Flight To Exile Read online

  Flight to Exile

  by Chris Reher

  *

  Many thanks to Mallory Moutinho for dispensing sanity.

  Also to Carla Levy, to Ghosty, to Tracy and to Craz

  Copyright © 2013 Chris Reher

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-0-9916985-8-5

  Also available:

  Sky Hunter

  The Catalyst (Targon Tales 1)

  Only Human (Targon Tales 2)

  Rebel Alliances (Targon Tales 3)

  Delphi Promised (Targon Tales final)

  Quantum Tangle

  Terminus Shift

  Entropy’s End

  www.chrisreher.com

  Chapter One

  Aletha had only the vaguest interest in how she had come to this place. She didn’t know who these people were or why she had joined their group here, in a dirt-bare courtyard tucked between untidy rooming houses.

  It didn’t really matter; at least not as much as her cold feet did. Tonight’s damp breeze reaching inland from the sea chilled her more than usual. For some reason she now wore only a simple sleeveless shift and she seemed to be missing her shoes, a fine pair of seal slippers given to her by a friend. What was his name? He always found nice things for her. Where was he? Maybe he could tell her how she came to be here, among these strangers, with cold feet and… ah, she remembered that armed man over there in the shadows. A brutish thug who’d been there, at the wharf. He’d hit Shep with his huge fist and then things had disappeared in a strange fog. Maybe he had her shoes. Maybe she should ask about them.

  “I'm telling you,” a person on her left interrupted her disjointed thoughts, “once you clean her up some she'll be the envy of the quarter.”

  Aletha turned her head to stare dully at the speaker, a fleshy-faced, malodorous person dressed in foppish clothes that might have looked elegant and expensive before he had combined them with a broad-brimmed, feathered hat and a generous application of grease on lapel and sleeves. She recognized him no more than she did the three other men and two women at the table. The others, dressed in more practical fashion, observed her critically, clearly doubting his words.

  “She doesn't seem bright,” one of the women said. She reached across the table to turn Aletha’s hand, revealing a small leaf tattooed on her wrist. Her shrewd eyes examined the girl, seeing toned muscle and supple limbs – uncommon among the wives, priestesses and merchants that made up most of the harbor town’s female population. She pushed back the tangled mass of dark ringlets obscuring the slave’s face. “Island folk, I’ll say. She’ll be running off the minute you turn your back, and all the hounds of Harlyn won’t find her if she don’t want to be found. I've got no use for her.” She rose from the table and adjusted her waxed straw hat. “Call on me when you've got something worthwhile to sell, trader. I’m looking for working folk, not wet woods tree-dwellers.”

  Aletha watched the woman leave the courtyard and enter the tavern, aware that she had failed some sort of test. She wondered if someone would come with water or food; her hunger was making her ill and lightheaded.

  The man at her side spat into the mud of the inn's yard before turning back to the others. “This one won't ever be anyone's maid,” he grinned knowingly.

  A very thin, very young man leaned forward to study Aletha more thoroughly. Aletha resisted an urge to reach out and tug on his earrings. The elaborate bone and shell masterpieces hanging from his head just begged to be yanked. She stifled a helpless giggle, noted with obvious distaste. “Well, true, she may clean up fine, but the Jedry woman's right. You've got yourself a simpleton here. She'd better clean up really good if you hope to get anything for her.”

  Aletha stared without comprehension. Didn't these people realize that she needed to sleep? Just a few minutes would be enough. Her attention drifted to some lively music coming from the direction of the inn's open windows. It would probably be warmer in there. And brighter. Someone in there was laughing; it was the sort of laughter that came easily when people were warm and comfortable. She wondered about the person who had laughed. He sounded kind – no one who laughed like that would deny her their company. If only she had the strength to get up and walk into the tavern!

  The trader beside her chuckled at some unseen joke. “Well, now that Jedry's gone, I'll show you what this one's really worth.” He shook Aletha’s arm, jolting her from her daydreams.

