Weathermage ch. 2 & 3
Jul. 13th, 2008 01:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrSince I feel kind of bad for talking about it, and did not realize so many people still cared (and that I'd only posted the prologue and first chapter).
Prologue & 1
So, here is ch. 2 & 3
then I'm abandoning my computer until I can focus on work and not play >.>;;;
Chapter Two
His head was killing him.
Meredith opened his eyes, then with a wince closed them again.
Too much light.
Also, why was the room moving?
He attempted to open his eyes again, and this time forced them to remain so despite the pain throbbing in his temples.
A ship. That explained the moving bit. Stifling a groan, he struggled to sit up, fumbling briefly with the blanket tangled up in his legs. He paused as he caught sight of his clothing – plain shirt and breeches, boots slightly too big…peasant clothing. The rough fabric was nothing like the silks and satins to which he was accustomed.
Kidnapped.
Memory came flooding back to him and he tensed, looking wide-eyed around the cabin in which he lay. Save for himself, however, it was empty. He stood up – and yelped as he promptly fell forward, landing hard on his knees and palms. Making a face, he struggled once more to his feet, falling forward again but this time catching himself against the door.
He tried the door, unsurprised to find it locked.
Kidnapped, and by the notorious traitors themselves. He supposed father was kicking himself for not simply killing them in the first place.
Still…they had said Ketterick was alive. Prince Ketterick, who if alive still held rightful claim to the throne. Prince Ketterick who was a High Mage – of fire. It had been his own Holy Water which had driven the prince to his knees at the last, and Meredith had been there when his father had killed him…
He had seen the body go on the pyre. They all had.
How, then, could Ketterick be alive? It was not possible.
Frowning in thought, Meredith stumbled his way back to his bed, grimacing as he landed awkwardly. He hoped he would not always be so clumsy; shameful enough for a prince to appear so graceless, never mind one who was a Holy Mage with an affinity for water.
He reached up to run his hands through his hair – and froze as he noticed something he had not before. His hair had been shorn. It fell to about his chin, and he could tell the cutting had been crudely done…
Letting his hand fall, he permitted himself a soft sigh.
Quite the mess he was in, and no clear way of getting out of it. He did not doubt he had the magic to manage something, but he knew nothing about ships – a glaring lack in his learning, no doubt, but he had grown up thoroughly landlocked until they had moved the seat of power to the kingdom closest to the sea.
Drawing his knees up, Meredith rested his chin upon them. No doubt his father was tearing the country apart looking for him. He wondered if anyone knew he had been taken to sea.
What was he going to do?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices, then the hard clank of key in lock. The door swung open, and a rough looking man with a graying beard and clothes that had seen better days swung inside.
"Ah, laddie is awake then," he rumbled, and Meredith wondered idly what made his voice so rough, like stones being rubbed together. "Cap'n will be wanting to see you, then," the man continued on, peering at him thoughtfully, eyes a dark brown. "Going to come quietly, there, Highness, or will we have to clap you in irons?" He grinned.
Meredith drew himself up, or at least as much as he could in his position. "I do not require being clapped in irons. Take me to this Captain, then."
"Aye, aye," the sailor rumbled, grinning and saying something in a different language to someone unseen just outside the room. He turned back to Meredith. "Come along, then, Highness."
He slowly stood up, willing himself not to fall again, breathing a sigh of relief when he did not. Still he held to the wall as best he could while they walked, following the odd sailor through a narrow passageway and up a ladder, up onto the main deck of the ship.
How beautiful. Nothing but the sea…
It looked like nothing else in the world existed; he'd never seen so much of the sea at once. High above the sky was cloudless, the sun bright, and if not for the fact he'd been kidnapped, Meredith might have enjoyed himself.
The ship was a wonder all its own – the sails, the rope, all the men moving about, so many things for which he had no name.
Chuckling jerked his attention back to where it should be, and Meredith silently swore at himself. "Lead the way," he said stiffly.
"Aye, Highness," the sailor replied, still laughing softly. He escorted Meredith to the Captain's quarters and rapped sharply on the door. When a voice called a muffled enter, he pushed the door open and strolled inside.
"Cap'n, your guest is awake. I've brought him as you ordered."
"Thank you, Spears," Gallatin said, glancing up from the map laid out on a table on the far side of the room.
Spears departed, and Meredith stood stiffly just inside the door, the sound of it closing loud in his ears.
"Highness," Gallatin greeted. "You are looking well; I am glad. Our departure was rough, and though those with a water affinity tend to do well on the seas, it is not always the case."
Meredith nodded; if Gallatin could hide behind manners, so could he. "High Mage," he replied coolly. "I would have preferred some warning to our rather hasty departure."
Gallatin threw his head back and laughed. "Ah, now, warning would have ruined everything and well you know it, Highness." He rolled up the map which had been spread on the table and tucked it away in a rack on the wall which seemed to hold at least a dozen more. "If it is any consolation, we would have called off the entire kidnapping if your father had but listened to us."
"Yes, you said Prince Ketterick was still alive," Meredith said. "That is impossible."
"No, it is not," Gallatin replied. He moved around the table and approached Meredith. "If by that point your father had not locked us up, we would have told you that the worst thing you could do was attempt to throw Ketterick on a traditional pyre. He is quite alive, I assure you. It has taken me these seven years to find him, but I did it – and now you are going to help get rid of him once and for all."
Meredith frowned.
This had always been the strangest aspect of Gallatin and Leath, the way they had betrayed the crown to which they had sworn their oath, giving over so easily to Meredith's own family.
He still remembered their protests the day their father had them arrested, that they had betrayed only those who had betrayed them first; that they were loyal first and foremost to their home.
Gallatin had said as much again right before kidnapping him.
The door opened, and Meredith barely stifled a gasp as he felt suddenly warm. His skin flushed, and he turned sharply around to see Leath standing before him. Tall and slender, features cut sharper than ever, eyes still so pale a blue, the dark hair short and fine, clinging to the sides of his face.
He stepped back, willing away the blush he could feel on his face, helplessly recalling all that had washed over him when this man had dumped too much magic into Meredith's body.
"Highness," Leath greeted, and Meredith's discomfort turned into annoyance as he took in the smirk that teased at Leath's mouth.
"Jester," he greeted coldly. "Tricks are still your greatest skill, I see."
It had astounded them all, years ago, to learn that the court jester of all people was in fact a High Mage – his father had been incredibly sore about banishing two such powerful mages, but he'd felt ultimately he had no choice. He could not kill them, for they had helped; nor could he keep them, because he refused to trust traitors.
Meredith wondered just how furious his father was right now, and the thought would have been an amusing one if his own situation was not so precarious.
Leath's smirk died, and Meredith stubbornly refused to regret being sharp as those pale eyes darkened, a faint frown flickering briefly before Leath's expression merely turned cool. "Hardly a trick, Highness," he replied. "Merely a talent, coaxing pretty boys to collapse in my arms."
The impertinence. Intolerable. He would not be treated so, not after all they had inflicted upon him already. "By drugging them? That sounds like trickery to me, Jester."
