Tinkermage (Book 2) (6 page)

He shrugged. “A leap ain’t worth taking unless it lands you in
some
sort of trouble.”

Sometime later, a bustling came from down the hallway, boots tromping, an angry voice cursing. A shout rang out, and what sounded like a scuffle ensued right outside the door. Nikselpik slipped the book beneath his sheet and was just about to get out of bed when the door burst open.

Precisor General Dale Dillwind entered the room, followed by that unsavory gnomestress from before, a scruffy-looking gal with short, lank hair. A handful of precisors filed in behind them, two holding one of Termund’s kin, a red-faced and huffing Flay, between them.

The little bitch sneered at him, made a “come here” motion with two fingers, and said, “On your feet, wizard.”

Chapter Seven

Dale looked absolutely weary. His short crop of hair had grown out disheveled, matted to his head with sweat and grime and possibly… was that blood? Apart from that was the alarming amount of dents in his armor.

By this time, the gnomestress was gripping the hilt of her sword with one hand, her other gripping the wooden bed frame, eyes boring into him expectantly. “I said, ‘On your feet.’“

That one looks like trouble. More “official” than she needs to be.

Nikselpik settled back in the bed and plucked at his sheet, ignoring the gnomestress and knowing full well she might just try to run him through. “Dale, good to see you again. Forgive me if I don’t get up, but I’ve had a bit of a bug.” No one laughed at the pun—
disappointing
—so he went on. “Oh, by the way, you can let that one go. He’s fairly harmless… until he gets his sword in his hand.” Nikselpik had no clue whether or not Flay could fight, but the Thrasperville gnome backed his boast.

“They’re lucky it just used my fists,” he said, “as I was in a peaceable mood.”

The dark-haired gnomestress shot Flay a surly glance. “He failed to comply with a direct order from the precisor general.”

Dale sighed. “That was
your
order, Roweiga, not mine.”

“In matters of your personal security, sir…”

“Just let the fellow go. And leave Nik alone.”

The guards released Flay in a huff, and he looked back and forth between the two as if he might take a swing at one or both. He stood straight, puffed his chest, and addressed Nikselpik. “You going to be all right, sir?”

“I believe so. I trust Dale is only here to check on my wellbeing and not to arrest me for something I forgot I did.”

Flay gave one of the guards another look, straightened his jerkin, and sauntered out of the room. After the door had been firmly shut, Nikselpik shot Dale a knowing grin. “Imagine that, Dale. I have my own bodyguard now—” An itch tickled in his chest, and he coughed to clear it. “Raulnock would be jealous.”

Dale grinned back and rested his hands on the footboard. “You’ve come a long way, my friend. How are you feeling?”

“Freshly run over by a herd of cattle. Squeezed through a steel shaper. Dumped on by a manure cart, dragged through the mud by a—”

“Can I get you anything?”

“An ale. A tall, cold tankard. My mouth is watering at the thought.” And it
was
.

“I’ll check with Fara and Lili on that one. I take it you are being well taken care of?”

It’s certain. I’ll need to get that tankard myself.

“Almost too well, if you really want to know the truth. They say I’ll be up and about in a few days. I’m sure by then, you’ll have some horrendous task for me. Something that puts my life in grave danger, no doubt. Most of my burns have healed on my right side, but I could use some on the left to complete the—”

Dale held up his hand, face stern. “Everyone, leave us.”

The surly lass took a protesting posture. “But sir…”

“First Officer Roweiga. That is a direct order.”

“When it comes to matters of your safety, it’s—”

“Will you stand by and hold it while I go for a piss? Mayhap you will be in the bedchamber when I’m cozying with my wife tonight?”

Roweiga’s mouth worked silently. She wanted to argue further, he could tell, but wasn’t sure where to draw the line.
Testing the waters.

“A bit of privacy, please!”

“Honestly I wouldn’t mind being in the bedchamber when you’re cozying up tonight,” Nikselpik added.