  She turned half-closed eyes on him. “Huh?”

  “Show'em, girl,” he commanded.

  She frowned. Didn't he know that she was just too damn tired for this? Her head drooped toward him but he shook her again and this time his fingers dug painfully into her arm.

  “Do it!” he snapped. “That thing with the lamp, like you did yesterday.”

  The thin man looked nervous. “What are you up to, Tellos?” He backed away when Aletha sat up a little straighter, her expression strained as though she searched for a sound in the distance. She raised her hand, palm turned toward the sputtering fish oil lamp on the table, apparently ready to demonstrate something.

  “By the Gods!” The buyer jumped up from the bench, earrings rattling in agitation. “She’s a Descendant?”

  The trader bowed his head as if he had just performed a magic feat of his own. “Indeed. Sit yourself down, you superstitious fool. She’s not about to turn you into a rat.” He paused for effect, looking around the circle of wary faces. “He’s right. This one is the real thing. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. She’s one of them. A Descendant.”

  “You’re mad! A magic user? I want nothing to do with her kind and you'd be well advised to get rid of her. You'll bring ruin on us all.” Everyone, including Aletha, watched as yet another potential customer made a hasty exit, fearfully looking over his shoulder as though expecting someone to come after him with murderous intent.

  “Are the rest of you idiots as well?” the slaver growled, staring balefully at the remaining group. “This is the best bit of merchandise I've had in years and everyone runs as though the Gods were having a bad day. Can you not see what the likes of her can do for you?”

  The second woman at the table stood up. She regarded him scornfully. “Maybe we can, Tellos, but we can also see that you can't keep her drugged like this forever. She's half-dead from your potions already. I don't know how you managed to catch this one but I dare say it wasn't painless, judging from the gash on your face. I'll have nothing to do with this, either.”

  “Go then,” Tellos roared and did not wait for her to leave before turning to the remaining two men. “What of you, then? Start your bidding or go.”

  “Can anyone bid on this auction?” a new voice made itself heard. Everyone shifted in their seats and peered into the gloom of the courtyard to discover the source of the interruption.

  A figure emerged from the shadows and approached the table, moving gracefully but with purpose. He was dressed for travel, armed with curved daggers sheathed near either hand and a crossbow slung over his shoulder, yet he wore no insignia to identify any known mercenary company or clan. In the fitful light of the few nearby lamps they could see that his hair was much darker than was common in these parts and in loosely curling strands hanging to his shoulders. Against his sun-darkened skin, the whites of his eyes seemed to pierce the night. The expression on his face was unreadable.

  Tellos scowled at his hired guards who were paid twice their worth to prevent surprises during this transaction. At his signal two of them moved to stand behind him.

  The stranger did not even spare them a glance. He tipped his head toward the tavern. “The man in there told me you might be selling what I’m buying,” he said, an oddly inflecting accent in his speech.

  Tellos put his ire aside and grinned, having re
ad the quality of the mercenary’s clothes and weapons. “She’s not cheap,” he said. “Virgin, most likely.”

  “Do I look like I run a brothel?”

  Aletha barely followed all of this. None of it seemed to have anything to do with her, really. She was reminded of late evening gatherings she had attended as a child where adults talked and argued, happily or not, their words without meaning and of no interest to the little girl huddled sleepily among them. Of course, the adults on those long-ago evenings had been kind and comforting. These here today didn’t seem to like her very much. But maybe this newcomer was a little friendlier. She watched silently as he swung a long leg over the bench to sit by her side. He nodded benignly to the others but his expression changed when he looked into her face. Why was he angry with her?

  “What's your price?” he said.

  “By Dazai’s beard, she’s a rare find, and you can bet your boat on that. Worth a small fortune if you take her east. There isn’t a warlord who doesn’t own a witch or two, or covets one. You look like you’ve seen a few battles on this moon; you know what I mean. Unfortunately, I have urgent business southwards and so I’m forced to let her go for a pittance. Nath here opened the bidding at five long counts.” Tellos jerked a thumb across the table. The man called Nath looked up in surprise but whatever comment he had was quickly swallowed.

