“Alessia Mistlewood,” he said, stumbling through the mist-encircled gate as soon as it opened before him.

  He dropped three feet, landing hard on the wizardess’s front step and crashing into her front door. Lashing out with one hand he grabbed hold of the door knocker, and leaned against the doorframe. Using it to steady himself, he knocked.

  After three unsteady booms echoed through the house, the door opened, and Grunwol fell forward.

  The boy who’d answered gave a squeak of surprise and leapt out of the way as the Northman’s grip on the knocker failed and he fell untidily to the floor.

  “Fetch…your mistress,” Grunwol managed, wondering what Alessia would say.

  He found out seconds later, when she came down the stairs.

  “Grunwol! Of all the misbegotten hair-brained… What in Sophriel’s name do you think you’re doing?”

  Soft gasps interrupted her, and she looked over her shoulder at her four apprentices.

  “Zarine, Sindra, go make up a pallet in my room. Xanthia, I need your help, here.”

  She reached down and shook Grunwol’s shoulder.

  “Come on, you useless sack of Northlander shite, get your ass up. You’re bleeding all over my entrance hall!”

  Looping her arms around his bicep, she heaved until Grunwol got himself upright, and then she pulled his arm over her shoulders. Xanthia did the same on the other side, hissing with concern when she saw the bloodied kerchief at his wrist.

  Somehow, he managed to stay conscious as the two women, the fire-haired Alessia and her oldest apprentice, dragged him upstairs. The apprentice was stronger than he’d expected, although he doubted she’d thank him for that.

  Between them, the two women got him up the stairs and down the corridor to Alessia’s private chambers. He tensed when he saw two more figures, then realized they were the Zarine and Sindra she’d addressed before.

  They stepped away from the sleeping pallet they’d prepared, but Grunwol ignored them. He hadn’t visited Alessia’s chambers before, or realized they were laboratory, study and sleeping space all rolled into one.

  Alessia caught his tension and her grip tightened.

  “You go nuts on me, Grun, and you will go up in flames,” she snarled.

  Her anger surprised him. She was the most patient person he knew, and caring, except when she or those in her care were under threat. Besides, she should know he didn’t react to her magic. If he had, she’d have been dead ages ago. Her apprentices, however…

  Oh, he thought. Her apprentices…

  The idea should have scared him a lot more than it did, but his head was spiraling to darkness, and gray mists of oblivion reached out to take him. He turned to the wizardess.

  “Raomar…” he slurred. “Taken by a nobleman…in the sewers. I tried…couldn’t…”

  His eyes drifted shut and he fought them open, again, trying to sit upright. He wasn’t going to remain awake for much longer.

  “Lessia… Find Roamer. Save him.”

  “Got it. I’ll find him,” the wizardess snapped, placing a hand in the center of his forehead and pushing him onto his side. “Now lie down and let me see this wound.”

  “Mistress, his wrist,” Xanthia said, lifting Grunwol’s hand so Alessia could see it. Glancing across at her mistress, the girl’s eyes widened. “Your dress!”

  Alessia glanced down, noting the large, dark stain where his forearm had rested.

  “Blood and Sorcery, Grun! How many of my dresses are you going to ruin this way?” she demanded. “How many is this?”

  Grunwol’s eyes fluttered, and he tried to speak. He wanted very much to apologize for her dress, but the words eluded him…as did exactly how many dresses he’d wrecked by bleeding on them.

  “I…” he began, the word barely more than a whisper.

  Alessia slapped him.

  “Don’t you dare black out on me!”

  Grunwol started, his eyes flashing open.

  “Who?” she demanded, poking the unbroken flesh above the wound in his wrist. “What did this to you?”

  “Gar…itzik,” he murmured, as a wave of darkness crashed over him and dragged him under.

  When he woke, again, the room was lit by the single lamp standing on Alessia’s desk and the apprentice was nowhere to be seen. Grunwol forced his eyes open, taking in the sight of the wizardess’s long red hair curtaining her back.

