The Sorcerer's Equal (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 3) Page 19

  Velsa hugged him tight. “I’m so sorry. I hope Rovi is all right.”

  “She’s fine. Don’t worry a mite about us.”

  “I’ll walk you home,” Dormongara said, hoisting Flower back onto his shoulder.

  She dreaded that she would have to tell Sorla.

  At their door, Dormongara said, “You are absolved of your debt to me.”

  “Oh—thank you.” She hardly cared about that at this point.

  “I feel…responsible. You have suffered for Dalaran’s foolishness, and if I had known that…”

  “I’m afraid it might have ended this way anyway, somehow or other, once Flower saw me at the festival.” She bit her lip hard, pressing down all of her feelings.

  “If you want me to break the news, I will,” Dormongara said. “I am very much accustomed to telling people that their loved ones are dead.”

  “It’s tempting, but—no. Thank you.” She opened the door.

  Sorla was sitting at the table, moping a bit it seemed, but she straightened up, looking expectant. Clearly her mind was still occupied with the prince. She had no sense of the tragedy. Her telepathy was not very strong, and Velsa hadn’t forged a deep mental bond with her as she had with Grau. And Kessily seemed to notice Dormongara before anything else.

  “Is something wrong?” Sorla’s expectancy faded as soon as she saw Velsa’s face.

  “Three-Tongues…killed Grau.” In the wake of her words, the two other women drew in soft gasps, and a terrible shadow seemed to rush in. Velsa kept talking as if she could diminish its importance. “Flower was a diversion while Three-Tongues had revenge. Grau’s soul is still clinging to his crystal, so I can attempt to turn him into a Fanarlem. He claimed that he would rather be a Fanarlem than die, but—we won’t know for sure if it works until we can see a Fanarlem maker.”

  Having gotten all of that out, she fumbled for a chair and sat down hard, covering her face.

  “It’ll work, of course it will!” Sorla cried. “He would never leave you.”

  “I don’t want this for him… I’ve ruined his life. Without me, he never would have encountered all these dangers. He should be home safe with his family, with his sister, married to some nice, normal girl. My beautiful man, I don’t want him to be a Fanarlem…!” She had to say it all, every awful thought in her head.

  “Oh, no,” Sorla said. “I’m sure that’s not true. Meirin, please don’t cry.”

  “I’m not really your mother. This is all such a sham,” Velsa croaked.

  “It’s not,” Sorla said, struggling to stand on her good leg. The table divided them and it was too broad for Sorla to reach across. She ended up sitting on the table instead and shimmying over to touch Velsa’s shoulder. “I’ve seen families, dozens of them. I was a part of a different one, once. Grau loves you so much, and you love him too, and I don’t think any of this will change that. Please—tell me it won’t. Is it so terrible for Grau to be like us? We’d really be like a family, then.”

  “We suffer for what we are…”

  “But his life is so much a part of yours already. He already suffers, too.”

  Velsa realized that more than anything, she just didn’t want to lose him, his flesh and blood beauty.

  But that made it a little easier to cope with, knowing it was just a selfish thing. She might look at it another way. He could have died on patrol, died fighting for Kalan Jherin, and never had anyone to love him or save him.

  He wasn’t afraid to be like her. Maybe she should take that as a sign of his love of her and belief in her, more than anything.

  She held Sorla’s hand in silence, working through her thoughts.

  Dormongara put down Flower’s body and began to search her clothes. “This feels unseemly.”

  “What are you doing?” Kessily asked.

  “Looking for any weapons or clues she might have on her.”

  Kessily came forward and crouched to take over the job. Tomato, of course, wanted to help. He bit off one of Flower’s buttons. Kessily suppressed a laugh as she pulled it out of his mouth.

  “You’re more helpful than you let on,” she told Dormongara.

  “Shortly after the War of the Crystals, when people were newly aware of how powerful the great crystals could be, my parents were killed in a surprise attack when I was young. So I have some sympathy for moments like this.”

