Mystic: A Book of Underrealm (20 page)

Gem, for his part, seemed pleased to see the Mystic again and reached out to grip his hand. Jordel shook it with a grave nod before the boy turned back to Loren. “What happened when the constables took you?”
 

“They took us to Jordel. That is, they took us to their station, and Jordel was there. Sheer happenstance.”

“I was curious about that,” said Vivien. “They brought you in for petty thievery. Tell me, why did you take that purse from the woodsman?”

Loren met the Mystic’s stare. “As I said, he spun a tale. We stole nothing and were apprehended without cause.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Gem slide something out of sight with his foot.
 

Vivien turned to Jordel. “This one is too skilled a liar. The wizard admitted the theft, and yet I can see no falsehood in her eyes.”

“What makes you think I am lying? Mayhap the wizard was mistaken.” If this was the only victory she could win against Vivien, Loren would take it.

Vivien’s voice became poisonous. “Oh, I think nothing. I
know
you are lying. Everything about you reeks of deceit.” Then she smiled, and her venom disappeared. “I suppose I am able to tell because we are so much alike.”

Loren shuddered.

Jordel had watched this all passively, though Loren noted him eyeing Vivien with something like disapproval. He turned to Xain. “You would do well to rest tonight before we speak in the morrow. It looks as though your road was unkind, and many sleepless nights await you.”

“Perhaps the road was unkind or mayhap fellow travelers upon it,” said Xain, glaring at Vivien. “But I feel as well as can be expected. My strength has never been greater.”

“As you say,” said Jordel, nodding. “We shall meet on the morrow. And though I believe you will keep your word, I hope you do not blame me if I have two men stand guard downstairs to ensure it.”

“If I blame you, will it change your mind?” said Xain.

“It will not.”

“Then I will not.”

“Where shall we meet?” said Loren.

Jordel looked at her sternly. “I am sorry, Loren, but it seems you have misunderstood. I must speak only to Xain.”

“What?” said Loren, hands on her hips. “I traveled with you across half of Selvan and with him across the other. I deserve to hear your words as much as anyone else.”

“What you deserve has little to do with it. My words for the wizard are of dire importance, and many would think they should not be shared at all. I am only fortunate to outrank those who believe so.”
 

Again, Loren saw a fire in Vivien’s eyes.
 

“You mean to leave me waiting on your doorstep while the two of you discuss matters of great importance? I will not be left out in the cold.”

“It is the midst of summer, and you may wait wherever you wish,” said Jordel. “But still, my words are for the wizard’s ears alone. You seem to have regained some of your faith since you abandoned me on the King’s road. If that is so, trust me in this.”

Loren wanted to shout at the Mystic, to give him a thousand reasons why he was wrong—but could think of none, for she knew nothing of his dark news. So she crossed her arms like a child and turned away in a sullen silence.

To Xain, Jordel said, “You will find me at the constables’ station where we met today. I will see you in the morning.”

“No doubt you will,” the wizard grumbled.

Jordel said, “I can trust your word in this? Remember, Xain, I have no darker motive than your own good—and you will regain your son by my word.”

“Yes, yes,” Xain waved a hand. “I have heard this before. Leave, or you will press me too hard and I shall change my mind. Go!”

Jordel nodded and left. After giving them all a final, uncomfortably familiar look, Vivien followed.

Loren waited long enough for them to move out of earshot and checked the hallway to ensure they had left before speaking to Xain. “I assume you do not mean to attend his council?”

But to her surprise, Xain heaved a sigh. “I suppose that I shall. I have only a half-formed idea of using magestones to blast my son’s way to freedom. Who knows what Jordel may do? Hearing his words cannot do my cause any greater harm than it has suffered already. And besides, his plan for leaving the city seems safer than our own. If the Mystic must be betrayed, we can do it once he has secured our escape.”

“I am only glad he is back,” said Gem. At Loren’s frown, the boy shrugged. “I bear him no ill will. He saved my life, after all.”

“And ended many others,” said Loren. “And now Vivien stands at his side.”

“Where did she come from, anyway?” Annis shivered under her patchwork cloak. “I do not like the way she looked at me, nor do I have your faith in this Jordel. Xain told me plenty of tales about the Mystics when we traveled the King’s road to pursue you.”

Loren said, “Even if Vivien seeks to betray you, she could bring no word to your family until long after we have left this place. And I think she means to stay and aid Wellmont in its siege against Dorsea.”

“I hope that is true,” said Annis. “I would not spend one moment longer at her side than needed. Did you hear how she spoke of my family and breeding? She is a serpent disguised as a human.”
 

“That I doubt,” said Xain, “for she is a mentalist and not a therianthrope.”
 

Xain smiled, but Loren, Gem, and Annis looked at him blankly. His smile soured, catching their looks, and he rubbed his arms as though cold.

“A jest for mages, I suppose. Some therianthropes—weremages, you call them—can take the form of a serpent. It was . . . it was only a jest.”

Gem gave him a gentle pat on the arm and a condescending smile. “Leave the jests to those with quicker tongues, wizard. Stick to your magic—you seem skilled enough at that.”

Xain shrugged off his arm and left the room.

The children chirped with many questions about what had happened after their capture, and Loren recounted it all. They also wanted to know much about Jordel and Vivien, but for the most part Loren had no answers.
 

Once exhausted by their queries, after Loren had spilt all she could, she went downstairs to find Xain in the common room. She brought a coin from Gem’s stolen purse to pay for another night’s stay and food for them all.
 

Downstairs, she noticed two men in red cloaks by the front door. Their cowls hung low so that Loren could not spy their faces. She guessed these were the Mystics Jordel had left to guard against Xain’s escape. She gave each a long look, and one by one they turned away.

