As Vera was hurled into the riverwall, her head glanced off the stones. She tried to push herself back toward the fight, but her knees buckled and she sagged onto the pavement.
Her vision blurred, turning the uncertain mass of dark Jendarthi clergy robes crumpled in the street—Sorrow in disguise—into two forms. Between them stood the mage, made taller by the spell he had just cast. His eyes, what Vera could see of them underneath the hood of his cloak, were dilated and bloodshot. He’s on something, harri? We hit him and hit him. He seems to feel nothing.
The mage turned towards Sorrow. She’s not moving.
Vera cursed, then thrust out her hand with a grunt. Arcnon would hardly call it a spell. But I don’t have the energy for much else. As his own cloak wrapped around him, the mage tipped to the side but did not fall.
Vera’s side burned as she struggled to stand. “Sorrow! Move!”
The pile of fabric twitched as Sorrow’s head emerged from the robes. The head scarf of the mókmol had pulled loose and Vera could see her pale face crowded with familiar scars. She seemed dazed.
The mage shouted again and the cloak unscrambled itself. Sorrow tried to scuttle back, crab-like, but the mage thrust out a hand, each finger splayed, his power crushing her to the ground. Vera could hear a wheeze in each breath Sorrow took.
Vera found her feet. Drained as she was, she did not attempt a spell. Instead, she let her momentum carry her into the mage’s back. They went down together, but Vera heard the snap as his spell was broken.
The mage growled, incoherent, then rolled on top of her. His fingers found her throat. Vera struggled, tried to summon her power, but her tongue felt thick. Darkness blotted her vision.
The spring of Sorrow’s bow at close range sounded musical. The mage fell against Vera, his weight pressed into her, but his fingers loosened their hold. She pushed against him, her arms still tingling and weak.
The weight suddenly lessened as the mage’s body was rolled off her own.
“Vera.” Sorrow hovered over her like a mother hen, her white hair damp with sweat, blood oozing from a gash on her temple. Vera tried to thank her, but all that emerged was a croak.
Sorrow fumbled at her tangled robes, fishing around until, with a triumphant grunt, she pulled free a waterskin.
Vera swallowed, her throat sore. A short distance away, she saw the dark cloak of the mage move.
Sorrow saw it too. She stood quickly and edged toward him, prodding his body with her boot.
Vera noticed Sorrow’s arrow was lodged in the man’s arm. She would not have missed a more vital spot, certainly not at that range. “You didn’t kill him?” She managed hoarsely.
Sorrow pulled out her dagger to cut loose her arrow from the muscle below his left shoulder. The mage groaned as blood spurted until Sorrow was able to cut a strip from the man’s own cloak to bind the wound. Her voice held accusation. “You told me not to.”
Vera pressed her brown hands to her temples. “That was before he almost killed us both, harri?”
Sorrow forced a laugh. “Well, he’s yours, then.”
She and Sorrow literally had bumped into this fight on their way back from concluding the business that had brought them to Jendarth. In a heartbeat, it was as if the streets were in riot. I did not realize at first that we were dealing with only one man.
Sorrow rolled the mage onto his back, pulled back his hood. His long hair was pulled into a dozen braids, solid black stripes against the dilute brown of his neck. He groaned again, a terrible sound, long and deep. She saw his hands curl, then clench.
“Be careful.” Vera warned, but Sorrow already had taken a step back. She pulled out her bow and moved the bloody arrow she had removed from the mage to rest loosely the bowstring.
Vera’s whole body protested as she stood to see the mage better. His eyes were open, his mouth gaped.
What Vera might have said died on her lips as the mage stretched backward, his legs jerking wildly. Foam reached the corner of his lips and a sound like that of a dying animal escaped his throat.
Sorrow jerked as if bitten. “Vera?” There was a note of panic in her voice.
Vera understood the reason, but she didn’t have time to comfort Sorrow. This—Pashtar Bless, I don’t understand. She tried to steady the man’s head with her hands. The thrashing intensified for a second, his body rigid, his back arched, not even touching the street. Then he fell silent.
Sorrow knelt next to her, reached for the man’s pulse. “Gods. Vera, he’s dead.”
Vera didn’t reply. She searched the man’s face.
“Vera?” Sorrow touched her shoulder.
“I know him,” Vera said heavily. “His name was Cinel Orwin. He was a Traveler, a member of my order.”
“The Path?” Sorrow sounded surprised.
She nodded. “I have not seen him in years. The Travelers are—” Vera frowned. “They are trained mages of the Path—of my school, harri?—but they have yet to take their place as full members of the order. We give them time to see the world. Some take a year or two—others, decades.” She swallowed. “He has been away for some time.”
“You aren’t a Traveler?” Sorrow wondered. “I mean, Loressa told me that she was one and I assumed—”
Vera’s breath caught. Too close. I must be more careful.