  “You really are a hundred years old?” Kessily looked shocked as she stripped off Flower’s dress. “I thought you just tricked the townsfolk into believing it.”

  “Well—yes. That is complicated. I slept through most of my brother’s reign, as it so happened…”

  “Wh—“

  He shot her a look. “I think I’ve talked about myself quite enough for one day.”

  Kessily pulled papers from a pocket in Flower’s petticoat. Flower was looking very undignified now, especially as the petticoat was her only underwear. “What is this?” Kessily unfolded the paper. “It’s a list. ‘Chimera Extract. Black Dust. Magnet Spell. Pressure Spell.’”

  “A recipe.” Dormongara grabbed the paper. “Hmm.”

  “Flower can’t read,” Velsa said. “As far as I knew.”

  “This is a man’s handwriting,” Dormongara said. “I bet Three-Tongues has been using her to run messages. If she can’t read, that helps to make her a safe conduit. This potion, if I’m not mistaken…would make a poison that would dissipate in the air and cling to skin. The pressure spell would open the bottle at a certain time. So if you knew a certain group of people were about to enter a small room…”

  “What small room?” Kessily asked.

  “That is the question, but the answer is not to puzzle over rooms but to get our hands on those bandits. I believe I’ll be following the prince to the capital. My carriage has room for four, if you need a ride.”

  Velsa looked at Flower. “I want to crack her open first. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are jewels inside her rib cage.”

  “I’d be careful with her,” Dormongara said. “You can sell her skeleton back to the Fanarlem maker.”

  Chapter 14

  The journey to Laionesse took two agonizing days. At least the carriage was top of the line. Velsa could hardly stand the tension of wondering whether Grau really could become a Fanarlem. If he was truly willing, it should be easy. After all, Parsons had been turned into a Fanarlem as a child without anyone asking her permission. But Velsa had read every book on Fanarlem in the large library at Nalim Ima, including horror stories of souls forced into bodies, thrashing and screaming, only to lash out at everyone around them before ascending to death once more. This happened with newly born Fanarlem as well. Velsa wondered if she had cried or fought, upon her own birth. She would never know. But certainly the golden band that once suppressed her telepathy had been with her as long as she could remember, so she must have evidenced some power early on.

  Sometimes, along the journey and even in the middle of the night, she felt a shadow brush across her mind, as if someone was trying to search her out telepathically. She would instantly push the feeling out, but it made her constantly on edge. Three-Tongues might be looking for her.

  Dormongara was chattier than before on the journey, comparing Laionesse with the other great cities of the Miralem: Otare, Avalon, and Drai. He seemed well traveled for someone who didn’t like visitors, so Velsa had to conclude that he liked infringing on other people’s castles more than he liked offering hospitality himself.

  Among the things Velsa learned from him was that the city of Laionesse had the greatest harbor in the northern hemisphere after the Daramon city of New Sajinay; this was what it was mainly known for. Halnari lay due west, so the two Miralem nations had engaged in robust trade before the Halnari Miralem threw their allegiance behind the Daramons instead. This had not stopped trade entirely, since both countries enjoyed financial benefit from it, but it certainly made things more tense. It was understandable that the royals would have tried to negotiate for peace and
trade deals.

  She also learned that the queen owned five small dogs and a hedgehog and liked keeping peacocks on the grounds. “They sound like screaming ghosts,” he said, apparently being well acquainted with this sound. That the royal offspring were all so nice that they surely must hold dark secrets, and that they were all terrible singers who thought they were good singers. And the king had a room just to keep erotic paintings.

  Velsa was so on edge worrying over Grau, she frequently had to bite her tongue not to snap at Kessily to stop laughing.

  Of course, the eldest prince had been killed during his own travels, and Velsa could not help but feel for the royal family and the entire city. The roads were badly clogged, and Dormongara kept twitching the curtain aside and poking his head out to see what the hold up was, as if it was any surprise.