Pale eyes flashed and Leath stepped forward, took hold of his arm, and Meredith struggled against the gasp that wanted out, the tingling rush of powerful magic flooding his body. "Unhand me at once," he snapped, glaring into eyes as furious as his own.
"Hmm," Leath said, thoughtful and mocking all at once. "You seemed to like it before when I handled you. Methinks your Highness protests too much."
Meredith jerked away, barely quelling an urge to backhand him. The sheer audacity! He had to tolerate being kidnapped; he would not tolerate such lewd disrespect on top of that. He would put this smug rogue in his place or he was not the crown prince. "You seem more interested in that fact than I," he replied, eyes still locked to Leath's. "Was that your first time managing to make someone want you? How sad it's only magic that draws people to you; but I suppose that is better than nothing."
Leath started to reply, eyes flashing with an all new level of anger, but Gallatin's laughter cut him off as it filled the cabin.
"Enough, Leath," Gallatin said. "Highness, sheath your claws. We have shown you every courtesy, and intend to continue doing so, but not if you are going to hurl insults – amusing as they are." He moved back to the table and took a seat. "If you are going to be troublesome, we can at the very least seal off your magic. We could also keep you over-saturated. Do not underestimate us."
"Not every touch need be pleasant, Highness," Leath continued, voice level but firm. "We are desperate men."
A sudden thought crashed down on Meredith as their none too subtle threats struck him. "Lorccan!" He barely kept from striking Leath, the knowledge it would be a futile effort the only thing staying his hand. "You killed Lorccan to get to me."
Leath frowned. "Lorccan?"
"Your bodyguard, Highness? Leath would not take a life needlessly. If he is dead, it is by the hand of another."
Meredith's glare did not waver.
"I didn’t kill your bodyguard," Leath snapped. "You should be grateful."
"I have been kidnapped, addressed rudely, and whoever cut my hair did a poor job of it," Meredith retorted. "When I see something for which I should be grateful, I will act accordingly. Until then, I will treat you as I see fit."
"Enough," Gallatin said, looking torn between annoyance and frustration. "Highness, please. I know it does not seem like it, but we are not your enemies. We would like you to cooperate with us."
Meredith turned sharply away from Leath, childishly gratified by the way he scowled, and took a seat across from Gallatin. "If you are hoping to win my cooperation, then you are going about it poorly."
Gallatin met his gaze in silence. Unlike Leath, there was only a strange sort of calmness to this man. That he was High Wind seemed almost a surprise, except he recalled how easily Gallatin had bent the winds to his will.
"Do explain how you are hoping to win my cooperation, because thus far I am not inclined to give it." He pointedly did not look at Leath.
"For one, Highness," Gallatin said levelly, "we share a mutual enemy. There was never any love lost between us and Prince Ketterick. We have more reason to loathe him than you, but he is no idle threat to your newly established power here."
Meredith nodded, reluctantly conceding the point. The late King of Ashtanar had been pathetically easy to dispose of; he was weak and stupid. It was Prince Ketterick who was the true threat – angry and violent, with a taste for shedding blood that had become more obvious as the war dragged on.
Decades it had taken his family to unite the continent; Ashtanar had always proven the only real difficulty, time and again stopping his family from gaining true and absolute control.
Finally they had wrested control…at no small price, and his occasional nightmares were only part of the price he'd paid for that victory.
Which raised a question. "I do not understand why the two of you are doing this. There is nothing to gain by it. You forfeited your lives merely by returning to these shores—"
A snort of amused derision cut him off. Leath smirked. "Highness, what makes you think we ever left these shores? Ashtanar – or, if you like, the great and holy kingdom of Solrene – is our home. We turned traitor to save her, and no stupid royal will make us leave until we choose."
Meredith ignored him, refusing to be impressed, that smirk grating. "As I was saying," he continued, as though not interrupted, "your lives are forfeit merely for breaking your banishment. You have kidnapped me in addition to that, all to kill a man everyone believes to be already dead. My father…" Had already betrayed them in his turn once. The affair had always left a sour taste in his mouth; he had not been a child for long, by the time he was nineteen and used his magic to rain down destruction…yes, by that point he was well aware of how atrocious his father had been in his treatment of these two men.
Even if his reasoning had been that traitors were not to be trusted.
He shook the thoughts away irritably. They had no place here; what was done could not be undone. He focused on what he should be saying. "So what stand you to gain from all this? Either you will die finally killing a man who should already be dead – or you will likely die at the end of the affair, unless you manage some escape. Which I doubt."
They shared a look he didn't understand, and somehow he felt like he was intruding. The feeling annoyed him, and he scowled briefly before regaining control of his expressions.
"We have our reasons, Highness," Gallatin said at last. "Leave it at that. Are you going to cooperate with us or not?"
Meredith spread his arms wide. "You ask a pointless question. If he is alive, of course I am obligated to help. More to the point, I simply have no choice for now but to go along with your wishes. My magic could probably best either one of you, but I could not best you both before one or the other overcame me. Even assuming I did such a thing, it is doubtful the crew would obey me and you must know I lack any knowledge of sailing. All that aside, I have no idea where we are and likely most of the crew is equally ignorant. Whether I cooperate or not is moot; I have no choice but to go along with you until I reach a point I can make a real decision."
"We are telling the truth, Highness, for what it is worth," Gallatin said gently.
"I do not see how he could possibly be alive," Meredith replied.
Leath snorted. "Highness, according to reputable sources Ketterick was not quite dead when your father tossed him on the pyre to burn."
Meredith stilled. He had never heard that. Not once. He had asked his father, who had said the man was dead.
If a High Mage of Fire was thrown while still alive on a pyre…
"I see you begin to comprehend," Gallatin said quietly.
"Took him long enough," Leath grunted.
Meredith gave him a scathing look. "I had every reason to believe he was dead."
"Ah, right," Leath said, eyes hard. "You probably trusted your father."
"A traitor has no room to speak of trust," Meredith snapped.
Leath leaned forward in his seat, and he would have been intimidated by those eyes except he'd seen worse, and was too aggravated besides. "We never betrayed anyone who did not betray us first."
Meredith frowned, sensing he had just lost the argument. He sat back without replying, sourly conceding defeat.
Before anyone could say anything further, a sharp knock came at the door. Gallatin called for the knocker to enter, and a moment later men came in bearing trays of food. He recognized Spears, who seemed not to notice him, chatting easily with Gallatin and Leath a moment before they were once more alone in the cabin.
The food smelled wonderful, and he was surprised that such fine food could be managed in such confining quarters as a ship.
"I'm sure you're not used to serving yourself, Highness," Leath said.
"I am used to army encampments," Meredith interrupted, being as crown prince as he possibly could. "One learns how to eat without service of a silver spoon – while retaining one's manners. I see you missed that part of the lesson."
Gallatin rolled his eyes and cut Leath off with a look. "Shut up, both of you. Highness, I concede you will not give us your cooperation – yet. I hope you will at least remain open to being persuaded."