Before Vera could answer, Sorrow hissed. “We have company.” She adjusted her mókmul and deftly wound the face scarf to hide her face.
The street had cleared when the mage’s rampage began. This close to the river, at least on the Jendarthi side of the Facing Cities, many roads turned a corner to dead-end against the back of the riverwall or a warehouse. They had driven the mage this way on purpose to trap him.
Vera turned to see the Laeshor, the Jendarthi police. We ourselves may be trapped.
“Let’s go.” Sorrow grunted.
Why did he do this? Vera’s eyes sought Cinel’s as if for answers. When none came, she reached underneath his cloak for the neck pouch most Travelers wore to secure their important possessions. She pressed a hand against his chest for a moment, closed her eyes. Inoli náeta. May you find peace.
“Hold!” the closest officer called in Vera’s native Jendarthi. His dark blue uniform seemed almost black in the shadows between the tall buildings.
Vera stood. Sorrow was halfway to the wall. Her eyes, the only part of her face still visible, widened urgently.
“I said—Hold!” the officer repeated, this time in the Sundered Tongue.
Vera hurried after Sorrow, who had reached the corner where the riverwall met the corner of a building. In a recess not obvious from the street, there was an entrance. Sorrow tried the handle, then backed up a step to aim a kick at the door.
The wood held and she stumbled back. Vera heard her muffled curse. “Gods above, Berk! I can’t walk through walls!”
The name clutched at Vera’s heart. So she still can see Berk. He must be guiding her.
Berkis had been a scout for the Wolves for longer than Vera had been with them. When he had died several moons back, Sorrow had confessed her secret to Vera.
“I’ve seen them, Vera. I keep seeing them. In dreams, mostly, but now—I see him, in waking day.”
“Berkis?”
Sorrow had nodded, then added in a whisper. “He’s here now, watching us. He never leaves me.”
Vera held her hand over the simple metal handle to disengage the lock with magic. Sorrow pushed her through the door, then shut it behind them, drawing the bolt quickly. A moment later, Vera heard the shout as the officers reached the other side.
“Open up!” The order was repeated in Jendarthi.
Sorrow turned around. “We don’t have much time.”
As if in answer to her words, the officers began pummeling the door with something heavy. The wood groaned.
They were not in a building, as Vera had expected. Instead, the door led into a narrow alley, open to the sky, that ran between the building and the riverwall. Sorrow brushed past Vera, ignoring a door on her left that led into the building.
Vera glanced up. Probably a warehouse. I hope the Laeshor can’t use it to bypass the gate. A few paces farther, Sorrow paused at an archway in the wall on the right.
Stairs had been cut into the steep and rocky hill that led down to the Falling River. Also called Odogil at its source deep in the mountains. River of seven stars.
Vera thought about what else originated in that valley. The League of the Dark Star has their stronghold there. How appropriate that what comes out of the land of the Seven carries an odor like rotting fish.
Instead of heading for the river, Sorrow jumped a short wall, scrambled onto the rock, then held out her hand for Vera.
They were halfway between two bridges on a bend of the river that sheltered a small pier from view. Huh. I wonder what that is used for. Nothing official, I suspect.
She had to look down to watch the thin path Sorrow seemed to be following. The rocks fell off sharply to her right and twice, as Vera’s foot slipped, she imagined herself plummeting to the muddy depths. Trust Berkis to take us the hard way.
The trail ended at another door in the wall. Sorrow stood aside while Vera held her hand against the lock. She grunted as the bolt finally slid back, aware of how much the fight with Cinel had sapped her power.
They entered a walk space similar to the first, then opened a door onto another dead-end street.
“Pashtar Bless.” Sorrow breathed. “I give Berk highest marks for this one.”
At the end of the block, where their alley met a crossroad, was the sign for the inn where they had left their gear.
***
Vera watched Sorrow pull the Jendarthi robes over her head. “Gods, I hate these things. They’re cumbersome, they’re hot, and I think you suggested them just to torment me.” She retrieved her pack from under the bed in the room they had rented, stuffing the mókmol into it.
“They wouldn’t be hot if you didn’t insist on wearing a tunic and trousers underneath.” Vera rubbed her neck. She could feel bruises rising, ten marks, one for each of Cinel’s fingers. She had dumped out his neck pouch onto the threadbare bed linens.
Sorrow used a rag to wipe blood off first her dagger, then her arrow. “We should go, Vera. If the—what did you call them? Laeshor—” She fumbled over the Jendarthi word. “—discover the second door, they’re sure to search this inn.”
Vera didn’t answer. She had spotted what she had hoped she wouldn’t find—a small dark vial full of a gray powder. She uncorked it and sniffed cautiously. Ellsroot.
“What’s that?” Sorrow stopped cleaning the arrow.
“A drug.” Vera recorked the vial.
“Like chivvi?” Sorrow wondered.
