Renegade Wizards

CHAPTER 11

Tythonnia quietly stepped forward, as lightly as she could muster, given the adrenaline racing through her. She could hear the others breathing, the sudden panicked inhalation of shock, the shifting weight on the cobblestones. The inn remained quiet, the courtyard dark; the world seemed to be waiting, and so was she. Her only hope was that Ladonna and Par-Salian had heard the words of her spell and understood what to do next.

To wait.

Gently, carefully, Tythonnia began preparing the next spell. She did not want to cast it just yet, but to ready the words rolling around her tongue, the weight of the magic balanced in her skull, balanced for the tipping. She inhaled softly and felt the air drag across her lungs. Any moment …

… any moment.

“H-hello?” someone cried out. It was a man’s voice, unnatural against the empty courtyard, haunted. It belonged to one of the rogues. There was more shuffling about, though the courtyard appeared empty of everyone but Tythonnia herself.

“Where’d you go?” another voice cried, almost relieved.

“I’m right here! Where are you?” The voice seemed to come from close to where Ladonna stood.

“Here!” the voice cried. It came from behind Tythonnia. She turned to face it, ever so carefully.

More shuffling was followed by a snarl. It was Sutler who spoke out with a rough whisper. It was hard to pinpoint his voice. “I can hear them breathing! They’re still here! Attack, damn you!”

Tythonnia braced for the chaos about to erupt. Her spell was prepared, the words pacing in her mouth like an eager dog. She could only hope the others realized what was happening and had prepared accordingly.

The first thief suddenly appeared. It was Tythonnia’s attacker, his short sword swinging wildly while his other hand was outstretched, as though blindness gripped him. The second and third rogues appeared as well, the one who had attacked Par-Salian and the one who had attacked Ladonna. They all swung blindly; then they spotted one another, their eyes widening.

Tythonnia didn’t know whether their horrified expressions came because they realized they had broken the constraints of the invisibility spell, or because they were now visible to attack. Sutler had yet to appear, but Tythonnia knew she had to press the advantage before the trio of cutthroats could somehow regroup. She prayed her companions had come to the same conclusion. The words spilled from her mouth.

“Keajukan ut saya.”

The rogues hesitated. Tythonnia reappeared, but now there were seven manifestations of her, each of them interspersed through the area, each of them seemingly as real as the other. Six copies mimicked the moves of one, another of her skillful illusions.

As the thief struck at one of the illusions with his short sword, obliterating the image into a mist of glittering powder, Tythonnia began another spell. The other illusions simultaneously mimicked the sway of her arms and twist of her fingers. The cutthroat near Par-Salian struck at the Tythonnia nearest him, shattering that illusion as well. Five Tythonnias left to kill.

And there was still no sign of her companion wizards. They must have been waiting for Sutler to show himself, but he seemed smarter than his ilk. He wasn’t doing anything that would reveal his position.

Tythonnia had to act again; the rogue nearest her had shattered another illusion, bringing her down to four Tythonnias. She was too close to him not to be attacked next. In unison, the four Tythonnias completed a fresh spell; in unison, they called:

“Sihir anak!”

Four bolts of light zipped from each of the four Tythonnias, sixteen daggers in total that stitched zigzag paths over and under each other. Only four bolts were real, but the effect was the same as if all sixteen carried menace. They peppered the attacker like arrow fire and sent him lunging to the floor. He uttered a groan but stayed down.

Par-Salian materialized behind his attacker, his spell spoken as barely a whisper. A sphere of fire unfurled between his puppeteer-like fingers and the cobblestone ground. He flung the sphere at his attacker, caressing him with flames. The cutthroat screamed and batted at the sphere to push it away, but his sleeves caught fire. He cried even louder as the blaze engulfed his arms. Then he ran out of the courtyard as if his legs could carry him away from his burning body. His cries echoed through the alleys.

As both Tythonnia and Par-Salian turned to confront the last of their visible attackers, one of the glamours burst into mist, and a sharp pain slammed into Tythonnia. She fell backward to the ground, her scream and agony-twisted face mirrored in her two remaining doppelgangers. Looking at them she realized there was a dagger lodged in her shoulder. The cutthroat nearest Ladonna was pulling another pair of daggers from his belt.