Meredith glanced at Leath, then at Gallatin. "If you hope to win your cause, you had better do the work yourself. That one is not convincing me of anything but his skills as an entertainer."
"Enough, Highness," Gallatin said, giving him a look that reminded Meredith of all his tutors growing up.
He fell silent, but only because the wine and food were vastly more appealing than speaking to his captors.
The meal stretched on in silence, yet never really felt quiet. Perhaps it was the looks Gallatin and Leath continued to exchange, as though they were having a conversation that required no words.
Meredith somehow felt terribly left out, or as though something was being said about him but he could not prove it, only ignore it.
So ignore it he did, as he had the words of so many people whose greatest pleasure was speaking malicious words behind their hands about the royal family.
Expression closed, manner poised, calm, collected, and centered. Nothing would get to him. He had survived worse than a kidnapping, and eventually even this would end. Until that end came, he would simply do what he always had – endure.
Chapter Three
He waited for the guard to get drunk.
The first night, he'd scarcely been able to believe what he was seeing. He'd almost asked the guard to clarify for him that the bottle he held was, in fact, a bottle of the city's foulest rotgut.
Holding his tongue, however, was as natural as breathing. He'd waited. When the bells tolled the twentieth hour, and the guard stumbled to his cell with a tray of scraps he refused to call food, the stench of the guard's breath was more answer than he needed.
Drunk. The idiot guard was on duty and drunker than a sailor on shore leave. Disgusting.
Still, it was exactly what he needed. He waited patiently through two more nights before feeling certain this was a regular thing.
Night four, he'd dallied too long, but if he'd gone before this he would not have trusted in a sure escape.
He could still feel the sting of that spell, and would have no name for it except he'd seen Prince Meredith use it – lightning. The nastiest spell a High Water could call down. He would be impressed at the skill of a High Mage who could focus it so precisely – and quietly – but he swore he still had a headache four days later from it.
At least he was alive to have a headache. The King had ordered him locked up until there was time for the execution. Lorccan suspected he'd been forgotten about. That suited him just fine.
The guard was already where Lorccan needed him to be.
From far away, the bells tolled the twentieth hour.
With slow, stumbling steps the guard grabbed up the food trays deposited earlier – always meals were served late, the fool disgusting and lazy – and Lorccan hoped that he was properly recalling everything else he needed to know.
It had taken him a day to formulate the plan, a day to refine it, and one more to think of anything he might have missed. He would only get one chance; that left no room for a single mistake.
He watched as the guard drew close, but did not move.
Slowly, probably wary of tipping entirely over, the guard knelt to shove the meal tray through the slot in the bars.
Lorccan moved, grabbing the man before he even knew what had happened, jerking him hard against the metal bars. He stood, dragging the cumbersome guard with him, fumbled for the keys at his belt, dropped them. Once more he slammed the guard against the bars, and this time he went slack in Lorccan's grip.
He let the dead weight fall into an awkward heap and retrieved the keys. Letting himself out of the cell, he dragged the guard into it, shoving him into a corner and throwing a thin blanket over him.
The cell was dark enough, the prison neglected enough, that even if a guard did stop by on patrol, the cursory glance he gave the place would reveal only a sleeping prisoner and a guard missing from a room that stank of alcohol.
Checking over everything, ensuring that all looked as it should, he departed quickly from the otherwise empty prison – most prisoners were kept elsewhere; it was a sign of the severity of his failure that he was kept away from all the rest – and headed for the castle.
This hour of the night, it was easy to travel unnoticed. Everyone was either dining or tending to those who were dining. A few servants passed here and there along the paths he took, but Lorccan heard them well before they drew near.
He seethed quietly.
The bastard jester. He knew that face. Fool him for seeing it too late; all his training – what kind of man was a jester who moved more soundlessly than a thief? Lorccan wanted badly to know, and he would ask right before he shoved a blade through the man's gut.
Assuming Prince Meredith did not strike him down first…but Lorccan knew he wouldn't. That wasn't in Prince Meredith's nature. Being a battle mage was killing his Highness slowly; Lorccan had always seen it in his face.
He probably should have Lorccan executed, as the King intended, but Meredith wouldn't. Others might not see it, but Meredith tended to be too kind for his own good.
Reaching the chambers he had once shared with the prince, though his own portion of it had never been more than a pallet on the floor and a wardrobe in the dressing room., he swiftly cleaned himself as best he could and changed into fresh clothes.
It was a risky step, because lingering too long in the palace was foolish, but he would gain nothing by seeking answers looking like a filthy wastrel.
Shaved, cleaned, new weapons and coin obtained, Lorccan threw open the window and climbed down into the garden, cutting through it and then scaling the wall to drop down behind the palace. He circled swiftly around, headed for the city – and the harbor.
They were all idiots.
Amidst the fervor of trying to figure out what, exactly, had happened, thousands of possibilities had been discussed.
Except, of course, the one which would never occur to people who generally preferred to keep their feet firmly planted on land. Lorccan also had a sneaking suspicion Gallatin and Leath had been certain to give the impression they were traveling on land.
But Gallatin was High Wind, Leath was High Water, and before he'd been knocked out cold Lorccan had smelled the sea. Gallatin had been dressed in clothes similar to those favored by sailors, boots and fabric made for the rough seas.
So they could search on land all they liked; and no doubt they would shortly turn to the sea if only as a matter of course – but Lorccan did not intend to waste any more time.
The twenty first hour was being chimed by the palace and city bells when he finally reached the harbor, but in this part of the world the day was far from over. He paused to get his bearings, calling up memories he had not needed to use in some time, then finally turned sharply down one street.
He stopped in front of a two story wooden building that for all the wear and tear it showed, still retained an austerity.
Pushing the door open, he strode to the counter. His boots clicked loudly on the wooden floor, echoing in the space that was empty save for himself and one young-looking clerk.
Lorccan smiled.
The young man paused, then flushed slightly. "Good evening, sir. Is there something I can do for you?"
"I was hoping to check the departure lists," Lorccan said, using every bit of charm everyone in the palace said the stony bodyguard did not have.
"Certainly," the clerk replied, scrambling to fetch the proper ledger. "It was updated just two hours ago, sir, so it should still be fairly accurate."
"Splendid," Lorccan said, smiling at him again as the ledger was set down and flipped open.
He perused the lists, flipping back several pages until he found what he wanted – all ships leaving harbor four days ago. Noted with each ship was the time of departure, the dock from which it had left, and its final destination. All such basic facts were a matter of public record.
It was, of course, almost too much to hope for – but in a harbor as large as this, the ships were tracked as thoroughly as was possible. No ship could enter or leave without having to report to the harbormaster. Still, there were ways around it.
But he rather suspected that Gallatin and Leath did not operate that way. No, their method of kidnapping was brazen and bold, not sly and safe. Rather than taking him in the night, they had charged right in and stolen Prince Meredith from right beneath his father's nose.
There.