“Chivvi?” Vera was surprised. Sorrow barely drank wine and had come to the Wolves with little knowledge of Jendarthi customs, much less the slang terms for illegal drugs. She’s not the type to use such things. “How do you—?”
Sorrow interrupted with a smile. “Berk told me about it before he died. I think it was the punch line to one of his jokes and I didn’t get it.” She shrugged. “He decided to educate me. Gods, that was a long trip.”
Vera sobered. “Do you see him often?”
Sorrow replaced the arrow in her quiver and sat down on the bed, the bloody rag still in her hands. “He was always there at first. But now—” She looked away. “Now I see him in dreams sometimes and even less often as I did today, as a—”
She seemed reluctant to use the word ghost. “He’s always there if I need him, though. He’s never let me down.”
Vera touched her arm.
“So what’s this?” Sorrow indicated the vial.
“This is not chivvi. It’s ellsroot. It doesn’t work unless you’re a mage.” She shrugged. “Normally, it simply enhances the magic that is worked, gives heightened perceptions, but in Cinel’s case, it did much more than that. I have never seen a mage’s powers so distorted. Sorrow, it wasn’t us that killed him. It was the ellsroot, I’m sure of it.”
“You think he reacted badly to it?”
“Perhaps.” Vera looked down at the items from Cinel’s pouch. She picked through the coins absently. A wooden token caught her eye.
“Vera, I have to ask you something.” Sorrow’s voice had changed completely.
“What is it?” The mage turned. Pashtar Bless, I hope she doesn’t return to the subject of my status among the Travelers. I was careless to have brought it up.
“Did I—” Sorrow picked at a fraying edge of the rag. “Did I look like that—before?”
Vera was relieved. She means the fits she used to have. I’m not surprised seeing Cinel disturbed her. “Yours were not so bad as that.” She evaded.
Most of the time, she added silently to herself.
“I didn’t know.” Sorrow whispered. “I didn’t realize what I looked like during—”
“Don’t let it bother you, Sorrow. The Wolflord understood.”
Her eyes snapped up, then dodged back down to the rag. “The Wolflord,” Sorrow repeated. Her jaw stiffened, but when she continued, her voice sounded normal again. “Speaking of the Wolflord, we should be leaving. This inn isn’t safe and we completed the mission before the—” She paused. “—distraction.”
Sorrow tapped a small cylinder at her hip that held the documents they had intercepted.
Sorrow sounded agitated when I mentioned the Wolflord. I suppose we each have our own concerns with him.
Vera nodded, then reached to sweep the items back into the neck pouch. She noticed the token again, wooden, larger than the coin. On one side was etched a design. It looks like a starfish. This must be a tavernmark for gambling. She rolled the piece over in her hands, then came to a decision. “We’ll never get through the tradestops to Ithiria before dark. I think we should find a place to sleep on this side of the river.”
“It can’t be here.” Sorrow insisted.
Vera traced her finger over the image of the starfish. “I have a place in mind.”
***
Vera paused beneath the wooden sign. This starfish was better carved than the one on the token, but the two matched well enough. Noise and light spilled out of the busy tavern onto the street.
Sorrow wrinkled her nose. “You must be joking. We’ll never get any sleep here.”
The mage held the door open. “Perhaps I am not looking for sleep.”
Sorrow started to protest, then pulled her hood further over her face. “You found something in that pouch.”
Vera nodded. She pulled up her own hood as well. If we can track Cinel here, so can the Laeshor.
The tavern indeed was crowded. The air clung with smoke, some of it from the fire, the rest from cloying censors spaced around the large room. Sorrow began to head for the darkest corner in the place.
Vera caught her arm. “Give me a minute.” She scanned the room systematically, her eyes lingering on each face as she went. Cinel had a good friend—they were always together. He had a mark on his face, an old burn. She paused over two men dicing, then panned to the left.
That’s him. She recognized the young man and started forward.
“Laeshor.” Sorrow warned in a low voice.
Vera stopped. Sorrow thrust her chin, indicating two men in uniforms by the bar talking to the innkeeper. But they are not watching the room.
She took that slim opportunity. As Vera slipped between the tables, the young Traveler seemed to realize she was coming for him and stood, a look of fear in his eyes.
“Prevni, I need to speak with you. It’s about Cinel.”
Prevni’s eyes widened. “Lady Ver—”
She made a hushing sound. “Not here.” She indicated the Laeshor at the bar. “Upstairs. Do you have a room?”
He nodded and led the way. One of the Laeshor glanced over but turned back to the bar after a moment. Vera exhaled, continuing up the stairs. Prevni’s room was on the third story towards the back.
Once he shut the door, Sorrow spoke. “How long do we have?”
Vera pushed back her hood, considering. “Less than a quarterglass, I expect. Prevni, was it generally known that you and Cinel were friends?”