  A page rustled, but outside that, she made no sound. Comforted by the sight of her, Grunwol closed his eyes, gathering his strength to speak. He opened them, again, when someone rapped on Alessia’s bedroom door.

  “Who is it?” the wizardess snapped, and a young voice answered.

  “Varan, mistress.”

  It took Grunwol a moment to recognize the voice of the boy who’d met him at the door.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened and light flickered from the lantern he carried.

  Alessia turned in her seat, her eyes flitting over Grunwol as she turned to the boy. The Northman turned his head trying to get a better look at the child.

  “What is it, Varan?”

  The boy cast an uncertain look at Grunwol, then looked back at his mistress, his blue-gray eyes full of fear. Alessia gave a heavy sigh.

  “Come in, boy. You’re making a draft.”

  The child didn’t wait to be told twice. Stepping into the room, he pulled the door closed behind himself. As he moved closer, Grunwol saw that his skin was overly pale and glistened slightly in the lamplight.

  As he watched, the child glanced down at him, his eyes widening as he saw the Northman was awake. Alessia glanced down, too.

  “Don’t worry about him, Varan.” She leveled a glare at the barbarian. “He has some explaining to do, but I want to hear why you’re here, first.”

  The boy nodded, watching as Grunwol slowly worked himself into a sitting position. Alessia watched, too, and Grunwol realized his chest had been bandaged… Stitched, too, he realized, feeling the faint, familiar pull of thread through muscle and skin.

  His wrist, as well, he noted, feeling the same pull under the bandages that strapped it.

  “I called a healer,” Alessia told him, “but he refused to cast anything in case you woke up.”

  And killed him, rang unspoken in the air between them.

  Grunwol shrugged, stopping mid-way with a gasp as the movement sent jolts of pain through his chest and shoulder. Alessia shook her head and turned back to her apprentice.

  “What is it, Varan?” she asked, gently laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and looking into his eyes.

  The boy swallowed hard, and after one more wary glance at Grunwol, answered.

  “I was practicing that spell you taught me.”

  “The scry?” Alessia asked, and the boy nodded, his head moving jerkily up and down, his eyes wide with memory. “How did it go?”

  “It went…” Varan gulped, his face paling even further. “It went well.”

  “And?” Alessia asked. “What did you see?”

  Grunwol decided she had the patience of a priest, and that the boy needed a good shake to break the story loose, but Varan’s next words stopped him cold.

  “I saw the king—”

  “You scried the king?” Alessia’s voice reflected Grunwol’s surprise.

  “He was the only person I could think on,” the boy hurriedly explained. “I… Well, the girls wouldn’t have liked it if I scried them, so I thought…I wanted to see…”

  “What did you want to see?” and Grunwol discovered Alessia wasn’t as godlike as he’d thought. Impatience lent an edge to her words that made the boy flinch. “How did you manage to scry the king?”

  “I…I imagined him in his armor,” the boy explained, “the…the armor he wore in the parade.”

  “The horned armor?” Alessia asked, as if to confirm they were remembering the same kind of armor.

  Varan nodded.

  “The set with the face plate?”

  Again, the boy confirmed her guess with a nod.

  “And it was down?”

  This time, when Varan nodded, he screwed his eyes tight closed as if trying to unsee what he’d seen. His body stiffened with tension and his voice shook.

  “Yes. I remembered what he looked like in the parade, the last one, where he wore the…that armor with the face plate closed.”

  Grunwol remembered that parade. The city had been abuzz with rumor for days after. Some had suggested the king had contracted some skin disease that meant he had to hide his face…and others said he’d perished and his replacement wanted no one to know.

  Now, he wondered if the rumors had been true.

  Alessia had other questions.

  “What were you using: the water or the glass?” she demanded.

  “Th…the water in the fish pond,” the boy replied, hesitating, again.

