Tinkermage (Book 2) (15 page)

She approached, fearful of startling them, yet they took no notice of her even when she came within a few feet. Both children wore trousers and long shirts, and they were shoe-less. They seemed to be playing just fine together: exactly how she remembered.

Then little Nika looked up with a glum, troubled expression. Her eyes became distant, here jaw slackened as in a stupor. Her brother picked up on the expression, his own face displaying a hint of fear and uncertainty. It was clear he’d seen this before.

“Sissy,” he said hesitantly. “Are you…?”

A grin spread across little Nika’s face. Her eyes changed from pale hazel to fiery gold. It was a look of wickedness she didn’t remember ever having.

Little Nik got to his feet and sprinted through the sand as Nika stood, her chin down, fingers splayed open at her sides. Even through memory Niksabella felt the powerful vibrations growing. Little Nika’s hands flew up and made a circular motion, and a sudden wind whipped ahead of her, whisked her brother’s feet from under him, causing him to land with a painful thud.

Little Nik spit sand as he slowly got to his knees. “No more, sissy. Please!”

“Oh yes, more, little brother. More and more again.”

“What did I do? I’m sorry! Whatever I did I—”

“What does it matter?” little Nika shrieked.

Niksabella watched in horror as the smaller version of herself stalked her quavering brother. The young Nika seemed to float atop the sand, a tiny menace in a raggedy dress. Niksabella was aghast. “Stop it,” she said to her younger self, but she didn’t hear. They couldn’t hear her, couldn’t see her. Then Niksabella spotted a shadow sliding through the shallow surf. A feeling of terror overwhelmed her.
What is that thing?

She took two steps after her smaller self, reaching out. “Stop…” But it was only a dream, a remembrance. She was not even here.

Little Nika fixed her brother with fierce, flaring eyes.

Then Nik snarled in return, bringing his own tiny power to bear. “Fine!” he yelled, and lifted his hands. The sand around him rippled, shot from the ground in a dangerous spray and hurled at young Nika. The effect would have stunned or disabled any Hightower wizard of the second or third order, but young Nika’s pet wind rose up and blew the concentrated attack into a harmless cloud of sand.

In that instant, Niksabella’s entire view of her brother changed. She was intensely proud of him for standing up for himself.
That snarl
—to have dealt with so much power so young. It no longer surprised her that he’d gone on to become such a strong soul, that he’d defeated the amorph witch, then went directly after that into a duel with First Wizard Raulnock—and defeated him!

There was a monster inside Nikselpik, and she’d helped to create it.
She?
Just as Niksabella believed her brother’s living vision to be true, that she’d somehow stalked and tormented him as a child—
how often?
—she, too, was positive that some alien force had possessed her, guided her actions. Little Nika’s mannerisms, even her voice, were not her own. It was a relief at first, then a horrible revelation. She felt sick.

A tickle of suspicion picked at the edges of her mind, pulling threads into frayed ends. Then her brother’s muffled scream tore through her reverie. Niksabella scanned the beach, saw the fight had taken the siblings to the ocean’s edge. Dark waves deposited clinging tendrils of seaweed and kelp around little Nik’s skinny legs, drawing him into the depths. He fell face-down. His fingers dragged runnels in the wet sand, and he begged his sister to stop, but she hunted him, arms wide as she manipulated elements she should not have been able to budge, her skirts swirling around her feet in the frothing surf.

Waves rose up and smashed Nikselpik with brutal force, battering his head and face. He choked as he swallowed salt water and sand.

Niksabella ran towards them, searching for her own wellspring, cursing herself for not having the skills to stop the little wretch. To stop herself. “You stupid child, leave him alone! Leave my brother alone!”

Just as she reached her smaller self, the diminutive head turned, hair billowing, and fixed Niksabella with burning, fearless eyes, her irises swirling in a kaleidoscope of blazing color. Worlds spun behind those eyes, places so alien Niksabella couldn’t begin to understand them. Ultraworlds.

Niksabella fell to her knees in the sand, fear in her blood, terror in her mind. She screamed…

… and jerked away from her brother. Not her little brother, but the real Nik. She looked at him and saw his face wet with tears. Her own cheeks were wet as well, and she gulped. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Nik!”