He nodded assent. “My lady, what is this about? I hardly think a little gambling warrants a visit from one of the Sc—”
Vera held up her hand, aware of Sorrow’s sudden interest. My place in the Path is my secret among the Wolves. I trust Sorrow, but I don’t want to take any chances this might get back to the Wolflord.
“You and Cinel were into more than gambling.” She met his eyes. “Where did he get the ellsroot, Prevni?”
Prevni scoffed. “Oh, come. A little ellsroot? That’s what this is about?”
“Cinel’s dead, Prevni.”
“What? You aren’t serious, are you?” He sounded suddenly vulnerable.
Vera softened. “I know you and he have been friends for a long time—”
“Oh gods.” He sat heavily on the bed. “No—no, there must be some mistake.”
“I saw him, harri? Prevni, listen to me. He was on something. I think it was ellsroot that killed him. Tell me, where did he get it?”
Vera could see the bright tracks of tears on Prevni’s cheeks. “Impossible.” His voice was tight. “He’s used it before many times. He’s careful.”
“He might have used too much.”
“No!” Prevni practically shouted. He seemed to startle himself with the pitch of his voice and continued more quietly. “No. Lady Vera, he measured it every time. And he never took any without me.” His voice quieted further. “He was going to get a new shipment today.”
“Who?” Vera asked in a hard tone. “Where?”
Prevni looked up. “I don’t know—Goer, I think the name was. There’s a warehouse down by the river. I guess they must smuggle it in by water at night.”
Sorrow’s eyes met Vera’s.
Vera turned back to Prevni. “Listen to me carefully—did he bring you any?”
The younger man hesitated, then reached underneath his tunic. He upended the pouch and held out a vial identical to the one Vera had found on Cinel.
“Huh. Looks the same. This—” She took the vial from him. “—is no longer yours. When the Laeshor come to question you, you are not to tell them anything of our visit, nor of the source of the ellsroot.”
“Why would Laeshor question me?”
“Because you knew Cinel and they may believe him murdered. They are downstairs as we speak.” Vera explained.
“What if they saw you—what do I tell them?”
“Tell them I am a women of dubious virtue, that you couldn’t afford me. That you don’t know where my bodyguard and I went.” She said flatly.
Sorrow suppressed a giggle and Vera glared at her.
She focused back on the Traveler. “Do I have your full cooperation?”
Prevni hesitated before nodding. “Of course, Lady Vera.”
“You are not to touch ellsroot ever again, harri?” Vera indicated the vial. “Unless you want to wind up dead like Cinel.”
He blanched. “Clear as water, Lady Vera.”
“Good.” She knew her words were hard, hated it, but realized it was necessary since neither she nor any of the Scelli were in a position to watch him closely as they might have in the past. “You will report Cinel’s death to Lady Ureena at your earliest opportunity, as I cannot do so.”
Prevni’s eyes fell to the floor. “Of course.”
“Your sadness is mine as well.” Vera said formally in Jendarthi. “I am sorry that he is dead, harri?”
“Harri,” he replied.
***
“We should consider that this might not be the warehouse just because it was near where we found Cinel.” Vera whispered.
“I’m sure.” Sorrow replied quietly.
Vera knew better than to question Sorrow’s instincts. She rubbed her neck again. The injuries of the day had left her feeling old and tired.
Sorrow touched her arm. “We should hide our packs.” She had been the one to insist they bring their gear with them rather than waste time checking into another inn.
“Huh. Good idea.” Vera handed over her pack.
“I won’t be long.” Sorrow slipped into the darkness.
Vera waited with growing concern. What is taking her so long? She started to reach inside to see through her magesight instead of her eyes.
Why did she go all the way across the street? Vera wondered as she heard footsteps. Then her senses tingled a warning. That isn’t Sorrow—
A pinprick of pain flared against her neck. It felt like the bite of a nis nis and her hand jerked in reflex to tug out a small dart that had lodged there.
A moment later, magelight flashed in her face—brilliant, white, and blinding.
“Ah, Veramli.” A dark figure appeared against the light. “How nice of you to come. I trust you received my invitation?”
Vera tried to summon her mageshields, but her senses felt dull. She blinked at the face of the cloaked woman. I know her. She’s one of the Seven. Even Vera’s thoughts felt weighted, but she tried to reach for Sorrow as she might another mage.
Then Vera fell back against the wall and slid into darkness.
The door was unlocked. She left the dimly lit alley for complete darkness. After a moment, she saw a thin blue light, the shape of a boy, wavering at the other end of the building. She followed the glow up two flights of stairs to an empty room. But after she set down the packs and turned to go, the light had moved to block the only entrance.
“Berkis, let me pass.”
There was a sense of negation.
“I can’t leave Vera waiting.”
The light had an arm. It pointed.
Unreal brightness flashed from the street. She hurried to the window, then paused, cautious. Near the corner where she had left Vera, a woman stood over a crumpled figure. Her cloak moved in the light and where it parted, she could see points of yellow.