  “Go on,” Alessia urged, and he took a deep breath, looking past the wizardess to the wall above her desk.

  “The water rippled, just like it did when you showed us how,” he began, hurrying on when she shifted impatiently in her chair. “At first I thought it hadn’t worked but th..then it cleared.”

  He stopped, but this time Alessia said nothing to urge him on. She just sat still and waited. Grunwol quietly leant his head back against the wall and waited, too. Whatever the boy had seen, it had shaken him badly…and Raomar would want to know.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He waited for the boy to speak, ignoring the discomfort in his chest and arm.

  “I s…saw this big dark hall…” the boy continued, “like the hall in the temple of Miralei only…only without the glows, and there were pillars down each side of the hall and the roof had these arches criss-crossing overhead…and it was black and shimmering.”

  He shuddered.

  “Not white. Not…not clean…” he finished in a whisper, closing his eyes.

  “And the king?” Alessia pressed, when she saw he wasn’t going to continue.

  “Him… He… He came through two metal doors at the side of the hall, dressed in the…in that armor.” The boy paused, blinking rapidly at the memory. His eyes glittered. “His faceplate was down and… I…If I hadn’t tried to find him with the faceplate down, the magic wouldn’t have worked.”

  For a minute he looked like he was going to cry, then he clenched his jaw and took another breath, laying a hand on Alessia’s arm.

  “Mistress, he sounded…so big. Each step echoed like a giant’s. It scared me so much I almost ended the scry, but then I saw the altar.”

  “Altar? I didn’t know the king worshipped Miralei…” Alessia began.

  Varan shook his head so violently, Grunwol was surprised he didn’t do himself an injury.

  “No…no, he doesn’t,” the child told him. “He really doesn’t. Miralei’s temple is full of light and sunlight and…and it’s a kind place to be. This temple…”

  He shuddered.

  “It was all black and gray and full of shadows and fear and…” Varan closed his eyes, standing as stiff as a board.

  “Go on,” Alessia encouraged. “We’re here. You are safe.”

  The boy’s eyes flashed open.

  “Are you sure, mistress?” he demanded. “Because the altar was stained with blood, and he…he stopped before it and raised his hands. I heard him call out a name. It was…”

  Again, he closed his eyes, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders. “He sai—”

  Alessia laid a hand over his lips.

  “Don’t say it,” she instructed. “We don’t want to draw its attention.”

  “No,” the boy hastily agreed. “We really, really don’t.”

  He was silent for a moment, and Grunwol watched him fighting down the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. When the boy spoke again, his voice was so soft, Grunwol had to strain to hear it.

  “They killed a man.”

  Alessia’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “They what?”

  Varan turned to her, his face full of horror.

  “Mistress,” he said, gripping her shoulder. “Th…they killed a man, brought him to the altar and k…killed him.”

  His voice broke into sobs, but he continued, his knuckles turning white as he clung to Alessia’s shoulder.

  “Th…then they took his blood and d…drank it.” He swallowed convulsively, his face showing revulsion and terror. His voice rose in horror, cracking under the weight of panic and tears. “A servant came…”

  For some reason the arrival of a servant made it worse.

  “The se…servant brought the cup and I ended the scry.”

  Personally, Grunwol thought the boy should have ended the scry a lot sooner, but he said nothing as Varan started to sob.

  “The se…servant…”

  Varan was shaking so hard he almost couldn’t continue. Grunwol saw Alessia reach toward him as if to tell him it was okay to stop, but Varan hurried on.

  “Oh, Miralei and Sophriel! He was dead, Mistress. The servant was dead!”

  “What do you mean ‘dead’, Varan?” Alessia tried to keep her voice calm, but tension threaded through it, and Grunwol couldn’t blame her.

  Varan rushed on, his words tumbling over each other like puppies hurrying to be fed.

  “The servant,” he continued. “He was dead…and he brought the c.. the cup.” He hiccupped but didn’t stop. “It was a… was a ch…chalice. The king filled it and raised it over his head and the air above the altar shimmered and swirled and…and I ca…canceled the spell.”

