Secrets and Spellcraft Read online

  Along the way he recolored his tunic, restoring its crimson glory. If Dennis happened to spot him because of the bright color, all the better. The sooner he could begin the groundwork for his plan, the easier it would be.

  Will was destined to be disappointed, though. No one approached him during his half-hour walk to the entrance, and he was able to leave the campus without trouble. Once outside, he made a mental inventory of what he had stored within the limnthal.

  The wine was probably the most valuable, but he had no experience with it. He’d likely be ripped off if he tried to sell any of it. Some of the bottles predated the Terabinian War for Independence, meaning their price might be more a matter of historical value than taste. Trying to sell it would bring unwanted attention.

  Fortunately, he knew the price of salt and pepper, both of which were extremely valuable. Summoning the jar of peppercorns, he hefted it in his hands, trying to judge the weight. At least ten pounds, he estimated. Spices could be worth more than their weight in gold, and while pepper wasn’t that valuable, he figured a pound or two would provide more than enough coin if he could find an honest buyer.

  He walked on, and within an hour he was hopelessly lost. Cerria was vast, far beyond his experience, and he had little knowledge of its streets. Luckily, the quality of his clothing made most of the people he met uncommonly helpful, as they assumed he was either a nobleman or someone of some importance, which made getting directions easy.

  Along the way he sold several ounces of pepper to shopkeepers and tavern owners, making a few crowns. He was confident that even if he didn’t find the market, he could raise enough money, so he continued onward. The directions he received eventually got him to the place he sought, a large, open-air market where all manner of goods and staples were bought and sold: meat, flour, beans, and more. It only took him a few minutes to find the spice seller.

  Will had considered continuing to sell the pepper directly, but that would only engender ill will between him and those who made their living in the trade. When he saw the old woman who managed the spice stall he felt justified in that decision. The old lady appeared competent, wrinkled, and potentially vengeful. Given the value of her wares it was possible that upsetting her would have caused him even more problems, for she was likely wealthy, despite her ragged appearance.

  “What do you need, sir?” she asked politely, measuring his clothing with sharp eyes.

  He tried to appear non-threatening. “Hard coin, madam, but I have spices to trade for it.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she waved a hand. “I’m a spice seller. If you aren’t buying, I don’t have time to play.”

  “How much are your peppercorns?” he asked.

  “Five clima for an ounce,” she responded instantly.

  “And salt?”

  “Two.”

  Will leaned in. “I have several pounds of both and I’m willing to sell for half that. I’d rather sell it to you and be done with it, but if you’re not looking for a bargain, I can afford to spend my days hawking it here in the market.”

  The old woman snarled, showing yellow teeth. “Are you threatening me, young man?”

  He put his hand over his heart. “My dear mother would curse me if I were ever to do such a thing. I’m merely desperate for money. So desperate I’m willing to make a bad deal if it will preserve my life.”

  She thought for a moment, then spat on the ground. “How much do you have to sell? Let me see it. I’m not interested if the quality is poor.”

  Will summoned the jars of salt and pepper directly in front of her, which caused her to draw back in alarm. “You’re a sorcerer?” There was fear in her eyes.

  “A wizard,” he corrected. “Deal fairly with me and I’ll deal fairly with you.”

  They haggled for several minutes, but the spice seller had been impressed with the quality of his peppercorns. Will had never had a doubt about that. Arrogan had been a stickler for quality, and the limnthal had kept everything as fresh as the day he had purchased it. The price they settled on was four clima for two ounces of pepper, and two for two ounces of salt.

  “I’ll need to sell three pounds of each if you want me to go that low,” cautioned Will.

  The old woman grinned. “Deal.”

  “Do you know where I can find a decent weaponsmith?” asked Will as they weighed the goods and she counted out the coins.

  “Follow the lane south past three streets and you’ll find several,” said the spice seller. “Tell them Magda sent you and maybe they won’t overcharge you too much.”

  Will touched his brow, tipping an imaginary hat to the old woman. “Thank you.” Then he set off down the lane, feeling the heavy weight of gold in his purse. Magda had paid him close to twenty-nine crowns, and combined with the money he’d had already, he had just over forty-six gold crowns to his name. Feeling self-conscious, he stepped to the side of the lane and quietly stored his coin purse inside the limnthal.

  With his money safe, he continued onward, keeping a watchful eye on the road behind him. Given how much she had paid him, there was always the possibility that Magda might send a few enterprising freelancers to waylay him. Even if she had to split the money, it would still make her profit from him even more extraordinary.

  No one seemed to be following him, and soon enough he smelled the distinctive odor of forge-fires coming up ahead of him. The first place he found turned out to be an ordinary smithy, but the man there was kind enough to direct him to a weapon-seller. “Tylan makes the best blades, but he doesn’t sell them himself,” said the smith. “Take a right at the next street and then a left. “There’s a shop where Tylan’s son works. He’s the one you want to see.”

  Will followed the directions until he saw a shop with a sign bearing a painting of a sword and axe. He stepped inside and saw a young man in his twenties sitting on a stool.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  He jumped straight to the point. “I need a dueling saber.”

