The Nightstone Page 3

  The other had long blonde hair, starting to grey, and wore layers of robes under a black cloak. He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t wearing jewelry either, though he had holes for piercings in his ears and nose. He was hiding something under the thick layers of low-grade cotton and wool. His porcelain pale skin told of a man who rarely stepped into the sun at all. His expression was neither hardened nor broken, so Julivel ruled out the likelihood the man had spent any recent time in someone’s dungeons.

  The man with the black hair was still going on about the physical attributes of one of Jesh’s women. Julivel knew the type. He was a noble, but not at the top of his local food chain. He was likely married in a political and loveless marriage. Whores would be his only outlet, due to their discretion.

  Julivel slapped his hand on the table. “Shall we talk business, or are you working for Jesh, trying to sell his wares?”

  The dark haired man nodded to his friend, who then produced a small crystal figurine and set it on the table.

  “Do you know what this is?” The blonde man asked then said, “Look closely.”

  Julivel leaned in and saw it was a statue of a nymph holding a crystal ball over her head. A bright blue light pulsed from the ball. Julivel couldn’t move.

  “Now, that we have your attention,” The dark man said. “Here’s what you will be doing for us. You will travel to the island of Ollys and acquire the Nightstone that adorns the circular altar at the center of the city. You will then bring that gem to me in the port city of Ignea. I will be waiting for you at the Inn of the Haughty Hedgehog. Do you know it?”

  Julivel wanted to deny it, but he nodded. He managed to swear, angry at himself for allowing the men to enchant him.

  “Do not fret, you will be paid handsomely.” The dark man handed Julivel an iron key. “This is to the chest that sits under my chair. That chest is filled with gold coins. “The spell my servant cast on you will just ensure that you complete the mission to the best of your ability and if the tales are true, your abilities are the best.”

  Stealing things was not what Julivel was best at. He didn’t feel the need to share the details with his clients.

  “The spell allows for three rules,” The blonde man said. “These are the rules to which you are bound. First, you will fetch and deliver the stone within ninety days and at any cost, to Darien at the Haughty Hedgehog in Ignea.” He tilted his head towards his friend, indicating the dark haired man was Darien.

  “Second, you will not harm either of us.” Julivel wondered if maybe they did know what it was he was best at.

  “Third, you will not do anything which will impede your carrying out the first instruction.”

  “We’re done then,” Darien asked the blonde man.

  The blonde man gathered his cloak and robes about him and stood. “We’re done.” He walked out of the taproom.

  Darien looked at Julivel then kicked something under his chair. Julivel heard the jingle of gold. “You’d better be worth it.” Darien then left the room as well.

  Julivel hefted the chest onto the table and, using the key he’d been given, opened the lid. It was indeed filled with gold coins. Gold never impressed Julivel, but he knew its value. When folks were so rich that they no longer did, Julivel didn’t mind taking their money. A single gold coin could buy a good horse or rent a room at Jesh’s for a week, entertainment included. The chest probably had a thousand coins in it. He wasn’t surprised when Jesh slid up alongside his table. “The usual tonight, sir?” Jesh wasn’t looking at Julivel but at the chest.

  Julivel glanced over by the hearth and saw the half dozen girls lounging, trying to look appealing but mostly looking tired, bored or both. Melissa and Gretchen sat together stroking each other while looking at him.

  “Just Melissa tonight,” He told Jesh, pointing to the raven haired whore. “And have one of your men take this chest to my rooms as the Seven Gables.”

  Julivel stood and gestured for Melissa to join him as he headed upstairs. He didn’t worry about the money. Jesh knew what he did for a living and wouldn’t be dumb enough to lighten the chest, nor would Jesh’s servant. The Seven Gables wouldn’t be where Julivel would store the chest, but it was far closer to his banker than Jesh’s Grotto.