Four ships had left right around the time that would fit. Rough estimates, of course, but his best starting points. The Shalar, the Constant, the Memory, and the Silver Star.
He weighed each one, looking over every scrap of information available, memorizing all of it.
At last he closed the book and pushed it back across the wide counter, along with a few coins and another smile. "Thank you," he said, giving a nod before turning and departing.
Registered as a merchant ship, the Memory had departed four days ago, just one hour after Prince Meredith had been kidnapped. Impressive. They must have had it planned down to every detail. If he had not already decided to kill them, he would extend his compliments on a job well done.
Obvious – too obvious – but all he could remember was the way Gallatin had simply walked right in…the way Leath had been dressed as a servant, and used his magic so blatantly close to a Holy Mage.
Bold. Brazen. It would be just like them not to bother hiding their ship or anything about it.
Except, of course, the final destination. He doubted there was any grain of truth to that.
Which meant he needed to figure out where it was actually bound…something he stood very little chance of discovering.
Still, he could probably learn at least a general direction.
Heading for the docks, he sought out the only tavern he knew in this place. Being Prince Meredith's bodyguard left little room to do anything else…but he had acquaintances here and there, a few who could even pass for friends.
One such had left palace life only three years ago, and dwelt here. On those rare nights he was ordered away, Prince Meredith trusted to his father's men, he came here.
He pushed inside, through the crush of people, finally reaching the bar.
The bartender saw him after a moment, and smiled briefly. "He's upstairs, pretending to get some work done. You can go."
Nodding, Lorccan pushed his way back through the chaos and finally reached the stairs. He took them two at a time, and gave three sharp raps on the door at the top of them.
It swung open to reveal a man nearly big enough to be two men. He was dark in every sense of the word – dark eyes, dark skin, dark beard, dark clothes, and even his voice as he bellowed a hearty greeting seemed to fit that adjective.
Once upon a time he'd been in charge of everything that was shipped to or from whichever palace the royal family inhabited. More than once he and Lorccan had interacted when handling packages which had arrived bearing the prince's name, or those few things the prince ordered sent out.
Now retired, he'd settled in the shipping yard to do things Lorccan was careful not to ask too many questions about. "Ratcha."
"You're looking pretty good for a dead man," Ratcha said with a grin, ushering him inside and locking the door behind them. "Sit, sit. Food or drink?"
Lorccan nodded, gladly taking the offered seat. "Both. Whatever you've got, please."
Ratcha chuckled and moved to fetch stuff from a nearby table, returning after a couple of minutes and thrusting a bowl and tankard into his hands.
Accepting them with a murmur of thanks, Lorccan wasted no time filling his stomach. After the vileness he'd been forced to choke down the past few days, the simple fare seemed a meal as fine as those in the palace. "Thank you," he said again when he'd finished.
"You are obviously not here to discuss old times, Lor. So tell me everything."
Lorccan told him.
Ratcha stroked his beard thoughtfully as he finished. "The Memory, yes. I've heard talk of that ship before. It has an excellent reputation. Certainly if they had a High Mage onboard, that would explain it."
"Two High Mages," Lorccan reminded him.
"Yes," Ratcha agreed. "What did they list as their final destination?"
"Port Tuthma."
Ratcha hummed thoughtfully. "Give me a few minutes, Lor. I want to see something."
Lorccan nodded, and locked the door again once Ratcha had gone.
A few minutes turned into several, turned into a half hour when he began to lose the battle against exhaustion. Just as he was about to drift off for good, three sharp raps jerked him awake.
He opened the door and stepped aside for Ratcha to enter. "I was beginning to think you got lost."
Ratcha snickered. "It looks more like you were thinking about a nap."
"Where did you go?" Lorccan asked, ignoring the jibe.
"To investigate," Ratcha replied, settling his massive weight back in a chair that had to have been specially made for him. "The Memory left here bound for Tuthma with a cargo of silk, jewels, tea, and rum. That is a cargo of no small worth, and the merchant house who hired him fully expects them to make berth in Tuthma."
Lorccan frowned. "That seems a stupid thing for kidnappers to do…"
Ratcha drummed his fingers on the table. "Not necessarily. The very first thing anyone would look for is a ship out of place. Nothing is more suspicious in a harbor than a ship that does not belong, especially a merchant ship which either carries no cargo or worse carries a cargo it should not have. No one will look twice at the Memory if it is doing what it should and has always done. It would be interesting to know what the Memory's plans are after she makes berth in Tuthma."
"I guess I am going to Tuthma, then," Lorccan said. "Though I do not see any way to beat it there, not when she has two High Mages aboard and a four day head start."
"Honestly, my friend, it sounds as though you perhaps took a knock to the head."
Lorccan glared at him.
Unfazed, Ratcha merely laughed. "Take the river and a good mage. They should make up for plenty of lost time, and if that ship is truly to make port in order to sell its cargo it will be there for a couple of days at least. If you leave now, and travel quickly, you will make it and perhaps even with time to spare."
Nodding, decided, Lorccan stood. "Thank you, my friend. May you continue to prosper."
"Oh, I shall. Go find his Highness; he was always a good sort." Ratcha embraced him, startling Lorccan, for he'd never done such a thing before. "Come back, Lor."
Lorccan nodded, awkwardly returning the embrace. "I will. Thank you again, Ratcha."
"I've had a bag packed for you; it's waiting at the bar. Don't cause too much trouble. You've a temper beneath that stony façade, don't let it out at the wrong moment." Ratcha waved a finger at him. "You're quiet, and it's always the quiet ones…"
Smiling briefly, Lorccan finally turned and departed, quickly fetching the bag waiting for him before plunging off into the night to find a boat and a mage who would take him with all due haste to the Port of Tuthma.
Prologue & 1
So, here is ch. 2 & 3
then I'm abandoning my computer until I can focus on work and not play >.>;;;
Chapter Two
His head was killing him.
Meredith opened his eyes, then with a wince closed them again.
Too much light.
Also, why was the room moving?
He attempted to open his eyes again, and this time forced them to remain so despite the pain throbbing in his temples.
A ship. That explained the moving bit. Stifling a groan, he struggled to sit up, fumbling briefly with the blanket tangled up in his legs. He paused as he caught sight of his clothing – plain shirt and breeches, boots slightly too big…peasant clothing. The rough fabric was nothing like the silks and satins to which he was accustomed.
Kidnapped.
Memory came flooding back to him and he tensed, looking wide-eyed around the cabin in which he lay. Save for himself, however, it was empty. He stood up – and yelped as he promptly fell forward, landing hard on his knees and palms. Making a face, he struggled once more to his feet, falling forward again but this time catching himself against the door.
He tried the door, unsurprised to find it locked.
Kidnapped, and by the notorious traitors themselves. He supposed father was kicking himself for not simply killing them in the first place.
Still…they had said Ketterick was alive. Prince Ketterick, who if alive still held rightful claim to the throne. Prince Ketterick who was a High Mage – of fire. It had been his own Holy Water which had driven the prince to his knees at the last, and Meredith had been there when his father had killed him…
He had seen the body go on the pyre. They all had.