Roweiga shot him a spiky glare and withdrew from the room along with the other two guards. After they’d gone, Dale’s shoulders slumped, and he exhaled a grand sigh. “May I sit?”

“Of course.” Nikselpik motioned to Lili’s chair.

Dale flopped into it. “She’s impossible. Thwarting me at every turn.”

“Who is she?”

“Just a puffed up officer bent on driving me insane.”

“She certainly has a commanding presence. Forgive me for saying so, but she’s rather obnoxious. And seems to have a rebellious streak to her.” Nikselpik thought about it. “Actually, she sounds a lot like me. I suppose I shouldn’t be the one to talk.”

“You share some of those traits, but this one beats you in every category. She’s relentless. Like a cat underfoot. Worse, like a dog who thinks it’s a cat underfoot. A vicious dog. I’m not sure why I keep her as first officer.”

Nikselpik hid his disappointment at being outdone by this lass, but Dale seemed genuinely distressed. “Send her to guard sheep. Alone. Or on border patrol with a heatstick and a prayer. Let her deal with some orcs. Teach her some humility.”

“She’s actually an excellent fighter. Highly recommended by my staff. Her family has served in the precisor ranks for decades. Seemed a good fit at the time.”

Nikselpik didn’t like asking the next question, but he sensed something
off
about Dale. A bit of sorrow around the edges. He was worn. Tired. “What happened to Roto?”

The precisor general replied as if he’d been expecting the question, but he couldn’t keep the weariness from his eyes. “The lake. We went to the lake. It was just as you said. We killed it, but Roto… didn’t make it.”

Nikselpik felt himself opening up to Dale, a natural empathy for his loss. Nikselpik had certainly lost his share of companions. Nikselpik’s deadspeak spoke. Interesting. Bits of the old officer lingered around Dale like the smell of perfume that remained after a hug with a pretty gnomestress. Nikselpik sensed Roto’s stubbornness, his bull-headed attention to life. Nikselpik sensed his friend’s spirit was part of what kept Dale on his feet.

While he couldn’t glean more than that about Roto’s death, this was the first time in a while Nikselpik had felt his
deadspeak
so acutely and so long after someone’s death.
And that the dead could still affect the living
. Could his powers, his necromantic ones, have grown in all this?

He said, “Roto had no love for me, but he was important to this city. Even I could see that. A good officer.”

They sat in silence for several long moments. It seemed to Nikselpik that Dale was struggling with something,
many
somethings.

After several long moments, the precisor general snapped out of it and slapped himself on the knee. “So, my friend, how long until you’re back on your feet? Since you mentioned it, I could use you at my side.”

Nikselpik shook his head. “I just woke up. I haven’t had time to even think about it. My magick… I’m not quite sure where to pick up.”

“It’s
your
magick. Don’t you know?”

“It isn’t like that. Magick depends on the mind and heart of the wielder. My head hurts. My confidence…”

Dale smiled and patted his hilt. “Steel is no different. I’ve doubted myself too, especially lately. But it didn’t keep me from drawing my sword.”

Nikselpik nodded, conceding the point.

“If not at my side, then perhaps at the High Council? I hear that once you’re fully recovered, Elwray will offer you the position of First Wizard. I suggest you take it.”

Strange, hearing that. It was something Nikselpik had always wanted before. Why wasn’t he elated at the thought? “That’s something to consider. And I will. Consider it.” He caught Dale’s eye. The precisor general’s look was cold yet, somehow, friendly. Nikselpik shook his head. “You’re going to tell me I don’t have a choice.”

Dale chuckled and slapped the bed. “Of course you do. Just not much of one.”

A slight tremor of mirth wiggled in Nikselpik’s chest, and for the first time in a long time, he laughed without coughing up his lungs.

“In all seriousness, Nik. I have news. There have been reports of strange creatures running amok throughout the realm. Not orcs, not treeboars or trolls. Not even those bloody amorphs. Other things. Things like what the amorphs abandoned at Ribbon’s place. Creatures from some other world.”