Loren found the wizard deep in a bowl of questionable stew and halfway through a mug of dark ale. Another drained mug sat beside the first and an empty bowl next to the one he ate from. Loren motioned to the innkeeper for a cup of wine and sat in silence with Xain. He ate as if oblivious to her presence. Soon his bowl was empty, and he drained his remaining ale in a single long pull. Only then did he look up at Loren, wiping the foam from his scrub of beard.

“You seem ravenous,” she said.

“We ate poorly on the river.” It was true, but they had all sated their hunger long since, and Loren well knew it. “What do you want from me, girl? I cannot move the Mystic’s mind, and it seems he will hold council with none but myself.”

He surprised her by getting right to the point. Loren set both elbows on the table and leaned forward.
 

“But you could tell me after. I want to know of these great matters he purports to hold as a secret.”

“It could be nothing. Some conspiracy by some lesser nobles to seize a throne in the outland kingdoms. Mystics are well known to place greater importance in things than they deserve.”

Loren thought of Jordel’s icy blue eyes, of his stern mouth, so rarely turned in either smile or frown. “Jordel does not seem the kind of man who would call a thing important unless it truly were.”

“Oh? And what do you know of him?” A serving woman came with Loren’s wine, and Xain motioned for another mug of ale. “You have known him less time than you have known me, and still I am mostly a mystery.”

“It takes me hardly any time to take measure of a man. But you avoid the point. Whatever Jordel says in the morrow, be it of high import or low, I beg you to tell me.”

Loren sipped her wine. She had not drunk much before and compared every cup to the first, shared with Damaris in Cabrus. That had been fine, sweet, and heady. What she drank now was swill by comparison, but still it brought a lightness to her thoughts that she rather enjoyed.

Xain shrugged. “I will tell you whatever secrets the Mystic imparts upon me. Though I fear you will be disappointed.”

“Do not be so sure,” said Loren, taking another sip. “Even small bits of knowledge can be useful if one can gather enough. Mennet once brought down a mighty king with the strength of a single whispered word.”

Xain burst into laughter. His ale arrived, and he kept laughing as he drank deep, sending splashes to darken his coat. “Mennet? Now you talk of stories and legends.”

“Not all legends are pure fancy,” said Loren.

“Mennet’s are. Do not tell me you believe his tales to be true? It is likely no one named Mennet ever lived at all.”

Loren’s ears burnt, and she glared at the wizard. “Of course he did. There are a thousand tales of him. How could they all be false?”

“How could they all be true? You have lived a life of adventure for months. Have you done even one great deed worthy of a story? Have you had the chance? How could you have a thousand such chances in a lifetime?”

“I am young yet.” The wizard’s words angered her, but she knew not why. Loren supposed she had known some of Mennet’s stories must be flights of fancy, but to doubt his existence? She had never considered that, and she did not like it. Then she remembered how she had escaped from her cell in Cabrus. “And besides, some of his tales are certainly true. I have already used one to escape prison.”

Xain ignored Loren, silent and intent, studying her face as though seeing her for the first time. She found his gaze uncomfortable. His cheeks seemed even more hollow in the dim glow of the fireplace, and his hair had grown thin and stringy. She thought suddenly that he looked like a skull with its skin stretched too tight, a scrap of wig desperately clinging to the top. But as sallow as his face seemed, his eyes had lost none of their vigor. They gleamed brighter than ever and bore the tease of a glow though the man used no magic. A frightening visage, and Loren found herself wishing the wizard would look away.

Quietly he said, “I feel I understand you at last. That day I found you in the woods, you not only sought escape from your home. You meant to find a life of adventure, some mighty quest to lead you across the nine lands in search of fame and glory. You meant to become Mennet.”

Loren scowled and took another sip. “Do not be ridiculous. Mennet had a cloak of shadows and the blessings of the darkness itself. How could I hope to become that?”

Xain laughed again, and this time it left him harsh and scornful. “You prove yourself out. You have already gained for yourself a cloak of deep black and call yourself the Nightblade. Oh, this is rich. You seek to live the fairytale life of a man who never drew breath.”

Loren wanted to strike the wizard and flee from the table. “Because they tell tales of him does not mean he did not live! People tell tales of the Wizard Kings. Do you think they, too, were flights of fancy?”

“You compare our sun to the moons. We still feel the echoes of the Wizard Kings’ power today. Laws exist, written in ancient texts from the days of their dark rule.”

“And a story of Mennet helped me bend bars of steel using only cloth,” said Loren triumphantly.

Xain’s mood darkened further, but he waved a hand in dismissal. “Very well. Believe what you wish, only stop trying to pull me down your mad path of fancy. I would discuss with you another matter.”

It was a poor victory but a victory nonetheless, and Loren let it go. “Very well. What plagues you, wizard?”

Xain leaned forward, and his eyes grew hungry. “After I speak to Jordel, I do not mean to go along with his plan. This you know.”

“Of course,” said Loren, nodding. “Though he may convince you.”

“He will not,” Xain insisted. “I may pledge myself to him anyway—we must escape the city, after all. But he may suspect a trick and so refuse my service.”

Loren knew that for the truth. Xain’s tongue was clumsy as a drunk merchant. “And if he does? What then?”

“I have another plan for escape. But for it to work, I will need another magestone.”

Loren felt her heart skip and did not know why. “Tell me your plan,” she said, not sure how to refuse the wizard outright.

“With the power of a single stone, I could blast a hole in the city wall. Nothing dangerous—just large enough for one to slip through at a time—but enough for the four of us to flee. It would be over in a moment, before the guards could react.”

“And then the armies of Dorsea would widen that crack and come pouring through to kill everyone here.”

Xain blinked. “I had not thought of that. But no, we could do it on the northern side. The Dorseans would have to cross the river to reach it and could not do so before Wellmont sealed the wall behind us.”