How, then, could Ketterick be alive? It was not possible.
Frowning in thought, Meredith stumbled his way back to his bed, grimacing as he landed awkwardly. He hoped he would not always be so clumsy; shameful enough for a prince to appear so graceless, never mind one who was a Holy Mage with an affinity for water.
He reached up to run his hands through his hair – and froze as he noticed something he had not before. His hair had been shorn. It fell to about his chin, and he could tell the cutting had been crudely done…
Letting his hand fall, he permitted himself a soft sigh.
Quite the mess he was in, and no clear way of getting out of it. He did not doubt he had the magic to manage something, but he knew nothing about ships – a glaring lack in his learning, no doubt, but he had grown up thoroughly landlocked until they had moved the seat of power to the kingdom closest to the sea.
Drawing his knees up, Meredith rested his chin upon them. No doubt his father was tearing the country apart looking for him. He wondered if anyone knew he had been taken to sea.
What was he going to do?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices, then the hard clank of key in lock. The door swung open, and a rough looking man with a graying beard and clothes that had seen better days swung inside.
"Ah, laddie is awake then," he rumbled, and Meredith wondered idly what made his voice so rough, like stones being rubbed together. "Cap'n will be wanting to see you, then," the man continued on, peering at him thoughtfully, eyes a dark brown. "Going to come quietly, there, Highness, or will we have to clap you in irons?" He grinned.
Meredith drew himself up, or at least as much as he could in his position. "I do not require being clapped in irons. Take me to this Captain, then."
"Aye, aye," the sailor rumbled, grinning and saying something in a different language to someone unseen just outside the room. He turned back to Meredith. "Come along, then, Highness."
He slowly stood up, willing himself not to fall again, breathing a sigh of relief when he did not. Still he held to the wall as best he could while they walked, following the odd sailor through a narrow passageway and up a ladder, up onto the main deck of the ship.
How beautiful. Nothing but the sea…
It looked like nothing else in the world existed; he'd never seen so much of the sea at once. High above the sky was cloudless, the sun bright, and if not for the fact he'd been kidnapped, Meredith might have enjoyed himself.
The ship was a wonder all its own – the sails, the rope, all the men moving about, so many things for which he had no name.
Chuckling jerked his attention back to where it should be, and Meredith silently swore at himself. "Lead the way," he said stiffly.
"Aye, Highness," the sailor replied, still laughing softly. He escorted Meredith to the Captain's quarters and rapped sharply on the door. When a voice called a muffled enter, he pushed the door open and strolled inside.
"Cap'n, your guest is awake. I've brought him as you ordered."
"Thank you, Spears," Gallatin said, glancing up from the map laid out on a table on the far side of the room.
Spears departed, and Meredith stood stiffly just inside the door, the sound of it closing loud in his ears.
"Highness," Gallatin greeted. "You are looking well; I am glad. Our departure was rough, and though those with a water affinity tend to do well on the seas, it is not always the case."
Meredith nodded; if Gallatin could hide behind manners, so could he. "High Mage," he replied coolly. "I would have preferred some warning to our rather hasty departure."
Gallatin threw his head back and laughed. "Ah, now, warning would have ruined everything and well you know it, Highness." He rolled up the map which had been spread on the table and tucked it away in a rack on the wall which seemed to hold at least a dozen more. "If it is any consolation, we would have called off the entire kidnapping if your father had but listened to us."
"Yes, you said Prince Ketterick was still alive," Meredith said. "That is impossible."
"No, it is not," Gallatin replied. He moved around the table and approached Meredith. "If by that point your father had not locked us up, we would have told you that the worst thing you could do was attempt to throw Ketterick on a traditional pyre. He is quite alive, I assure you. It has taken me these seven years to find him, but I did it – and now you are going to help get rid of him once and for all."
Meredith frowned.
This had always been the strangest aspect of Gallatin and Leath, the way they had betrayed the crown to which they had sworn their oath, giving over so easily to Meredith's own family.
He still remembered their protests the day their father had them arrested, that they had betrayed only those who had betrayed them first; that they were loyal first and foremost to their home.
Gallatin had said as much again right before kidnapping him.
The door opened, and Meredith barely stifled a gasp as he felt suddenly warm. His skin flushed, and he turned sharply around to see Leath standing before him. Tall and slender, features cut sharper than ever, eyes still so pale a blue, the dark hair short and fine, clinging to the sides of his face.
He stepped back, willing away the blush he could feel on his face, helplessly recalling all that had washed over him when this man had dumped too much magic into Meredith's body.
"Highness," Leath greeted, and Meredith's discomfort turned into annoyance as he took in the smirk that teased at Leath's mouth.
"Jester," he greeted coldly. "Tricks are still your greatest skill, I see."
It had astounded them all, years ago, to learn that the court jester of all people was in fact a High Mage – his father had been incredibly sore about banishing two such powerful mages, but he'd felt ultimately he had no choice. He could not kill them, for they had helped; nor could he keep them, because he refused to trust traitors.
Meredith wondered just how furious his father was right now, and the thought would have been an amusing one if his own situation was not so precarious.
Leath's smirk died, and Meredith stubbornly refused to regret being sharp as those pale eyes darkened, a faint frown flickering briefly before Leath's expression merely turned cool. "Hardly a trick, Highness," he replied. "Merely a talent, coaxing pretty boys to collapse in my arms."
The impertinence. Intolerable. He would not be treated so, not after all they had inflicted upon him already. "By drugging them? That sounds like trickery to me, Jester."
Pale eyes flashed and Leath stepped forward, took hold of his arm, and Meredith struggled against the gasp that wanted out, the tingling rush of powerful magic flooding his body. "Unhand me at once," he snapped, glaring into eyes as furious as his own.
"Hmm," Leath said, thoughtful and mocking all at once. "You seemed to like it before when I handled you. Methinks your Highness protests too much."
Meredith jerked away, barely quelling an urge to backhand him. The sheer audacity! He had to tolerate being kidnapped; he would not tolerate such lewd disrespect on top of that. He would put this smug rogue in his place or he was not the crown prince. "You seem more interested in that fact than I," he replied, eyes still locked to Leath's. "Was that your first time managing to make someone want you? How sad it's only magic that draws people to you; but I suppose that is better than nothing."
Leath started to reply, eyes flashing with an all new level of anger, but Gallatin's laughter cut him off as it filled the cabin.
"Enough, Leath," Gallatin said. "Highness, sheath your claws. We have shown you every courtesy, and intend to continue doing so, but not if you are going to hurl insults – amusing as they are." He moved back to the table and took a seat. "If you are going to be troublesome, we can at the very least seal off your magic. We could also keep you over-saturated. Do not underestimate us."
"Not every touch need be pleasant, Highness," Leath continued, voice level but firm. "We are desperate men."
A sudden thought crashed down on Meredith as their none too subtle threats struck him. "Lorccan!" He barely kept from striking Leath, the knowledge it would be a futile effort the only thing staying his hand. "You killed Lorccan to get to me."
