How long was she supposed to wait? What if Santiole had been captured or questioned? Perhaps Erika and her grandfather had already been arrested. If Santiole decided to abandon Norrine, she would have to go on without her. With the docks closed, that meant she would have to brave the mountain passes.
Norrine waited at the table for another five minutes. She leaned back in her chair, swinging her feet, and smiled at the waiter when he returned.
“She’ll be right back,” she said.
When he had turned his back, she let the smile drop and turned to watching the street.
A flash of color caught her eyes. Green on tan uniforms moved through the street, the crowd parting before them. Norrine leapt to her feet and hurried inside the cafe. She paused by the door, wringing her hands together, and pressed herself into the corner where she could see out the window but—hopefully—remain unseen herself.
The Kez soldiers seemed to be coming straight for her. There were three of them, swords at their sides with no muskets in sight. A fourth man was leading them. He had light blonde hair, a slight build, and wore a black suit with runed gloves on his hands. Norrine tried not to tremble at the sight. A Privileged sorcerer.
The group passed the cafe and continued on down the street. Norrine watched them go.
“Have you seen a Privileged before?”
The voice made her jump, but it was just the waiter standing behind her. Norrine shook her head. “I haven’t.”
“We get a few through here, being a port town and all,” the waiter said. “You know how it is. They’re not as special when you see ‘em in person.” He paused, then added, “Not that I’d want to make one mad or anything.”
Norrine let out a soft sigh when she saw Santiole coming down the street a few minutes later. Santiole was alone, and she approached the cafe hesitantly. She came inside with one hand on her pistol.
“Nikslaus is here,” she said, taking Norrine back outside.
“A Privileged walked by with some soldiers not long ago,” Norrine said. “It must have been him.”
“Good that you kept out of sight.” Santiole gave a curt, approving nod. “It took me longer than expected to speak to Lady Erika without being spotted. They’ve closed the port and they have men watching all the city gates. My lady wants us to take the high pass over to Budwiel to smuggle you into Adro by land.”
“How will we escape the city?” Norrine asked.
“We’ll go during the night. I’ve arranged to have horses waiting just outside the walls.” Santiole moved the hem of her jacket to reveal a coil of rope hanging from her belt. “How do you feel about heights?”
Erika and her entourage ascended back into the mountains the next day, their team of four horses pulling them higher and higher into the pass between Norport and the wheat fields of Kez known as the Amber Expanse. They were forced to travel southwest in order to head back across the mountains and reach Budwiel, an Adran city that sat on the southernmost border between Kez and Adro.
She was accompanied by Dominik, her grandfather’s elderly carriage driver, and Tirel, a man-at-arms who had been with the family for decades.
Santiole and Norrine met them two days outside of Norport as they crossed the first of several high passes on their journey. Erika was relieved to see them safe and glad for the company in the cold carriage.
On the third day it began to snow, and by the fourth they were forced to slow their pace lest the carriage slide off the mountainside. On the fifth day, Erika sat brooding, watching the snow fall lightly outside the carriage window. Dominik claimed he could keep driving as long as the road didn’t freeze but that the snow would slow them a little. If Nikslaus had set a trap, surely they would have sprung it by now. If he was chasing her, his men on horseback could travel faster than a carriage on slick roads. Or her guess had been wrong. Perhaps Nikslaus hadn’t suspected her in the least and had simply let her go.
Erika didn’t dare to hope.
She would drive herself mad trying to anticipate Nikslaus. Best not to think about it. “Are you warm enough?” she asked Norrine.
The girl nodded. They were both smothered soundly in furs and blankets. Erika felt the worst for poor Dominik out with the horses, though the old man protested that he was plenty warm in his seal-skin cloak. Dominik was a cripple, his left leg injured from a fall from horseback in his youth, but if anyone could get the carriage through the passes in the snow it would be him.
