The Sorcerer's Equal (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 3) Page 14

  Dalaran shook off his pain enough to join the fray, bringing out a string of bones and running his fingers along several of the joints, softly chanting words.

  Get the woman with the hair! Velsa told him. She has the strongest telepathy!

  Dalaran didn’t expect Velsa in his head. He seemed thrown off. Velsa had grabbed the reins of the horse and now she swung onto the mare’s back, but she couldn’t give the horse much attention. Three-Tongues was glaring at her from the ground, coughing uncontrollably from Grau’s attack, while one of the other men lunged at her with his sword.

  The sword sliced her arm down to the bone, but her attacker didn’t expect to meet metal beneath her skin. She was still mostly focused on blocking their telepathy, and the blow barely registered.

  Dalaran’s spell manifested as a swirl of transparent black swirls of smoke that bloomed and swirled around the woman’s chest and crawled into her nose and throat. The woman with the hair loops clutched her neck and her skin turned unnaturally pale. She tried to speak, but gagged on her own words, and tried to hack up something, with wrenching guttural noises. It was like some dark spirit had climbed inside of her.

  Her face took on a bluish cast. She spasmed, fighting and choking, before her eyes rolled and her body slumped sideways, her feet briefly catching in stirrups before gravity tugged them free and she hit the ground.

  The other woman shrieked. “Luska! You’ve killed her!”

  “Impossible,” one of the cousins said.

  “Feel her!” the woman snapped at him. “Her spirit is gone! You all are going to be very, very sorry. Dalaran. Grau. And you, little doll.”

  Three-Tongues had recovered enough to reach for Velsa’s skirt. He tried to pull her off the horse. She smacked him weakly with telekinesis. He changed tactics, mounting the horse she was riding just behind her, pressing against her the way Grau once was on their own dear horse.

  “I’ve had a little blossom like you back in the capital,” he said, cupping her breasts. “I didn’t think I’d like it, but you know what they say, try everything once. Well, I was pleasantly surprised.” He leaned in close to her ear. “There’s something to be said for having something so tiny and fragile pinned underneath you.” He bit her earlobe, almost a lover’s nip.

  For a moment, she froze. The memories of her weeks at the House waiting to be bought were never far away, no matter how they faded into the background of her life.

  His breath was hot in her ear as he gave her breasts a rough squeeze.

  Velsa reached back for the hilt of the knife she had seen at his side, pulled it from the sheath and, with all the speed and strength she could muster, jabbed it sideways into his thigh.

  The bandit screamed with pain and wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug, pulling her against him like he wanted to split her rib cage. If her ribs had been made of wood, he might have done it. The skeleton Parsons’ father gave her was proving to be a greater gift than she’d realized.

  Grau leapt up and grabbed Three-Tongues by his own braid, dragging him off the horse onto the ground. They briefly wrestled and Grau pulled his braid out from where Three-Tongues’ stuck it into his belt, but as he did so, quick as lightning, Three-Tongues whipped out another small knife and stuck Grau in the gut. Grau staggered back one step before yanking out the knife and throwing it back at Three-Tongues, who barely dodged the projectile. It landed near Velsa, and she grabbed it before he could. With a cry of horror at what she was doing, she caught the knife in her fist and pounded the blade into his back. The feel of Three-Tongues’ flesh resisting the blade was revolting. She let go of it.

  Three-Tongues’ eyes bulged a moment and he collapsed. Grau grabbed the air stone as one of Three-Tongues’ cousins leapt from his horse and pulled the bandit’s body off the street. He drew out the knife and immediately pressed his hand to the bandit’s wound, murmuring nervously. He seemed to be healing, but he didn’t look confident.

  Grau drew back, clutching his stomach. He was bleeding profusely. Velsa hadn’t even realized, but Rovi—bless her—had emerged from her healer’s ward and was there to take his shoulder and place her hand against his wound.

  “Retreat!” barked the woman, as the cousin hauled Three-Tongues up onto the horse with him.

  She drew her horse up in front of Grau and Velsa. “You will pay dearly,” she said. She was quite a tall and imposing woman, Velsa realized, looking down from the already formidable height of the horse.

