Traitor for Hire: Mage Code Page 8

  "Where do we start?" asked Iven.

  Galeron pressed two fingers to his right temple and rubbed slowly. "Only three other informers were commissioned with me. There could be more, but it's a place to start."

  "Only three? Where did the rumors of Soren's spies come from, then?"

  Galeron sighed. "Shadestalkers. Assassins. There are always twelve. They deal in killing, and informers deal in information."

  Iven raised his eyebrows. "That's a lot of assassins." He shivered and rolled his shoulders. "Now I'm getting the shudders."

  "They don't work in the country," Galeron said. "Shadestalkers carry out missions abroad."

  "Strangely, that doesn't make me feel better."

  "Get over it." Galeron adjusted his sword belt.

  "Thanks."

  "You wouldn't see them coming, anyway."

  Iven scowled and said nothing. Galeron looked around the high street. The crowd started to thin, with fewer people out and about. Perfect timing.

  "What now?" Iven asked eventually.

  "We split up," Galeron said. "There are four districts, but we only need to cover two."

  "Why?"

  "Poor people wouldn't pay for informers. Too much coin. Soldiers don't need a washed-up informer. They have the king's current crop, so no arsenal district." Galeron gestured around him. "That leaves the rich and the merchants."

  Iven nodded. "Fair enough. Any idea who I might be looking for?"

  Galeron shook his head. "Couldn't say. If someone mentions the names Jarek, Gil One-Thumb, or Mateus Silva, you've found the informer. If it's another name, go with your instincts."

  "I've got the merchants, then," said Iven.

  "I thought you'd go for the rich ladies," Galeron said.

  Iven snorted. "Too suspicious. They're looking out for someone trying to steal their coin." He walked down the street but then spun on his heel. "If I find him first, you're buying drinks."

  "With what?"

  "You'll figure something out."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  At least he was still in good spirits. Galeron continued walking down the district high street. There had to be a tavern around somewhere. The dinner hour would pass with the setting sun, and then men would drink. A helpful pastime if a man wanted information. He passed one, but boards had been nailed over the windows and door. Closed, for whatever reason. The street stretched on, and he ignored the waves of courtesans emerging to their preferred haunts and waving to him, eyes fluttering. He found a second tavern, The Coinless King, tucked between a three-storied house and a tailor's wooden shop.

  Board and trestle tables dotted the smoky common area, men sitting at the benches with their glass tankards in varying states of fullness. A few puffed on their pipes, and a fire smoldered in the hearth on the room's far side. Three men hunkered around their respective drinks near the mead barrels at the counter. Galeron sat down next to one on an adjacent stool and waved off one of the barmaids.

  "Rough day?" he asked the mead-soaked mop of hair next to him.

  The mop shifted, revealing a gaunt and sallow face, eyes bloodshot and sunken into his head. "You haven't the faintest."

  Galeron raised his eyebrows. "Try me."

  The man took a gulp from his glass and brushed the hair from his eyes. "Women, friend. They are such lovely things, but poison on the inside."

  Galeron chuckled. A few months ago, he might have been right there with this one. "Speaking from experience?"

  "Aye." He drank again. "One got me expelled from the Consortium."

  Galeron frowned. The greatest academy in the west? "How?"

  "They let women teach there, now. Teach! As if a woman could explain the natural sciences." He snorted. "This one, a Magister Russo by name, was using Delktian texts to explain the world was round!"

  So far, it all sounded reasonable. What was his problem with this Magister Russo? "Isn't the world round?" he asked.

  "Aye, of course it is. Why else can things vanish behind the horizon?" The man shook his head and drained the last of his tankard. "But to use Delktian texts? We cannot trust a thing those mage-lovers have to say. Their brains have been addled by madness." He slammed the container onto the counter. "Another!"

  A plump barmaid wandered over and gave him a black look, hips cocked sideways and one hand resting at her waist. "Haven't you had enough?"

  He stared at her and blinked. "Another!"

  She rolled her eyes and refilled his glass. "I don't want to know where you're putting it."