Par-Salian sent the sphere hurtling at the rogue, but as before, the villain proved nimble. He dived out of the way and rolled back up to his knee. His arm flashed forward, and two more daggers were suddenly embedded in Par-Salian’s thigh. The wizard cried out and clutched his leg, as he crumpled to the floor.

Tythonnia tried to ready a spell, to unleash it before the rogue could attack them again, but pain and nausea made it hard to focus. Somehow, between the seconds spent in agony, another two daggers appeared in the attacker’s hands. He prepared to throw them underhand, and neither Par-Salian nor Tythonnia could stop him in time.

Ladonna appeared behind the cutthroat, her hands pressed on either side of his head, her mouth moving. He gasped, first in surprise then at the sudden rush of pain. Ladonna’s fingernails glowed with cold, blue light, and her victim’s face seemed to go white. Tiny, blue veins appeared across his flesh, his skin growing terribly pale and thin. The wounds on Ladonna’s arm and face stopped bleeding and scabbed over. She gained strength as the rogue withered; finally his eyes rolled up into his head, and he dropped away, dead.

Tythonnia fought to concentrate, to ready one last spell. She knew what was coming; Ladonna had made herself vulnerable to save them; Sutler was still invisible. But Tythonnia couldn’t think straight with the dagger still in her shoulder. She needed to remove it.

With a cry of pain, Tythonnia gripped the dagger and pulled it out. She screamed and almost collapsed from the sickening rush that filled her stomach. The spell, she thought, she must prepare it before-

Everything went silent as Ladonna arched out, her black eyes wide in shock and her head thrown back. Sutler appeared behind her, both fists buried deep into her lower back, the blades drinking of her blood. A wild grin cracked his face open, an eagerness for the kill that bordered on frenzy.

Tythonnia saw the solution clearly, the one spell she knew that she was loath to ever use, the one spell in her repertoire of illusions that marked the pinnacle of her understanding of those particular arts. The spell called out to her. If ever a situation existed-a person, even-to inflict that spell upon, that time had arrived, that person was here.

The words came easily, the gestures unbidden, from years of practicing the patterns and motions. If she should die fifty years later, never having practiced magic again in the meantime, the interlocking finger and hand patterns would remain with her.

As her fingers flew and her mouth uttered, “Khalayan ut matithat,” her mind became a mirror. And in that mirror stood Sutler. Also in the reflection, standing behind him, was the very thing to augur his doom.

A shadowy cloud, its edges tattered and bleeding wisps of smoke, appeared between Tythonnia and Sutler. He finally saw it, his crazed eyes unable to register it at first. He glanced at Ladonna then snapped back to the shape. His mouth dropped open, and the lunacy evaporated from his face. The shape remained the same as far as Tythonnia could see, but to Sutler, it took on terrifying dimension and weight. The details became clearer, and it turned into that thing in the mirror, the thing that would undo him.

Tythonnia couldn’t see it, but she knew it was something stitched together from the fabric of all Sutler’s fears, a patchwork monster to embody his every greatest terror. Ladonna slid to the ground as Sutler stepped back. He tried to raise his blades, to fend the creature off, but his arms barely budged. The daggers clattered to the cobblestones, and a strangled cry escaped Sutler’s lips.

The shadowy form darted forward; a tendril touched Sutler. He clutched his chest and inhaled a terrible, ragged gasp. He dropped to his knees, his fingers scrabbling over his heart as though seeking to tear it out. The look of horror deepened, and there he died, on his knees, the fear forever etched on his face.

The two other Tythonnias instantly vanished, and both the real one and Par-Salian hobbled over to Ladonna. Her eyes were open and staring up past them to some distant point in the night sky.

“Ladonna, hold on,” Par-Salian said, “please hold on. We’ll find help.”

Her gaze drifted to Sutler, dead and still upright. “Not fair,” Ladonna whispered. “I wanted to be the one who killed him.”

“Don’t you dare die on us,” Tythonnia said. “I haven’t taught you my best illusions.”

Ladonna nodded. “I think … that last one was … nice.”