  She turned and they galloped away as quickly as they had come, leaving Velsa the dead woman’s horse.

  Velsa dropped back down to the ground, shivering all over.

  “Grau, are you all right?” She went to him.

  “Yeah—fine—“

  “This is the last thing you ought to be doing when your body is still trying to incorporate foreign organs!” Rovi cried.

  “Obviously, I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Grau snapped back.

  “It doesn’t really matter,” Dalaran said, still clutching his own stomach. “We’ll all heal up.”

  “I wouldn’t be too flippant about this,” Rovi said. “This could shorten his lifespan.”

  “So does smoking,” Dalaran said.

  “I don’t smoke.” Grau looked annoyed at Dalaran. “What in curses was that? What were you doing hanging around a place called the Queen’s Tit with a bunch of bandits? That’s why you wanted the dust from Dormongara. But when he didn’t give it to you, you planned all along to give my spells to them, didn’t you?”

  “Ugggh,” Dalaran said. “They were all drunk that night. I was hoping they wouldn’t remember me—or figure I was the one who stole from ‘em.”

  “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I hope your lady friend is impressed. I’m not paying off your debt.”

  Dalaran looked miserable. “If you’d just given them the spell, they wouldn’t have hurt us.”

  “I doubt that, too,” Grau said. “He was already planning to come back. He would keep extorting you. Do you know nothing about dealing with men who live outside the law? If I help you with Three-Tongues—“ He made the name sound ridiculous— “and I certainly am involved, at this point, well, you need to bear some of my debt with Dormongara. The Keeper might be intimidating but at least he has more class, so maybe you can settle something, even if you have to spend time in his dungeon.”

  “Hush,” Rovi said. “Everyone calm down and come with me. You’re bleeding everywhere. Bunch of cocky Daramons.”

  Velsa led the horse to a hitching post and tied her up as Rovi hauled Grau and Dalaran through her front door. The mare had good manners. She seemed like a fairly demure horse to belong to such a gang.

  “You’re mine now, pretty girl,” Velsa said. The horse had a saddlebag, which Velsa opened, pulling out its contents. Nothing much, really. A hard stub of bread and some wrapped cake that smelled ripe, almost like cheese, but she thought it might be made of beans or nuts. Miralem didn’t eat as much cheese as Daramons. Milk was a sacred food to them. Velsa also found a few papers, a map, some scribbled notes, and a picture of a girl. A Fanarlem girl?

  The picture looked much like the etchings in Daramon books. “The Singing Blossom—A Former Slave with the Voice of a Nightingale.”

  Velsa stared.

  It looks like Flower.

  Is Flower the girl Three-Tongues was talking about?

  Flower was the other concubine at the patrol camp, who had stolen Velsa’s crystal and thrown her into the river where her water-logged limbs were helpless, hoping to force her to ascend to her own death. Sometimes, Velsa still had nightmares of Flower’s sinister tone whispering in her ear while she had Velsa blindfolded. And she still smarted at the loss of the crystal, the first precious gift Grau gave her.

  Velsa considered herself a forgiving person, but she had never forgiven Flower.

  “Grau, look at this.” Inside the healer’s ward, he was bandaged and resting while Rovi bustled around in the back mixing spells. “It looks li
ke Flower.”

  “Wouldn’t every concubine from the same house look similar?”

  “Maybe, but—Flower escaped to the Miralem lands. She was a singer. And can’t you just imagine her taking up with a man like Three-Tongues?”

  He caught her arm and drew her a little closer. “Dalaran killed Three-Tongues’ wife,” he said under his breath. “He’s going to come back and now we’re involved.”

  “What do we do?” she asked. Her brain raced in the same directions that his probably was. They had a horse now. If it was just the two of them, they could try to skip town and Dormongara’s debt. It was possible they might have taken Sorla with them. Two Fanarlem girls wouldn’t weigh that much. But there was no way they could flee with Kessily, and her wing was so obvious; she would also make them easy to find. “I want my crystal back, Grau. She caused me so many nightmares.”