  The color of mourning in Laionesse was red, which ironically was the color of power in the Daramon lands, and the color of the Wodrenarune’s banners, so to Velsa it looked almost like Kalan Jherin had taken over the city. Shops put out red flags and the people wore plain colors with red ribbons and hats, red shawls or capes.

  As they reached the center of town, Velsa saw evidence of the trade with Daramons in shop windows. Basic goods from Nalim Ima were displayed prominently and offered at high prices. Soap, toothpaste, whiskey, and beer seemed to be the most desired and commonly imported items. Certainly, nothing was tempting Velsa to part with her money.

  She sat back in her seat, overcome with the jitters, as they reached the Fanarlem maker. Her heart still rebelled; she couldn’t quite believe Grau was really dead. In hindsight, she wished she had looked at his body, even if it was horribly mangled. Maybe it would help her to understand that this was real. As it was, sometimes she wondered, Was he really too far gone to save? But the husband of the town healer certainly would know.

  “Here we are,” Dormongara said, peering out the black curtain. If anything else, they would all be glad to get out of the carriage, which was upholstered entirely in black.

  “Have you ever been here?” Velsa asked him.

  “Yes. I’ve known a few people who became Fanarlem and I’m sure I’ll know a few more. He’s very good, Mr. Trinavel.”

  The shop was in a narrow three-story brick building between two others just the same. The street was paved with stones and kept fairly clean. The door led right into a long open room with a desk at front and a workshop in back, where a friendly if nondescript-looking man with reddish hair and a slight sunburn was shaping a Fanarlem face which was stretched over a skeleton.

  He glanced up and headed to the front. “Hello, how can I help you?” His eyes moved first to Sorla, who was being carried by Dormongara since her leg was still broken.

  “My husband—was killed,” Velsa said. “He wanted to become a Fanarlem and his soul is still clinging to this crystal. I need a body for him. The very best you can make.”

  He clasped her hand, impulsively it seemed, provoked by the grief in her voice. “Of course, of course. You do know…success is not guaranteed?”

  “I know.”

  “Can I hold the crystal?”

  With slight reluctance, she gave it to him.

  “Can you visualize to me what he was like?”

  She conjured up the image of Grau, which wasn’t hard, since he never left her thoughts. She didn’t want to forget a single nuance of his face or his hands or the way he moved.

  “You’re in luck,” Mr. Trinavel said. “If you’re interested, I just got in a few metal skeletons and they’re much superior to the wooden ones. Besides that, I see your husband was fairly tall. The metal skeletons come in a taller model. That’s always been a complaint, especially for men.”

  “How much are they?” Velsa asked.

  “Fifteen gold for our tallest model. It’s about five foot nine. You’re looking at around thirty gold altogether for parts and labor and then spells will run another five to ten.”

  Velsa felt a little faint. She had plundered Flower for jewels and been rewarded, but she wasn’t sure they would fetch forty gold. Grau was going to cost more than she did. “How much for a wooden skeleton?”

  “The metal one will do,” Dormongara said, at her hesitation. “Top of the line everything. And repair this one’s leg.”

  “Right away. I can have my assistants handle that one, if you want to bring the young lady straight back.”

  Dormongara carried Sorla to a work table within the shop. Velsa looked at him gratefully but uncertainly. “I owe you another debt. Flower’s jewels might be worth twenty.”

  “Yes,” he said. “But we’ll sort that out later. Maybe you can improve my gardens.”

  Kessily made an exasperated sound. “Are you serious? You’re just trying to be difficult at this point!”

  “I think I have been very generous. I brought you all the way here and I am willing to negotiate a very agreeable debt.”

  “Are you just trying to provoke me?”

  “Into what?”

  “Going with you.”

  “Are you still considering it?”

  “Not if you keep doing that.”

  “I don’t understand why you think I ought to give favors for free,” Dormongara said. “Would you expect free bread from the baker if you were hungry? And if you were the baker, would you give your bread away? So many hungry people out there.”

  “No, but—“ Kessily sighed. “Forget it.”

  “I do understand,” Velsa said. “And I appreciate your help.”