Erika looked at the healing scrapes on Norrine’s cheeks and wondered how she’d gotten them. Perhaps one of the guards had attacked her. Or maybe during her escape from the Longdogs. Erika imagined Norrine frightened, hungry, and cold as she pressed herself amongst the roots of an old tree beneath the road, scraping against rocks and hard soil as she hid from her pursuers. It must have been terrifying in a way Erika couldn’t conceive, yet the girl stayed strong and silent, ready to brave the mountain passes on foot to earn her freedom.
By Kresimir, if Erika could find in herself even a fraction of that bravery she would be a duchess to be reckoned with.
“How did you find out you were a powder mage?” Erika asked.
Norrine watched her for several moments, her eyes melancholy, before she answered. “Da was showing me how to shoot a musket.” She paused and shivered, but not, it seemed, from the cold. “It was over a year ago now. Last summer. He saw that I fired the musket without pulling the trigger. I tried to tell him it was an accident.”
“And he turned you in?”
“He wasn’t going to. He kept it a secret through last winter and spring. Summer came, and then Phille got sick and Da didn’t have any money for the doctor. Phille’s my older brother. And Da said if Phille died, Ma would go mad with grief.”
So they turned in their daughter for a handsome reward. Erika had heard similar stories. Peasants had little choice, after all. If they turned in their children or friends or relatives they were given land, money, cattle. If the Longdogs found out you were hiding a mage, however, your whole family could go to the headsman.
She tried to imagine the pain of having to turn in her own daughter, but felt only disgust for Norrine’s father.
“Do you hate him?”
Norrine seemed surprised. “No. Why would I?”
“Because he....” she trailed off. The girl knew she would be turned over the minute she realized she was a powder mage. Of course. That’s how the peasants were raised.
“Phille’s dead now anyway,” Norrine said.
“He didn’t get better?”
The girl sniffed. “He did. As soon as he was well he helped me escape. One of the Longdogs—the fat one you killed on the road—ran him through with his sword. I guess Ma will go mad with grief after all.”
“I’m sorry.”
Norrine shrugged in response and rubbed the sleeve of her coat across her eyes. “How did you find out?”
Erika glanced out the window. The snow seemed to have let up a little. “It was my twelfth birthday—just about your age—and the dowsers came around to see if I had the talent to be a Privileged. They gave me their tests and I failed. But then they brought out a powder mage.” She remembered seeing the mage, branded at the neck like Norrine and bound with iron manacles. He had been reduced to nothing more than a beast, barely clothed and smelling worse than a dog.
“Privileged can’t sniff out a powder mage,” Erika went on. “Only other powder mages can. He took one look at me and he told his masters I was a powder mage.” They’d given him a dinner of slop as a reward, and Erika remembered hating that man more than anyone in the world. She had cried for weeks, though her mother assured her she wouldn’t be taken off to be executed. “I had to go before the king and swear to him and Kresimir that I would never touch black powder. And then they branded me.”
It had hurt worse than anything else in her life. She still remembered the pain of hot iron against her skin.
She fingered the snuff box in her pocket, trying to remember when s
he had first broken that promise. A few years ago, now. No one had ever checked, really. After all, what self-respecting Kez noblewoman would sacrifice her future for forbidden powers?
“You’ve never touched powder?” Norrine asked skeptically.
Erika smiled at the girl but didn’t answer. It was possible to be kind without being overly trustful.
The carriage suddenly slowed and there was a sharp rap at the door. Santiole ducked inside without waiting for an answer. She shut the door behind her and rubbed her hands together. Her hair and shoulders were dusted with snow. “Pit, it’s cold out there.”
“Are we making good time?”
“Better than I expected. Not as well as I’d hoped,” Santiole answered. “We’ll change horses at a wayhouse in about three hours, and then ride through the night.”
“You can’t ride for so long,” Erika said. “Not in this weather.”
“I think it’s best we not stop. Dominik will rest in here with you and I’ll drive for the first half of the night.” She seemed about to say more but fell silent. “We’ll make good time.”