Somehow she understood that this was the League mage who had poisoned Berkis.
When she turned, the figure of light had a face. Seeing him again broke her heart.
Berk held up a single finger. He pointed to the roof. She heard the timbers creak as something moved across them.
Vera woke to light. Her mouth felt dry.
“Lady Tikkari?” A voice spoke softly. “He isn’t back yet.”
“Quiet,” came the reply. “She is awake.”
Perhaps it wasn’t a dream. Vera struggled to sit up, her head pounding. As her vision cleared, she realized that she was in a warehouse. Wooden crates lined one wall and one of them had been moved into the large open space for use as a table. On it, Vera saw vials identical to the ones she had found with both Cinel and Prevni.
Vera could not see the mage, nor the other woman who had spoken. Her hands were tied behind her. Cautious, she sent out a thread of thought to untie the cord.
Nothing happened.
She tried again, then attempted to move a vial on the crate. Finally, she tried to do something as simple as summoning light.
Nothing—
“It’s as if you were never a mage, isn’t that a shame, Veramli?” A Jendarthi woman in a dress of yellow and jet stepped in front of her.
“Tikkari.” Vera glared up from her awkward position on the floor.
“Don’t you like your present?” The mage asked sweetly.
Vera followed the woman’s gaze to her own chest. Suspended on a silver cord was a strange device, a misshapen orb that seemed an odd sort of locket. I’ve heard of such things, artifacts from ancient mage orders. It must be blocking my magic.
She noticed that Tikkari was standing at a careful distance from her. Huh. I’ll bet this trinket could block her magic too if she got close enough.
“So?” Tikkari asked. “What do you say?”
“It isn’t even my birthday.” Vera spat sarcastically.
“She is feeling better, isn’t she, Erialis?” Tikkari directed her comment to the other woman.
There was no immediate reply. Vera craned her neck. Erialis, clearly Tikkari’s inferior from the cut of her clothes, stepped closer. She had thin blonde hair, a pink complexion, and a scowl.
“My lady,” Erialis said pointedly. “Tarevic?”
Tikkari looked irritated. “Stay here. The one they call Sorrow will come on her own.”
Erialis frowned. “At least let me send Goer to check.”
“Very well.”
Erialis disappeared behind large crates at the back, then Vera heard a door shut.
“Goer and his men aren’t long for this world of ours, are they, Veramli?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Vera held her breath.
“Oh, but you do. If Tarevic hasn’t returned yet, it means he has failed. A simple thing to put you and Sorrow to sleep. But perhaps not so simple where your friend is concerned.” She laughed and the sound echoed eerily off the warehouse walls. “I expect his failure is rather permanent. Sorrow has perfected her own brand of justice, hasn’t she?”
Vera glared her reply.
“Well, she wasn’t always so.” Tikkari waved her hand expressively. “She once was rather more docile.”
“You made her what she is.” Vera held her breath.
Tikkari feigned surprise. “You mean the scars? Nice work, that. I can’t take personal credit.” The mage pulled off her black gloves and studied her fingernails. “Velerian is so meticulous. He has plans for her, you know.”
Vera recognized the name. Sorrow told me about him. I don’t think she told me everything, but what she shared fed my nightmares for weeks.
Tikkari slapped the black leather of the gloves against her palm. “He has plans for you as well. But those are rather shorter-lived, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll tell you nothing.” Vera kept her voice neutral.
“Of course not.” Tikkari stopped pacing. “Then again, I recall that Narat swore the same thing.”
Anger flooded Vera. Witch—she must know what he meant to me, what he meant to the Path— With force of will, she pushed her anger back under the trap door where she kept it. She clung to the mantra of the Path, repeating it. Náeta. My way must be peace.
Tikkari waved her hands over the vials of ellsroot. “No matter. My potion will see to the end of your little group. It’s such a difficult thing tracking down each Traveler one by one. This is so much more effective, don’t you think? Most of them try it at some point or another.”
The mantra she had been repeating stuck on her tongue. Berkis. Cinel. I wonder how many others she’s killed.
“Hit a tender spot, did I? Well—” Tikkari looked out towards the door. Her eyes unfocused and her cheeks slackened. “Erialis, you fool.” She breathed suddenly.
Tikkari moved so quickly that the yellow of her dress seemed to blur. A moment later, an arrow thudded into the dirt floor just in front of Vera.
Sorrow’s arrow.
“Come down.” Tikkari called, somewhere behind Vera. “Or are you afraid, ishrae? Velerian is waiting for you. Come, little one, he’s missed you.” Her voice danced around the warehouse.
Vera heard the spring of a second arrow, heard it thud uselessly into wood. Don’t let her bait you, she thought, but she knew it was futile. Sorrow has no logic when it comes to the League. She’ll walk right into Tikkari’s trap.
