Illusion's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 1) Read online

  He was surprised he didn’t find any dust.

  Why wasn’t he surprised there was nothing here to eat? He poured hot water into a mug with exaggerated resignation and sat down next to the hearth to sip at it. His belly cramped and grumbled.

  Trevor watched him from the doorway. “Is it your custom to drink hot water for breakfast?”

  “Only when I can’t find any food.” He was sure he hadn’t eaten since morning yesterday. Gandar had been too anxious to get rid of him to wait for supper. Tasteless fish jerky at noon didn’t count.

  “Would you settle for bread and cheese? And a bit of cider?”

  Cider? He’d never been allowed to taste cider. Only warriors drank it. “Are you going to make them out of air?” Viper waved his hand at the empty room. “Or those leaves, maybe?”

  “Not exactly.” Trevor walked over to the wall and pulled on one section. Behind the moving wall was a tiny room containing two small loaves of bread.

  His jaw dropped. Now that was real magic!

  Trevor laughed. “I suppose a cabinet would be a shock to someone raised in a tent. Look.” He opened another little door and pulled out a large wedge of golden cheese. From behind yet another came a sparkling green bottle. Item by item, he placed breakfast on the table.

  “The whole wall is a huge chest.” Viper gazed around the kitchen in awe. This was better than magic. “A whole wall of chests. You can store everything inside a wall instead of on the floor. How did you do it?” He’d take a wall of chests home to his mother, if he could figure out how to make one.

  If he ever returned to the tribe.

  “Every kitchen in a civilized city has something like this.” Trevor handed him a loaf of bread and sliced off a large chunk of cheese. “In fact, your own room has a chest of drawers in the wall. I expect you to keep your clothes in it, not in your pack on the floor. You are to behave like a gentleman from now on.” He handed Viper a mug of cider.

  Sharp sweetness burst over his tongue and shivered down his throat. This was cider? No wonder the warriors refused to share the rare bottle that arrived on the plains.

  Trevor raised his eyebrows. “You do understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” he mumbled around a mouthful of creamy, tangy cheese. If the old man gave him luxuries like cheese and cider every day, his servitude would be bearable. Maybe even enjoyable.

  “Now.” Trevor pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “I think it is time we defined our relationship. I am glad to have you as my tutor of things Setoyan. However, I do not need a servant. Nevertheless, it is appropriate for you to assume a share of the household upkeep.”

  Viper licked bread crumbs from his fingers and looked longingly at the second loaf. Even his mother didn’t cook bread so soft and sweet.

  Trevor absently handed it to him and cut himself a slice of cheese.

  After a long pause, Viper realized the old man was waiting for his comment. “What do you want me to do?” he asked between bites.

  “You shall cook. You can cook, can’t you?”

  “Setoyan style, I can.” More or less, anyway. He’d watched often enough.

  “Fine.” Trevor smiled and leaned his elbows on the table. “You shall cook, and go to the market, since that is a part of preparing a meal. And you can keep the place howsoever clean as meets your standards. Considering how you complained last night, I’m sure it will be clean enough.”

  “It will be.” He looked the old man directly in the eyes. “Lesson one in things Setoyan. We can’t stand to live in a dust basin, be it tent or house.”

  Trevor laughed. “So be it. You can start cleaning when you get back from the market. You’ve eaten the last of our supplies.”

  He sighed and held his mug out for another serving of cider.

  “Another thing you must remember.” Trevor set the bottle down and drew rings in the moisture on the table. “When you are out on the streets, if anyone asks where you belong, be sure to tell them you work for me. I can’t stress that enough.”

  Viper felt his chin jutting forward and tried to drag it back in place. “Why?”

  “You would be mistaken for a street urchin, and unclaimed children are not allowed in Zedista.” The old man leaned his chin on his fist and sighed. “The authorities hunt them down and put them in orphanages. I would have a dreadful time getting you out.”

  Trevor stood and stared out the window. “Worse yet, gangs run the streets looking for unprotected children to terrorize and abuse.” His nostrils flared as though he’d smelled a dead sandcrab. “Sadists, those boys, but the authorities can’t seem to catch them.”