  The stranger sneered. “I could buy the Grand Priestess for that. Two.”

  Aletha did not follow the bidding. The edges of her vision were gradually turning gray and an annoying numbness had begun to plague her feet and hands. She slumped in her seat, craving sleep.

  The mercenary gripped her arm to keep her upright. Roughly, he grasped a handful of her curls to turn her face to the light. Ignoring her weak struggles, he cupped her chin in his hand as if to examine her features more closely. “What proof do you have of her talents?”

  Aletha's eyes widened in surprise when a peculiar sensation began to radiate from his hands. The power of his healthy body seemed to enter her weakened one, making her stronger and more alert as if she had received the drink of water she craved so much. Things began to swim back into focus. She was able to see the faces of those around her and feel the hard bench on which she sat. The voices were clear now and their words had meaning. Her senses sharpening, she heard the sound of some nocturnal bird and the creak of leather when the stranger moved. Not caring how he managed to heal her tired body, she leaned closer to him, greedy for more.

  He took a quick, hissing breath and released her. When he lowered his head to search his pockets for the required crystal, Aletha saw through the strands of hair that hid his features that he had squeezed his eyes shut as if her illness had somehow drained into him.

  “By the Gods...” she murmured, shaking her head to rid herself of the fog in her mind.

  Tellos turned abruptly to peer into her no longer glazed eyes. He stood up and hauled her to her feet. “Well, sir,” he said. “It’s obvious that you don’t have a fair offer. I will give you time to think about this opportunity. Let us meet again tomorrow. It’s late and the rain returns.”

  Aletha tried to pull out of his grasp but he had pinched her fingers in a painful lock, unseen by the others. She knew that more pain would come her way if she tried to escape.

  The stranger looked up and waved a hand in a careless gesture. His smile was a friendly one but Aletha saw a weariness that had not been there before. “Until then.” With fluid grace that seemed out of place on someone of his size, he rose from the table and sauntered back to the alehouse.

  * * *

  Not long later, Aletha found herself hurried along the narrow streets of the harbor town, one of the trader's burly guards on either side, a third following behind. Her hands were bound and her feet barely touched the ground as she was half-carried along by the thugs.

  She remembered these past few days now and knew that the slaver would give her no food or water that wasn't laced with a peculiar substance, the one that made her confused and tired. He was eager to get rid of her, not only worried about her evil magic but also the punishment he risked for harboring a Descendant. So far, the price she would fetch outweighed the hazard of holding her captive even while his guards were paid extra wages for their silence and willingness to handle a magic user. She wondered for how much longer he would take the risk.

  Their furtive progress through the damp alleys came to an abrupt halt when a tall man stepped out of a doorway into the spill of light cast by some shop-front torches.

  Tellos recognized him. “You! I thought we agreed that the bidding was done for the day. Out of my way or I'll have my guards after you.”

  “We’ll have a fairer fight, then,” a low voice intoned behind them. When they turned they saw a second man, someone who was not only similarly attired and armed but who was also a twin of the mercenary.

  “Help me,” Aletha cried. “I am not a slave. I've been—” The rest of her plea was cut off when one of the guards struck her and she fell to the ground.

  Without any apparent effort on their part and no movement anyone could discern, the twins had each thrust a long dagger into a guard, stabbing expertly and with immediate, fatal result. The guards dropped where they stood, at the feet of the last of the thugs who gaped in silent incomprehension. One of the strangers reached out and tapped him on the shoulder, almost playfully, and the guard slumped onto the cobbles, leaving only the frightened and confused trader standing between the twins.

  “Gods protect me, Descendants! Take her,” Tellos squealed, staring at the corpses that had until recently been his only protection. “Take her, she's nothing to me. Just leave me be.”

  One of the twins knelt beside Aletha. Although anger played over his dark features and shone like a light from narrowed eyes, his hands were gentle when he untied her hands. “Try to get up,” he said.