  The man nodded. “Are you thinking of something ornamental to wear to court, or something more practical?”

  “Practical.”

  “Then I have several you can look at over here.” The shopkeep rose from his stool and led Will over to the right side of the shop and unlocked a large case. He lifted the lid, and Will saw seven slender swords laid out on velvet within.

  The blades were almost straight, with hardly any curve. Will had seen cavalry swords before, and those were heavier, and slightly more curved. These weapons were designed for dueling, much like the practice weapons they used in his fencing class. Their lengths varied by an inch or two. “May I?” asked Will, reaching toward one of the hilts.

  “Let’s see your coin first.”

  Will summoned his purse and gave it a shake.

  “Are you a sorcerer?” asked the shopkeeper worriedly.

  Will shook his head. “Just a slightly paranoid wizard.”

  The shopkeeper held out his hand. “I’m Lawrence. My father is Tylan, the bladesmith.”

  They shook hands, and then Will lifted the sabers one by one, checking their heft and balance. Unlike the falchions he had used in the army, the weapons were light and elegant with ring guards to protect the hand and knuckles. He didn’t think they’d be much use against an armored opponent, but against someone in nothing more than a tunic or doublet, they were absolutely lethal.

  After a few minutes he selected one of the longest sabers. The hilt was simple, with a leather grip, but he liked the false edge at the tip, which gave the weapon the ability to perform effective back cuts. He tested the edge with his thumb and found it lacking, though. “I like this one,” said Will.

  Lawrence noticed him feeling the edge. “We only put the final edge on after they sell, and only if the owner requests it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “An edge starts to dull as soon as you put it on,” said the dealer. “So no one sharpens them unless they intend to put them to use in the near future
.”

  “I’ll need it as sharp as you can manage,” said Will. “When can you have it ready?”

  “Ordinarily, we’ll put the edge on for free, but if you’re in a hurry—”

  “I can pay a little extra if need be,” Will reassured him.

  They bargained for a while and eventually settled on twenty-four crowns for the sword. The price included having it sharpened and ready for Will to pick up in the morning. It also included a sword belt and sheath.

  As he was leaving, Will asked, “Is there an armorer you recommend?”

  Lawrence gave him an odd look. “Are you taking an officer’s position in the army?”

  He shook his head.

  “What sort of armor are you looking for?”

  “Nothing substantial,” said Will. He ran his hands over his chest and belly. “I just need something to keep a knife out of my vitals.”

  “A breastplate?”

  “No, something less conspicuous—maybe a mail vest?”

  Lawrence nodded. “I know who you should talk to.” He gave Will quick directions and sent him on his way.

  The next shop was a few blocks away and was run by a fellow named Byron Waters. Will stopped to appreciate the armorer’s impressive beard for a moment when he stepped inside, for it stretched from the shopkeep’s chin almost to his waist. “I’m told you sell armor,” he said, introducing himself.

  Byron combed his fingers through his beard, which appeared to be something of habit. “Depends on what you’re looking for.”

  “Something small and inconspicuous,” said Will.

  “A mail shirt then?”

  “I have one. I need something I can wear underneath a tunic.”

  Byron frowned. “You worried about being stabbed on the street?”

  He nodded.

  “You’ll have to wear something under it, no matter what you choose,” said the armorer.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “How about brigandine?”

  “Show me what you mean.”

  Byron took him to another room where a number of articles were hanging. They looked like vests covered with rivets. The man opened one to show Will the metal plates underneath. “Ordinarily you’d wear at least an arming jacket under this, and a lot of men wear an arming jacket, a mail shirt, and then put this on top.”

  “I need something to go under my tunic,” said Will.

  The armorer resumed combing his beard. “That’s not easy. Maybe if you had a custom padded vest sewn inside the brigandine. That’d keep it from tearing up your skin, but without the mail shirt or at least a larger jacket you’d be vulnerable to all kinds of attacks.”

  “I’m not going to war,” explained Will. “I just need something to keep a point out of my belly or back.”

  “And you’re going to wear your clothes over it?” asked Byron doubtfully.

  He nodded.

  The armorer clearly thought he was crazy, but he finally agreed. “All right. I can make something like that. I can do a modified brigandine jack that will cover your ribs, belly, and back. We can sew the padding inside and try to keep it slim enough that your tunic will go over it, but I wouldn’t recommend it if you think someone is planning to put a blade in you.”

  “Concealment is more important to me than maximizing protection,” said Will.

  Byron shrugged. “Well, it’ll be better than nothing, but even if it’s slim enough to go unseen they’re going to hear it. Brigandine is noisier than mail.” Reaching over, he grabbed one of the vests and flexed it slightly so Will could hear the sound of the plates rubbing against each other.

  Will had to agree, but he had a possible solution for the noise. “I can deal with that. How long will it take you?”

  “Two weeks, and it’ll cost you fifteen crowns.”

  “If you can do it in one, I’ll pay twenty,” said Will.

  The armorer frowned. “Can you pay in advance?”

  “Half now and half when it’s ready, less one crown for every day it takes past a week.”

  Byron hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Let’s see your money and then we can start measuring.”