She pulled him into a hug and cried into his shoulder. Her brother held her, as well.

“Now I know, sissy. It wasn’t you,” he said into her hair, his breath tickling her ear.

“I… I would never…”

“You would never do such a thing. I know it now.”

They parted, but held hands. “These memories, once put away in some deep place and forgotten, are now clear to me,” she told him, sniffling.

“Who then? Or what? What could have given you such power and the cruel will to use it at that age?”

Niksabella wiped her face on her sleeve. “I have an idea. It warrants more investigation, but once I know exactly who is responsible for ruining our lives I promise you, brother… I promise to make things right, to mend the rift they caused between us.”

“Gods help us all,” Nik said with a smile.

Niksabella smiled back. “Gods help us.” And she pulled her little brother, the surly older one and the adorable, blond-locked gnomeling, into another tight embrace.

Chapter Eighteen

Nikselpik led their entourage out the back way, through the laundry where stewards sent baskets of soiled linens down mechanized tracks to the basement, then through the kitchen, where great spits of meat roasted and the quiet clatter of dishes marked the afternoon slowdown. The staff kept their distance out of fear or respect. Nikselpik didn’t much care.

Word had already spread about yesterday’s combat, about the former First Wizard possessed and loose in the city, ghoulishly lurking around every corner, waiting on careless souls to pass, turning anyone he met to ash. Perhaps that last part was a stretch, but if it kept folk out of Raulnock’s and the amorph witch’s destructive path, all the better. At least until they could be driven from hiding.

In the delivery room, where a line of tube stations jutted from the north wall, they found a lad fussing at one of the delivery ports. He was opening and shutting the tube door, cursing while pumping a lever that was causing the track inside to jerk and rattle.

“What are you doing, lad?”

The gnome had been so intent on his work that he’d not even seen them approach, and he spun around, slamming against the table. “Why, hello, sir. Ladies. I’m trying to deliver a tray of niblets to room seventy-two, but the delivery mechanism seems jammed. I told Jowell about this, but he hasn’t seen to its repair yet.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just take it up by hand?”

“Well, that would defeat the idea of using the track, sir. Begging your pardon.”

“Normally, yes, but… since the track is broken…” Nikselpik shook his head. “Oh, never mind. Carry on.” And they left the delivery room, went down a long hallway, and exited the hotel through the back door. A handful of cooks and stewards stood outside, playing neplers or talking softly amongst themselves. Several looked up. One fellow sat splayed on pile of barrels, hands resting on his messy apron, shoulders slumped. He reached up and removed a short, curved pipe from his crooked mouth at the same time exhaling a plume of dark smoke. Probably a cook or dish shiner.

“You that wizard?” he said.

Nikselpik could have walked past without a word, but the fellow’s tone made him stop.

“What wizard would that be?”

“The one gave Raulnock some knocks.”

“I defeated
him
. Fair and square. You have a complaint?”

The cook shrugged. “No complaints here, mate. More inclined to give you my thanks. My pa was run out of business by that stripped gear of a wizard, and that’s why I’m left here cookin’ for Jowell and not runnin’ the family business. I was the one sent up all those meals fit for kings.”

“So all those pastries aren’t usual fare around here, eh?”

“Sure they are, mate.”

Nikselpik nodded his thanks and continued on. They rounded the corner of the main hall, moving left around the back and planning to trudge through the snow to Hightower Lane, when Jancy landed on the ground directly next to him, causing him to jump sideways and do a strange little jig to avoid falling on his arse. “By Tick and Tock, Jancy! Do you really need to do that to me every Gods-be-damned time?”

“Sorry.” Her hand went to the bandage covering the right side of her face, touching it gently. It was almost an unconscious act. “I feel fine, by the way. Fara says I heal well.”

“But still wearing a bandage, I see.”

“There’s a little healing left to do…”

Nikselpik understood all too well. His entire life was nothing but bandages covering all the scars and rotten parts. Only pull one up to reveal the pockmarks and stench.

“I suspect her fast healing is thanks to her lineage,” Fara said. “Which, of course, she won’t tell us.”

Lili took Jancy’s hands in her own. “It’s good to see you hopping about, you sneaky thing.”