  Melissa always found ways to cheer him up, a surprising number of them without the need to disrobe. Her sense of humor was not one Julivel had encountered in anyone else. She was the perfect person to improve his mood. If he could just get Melissa to try to hire him to kill Jesh, the world would be a slightly better place, and it just might be enough to make up for allowing himself to be ensorcelled. But, his guild had rules and he couldn’t solicit a customer nor could he kill a man without a contract.

  Between engagements, Julivel bent the rules a little and led into a conversation by asking Melissa if she could be anywhere, doing anything, what would it be.

  It worked. She wistfully mentioned she sometimes wished she could be free of Jesh so she could see the parts of the world her clients talked about.

  That was all Julivel wanted to hear. Unlike her owner, she didn’t know Julivel’s profession, but he took her wish for freedom as a request.

  “Could you give me a penny?” Julivel asked, playfully.

  She pulled a bronze coin from her pile of clothing and placed it in his hand. “This is unusual,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever paid a man to share my bed. What is the penny for?”

  “Maybe it’s a way to make your dreams come true; maybe it’s just for a kiss,” Julivel said and pressed his lips to hers. The guild required there be payment for a contract; it just didn’t dictate any minimum amounts.

  Much later, as he left the room, he whispered to Melissa’s ear. “Tomorrow, you will need to start coming up with new things to dream of.”

  Pulling the dagger from his belt, he headed towards Jesh’s quarters. By late morning, he thought, he’d shorten the name of the place to J’s Grotto. As to what kind of place it would be or who would run it, those were thoughts for after he’d cleaned his blade.

  §

  The trip down the Evenflow River was not unpleasant except for the constant feeling of not wanting to be on the expedition to steal some gem for Darien. Julivel tried to imagine getting revenge but could think of nothing he could do to Darien. Any attempt to imagine slipping a knife into the man’s ribcage became a vision of pleasantly shaking the man’s hand.

  Any thought of jumping off the barge was immediately replaced by the desire to lounge on the deck and take a nap.

  He’d brought Melissa along, and she did a decent job of distracting him. It was the first time in years she’d been able to choose her company. He wasn’t paying her, but he also made sure she understood that he was not the type to keep a companion around for long. He expected to leave her on Ollys with enough coin to start a new life.

  By the fourth day on the barge, Julivel had relented in his attempts to thwart whatever spell had been placed on him. He wanted control over his own actions again. To achieve that, he accepted that he’d have to get the gem to Darien, and never again look closely at an object at the behest of a stranger.

  He spent the days teaching Melissa how to manipulate the nerves of the body. He taught her where to pinch or rub to relax someone, to relieve pain and what not to do if she didn’t want to kill or paralyze a person. She could make a living on Ollys, or wherever she chose to travel once they parted ways, offering a less intimate service. He hoped she understood those last few could also be used to defend herself. They weren’t among his preferred methods. A nerve hold took a bit longer than a knife blade. But, in his profession, it never hurt to have a large repertoire of methods.

  In Everton he caught a merchant ship heading to Mansport on the Island of Ollys. The journey would take the better part of three weeks. Julivel bribed the first mate out of his quarters so that he could enjoy most of the journey in privacy. Melissa was not the only woman on the ship, but she was the most distracting. Distracted sailors tended to
try stupid things.

  Two weeks into the journey, the captain of the merchant ship invited Julivel into his quarters. As one of six passengers on the voyage, the captain had dined with him and the others each night, but this was the first time Julivel had been alone with the captain.

  The captain stood by his dining table and offered Julivel a seat across the table. Julivel sat, casually pulling one foot up on his other knee.

  “Thank you for accepting my invitation to an audience, Juli,” The captain said. He remained standing, leaving Julivel feeling awkward. It was likely an intentional ploy by the captain.

  “Sure,” Julivel said, trying to maintain a casual calm to offset the formal dominant stance of the captain. “What did you need?”

  “I have a crewman who says he’s met you and just remembered who you are,” The captain said.