Leath frowned. "Lorccan?"
"Your bodyguard, Highness? Leath would not take a life needlessly. If he is dead, it is by the hand of another."
Meredith's glare did not waver.
"I didn’t kill your bodyguard," Leath snapped. "You should be grateful."
"I have been kidnapped, addressed rudely, and whoever cut my hair did a poor job of it," Meredith retorted. "When I see something for which I should be grateful, I will act accordingly. Until then, I will treat you as I see fit."
"Enough," Gallatin said, looking torn between annoyance and frustration. "Highness, please. I know it does not seem like it, but we are not your enemies. We would like you to cooperate with us."
Meredith turned sharply away from Leath, childishly gratified by the way he scowled, and took a seat across from Gallatin. "If you are hoping to win my cooperation, then you are going about it poorly."
Gallatin met his gaze in silence. Unlike Leath, there was only a strange sort of calmness to this man. That he was High Wind seemed almost a surprise, except he recalled how easily Gallatin had bent the winds to his will.
"Do explain how you are hoping to win my cooperation, because thus far I am not inclined to give it." He pointedly did not look at Leath.
"For one, Highness," Gallatin said levelly, "we share a mutual enemy. There was never any love lost between us and Prince Ketterick. We have more reason to loathe him than you, but he is no idle threat to your newly established power here."
Meredith nodded, reluctantly conceding the point. The late King of Ashtanar had been pathetically easy to dispose of; he was weak and stupid. It was Prince Ketterick who was the true threat – angry and violent, with a taste for shedding blood that had become more obvious as the war dragged on.
Decades it had taken his family to unite the continent; Ashtanar had always proven the only real difficulty, time and again stopping his family from gaining true and absolute control.
Finally they had wrested control…at no small price, and his occasional nightmares were only part of the price he'd paid for that victory.
Which raised a question. "I do not understand why the two of you are doing this. There is nothing to gain by it. You forfeited your lives merely by returning to these shores—"
A snort of amused derision cut him off. Leath smirked. "Highness, what makes you think we ever left these shores? Ashtanar – or, if you like, the great and holy kingdom of Solrene – is our home. We turned traitor to save her, and no stupid royal will make us leave until we choose."
Meredith ignored him, refusing to be impressed, that smirk grating. "As I was saying," he continued, as though not interrupted, "your lives are forfeit merely for breaking your banishment. You have kidnapped me in addition to that, all to kill a man everyone believes to be already dead. My father…" Had already betrayed them in his turn once. The affair had always left a sour taste in his mouth; he had not been a child for long, by the time he was nineteen and used his magic to rain down destruction…yes, by that point he was well aware of how atrocious his father had been in his treatment of these two men.
Even if his reasoning had been that traitors were not to be trusted.
He shook the thoughts away irritably. They had no place here; what was done could not be undone. He focused on what he should be saying. "So what stand you to gain from all this? Either you will die finally killing a man who should already be dead – or you will likely die at the end of the affair, unless you manage some escape. Which I doubt."
They shared a look he didn't understand, and somehow he felt like he was intruding. The feeling annoyed him, and he scowled briefly before regaining control of his expressions.
"We have our reasons, Highness," Gallatin said at last. "Leave it at that. Are you going to cooperate with us or not?"
Meredith spread his arms wide. "You ask a pointless question. If he is alive, of course I am obligated to help. More to the point, I simply have no choice for now but to go along with your wishes. My magic could probably best either one of you, but I could not best you both before one or the other overcame me. Even assuming I did such a thing, it is doubtful the crew would obey me and you must know I lack any knowledge of sailing. All that aside, I have no idea where we are and likely most of the crew is equally ignorant. Whether I cooperate or not is moot; I have no choice but to go along with you until I reach a point I can make a real decision."
"We are telling the truth, Highness, for what it is worth," Gallatin said gently.
"I do not see how he could possibly be alive," Meredith replied.
Leath snorted. "Highness, according to reputable sources Ketterick was not quite dead when your father tossed him on the pyre to burn."
Meredith stilled. He had never heard that. Not once. He had asked his father, who had said the man was dead.
If a High Mage of Fire was thrown while still alive on a pyre…
"I see you begin to comprehend," Gallatin said quietly.
"Took him long enough," Leath grunted.
Meredith gave him a scathing look. "I had every reason to believe he was dead."
"Ah, right," Leath said, eyes hard. "You probably trusted your father."
"A traitor has no room to speak of trust," Meredith snapped.
Leath leaned forward in his seat, and he would have been intimidated by those eyes except he'd seen worse, and was too aggravated besides. "We never betrayed anyone who did not betray us first."
Meredith frowned, sensing he had just lost the argument. He sat back without replying, sourly conceding defeat.
Before anyone could say anything further, a sharp knock came at the door. Gallatin called for the knocker to enter, and a moment later men came in bearing trays of food. He recognized Spears, who seemed not to notice him, chatting easily with Gallatin and Leath a moment before they were once more alone in the cabin.
The food smelled wonderful, and he was surprised that such fine food could be managed in such confining quarters as a ship.
"I'm sure you're not used to serving yourself, Highness," Leath said.
"I am used to army encampments," Meredith interrupted, being as crown prince as he possibly could. "One learns how to eat without service of a silver spoon – while retaining one's manners. I see you missed that part of the lesson."
Gallatin rolled his eyes and cut Leath off with a look. "Shut up, both of you. Highness, I concede you will not give us your cooperation – yet. I hope you will at least remain open to being persuaded."
Meredith glanced at Leath, then at Gallatin. "If you hope to win your cause, you had better do the work yourself. That one is not convincing me of anything but his skills as an entertainer."
"Enough, Highness," Gallatin said, giving him a look that reminded Meredith of all his tutors growing up.
He fell silent, but only because the wine and food were vastly more appealing than speaking to his captors.
The meal stretched on in silence, yet never really felt quiet. Perhaps it was the looks Gallatin and Leath continued to exchange, as though they were having a conversation that required no words.
Meredith somehow felt terribly left out, or as though something was being said about him but he could not prove it, only ignore it.
So ignore it he did, as he had the words of so many people whose greatest pleasure was speaking malicious words behind their hands about the royal family.
Expression closed, manner poised, calm, collected, and centered. Nothing would get to him. He had survived worse than a kidnapping, and eventually even this would end. Until that end came, he would simply do what he always had – endure.
Chapter Three
He waited for the guard to get drunk.
The first night, he'd scarcely been able to believe what he was seeing. He'd almost asked the guard to clarify for him that the bottle he held was, in fact, a bottle of the city's foulest rotgut.
Holding his tongue, however, was as natural as breathing. He'd waited. When the bells tolled the twentieth hour, and the guard stumbled to his cell with a tray of scraps he refused to call food, the stench of the guard's breath was more answer than he needed.
Drunk. The idiot guard was on duty and drunker than a sailor on shore leave. Disgusting.
Still, it was exactly what he needed. He waited patiently through two more nights before feeling certain this was a regular thing.
