On Thursdays I post excerpts from a novel I’m working on.
This week, Madd and Vorgell don’t talk about last night—and are asked to
perform a service for a friend.
And here is a picture from GenCon, where I met with Lexi Ander, one of my favorite authors! Fan girl!
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Thick as Ice, Chapter 3
Crash! A muffled
grunt pierced the fog of Madd’s sleep. The next crash was louder.
He bolted upright in bed and groped for his knife, realizing
at once he was in the wrong fucking bed. His bed would have had a knife
sheathed in the corner of the mattress. This bed—this big bed—was Vorgell’s.
And without Vorgell in it. He jumped the space between the beds and immediately
found the hilt of his blade.
A shadow barreled across the opening of the alcove, followed
by what sounded like the copper wash basin clanging to the floor. Hissing
followed. Madd crawled to the foot of the bed and peered into the main room.
Anytime there was Vorgell and a
basilisk involved in a fight, it was smartest to stay out of the scuffle.
After several grunts and a yell, there was silence.
“Vorgell?” Madd’s
short blade glinted in the spare light.
“Unharmed. But I could use some help with the burglar.”
“Another one?” Madd laid his knife on the bed and emerged
from the shadows. “What do we have to do to stop these roof rats? Walk up and down
the street hollering we have a basilisk standing guard?”
Just enough starlight filtered through the window to show
Vorgell’s pale, nude form clearly. The big man grasped a gray unmoving figure,
no doubt the burglar, by out-flung stiff arms. Crouched on the shelf above the
unused hearth, Petal arched her back and grumbled warnings. While Vorgell
lifted the petrified burglar’s torso, Madd stooped to help with the legs.
“At least he’s not as heavy as the last one,” Madd said.
Together they carried the unbending fellow to the window and tipped him over. A
resounding splash in the river below announced the invader’s final resting
place. Madd leaned through the window and peered down at the disturbed water.
“We have a problem. I think I see a hand.”
Vorgell grunted and sank onto the banked cushions of their
cozy settee. “As soon as there’s a bit of light, I’ll go down and haul him over
so he doesn’t show.”
“You had to do that last time, too. How many thieves does
this one make? Nine? They’re piling up down there. It’s the dead of summer.
What if the river dries up?” There were always fisher folk about. Someone would
notice if stony hands or heads started poking above the water line. And if anyone
summoned Tagard’s Night Men….
“Stop worrying.” Vorgell’s teeth flashed through a grin.
“Join me and let’s continue our snuggle.”
Madd sighed. Was the man serious? Because he knew the answer
to that, he walked over and plopped onto the cushions. “I think we should
move.”
Vorgell’s warm arm looped around his shoulders and tugged
him close. “But I like this house. It’s private and hard to reach. Only nine
burglars have made it in.”
“That we know of.”
“Yes. And it’s good fortune that when neither we nor Petal
are here, neither is our treasure.” Soft predawn light had begun to fill the
east-facing window. A glance at Vorgell’s face revealed a frown. “I have been
thinking.”
That was never good. Madd suppressed another sigh.
“I think we need to find a good location and undertake the
gathering of a hoard.”
A hoard? “You mean… like a dragon’s hoard?”
“Perhaps not so much as that.”
“Good. Because we’re not that
good at thieving and I don’t care how fierce Petal is, she’s not a dragon.” He
could swear the basilisk squinted at him. The pink glow of reflected dawn in
her faceted eyes matched the rosy feathers of her crest and tufted tail.
“Have you ever seen a dragon?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I have seen a dragon’s egg, and the one she hatched from didn’t
look at all like one of those. Even your mighty sinews would have trouble
carting one of those around.”
Vorgell appeared to ponder that as he stretched, displaying
his broad hairy chest and taut, muscled belly. The basilisk, seeing an
opportunity, leaped to the window ledge and scampered from there to the floor,
then up onto her favorite human, where she nestled into the fur on Vorgell’s
chest and chittered for attention. Vorgell immediately set to scratching the
beast. Madd belatedly realized his own naked state. Not only was he not nearly
as impressive as his companion, his cock was sticking to his thigh, and—yes, he
ascertained upon tightening his ass cheeks—he really had done what his
half-pickled mind remembered. For the first time since escaping from Flemgu, a
man had played with his ass. And afterward he’d made a damn fool of himself by
crying in Vorgell’s arms.