  Julivel had a reputation and a price on his head. He didn’t suspect, however, that the captain would be talking to his face if he were after the payout. “I made no effort to conceal my identity. My name alone is unique enough and I know my reputation is widespread.” The price on his head hadn’t changed in twenty years, but his reputation had kept all but two bounty hunters from trying to collect. What he’d done to those two only added to his reputation. “I don’t see how my identity would be problematic.”

  Actually he could think of several ways knowing a wanted master assassin was on board could be problematic to the captain. But as much as he was a wanted criminal in more than one country, it seemed no one had a particular interest in trying to collect on the various bounties. Ironically, he hadn’t committed any of the murders he was wanted for. He’d never even been to two of the countries that had bounties posted for him.

  “Neville is a bit unnerved at your presence,” The captain said. “He says he’s met you before, that someone hired you to kill him a couple years back over a gambling debt.”

  “That is true, but if I were going to kill him, he’d be dead,” Julivel said. “I don’t have any current contracts open, so he’s safe.” Two years back, in Everton, a man who owed Neville a large sum of coin decided to take extreme measures to erase the debt. Julivel accepted the job and, in a way, gave the man what he wanted. The man would never pay his debt to Neville.

  “Your guild has a reputation, once you take a contract you promise that someone will die,” The captain said.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” Julivel asked. When, after a brief hesitation, the captain nodded, Julivel continued, “What you say is true, when we take a job, someone always dies. What we don’t publicize, for obvious reasons, is that sometimes the person who dies is the one that hired us—if we deem that person to be the only one, of he and the victim, deserving of death.” The only significant caveat of that guild rule was acknowledging that someone became deserving of death when they ordered the death of someone who was undeserving.

  “I can see how you’d keep that aspect of your rule a secret,” The captain said. “I guess I now have to keep the secret or risk the wrath of the Assassin’s Guild.”

  Julivel didn’t answer. That wasn’t a guild-mandated secret and the guild didn’t order the deaths of people who broke rules they didn’t agree to be subject to. The only people responsible for keeping to guild rules were guild members. To avoid a lie, which was always a good idea, Julivel simply said, “No one on this boat is in any danger from me.”

  “I expected you would convince me,” The captain said. “But I need proof I can trust.” The captain walked to the cabin door and opened it to allow a young woman to enter. Julivel recognized the captain’s daughter. “Mischa’s mother was a gypsy queen, a master of fortune telling. Mischa has some of her mother’s gift.”

  “This won’t work,” Julivel said. “Prognosticators cannot perceive my future.”

  “Mischa will try.” The captain sat his daughter across the table from Julivel.

  She placed her hands on the table palms up. “Place your hands in mine,” She said.

  “This won’t work,” Julivel said, but put his hands in hers anyway.

  She closed her eyes only to open them again and look at Julivel, clearly puzzled. “When were you born?”

  “The last day of winter.” Julivel told her his birthday.

  “What year?” she asked.

  Tired of the nonsense, Julivel answered with the truth, “Next year.” The truth was complicated. “I know how fortune telling works. I also know that no man has a future until after he is born.”

  Her hands tightened on his. “Sometimes I only need to read the past of a man to learn his future,” she said. “And you have a most complex past.”

  Julivel pried his hands away. Reading his future was one thing, but there were things in his past he didn’t wish to share.

  “You speak the truth, there is no danger to anyone on this ship,” Mischa said. “There are so many lies in your life, starting with your name. You are an odd mix of good and evil. I have never seen so much evil in a man. Your past leads to a far greater evil in your future. The truly odd part is that you have a good heart and a kind soul. Mister, you scare me more than any man I have ever met. I can advise you to some degree. You must not allow the demon Darien to possess that gem. He will bring death to many if you keep it from him, but he will bring death to all if you do not.”

  When Mischa said demon, it sounded like she was calling the man something more than simply an onerous person. Darien’s being an actual demon meant Julivel had to put more thought into the puzzle.