“Shh, shh,” Par-Salian said. He turned toward the inn and cried, “Help! Help us!”

Nobody appeared and the pool of blood around Ladonna’s body kept growing. Par-Salian fumbled for his chest and pulled out a golden sun medallion that Tythonnia had never seen before. He stared at it then at Ladonna, caught in indecision.

Tythonnia stood and ran for the inn door. It was locked, the windows dark and the shutters on the ground floor closed. She hammered on the door, but nobody answered. She knew what was happening, and it enraged her enough to hammer even harder. They’d angered the Thieves Guild. They were on their own. She caught a glimmer of candlelight inside through the gap between the door and its frame.

“Please,” Tythonnia cried. “She’s dying! Help us, damn you!”

Nobody responded, though the light inside seemed to grow stronger.

The Journeyman watched quietly from the upper story window, assessing the situation. In the history he knew so well, Ladonna would live. Ladonna would go on to greater things. And yet there she was, bleeding from two killing strikes that had likely ruptured her kidneys. She looked to be dying and needed help.

The Journeyman pulled an ampoule from his pouch and walked out the door of his room. The inn was dark, the lights in the tavern extinguished. The innkeeper and his redheaded wife-he had forgotten their names-stood in the darkness. The innkeeper carried a cheap-looking sword, and she clung to him. They both stared at the door, hearing as clearly as he did the desperate hammering outside.

The innkeeper pointed his blade at the Journeyman. “You there, back to your room!” the innkeeper said in a whisper. “This don’t concern you.”

The Journeyman opened his hand and whispered, “Shirak lingkaran.” A floating orb of fire appeared in his hand, driving the shadows away and startling the couple.

“Please,” Tythonnia cried from outside. “She’s dying! Help us, damn you!”

With a nudge, the orb drifted toward the frightened innkeeper and his wife. They cowered before it, even though it lacked the strength to harm them. For the purposes of the Journeyman’s bluff, however, they didn’t need to know that.

“Help them,” the Journeyman instructed as he walked down the stairs.

“But the guild will slit our throats,” the innkeeper said. He waved his blade fearfully at the ball of fire.

With another mental nudging, the Journeyman willed the orb to separate and turn into four blazing spheres. They surrounded the innkeeper and his wife, who had started weeping.

“Please don’t,” the innkeeper begged.

“Help them or I swear by all that is holy you will become ash and cinder.”

The innkeeper raised one hand to show he meant no harm and lowered his sword. “All right, all right. Just don’t hurt my Bessie.”

The Journeyman held out his hand and motioned for the innkeeper to take the ampoule resting in his palm. The innkeeper did so reluctantly and practically wrenched his arm stretching over to grab it. He didn’t want to approach any closer than necessary.

“Go outside,” the Journeyman instructed. “Give this to the injured woman. Tell them it’s something the Vagros left you as a gift.”

“What does it do?” the innkeeper asked, suspiciously eyeing the amber-colored liquid inside.

“It’ll save your life. Now do as I tell you, and say nothing of me, do you understand?”

The innkeeper nodded. The Journeyman dissolved the orbs and stepped into the darkness. He didn’t wish to be seen. With a glance to his frightened wife, the innkeeper unlatched the door and opened it. Tythonnia, pleading for his help, pulled him outside.

The Journeyman went to the window and opened the shutter a touch. He glanced at the nervous wife, and mused, I thought only cows were named Bessie.

Tythonnia almost cried out in relief as the door opened. She grabbed the innkeeper’s hand and practically dragged him out.

“She’s bleeding badly.”

The innkeeper appeared rattled; the blood was drained from his face. He glanced back at the inn but followed her to Ladonna.

“Hold on, Ladonna,” she cried.

Ladonna was barely conscious. Her eyes seemed to roll loosely in their sockets, and she was moaning in pain and delirium. The ground around her was soaked in a pool of her blood, and Par-Salian’s pants were filthy with it. He held Ladonna’s hand and whispered in her ear, trying to keep her with them. The medallion was resting against the outside of his tunic, its purpose forgotten.

The innkeeper didn’t seem to know what to do; almost absently, he shoved the amber-colored ampoule into Tythonnia’s hands.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A gift from the Vagros,” he said. He was already turning to dash back to the inn.