All because his idiot ass couldn’t tell the difference
between Vorgell’s fingers and Flemgu’s prick.
He came back to his senses when Petal sneezed and basilisk
snot speckled his right arm. He wiped at it with disgust.
“You’re still trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Maybe she had
gotten used to hearing his heartbeat while her unborn body served as the
magical lock on the love collar Flemgu had forced him to wear, but he was
convinced she’d never forgiven him for her imprisonment.
Snot aside, at least they’d reached a kind of truce. He
didn’t interfere with her scratching sessions with Vorgell and she didn’t
interfere when he and Vorgell had sex. There’d been considerable risk at first.
Seeing him pound his cock into Vorgell’s ass could be mistaken for an attack. No
doubt Petal would rejoice if it was the other way around.
Noticing something, he took another, closer look. If he
wasn’t mistaken… yes, Petal looked bigger than just the night before. He reached
over to run his hand down Petal’s feathered crest and spine. Her scaly body
felt softer, the skin not as dry. “I’ll be cursed. She shed her skin again.”
He got down on hands and knees on the floor and began
searching.
“Good girl.” Vorgell’s deep voice thrummed with amusement.
To Madd, he said, “You look fetching in that position.”
“Screw you. I’m going to trade this one for more Sunless
potion. You go through more of that than I do mead!”
Where was the damn skin? It would be just their luck if in
the fight either Vorgell or the burglar had reduced the delicate shed to bits
and pieces. Finally, on the floor just underneath the window, he found a
translucent husk still shaped more or less like a young basilisk but flayed
open at the belly. Coin in the purse!
Madd snatched it up. Basilisk skins were eagerly sought by
the very witches he most needed to trade with. He returned to the cushions and
sat beside Vorgell again. While there, he reached out to gently scratch the
bumps atop Petal’s shoulder blades, prompting the creature’s eyes to close and
its throat to rumble. Vorgell wasn’t the only one who knew how to scratch a
basilisk.
“You haven’t said anything.” He craned his neck. Vorgell
opened one eye.
“Not all things need saying.”
Madd nodded. A nod in this case said as much as words. He
was thankful Vorgell didn’t want to talk about last night. Things were better
this way.
Vorgell was better this way. In the early days of their
acquaintance, the barbarian had required explanations. Now… they had settled
into each other, like well-worn leather boots that had molded skin to skin. Easy
and free from blisters. Like now. Their silence held as many comforts as
compromises.
“Let’s dress,” Vorgell said a few minutes later, after Petal
had had enough of them both and scooted off to hunt. “The sun rides into a new
day and we have a burglar to conceal from the fisher folk!”
By the time Madd had pissed, scrubbed his teeth, and used
the last of the water in the pitcher to wash every bare inch, Vorgell had
already left. Finding him again would be easy. He’d be down by the water,
having probably given the visible part of the burglar a shove, and singing one
of his Scurrian ballads full of unpronounceable names while wielding a sponge.
It had taken months of refusing to suck the big man’s cock until he’d bathed,
but Madd had finally persuaded Vorgell that frequent bathing was a good thing. If
more bathing meant more sex, Vorgell was all for it.
After donning lightweight trousers and a loose linen shirt, Madd
picked up his fancy clothes from the night before. He might as well air them
before he put them away. Fine men wore fine clothes, and he’d paid top coin for
these. Too bad wearing quality never did a thing for him; all he got for his
trouble was to attract the wrong kind of man. Vorgell didn’t care what the fuck
he wore, or if he wore any clothes at all.
Hearing a baritone bellow of song through the window, Madd
laughed. Summer days in Gurgh were hot and brutal, and Vorgell would just as
soon wear nothing more than short leggings, a swordbelt, and yards of
sweat-slick, sun-kissed skin. If not for Madd’s constant applications of
magical Sunless potion, the crazy oaf would be redder than the damn rubies he’d
hidden within one of the hearthstones. Before leaving, he folded the shed
basilisk skin and tucked it into the pouch in his waistband.
Madd closed the door behind him and whispered into the spell
lock, then jogged down the steps and took a turn through the garden toward the
river.
The morning was mercifully young and heavy mist still clung
to riverbank as he followed a burdock-lined track that led to the water’s edge.
As Madd had expected, Vorgell had finished bathing and now occupied his
favorite fishing spot. The big man sat upon a part of a crumbling jetty that
still lifted its crumbling stones above the waterline. What Madd hadn’t
expected was to see him talking with Reannry.