Erika snatched Santiole by the jacket as she made to leave the carriage. “What is it?”
“Nothing, my lady.”
“Santiole.” Erika tried to inject the same authority into her voice that grandfather used when the servants weren’t being forthright.
Santiole pursed her lips. “I think we’re being followed.”
“Do you know for sure?”
“No. Just a feeling.” Santiole spread her hands. “It could just be other travelers on the road. It could be nothing. You shouldn’t worry.”
Erika chewed on the inside of her cheek. She had long ago learned to trust Santiole’s instincts. “All right. We go through the night.”
The snow stopped the next afternoon and they were able to return to a steady pace though the roads were slick with wet snow. Dominik, Tirel, and Santiole traded places driving and sleeping in the carriage with Erika.
The next day Santiole returned to scouting. She was gone for only a few hours, early in the afternoon, when the carriage suddenly slid to a jarring stop.
Erika opened the door and stepped out onto the snow-covered road. “Everything all right?” she asked.
Dominik sat atop the driver’s seat with the reins in his hands. He huddled with his sealskin cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. He turned to look at her with a puzzled scowl.
“Dominik?” she asked.
Tirel caught up to the carriage on his own horse and frowned. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Dominik. What’s going on?”
Dominik suddenly toppled from the driver’s seat. Erika rushed forward to catch him, nearly losing her balance on the snow, and Tirel leapt from his horse to help. They both lowered the driver gently to the ground.
“Is he having some kind of attack?” Tirel asked.
The old man opened his mouth several times before he managed to say, “I think I’ve been shot.”
“I didn’t hear a shot,” Tirel said.
Erika heard the sound of splintering wood and looked up to see a bullet lodged in the frame of the carriage not far from her head. She dove into the carriage and snatched her small sword. “Stay here,” she said to Norrine. She was back outside a moment later and Tirel had already fetched his musket. He clutched it in both hands, peering into the mountains for an unseen attacker.
“Has anyone passed us?” Erika drew her sword and tossed the sheath back into the carriage.
“No,” Tirel said.
“Then they’re behind us.” She faced the mountain road and eyed a spot fifty yards back where a boulder jutted out into the road. “You going to shoot from the shadows like a coward, or will you come out and fight?” she shouted.
She waited for another shot to hit her dead in the chest, her breath coming shallow, the cold numbing her hands. The mountain pass remained silent and snowflakes began to fall gently. It seemed like an eternity before a figure suddenly emerged from behind the boulder.
Erika recognized the master mage hunter from his height alone. Duglas wore a brown felt jacket beneath a canvas overcoat and a side-to-side bicorn hat. A woolen scarf concealed his features, but there was no mistaking the peculiar musket he held in his hands. It was the very weapon that Nikslaus had displayed so proudly on the hotel dining room table.
Two more figures joined Duglas in the road, their small swords drawn. Erika didn’t recognize them. It seemed Nikslaus had sent others to do his dirty work. Only one of them held an air musket—some small relief, at least.
Duglas advanced cautiously, flanked by his companions. “Lower your weapon,” he shouted at Tirel.
“By whose authority?” Tirel asked.
“Master of the king’s mage hunters.”
Tirel began to tremble, the tip of his musket wavering. “Don’t listen to him,” Erika said. “He’s just a common bandit.”
Tirel scowled at the man. “Do you have proof of who you are?”
Duglas took his air musket in one hand long enough to pull a white sash from his jacket and hold it fluttering in the air.
Tirel’s scowl deepened. “He’s a Longdog. That one from the hotel.”
“If we surrender, he’ll kill both of us,” Erika said.
“Do you guarantee our safety if we surrender?” Tirel asked.
“Of course. Lower your weapons.”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Tirel said.
“Tirel!”
Tirel lowered his musket and then let it drop into the snow. Erika let out a soft hiss as he did.
Duglas raised the air musket and pulled the trigger. There was a low popping sound and Tirel inhaled sharply as he jerked backward. There was another pop, and Tirel went down in a spray of crimson, crying out in pain.