  She let him pull her to her feet and leaned against him when she felt his supporting arms move around her. There was something oddly comforting about his presence and despite the cold and the damp she felt as though it were possible to go to sleep right here in his careful embrace.

  His brother stood with a knife to the slaver's throat. “What is her name?” He snatched the ridiculous hat from the slaver’s head and tossed it aside.

  “What? Her name? I don't know her name!” The trader looked up and down the narrow alley, wondering if he should call for help. But he had seen the unnatural speed with which these demons moved and he dared not. “She's just a slave. I bought her off the South Island boat this morning.”

  The stranger shoved him against the wall of the alley where he pinned him with an iron forearm. The knife at the trader’s throat pierced his skin and his eyes bulged in terror when he saw his own blood flow along the blade. “She's one of them,” he said quickly. “That’s all I know. One of your own. A Descendant. I saw her practice her dark arts. It's the truth, I swear!”

  Aletha tried to find strength where there was none to be found. “Aletha,” she whispered her name. She looked up into the mercenary’s eyes and for the first time in many days saw compassion and concern on someone’s face. “Please don't turn me in.”

  “I could have done exactly that,” Tellos babbled. “I could have taken her before the emissaries, but I didn’t. What harm is there in a man trying to turn a profit? At such risk to his own life? She is a leader of demons. She tried to kill me.”

  “No!” Aletha sobbed, feeling faint. “I'd never...” her knees buckled beneath her. How could anyone accuse her of such things? She had always been careful to hide her talents as she moved about the city of Phrar, using her gifts to pick the pockets of those who could afford to have their pockets picked. No one was ever about when she practiced the more arcane arts, and few even knew that her abilities went beyond those of a common trickster and fortuneteller. Certainly, none of her gifts could protect her from the likes of Tellos and his thugs.

  “She's dying,” the twin said. He had lowered his voice but she
heard him even through the fog still dulling her senses. “What drug did you use?”

  “Just a common mushroom, steeped with herbs. I know nothing about it. Here, I’ll show you.” The stranger watched suspiciously as Tellos fumbled in his vest pockets to find a small pouch. “This. The emissaries use it.”

  His assailant did not touch the package. “Chibane? A red mushroom?”

  “Yes, perhaps,” the trader said eagerly, hoping that these demons would take this information and leave him alone. “It’s dried but I'm sure it was red.”

  The foreigner rolled his eyes in disgust and drove his knife deep into Tellos' neck, cutting off his sudden scream and his life in one swift motion.

  Aletha contemplated the lifeless body for a moment and then slumped in a faint.

  * * *

  Chor picked her up and raced after his twin through the maze of rain-slick alleys and cobbled laneways of Phrar, not entirely sure which way to turn. It seemed as though this town had expanded over the years through the haphazard addition of buildings and roadways wherever the need arose and in complete disregard of logic and forethought. It was not long before a distant alarm sounded; no doubt someone had stumbled upon the dead slaver and his guards.

  His twin, Galen, uttered a few ripe curses when he realized that they had arrived in yet another dead end street. Gasping for breath, Chor put Aletha down but kept his arm around her waist. She mumbled something unintelligible and remained standing. He put a hand over her mouth and both twins froze, listening, waiting. Soon footfalls and angry shouts echoed through the deserted streets, sounding like a dozen men bent on retribution.

  Chor pulled Aletha into a recessed doorway while Galen shielded them both with his body. Knife in hand, he forced himself into calmness and waited for the posse to round the corner and descend into the alley. When he saw the first of the mob appear he held up a hand and focused his thoughts on his target. The air between them and the intersection blurred. Darkness, fog and random shafts of light coalesced to create some indefinable shape. It only took an instant for the men at the vanguard to glance into the alley, see little but vague shadows, and hurry onward, taking their torchlight and excited voices with them. Exhausted, Galen let the illusion dissipate and slumped against his twin.