Agent of Prophecy Read online

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” Grisham said. It had been three years since the death of his father, yet it still felt like only yesterday. The seers had been so wrong about his destiny. His fruitless mission had ended with his father’s death, as had Grisham’s hopes of returning home.

  “Why don’t you accompany me on a hunt today?” Wat said. “Us dwarves need to look out for each other. You know as well as I do that there’s no chance a dwarf will ever get adopted in this city.”

  Grisham started to shake his head. Wat meant well, but Grisham couldn’t allow himself to depend on anyone’s companionship. Especially Wat, who wouldn’t even be in the orphanage much longer. He was seventeen, and would soon be forced out to make room for younger children. He would have been forced out sooner if not for the matron’s kindness. Luckily, he’d already achieved a miracle for an orphan dwarf: he’d made friends with the local librarian and had earned an apprenticeship at the city library.

  “Come on, Grish. What do you say?”

  Grisham looked up at his friend. When Wat was gone, Grisham would be the only “dwarf” in the orphanage, and any semblance of his heritage or people would have walked out the door. Perhaps he should seize his opportunities while he still could.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll join you on the hunt.”

  Wat’s smile brightened the room. “Excellent! I have hope for you yet. I’ll borrow a bow and we’ll try to get some nice fat hares. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

  Wat was the only person in Trimoria Grisham felt he could talk to. His father’s death had taught him early on that he could trust no one here, and so he hadn’t. In fact, he hadn’t exchanged more than a hundred words with anyone other than Wat in three years—and even he and Wat didn’t talk much. If he didn’t have Wat, he would truly have nobody. As he strode through the woods with his friend outside Cammoria, he was glad he’d come.

  Wat crouched to pick up some rabbit dung. He hefted it in his hand, then dropped it with a nod. “It’s fresh. They must be around here somewhere.”

  Grisham scanned the grassland, but saw no hints of wildlife. When it came to hunting, Wat saw many things that he didn’t.

  But Grisham did see that something was going on with his friend. Wat’s aura was fluctuating between white and red, and whenever he looked over at Grisham, it turned a deep purple.

  “Wat, is something wrong? You don’t look right.”

  Wat looked over at him. Purple yet again. “What do you mean? I look like I always do.”

  “No, you look purple when you look at me. You’ve got something to say, but you don’t know how to say it.”

  Wat furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “I look purple?”

  “Your aura, I mean. I can tell you’re preoccupied with something.”

  Wat opened his mouth, paused, closed it again, and stroked his braided beard. “Grisham, you’re looking at my aura right now?”

  The look on Wat’s face told Grisham he might have just made a giant mistake.

  “Don’t you… don’t you see auras?”

  Wat shook his head. “No, Grisham. Nobody sees auras.”

  Grisham broke into a cold sweat. I’m an idiot. Seeing auras is probably something only the Ta’ah can do. Now I have to run away again before—

  “Don’t worry,” Wat put his hand on Grisham’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “I’ll never tell anyone.”

  His aura was pure white as he spoke those words. White was the aura of truth. Wat believed what he was saying.

  Grisham let out a shaky sigh of relief.

  “But Grish… this is definitely something you should keep to yourself. If anyone knew, they might report you to Azazel’s black-armored scum.”

  Grisham nodded. “I will. I just—can we just forget I ever said anything?”

  “Forget what?” Wat said with a grin. He leaned in. “But hey, if this thing I’ve already forgotten about gives you an advantage, use it. You’ll need every advantage you can get. Just don’t let anyone know you’re using the thing I’ve forgotten.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Grisham said, smiling.

  “Neither do I!” said Wat.

  They both laughed.

  A wolf howled in the distance, and Wat looked up sharply. “That’s not good. We’d better head back to town. I wouldn’t want to be out here and run into a pack of wolves.”

  “We won’t run into them. Those wolves will be busy eating for a while. Didn’t you hear his howl? He was calling his pack to tell them he just got a kill.”

  Wat stroked his beard and furrowed his eyebrows again.

  Grisham realized he’d messed up somehow. “What did I do now?” he asked.

  “You understand wolf-speak?”

  “I mean…” Grisham paused. He’d never really thought about this before. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s not like I’ve ever had a conversation with a wolf. But I sensed what that wolf said.”

  Wat smiled. “A word of advice from an older and wiser of our kind. Don’t admit that to anyone, either. It’s no wonder you’ve kept so silent since I met you. Keep that up. These kinds of things, they might make people believe you can do… you know.”

  “Magic?”

  “Yeah.”

  As they walked back toward the town gates, Grisham was quiet. He was busy replaying everything he’d ever said to anyone, and realizing just how many times he’d almost asked an innocent question that could have gotten him killed.

  I can’t trust anyone. Not ever.

  Back in town, Wat went straight to the library, so Grisham returned to the orphanage alone. As he passed through the outer gate, the matron called his name and waddled over to him, beaming.

  “Young Grisham! I found someone who seems interested in adopting a dwarf. Can you imagine the good fortune?”