  “Some warriors treat their slaves that way. But my mother wouldn’t allow our slaves to be abused.”

  “Your family has many slaves?”

  “Well, no. Not at any one time.” Viper stared at the floor. “We’ve had many slaves go through the household, but only a few stay for any length of time. Those were the servants, and sometimes our teachers.”

  “What did they teach you?”

  “Oh, languages, mostly.” He thought for a moment. “Zedisti, Nashidran, and Duremen-Lor. I can read some Nashidran and more in Duremen-Lor. Xavien taught me math, too.”

  “The slaves your family doesn’t keep. What happens to them?”

  Viper slumped against the side of the fireplace. “I think you don’t want to know. You got pretty upset last night when we talked about slaves.”

  “I realize you haven’t the slightest control over your people’,” Trevor said gently. “Tell me.”

  “Mostly we buy criminals, but…” He took a deep breath and rattled out the words as fast as he could. “We feed them to the bahtdor. Bahtdor need meat to lay eggs, and there aren’t enough animals on the plains. They eat some grass and roots and stuff, but it’s not enough, they need meat. We feed them all of our own dead, but it’s against custom to feed them a living member of the Tribe, thank the Thunderer, or my father would have fed me to the oldest skinniest bahtdor, he was so mad when I tried to take the Knife.”

  The old sorcerer turned gray.

  This wasn’t going well. Best to get it over with. Viper inhaled and spoke faster. “The traders come through and sell us slaves for opals and bahtdor hides and they never ask why we need so many, and the ones coming from Kerov buy all the criminals in the prisons and sell them to us and I think they know because a lot of Outcasts go to Kerov and I heard a trader brag that only outsiders break the law and go to prison because the locals don’t want to be bahtdor meat, but the traders from Veriz sell criminals to us, too, but not all of their slaves act like criminals and those are the ones my mother keeps for a while.”

  He caught his breath and waited for the battle scream that would vent Trevor’s anger.

  The old man stood next to the table, rocking on his heels, pale and gaping. Suddenly he drew a deep breath and threw back his head.

  Viper cringed and covered his ears.

  Trevor laughed. Long, crackling peals of laughter shook his thin body.

  Viper’s mouth dropped open. He jumped to his feet. Only last winter a rogue warrior had laughed like that, and he’d murdered three warriors and seven children before the other warriors managed to kill him.

  Should he stand through the storm, or should he run? Flight seemed most sensible, though it singed his honor. But he didn’t want to be torn to shreds.

  Before he could choose his path, Trevor ran out of breath and sat down on the table. He waved feebly at Viper to resume his seat. The old man gasped for several moments like a bluegill thrown on the sand. “That is absolutely dreadful.” He cleared his throat. “Utterly horrible. It’s not nearly as ghastly as I thought it would be.”

  Viper felt his eyes grow as large as dragon scales, but he dared not interrupt.

  “Actually, it’s absolutely intriguing.” Trevor got up and began to pace the room.

  Could outlanders go rogue slowly? The old man didn’t look very strong, but going rogue gave a man impossible stre
ngth. Viper tried to measure the distance to the door. If he ran fast enough…

  “Intriguing.” The old man tugged at his beard. “Quite unique. I wonder if the city council would consider following the Kerovi system. It would certainly lower the crime rate. And earn a few dollars for the city coffers. Although public opinion might be a problem. Don’t sit there looking like an orphan, child. Get yourself off to the market and fetch us some dinner. Here’s sixpence; spend it wisely. Now off with you.”

  What a relief to get free of the crazy old man and the dusty house. But the way to the market was not as clear as the old turybird seemed to think.

  After a turn here to follow a wandering musician and a corner there to explore an enthralling aroma, Viper was entirely lost. No matter which way he wandered he couldn’t find a main road, and he was deathly tired of walking where he couldn’t see where he was going.

  No tribesman would walk in a canyon. Any sane person would stride openly on the face of the plain.

  Yet here he was, mincing sandcrab-wise in these stone-bound streets. He was not lost, he was blinded. If these Zedisti had any sense they would have built the streets above the buildings instead. Of course, if all Zedisti were like Trevor, a city of blind paths made sense. Not to him, maybe, but to a giggle of turybirds.