Jancy shot her a half smile and gave Nikselpik a head motion toward the front of the building. “No need to walk. We have ponies around front.”

“We?”

“Yes, myself and your guards.”

“My guards?”

“We have guards?” Lili clapped her hands lightly. “How important are we, eh, Nik?”

“Dale and Elwray insisted,” Jancy said.

“I see.” Nikselpik sniffed and rubbed his nose. While he wasn’t happy about gnomes following him about and getting under his robes, he could certainly use the protection. And a pony ride home was certainly more favorable than walking. “Are they annoying?”

“Who?” Jancy looked at him and blinked.

“The guards.”

She snickered. “They’re gnomes.”

The group nodded collectively.

Then they followed Jancy around front to find two precisors wearing light armor etched with sigils and three wizards wearing the robes of the Guild of High Magick—a shade of blue darker than what Hightower clerics wore, with patches on their breast to denote rank: golden lightning bolts over an upside down triangle shape that was supposed to signify a heart. Raulnock’s old faction.

“Five dolts on ponies seems a bit much,” Nikselpik said aside to Lili, who merely nodded in agreement.

“I don’t know, Nik” Fara said in low tones. “Given our former First Wizard’s newest ‘ally,’ seems appropriate enough to me.”

One of the wizards wore a scryer’s helmet. It was a large, copper tuning assembly woven into a leather harness and chin strap. The scrying stone itself pulsed with a faint, bluish light where it rested inside the array’s crystal casing. Two brass antenna-like appendages bent downward to bracket the gnome’s temples. A thick pair of blue-tinged goggles hung around his neck.

Nikselpik grinned despite himself.

“Hello,” the scryer greeted them, his high-pitched voice at odds with his appearance.

Nikselpik pointed at the fellow’s helmet. “That’s an older model. A Wiznapper 76. Where’d you get that?”

The fellow, a lad really (couldn’t be any older than thirty years), looked down with a blush of pride. “It’s my great grandfather’s,” he said. “Model A7704.”

Nikselpik felt a shock of surprise, found himself gaping at the youngster. “They only made seven of those! Used ‘em against the orcs in the Great Southern Push. Caught one especially crafty high shaman. Sathvessir, I believe his name was.”

The wizard grinned, his eyes alight. “This helmet’s the very one that got him!”

“I’ll be futtered sideways! Any fellow not afraid to put on an A7704 is a respectable gnome by my standards. What’s your name?” Nikselpik reached up to shake his hand.

“Tenzic, sir. Tenzic Mindzpry.”

“Mindzpry?” Nikselpik gave a genuine laugh at the obviously tailor-made cognomen if ever there was one.

Tenzic smiled back as he shook Nikselpik’s hand, then he introduced the rest of the group. The two precisor guards were twins, brother and sister, Elkian and Losizza. The two wizards were, surprisingly, Academy Masters, as indicated by the four lightning bolts etched into the front of their robes. Toz and Boovash were their names, and they were serious-looking fellows, Toz looking to be the more eccentric of the two, with his spiky leather helm and caster’s mitts.

“Quite an array of spitters we have here,” Nikselpik said. The two wizards frowned at the common term for ‘wizard’ but bowed their heads to him all the same.

“Let’s be off,” one of them said.

So they mounted up, Lili requiring assistance from Jancy (which she accepted with a giggle), and they were on their way. As they rode the high ridge of Hightower Hill, Nikselpik looked down at the sea. Out there, above the cold black, he’d defeated the alien witch. At least it had played out that way in the collective amorph mind. Still, the icy waters had seemed so real, so deadly, wrapping him in an icy blanket until he went numb and could barely move. And that’s where he’d left them, the amorphs, trapped, writhing in the bed of agony he’d made. A little taste of what they’d been giving to the Southland farmers the past couple of months. A good helping of fear and terror, the subjugation of the entire amorph hive mind by one gnome.

Me.

Nikselpik turned in his saddle and looked back at the Golden Cog Inn, taking in the quaint front with its steep, snow-dusted roof and large, square windows that shed such brilliant light into the great room and the tavern section. He looked up at the long row of guest rooms facing the sea. He wished he’d spent more time appreciating the view. Three hundred years or more of haughty drifters, emissaries from all corners of Sullenor, and heavy drinkers had been through the Golden Cog’s doors.