  “If Flower has taken up with a gang of bandits, Velsa, I’m not so sure that's a good idea. That wasn’t an easy fight, and they weren’t prepared for us. Are you suggesting we go to their territory?”

  Rovi came back in with potions in her hands. Velsa gave the picture of Flower one long look. If it really is Flower…

  But it was. Velsa felt the hand of fate, putting this picture in her path, so she could reclaim her crystal.

  Chapter 11

  “The Kalora family? That’s not good.” Kessily was standing in the middle of the room as Sorla fitted a new outfit for her when they came home. Velsa hadn’t even realized Sorla was making clothes for Kessily, because Sorla didn’t like sewing, but the dress was fitted neatly around Kessily’s wing, with a built in capelet that covered her shoulders. Tomato was sleeping soundly on a pile of nuts, his little body slowly heaving with breath.

  “Who are they?” Sorla asked.

  “A big family of assholes,” Kessily said.

  Grau chuckled. “What do you know about them?”

  “We didn’t deal with them ourselves,” Kessily said. “My parents never got into trading weapons and spells. Much too dangerous, my mother always said. But of course, that’s where all the money and glory is. The Kaloras rob traders and merchants, on the river and on the roads. They’re pretty much the only group of Miralem river bandits nowadays. And they seem to do it pretty much for the fun of it. They’re nomadic and live simply, so…they don’t seem to care for the money. That always infuriated my dad more than anything.”

  “It does make them dangerous,” Grau said. “If this is a sport to them as much as a job.”

  “What happened to your hair?” Sorla asked Grau.

  Grau scowled, clearly upset, and she couldn’t blame him. It was only in recent years that Velsa had seen anyone with short hair and Grau was not one to relish being on the forefront of fashion.

  “We can trim it a little shorter the way men wear it in Nalim Ima. The way Dalaran wears it, for that matter,” Velsa said. “You never fussed over your hair, anyway.”

  “Ooh, can I trim it?” Sorla flashed scissors.

  “I’ll trust you to preserve his good looks,” Velsa said.

  “Let’s stay on track,” Grau said. “This is important. The bandits will return, likely with more men. Dalaran says the city guard doesn’t bother with personal affairs between bandits and citizens, so we’re on our own. If we stay in town, I will have to face them again.”

  “You want to leave?” Sorla asked.

  “Maybe we should leave the day of the festival,” Velsa said. “There will be a lot of commotion and the royal guard will be heading this way with the prince. I don’t think the bandits would return until it’s over.”

  “The day of the festival?” Sorla said weakly.

  “I know you’ve made friends here,” Velsa said. “So have I. But—“

  “I do have friends!” Sorla cried. “Close friends. Good friends, who actually want to see me and include me in everything and joke around with me all the time. You don’t like them, though, do you? You don’t like me being friends with Ruven. You think just because he’s a boy and sometimes he acknowledges that I’m pretty, he’s going to treat me like a concubine. But things are different here!”

  “This isn’t about whether or not we have friends,” Grau said. “It’s about bandits trying to kill us. Anyway, our intention was always to get our footing here and then move out to the woods and homestead.”

  “Why?” Sorla crossed her arms. “Why do you want to move out to the woods? Why did you have to fight the bandits? Why not just let them have the spell for now and make Dalaran pay your debt to stupid Dormongara?” Sorla gulped down a sob. “The festival…everyone’s so excited about it. The prince and the dancing and everything else… And where will we go now? This isn’t like leaving Nalim Ima. The whole city isn’t dangerous, just a few stupid bandits. How many times can we run away?”

  Grau seemed tired. Velsa feared he was still hiding his physical pain. “A lot of times,” he said, rising with finality. “I’m sorry. Maybe we shouldn’t have fought, but we did, and my priority now has to be protecting all of you.”

  They spent the next few days preparing to leave. When someone knocked on the door during dinner, Velsa feared it would be a neighbor, tipped off to their escape—she didn’t entirely trust Sorla not to tell her friends. She had barely been home since the bandit attack, and sulked when she was.