Night four, he'd dallied too long, but if he'd gone before this he would not have trusted in a sure escape.
He could still feel the sting of that spell, and would have no name for it except he'd seen Prince Meredith use it – lightning. The nastiest spell a High Water could call down. He would be impressed at the skill of a High Mage who could focus it so precisely – and quietly – but he swore he still had a headache four days later from it.
At least he was alive to have a headache. The King had ordered him locked up until there was time for the execution. Lorccan suspected he'd been forgotten about. That suited him just fine.
The guard was already where Lorccan needed him to be.
From far away, the bells tolled the twentieth hour.
With slow, stumbling steps the guard grabbed up the food trays deposited earlier – always meals were served late, the fool disgusting and lazy – and Lorccan hoped that he was properly recalling everything else he needed to know.
It had taken him a day to formulate the plan, a day to refine it, and one more to think of anything he might have missed. He would only get one chance; that left no room for a single mistake.
He watched as the guard drew close, but did not move.
Slowly, probably wary of tipping entirely over, the guard knelt to shove the meal tray through the slot in the bars.
Lorccan moved, grabbing the man before he even knew what had happened, jerking him hard against the metal bars. He stood, dragging the cumbersome guard with him, fumbled for the keys at his belt, dropped them. Once more he slammed the guard against the bars, and this time he went slack in Lorccan's grip.
He let the dead weight fall into an awkward heap and retrieved the keys. Letting himself out of the cell, he dragged the guard into it, shoving him into a corner and throwing a thin blanket over him.
The cell was dark enough, the prison neglected enough, that even if a guard did stop by on patrol, the cursory glance he gave the place would reveal only a sleeping prisoner and a guard missing from a room that stank of alcohol.
Checking over everything, ensuring that all looked as it should, he departed quickly from the otherwise empty prison – most prisoners were kept elsewhere; it was a sign of the severity of his failure that he was kept away from all the rest – and headed for the castle.
This hour of the night, it was easy to travel unnoticed. Everyone was either dining or tending to those who were dining. A few servants passed here and there along the paths he took, but Lorccan heard them well before they drew near.
He seethed quietly.
The bastard jester. He knew that face. Fool him for seeing it too late; all his training – what kind of man was a jester who moved more soundlessly than a thief? Lorccan wanted badly to know, and he would ask right before he shoved a blade through the man's gut.
Assuming Prince Meredith did not strike him down first…but Lorccan knew he wouldn't. That wasn't in Prince Meredith's nature. Being a battle mage was killing his Highness slowly; Lorccan had always seen it in his face.
He probably should have Lorccan executed, as the King intended, but Meredith wouldn't. Others might not see it, but Meredith tended to be too kind for his own good.
Reaching the chambers he had once shared with the prince, though his own portion of it had never been more than a pallet on the floor and a wardrobe in the dressing room., he swiftly cleaned himself as best he could and changed into fresh clothes.
It was a risky step, because lingering too long in the palace was foolish, but he would gain nothing by seeking answers looking like a filthy wastrel.
Shaved, cleaned, new weapons and coin obtained, Lorccan threw open the window and climbed down into the garden, cutting through it and then scaling the wall to drop down behind the palace. He circled swiftly around, headed for the city – and the harbor.
They were all idiots.
Amidst the fervor of trying to figure out what, exactly, had happened, thousands of possibilities had been discussed.
Except, of course, the one which would never occur to people who generally preferred to keep their feet firmly planted on land. Lorccan also had a sneaking suspicion Gallatin and Leath had been certain to give the impression they were traveling on land.
But Gallatin was High Wind, Leath was High Water, and before he'd been knocked out cold Lorccan had smelled the sea. Gallatin had been dressed in clothes similar to those favored by sailors, boots and fabric made for the rough seas.
So they could search on land all they liked; and no doubt they would shortly turn to the sea if only as a matter of course – but Lorccan did not intend to waste any more time.
The twenty first hour was being chimed by the palace and city bells when he finally reached the harbor, but in this part of the world the day was far from over. He paused to get his bearings, calling up memories he had not needed to use in some time, then finally turned sharply down one street.
He stopped in front of a two story wooden building that for all the wear and tear it showed, still retained an austerity.
Pushing the door open, he strode to the counter. His boots clicked loudly on the wooden floor, echoing in the space that was empty save for himself and one young-looking clerk.
Lorccan smiled.
The young man paused, then flushed slightly. "Good evening, sir. Is there something I can do for you?"
"I was hoping to check the departure lists," Lorccan said, using every bit of charm everyone in the palace said the stony bodyguard did not have.
"Certainly," the clerk replied, scrambling to fetch the proper ledger. "It was updated just two hours ago, sir, so it should still be fairly accurate."
"Splendid," Lorccan said, smiling at him again as the ledger was set down and flipped open.
He perused the lists, flipping back several pages until he found what he wanted – all ships leaving harbor four days ago. Noted with each ship was the time of departure, the dock from which it had left, and its final destination. All such basic facts were a matter of public record.
It was, of course, almost too much to hope for – but in a harbor as large as this, the ships were tracked as thoroughly as was possible. No ship could enter or leave without having to report to the harbormaster. Still, there were ways around it.
But he rather suspected that Gallatin and Leath did not operate that way. No, their method of kidnapping was brazen and bold, not sly and safe. Rather than taking him in the night, they had charged right in and stolen Prince Meredith from right beneath his father's nose.
There.
Four ships had left right around the time that would fit. Rough estimates, of course, but his best starting points. The Shalar, the Constant, the Memory, and the Silver Star.
He weighed each one, looking over every scrap of information available, memorizing all of it.
At last he closed the book and pushed it back across the wide counter, along with a few coins and another smile. "Thank you," he said, giving a nod before turning and departing.
Registered as a merchant ship, the Memory had departed four days ago, just one hour after Prince Meredith had been kidnapped. Impressive. They must have had it planned down to every detail. If he had not already decided to kill them, he would extend his compliments on a job well done.
Obvious – too obvious – but all he could remember was the way Gallatin had simply walked right in…the way Leath had been dressed as a servant, and used his magic so blatantly close to a Holy Mage.
Bold. Brazen. It would be just like them not to bother hiding their ship or anything about it.
Except, of course, the final destination. He doubted there was any grain of truth to that.
Which meant he needed to figure out where it was actually bound…something he stood very little chance of discovering.
Still, he could probably learn at least a general direction.
Heading for the docks, he sought out the only tavern he knew in this place. Being Prince Meredith's bodyguard left little room to do anything else…but he had acquaintances here and there, a few who could even pass for friends.
One such had left palace life only three years ago, and dwelt here. On those rare nights he was ordered away, Prince Meredith trusted to his father's men, he came here.
He pushed inside, through the crush of people, finally reaching the bar.
The bartender saw him after a moment, and smiled briefly. "He's upstairs, pretending to get some work done. You can go."
Nodding, Lorccan pushed his way back through the chaos and finally reached the stairs. He took them two at a time, and gave three sharp raps on the door at the top of them.