  Chapter 13

  He found himself taking a different route to get back to the school, and when he eventually found the road that led to Wurthaven’s entrance he was coming from the other direction than the one he had taken that morning. Consequently, he walked past the entrance to the royal palace on his way. Will stopped after passing the gate and studied the wall. It was even more impressive than the one that surrounded Wurthaven’s neatly trimmed lawns, standing almost forty feet in height.

  Selene’s in there somewhere, he thought. Probably. He wondered if he would ever have a reason or opportunity to see her again. The wall seemed like a perfect metaphor for the distance between them.

  “Except I could climb a wall,” he said to himself. “I’ll never be able to close the gap in social standing.” After a moment, he corrected himself. “All right, maybe not that wall. Anyone would struggle with that.”

  He wondered if there was a spell for scaling walls. “Not that I would,” he reminded himself. “That would be foolish. Besides, there’s every chance I won’t live past the next few days.”

  Will hadn’t shared his plan with anyone, but he knew it was tantamount to suicide, and even if he succeeded, he might well be murdered afterward. His only consolation was that it would almost certainly keep Janice’s family safe.

  He glanced up and down the road, making sure he was alone, then summoned the limnthal so he could talk to the Ring of Vile and Unspeakable Knowledge. “I need your advice,” he began.

  “Fuck off,” said the ring. “I’m not in the mood.”

  Will found himself grinning despite his dark thoughts. “Too bad.” He launched into a description of what had happened the night before and what he planned to do about it, only pausing once he had finished.

  The ring said nothing.

  “Well?” prodded Will.

  “What?”

  “What do you think?”

  “You’re a blithering idiot. Happy now?”

  “Got anything more specific?”

  “Not really. I’m sure having several feet of cold steel rammed through your belly will communicate my thoughts better than any words ever could. Good luck.”

  “That’s the worst case,” argued Will. “I’m interested in what you think will happen if I don’t die.”

  The ring snorted, despite lacking a nose. “That’s the best case, jackass! You’ll really be in a pile of shit if you don’t die. You must be aware that Little-Lord-Pus-Dick has friends and family. What do you think they’ll do afterward? The best you can hope for is a knife in the back. More likely, they’ll find some way to put you somewhere dark and damp where they can take their time making you properly miserable.”

  “But I’m not going to break any laws,” he countered.

  “Someone needs to slap the teat out of your mouth so you can grow the fuck up,” snapped the ring. “Those people don’t give a damn about laws. They write the laws, and people like you are only useful to provide the blood they use as ink.”

  “I already told you what I’m going to do. That’s done. Give me some advice on what to do afterward. You’ve been there before.”

  The ring produced an audible sigh. “Arrogan’s been there before.”

  “You have his memories, just tell me what he would say.”

  “He’d say not to do it.”

  “What would he have done in my place, then?”

  “Probably the same damn thing, if he was as powerless as you are! You want his advice, fine! If you’re going to start down this road, don’t look back. You’re going to paint a giant target on your back and a lot of people are going to be taking aim at it. So, if you do this, don’t apologize. Show no remorse, no weakness. You’re going to have to pretend to be ten feet tall and made of nothing but balls and spite.”

  Will squared his shoulders. “I think I can
manage that.”

  “You think that because you’re angry. But that’s today. The next day, you’ll be tired. The anger won’t last, and after it’s gone, you’re going to find yourself alone and without friends. This won’t be the first time. You’ll have to do it again, and even if you get good at it, sooner or later all of it will catch up with you. One of these days you’ll wake up dead, and there won’t be anyone crying over you. Trust me.”

  “You’re wrong there.”

  “About what?”

  “I cried over you after you died.”

  The ring didn’t respond.

  “Can you teach me something?” Will asked. “Arrogan had a trick he used when we practiced. I think I’ve got the basics of it, but he was a lot better.”

  “What was it?” asked the ring.

  ***

  Will felt better after their talk was finished, and he enjoyed the fresh air as he walked toward the boys’ dormitory. He had a day and a half to prepare, but he felt as though he had a fair chance.

  He spotted a familiar figure waiting for him outside the dorm. It was Dennis.

  Of course, Dennis wasn’t alone. Chris Burnham and Brett Conn had come along for the show. Will let his eyes drift to the sides, searching to see if there were any other people nearby. He spotted several students loitering between the two dormitories.

  Better than nothing, he thought.

  “William,” said Dennis as soon as he had come within ten feet, his face emotionless.

  He took a deep breath and projected his voice as he answered, “Rapist! I can’t believe you decided to show your face. Are you looking for more girls to drug unconscious?”

  Dennis’ face turned an ugly shade of red and Chris and Brett moved forward threateningly. “I was going to suggest we could put this behind us if you’d apologize and accept a few bruises,” said Dennis, “but it seems like you don’t have the brains to know when you’re in trouble.”

  Will noticed that some of the nearby students had moved slightly closer in order to hear better, while inside the boys’ dorm someone had run off to either notify the resident assistant or bring others to listen. He didn’t particularly care which. “Before you sic your dogs on me, I have a question,” said Will, stalling for time. The bigger the audience, the more effective his ploy would be.