Vera twisted but no longer could see either Sorrow or the mage. She pounded her fists uselessly into the floor.
Then her eyes fell on the first arrow, lodged in the dirt in front of her.
Sorrow didn’t miss.
She dragged herself the few feet to the weapon, twisted her hands behind her and groped blindly. After a painful minute, her fingers touched the thin line of the shaft. Vera tugged, walked the shaft through her fingers until she felt the sharp prick of the arrowhead.
With a smile, she sawed at the ropes that bound her. They loosened, then gave.
Suppressing a triumphant shout, Vera tore the artifact from her neck. She was about to hurl it away from her, but a thought stilled her hand. I have to find Tikkari before she reaches Sorrow.
Vera stood, but a blow from behind forced her to the ground. She panted for breath, edged her body up.
Erialis stood over her, her blonde hair disheveled, one arm held rigidly in front of her. She barked a word, but Vera rolled on instinct. Although the blast of power struck her at a glance, it sent her spinning.
Spots danced across Vera’s eyes, but she felt her own power gathering inside of her. Blinking dirt, she saw the artifact had been knocked from her hands and now rested at the base of the crate that held the vials of ellsroot. I’m out of its range.
“Haaka!” Vera commanded, her fingers stretched toward the vials. One rose. She spun around, made a hurling motion.
The ellsroot vial flew through the air and exploded in front of Erialis’ face. With a cough, the other mage fell back. Her eyes widened and she fanned the air in front of her.
Vera was on her feet, ignoring her protesting muscles. She conjured one dagger, then a second, sent them spinning against the younger mage’s shields. Erialis was forced back, close to the stack of crates. Vera reached up, and with another word, pulled.
Erialis was no adept. Her shields couldn’t hold. She crumpled under the force of the falling crates.
Vera whipped around. Where’s Sorrow? The warehouse was empty but for an open door toward the back creaking in the night air. She diverted to the crate of ellsroot to retrieve the artifact. Her senses went dull the moment her fingers touched the strangely warm metal. She fought the urge to drop it.
Instead, she edged toward the door. It opened onto the narrow alleyway that she and Sorrow had used to escape earlier that day. The alley was empty, but she could see that the gate to the pier was open. She heard voices beyond.
Tikkari’s voice. She sounds pleased.
Vera crept closer. Halfway down the stairs, Tikkari faced away from Vera, Sorrow a pale shape crouched in front of her. Her bow had been flung up onto the rocks. Tikkari held her fist up, a web of force trailing from her fingertips to encase Sorrow.
As Vera watched, Sorrow’s eyes rolled back and she saw the fine tremors emerge that signaled the beginning of one of her fits.
Vera didn’t think. She just reached back and hurled the artifact toward Tikkari. It caught in the open hood of the mage’s cloak.
The web of force dissolved. Sorrow fell forward, her hands slapping the stone of the steps.
Tikkari turned just as Vera released a word of power. The mage stumbled back, falling past Sorrow, landing heavily against the pier. As Tikkari pushed herself up, fury on her face, she lifted her hand. After an absurd moment, she lowered it with a look like respect.
Vera hurried to Sorrow and grabbed her elbow, pulling her up.
As the mage fumbled with the folds of her cloak, her fingers questing for the artifact, Vera lifted her hand.There is a river of blood between us. To the darkest gods with peace. She is my enemy and I too will have justice.
“Vera.” Sorrow’s voice was a cracked whisper.
Vera turned. At the top of the stairs stood Erialis, her eyes bloodshot, her fingers clenched.
Oh gods—
Vera shoved Sorrow to the right, over the wall of the stairwell and onto the rocks. The bolt hit her own shields with a sound like thunder. Vera reeled back. Cinel all over again. I can’t handle another fight like that.
A hand reached down, secured her elbow, pulled her out of the trap of the stairwell. Sorrow dragged Vera back as Erialis plodded toward them. Vera fought to her feet as a second blow shattered against her shields. She returned one of her own but Erialis didn’t even sway.
Behind her, Sorrow reached her bow and swung around. Vera heard the arrow whisper past her ear, saw it pin Erialis through her eye socket. The young mage pitched down the stairs.
Vera had time for a satisfied grunt before she noticed Tikkari. Below them, a light surged around the League mage. Vera reacted with a shout, but her spell bounced off the protecting vortex around the woman. She could make out Tikkari’s outline as if through churning water. She was holding the artifact in one hand and in the other a larger device that Vera never had seen before. There must have been a mechanical trigger on the artifact, one she knew how to disable.
The mage smiled.
Sorrow’s bowstring sang again, but her arrow flew through empty air to thud into the wood of the pier. Tikkari had disappeared.
Sorrow’s howl of frustration echoed in Vera’s soul.
Vera touched Sorrow’s shoulder. The pale woman turned, and with an inscrutable look, pulled away from Vera’s hand. As she stepped onto the pier, her body twitched slightly, battling whatever force inside her created the fits.