Tythonnia stared at the innkeeper in shock and back at the ampoule. What was she supposed to do with it? Feed it to Ladonna blindly? What if it did more harm than good?

She’s dying! A thought seemed to scream in her head. Do something!

Unable to think properly, Tythonnia snapped off the top of the ampoule.

“What is that?” Par-Salian whispered, his voice rough with grief.

“I don’t know,” Tythonnia said. “Hope?”

Par-Salian didn’t argue. Instead, he helped lift Ladonna’s head while Tythonnia tilted the ampoule into her mouth. The amber liquid seemed to vanish as soon as it touched her lips.

Ladonna’s moans slowly turned into soft breathing. She blinked; her eyes seemed to clear, lose focus, and clear again. Some of the color returned to her face.

“What-what happened?” Ladonna asked, she tried to raise herself up, but was too weak to move.

“You were stabbed,” Par-Salian said.

“I still am,” Ladonna replied. She smiled weakly.

“Gently, roll her to her side,” Par-Salian instructed.

Her back and long hair glistened with blood. The two puncture wounds on her back, however, were partially closed with the beginnings of thick scabs. They bled still but not enough to kill her.

“We must leave,” Ladonna said as they helped her stand. She winced in pain, her every movement straining her wound. “The guild will send more of them after us. We’re not safe here.”

“At the inn?” Par-Salian said, supporting her as best he could. How he managed with his wounded leg, Tythonnia didn’t know. She felt pain in her own shoulder.

“No … Palanthas,” Ladonna responded. She grimaced as she stood wobbily.

“We can’t leave until you get better,” Tythonnia said.

“You should talk,” she replied. “Have you seen yourselves?”

That was enough to set all three of them chuckling.

The Journeyman watched them from the window. The ampoule’s draught wasn’t enough to heal her injuries completely, but time would do the rest. The Journeyman was only glad he’d been prepared for the lack of healers in this time.

The innkeeper and his wife watched in horror as the three wizards made their way to the Wanderer’s Welcome. “They can’t stay here!” the innkeeper begged the Journeyman. “Please!”

The Journeyman nodded. He mounted the stairs. “I’ll be out by the morrow,” he said. “And they will be leaving too. But help them now and remember our agreement. Say nothing of me.”

The innkeeper nodded gratefully.

The boy with unruly, black hair and green eyes waited in the shadows of the alley in the company of his older companion. Unlike Sutler, the boy felt safe with Keanan. The older boy was still young by guild standards but well regarded for his skills.

“Ain’t you gonna kill them?” the boy asked, nodding to the three injured wizards heading into the inn.

“No,” Keanan said. He drew the black cloak around his shoulders and pulled his long, black hair out from beneath it. “They killed twice our numbers with magic-no telling what they got left in their bag of tricks.”

The boy nodded sagely in hopes of impressing his companion.

“Besides,” Keanan said, “I’m not much inclined to avenge Sutler. He had what’s coming to him.”

The boy studied Keanan’s angular face to see if he was being tested for his loyalty. Keanan was grinning down at him, however, a thin eyebrow raised in amusement and a look that playfully defied the boy to contradict him.

“Yeah, he did,” the boy said. “I’m glad he’s dead. But guild law says those three gotta pay for what they did.”

Keanan’s smile widened. “You’re right. They gotta pay, and I know just the people to do it. And they’ll even pay us for that privilege.”

The boy threw a quizzical look up at Keanan, but the older fellow was already bounding upward, bouncing between the two walls of the alley until he deftly pulled himself over the lip of the adjoining roof. From above, Keanan whispered, “Stay here. If they leave, follow them and then tell me where they got to.”

The boy nodded. “But what if the guards come?”

“They won’t,” Keanan whispered. “After those screams, nobody’s venturing outside to alert nobody. Now keep watch.”

The boy grinned and beamed inwardly. Keanan had trusted him with an important task, and he was eager to do right by that trust. He watched the inn, intent on his duty. A small, satisfied part of him enjoyed watching Sutler’s corpse.