When Vorgell lifted his head and acknowledged Madd with a
smile, Reannry turned. Her lips remained still and her gaze level, betraying no
sign of what she thought. Madd was convinced she disliked him. Most witches
did.
“Don’t talk too loudly,” Vorgell said as he pulled in his
line, displaying a fat worm on the hook, and tossed it out again. “You’ll scare
the fish.”
“Not a problem,” Madd mumbled. “Loud noises make my head
hurt.” At the moment, he hated everything from sunlight to the damned chirping
birds. He closed his eyes, grateful for the peaceful soft slap of the river
against old stone.
“We were drinking last night,” Vorgell explained.
The explanation was hardly necessary. If anyone understood their
penchant for drink, it was Reannry. One moonlit night, after a round or several
of drinks with Tagard and hearing the thief king lament his longing for a female
to woo, they’d dragged him to Reannry’s house and encouraged him to subject her
to bawdy ballads and bad poetry. Even Vorgell, who she liked, hadn’t quite been
forgiven.
“I was telling Vorgell that Gillja wished the both of you to
escort her on an outing today in the city—if you are available.” Even when merely
delivering messages, Reannry managed to sound annoyingly pert. Madd thought her
confidence stemmed from her being Baroness Gillja Hargold’s half-sister… and a powerful
witch.
At least Reannry was talking to him directly. That wasn’t
always the case. Madd opened one eye to show her he was paying attention.
“She’s visiting a nobleman in the Nightingale Quarter,”
Reannry embellished. “Marriage negotiations.”
“Marriage?” That didn’t sound right. Still, Gillja had been widowed for nine months, which
was long enough to satisfy suitors she would not burden a new husband with
Flemgu’s progeny.
“I told her it was too soon.”
Which could only mean the man was powerful or
good-looking—or that Gillja had some other reason. Madd shrugged. He didn’t
particularly care what the people who hired him were up to. It was just that he
actually liked Gillja. For all that she’d been Flemgu’s wife, the woman had been
just as much a prisoner. During his time with the baron, Gillja alone had ever
treated him well. She and Vorgell were the only two people he could honestly
say he trusted.
“She has her guards, of course, but”—Reannry glanced over at
the man doggedly throwing his line back into the river—“Vorgell has a more
fearsome reputation.”
No wonder. In the last few months, Vorgell had slain three
assassins and simply maimed a mercenary as a matter of professional
consideration.
Madd frowned. “We were planning to rest today. Look at
Vorgell. The man’s fishing. He’s too tired to look fearsome.” In fact, Vorgell looked
surpassingly alert for someone who was making a show of paying no attention to
Reannry and her proposal at all.
“If Gillja can accomplish her mission by midsun, the
remainder of the day will be yours to do with as you please.”
How convenient. How delivered with just the right pretense
of including him in the decision. It was just the kind of job Vorgell would
agree to—and then cajole Reannry to make it appear Madd ’s involvement
mattered. Either it was a ploy to spare his feelings, or protective Vorgell
thought it necessary to keep an eye on him. Either reason smarted.
“Sure. Why not? By any chance did Gillja ask for me too?”
“She did.” Reannry answered readily enough to surprise him.
“She wants Vorgell for appearances and you for glamour.”
That part rang true. Madd often used spells that concealed
him from people or made him less visible in certain situations. Such magic was
simple, though few witchkin males could collect enough magic to work it. He had
never revealed to anyone how he did so—not out of any shame for his sexual
preferences, but because knowledge of how he acquired magic would endanger
Vorgell. Gurgh’s witches—and wizards—would go to any length needed to gain
access to a reservoir of unicorn magic.
“We’ll be there. Give us an hour.” It might take that long
for his friend to catch a fish.
Tagard appeared on the path just as Reannry was leaving.
They nodded to each other, but that was the extent of their greeting. Despite
his and Vorgell’s drunken effort, the two witchkin had never hit it off. It was
just as well. Tagard wanted to associate as little as possible with witch
Circles—and Reannry ranked high in the Circle of Stones.
“What did she want?” Tagard asked. An early riser like
Vorgell, he had probably been awake since the crack of dawn.
“A job. Protecting Gillja.”
“Good to see the both of you are accepting worthwhile work.”