  The man turned back to Galeron. "I tried to convince her of this folly multiple times, but she would not hear me out. Why, we even took our quarrel to the headmaster, who decided against me. Me! A man, and he ruled in favor of a woman. She convinced him I was not a fit student for the Consortium, and they expelled me right then and there."

  Galeron bit his lip, trying not to smile. Some rich fop with an inflated sense of importance. He could be useful. "What are you doing out here, then?"

  The man grimaced. "I'm going to get revenge. Have you heard of the informer Jarek?"

  His stomach threatened to swing up into his throat. On the first try, too. That wasn't going to happen any time soon. "Rumors here and there. Is it true he's left the king's service?"

  "You've heard right," he said. "Jarek is available for whoever has the coin to pay him. He's dug up proof that Russo has been dabbling with magic arts in her study of supposed natural sciences." He smirked. "The headmaster will have to kick her out now. As it should be."

  Galeron nodded. "Good for you. Would you mind if I came along?"

  The man took another long draft from his refilled tankard. "Why?"

  Galeron paused. What could he...and then it hit him. "I worked for a merchant a while back, Atreus Picard, who promised me a large bag of coin for guarding his night dust, but he never paid up." He scowled. "Dirty cheat got me framed for a crime and escaped while the constable sorted everything out."

  "Sad luck for you," the man said, extending his hand shakily. "Davin."

  Galeron accepted it. "Friends call me Galeron."

  Davin nodded, his eyes sliding in and out of focus. "Tell me, friend Galeron, how far past lunch are we?"

  Galeron let a half smile creep through his expression. "The sun has set. Sounds like you've drunk the day away."

  He jerked upright before sagging to one side. "Then we must go. I...we're supposed to meet him at twilight. Pray he hasn't abandoned his place." Davin slipped off his stool and crumpled to the floor.

  Galeron stepped down and helped him to his feet. "Where was he going to be?"

  Davin lurched for the door, swaying and staggering despite one arm around Galeron's shoulders. Clearly the man had been absorbing drink since before the lunch hour. "There's a closed tavern not far down the road. He's been living there during my time in Trinetta."

  That explained it. "I know the place."

  They lurched down the high street, mainly devoid of passersby with the onset of nightfall, and they reached the boarded-up tavern with little trouble. Davin pulled himself free of Galeron's grip, banging on the door.

  "Come on, Jarek...I know you're in there," Davin said, speech slurring. No one answered the door, so he pulled on the handle, but it was locked. "He's swindled me. Ran...off with my money."

  Galeron sighed. Perhaps, but knowing Jarek, he'd gotten out when the client didn't show. Jarek always had been a cautious sort of--

  An object burst through the door and slammed into Davin, throwing him across the paved street and crashing to the ground. Galeron's heart jumped. He hurled himself into the alley next to the tavern, pressing up against the side of the building and peering around the corner. He put a hand on the hilt of his sword. Dogs barked in the distance, and a cloaked figured bolted from the tavern and up the street.

  Galeron exhaled and rushed to Davin's side. The crumpled heap of a man lay over him, beaten and bruised through the gray cloak and linen clothing. He pulled back the hood to reveal Jare
k's pudgy face staring blankly into the night sky, blood oozing from his mouth and ears. He shook his head.

  "Boiling bones, Jarek, what happened to you?" he asked quietly. There'd be no getting answers out of him now.

  Galeron checked for his satchel, and, finding nothing, searched his clothing. Nothing. Not even an eating knife. For a man who supposedly dealt in information, he had nothing of worth on him. Davin was in worse straights. The blow had sent him plowing against the street, and his neck bent at a funny angle. Galeron put a hand to his chest, and then his neck. No heartbeat and no breathing. Hopefully, his end had been painless.

  A crack like thunder reverberated from further in the distance. An alarm bell wailed in the night. The noise had come from the gate's direction. Whoever had the strength to hurl Jarek through a door might have tried to get through the gates the same way.

  He rose and bolted up the street, boots thudding over the paving stones. He should go find Iven before attempting to follow, especially since whoever this was had shown himself capable of incredible strength, but there wasn't time. Stop now, and his prey might escape. The figure had wanted something from Jarek. Maybe he'd gotten it, maybe he hadn't. Either way, it was a stalking mission. Avoid engaging if possible.

