Brian McClellan - Forsworn

She tried to imagine the pain of having to turn in her own daughter, but felt only disgust for Norrine’s father.

“Do you hate him?”

Norrine seemed surprised. “No. Why would I?”

“Because he….” she trailed off. The girl knew she would be turned over the minute she realized she was a powder mage. Of course. That’s how the peasants were raised.

“Phille’s dead now anyway,” Norrine said.

“He didn’t get better?”

The girl sniffed. “He did. As soon as he was well he helped me escape. One of the Longdogs-the fat one you killed on the road-ran him through with his sword. I guess Ma will go mad with grief after all.”

“I’m sorry.”

Norrine shrugged in response and rubbed the sleeve of her coat across her eyes. “How did you find out?”

Erika glanced out the window. The snow seemed to have let up a little. “It was my twelfth birthday-just about your age-and the dowsers came around to see if I had the talent to be a Privileged. They gave me their tests and I failed. But then they brought out a powder mage.” She remembered seeing the mage, branded at the neck like Norrine and bound with iron manacles. He had been reduced to nothing more than a beast, barely clothed and smelling worse than a dog.

“Privileged can’t sniff out a powder mage,” Erika went on. “Only other powder mages can. He took one look at me and he told his masters I was a powder mage.” They’d given him a dinner of slop as a reward, and Erika remembered hating that man more than anyone in the world. She had cried for weeks, though her mother assured her she wouldn’t be taken off to be executed. “I had to go before the king and swear to him and Kresimir that I would never touch black powder. And then they branded me.”

It had hurt worse than anything else in her life. She still remembered the pain of hot iron against her skin.

She fingered the snuff box in her pocket, trying to remember when she had first broken that promise. A few years ago, now. No one had ever checked, really. After all, what self-respecting Kez noblewoman would sacrifice her future for forbidden powers?

“You’ve never touched powder?” Norrine asked skeptically.

Erika smiled at the girl but didn’t answer. It was possible to be kind without being overly trustful.

The carriage suddenly slowed and there was a sharp rap at the door. Santiole ducked inside without waiting for an answer. She shut the door behind her and rubbed her hands together. Her hair and shoulders were dusted with snow. “Pit, it’s cold out there.”

“Are we making good time?”

“Better than I expected. Not as well as I’d hoped,” Santiole answered. “We’ll change horses at a wayhouse in about three hours, and then ride through the night.”

“You can’t ride for so long,” Erika said. “Not in this weather.”

“I think it’s best we not stop. Dominik will rest in here with you and I’ll drive for the first half of the night.” She seemed about to say more but fell silent. “We’ll make good time.”

Erika snatched Santiole by the jacket as she made to leave the carriage. “What is it?”

“Nothing, my lady.”

“Santiole.” Erika tried to inject the same authority into her voice that grandfather used when the servants weren’t being forthright.

Santiole pursed her lips. “I think we’re being followed.”

“Do you know for sure?”

“No. Just a feeling.” Santiole spread her hands. “It could just be other travelers on the road. It could be nothing. You shouldn’t worry.”

Erika chewed on the inside of her cheek. She had long ago learned to trust Santiole’s instincts. “All right. We go through the night.”

The snow stopped the next afternoon and they were able to return to a steady pace though the roads were slick with wet snow. Dominik, Tirel, and Santiole traded places driving and sleeping in the carriage with Erika.

The next day Santiole returned to scouting. She was gone for only a few hours, early in the afternoon, when the carriage suddenly slid to a jarring stop.

Erika opened the door and stepped out onto the snow-covered road. “Everything all right?” she asked.

Dominik sat atop the driver’s seat with the reins in his hands. He huddled with his sealskin cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. He turned to look at her with a puzzled scowl.

“Dominik?” she asked.

Tirel caught up to the carriage on his own horse and frowned. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Dominik. What’s going on?”

Dominik suddenly toppled from the driver’s seat. Erika rushed forward to catch him, nearly losing her balance on the snow, and Tirel leapt from his horse to help. They both lowered the driver gently to the ground.

“Is he having some kind of attack?” Tirel asked.

The old man opened his mouth several times before he managed to say, “I think I’ve been shot.”

“I didn’t hear a shot,” Tirel said.

Erika heard the sound of splintering wood and looked up to see a bullet lodged in the frame of the carriage not far from her head. She dove into the carriage and snatched her small sword. “Stay here,” she said to Norrine. She was back outside a moment later and Tirel had already fetched his musket. He clutched it in both hands, peering into the mountains for an unseen attacker.

“Has anyone passed us?” Erika drew her sword and tossed the sheath back into the carriage.

“No,” Tirel said.

“Then they’re behind us.” She faced the mountain road and eyed a spot fifty yards back where a boulder jutted out into the road. “You going to shoot from the shadows like a coward, or will you come out and fight?” she shouted.

She waited for another shot to hit her dead in the chest, her breath coming shallow, the cold numbing her hands. The mountain pass remained silent and snowflakes began to fall gently. It seemed like an eternity before a figure suddenly emerged from behind the boulder.

Erika recognized the master mage hunter from his height alone. Duglas wore a brown felt jacket beneath a canvas overcoat and a side-to-side bicorn hat. A woolen scarf concealed his features, but there was no mistaking the peculiar musket he held in his hands. It was the very weapon that Nikslaus had displayed so proudly on the hotel dining room table.

Two more figures joined Duglas in the road, their small swords drawn. Erika didn’t recognize them. It seemed Nikslaus had sent others to do his dirty work. Only one of them held an air musket-some small relief, at least.

Duglas advanced cautiously, flanked by his companions. “Lower your weapon,” he shouted at Tirel.

“By whose authority?” Tirel asked.

“Master of the king’s mage hunters.”

Tirel began to tremble, the tip of his musket wavering. “Don’t listen to him,” Erika said. “He’s just a common bandit.”

Tirel scowled at the man. “Do you have proof of who you are?”

Duglas took his air musket in one hand long enough to pull a white sash from his jacket and hold it fluttering in the air.

Tirel’s scowl deepened. “He’s a Longdog. That one from the hotel.”

“If we surrender, he’ll kill both of us,” Erika said.

“Do you guarantee our safety if we surrender?” Tirel asked.

“Of course. Lower your weapons.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Tirel said.

“Tirel!”

Tirel lowered his musket and then let it drop into the snow. Erika let out a soft hiss as he did.

Duglas raised the air musket and pulled the trigger. There was a low popping sound and Tirel inhaled sharply as he jerked backward. There was another pop, and Tirel went down in a spray of crimson, crying out in pain.

Duglas turned the weapon toward Erika. She willed herself to leap away, to snatch up Tirel’s musket…to do something! Her muscles wouldn’t listen to her. The Longdog pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He frowned, slapped the side of the musket, and tried again. Still nothing.