Duglas turned the weapon toward Erika. She willed herself to leap away, to snatch up Tirel’s musket...to do something! Her muscles wouldn’t listen to her. The Longdog pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He frowned, slapped the side of the musket, and tried again. Still nothing.
“Not very reliable, are they,” she called. The words seemed to free Erika’s muscles and she jumped to the side, grasping for Tirel’s musket. She brought it to her shoulder and sighted along the barrel as she’d seen Santiole do so many times. The three men were already running toward her, their swords drawn. She pulled the trigger.
The blast jerked the stock back into her shoulder harder than she’d expected. Smoke briefly obscured her vision, but she could tell that none of the men had fallen from the shot. She had missed. She dropped the useless weapon and leapt backward, scooping up her sword with one hand. The acrid smoke stung her eyes and she felt a surge of energy as she breathed in the sulfuric smell.
The cowards. They would not find her so easy to kill at close range. She could not—would not—allow them to take Norrine. She whirled to face the charging Longdogs when the escarpment on her right suddenly exploded in a flurry of snow.
Santiole emerged from the snow to hit the three Longdogs from the side. The first of them whirled to defend himself, parrying desperately. Erika didn’t have time to watch the fight progress. The second mage hunter was already upon her, his sword darting forward. Behind him, Duglas seemed to waver between Erika and Santiole.
Erika found herself instantly on the defense against the Longdog. He was about her height, but he had the longer sword and was clearly stronger. He pressed forward confidently as she shrank back, trying to be mindful of her footing on the slick road.
She countered the man’s disengage, and then caught a quick slash from the side. Her back was almost to the carriage and she would soon run out of room.
The man saw her hesitation and lunged. She parried as she stepped to one side and recognized the opening in his attack, countering with her own solid thrust. Her blade entered above his heart, just beneath his clavicle. She drew back, parried a weak attack, and put her blade through his heart.
The fight must have lasted less than
a dozen seconds. Her mind buzzed from the smell of the black powder smoke and the adrenaline coursing through her body. She turned to Santiole.
The first of the Longdogs lay face-down in the road, the snow beneath him stained with crimson. Santiole and Duglas appeared to have already engaged and separated, their swords up, their breath coming in bursts of steam. It wasn’t until they engaged once more that Erika noticed the dark stain on the front of Santiole’s jacket and the off way that she held her sword.
Duglas attacked in a straightforward, almost lazy manner, using his height and reach to bear down on Santiole like a warhorse trampling an infantryman.
Santiole was forced backwards, parrying his attacks a little slower each time, her body sagging from loss of blood, her face pale. Duglas pressed forward relentlessly, forcing Santiole toward the edge of the road and a drop of at least twenty feet.
Erika approached Duglas from the side, ready to take him unawares, but she was waved off by Santiole as the mistress-at-arms made her stand a yard from the precipice. Erika took another step forward. She wasn’t about to allow Santiole to die because of damned stubbornness. This was a battle for their lives, not a duel for honor.
Santiole’s sword blurred as she parried two quick thrusts and put on a burst of speed, counter-attacking with her own strikes that Duglas only barely parried. One more thrust and she was inside Duglas’ guard, her sword flashing forward.
She struck nothing but air. Duglas slid around the thrust with stunning swiftness and rammed his sword through Santiole’s heart in one quick, brutal thrust. The mistress-at-arms stiffened, letting out a single cry.
In the time it took Duglas to force Santiole off the end of his blade with one boot, Erika was upon him.
He parried with the same casual technique he’d used on Santiole. Erika beat it aside and stuck the very tip of her sword into his left shoulder.
She had to scramble backward to avoid his counter. She paused several yards away, giving herself a chance to glance at Santiole. She fought down a sob and felt her steadiness falter at the sight of the lifeless body.
Duglas touched the shoulder wound with one thumb and made a face. “Sloppy,” he said. “You should have killed me there.”