Tinkermage (Book 2) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty

Insistent knocking drove the black dream from Nikselpik’s head. He took a deep, tired breath and tried to lift his right arm. That one wouldn’t budge, so he tried the other, with similar results. He sighed, rolled his head to the right, and tried to shift his entire body, but it seemed he was caught tight in the grip of some giant hand, fingers intertwined with his arms and legs and holding him with a god-like strength.

What the futtering Hells?

The knocking came again, almost cutting through his wine-induced sleep-haze. Still senseless, he twisted desperately, his entire body fighting for an inch of freedom. He opened his eyes to darkness. Groaned in aggravation. What was this? What sorcery could this be? His mind panicked at the thought of his enemies having him paralyzed and defenseless. He could see the silhouette of Raulnock and the witch against the cold, gray sky, warping spell magick in their devilish marriage. He heard their laughter in his head, carried on the waves of the witch’s psychic energy. Perhaps they were here with him now…

He jerked, stirred his wellspring… reached out to sense who might be there with him. Faint traces of magick lingered nearby. He could sense it like one might smell a hint of cinnamon from the kitchen while standing in the hall.

But it was the distinguishing smells of his bedchamber that brought him back. Dusty old parchments, musty bed sheets, the off-putting stench of the greasy concoctions he’d put together last night. Yes, he was in his room, and his imprisonment was not the work of a giant or spell or other such treachery. No, it was his own sheets tangling him. He was laying on his left side with his arm pinned beneath him.

Idiot.

“Master Nikselpik.” The rapping came again, patient but firm. It was Tenzic. And the tinges of magick he sensed were from the two master wizards below and likely residue from Tenzic’s scrying.

He began unraveling himself. “I’m awake. What do you want?”

“News, sir.

“What is it?”

“Best if you come down, sir.”

Nikselpik put his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbed the sides of his whiskered face. “Very well. Give me a moment.” He stretched and got to his feet, his body still sore and aching.

After a brief and chilly wash, Nikselpik went into his wardrobe and found what he was looking for: a black robe trimmed with crimson, a scorpion emblazoned on the back. It was something he’d had woven when he was much younger, when his aspirations for a seat on the High Council had seemed more important than anything else in the world. It was a fine garment, worn only once, then hastily put away after Raulnock had called him out during a Guild of High Magick assembly, calling him a silly little gnome whose garments far outshined his ability.

Shamed, Nikselpik had put the robe away forever, vowing to never wear it again, cursing himself and his foolishness for thinking a gnome with such a poor background as he could ever be accepted into the guild. Only Kalaquick and a few others had tried to console him, but it had shown Nikselpik just how frivolous his expectations were.

“Until now, you bastard.” He held it up. It was a beautiful garment made of thickly-woven cloth and dyed deep onyx from the ground-up bodies of Pelorian black bugs, the crimson trim imbued with several drops of swamp elf blood for magickal fortitude. It had cost him everything and then some—he’d had to complete several dangerous quests to afford the final payment.

The garment wasn’t exactly Hightower appropriate, but life in Hightower wasn’t exactly like it used to be either, and it was time for Nikselpik to march to the beat of his own rattledrum from now on whether the High Council accepted him or not.

He transferred all the things from his old robe pockets to his new ones, tossed the threadbare garment in the corner, and went downstairs.

For only being ten o’clock in the morning, his house was impressively busy. Already, the smells of cooking food permeated the air, and voices filled the normally lonely space. It was a strange feeling, having so many gnomes in his house.

At the bottom of the stairs, he peeked into the great room. The hearth was blazing, and a large table comprised of several stacked crates of Perry’s Maze with a piece of wood from his cellar thrown on top, all covered by an old tablecloth, now took up a greater part of the center. Toz and Boovash stood on either side, leaning over what appeared to be a large, heavy parchment near as big as the table itself.

Nikselpik wanted to go inside and take a closer look, but the aromas coming from the kitchen steered him in that direction instead; that, and he needed a strong cup of snolt before he’d be able to get into anything serious.

Lili sat at the kitchen table, talking animatedly with another gnomestress sitting across from her about the fight at the Golden Cog. As Nikselpik entered, she stopped. The other gnomestress took her cue and turned on the wooden bench.

“Hi, Nik!” It was Madesa, her high, cheerful voice running through him like a nail, at the same time never sounding so sweet. She stood and gave Nikselpik a solid hug and, to his surprise, he hugged her back with almost as much enthusiasm. She let him go and sat back down. “Lili and I were just talking about you.”

“My reputation in these parts is growing, no doubt. Please, feel free to discuss my growing prowess, liable free, of course.”

The two ladies looked at one another, then giggled through clenched lips.

Changing the subject, Nikselpik said, “Lili, what is that you’re cooking? I’ve never smelled anything like it.”

Lili shrugged. “Don’t look at me.” She pointed toward the stove.

Tenzic stood over the stove, still wearing his gigantic scryer’s helmet as he busied himself with spatula and skillet. The scryer scooped sizzling eggs on the flat end of his spatula and tossed them over with expert grace. He turned, his smile seemingly too big for his face.

“A scryer and a cook, eh?”

“Learned early on, sir. A lot like magick, is cooking. Finding the right ingredients. Having the right touch.”

“See, Nik,” Lili said, “you could learn a thing or two from Tenzic. Would love for you to try some of that cooking magick out on me.”

Madesa’s soft nicker disarmed Nikselpik’s retort, and he let the words die. He turned back to the stove and surveyed more things cooking in multiple pans across the burners. To be quite honest, he was surprised the stove actually worked. Damn thing was likely three hundred years old, and Tock knew he’d never cooked on it. Still, it was a pleasant surprise and he motioned to Tenzic. “If you’re so inclined, lad, I could use a plate of whatever you’re making.”

