Tinkermage (Book 2) (9 page)

A slow waft of steam rose from the top of Seether’s cup, nearly imperceptible. He’d reheated his tea!
Nice trick.

Seether said, “In one recent battle, the stonekin staged a
defeat
where many of their lives were lost. One stonekin, the one I mentioned called Jontuk, agreed to escape through a gate I built, feigning his own death in order to escape the Baron’s scrying eyes. To fully understand this sacrifice, you have to know the stonekin. They barely understand defeat. They
despise
it. They would rather tear their own hearts out than willingly give up a fight.”

Seether was right. He could picture stubborn Jontuk raging inwardly (as well as outwardly), at what he’d had to do, and now, the giant depended on complete strangers, very small strangers, to save his people.
And I led him on for so long, it truly, truly is a wonder he didn’t splat me like some shit-licking fly.

Niksabella sat next to Termund on the windowsill. She took his hand as if seeking some comfort, but that didn’t seem to alleviate her troubled appearance. Her lips remained pursed, her eyes downcast. And at that moment, Nikselpik knew she’d already met Jontuk somehow. Every mention of the stonekin’s name caused her pointy ears to twitch. Perhaps the giant had finally elected to go to her directly.
Good for you, Jontuk. The secret is out. But how can my sister, and her device, help? And what kind of danger is she in?

For now, he’d have to settle for watching his sister stew with the knowledge. The entertainment value alone was helping him keep his mind off that persistent bug itch. He said, “Sounds rather forward-thinking for rock people,”

“To be sure, it took a great leap of faith—faith in the Prophetess, faith in your kind, for the stonekin to come all this way.”

“More like desperation,” Etty chided. “So, you made a gate, and the two of you stepped through… to here. To our little world of Sullenor. More specifically, Hightower, where you may or may not have found some special gnomestress who may or may not save these stonekin, who we’ve never seen. And you won’t give us her name? Smells like rotten fish guts to me.”

Seether leaned over his mug, looking around the table, his eyes finally coming to rest on Etty. “We came here together, yes, and not only are we going to save the stonekin, we’re going to bloody the Baron’s nose while doing so.”

“The Baron sounds absolutely dreadful,” Lili said. “Those poor rock people.”

“Yes, those poor rock people.” Etty tapped his mug on the table, which was really beginning to annoy the piss out of everyone else, it seemed. Nik even saw Dale lowering his brows at the cleric. “Provided what we’re getting is the complete truth, which I doubt. What about
our
people? Are you taking responsibility for the gnomes that have perished as a result of this little quest?”

“Sadly, I cannot deflect responsibility for the Baron’s incursion or the amorphs. Any misery you’ve endured, any
death
, I am truly sorry. But… it was necessary.”

The table erupted with curses. Even the Thrasperville gnomes, Flay and Terrence, glowered across the table. Dale and Justin remained customarily stoic, measuring and waiting.

Uncle Brit quivered with anger. “That’s a tough statement for us to swallow, mister. And now you come here seeking our help?”

“Indeed!” Etty yelled. “How dare you?”

The
shaaaang
of a blade leaving its sheath caused everyone’s head to turn. Roweiga’s voice was tense with authority, her eyes burning as she glared at Seether still seated at the table. Light glinted off her steel like the glimmer of gnome justice. “I’ll take his head, Precisor General, sir. Just say the word!”

Chapter Eleven

Dale took two steps and held his first officer’s sword hand. “No heads will fly in here. I imagine taking it would be a difficult enough feat.”

“She’ll have my help,” Etty said, his glare locked on the man.

“And Mister Seether here will have mine.” The words popped out of Nikselpik’s mouth before he could stop them. It was an asinine position to take considering he mostly agreed with Roweiga and Etty in that Seether was directly responsible for gnome deaths, but his natural inclination was to disagree with the cleric.
A gnome must cleave to his principles after all.

That drew Etty’s attention. He gave the wizard a condescending look. “You’re as weak as a kitten.”

“Care to test my claws?” Nikselpik spat back. He hoped the growl in his voice would keep Etty from taking him up on the offer. His wellspring was still sore to the touch, and he was in no condition to fight anyone. But Nik wasn’t about to let anyone know it.

As if in reply to the general hostility directed at him, Seether placed his hands on the table and glared First Officer Roweiga. “I am willing to sit in your jail,” he said, “if I thought it would do any good.”

“No one’s getting arrested.” While Dale’s voice said one thing, his eyes slid warily back and forth between Seether and… well, everyone else as each gnome took sides for or against the man as he casually sipped tea at their table.