It swung open to reveal a man nearly big enough to be two men. He was dark in every sense of the word – dark eyes, dark skin, dark beard, dark clothes, and even his voice as he bellowed a hearty greeting seemed to fit that adjective.
Once upon a time he'd been in charge of everything that was shipped to or from whichever palace the royal family inhabited. More than once he and Lorccan had interacted when handling packages which had arrived bearing the prince's name, or those few things the prince ordered sent out.
Now retired, he'd settled in the shipping yard to do things Lorccan was careful not to ask too many questions about. "Ratcha."
"You're looking pretty good for a dead man," Ratcha said with a grin, ushering him inside and locking the door behind them. "Sit, sit. Food or drink?"
Lorccan nodded, gladly taking the offered seat. "Both. Whatever you've got, please."
Ratcha chuckled and moved to fetch stuff from a nearby table, returning after a couple of minutes and thrusting a bowl and tankard into his hands.
Accepting them with a murmur of thanks, Lorccan wasted no time filling his stomach. After the vileness he'd been forced to choke down the past few days, the simple fare seemed a meal as fine as those in the palace. "Thank you," he said again when he'd finished.
"You are obviously not here to discuss old times, Lor. So tell me everything."
Lorccan told him.
Ratcha stroked his beard thoughtfully as he finished. "The Memory, yes. I've heard talk of that ship before. It has an excellent reputation. Certainly if they had a High Mage onboard, that would explain it."
"Two High Mages," Lorccan reminded him.
"Yes," Ratcha agreed. "What did they list as their final destination?"
"Port Tuthma."
Ratcha hummed thoughtfully. "Give me a few minutes, Lor. I want to see something."
Lorccan nodded, and locked the door again once Ratcha had gone.
A few minutes turned into several, turned into a half hour when he began to lose the battle against exhaustion. Just as he was about to drift off for good, three sharp raps jerked him awake.
He opened the door and stepped aside for Ratcha to enter. "I was beginning to think you got lost."
Ratcha snickered. "It looks more like you were thinking about a nap."
"Where did you go?" Lorccan asked, ignoring the jibe.
"To investigate," Ratcha replied, settling his massive weight back in a chair that had to have been specially made for him. "The Memory left here bound for Tuthma with a cargo of silk, jewels, tea, and rum. That is a cargo of no small worth, and the merchant house who hired him fully expects them to make berth in Tuthma."
Lorccan frowned. "That seems a stupid thing for kidnappers to do…"
Ratcha drummed his fingers on the table. "Not necessarily. The very first thing anyone would look for is a ship out of place. Nothing is more suspicious in a harbor than a ship that does not belong, especially a merchant ship which either carries no cargo or worse carries a cargo it should not have. No one will look twice at the Memory if it is doing what it should and has always done. It would be interesting to know what the Memory's plans are after she makes berth in Tuthma."
"I guess I am going to Tuthma, then," Lorccan said. "Though I do not see any way to beat it there, not when she has two High Mages aboard and a four day head start."
"Honestly, my friend, it sounds as though you perhaps took a knock to the head."
Lorccan glared at him.
Unfazed, Ratcha merely laughed. "Take the river and a good mage. They should make up for plenty of lost time, and if that ship is truly to make port in order to sell its cargo it will be there for a couple of days at least. If you leave now, and travel quickly, you will make it and perhaps even with time to spare."
Nodding, decided, Lorccan stood. "Thank you, my friend. May you continue to prosper."
"Oh, I shall. Go find his Highness; he was always a good sort." Ratcha embraced him, startling Lorccan, for he'd never done such a thing before. "Come back, Lor."
Lorccan nodded, awkwardly returning the embrace. "I will. Thank you again, Ratcha."
"I've had a bag packed for you; it's waiting at the bar. Don't cause too much trouble. You've a temper beneath that stony façade, don't let it out at the wrong moment." Ratcha waved a finger at him. "You're quiet, and it's always the quiet ones…"
Smiling briefly, Lorccan finally turned and departed, quickly fetching the bag waiting for him before plunging off into the night to find a boat and a mage who would take him with all due haste to the Port of Tuthma.
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Date: 2008-07-13 05:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-13 05:43 pm (UTC)That said, I will be coming back to read this later, when I'm not feeling so burnt out X__x
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Date: 2008-07-13 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-13 06:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-13 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 01:56 am (UTC)I am asking because I don't like threesomes or twincest, so if this story includes that, I do want to avoid it (there are so many other wonderful stories here, I will only be disappointed for a little while before my brain is distracted by other sparklies :D)
Catherine.
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Date: 2008-07-14 02:00 am (UTC)Galen belongs with twins, and that's the pyromancer/hydromancer story.
Weathermage is completely different, and contains no poly of any sort.
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Date: 2008-07-14 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 02:23 am (UTC)(Though I admit, I'm an avid fan of M's threesomes, since I rarely find them done right by other authors ^_^)
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Date: 2008-07-15 01:30 am (UTC)I just don't particularly like threesomes, but that is just me. I just like to know ahead of time. I have plenty of other stories (which I am ALMOST finished rereading nearly all of Amaretto's stuff available online, need to go get the remaining few stories I didn't already have. *wanders off to get pretty stories*
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Date: 2008-07-14 12:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 01:30 am (UTC)Also, I agree with Bloodied_Eden. I love reading things you've written, even when they're scraps that I have to accept you might never write anymore on.
You Rock! :)
*Goes back to re-reading and lurking*
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Date: 2008-07-14 02:08 am (UTC)I happily and eagerly await more.
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Date: 2008-07-14 02:27 am (UTC)I didn't read this before, since I saw how long it had been since you'd updated, and it torments me when my favorite stories are in progress for long amounts of time. (Like Black Magic. ^_^)
But I adore this one.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 12:19 pm (UTC)-TOD
De-lurking
Date: 2008-07-14 04:33 am (UTC)Re: De-lurking
Date: 2008-07-14 09:10 am (UTC)*laugh* That's it. I'm calling him gelatin in my head forever more.
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Date: 2008-07-14 05:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 09:01 am (UTC)No poly? Does this mean Gallatin does not end up with Leath and the prince? Because it was starting to sound like a threesome to me. Does this mean Gallatin will end up with Lorccan? But I thought Lorccan might with the mage he might hire. Hmm.
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Date: 2008-07-14 12:29 pm (UTC)The potential for hurt/comfort is OVERWHELMING here. :O
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Date: 2008-07-15 06:46 am (UTC)-->insert fangirling here<---
*grin*
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Date: 2008-07-15 05:20 pm (UTC)Still as exciting as the prologue and chapter one had been. Well, more so, even, actually. I can't wait to buy the finished project.^_^ *sends good writing chi your way*
Ooh, also, Meredith's comeback to Leath about the lust moment was awesome. I feel a litte bad for Leath, but he came in all bad attitude. And I'm sure they'll get along better eventually. ^_^
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Date: 2008-07-15 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 08:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 04:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 06:11 pm (UTC)