help.

  A duplicitous domin attempting to use Magiere as bait.

  Wynn wished she had a moment alone with Chap. His gaze shifted to Magiere, then to Leesil, and finally to Wayfarer before he looked back to her.

  I am glad you are here . . . that you came after us. I don’t know what would have happened had you not.

  It wasn’t like him to share doubt or express gratitude, and that worried her a little. Of the four of them, so far he had appeared the least affected. Perhaps the past moon had affected him more than anyone but she would realize.

  Of course, he did look filthy again.

  Wynn lifted an urn still half full of water, shifted it to one arm, and then took up a bar of soap as she straightened.

  “Your turn, Chap,” she announced.

  The floor was about to get very wet.

  * * *

  Chap put up only a little struggle as Wynn set upon him. When Wayfarer got up from her chair to come help, the girl clearly found the whole situation unsettling.

  Certain aspects of her people’s reverence for majay-hì would likely never change. But given the need for normalcy, or the illusion of it for a moment, Chap knew Wynn would be suspicious if he made the enterprise too easy.

  Wayfarer lugged over another urn to rinse him. As she tilted it, he jerked out of Wynn’s grip and back-stepped when she tried to grab him. Wayfarer’s eyes widened just before the pail’s contents splashed into Wynn’s lap.

  Wayfarer sucked a breath. “Oh . . . oh, no . . . oh, my!”

  “He’s never liked getting wet,” Leesil put in absently.

  Wynn grabbed for Chap, trying to gain a solid hold. “You . . . you mangy mutt.”

  “You did that on purpose?” Wayfarer asked, staring wide-eyed at him. “You . . . you are a . . . a bad majay-hì!”

  Wynn huffed. “Try chasing him with a brush across the rolling deck of a ship sometime. And if you didn’t catch him, he’d be . . . a filthy pig!”

  Wayfarer’s little jaw dropped at such irreverence, perhaps forgetting she’d just scolded him herself.

  Chap merely licked his nose at both of them—his usual flippant response.

  In truth, he did not mind Wynn’s ministrations. Neither did he enjoy them. Rather, he felt numb inside except for a dull anger at himself. After the shock of being rescued had worn off, and he had learned more of what had happened to Magiere, his sense of failure weighed on him more than ever. Even begging her forgiveness, when she had come out of the bedchamber earlier that day, had not eased this. She and Leesil were his primary charges to protect, and he had failed.

  In the past, they had fought side by side when outnumbered or outmatched. Chap had known fear of losing one or both more than once. What he felt now was so much worse. He had not seen the arrest coming or been able to stop it, nor had he been able to take any action once they had all been imprisoned. An entire moon had passed as he’d watched Leesil and young Wayfarer suffer, and Magiere was beyond even his sight. And as he had listened to her screams in the dark . . .

  All that Chap could hope was that her suffering would end—and it could end only one way—and not just for her sake but for the secrets he bore concerning the orbs.

  She should not have forgiven that, even when he had begged her.

  What would have happened had Wynn not come? In his sinking heart, he believed Leesil and Wayfarer would have eventually died as well. He had seen no other outcome but to hope that he would follow them soon. And the orbs he had hidden would never be found again.

  But Wynn had come and found a way to save them. Now Chap found himself suffering a different fear concerning Magiere.

  A necromancer named Ubâd, a servant of the Ancient Enemy, had sacrificed one of each of the five races so that Magiere could be born. With the blood of the five in her veins, she could walk into any land in the world unaffected by any safeguards placed for protection. She had been conceived via that bloody ritual to become the Enemy’s servant . . . a tool.

  Chap, in separating from his kin, the Fay, who existed outside of time but were now and forever linked to the living world, had chosen to be born into flesh. His sole purpose in the beginning had been to keep Magiere from fulfilling the reason for her creation, though he had not known all concerning that in the beginning. And he had used even Leesil’s own grandmother to find the half-blood and thereby use Leesil to fi
nd Magiere.

  She would be unstoppable, should she ever serve the Enemy. That could not happen, and neither could he allow the orbs to return to their maker. The Ancient Enemy of many names could not rise again, no matter what the cost. And now Magiere had been visited over and over by the undead spirit of an ancient sorcerer who had served—perhaps still served—that enemy.

  Chap’s dread of what might come mixed with self-loathing for his own choices. He kept both to himself, hidden from the others as best he could, but talk of sorcery had raised one of his worst memories, one he could not now banish.

  Too long past, in a return to Magiere’s homeland, another undead sorcerer in flesh had engulfed him in a terrifying phantasm. He’d found himself running through a dying forest where all life withered around him. Trees and brush wilted and rotted as shadowy silhouettes moved in a wave through the forest. And it was all his fault—his failure.

  Spirits were wrenched from the trees and the earth to be swallowed by walking shadows, their numbers growing in the darkness. Nothing was left alive in their wake as they came ever closer. And a lone figure led them, a heavy single-edged sword glinting in her grip.

  Magiere’s eyes were fully black, unlike the colorless crystalline eyes of the ravenous undead who followed her. Her filthy hair hung in matted tendrils around a deathly pale face, twisted feral around her mouth. Her armor was made of large black scales, as might have come from a massive serpent.

  She roared, as if no longer recognizing him, and exposed long fangs amid yellowed teeth. Behind her, those black silhouettes gathered in a horde for as far as he could see among the dead trees. All of their glittering eyes were upon her in waiting.

  Chap had sacrificed eternity among his brethren Fay to keep Magiere in the light through Leesil and to keep her from the Enemy’s hands and the purpose of her birth. But he saw her standing like a general before this horde.

  “Majay-hì,” she spit at him.

  Sorrow welled and spilled from him in a wail as she looked upon him as her enemy. And when she rushed forward, raising her falchion, the horde surged, leveling all living things in its path. He had stood listless within that phantasm as her blade fell and bit deep between his shoulder and neck . . .