  A group of boys stood talking at the corner. Most of them were older, and all of them were taller, but none of them looked particularly healthy.

  He might as well ask them for directions. Such boys couldn’t be much of a threat. There wasn’t a drop of warrior blood in the bunch.

  Every head in the group turned to stare at him as he approached. All conversation died. The formation shuffled until one tall, pink-faced boy stood before the others, proud and confident as a bull bahtdor.

  The obvious costliness of the boy’s gold-trimmed red tunic and ruby studded collar proclaimed him a chieftain’s son. His trousers were also red, but in a darker shade. All of the reds clashed with the boy’s pink face. The sand lizard looked like the toy soldiers the traders offered to tiny boys. Typical outlander nonsense. He didn’t look Zedisti, though. Not like the others. He looked like a hooded cobra in a nest of rattlesnakes.

  “I am Jorjan.” The leader flung back his dark hair and put his hands on his hips. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

  Like anyone cared what the lizard’s name was. But he’d better be polite, considering he was outnumbered. “My apologies for intruding. If you’ll point out the way to the market I’ll get out of your territory.”

  Jorjan stared for a moment. A smirk slid over his face. “How quaint. Out of my territory, indeed. There’s no hurry, pretty boy. You’re quite our sort, now isn’t he, gentlemen?”

  The boys crowded closer.

  Viper backed away as they encircled him. What was this about?

  Blast. Were these the boys Trevor had warned him to avoid?

  “You do have the cutest accent,” Jorjan drawled. “Quite obviously foreign. Such a sweet child. All by yourself, too, aren’t you?”

  “I’m of warrior blood.” He forced himself to stand up straight. “I can outfight any of you sickly fat Outsiders.” So much for being polite. But even the old Cantor had never insulted him as thoroughly. “I have work in this stone-bound city. I’m not a stray.”

  “You delicate little thing, there’s no warrior blood in you.” Jorjan hooked his thumbs into his belt. “And such a tiny fleck of fluff can hardly call us fat. Why, we are quite splendid, while you are such a dainty, frail morsel. Tell me, gentlemen, what should we do with this gorgeous creature?”

  “Hey, captain?” A broken-nosed boy stepped forward. “Ain’t a morsel for munching?”

  “Indeed.”

  “So maybe we can eat him?”

  For the first time, Jorjan focused on him. “Indeed, yes.” Eyes roamed over his body the way Mama’s did with any outlander she’d considered buying.

  “I’m not a nameless slave.” Well, not a slave anyway. Just nameless. He backed closer to the wall. “Attacking in a group is knife-stealing dishonorable.” He set his feet as the gang approached. He’d take down a few of them. Or at least hurt them enough they’d back off.

  The boys strolled forward. They rubbed their hands against their thighs in a way that didn’t seem nervous or uncertain. More like they were feeling for weapons hidden in their clothes.

  “Honor and dishonor have nothing to do with you,” a pock-faced youth whispered. The other boys hesitated, but Jorjan waved them forward.

  Viper swallowed convulsively. There were so many of them. Maybe he’d better run.

  Jorjan chuckled. He stood behind the group, slightly aloof, but his pale skin glowed with excitement. “Let’s go into the alley, sweet eyes,” he whispered. “I bet you’re as tasty as any girl, a pretty thing like you. Girls are better, but you’ll do.”

  Rhythmic clanking echoed from the stone buildings and down the street.

  Jorjan’s nose flared like an angry bahtdor. “Blizzard take them. They have no sense of timing. Can you bring him?”

  The pocked youth tossed his hair out of his face. “Not soon and not quiet. He’s got a bit of fight in him.”

  “So be it.” Jorjan turned and smiled pleasantly. “We’ll have our party later.” He waved and briskly led his gang away.

  Viper stared after them in blank astonishment until a group of warriors marched into view.

  So, they didn’t want to be seen by local fighters. What he could do with that knowledge? He trotted toward the patrol.

  The leader signaled a halt. “What can I do for you, lad?”

