The Hidden Illusionist Read online

  Ethan blended into a crowd, threading in and out with the grace of someone used to sneaking through throngs of people. As he did, his eyes snapped in the direction of every purse, every hanging money pouch, every ring on every finger.

  As he reached the edge, he saw what the crowd were looking at. A salesman was standing in front of a wooden table lined with strange looking implements; there was a needle on one side, and a small vial of red liquid on the other.

  “Memory is such a fickle thing, my fine folks,” said the salesman. “A fleeting hint of time, slippery and always trying to get away. Who here has forgotten a name? A face? Who I the elder ones among us has felt cherished times slip from their skulls?”

  The crowd murmured. Some said yes, others looked a little upset.

  “Then fear no more,” he said, picking up one of his needles. “Simply think about what you need to remember, prick yourself with it, and then drink the liquid. The memory will come to you like a miracle.”

  The murmurs grew. “How much?” said one man.

  Th salesman waved him away. This time, he looked behind the Wolfpine residents in the crowd, and to the bounty hunters on the edge. “And that is not all,” he said. “Sometimes people want to share memories with us, and unfortunately are not always able to do that…verbally. Never fear! My needles work just as well on another. Speak to your loved one about the memory you need to see, prick them, and again, drink the fluid. It’s strawberry flavored.”

  Wow. That sounded amazing. Ethan knew firsthand the wondrous things alchemists could do, but his dad would never have brewed something like this. The optional for misuse was astounding, and even the prospect of gold wouldn’t have changed his mind.

  Scruples were great, but Ethan had misplaced his long ago. He left the crowd. As he did, he barged into a bounty hunter, knocking him to the ground. The crowd and the salesman turned to look at the hunter. As they did, Ethan pocketed a memory needle and went on his way.

  A boy across the street delivered a tankard of beer to a drunk, took his money, and made to leave. When the man concentrated on his beer, the kid unwound his coin pouch from his belt, and crept away. As he ran passed, Ethan collared him.

  “If you want a beer, mister, ooder at the bar and I’ll bring it oot.”

  Ooder? Oot? Was the kid from across the black sea? What was he doing on the Fire Isles? Never mind, it didn’t matter right now.

  “Do you know where Hulftim Chinwise is? The healer?”

  “That way, oover there,” he said, pointing at an alleyway of shops, at the end of which was a wooden shed with smoke proofing from a chimney.

  “Thanks, kid. And you need to pinch the pouch with one hand to stop the coins jingling. Work on untying the knots one handed.”

  The boy, cheeks reddening, sped off toward a tavern called The Cabbage and Sickle.

  Ethan set off toward Hulftim Chinwise’s shop. Before he got there, he saw an old beggar on the street, surrounded by four drunks.

  “Want a beer, you old drunk? Want a beer?” said one, holding his tankard over the man’s head, so that drops fell out.

  The man swatted him away. Another youth, a redhead wearing tight bracers, slapped him across the face.

  Ethan’s cheeks reddened as if he was the one who had been slapped. He drew his sword, gritted his teeth, and it took every ounce of will not to charge at them. He strode over.

  He gripped one drunk by the throat and shoved him to the ground. The other two turned his way, but Ethan lifted his sword in the Fensi-hyen pose Reck had drilled into him, perfect for quick counter blows. Not only that, but it looked awesome.

  “This fucker wants his skull caved in,” said one youth.

  The drunk got up off the floor. He eyed Ethan’s sword, and then the emblem on his shirt. “Leave it,” he said. “Not worth having the guild on our arses. Let’s go.”

  Ethan kneeled beside the old man. He had quick, darting eyes. One his right hand, his little finger had been cut to a nub. It could have been any manner of accident, but Ethan’s mind reached one conclusion; punishment for theft. Whip lashes covered Ethan’s back, but he was lucky. In some places, reward for being caught stealing was the loss of a digit.

  “Are you okay?”

  “You’re from the guild, lad, aren’t ya?”

  Ethan nodded.

  The old man rolled his sleeve to show the guild emblem tattooed on his arm. “Guild brothers then, aren’t we?”

  This gave him pause. This man had been in the heroes’ guild, yet he was living on the streets. How was that possible?

  “The guild has a pension fund, doesn’t it?” said Ethan.

  “Aye. Doesn’t apply when you’re kicked out.”

  “What happened?”

  “I didn’t join the guild in the usual way,” said the man. “I was a thief, and the guild master took pity on me. Gave me a position as a guild scribe.”

  “So why aren’t you on the mountain?”

  “Couldn’t shake off the mentality,” the man said, tapping his temple. “Once a thief, always a thief. Couldn’t keep me hands to meself, could I? Got kicked out of the guild for thievin’, and by then I was too old to make it on the streets. My tit-ticklers aren’t what they used to be,” he said, holding up his hands.