  In fact, it was Rumir. He bowed in greeting, putting a hand to his cap. “Good evening, Velsa.”

  “Good evening.”

  Now he looked briefly uncertain before straightening up again. “I wanted to thank you, for what you said that day. I should have said it myself, but—well, we’d never seen anything like it. My parents always told me it was better to keep my head down. But, they are from a different time.”

  Grau joined her at the door. “Hello,” he said. “You worked with Velsa?”

  “Yes. Rumir.” They exchanged a nod of greeting as well.

  “Why don’t you come in?” Grau offered. “If you can eat, I’d offer you a bite, but it’s nothing special. Velsa won’t touch it.”

  “Salted radishes on toast,” Velsa said. “Not worth eating if you don’t have to.”

  “That’s all right.” Rumir grinned. “Anyway, I really just wanted to tell you that after you left, we all kept talking. And you were right. Every day when I get home from work, I feel so tired, and I snap at the cat. It isn’t the long hours, is it? Everyone works hard. You were right. At work I feel sort of—made a fool of. The clothes, the hair, the way they talk about us. So yesterday, we agreed to stand up to Peroneel about it.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded. “We did. We told her we wouldn’t stand for it anymore. We’d walk out right before the festival.”

  “Even Eldisa?”

  “Well, no. Not Eldisa or Meersha. But the other four of us.”

  “Goodness,” Velsa said. “I wish I could have seen Peroneel’s face.”

  “It didn’t go that well,” he said ruefully. “But—I wanted to tell you that we tried.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, I quit. No one else dared go that far, but Horus, Alsamir and Ardis have been kicked off the Prince Seldon welcoming committee.”

  This was not the outcome Velsa would have hoped for, but she could see that Rumir seemed more at ease than before.

  “Have you found another job?” she asked him.

  “Not yet. I have some put away.”

  “Sit by the fire with us,” Grau said. “Whether or not you care to partake in our radishes.”

  Rumir sat down with them and spent the evening there, the talk turning easily from the events of work to sharing of stories in general. He asked them about Nalim Ima and their run in with the bandits, and talked about his own upbringing with Fanarlem parents, how they had escaped bondage on a farm in the Atlantean province, and worked for a seamstress in Laionesse, saving money to commission a Fanarlem of their own.

  “This was quite a harrowing endeavor,” Rumir said. “It’s ill
egal to call a new soul into a Fanarlem body here, and it’s also illegal for Fanarlem to buy a Fanarlem even in Atlantis, so Fanarlem are essentially forbidden from having their own children everywhere in the world.”

  At work, Velsa never felt comfortable to ask him personal questions, but now the time seemed right. “They weren’t uncomfortable, creating a new Fanarlem?”

  “No. Why should they be? They knew they would give me a good life.”

  “We seem a bit doomed for poverty.”

  “I don’t know. My mother said there’s a Fanarlem singer in Laionesse who performs at all the most popular venues.”

  “Well—“ Flower is an inspiration to other Fanarlem? If only they knew. “That’s unusual.”

  “It’s true, maybe if I was a flesh and blood person I would have thought to stand up for myself,” Rumir said. “I know I should be more aggressive. My parents were such easygoing people, it’s hard.”

  “Plenty of flesh and blood people suffer their lot,” Grau said.

  “Exactly,” Rumir said. “Nevertheless, maybe we could ask for more than we do.”

  “Why’d you come here?” Grau asked. “Why not stay in the capital with your parents?”

  “Just not enough work there. Mostly, only other Fanarlem come to their shop. Of course, we don’t need much, but I’d rather save money. I’d love to get married and offer my wife a house that will knock her stockings off. I do just wish it was easier for Fanarlem to have children of their own.”

  “Do you think life has gotten better here for Fanarlem since your parents came?” Velsa asked.

  “It certainly has,” he said. “Parts and spells used to cost twice what they do now because no one in the Miralem countries knew or cared how to make them. It was all imported. As a result, everyone was so unsightly, it was hard to get work anywhere. The Miralem aren’t used to looking at crude slaves. They’ll give you charity but not work. In Laionesse there is a very fine Fanarlem maker now.”