  “You just rescued me, warrior. Someone calling himself Jorjan and six others were attacking me.”

  “Don’t be silly, lad. Now listen to me. First, I am not a warrior, I’m a sergeant. Second, you’re dramatizing a little boyish fun. Think hard, now: what mugger is going to tell you his name, eh?”

  What did the sand lizard mean? Was he being called a liar?

  “And third, who do you belong to?” The sergeant crossed his arms. “We can’t have wild children running loose on the street. It is against the law.”

  “I work for Trevor on Thorn Lane. And you can ask him, too.”

  “Old Trevor the sorcerer?” The sergeant studied Viper’s face. “Could be true. You’re plenty exotic. Good enough. Be on your way, lad, and don’t fret over innocent games. No harm done. Forward.”

  Viper glared after the sergeant. The Zedisti paid less attention to his report than the Tribe had when he’d been only three summers old. But what could he expect from foolish outlanders? He shrugged and fell into step with the last pair of warriors. “Can you point me to the market?”

  The young man glanced at his sergeant’s back, but nodded. “Follow us to Stonehouse Ter, it’s a big street, and turn right. It’ll take you straight there.”

  “Hey, kid?” whispered the other warrior. “Be careful, hear? Them boys as was after you, them’s officers’ sons. Nobody gonna bother them. And that Jorjan, he’s a bad one. His da is Imperial Gov’ner. Nobody gonna see what him or his gang do, not unless they murder the Emperor’s own daughter. Stay clear of them, ’cuz they’ll be after you bad now.”

  “I hear you. My thanks for the warning.”

  May the Thunderer piss and flashflood these stupid Zedisti who forbid a man to carry a knife. May the Wind Dancer blow hot sand through their filthy stone-covered streets and force these cowardly carrionflies to face the truth of– of– of the Honor of the Knife. May the bahtdor go mad and charge through the streets killing and ripping and destroying. Wait, there’s no bahtdor here. Make that gaur, or ox, or whatever they call the big herd beasts. May vipers rise out of the ground and bite everybody.

  By the time he found the market, Viper was in no mood to look at food, much less buy it. He wasn’t even hungry anymore.

  Worse yet, there wasn’t a single identifiable root, leaf or grub to be found.

  He bought two loaves of bread at one booth for three fa
rthings, and a small slab of unnamable meat – it didn’t look like bird or coney or bahtdor – at another. In desperation he stopped at the booth of an old, crinkled woman and asked her to pick the makings of a stew for the change from his remaining coins. The ancient smiled toothlessly and piled strange roots and leaves into his arms.

  Another shopkeeper directed him to Ladysmith Road. By staying on the main road he succeeded in getting his provisions back to Trevor’s house unseen by Jorjan and his gang.

  His warrior instincts failed him at the house when he nearly fell off the steps guarding Trevor’s front door.

  Viper cursed loudly and hoped Trevor wasn’t around to hear him. Mama would tan his hide for such language. The day she caught Kirrkerin teaching the littles cuss words she’d thumped him so hard she’d blacked both his eyes.

  Thunderer’s drums, he missed Mama. He even missed getting swatted. He definitely missed her cooking.

  He marched into the kitchen and dumped his burdens on the wooden table. Why couldn’t he recognize any of it? Food was food, wasn’t it? But no matter how he glared, none of it looked familiar.

  He scrounged through the wall chests until he found a large, dull, bronze knife and a huge copper pot. He quartered the gray and green slab of meat and dumped the chunks in the pot.

  With wild slashes of the avenging knife, he hacked the roots and chopped the leaves until they no longer resembled their original odd shapes. In fact, in their current state they almost looked edible.

  Viper hurled the lumpy mess into the copper pot and poured the remaining boiling water over it.

  He endured a short battle to hang the pot over the hearth fire without setting himself aflame, but he was pleased with the result. The stew needed a little more soup, but the kettle was empty. How did Trevor get water?

  Cider would have to do. He studied the shelves, retrieved the sparkling glass bottle, and poured in most of the remaining liquid.

  He poked at the slowly roiling brew with the knife. Something was missing. His masterpiece smelled … unsavory.