After a moment, the shaking slowed enough that Sorrow was able to pull the arrow from the wood of the pier. She simply held it, staring at the shaft.
Vera eased herself down onto the stairs. Erialis lay crumpled, Sorrow’s arrow pointing out of her skull toward the stars. Vera tugged it free. She examined the point after she wiped it against her tunic. Not even a nick. How extraordinary.
Sorrow accepted the arrow without comment. She still seemed distant.
Vera started, “Sorrow, we should—”
“HOLD!”
At the top of the stairs stood four Laeshor officers, Prevni behind them. His dark face was unreadable.
This cannot be happening. Vera turned a dumbfounded look on the heavily armed police. Two bore bows, their arrows nocked. The leader had drawn his sword. Its curved tip glittered dangerously in the backlight from the open warehouse door. Vera noticed a pale-eyed Jendarthi mage in the uniform of the Laeshor-idri who stood beside the leader. She could tell, just sensing him, that he likely was her match today.
Vera was exhausted. She didn’t feel like running or fighting. She glanced at Sorrow.
Sorrow twitched, as if to indicate she didn’t care. Vera suspected that she was in shock from her encounter with Tikkari, so Vera nodded to her.
Sorrow held out her bow, set it down on the wall and took a step back.
Vera held out her hands, palms up, a gesture of surrender.
***
Vera had been in worse cells before. This one had two simple cots. She sank gratefully into the nearest.
Dawn was creeping through the narrow bars of the tiny window to the cell. The Laeshor captain had kept them up for what remained of the night, asking question after question.
Seems they convinced Prevni that we must have murdered Cinel. She was angry with him for disobeying her orders, but she couldn’t summon the energy to do anything about it. I hope I convinced them to take the ellsroot threat seriously. I need to warn the Path soon.
The cell opened again to admit a stumbling Sorrow. Without the screen of a scarf, the thin light forced her scars into relief. She sat on the other bed and put her head in her hands.
“He isn’t going to be happy.” She said at last.
She means the Wolflord. Vera shrugged. “At this point, I do not care.”
“You don’t have to care.” Sorrow sounded bitter. “This is just one more debt to him I’ll have to pay.”
Vera didn’t reply. Her mind turned over this last piece of information, fit it into what had been puzzling her about Sorrow.
Huh. I never saw it before, how much she hates needing the Wolves—needing anyone’s help—to get back at the League. I think she sees it as failure.
Vera studied her fingers for a moment. On top of everything else, the Wolflord is Ithirian and Ithirians destroyed her country—she cannot have any love for them.
Sorrow stretched back on the small cot with a wince. “I hurt all over.”
“Harri.” Vera agreed. She felt her eyelids getting heavy. A sudden thought jerked them open again. The documents he sent us here to get—She glanced past the bars on their cell to confirm that the guards were out of earshot. “Sorrow—” She hissed. “What happened to the—”
She didn’t need to finish. Sorrow’s mumbled reply was unequivocal. “Safe.”
Berkis stood before her, a strange, sad smile on his face. She didn’t need him to say anything. His hands were wrapped around the cylinder and its precious contents.
The gate on the cell rattled, startling Vera. She jerked up, suddenly awake.
Through the angle of light slanting through the barred window, she could tell that she had slept the whole day. An officer unlocked their door. Behind him, Vera could see the blue-eyed Laeshor-idri who had been monitoring her use of magic ever since they took her into custody.
By the sound of the footsteps, she could tell two people were approaching from the interrogation room. Their conversation heralded their arrival. She recognized the first voice as the captain who had interrogated her. “Traitors to the Ithirian crown, you say? You don’t mean that rebel group I’ve heard about, do you? Pashtar praised, I forget the name—”
“The Wolves.” Standing in the doorway, looking every inch an Ithirian officer, was the Wolflord himself. His hair was black where it had been red, and he had sprouted a short beard in the week since she had seen him.
How could he have come so quickly? Vera hid her surprise, dropping a neutral expression into place.
The Wolflord turned to the captain. “These are the two I have been tracking. You have the papers from my government?”
The Laeshor officer nodded. “It is clear your jurisdiction takes precedence. To be honest, their complicity in the matter is dubious at best. I have eyewitnesses who have come forward to testify that they acted to protect the public. Another source claims the mage in question was taking ellsroot. We certainly found a large enough stash in that warehouse.”
The Wolflord waved his gloved hand.
Vera glanced over. Sorrow kept her gaze fixed on her boots and wouldn’t meet the Wolflord’s eyes.
“I release them to your custody.” the Laeshor announced formally as two familiar faces walked past the Wolflord and into the cell. Piern gave Vera a wink as he approached her with metal braces. She tried not to smile back, pretended to struggle as he fixed the braces on her wrists.
Beside her, Sorrow stood quietly as Hollai secured hers.