“The ultraworlds.”

“That’s what Elwray said. One of our scouting parties in the Southern Reaches gave chase to a great red stag. Thing was huge. Could run like the damn wind.”

“Strange. But still, an animal.”

“It led them into a narrow gully where a half dozen came at them from the front and rear. I lost two precisors before the rest could fight free.”

“A trap?”

“Yes. Organized scouting parties. We’re being watched. Tested. That’s why I need you.”

Nikselpik understood, even though a small part of him felt like gathering up his things and fleeing once and for all. Ah, but after all these years, Hightower had finally grown on him.
More like in you. Like a damn thorn!
Strange, after beating Raulnock and solidifying a potential position on the High Council (as First Wizard, no less!), Nikselpik never felt more unsure of himself. He desperately wanted to speak to Nika for some reason.

“I’ve sent a half-dozen aerostats—anything that would fly—to the far corners of Sullenor. Their mission is to seek help from the humans, dwarves, Pelorians… anyone who will listen. Even the swamp elves.”

“That serious?”

“Why take any chances? All the evidence points to heightened hostilities. I just don’t know how or when.”

“Where did you find that many aerostat captains?”

The precisor general chuckled. “Pulled captains and crew right off the decks of their ships and re-assigned them to the skies. I’ve got one of my best on her way to pay a visit to the swamp elves.”

“You’ll be lucky to get her back then. Who is it?”

“Stena Wavebreaker.”

Nikselpik couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Stena Wavebreaker. One of the nastiest, most impressive sailors he’d ever met who could down a tankard and smash you in the face with it a second later. “Stubborn and disciplined, that one. I’ve had an ale or three with that gal. She can drink me under the table twice over. Wouldn’t call us friends, but we sure ain’t enemies. Tough lady, right there. If anyone can wring some help out of those filthy bastards, it’s Stena.”

“That’s what I thought. When I first asked her—” Dale was interrupted by another commotion at the door. This time, the shouts ended as abruptly as they began. The door swung open, and Roweiga was pushed through.

“Sir…”

“Roweiga, what now?”

“I’ve been… I’ve been disarmed, sir.” Nikselpik expected her to look put off. Hardly so. She looked puzzled.

“By who?”

A tall, thin girl entered the room, hardly needing to duck to fit under the door frame—luckily, old gnomish architecture was on the side of
big
, perfectly comfortable for humans or elves.
“By me,” the girl said, and tossed Roweiga’s sword across the room.

“Jancy!” Nikselpik hadn’t seen much of her since he’d gone off to the Southland Farms with Dale, and he could hardly contain his emotions. She looked beautiful. Vengeful, even, with those shining green eyes that could split stone with their glare. And those blades at her side never failed to give him chills (a hard thing to do). His sister was on Jancy’s heels, her face red with aggravation.

“Sorry, Nik.” Jancy shrugged, her colorless hair brushing over the tight leather jerkin she wore. “This one wouldn’t let us in. And the way your
kin
have treated you… I assumed you were in some kind of trouble.”

Dale nodded, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Understandable. Jancy, is it? Rest assured, I’m only here as a friend. Nik and I fought together at Swicki Forest. Please, forgive my first officer.”

Jancy gave a slight nod in return.

“Sister! You’re a delightful sight for these world-weary eyes. Come closer.”

Instead Nika fixed him with an unexpected scowl. Her aggravation was likely due to missing some screws or cogs or some other tinkerer’s lament. “You’ve been busy, brother.” She glanced around the room, between Dale and Roweiga and the other precisors that had filed in. “We need to talk.”

“Busy? I’ve been unconscious! What sort of talk?”

“We
all
need to talk,” Dale interrupted. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do. That is, after someone brings up a few pots of snolt. There are some important things we need to discuss. The future of this city and the lives of everyone residing within it.” He looked at Roweiga. “Working as a team against our enemies rather than against ourselves would be a good start. A word with you outside, first officer.”