  The humid air made the man sweat. With each drip that trickled down his forehead, Ethan could smell the alcohol seeping out of his pores. A life of thieving, then a second chance in the guild, and this was what it amounted to.

  This could be me. The thought stabbed him in the gut. Since joining the guild, the only thing Ethan focused on was escape. What if he was looking at this wrong? If he messed up and got kicked out of the guild, what waited for him?

  A thief could only steal for as long as his hands remained dexterous. What happened with age hit him? When arthritis set in, when it hurt to curl his fingers? The only old thieves who prospered were the ones who hit a big score and retired, or those who turned to clever scams and con schemes. Ethan didn’t have the brains for that.

  An overwhelming pity flowed through him. This man had made wrong choices, but people usually did their best. This guy was going to die soon. He couldn’t keep living this way.

  Ethan opened his pouch and tipped his coins into the man’s hand.

  His eyes widened. “Don’t you need it, lad?”

  Ethan touched his wound. It had already begun to crust, to set into the shape that would scar him. “I’m okay,” he said.

  The old man grabbed his wrist. He pulled Ethan so close to him that his alcohol fumes were intoxicating. “Thank you, boy. The guild hasn’t lost all its good heroes yet, has it?”

  “I’m not a hero.”

  The old man eyed Ethan intently. “Keep your eye on the mage,” he whispered.

  “The mage?”

  “Lillian. Things turned to shit when he joined. Keep an eye on him, and any who are loyal to him.”

  The alcohol fumes became too much. Ethan pulled away. He was going to ask the old man what he meant, when a voice shouted his name.

  “Ethan! Run, for fuck’s sake!”

  Glen ran toward him, darting through the crowds of drunks. Behind him followed a half-ogre, who looked like he was carved from mountain rock.

  “Who the hell is that?” asked Ethan.

  “The errand I had to run?” said Glen. “That’s my errand’s husband. Get your arse moving!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ethan

  “It’s no good. He’s too strong-minded.”

  “Then cast him aside.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Developing morals now, are we?”

  “I have one last trick. Give me time.”

  “Time is running out. He will be here soon.”

  ~

  “Say that again, you bastard! You only beat me ‘cos I was tired!”

  “Get some sleep next time, pretty boy.”

  Arguments like this were daily events in the common room. It was the only place where all
the recruits and guild staff gathered at the same time, eager to fill their bellies with what passed for food in the guildhouse. A dozen long tables filled the draughty hall, and recruits gathered in their various gangs and cliques. Laughter met with threats from the more boisterous recruits, while the studious boys hunched close to each other and compared study strategies for upcoming creature exams.

  Sunlight streamed in through muralled windows lining the room, spreading multi-colored shafts of light over the food-covered tables. The murals changed every ten seconds, the colors shifting in the glass to form one image, then another. Rumor had it that it took ten hours to watch the changes from beginning to end, where you’d see a history of the Soul Wars from their roots until now.

  Above the recruits, suspending from the ceiling, was a sword so humongous only a giant could have wielded it. The iron chains fixing it to the ceiling looked too rusted to Ethan, and he always found himself cramming his food down so he could leave before the sword broke free and impaled him halfway through his chicken pot pie.

  Ethan ate his meal alone. It was no good expecting to be a celebrity around here just because he was a ‘traitor to the empire’, and it was no use showing off with his swordplay. Better to try and be clever, like Dantis. To watch the other recruits and see how they worked.

  Truth was, it was only when you really watched someone that you knew what they were like. People had depths – take Bander. He looked like a warrior from an adventure book, but he used to be a thief, like Ethan. And what about Reck? He looked like a kindly grandfather, eye patch aside, but he’s snapped a recruit’s arm just for laughing. No, you could never take people on their first impression.

  His company came when he something brushed against his feet. A brown rat scrabbled for crumbs on the floor. In a place like the guild, full of holes and surrounded by forest, rats were too common a pest to eradicate, and Bander had banned the more inhumane methods of rat catching.

  Ethan broke a piece of bread and fed it to the rat. When he realized what he was doing, he laughed to himself. I used to pick at Dantis for doing this. He understood why his brother fed the rats now, even when he didn’t have enough food for himself. When you were lonely, anything could be a friend. Especially an animal - something that wouldn’t judge you.

  Was he making Dantis lonely by moving them on all the time? Did Dantis want to make friends, but Ethan was stopping him?

  He couldn’t think about Dantis. Not now. He’d never have admitted it, but he was feeling sensitive. Tears brimmed in his eyes, and for the love of all the Gods, he couldn’t think about his little brother right now.

  Instead, he tuned his ear to the conversations around him. One boy, in-between shoveling chicken into his mouth, chatted excitedly to the pony-tailed boy beside him.

  “Mom wrote me last week. Another one went missing in Wolfpine. She’s glad I’m here.”

  His friend leaned toward him conspiratorially. “Why doesn’t Bander do something?”

  The boy shrugged. “Lillian would root it out in a second.”