  Galeron arrived at the gate, lungs burning and legs quivering. A shattered mess of wood and iron hung from the entryway, and the bodies of several guards lay strewn about. Others approached cautiously, weapons extended. Galeron stopped, heaving with hands on his knees, to catch his breath.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  "Never you mind," called one of the men. "It's a matter for the watch to handle."

  Galeron straightened. As if the city watch could handle mages. "I'm the king's mercenary. They call me Galeron Triste. Whoever that was just killed two men. What did you see?"

  "A figure running," said another soldier. "That's all."

  "Did you get a good look?" asked Galeron. "Tall, short, thin, fat?"

  "Perhaps shorter than you," said the first one. "Slight of build and wicked fast."

  Galeron scratched his head. Short and slight, with the ability to blow through the gates. Tondra? "Thank you." He dashed through the ruins and headed out into the open plain.

  Why would Tondra return to...and then it hit him. Atreus was covering their tracks. He meant to disappear. Tondra killed someone who might talk. Poor Jarek. He'd never really been cut out for the informer business anyway. More curiosity than good sense. Galeron topped a small knoll and, by the moonlight, saw a figure bounding down the road. There she was.

  He tore after her, heart thudding in his chest and ears. Breathing came ragged and fast. It'd been too long since he'd sprinted like this. He gained ground on her, though, longer stride eating up the distance between them.

  "Tondra Voreaux!" he yelled.

  The figure stopped and turned. "You!"

  Galeron stopped a few feet from her. "Me. Where's Atreus?"

  "How did you get out of Harracourt?" she asked. "And where's that cornstalk archer?"

  "Answer my questions, and I'll answer yours," he said. "Where's Atreus?"

  She shook her head. "This is wrong. You weren't supposed to leave. You're supposed to be dead."

  "Sorry to disappoint, but be reasonable, Tondra. You don't want to end up on the chopping block for your master's vendetta." Galeron dropped a hand to his sword. "Where is he?"

  She paused, and then swung a fist at Galeron. He raised his arm, catching the blow, but she plowed through his defense and slammed her knuckles into his temple. Bright light flared behind his eyes, and the world went dark.

  His head pounded and brought him back from the depths. The itchy grasses and weeds of the plains tickled his face, and his heart pounded. A horse nickered nearby. Voices drifted to his ears, and he held himself still as consciousness flooded his senses.

  "...none of your concern." Tondra's voice was unmistakable.

  "It may not be his, but it is mine, apprentice." There was Atreus.

  Galeron kept his breathing even and steady. The situation needed assessing before he threw himself into it. Patience.

  "He found me, somehow," Tondra said.

  "You are noisier than cattle herd." Hektor said. "Did he find you?"

  "No. The informer died during questioning, and one of his other clients showed up before I could escape," Tondra said.

  "Thus, you decided the best course was to throw him through the door and kill them both?" asked Atreus. "No one suspected you. No one had reason to know a mage was in Trinetta, even after you'd thrown him. A normal man might be able to do that. But then..." His voice trailed off. "Your actions always have a consequence."

  "You're one to talk about consequences," Tondra said. "That sell-sword was supposed to have died at Harracourt."

  "You bring him here," Hektor said. "Why?"

  "I didn't know how much he'd heard," she said. "I didn't know if the informer's knowledge was worth killing over."

  "The case of Magister Russo is intriguing," Atreus said. "If she has discovered the Delktians' secret of magic, well...that kind of power will make White Mountain a mere stumbling block for us. We will pay her a visit, but that does not excuse your actions."

  "You killed him," Hektor growled.

  "I didn't intend to. I just got--"

  "Carried away? Yes, that much is apparent, apprentice," Atreus said. "It is a recurring issue with you. Destroying your village should have been enough warning, yet your powers still rule you. Have I not taught you?"

  "Yes, master," said Tondra, a note of defeat in her voice.

  The crack of flesh on flesh echoed through the night. "Then think before you act. You have brought the king's hunter to our camp."