And I didn’t get to enjoy a single futtering ale. One day I’ll be back, and I’ll drink every futtering patron under the damned tables.

Navigating the streets of Hightower became a surreal experience. He’d not been out since the duel, and many of the gnomes in the streets looked at him, some tipping their caps or nodding in some bizarre modicum of respect. He even received a few encouraging shouts. There was not a single glare. No gnomestresses edging young ones beneath their skirts. He suddenly became aware of his own raggedy robe and wondered if he shouldn’t find something a little more becoming.

Already thinking like a fancy arse…

He shook his head. No, what ultimately mattered was the gnome beneath the robes, the iron-clad will, the willingness to take chances others wouldn’t even consider. Sure, easy to do when he was unhindered by rank or rule, just some outcast lobbing caution to the wind whenever a gust blew by. But now, he felt a new responsibility bearing down on him. As unpracticed as he was, his passion for the craft remained unmatched as far as he was concerned(and hadn’t he proven it now?), his hard work and his victories only cemented his place among the defenders of Hightower’s elite. His accomplishments had made him a
leader
, something he knew almost nothing about.

In either case, wouldn’t hurt to replace this old robe, comfy as it is. I’ll start with something fresh. Or maybe something that was put away a long time ago perhaps?

As they came to the end of Hightower Lane they approached the circular-shaped Eye. Nikselpik rode ahead, calling over his shoulder: “Jancy! A word.”

In a matter of seconds, the girl was trotting alongside him, looking comfortable if not a little silly sitting on the small pony, her bony legs bunched up where she crouched in the saddle. “What?”

He started to speak, but the words he’d planned to say stuck in his throat. He turned his face away, glared at the mansions that went by as his eyes misted up.

“You okay?” Jancy leaned forward in the saddle, trying to meet his gaze. “Nik?”

Dammit. Quit muddling around before you become a boohooing, snot-faced bairn!

“Just wanted to say, uh, you’ve served me admirably… and I… well I never had such a reliable retainer and friend.”

“That’s nice of you to say. I don’t think you’ve ever said
anything
that
nice to me. Please, go on.”

“Go on? Yes. Right. What I’m trying to say is… while I appreciate your service, I’m now relieving you of your duties. You are free to go with no further obligation to me.”

Jancy nodded a little as she sucked at her teeth, then looked at him. “You can’t relieve me, Nik. Sorry.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Well, you’ve only paid me a quarter of what you owe me, so…” She gave a small shrug as if to say
you’re stuck with me ‘til we settle up, boyo
.

Nikselpik blustered. “Of course, of course. I will pay you in full, yes, and an additional three gold on top of it.”

“Three extra? You must be feeling especially appreciative… or perhaps guilty?”

His head whipped around. Keeping his voice down so the others wouldn’t hear, he said, “Why would I feel guilty?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re pretty hard to keep out of trouble. And I got hurt trying to protect you. Don’t worry, this only shows you like me, Nik. It feels good. I like you, too.”

“That’s ridic… well, I like you of course, Jancy, but you’re paid well for what you do. Professional rates.”

“Of course, sir. Very good, sir. Paid extremely well for my services, sir.”

“Oh, no need to be smart about it,” he said.

“Professional, too. I’ve learned from the best, sir.”

“Jancy, I’m trying to…”

She tried to stifle her laughter and he scowled and kicked his pony forward. Jancy kept pace. He turned to her and wilted her smirk with his glare as she did her best to wipe away her smile.

Nik sighed. “I want to know how you’re
really
doing.”

She touched the side of her face. “I feel fine. Not sure how it’s going to look.”

“Well, there’s nothing to worry about. Fara is the best.”

“I know. She told me I could have taken the bandage off an hour after her healing, but I… I suppose I’m being vain. I never much cared about superficial things before, but now…” She raised her face to the wind as if to freeze her rising emotions.

Nikselpik took the opportunity to gaze at her unabashedly. Her long nose sloping gracefully downward, her set jaw, her eyes almost feline in their soft slant. A light spattering of freckles across her cheeks. Her silken white hair. Rebellious. Strong. He couldn’t quite pin the feeling except to think that if he ever had a daughter, he would be proud if she was half like Jancy.