A Muddle of Magic. Alexandra Rushe

troubles you, boy?”

      “You killed him.” Keron shuffled his feet. “You killed my da.”

      “Kedrick is dead. I am your father now.”

      No. Keron’s mind rebelled at the notion. Glonoff wasn’t his da. He didn’t know nothing about gliders or the river. He didn’t know how to tickle a fish from under a log. He wasn’t wise in river lore, as Kedrick had been.

      “I want to go home,” Keron blurted, his fear of the Dark Wizard overcome by a wave of homesickness and yearning for the Little Shara. “I want my mam.”

      “Don’t be tedious. I am your family now.”

      “But we ain’t kin.” Bewildered, Keron stared into Glonoff’s cold, black eyes. “I ain’t nothing to you.”

      Glonoff sighed. “You are right, but I was ever a sentimental fool, and you remind me of someone.” An icy hand closed around Keron’s heart. “Now, say it, boy. I would hear it.”

      “I won’t.” Keron sank to his knees at a spasm of agony. “You can’t make me.”

      Glonoff laughed softly. “Foolish child, to defy me.”

      The invisible hand tightened around Keron’s pulsing heart and the boy cried out. Cold sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and down his back. He was dying, his heart twitching like a rabbit in its death throes.

      “Father,” Keron said at last, though the hateful words were like bones in his throat. “Please, Father. Stop.”

      Glonoff released him and sat back. “Get up.”

      Keron huddled there for a moment, panting, and swayed to his feet.

      “I keep the pelts for a reason. Have you any notion why?” Glonoff drummed his fingers on the carved armrest. “Fear, my dear boy, pure and simple. I did Kedrick a favor. Alive, your precious da was river trash and nothing more. He’s far more impressive dead. The pelts inspire fear, and fear is a powerful weapon.”

      Keron’s innards roiled. Da wasn’t worthless. He’d had his own brand of magic, river magic, the best sort. Da had known the twists and turns of the river and the secrets of the swamp. Da knew how to trap game and make lures out of swamp grass. He’d known which plants were good for eating, and which ones would kill you deader ʼn a stone. He could track a cagey old marsh cat through the fens and make himself invisible to bank dwellers. Da had been a great man. Keron didn’t care what anybody said.

      Glonoff motioned with one bejeweled hand. “Come here. I would show you something.”

      Keron dragged his feet up the steps. The wizard’s lean fingers closed around his wrist and pulled him close.

      “The shadows grow long,” Glonoff said. “More light.”

      With a sharp whoosh, a dozen braziers burst into flame. Keron blinked at the sudden brightness and looked up, his gaze drawn by a slight movement. Mounted on the wall above the wizard’s chair was an eyeless head with a sharp beak.

      “This is Xai,” Glonoff said. “You have made me singularly unhappy, have you not, Xai?”

      “Yes, master.”

      The dry hiss that emanated from the cruel beak made Keron’s insides shrink.

      “Xai has lost his head,” Glonoff said. “Let him be a lesson to you, boy. Such is the lot of those who displease me. Now stop gawking at my demon and look at my new toy.”

      The wizard reached down and placed a small figure on his lap. It was a doll, maybe three feet tall and smooth and dark as ebony, with a round, hairless head, pushed-in nose, and no mouth. The creature’s short arms ended in scissor-like claws. It stared at Keron without blinking, its eyes beetle-bright and hard.

      “What is it?” Keron asked, eyeing the disgusting thing.

      “A golem. Golems are practically indestructible, and strong. A golem does not tire or know hunger or thirst. It knows not fear or loneliness or hurt.” The wizard patted the manikin. “This particular golem was made from your friend’s hair.”

      Keron gaped at him. “My friend?”

      “Come now, surely you remember Rana Bel-a-zhezar.”

      “Rana?” Keron shook his head. “I don’t know nobody by that name.”

      “Forgive me. I refer to the young woman who freed you and the others from a group of slavers.”

      “Raine?”

      “The very same,” Glonoff said with a nod. “My men recovered a bundle of her locks from a Gambollian inn.”

      Keron’s thoughts swirled. Da had said Gambollia was the greatest city in Durngaria. He’d promised to take Keron there one day, before the Shads had drugged them and turned them over to the Dark Wizard.

      Before Da had become lizard food. The hot ball of misery in Keron’s chest swelled until he feared he would choke on it.

      Glonoff was intent on his play thing and did not seem to notice Keron’s unhappiness. “The golem will do what Xai could not, isn’t that right, Xai?”

      The beaked head on the wall turned toward the wizard. “Yes, master.”

      “See that you do not disappoint me again.” Glonoff placed his palm on the golem’s smooth head. “Very well. You may proceed.”

      The demon opened its beak and gave a sharp croak. A malignant fog seeped into the chamber through the open windows. The dark smoke flowed across the marble floor in snaky ropes and up the dais steps, sinking into the doll’s armored flesh. The golem twitched horribly and went still.

      The soft, white hand stroking Keron’s arm made him shiver. “W-what’s it for?” he asked the wizard.

      “The golem returns to that whence it came.” Glonoff set the rigid little figure on the floor and rapped the polished head with his knuckles. “Find the source.”

      “The source?” Keron cried. “You mean Raine? You leave ʼer alone. She ain’t done nothing to you.”

      “To the contrary, Xai assures me should that skinny bit of fluff live, she’ll be the end of me.” Glonoff sighed. “Laughable, I know, but I can’t take the chance.” He gave the loathsome little doll a shove. “Find Rana Bel-a-zhezar. Kill her and let nothing and no one stand in your way.”

      Moving like a wind-up toy, the golem marched out the door.

      Chapter 4

      Flame Saves the Day

      Leaving Mauric to his own devices, Raine had combed the ship, looking for Flame. She checked the snake’s usual haunts, including Gurnst’s cabin. She searched the crew’s quarters, peered into dark corners, and looked between crates. She’d found evidence of Flame’s wanderings—boxes of goods had been pushed about and snake skin dangled from the corners of bins and lay in large piles on the upper deck and in the berths—but the snake was nowhere to be found, nor did he answer her mental summons.

      “Found him, yet?” Raven demanded on the third day of her search.

      “No,” Raine said. “He keeps moving.”

      “Find him. That snake is your responsibility.”

      Turning on his heel, Raven strode away.

      “I’m trying,” Raine grumbled, and kept looking.

      As the days passed with no sign of Flame, Raine decided to investigate the hold. Gathering her skirts, she climbed down the narrow ladder into the belly of the ship. The air at the bottom of the vessel was thick with damp and salt, mingled with the scents of wood, spices, and tobacco. The Storm rocked, and she grabbed blindly for the ladder rail to steady herself. The darkness in the cargo bay was absolute.

      Clasping