  He turned to Alessia, his eyes wide with terror.

  “Did I do something wrong, Mistress?”

  Grunwol wanted to roar that by the cold north wind he’d done something wrong, but he forced himself to remain silent instead. He watched as Alessia carefully wrapped her arms around the boy and held him close.

  “You did just fine, Varan,” she murmured, stroking his hair as a mother would. “Just fine. You’re safe, now… Safe.”

  Varan leant his head against her shoulder and burst into tears. He didn’t remain that way for long, but quickly got himself under control. Pulling away from his mistress’s hug, he forced a watery smile and turned his attention to the Northman with the bandaged chest.

  “How long has he been awake?” he asked, indicating Grunwol. Frowning, he added, “And what’s that mark on his chest?”

  “He…” Alessia answered, “has been awake since just before you arrived…and what mark? There is no mark on his chest…and, even if there was, you wouldn’t be able to see it through the bandage. Are you sure you’re all right, Varan?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “Mistress, I am not all right…but there is a mark on his chest.” He gave her a puzzled frown. “Why can’t you see it?”

  Alessia gave the boy a sharp look, then moved around him to crouch in front of the Northman. Instead of repeating that she didn’t see a mark, she studied him carefully, the look on her face making him feel completely naked. Grunwol blushed, drawing the blanket more firmly over his lap.

  He might be wearing trousers, but…

  Varan noticed his discomfort, and a brief smile flickered over his features.

  After a long moment, Alessia turned to her apprentice.

  “Varan,” she told him, “I see no mark, only bandages. Can you tell me what you see?”

  Grunwol glanced down at his chest. He couldn’t see a mark, either, only bandages, but the boy didn’t hesitate.

  “I see a blue circle edged in silver,” he stated. “It has a white and silver bolt of lightning overlaying a pale blue teardrop.”

  He glanced from Grunwol to his Mistress, anxiety clouding his features.

  “What does it mean?”

  Grunwol leaned his head back against the wall, his heart sinking with dismay. He wanted to curse his fortune, and the gods’ terrible sense of humor…and to not have Alessia looking at him with such curiosity on her face. He could see the questions lurking in her eyes, and he wanted to answer none of them.

  Varan did more than stare. The boy crossed to the pallet, kneeling on the floor beside it and looking up at Grunwol.

  “Tell me what it means,” he pleaded, and because it was a child that asked…and one that needed to be distracted from his fear, Grunwol obliged.

  “The mark you can see is a pact mark, an invisible brand that tells others you have an unkept promise…and warns them that if they kill you, your debt will pass to them.”

  “And the rest?” the boy asked, leaning forward for a closer look.

  “That says who you owe the debt to, and how big the group is.”

  “So, the teardrop represents a group?” the boy probed, staring intently at Grunwol’s chest.

  Grunwol leant his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. It made it easier if he couldn’t see the interest in the child’s face.

  “Yes,” he replied, then to forestall the next question, “although it’s not just a teardrop, but a drop of water. It’s pale blue to represent the cold, so my guess is that some of my debt goes to the People of the Sorrowing Ice.”

  He screwed up his face, trying to suppress the brief flash of grief their memory brought. Of all the peoples…

  “And the lightning?” Varan wanted to know, his curiosity over the mark overriding any curiosity over why the name of his debtors seemed to pain the Northman, so.

  “White and silver?” Grunwol asked.

  “Yes,” the boy confirmed

  Grunwol groaned.

  “Lightning represents magic…very old magic, so I probably owe this debt to a sorcerer.”

  He shuddered. For one of his people to be caught this way was a travesty.

  “What’s wrong with owing a debt to a sorcerer?” Varan wanted to know, and Grunwol opened his eyes, directing a questioning glance at the boy’s mistress.

  Again, she nodded, giving him permission to explain, although in this case, it was more instruction.

