The Iron Ring by Auston Habershaw

Author:Auston Habershaw
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

Outside, Tyvian found Hool squatting in front of Carlo’s door, her ears rigid and upright. “What did the man inside say?” she asked.

“That he should have poisoned me. Why do you ask?” Tyvian winked at her, but the gesture was clearly lost on the gnoll.

“Is he your enemy?”

“More like a grouchy uncle. I wouldn’t worry—­he won’t stay angry for long.”

Artus had taken off Alafarr’s hood and gag and was letting her drink from the fountain. Tyvian, seeing this, pushed past Hool. “What the hell are you doing?”

Artus’s voice squeaked. “She was gonna pass out! We haven’t given her a drink since this morning!”

Tyvian cuffed Artus upside the head. “What part of ‘never take off her gag’ don’t you understand?”

Artus’s face turned red. “She’s still got the caster-­thingies on. Plus Hool was watching her.”

“And suppose she knows verbal invocations, eh? What happens when she speaks Sumptain’s Word of Baffling and runs off?”

Alafarr frowned. Her voice was rough and dry. “Nobody can make that spell work. The only person I know of who has mastered it is . . . your mother. Oh.”

Tyvian pointed at the mage. “Stop talking. Hool, put her gag back on.”

“You do it,” Hool countered, arms crossed.

Tyvian rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

Alafarr didn’t struggle as the gag and hood were replaced. Artus watched sullenly as Tyvian turned the mage around and pushed her toward the alley that would lead back to the Stair Market. “Where are we going now?” Artus asked, finally, as they kept climbing the Cliff District.

Tyvian sighed. “I am going home. You are going to be paid, and then you are going to get lost.”

“But—­”

The smuggler held up a hand. “That’s enough, boy.”

“What about Hool?” Artus asked quietly, eyes downcast.

“The gnoll is welcome to go wherever she pleases. I will help her find Hendrieux, but not until tomorrow. None of this, by the way, has anything to do with you.”

“Okay,” Artus said, kicking some minuscule mote of debris across the cobblestones. He didn’t look up at Tyvian until they had reached his flat.

Tyvian maintained a penthouse apartment at an exclusive address along Top Street. The lower floors of the five-­story building were partitioned into deluxe suites that were rented seasonally by noble families from Eretheria and Akral. He could tell by the locked blue shutters and dark front hall that none of the tenants were currently occupying the place, which was ideal, as he had no desire to parade the dirty Artus, monstrous Hool, or captured Alafarr in front of the tender eyes of the naive nobility. Plus, he himself was not dressed to his usual standard.

On the steps of the building Tyvian saw a small black cube that seemed to suck in the ambient light—­a messenger djinn, he thought, no doubt sent by Carlo. Messenger djinn were sorcerous entities of pure Dweomeric energy that were used by courier ser­vices wealthy enough to employ conjurers. One simply had to insert an addressed letter into the baffling darkness of the floating cubes and they would speed off directly to the addressee.

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