Tagard was one of the handful of people in Gurgh who knew Gillja Hargold,
Baroness of Stormfell, was of full witchkin blood. Witchkin aristocracy was
older even than that of Gurgh’s highest lords, but most witch blood had been
purged from the current ruling lineages. Protecting what witchkin royalty remained
was something of a priority. “You have something for me?”
A distant gonging from the city at their back announced that
dawn’s first light had touched the golden dome of the Sun Temple. Madd fished
inside his waistband pouch to retrieve two rubies he’d held aside. He found
them under the basilisk skin. He noticed the way Vorgell looked up, alert, as
he handed the gems to Tagard. “Your fair share. The big one for the phoenix net
and the other for percentage.” To Tagard’s lifted eyebrow, he added, “I gave
you the biggest ones!”
The man laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Where
would we be without trust, eh?” He tucked the gems into his belt and looked out
into the misty distance. It was too early yet for other denizens of Thieves
Wart to be rising, though there would be a few stumbling toward home. “I like
morning. Morning reveals the seasons. It smells like summer’s passing.”
“Oak leaves are darker now. Maples, too.” Madd had spent
time enough in the countryside, first with his mother and then his Gran,
learning the nature lore of his kind. Summer was still high, but turning old.
“Coming up on the end of your debt. Yours—and his.” Tagard’s
observation sounded casual, but of course it wasn’t.
“That’s a good thing. Doesn’t mean we can’t do business with
you still.”
“Be a shame to cut the two of you out of the best jobs.”
“Maybe one or two of those jobs could somehow find their way
to us.” He knew he could provoke Tagard a little, though only so far. “We’d pay
a tithe. Just like all the other thieves.”
Tagard nodded. He might not like that two of his most
accomplished minions would soon be striking out on their own, but the loss was
made more palatable by knowing Vorgell and Madd would respect his dominion.
There was plenty of wealth for all. His real interest was in controlling the
distribution as a means of staving off territorial conflict. Thieves preying on
and stabbing each other instead of fat lords and heavy-pursed merchants was not
in the best interests of his profession.
Madd saw no point in telling Tagard about the nine petrified
corpses lurking at the bottom of the river just on the other side of a bank of
rushes.
“Stay in touch,” Tagard warned. He sniffed the air. Madd
wondered what he hoped to find, considering the wind was blowing downstream.
“Something’s afoot. Too much coin on the move. I’d appreciate it if you come to
me with anything you learn while doing your little favor for the Baroness.”
“Hah!” Vorgell gave a great yell and jerked on his line. A long,
plump whiskerfish flew up out of the water on his line and he grabbed it in his
fist. “Breakfast!”
Tagard lifted an eyebrow. “He’s pretty good at that.”
“Yeah. Raised by bears, I think.” Madd cocked a grin at
Tagard. “We’re not going to eat that scaly thing. We’re going to take it to the
fishmonger at the end of Crooked Alley and get coin. Then we’ll use the coin to
buy sticky knuckles from Old Lady Basket, under the big mulberry tree.”
“Part of the local economy, then.”
“We do our part.” Madd figured Vorgell’s appetite for sticky
knuckles kept a roof over the old woman’s head. And he knew as well as anyone
Tagard’s witchkin penchant for looking after the welfare of Thieves Wart’s aged
mothers.
Nearby bulrushes rustled. Umbels of brown seed pods clacked.
A pointy nose, two nostrils, and a scaly green head poked out of the tangled
plants. A rat’s tail dangled from Petal’s beak. Tagard turned his back on them
and repeated, “Stay in touch” before walking quietly away.
“Nice work, making him move on.” Madd could almost believe
the basilisk did these things on purpose. He looked over to see Vorgell
striding surely along the toppled remains of the jetty, fish firmly in hand.
“Come along, little mage. I have a fat fish to sell and a
belly to fill, with no time to lose! Reannry said Gillja wants us by second
bell.”
“Second bell! Seriously?” How long had it been since he’d
heard first bell? Madd hunched when Petal sprang onto his back, using his body
to launch herself onto Vorgell’s passing bulk. He glared at the impudent
creature now perched on his friend’s broad shoulders. Did no one respect his
dignity?
Resigned, he quickened his pace until he walked at Vorgell’s
side. At least the wily barbarian was respecting that they were to call upon
nobility, because he was wearing both trousers and a shirt—and three weapons.
(to be continued...)
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I enjoy feedback and am always happy to discuss readers’
thoughts or answer any questions. The foundation is set. Time to move into the meat of the story.