  He sighed.

  “Sorcerers must give up part of themselves in exchange for their power.” Grunwol would have stopped there, but a gesture from Alessia signaled him to continue.

  He frowned, giving her another questioning glance. Was she sure?”

  Alessia repeated the gesture, and Grunwol shrugged. The boy was her apprentice…

  “It is forbidden in the tribes because when a Northman gives away a part of himself, he gives away his ability to connect with his totem, and surrenders his afterlife to the being bestowing the power.”

  The boy frowned. “But what if you don’t have a totem?” he asked. “How do you become a sorcerer, then?”

  “Those without a totem must pay in lives, or talent, or in years of enslavement made in advance.”

  “Oh.” The boy settled back on his heels to consider that, and in the quiet that followed, Grunwol wondered what part of themselves the shadow fey gave in exchange for their power…and to what source they gave it.

  The boy cast his mistress an anxious glance, and Alessia laughed.

  “Our magic doesn’t work that way, Varan. It’s why you have to study so hard…and why not everyone can become a wizard. We are born able to wield magic and only have to learn how. These others either can’t do that, or seek to do it without the hard work in between.”

  “I like our way better,” the child concluded, after some thought, and Grunwol had to agree.

  He watched as Varan studied Alessia’s face as if making sure his mistress was telling the truth. After a minute, the boy turned back to him.

  “What else?” he asked, his small face intent. “About the lightning. What is it you aren’t telling me?”

  “The double colors, the silver and white, mean this sorcerer is a storm wielder…and I would be very foolish to ignore his or her call.”

  “You can be called?” the boy was horrified, but also fascinated by the idea. “How does that work?”

  “It’s part of the binding,” Grunwol told him. He touched the bandages. “I chose between death or enslavement and making a promise to creatures I didn’t know.”

  The boy’s eyes grew round, and Grunwol continued.

  “They mixed their blood with mine by dripping it into the wound over my heart, and took my true name and whatever else was revealed by drinking from my wrist.”

  “But blood magic is…” Varan’s face showed his revulsion, and Grunwol felt the faint surge of his own brutal response to such things, shadow his expression. He caught Alessia’s look of concern, and ignored it, focusing on the boy.

  “It’s forbidden for a reason,” he told the child, “But understand this, the way a pact is made means that each one of them can call on me, once, to defend them, or their proxy, and I cannot hide from them because of the blood link. Nor can I refuse their request.”

  “Then how come you did it?” the child asked, and Grunwol closed his eyes, his face coloring at the memory.

  “I was caught, and it was the price of them letting me go.”

  “In the sewers?” the boy asked, too bright-eyed for his own good.

  “How did you know that?” Grunwol asked.

  “Your clothes,” the child replied. “They reeked.”

  Alessia rested her forehead in her hand, and Grunwol got the impression she was laughing. When she lifted her face, however, there was no sign of mirth.

  “The circle?” the boy asked. “The one edged in silver?”

  “The circle,” Grunwol replied, “represents an entire tribe or enclave, depending on who you pledged to. I know her true name, but not her position in the enclave.”

  He looked into the boy’s eager face, trying to think of something else to add.

  “I think… No, I know she is of the ruling line, but that is all.”

  “I can try to discover more.” The child turned eager eyes to his mistress, and she sighed.

  “I’ll consider it,” she told him, stilling his exuberant bounce with an upraised hand, “but you must go back to bed and sleep, first. Can you?”

  “Yes, mistress,” the boy replied, bouncing to his feet. “I’ll sleep so I can be up early to begin my search.”

  He left the room before Alessia could reply, and the wizardess shook her head.

  “New apprentice?” Grunwol asked, and she nodded.

  “His parents were beside themselves, and asked if I’d take him so he didn’t burn down the cottage by mistake.” Her face clouded. “They’re not willing to see him, and he doesn’t understand, but the girls have adopted him, and I try to make him understand he’s welcome…”

  She shrugged.