  So many questions popped up in Grisham’s mind at once that all he could muster in response was, “Uh …”

  The matron handed him a parchment. “I knew you’d be thrilled. You are to meet the young couple in an inn called the Drunken Crow. And please, Grisham, try to show them how intelligent and kind you are under that sullen exterior. Win them over, then have them put their mark on the parchment. I’ll then put my mark on it as well, and the contract will be complete. You’ll have a family, Grisham. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Grisham stared dumbly at the tightly rolled parchment in his hands, sealed with wax. He was still stunned by the news. “What’s this couple like?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t met them; they used a courier to make the arrangements. It all seems very promising though. Oh, I will miss you, my silent little boy.” She grabbed Grisham’s shoulders, turned him around, and nudged him forward. “Get going before they have a chance to change their minds. I’m sure it’s meant to be.”

  Grisham stumbled to the inn in a fog. Adopted? Truthfully, he’d never seriously considered the possibility that it might actually happen. No one in Cammoria would adopt a dwarf.

  He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed the seedy character watching the inn from an alley, his aura full of ominous black and red streaks. Nor did he notice that the streets were oddly empty.

  If he had, perhaps he’d have been on his guard. As it was, he stepped across the threshold, felt something hard hit the back of his head, and collapsed as darkness washed over him.

  Life at Home

  As Arabelle returned to the caravan, a thick, heavy mist had settled over the fields. The moisture settled on her skin, and she could barely see a few feet in front of her. She mostly found her way by following the sound of griping.

  “How can I set out my goods if I can’t see my customers—or know if someone’s about to steal from me?”

  “Curse the maker of this mist. It’s the damnedest blanket of fog I’ve ever encountered. I can’t lead my sheep to pasture in this stuff. I’ll lose them all!”

  Arabelle heard running footsteps only a moment before someone plowed right into her,
knocking her to the ground. For a moment she feared she’d been attacked, then she saw it was only a young girl who’d collided with her, and she, too, had fallen to the ground.

  “Of all the stupid…” the girl groused. “What are you doing out here? It’s supposed to be an empty field.”

  “Why in the world were you running when you couldn’t see where you were going?” Arabelle replied, rubbing her arm. It felt like a bruise was going to form there.

  The girl must have only now realized just whom she’d run into, for her eyes widened and she gasped. “Princess! I’m so sorry! My sister and I were playing tag. I was running away from her.”

  Arabelle smiled. “It’s all right. I know you, don’t I? You’re Madam Mizmer’s daughter?”

  The young girl nodded. “Yes, milady. My name is Zoe.”

  “I don’t remember seeing you in the cook tents often. Your sister always said you were off playing with the sheep.”

  Zoe scrunched up her nose. “Mum tried to make me learn to cook last year. She said it was my place to do such things. But when I saw what Mum did to make mutton stew, I ran out of the tent screaming.”

  Arabelle suppressed a laugh. Blood and meat had never given her pause, but she knew some girls were squeamish about such things. “What do you do then, if not cook?”

  Zoe wiped the grass from her pants and shirt. “Now that I’m nine, Pa lets me go with him to take care of the sheep and goats. But we can’t do that in this fog, so he said Alexandra and I could play.”

  Arabelle realized that she might be able to use this girl, and the fog, to her advantage. “Zoe, I’ll forget you slammed into me if you do one little thing for me.”

  Zoe squinted suspiciously. “You doing something sneaky?”

  Arabelle’s cheeks burned. “I’ve been wandering around outside the caravan today…”

  Zoe gasped and looked around. “Where are your escorts? You aren’t supposed to be without them, are you?”

  The princess put her fingers up to her lips. The girl could afford to be a bit more discreet. “I snuck away from them. I don’t like having them follow me around all the time. But I was thinking, if anyone asks if you’ve seen me, could you say you’ve seen me at odd times throughout the morning in different parts of the caravan? Father gets so worried, and he would feel better if he thought that I’d stayed around the caravan. I’ll already be in trouble for sneaking away from my guards, but I don’t want him to worry too much.”

  Zoe chewed on her lip, then finally nodded. “I won’t say a word. But if anyone asks, I’m pretty sure I saw you looking at apples soon after I broke my fast, and another time I saw you looking at silken head wraps.” She winked. “I can be sneaky when I need to be.”

  “Thank you.” Arabelle gave the girl a hug.

  A booming voice exploded from behind her. “There you are, Princess! Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all morning. The Sheikh wants to speak to you.”

  It was Tabor, one of Arabelle’s guards, scowling as usual.

  Before Arabelle could respond, Zoe spoke. “I’m sorry, sir.” Her face turned bright red, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “My puppy died. One of the wagons crushed him while in the mists. The princess helped me bury him.” She paused long enough for a racking sob before adding, “Don’t be mad at her. It’s all my fault.”

  Tabor’s expression softened. “Well… I…”

  Arabelle was astonished—and impressed—by the girl’s ability to switch emotions so quickly. She hugged Zoe again. “I’m so sorry about your dear puppy. I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.”

  She pulled back a bit, her back still to Tabor, and mouthed the word Thanks.

  Zoe smiled ever so slightly as she turned and disappeared into the mists.

  “My heart, you made me worry about your safety. You know you aren’t supposed to be about without an escort.”