Surprisingly, Niksabella spoke up, quieting the room, fettering them with a few soft words. “You can’t take all the blame, Mister Seether. Humans and elves have been fussing with ultraworld gates for centuries. Surely, the Baron’s scryers would have picked up on that, perhaps sent someone to investigate our little piece of the universe.”

Etty half rose from his chair, gritting his teeth as he spoke. “But they’ve not let a stonekin through, have they? If the stonekin are indeed the Baron’s most prized possessions, his favorite slaves, if you will, wouldn’t he be inclined to come looking for them? Even a lone straggler like this Jontuk character.
Especially
this Jontuk character. No, Seether knew they would follow. He knew, and he didn’t care!”

For the first time, Seether seemed taken aback by the cleric’s unrelenting pressure. To be quite honest, Etty had a damned good point.

Seether settled back in his chair and heaved a raspy sigh. “I suppose that having watched my own people destroyed, I should have understood the risks to yours. In truth, I didn’t weigh my losses heavily enough at the time we crossed into Sullenor. I’d already buried my sorrow so deep that the only thing I could think about was revenge. It has been eating at my heart since I can remember.

“You see, at the beginning, I was alone. Defeated. Possibly one of the last of my kind. I traveled through the ether to many worlds, all the while imagining the Baron hot on my heels, his cruel wrath dogging me. Eventually, I settled in with the stonekin on Rockholm. In them, I found a new family. Their fiery spirit revived me. We were, all of us, born of fire. Different but so naturally the same. We lived in peace for half a century, and surprisingly, my anger dwindled. I learned the stonekin ways, and they learned some of mine. Sadly, I had very few
ways
left, and those that remained were merely the soulless motions of rituals I’d once practiced. Being away from my people so long, it seemed I’d forgotten much. And my god? I was sure he’d never even existed. If he was alive, protecting us, why would he have allowed us to be snuffed out?”

“I’m sorry. That’s just terrible,” Lili blurted out, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her shirt.

“Terrible, yes, Miss Lili.”

Dale gave Nikselpik a glance and then took a kerchief from Uncle Brit and passed it over to Lili.

“Thank you.” The gnomestress sniffed and dabbed her eyes. “I can’t imagine what that would be like, Mister Seether. Losing everything you’ve ever known. Traveling to strange places all alone. You must have had family, friends. What happened to them? Were they all killed? Are they gone?”

Seether retreated once more into his cup of tea. “I won’t further distress you with the details of my world’s end. Suffice to say there is nothing left, and I’ve not run across another fireborn in all my years since.”

“And now you happen to be consumed by some misguided hope for revenge,” Etty said.

While Nikselpik was certainly not happy about their present circumstances—the deaths, the unforeseen darkness ahead, all likely brought about by Jontuk and Seether—he couldn’t understand how Etty could see things so simply. There was clearly more at stake here than this precious little town, or perhaps Etty feared the shifting of powers that had kept his order at the top of things for so long. “Tell me, Etty old boy,” Nik said with a wry smile, “how do you find the energy to be such a bastard around the clock like you do? Do they teach Bastardry in the immaculately-scrubbed halls of Evana’s grand high church?”

Etty shot Nikselpik a dark look, but ignored the jibe. “Revenge. Ill-placed. Dangerous. You could get us all killed. You said it yourself. Hope lies here in our little town.”

Seether chuckled. “Hope, yes. But not for me. For the stonekin. For you. But I’d be lying if I said I did not entertain the thought of the Baron getting his comeuppance. Once you get a taste of him, you’ll understand.”

“But you admit you brought them here.” Flay, in his brutish exuberance, spoke simply and true. “You knew what would happen. Or at least what was bound to happen. Look here. We need to know if our kin are in danger. We need to get word to them. Whatever is coming, we need to prepare.”

“No need to worry about that,” Dale said. “I’ve already sent word to Thrasperville via aerostat. One of several actually, sent across the face of Sullenor to seek aid.”

The group fell quiet, and Nikselpik knew why. It was rare occasion to mention any of Sullenor’s other races unless it pertained to some sort of business transaction, gripe, or general admonition. Elves were pretentious, humans cruel and fat. Dwarves were greedy and even fatter and nastier than humans. It was more than just a passing belief that gnomes were quite alone on the continent of Sullenor.

Those complaints began surfacing by way of cross-table chatter.