It wasn’t until the next morning that the boy found Keanan again. He related what he’d seen and heard, and in turn, Keanan brought him to speak with three strangers waiting at the Bright Horizons Rest. The strangers were all intimidating, from the blond-haired man who studied the boy with an eagle’s intensity, to the bear of a man who was stout of chest and all beard, to the woman with knives for eyes and a strange metal book strapped across her chest.

“Tell them what you told me,” Keanan said, nodding to the three. They were all seated in a private dining room in the back, their table covered in breakfast plates (most of it for the larger man, the boy suspected) and the air filled with the smell of eggs and thick bacon. The boy began speaking, but he was so hungry, he kept distracting himself with glances to the table.

The large man smiled and offered the boy two strips of greasy bacon. The boy wolfed them down quickly, despite the impatient look thrown his way by the woman. Finally, after a small burp, the boy continued.

“So I started following them like I was told,” he said.

“Did they have horses?” the blond-haired man asked.

“Two. They took them from the stables. The woman with black hair was riding one with the man holding her up; I thought she was dead, for sure.”

“Go on,” the woman said. “Where did they go?”

“Well,” the boy admitted, “I’m not exactly sure.”

“You lost them?” the woman said, rising suddenly from her chair and tipping it to the floor with a loud crash. Even her two compatriots seemed startled.

Keanan was all smiles as he stepped in between the woman and the child, his hands resting easily on his belt. The boy knew better, however. He knew the belt hid throwing knives, enough to kill the three strangers.

“Easy now,” Keanan said. “Let him finish.”

The woman was momentarily confused, like the anger had overtaken her suddenly. She nodded absently, righted her chair, and sat down, apparently taken aback at her own behavior and angrier still. She motioned for the boy to continue.

“Well, the three and their horses … they just vanished, see?” The boy snapped his fingers. “Like that. Like they did in the fight.”

“They went invisible,” the large man said, sighing. “Back to the beginning.”

“No wait,” the boy said. “I still followed them.”

“How?” the blond-haired man asked.

“Well, they vanished right?” the boy said, all proud of himself. “But I could still hear them clopping through the street. So I followed the sound.”

Both the large man and the blond one smiled, a look that filled the boy with pride. The woman, however, didn’t appear impressed one way or the other. The boy decided he didn’t like her.

“You followed the sound and didn’t get caught?” the woman said. “Lucky. Very lucky. Where did they go?”

“Well that’s the thing. They rode all the way into Smiths’ Alley and then stopped. I listened for a long time … till morning when everyone started waking up, but I heard nothing. I didn’t see where they hid. Only that it was near the Alley.”

The woman stood again, the uncertainty gone from her eyes. She tossed Keanan a coin purse and nodded to the others. They stood as well and headed for the door.

“If this information proves accurate,” the woman said, “we’ll pay you the remaining half later.”

Keanan nodded as he hefted the pouch in his hands. He didn’t bother peering inside the purse.

The bearish man, as he passed the boy, patted him on the shoulder with his massive hand and nodded to the table. “Eat. Grow big and strong like me,” he said then laughed at his own joke as he left the room. The boy decided he liked him the best.

The boy waited for Keanan to give him the nod before he set about wolfing down the plates of food. They were partially eaten, but he devoured them just the same. There was no telling when he’d have a chance at such a fine meal again. As he ate, shoving bits of pork and scooping eggs into his mouth with his fingers, Keanan sat next to him.

“You did good,” Keanan said. “I think you’ve earned yourself a nickname … Lucky.”

“Lucky Leppomanto!” the boy cheered with food spilling from his mouth and his arm thrown in the air.

“Let’s stick with Lucky, for now. Leppomanto’s not an easy name to remember.”

The boy nodded again. He felt as if he were going to burst. Sutler was dead and he had earned himself a guild nickname before any of the other boys. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, Keanan pushed a couple of copper pieces his way.

“You earned it,” Keanan said before claiming two strips of bacon for himself.

The boy grabbed the pair of coins and shoved them into his pocket. His fingers touched the toy soldier that was already there, and he suddenly remembered his good luck charm. He wrapped his greasy fingers around it and smiled.

Lucky, he thought before shoveling more food in his mouth.