  Arabelle and her father were sitting cross-legged in her father’s tent, waiting for their midday meal. Arabelle bowed her head in shame.

  “We have nearly a thousand tents in our caravan,” her father continued, “and not all of them belong to our people. There are those who wouldn’t respect who you are, my dearest.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Arabelle had heard this lecture many times. Her father would repeat how their family held a great responsibility, and that she was the jewel of their people.

  If only he knew the truth. That she was now destined to die from a poison nobody could cure.

  The serving women brought in several large plates of food for the two of them to share. One plate held Arabelle’s favorite skewered meats, nicely charred on the outside, pink with juices on the inside. Another held a variety of vegetables on a bed of pearl-shaped wheat pasta, and a third contained freshly baked flatbread, along with a bowl of fragrant spiced olive oil.

  It was a wondrous bounty, and Arabelle felt a pang of guilt.

  Not everyone eats nearly as well as I do.

  When the serving women had departed, her father resumed his lecture.

  “I can’t bear the thought of losing you, my precious flower. You’re all I have, since your mother died giving birth to you.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Her father sighed and took a bite of the flatbread. “Did you know your mother foresaw her own death?”

  Arabelle looked up with surprise.

  “I can see I haven’t. Has Roselle not told you about our people?”

  “She’s told me that the Imazighen have forever wandered the lands as free people, separate from others, and—”

  He waved her off. “Yes, yes. I’m talking about the seers. Every once in a great while, an Imazighen will be born with the ability to see visions of the future. Your mother was plagued with these visions since childhood. Some good. Some bad. And just before her death, she foresaw many things.”

  “Did she foresee anything about me?” Arabelle asked.

  Her father looked at her kindly, but she could tell that tears threatened to pour forth. “Yes, my heart. She saw a great confusion within you. A great possibility of danger in your life. She made me swear to keep you safe. She also told me that you may be the key to true freedom for the Imazighen. So you see, your safety is more important than you realize.”

  Arabelle liked learning about her mother, but these visions were frightening. Confusion? Danger? Was it possible her mother had foreseen what happened today? The poison?

  “What did she mean, the key to freedom?” she asked.

  Her father shrugged. “Her visions were not always as clear as I, or she, might have liked. However…” He scooted closer to Arabelle and whispered in her ear. “In these same visions, just before her death, she saw a danger to Azazel. The nature of the danger was unclear. It involved demons, elves, and the barrier. Perhaps. As I said, some visions were less instructive than others.”

  “Does Azazel know of this danger?” Arabelle whispered back.

  Father shook his head. “Not from your mother, that is for certain. She despised that evil wizard for binding our people into working with him. Our people might have been destroyed altogether had my grandfather not agreed to escort his scum around Trimoria.”

  Arabelle frowned at the mention of her people’s shame.

  Let the slavers take Azazel and all of his minions to the coldest pits of the Abyss.

  “Did she see anything else about me?” she asked.

  “Only what I’ve said. I’m afraid you won’t have an easy life, my heart. But you will lead our people to salvation.” He smiled at her, his eyes welling with tears, and when those tears ran down his cheeks, Arabelle’s throat tightened with emotion. In private, her father’s emotions were always on the surface, something he shared only with her. It was something that warmed her from within, the bond they held to each other was unlike any she’d ever likely know. He was the one man she could trust.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She truly loved you, you know. She knew she would
die in childbirth, and yet she felt nothing but joy at the idea of bringing you into this world. I only wish she could be here to see what a wonderful young woman you’re becoming.”

  Arabelle smiled through her own welling tears. “I wish she could be here too.”

  After lunch, Arabelle sat at the carved wooden desk in her tent, Roselle hovering over her shoulder. Her teacher was trying to get her to work on her math, but Arabelle had other ideas. She wanted to learn about the elements of her mother’s visions.

  “Roselle, how much do you know about Azazel, the demon wars, and the barrier?”

  Roselle’s wrinkled face transformed into a look of shock. “Princess! It is wholly inappropriate for a young woman to concern herself about such things.”

  A surge of anger rushed through Arabelle, making the blemishes from the dragon venom burn. “If you can’t teach me about the topics I feel are important, maybe I need to find another teacher!”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them and said. Where had that sudden anger come from?

  “I’m sorry, Roselle, I didn’t mean—”

  It was too late—Roselle turned with a huff and marched out of the tent, saying, “I’ll be sure to tell the Sheikh about this, Princess.”

  It was two hours after lunchtime, and Arabelle walked through the caravan, Tabor keeping pace with her, a silent, heavily-muscled shadow. She was pleased to see that the mist was thinning; people were finally setting up their stalls and getting ready for business.

  She wasn’t wandering aimlessly, though; she was searching for Maggie, her handmaiden. Unfortunately, during the day Maggie ran errands, which meant she could be almost anywhere.

  A ruckus sounded ahead of her, accompanied by a clash of metal against metal. Curious, she walked toward the sound. In an open space between several of the wagons and tents, she found several of her father’s guards training.

  Tabor put a hand on her shoulder. “Princess, perhaps you should not see this? It could get bloody.”