The Mages of Royas Bay (Mages of Wrystan 1)

Chapter 17: Veranon's Price

VERANON'S TIME IN in Wrystan could not be called a success. He hated the word failure; he'd never felt its cold sting before. His reputation for achieving the desired results every time, had been well earned. Yet here he was, drinking in the bowels of some fetid foreign city, ruing the day he'd ever accepted that rat-faced steward's money. The job had sounded simple: fetch the boy, subdue his magic and bring him back to his master for punishment.

No one had warned him what type of magic he would be facing. Nor the miles he would have to travel before he even caught the whelp's scent. Three seasons had past since he'd left home and the original fee had dwindled to nothing. His men were dead, the old witch had likely cursed him with his last breath and Veranon didn't have a single slave to show for his efforts. To make matters worse he'd caught two other mage brats – who would have brought him a small fortune in the markets of Callisun – but lost them too.

Failure was a rancid taste clinging to his tongue. So he swigged another tankard of the sharp, burning spirits they drank down in Night Town and tried to think.

The boy had been rescued by – or had rescued, he was fuzzy on the details – the other little mages. They, the witch woman and the guards had come to Royas Bay, and the children had been left at the mage school. A fine old house, Veranon thought, having studied it closely since his arrival four days ago. So elegant and refined, and so many windows. The thought made him smile. How easy it would be to slip in through one of those glass squares, sliding through the darkness to sniff out his prey. There were plenty of pretty maids to chat to, he'd found, and for a kiss and a tickle they gave up all manner of interesting bits of information.

Like the fact that the student rooms were on the top floor of the main house, and that two rooms had been freshly prepared a couple of days ago on the boys' side. One for the mage-page and the other for the poor little foreign boy, so scrawny and sad. Veranon had spent a long time with that maid afterwards, letting her know how grateful he was for her charming company.

All he needed now was a plan, then he could finally wash this bitter taste from his mouth. He took another burning gulp of spirits.

And spat it out as a voice cried, "What price a mage?"

Luck hadn't been kind to Veranon over recent months, but as he turned, his eyes narrowing on the skinny figure shoved onto the platform in the middle of the square, he smiled.

Luck owed him a heavy debt, but apparently it was about to pay him back in full.

Handing his drink to a surprised but grateful bystander, Veranon elbowed his way through the crowd, struggling to remember how much money he had left. Voices rose around him as the bidding began.

Holding his purse, he weighed it in his palm and bellowed, "Ten gold crowns!"

For the second time that evening Night Town was silenced. Speculation and greed ignited in the eyes around him as many wondered if he was worth so much. More than one hand reached for a weapon, ready to make their own search.

Veranon stared back, knife in his own hand. Then he raised his head to meet the blank silver gaze of the boy he'd come so far to find. "Ten gold crowns and the boy is mine."

* * *

"WHERE DO YOU think you're going?" A firm hand seized Hawk's collar not three paces beyond the palace gates.

He should have known everything was going too well. Especially when Sir Tobias hadn't said anything while Hawk questioned the guardsmen. From there it was no hardship to ask the gatekeeper about the skinny boy who'd been asking for directions. But just because the knight and the mage hadn't objected to Hawk making all the enquiries, he should have known his moment as an equal wouldn't last.