The Laeshor escorted them to the street. In front of the building stood a transport, a large wagon blazoned with the Ithirian crest. Where did he get that?
The captain stopped the Wolflord and pointed toward Vera. “That one—I expect you know she is a mage. We’ve had our Laeshor-idri watching her. Are you certain you can handle her?”
The Wolflord gestured. “I came prepared.”
Arcnon, as if on cue, opened the back of the wagon and stepped out. He, like Piern and Hollai, wore the uniform of the Ithirian military, but his bore the cut of a ranking mage. Arcnon exchanged a polite nod with the Laeshor-idri before the pale-eyed mage returned to the building.
Arcnon escorted both Vera and Sorrow into the wagon while Piern and Hollai moved to the front. The Wolflord followed Arcnon inside. Vera heard Hollai give a chirp and the wagon rolled away from the station.
The Wolflord closed the drapes at the back of the wagon before he pulled out a key. He unlocked their braces in turn with ritual slowness.
Vera rubbed her wrists absently while Arcnon reached underneath a bench to produce Sorrow’s bow and quiver, restored of its arrows. She took them without comment.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” The Wolflord began.
“No.” Sorrow answered almost belligerently. With a jerk, she rose and whispered something through the heavy curtain to Piern. A moment later, Vera felt the wagon turn.
The Wolflord’s eyes found Vera’s. Vera shrugged.
They bounced in silence. This time Vera spoke. “How did you get here so fast?”
“Fast?” Arcnon laughed. “It took us almost a day to make the arrangements.” He gestured to his uniform.
The Wolflord held up his hand. “I think she means from camp. Vera, we already were here on other business. Business I had to conclude more quickly than I had intended,” he added darkly.
The wagon shuddered to a halt. Piern stuck his head back through the flap. “Sorrow?”
She took the cloak he offered her. Vera recognized the official purple and gold of the Ithirian uniform. Sorrow pulled up the hood and, without even a glance for the Wolflord, followed Piern out.
“Vera?” The Wolflord sounded testy.
Vera summarized the night’s events. She glossed over the details with Prevni. When she reached the point where she and Sorrow surrendered to the Laeshor, she looked down. “I apologize, my lord, for your inconvenience. We were just—” Vera sighed. “We were ikkin tired. I don’t think we could have won fighting the Laeshor after everything else that day—”
He smiled. “I understand.”
If he meant to say more, he was interrupted by Sorrow’s reappearance at the back of the wagon, the cylinder in her hand.
Piern appeared behind her. “My lord, I’m sorry that it took so long. We had to stop the wagon some blocks from the building where Sorrow had hidden the cargo.”
Without a word, Sorrow handed the canister to the Wolflord, then turned to help Piern pull her gear and Vera’s into the wagon.
The Wolflord upended the cylinder. A parchment slid out. He grunted as he read. “Did Tikkari suspect you had this?”
“No, my lord.” Vera met his eyes.
“May I?” Sorrow sat across from him, her hand extended.
The Wolflord met her eyes with surprise. After a moment, he simply passed the document to her.
She unrolled it, scanned its contents quickly, then reread it more slowly. Silently, she handed the parchment to Vera.
Vera read quickly, her eyes widening. She looked up. “Is this what I think it is?”
“You intercepted a document intended for the League’s temple in the Facing Cities, yes. I didn’t know what it contained when I sent you. I only knew that similar documents had been delivered elsewhere in Jendarth.” The Wolflord spread his hands in a gesture of innocence.
Vera rubbed her neck, picking at the scab where the dart had bitten her, then looked back at the parchment. On it were instructions to keep the League’s mage inductees away from ellsroot. At the bottom was a recipe.
This is the antidote to Tikkari’s poison. If I had only known—we had the parchment the whole time. I could have saved Cinel—
Sorrow seemed to interpret her expression. She reached over and took the parchment back from Vera’s limp hands. After a moment, she looked up. “It takes two days to prepare, Vera.” She said softly.
The Wolflord added gently. “Perhaps we should make a stop before we leave Jendarth. The Path should be warned, don’t you think? I expect they need as much time as we can give them.”
He would do this despite how I have failed him in the past?
It was a gift—she recognized it as such. Vera nodded, “I would like that, my lord.” She met his eyes, saw understanding reflected there. Her breath caught.
Does he know about me? Does he know I’m Scelli?
The Wolflord simply moved to give Hollai and Piern new orders.
No, he can’t, Pashtar bless. Vera exhaled, relieved. She swayed as the wagon made a right, followed the river for several blocks, then turned back towards the heart of the city.
This story previously appeared in Quantum Muse.
Edited by E. S. Foster.
The creative work of M. Frost recently has or will appear in Star*Line, Abyss & Apex, and The Hopkins Review—a while back, in Quantum Muse, Harrow, Harrington Lesbian Literary Quarterly, and other venues.