  Sorla was patched up in no time, but Mr. Trinavel told them it might take a few days to create a body for Grau. “It depends on how quickly we can handle our other orders,” he said. Velsa knew Fanarlem took time to make, but this still sounded like utter torture. Two days in a carriage—now this?

  “I need to stay with him,” Velsa said. “I want to keep his crystal with me until the moment it is needed.”

  “In the shop?” Mr. Trinavel sounded confused. “But—there is no place for you to sleep at night. You can go to an inn and we’ll send for you when he’s done.”

  “I want to see him being made,” Velsa said. “Maybe I could even help you. I know how to repair myself, after all. I would do nothing in the hotel except pace. I’d rather be here.”

  “I understand,” Mr. Trinavel said. “Very well.”

  Dormongara shrugged. “We’ll be at the Tower House. I must attend the funeral at the Royal Treat in the morning—an unfortunate name for the auditorium, now, isn’t it—and the dinner afterward, but I’ll check up when I can.”

  Velsa embraced Kessily and Sorla, and as her friends left, Mr. Trinavel showed her to a chair to wait until he was ready for her help.

  Waiting alone to learn the fate of a loved one was the most excruciating of occupations. She sat, and she paced, and once in a while someone came in to the shop—a Fanarlem man needed new skin for his hands, and a flesh and blood woman came to check in on the progress of a body. Velsa couldn’t gather from the conversation what she wanted it for. Velsa had never spent so much time in a Fanarlem shop before, especially one that didn’t make slaves. She was so curious about each customer’s story.

  After some hours, an assistant approached and kindly brought her a book to read. It was a spiritual story about the priestesses of Avalon, which gave it the slight whiff of an attempt at religious conversion, but it was an interesting story, at least. She knew very little of that part of the world.

  A few hours in, Mr. Trinavel called her back to the workroom. “I’ve picked out everything we need,” he said. In the back, his assistants were busily sewing parts and cutting cloth. The metal skeleton was laid out on a table with a bolt of cloth. “One of my assistants will cut out the pieces and you can sew the seams. My other assistant will be working on placing the stuffing and skin. That part takes the longest, so be patient with him—he’s very good at it. This is Garen and Alsan.” He introduced the assistants with a wave of his hand.

  In the Daramon lands, F
anarlem were made with auto-needles, magically enchanted to follow lines. But they didn’t have auto-needles here. A Fanarlem shop probably couldn’t afford them anyway; if Mr. Trinavel didn’t make slaves he probably wasn’t making a huge profit either.

  Alsan worked on the stuffing, and Velsa knew this was an art, particularly after Parsons has messed with her stuffing a bit and she was better off for it. The stuffing was sewn into pockets of cloth around the bones. These pockets mimicked muscles and kept all of the stuffing from sliding downward.

  Velsa tried to forget that she was making a body for Grau. Especially since, right now, no spells had been applied. Every seam was visible, and so was the texture of the skin cloth. It was hard to imagine this ever becoming her Grau, but without the spells that brought life to her skin and her face, she wouldn’t recognize herself either.

  Mr. Trinavel worked on Grau’s face. He already had one with the proper hair, black and fine. This was the most difficult part. Spells were applied to cloth immediately so it could be shaped like flesh. Velsa told herself she wouldn’t watch him and get in his way, but every half hour or so, inevitably she would have to look over and see how it was coming. If she felt like something wasn’t quite right, she crept over to him.

  “His eyes slant up at the corners just a little,” she said. And later, “The little indent in his skin below his lip…it’s not very deep, just so you know.” And, “I think his chin is shaped a little differently.”

  The first time he was very patient, and the second time as well. The third time, he said, “I don’t usually have the wife of the subject in the shop all day, I must say. Are you sure about the chin?”

  “Well…actually…maybe you did have it the right way before.” She slunk away, trying again not to meddle, but an hour later she had to say something about his ears.

  At the end of the day, the assistants put down their work and went home. Mr. Trinavel locked the door. “You could come home with me, if you like,” he said. “I live just around the corner.”