  CHAPTER 2: CHARLES

  Charles climbed the path from the river to his master’s shop. Six buckets of water hung from the thick wooden pole across his shoulders. He muttered to himself about how foolish he’d been to start the day’s work without checking the cooling barrel to make sure the water was deep enough. He’d been an apprentice to the town’s blacksmith for as long as he could remember, checking the water was among the first things he was supposed to do each day.

  If he hadn’t been in a rush to complete the project before the master arrived, he wouldn’t have forgotten. Maybe Segric would have allowed him to make the sword, maybe not. It wasn’t his first sword, just the first one he was making for himself.

  When he stepped into the workshop, he immediately noticed Heather standing by the anvil. She held his unfinished blade in her hands.

  “Isn’t that hot?” Charles asked. He’d left the blade on the anvil still glowing. It had taken him some time to get the water, adequate for the glow to fade, but not sufficient time for the metal to cool enough to touch.

  Heather dropped the blade onto the anvil. She stammered for a moment before answering, “Well, yeah.”

  Charles dropped the buckets and rushed to check on her hands. “Are you okay?” He could see no evidence of a burn on her hands. He reached for the blade to see how much it had cooled when Heather grabbed his wrist. “Don’t. It will burn you.”

  “But,” Charles started to ask her why she was not burned, but she placed her finger over his lips and whispered, “What I’m going to tell you, you cannot repeat.”

  Charles nodded.

  “I’m a Wizard.” Heather said.

  “There’s no such thing,” Charles said. “Fire magic was wiped out ages ago when the Wizards tried to destroy the Abvi Kingdom.”

  “Both what you say and what I tell you are true.” She reached into the forge and pulled out a burning lump of coal. “Didn’t you ever wonder why my father and I, the only two Abvi in Blackstone, are so far from the Abvi Kingdom?” She tossed the coal back into the forge.

  “Your father came to town to make sure the coal mining wasn’t damaging the local wilderness,” Charles said. “We all know the story. He runs the mine now because he has a couple centuries of experience with the mine.”

  “We’re here because my magic is forbidden,” Heather said. “If the Abvi knew, they might have me killed. So I’ve lived here, as far from the major trade routes as my father could find among the civilized races,
since just after I was born.”

  Of the people Charles had met, only Heather’s father, who served the nature goddess as a Tempest, could use magic, though Charles had never thought of it as rare. The shop used magelights to illuminate the workspaces and several of the tools had been enchanted to not wear through use. Such was the work of the water college, the Mages. He only heard fantastic rumors of the abilities of fire magic, most of them horrific. “What can you do?” Charles asked. “I mean other than handle hot objects.”

  Heather picked up the unfinished sword. “You still need to bevel the edge, maybe allow it to stretch another handbreadth or two?”

  “Right,” Charles said.

  Heather closed her eyes and the sword began to glow red and then brighter orange and then yellow. Charles stepped back, any hotter and the steel would burn, throwing sparks. She ran her hands over the length of the steel and the shape of the steel changed with her touch as if she were molding clay.

  “Hand me another chunk of metal this size or bigger,” Heather said, holding out one hand and lowering the end of the sword to rest on the anvil.

  Charles grabbed a bar of iron stock and placed it in Heather’s hand, careful to make sure she could hold the weight before releasing it. The iron glowed bright and hot after only a moment, but as it warmed, he could see the sword blade blacken. Heather held the sword out to him.

  “This is cool enough to touch now,” She said and Charles took the sword from her. “It should be springy without being brittle. I can create heat, but cannot make it go away. I can only move it from one location to another.” She set the hot iron bar on the anvil. Charles bent the blade then let it bounce back to its shape. The temper was exactly where a sword blade should be. “You can manipulate the crystalline structure of the metal?”

  “You should know that’s only a side-effect of the heat manipulation,” Heather said. “I can heat it to the point where I can shape it by touch, and I can control how and where the heat leaves the metal, as long as I have somewhere to put it. I’ve heard you talk enough about your blade-making to understand how it’s supposed to be inside.”