“I’d be honored, sir.”

Something small bounced off of his head.
What now?
Interestingly enough, his natural inclination to lash out wasn’t there. Likely the result of a full night’s sleep in his own bed after a very satisfying evening of study. Still, he couldn’t let the crime go unpunished. He started to address the offender as he turned but a familiar voice arrested him.

“He’s thinking of a spell to unleash on me, I know it.” The wizard leaning against the pantry door, munching from a handful of nuts, grinned from ear-to-ear.

“Kalaquick, you irreverent arse! How good it is to see you, my friend.” Nikselpik went to him and clasped his hand. Under his breath and close to his friend’s pointy ear, he said, “I must thank you for procuring those
items
for me. They’re quite informative.”

Kalaquick matched his tone. “You’re toying with dangerous writings, my friend.”

Nikselpik patted Kalaquick’s shoulder. “Help yourself to whatever you see.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Kalaquick said and plopped down close to Madesa.

“I meant… oh, never mind.” Nikselpik chuckled as he accepted a cup of snolt from Tenzic, and since there was scant room at the kitchen table he went into the great room, where the two master wizards were poring over the large parchment. He sidled up next to Toz, squinting down at what appeared to be a detailed map of Hightower. It looked old and was missing some of the newer construction areas in the West End and Iron Industry but was fairly accurate for the most part. The wizards were placing copper coins all around the map.

“I’ve been told there’s news?”

Boovash, the taller and cleaner cut of the two wizards, said, “Raulnock has been busy.”

“Bastard’s trying to sabotage us,” Toz said, sounding like he held his own personal grudge against the former First Wizard.

“What’s that?”

“Two days ago, we found two supply wagons burned to cinders right outside the Harper’s Supply.”

Toz added, “And this morning, the same thing. Only this time, it happened right outside the gates of Precisor Hall. Those were supplies headed out to Rad’s, where Dale has his forward camp. All-in-all, not a huge loss, but something that’s become quite an annoyance.”

“Could have been anyone,” Nikselpik said, then took a sip of snolt.

“No, they found puddles of crud amidst the cinders.”

Nikselpik nodded. “Crud, eh? Then likely it
is
the work of Raulnock and his nasty friend.”

Tenzic popped in with a plate of eggs and two fat pieces of
grote
, which were beef and oat patties cooked until they were crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside. Grote had been a staple food source during the lean years of Hightower’s establishment. Now, the greasy patties were often spiced to searing goodness. Nikselpik’s mouth watered and he pulled up a chair at the corner of the table and dug in.

The scryer said, “Actually, there have been quite a few strange happenings over the past few weeks, but we didn’t corroborate them until Raulnock showed himself at the Golden Cog, possessed, as we now know, by an amorph.”

“Not
an
amorph,” Nikselpik said between mouthfuls. “
The
amorph. Their witch, or Princess Bitch, or whatever in the futtering Hells you want to call her.”

“Right. Well, we figure the possession must have occurred a week or so after the victory at Harwood Lake. Up until that time, the former First Wizard had spent most of his time sulking in his home…”

“His rather substantial home.”

“… and trying to win back his mistress, Ada. We were concerned at one point he might try to burn her mother’s home to the ground.”

“I saw some of that during the fight at the Cog when I… when I touched their minds.” He smirked at the troubled looks coming from the two wizards. “Don’t ask. But trust me when I say the witch sought him out. Maybe she sensed his power. Maybe she somehow read my thoughts during our previous meetings and knew something about the former First Wizard, that he would be an easy target for possession. I don’t know.”

Tenzic nodded. “And judging from the state of the corpse of her former host, she was due for a new body.”

“Oh, she got a proper trade, that’s for sure. Now, he’s not only a danger to me but to our very efforts to protect Hightower.”

“Aye,” Toz said. “Plus he’s a complete troll-faced bastard.”

“That’s been established.”

Tenzic started to say something else but was interrupted by a hammering coming from outside—from the back yard, it seemed.

“What in Tock’s name?”

“As I mentioned yesterday, sir. A makeshift shelter for the ponies.”

“Why?”

“We’ll have messengers coming and going, and we’ll need ponies at the ready should we need to ride out quickly.”

“Ah.” Nikselpik nodded like it all made perfect sense even though it really didn’t.

Tenzic could see him struggling with the information. “You see here, sir.” He placed his finger at a point on the map just northeast of the city where an illustrated tower perched on a cliff overlooking the Iron Industry River, where the gnomish-built channel directed the surly river down from the high hills to the Sea of Wailing.

“Elwray Stormcranker’s tower.”

“Correct. We have set up a wizard seat there, comprised of Masters Elwray, Spanski, and Seether, along with many others.” His finger slid down the map, resting on an approximation of his own home. “The other is…”

“Right here.”

“Correct.”

So Nikselpik’s home was to be a type of headquarters. A wizard seat, Tenzic had called it. He understood—or at least was beginning to understand—the art of fighting, although it certainly seemed like everyone else was far ahead of him in that regard. “Yes, we cannot have every Master Wizard packed into one area, not with Raulnock running loose in the city. I get it.”

His eyes roamed around the map, thinking of all the possible places Raulnock could be. And could it be possible that Raulnock’s goal was indeed sabotage rather than Nikselpik’s destruction? He had his doubts about that, for despite Raulnock’s wicked cleverness, he was quite obtuse. In a duel of minds, he was sure the witch would have long ago taken control of their symbiotic relationship.

“So we agree that sabotage is the motive?”

“Aye,” Toz said.

Boovash sat back in his own chair, mulling the question. He was a plain-looking fellow with a shiny bald head and a long, braided goatee, and an altogether serious fellow who Nikselpik had yet to see crack a smile. “I would have to think so,” he also agreed.