Termund, arms folded at the window, finally weighed in. “You felt it necessary to contact outlanders despite their obvious lack of compassion for anything remotely gnomish? They think us bickering children; except, of course, when it comes to making replacement parts for their horribly constructed machines.”

Knowing chuckles broke out around the room. Even his sister was nodding in agreement with a half-hearted grin, no doubt amused at the thought of humans inventing things. Nikselpik had seen a human machine once. A farmer who thought to plow his fields with a modified steam and oil engine fixed with frontal tillers. The contraption was loosely assembled at best, a clankity, smoke-belching horror that cost more to run than it actually gave back churning dirt. A deplorable sight.

“And we prefer it that way,” added Uncle Brit, now back to his pastry. “Let them flounder in the hope that they’ll ever ascend much higher than their hillish forefathers. You’d think with heads that big, they’d have some sort of brain in there.”

Nearly everyone cracked a grin at that.

Termund approached the table, placing his hands on Flay’s and Terrence’s shoulders. “Your forethought is appreciated, Dale, I’m sure. But we’ll not be getting any help from our
fellow
Sullenorians.”

“And makes me wonder if that was a good use of our remaining aerostats, Dale.” Elwray, apparently not content to sit out of the discussion forever, finally spoke up.

“Agreed,” Brit said between chews.

“Agreed,” Etty threw in.

Nikselpik wasn’t so sure. He had more experience with the other races than anyone at this table. His mercenary companions had all been humans, dwarves, elves, and even a Pelorian or two. Other things, as well. He fetched a look at Jancy, who sat next to Niksabella, wedged between the chair and a bookshelf, her green eyes shining from the darkness like beacons. What did she think of all this?

“So, what is it we face here exactly?” Fara joined those at the table, squeezing in next to Etty at the end of the bench. A bold move, one that Etty seemed to tolerate even as he pursed his lips and edged over to give the cleric room. “And can we sue for peace? Can they be reasoned with?”

Nikselpik was already shaking his head. A shudder wracked his shoulders as the dreams came back, those dark cellars of his mind where the bugs and amorphs seemed to live together now, one great, slug-like evil. He pushed the thoughts away before they could overwhelm him. “They cannot be reasoned with.”

“It isn’t just the amorphs you will have to deal with now,” Seether said. “It will soon be one of the Baron’s Warlords. Any number of strange creatures may be employed against you.”

Dale nodded. “There have already been skirmishes in the Southern Reaches. Our scouts have had brushes with strange, red stags…”

“As large as one of your ponies,” Seether asked, “with tough, matted fur and antlers seemingly made of iron?”

“Those are the ones.”

“Wicker stags. It seems things are further along than I suspected. I’ve not felt the presence of a Warlord in this world yet, but be sure of it; one will set foot on Sullenor, and your lives will be changed forever.”

“There’s no doubt the threat is real. What we found at Harwood Lake…” Elwray looked at his hands. Dressings still wrapped his palms. “There’s certainly evil afoot.”

Fara said, “So what do we do? Evacuate our citizens?”

Nikselpik had to hand it to her. Aside from Dale, she was the only one looking for solutions. Everyone else seemed to still be caught up on accusations and age-old grudges.

“We’re looking into that, yes. Our remaining aerostats will be put to use when they return, with friends or not. And we’ll hold out as long as we can here.”

“Our fellows will respond,” Termund said boldly.

“From a distance, to be sure,” Etty chided. “From the sky.”

“Yes, from the sky. In Hightower, you might still have your own fleet rather than a handful of half-cooked air tubs.”

“What advantages do we have?”

“We have the amorph survivors. We have two-thousand steadfast, if inexperienced, precisor fighters. We’ve got wizards.”

“And you have me, Jontuk, and the gnomestress,” Seether added.

“Oh, wonderful,” Etty shook his head. “A glorified fire-starter, an invisible rock giant, and an overly shy gnomestress who we have yet to meet. Lovely. I was unsure of victory before, but now, I feel its certainty and am soothed.”

“It’s me.” Niksabella’s voice was quiet, a wry smile twisting her lips. “I’m the one Jontuk came to see. And the Prophetess, she’s in my dreams too.”

The first part Nikselpik had expected, the second part not so much.

The entire room shifted attention to her, curious eyes, fascinated looks, even a loose jaw or two.

Etty made a flourishing gesture. “Very well. And where is your stone man?”

Niksabella stood and straightened her plain dress. She went to the coat rack and lifted her coat free, saying as she put it on, “I’ll show you.”