  There was a long pause. Then Tondra said, "How could he be employed by the king?"

  "Soren is stubborn and blind to the ways of mages, but he is still shrewd. Do you not remember the tales right after the war? Stories of a man who stalked the Delktian necromancer and killed him like a cat with its mouse. His name was Galeron Triste. The sell-sword you despise and the legend are one in the same."

  "Mmm." Hektor's voice rumbled. "No spirit. Necromancy tore it away."

  "If you need further proof, look at his sword. An ordinary weapon, but it is stained black by the darkest arts." He stopped for a moment. "If you were the king, who better to send? Is that not right, Galeron?"

  An icy chill spread up his spine. He hadn't moved. How did Atreus know? Better to remain still and keep pretending.

  "Stand up, Galeron. I know you're awake. You've been listening for the last few minutes."

  Boiling bones, how did he know? Galeron opened his eyes. The three of them sat off to the side next to their packs. A padded lump lay at Atreus's feet.

  He stood, muscles tightening and blood pounding in his ears. "How'd you know?"

  "I taught Tondra that technique," Atreus said. "I know how long it lays a man out, and you've been quiet far too long. Did I get all of it right?"

  Galeron nodded. Impressive. If Atreus was still this calculating and reasoned, perhaps he could be negotiated with. "Most of it. The tales of the Deathstalker are overblown, but the end is always the same."

  "Soren sent you?" asked Hektor.

  "As you guessed," Galeron said. He held his breathing slow and deep. Had to stay calm. "He only wants Atreus, or, at least, he only asked me to fetch Atreus at the moment."

  "I knew you would betray us, and I was right twice over," Tondra snarled.

  Galeron rubbed the still-throbbing bump on his head. "You murdered the prince, and you double-crossed me." He narrowed his eyes and glared at Atreus. "I don't like those who do that."

  "Deathstalker, do you really expect me to let the murder of my wife go unpunished?" asked Atreus, his voice hardening. "Your accusations, though, are partially unfounded. The prince is very much alive."

  He jerked the cloth away from the lump, revealing a disheveled and dirty, but very much alive, Prince Lattimer. His hands and feet
were bound together with rope, and a large wad of cloth had been stuffed into his mouth. His eyes, as wide as wagon wheels, screamed for salvation, for rescue. Galeron's heart froze. How was Lattimer alive? Atreus had thrown him to his death. Why was he alive? What was the purpose?

  Galeron shook his head, as if trying to clear water from his ears. "I don't understand. It doesn't...why is he...?"

  "My plans are my own," Atreus said. "They are none of your concern as your part has ended, one way or another."

  Galeron shifted from one foot to another, mind whizzing. The prince was alive, and he had to get him out of here. Three mages, however, might say different. "If you've heard the stories, you know I won't just let you go." He gestured to Lattimer. "You're a reasonable man. Turn over the prince, and no one has to die. If you don't, I'll kill you."

  Atreus laughed. "Perhaps you believe your own legend, but I am no necromancer."

  A feeble hope. "Your choice, but remember today." Galeron drew his sword and unslung his shield.

  "Do you really think you can take all three mages?" asked Atreus.

  He glanced around. Open ground and not much else. Run, and Atreus would burn him to cinders. Surrender, and they'd kill him anyway. If he fought, at least he could die facing a foe on his own terms. His stomach clenched and gurgled. He was going to die here. Three mages, one man. No way out, and no way through.

  "No," Galeron admitted. "But I'm mad enough to try."

  "So be it," he said.

  He stood and extended his hand. A jet of flame rushed out and spun toward Galeron. He raised his shield and caught the flames on the metal surface. Heat licked at his face, and the metal hissed and steamed after the fire abated. He lowered the shield and charged, but with a flick of his wrist, Hektor slammed him to the ground with a gust of wind. Fire rushed towards him, and again, he caught it on his shield.

  Galeron scrambled to his feet, but the air solidified around him, holding him in a tight grip a few feet off the ground. He strained his pinned limbs, but the invisible vice was too tight. Atreus raised his hand again and grunted as an arrow sprouted in his back.