  “Why doesn’t he?”

  “Shh. Bander’s coming.”

  Bander approached Ethan, with Glen trailing behind. Glen gave Ethan what looked like a genuine smile, not of the mocking variety the other recruits flashed at him.

  “Evenin’ Ethan,” said Glen.

  Ethan grinned. “Someone was looking for you, earlier,” he said. “A guy who had a problem with his wife he needed a hero to help with.”

  Glen fought to keep his smile from spreading. Bander glared at him. Glen gave a curt nod. “I’ll get right on that.”

  Bander leaned on the table and peered with Ethan. “Hulftim’s work is getting sloppy,” he said. “I could swear your face looks the same.”

  “Girls love scars,” said Ethan.

  “This isn’t a joke, Ethan. You’re not a rich boy here on a scholarship; you’re a thief. When I give you guild funds for an express purpose, and you come back having not done it, I need to know where the money has gone.”

  Ethan stabbed his fork into a potato. If only the right words would appear in his mind. He couldn’t tell Bander he gave the money to an old thief who had been kicked out of the guild. Then again, what else could he say that didn’t cast suspicion on himself?

  “We were robbed,” said Glen.

  Bander turned to the older recruit. “Explain.”

  “I didn’t trust the thief with the money,” said Glen, “So I put it in my own pouch, which I double tied to my belt. But it was the ale festival and street rats were runnin’ around everywhere, picking people’s pockets. They must have gotten close enough to me to take it.”

  “You know that this means double duty in the forest until you’ve paid back what you lost.”

  Ethan grimaced. Forest duty meant combing the mountain forest for abandoned klizerd nests. The giant creatures moved their nests every few months, timing it with their reproduction cycle. They left behind the shells of hatched eggs, which were valuable. Klizerd egg shell could be crushed into a paste and applied to leather to make it fire resistant.

  The problem came when recruits accidently disturbed a nest that hadn’t been abandoned yet, and had to deal with an angry klizerds. Yuren the healer was busiest in the afternoons, when recruits returned from forest duty.

  “Glen’s mistaken,” Ethan said. He wanted to spare Glen forest duty, but he also didn’t want to get him into trouble for his attempt to cover for him. “I’d already given the money away before he got his pouch stolen.”

  “Given away to who?” asked Bander.

  Ethan scratched the plate with his fork. “Some old guy.”

  “You wouldn’t give away money intended to fix your scar to ‘some old guy.’ Whoever it was, he must have got to you. Don’t make me put you on double forest duty.”

  “Fine. It was a guy who used to be in the guild. A thief. Says he was a scribe, but he got kicked out because he couldn’t help himself stealing.”

  For a brief second, Bander’s face drained of color. “Go and get some food, Glen,” he said.

  When Glen left, Bander leaned in to Ethan. “I never wanted to expel him. Targust is a good man at heart. And so are you, lad.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Ethan said.

  Bander nodded.

  “Why do they blame you for people going missing in Wolfpine?”

  “When people feel powerless, blaming someone gives them control.”

  “Why do you take it? You’ve done everything you can, haven’t you?”

  “Sometimes,” said Bander, “It’s better to take the blame on myself, to spare the guild. The guild is the important thing, because it’s what’ll be here long after I go.”

  Ethan almost didn’t want to say his next sentence, but if anyone could take it, it was Bander. “It’s ruining your reputation.”

  “A reputation is just words, lad.”

  No, Bander didn’t full believe that. Ethan could tell from his face. What else was there to say? If Bander wanted to take the blame on himself for something he believed in, who was Ethan to argue?

  Lilian approached from across the common room. Catching his eye, Bander went to talk with him, leaving Ethan alone again. Watching Lillian and Bander take a seat on the masters table, Ethan couldn’t help his thoughts turning.

  The man in Wolfpine told him to keep an eye on Lillian. What had he meant? If he couldn’t trust the guild’s mage, did that mean he couldn’t trust Bander, either? He had to find out more. Maybe he could try and get into Lillian’s room and snoop around, but that wasn’t a one-man job. He needed an ally, but he was coming up short.

  There was the possibility he could reason with Yart and Bunk, but he had some small influence in the guild. He was a bastard, but a useful one if Ethan got him onside.

  Ethan took his plate and cutlery and put them in the washbasin, where the recruits on canteen duty collected it. He returned to his seat and drained his watered-down ale. This tastes like crap.

&n
bsp; After finishing his beer, he left the common room and went to the dorm. As he walked up the wooden staircase, he felt woozy. Man, I’m becoming a lightweight. One beer, and I feel like this?

  His head pounded. A long day of training lay ahead of him tomorrow, so he crawled into bed and closed his eyes.

  He fell into a dream. In it, he was standing on a never-ending plain of dry earth. In the distance, streams of lava snaked through channels cut into the ground. The sound of chanting rose from nearby. He strained to hear the words. The only ones he picked out were “fire trial.”