  “He is talented, and people are…” She sighed.

  “I understand,” Grunwol told her, and he did. He’d seen the kinds of prejudices brought against those with unusual talents…especially when they manifested them so young. “It’s a shame.”

  “I can’t fix it,” she answered. “I can only give him a place to belong.”

  Grunwol nodded. It was one of the things he liked about her. Some days he thought she was too gentle to be a wizardess.

  Changing the subject, he asked, “Have you found Roamer?”

  She shook her head. “I’m still working on it. Do you have a retrieval team in mind?”

  “Brianda, Mika and Aral,” Grunwol told her, although he knew the names would mean nothing to her. “And me and—”

  “Certainly not!” Alessia snapped. “You’d be a liability.”

  “Regardless, I’m going,” Grunwol stated firmly. “It is my mistake and my honor.”

  Alessia opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. She knew better than to argue points of honor. It was one of the few things he refused to discuss.

  “What debt did you promise?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Blood and iron,” he admitted, and she swore.

  “Yes,” Grunwol agreed, closing his eyes, once more.

  “And you made this pact with the garitzik and the shadow fey?” she asked, her face showing what she thought of the sheer stupidity of his choice.

  “Roamer went after the Tillerman,” Grunwol told her. “The Tillerman has hired the shadow fey and the garitzik to guard the underdocks.”

  “And they caught you,” she stated, not needing his nod to confirm it, “and you had no other option.”

  “I had a blade across each kidney, a gargoyle in front of me its claws around my throat,” he admitted. “Options were limited.”

  “But…the garitzik AND the shadow fey?”

  Grunwol blew out a breath.

  “Worse,” he told her, “those from the Land of Sorrowing Ice.”

  He turned grief-stricken eyes to her.

  “I cannot return, Alessia…”

  His voice caught as she moved to his side, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the sudden pain that screamed across his muscles, or the deeper pain that surfaced whenever he thought of his homeland.

  “Lie down,” she soothed. “We’ll work something out.”

  Grunwol let her assist him, shaking his head at her suggestion. They both paused when the door to Alessia’s quarters opened and a solidly built woman stepped through.

  “You will go when you are called,” the woman stated, her eyes catching Grunwol’s, her voice full of command, as the door opened, “and you will speak no more of this debt—especially not to your guildmaster and friend.”

  “Dart!” Alessia exclaimed, and the woman turned her gaze to the wizardess.

  “Like you, wizardess, I work for those who pay me—and that is the message I was told to deliver.”

  Grunwol closed his eyes, his heart sinking as he did so.

  “Did they say aught else?” he asked.

  “No,” Dart replied. “That was the message in full.”

  “Then why are you still here?” Alessia asked. “If you have delivered your message?”

  This time the woman smiled.

  “I know where Roamer is being held…and he is a friend of mine as much as yours.”

  Grunwol stirred, trying to sit up and failing. Alessia crouched beside him and rested her palm in the center of his chest, looking askance at the shadow lady.

  “He needs to rest, Dart.”

  The woman looked over at Grunwol, her gaze taking in his face, bandaged chest and strapped arm. The intensity of her gaze made his mouth go dry and he tried to moisten it.

  “Dart…” he croaked, trying to catch her eyes, but she avoided him, and he knew she saw the pallor of his skin and the sweat beading his forehead, knew she would side with the wizardess.

  Her eyes reminded him of the tilled earth in summer…but held less warmth.

  “Dart…” he began, again, but before he got any further, she’d finished her assessment and decided her next course of action. She moved with all the speed and emotion of a striking snake. As he raised his hand in protest, she stepped back from the pallet, drawing and throwing the dart before he could find the words to ask her not to.

  “Sleep,” she instructed, then swore, turning to Alessia. “I forgot to ask who the guild would send.”

  Grunwol stopped fighting the wave of dark coming from the dart, when the wizardess replied, “Brianda, Mika and Aral.”