“The usual.”
A wicked gleam entered Laria’s eyes. “Planning a few late nights, then? How much you offering?”
He smiled. “You owe me a favor, if I remember.”
The woman pursed her lips, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Stay there.”
She disappeared out the door. With a sigh, Cery dropped down onto the bed, which creaked loudly. “Relax, Sonea,” he told her. “They’ve been here. They won’t look again.”
She nodded. Her heart was still racing and her stomach was uneasy. Taking a deep breath, she let herself lean back against the wall. As the water boiled Cery helped himself to a jar of dark powder and heaped spoonfuls into the cups Laria had set out. A reassuringly familiar pungent aroma filled the room.
“Guess we know for sure, Sonea,” Harrin said as Cery handed him a cup.
She frowned. “Know what?”
“What you did must’ve been magic.” He grinned. “They wouldn’t be searching if they didn’t think it was, would they?”
With an impatient gesture, Dannyl banished the moisture from his robes. Puffs of steam billowed from the cloth. The guards shied away, then, as an icy gust of wind swept away the mist, the four men returned to their places.
They walked in formation—two beside him, two behind. A ridiculous precaution. The dwells weren’t stupid enough to attack them. Besides, if they did, Dannyl knew it would be the guards who would look to him for protection.
Catching a pensive glance from one of the men, Dannyl felt a twinge of guilt. At the beginning of the day, they had been nervous and deferential. Knowing he would have to put up with this for the rest of the day, Dannyl had made an effort to be approachable and friendly.
To them this was like a holiday—infinitely more entertaining than standing at one of the gates for hours on end or patrolling the city streets. Despite their eagerness to break into smuggler’s stores and whorehouses, they hadn’t been much help in the search. He didn’t need anybody to force locked doors or open shipping boxes, and the slum dwellers had been cooperative, even if reluctantly.
Dannyl sighed. He’d seen enough to know that many of these people were well accustomed to hiding what they didn’t want found. He had also seen many smothered smiles on the faces that watched him. What chance did a mere hundred magicians have of finding one ordinary-looking girl amongst thousands of slum dwellers?
None at all. Dannyl clenched his jaw as he remembered Lord Balkan’s words from the previous evening.
How would it be if one of us was discovered dressed as a grovelling beggar? We would be ridiculed throughout the Allied Lands.
He snorted. And we’re not making fools of ourselves now?
A pungent stench filled Dannyl’s nostrils. He glared at the sewage-choked gutter. The people standing beside it shrank away hastily. With an effort, he made himself take a deep breath and school his expression.
He did not like to frighten people. Impress them? Yes. Inspire awe? Even better. But not terrify. It disturbed him how these people always shied off the road when he approached, then stared at him as he passed. The children were bolder, following him around, but quick to run away if he looked at them. Men and women, old and young, regarded him warily. All looked hard and cunning. He wondered how many worked for the Thieves ...
Dannyl stopped.
The Thieves ...
The guards skidded to a halt and looked at him questioningly. He ignored them.
If the stories were true, the Thieves knew more about the slums than anyone else. Did they know the location of this girl? If they didn’t could they find her? Would they be willing to help the Guild? Perhaps, if the rewards were attractive ...
How would the other magicians react if he suggested bargaining with the Thieves?
They’d be horrified. Outraged.
He looked at the shallow, stinking trench that served as a gutter. The magicians might look more favorably on the idea after a few days of roaming through the slums. Which meant that the longer he waited before proposing it, the better his chances of gaining their approval.
Yet, every hour that passed gave the girl more time to hide herself. Dannyl pursed his lips. It wouldn’t hurt to see if the Thieves were willing to bargain before he presented the idea to the Guild. If he waited for the Guild’s approval first, and the Thieves then proved uncooperative, he’d have wasted a lot of time and effort.
He turned to face the eldest of the guards.
“Captain Garrin. Do you know how the Thieves may be contacted?”
The captain’s brows rose so high they disappeared under his helmet. He shook his head. “No, my lord.”
“I do, my lord.”
Dannyl turned to regard the youngest of the four guards, a lanky young man named Ollin.
“I used to live here, my lord,” Ollin admitted, “before I joined the Guard. There’s always people about who can get messages to the Thieves, if you know where to look.”
“I see.” Dannyl chewed the inside of his cheek while he considered. “Find one of these people for me. Ask if the Thieves would be willing to work with us. Report directly back to me—and no other.”
Ollin nodded, then looked at the captain. The older man’s mouth tightened with disapproval, but he nodded, then jerked his head to one of the other guards. “Take Keran.”
Dannyl watched the pair stride back down the street, then turned away and continued walking, his mind absorbed with possibilities. A familiar figure stepped out of a house a little farther down the street. Dannyl smiled and lengthened his stride.
— Rothen!
The man stopped, the wind catching his robe so it swirled out around him.
— Dannyl? Rothen’s sending was faint and uncertain.
— I’m here. Dannyl sent a quick image of the street to the other magician, and a sense of nearness. Rothen turned toward him, then straightened as he saw Dannyl. Drawing closer, Dannyl saw that Rothen’s blue eyes were wide and haunted.
“Any luck?”
“No.” Rothen shook his head. He looked at the makeshift houses to one side. “I had no idea what it was like out here.”
“It’s like a harrel warren, isn’t it?” Dannyl chuckled. “A real mess.”
“Oh, yes, but I meant the people.” Rothen gestured at the crowds around them. “Conditions are so bad ... I couldn’t have imagined ...”
Dannyl shrugged. “We haven’t got a hope of finding her, Rothen. There just aren’t enough of us.”
Rothen nodded. “Do you think the others have fared better?”
“If they had, we would have been contacted.”
“You’re right.” Rothen frowned. “It occurred to me today: how do we know she’s still in the city? She could have fled into the country.” He shook his head. “I fear you are right. I’ve finished here. Let’s go back to the Guild.”
4
The Search Continues
Early morning sunlight bathed the frost-coated windows with gold. The air inside the room was deliciously warm, heated by a glowing sphere hovering behind a clouded glass panel set into the wall. Tying the sash of his robe, Rothen stepped out into the guest room to greet his friends.
A second panel allowed the heat globe to warm the bedroom and guest room simultaneously. An elderly magician stood in front of this, holding his hands to the glass. Though well into his eighties, Yaldin was still robust and sharp witted, enjoying the longevity and good health that came with magical ability.
A taller and younger magician stood beside Yaldin. Dannyl’s eyes were half closed, and he looked as if he was ready to fall asleep.
“Good morning,” Rothen said. “Looks like the weather is going to clear today.”