The Mageborn Traitor--Exiles, Volume 2

by Melanie Rawn

  “But why were the animals killed without being eaten—not even as carrion?”

  All at once, in a leap worthy of her sister’s instincts, Cailet heard herself say, “Is the cloud responsible, or is it a screen for something else?”

  Telomir stared. “I thought we were hunting Wraithenbeasts.”

  “Maybe we are. Maybe something else entirely. Something that can create this cloud as a screen while it kills.” She hesitated, then finished, “Something . . . or someone Mageborn.”

  I would never have thought of it, but you may be right.

  For the first time in two weeks she heard Gorsha’s voice, surprising her so much that she completely failed to hear what Telo and Fiella were saying.

  I would say it’s quite possible, he went on. We won’t know until we get within range of it. But I don’t like this, Cailet. It’s outside my experience and I don’t like it at all.

  Are you doing the impossible—becoming cautious in your dotage?

  He didn’t find the teasing at all funny. Cautious? Not in the least. After all, I have nothing to lose—except your life.

  “Captal? Your pardon, but—”

  “Mmm? Oh, I’m sorry, Fiella. Just thinking. What is it?”

  “I can’t say I was afraid, but I did feel tired, especially when the Globe disappeared. It isn’t easy for me to make one, but I don’t remember ever feeling that drained before.”

  “Drained of energy, or drained of magic?”

  Fiella looked startled. “Magic,” she said, as if just realizing it. “Like after Folding forty miles of bad road. What the hell is going on here?” When Cailet shrugged—all the answer she had—Fiella’s jaw hardened. “Captal, I’d like to ride along with you and Telo, if that’s all right. I want to find out what this thing is.”

  “As do we all. Why don’t we talk more about it in the morning? By daylight it might not look as dire as by night.” She smiled, knowing Fiella wouldn’t recognize “dire” if it bit her in the foot. What this Mage Guardian wanted was to confirm that there was indeed a logical, practical, concrete explanation.

  Telomir took the hint. “It’s getting late and we should make an early start tomorrow. Fiella, my dear, I would be honored if you would accept an invitation to share my blankets tonight. It’s damned cold in here.”

  She laughed heartily. “The only man I know who can proposition a woman by making it sound as if it’s in her own best interests!”

  “Family talent,” he replied with perfect seriousness belied by a twinkle in his dark eyes.

  Cailet lay down in her bedroll alone. It seemed only an hour later that sunlight stabbed in through a chink in the door onto her face, waking her from a formless dream of white mist that concealed dark threats.

  They were another three days on the road before they saw the first of the rotting carcasses. Cailet nearly gagged at the sight of the wolf, its throat laid bare and its belly torn open, with not even a fly buzzing about the dried blood and spilled guts.

  “I’m all right,” she said when they looked worried, but her fingers were shaking as she uncapped her waterskin. A long drink later she had control of herself, and walked forward to examine the animal. “Are you feeling what I’m feeling?” she asked the others.

  “No, Captal,” Fiella reported. “Not a twinge of anything. But I’ve seen this before.”

  “I didn’t mean queasy,” she said impatiently. “I meant feelings.”

  Telomir nodded. “I think I know what you’re talking about.” He prodded the wolf with a boot toe. “Two days dead, maybe three. And nothing’s touched it.”

  “Would you, with this all around it?” She waved a hand to indicate the eerie heaviness in the air. “It must’ve been horrific when it first happened, to be this strong still. I’d say that wolf died of fright before he was gutted.”

  Fiella snorted. “What could terrify a wolf?”

  Telomir circled the carcass, biting his lip. At last he said, “This was done for the pleasure of killing. Not for food, or even as a warning, but for the joy of ripping this animal to shreds.”

  “Not joy,” Cailet corrected. “Anger. Killing anything that lives simply because it does live. For vengeance.”

  Fiella was bewildered. “I don’t understand. What is it? What’re you talking about?”

  “Be glad you don’t feel it.” Cailet wondered how in St. Miryenne’s Name anyone could work magic and yet be so utterly pragmatic in her outlook.

  Telo was frowning. “I sense blood-lust, and exhilaration in killing, but—”

  “Nothing else? There’s fury and vindictiveness all over this place.” She tried to shake herself free of it. “The feelings didn’t last long. To feel again, it’ll have to kill again. Like an addiction, needing more of it, more often. We’re going to find a lot more of these, Telo.”

  “I think so, too. We ought to bury this poor thing.”

  They piled rocks atop the wolf using muscles, not magic. Afterward they rode on, finding another kill before dusk: a golden-brown kyyo, her three pups lying dead of starvation fifty feet away.

  They rode up to the last of the stone line shacks just before dark. Again Cailet lingered outside long after nightfall, watching for Wraiths. They flowed in star-shot silk curtains toward the east—exactly in the opposite direction the animal carcasses were leading Cailet, away from the Dead White Forest.

  “So,” she murmured. “No help from you. This isn’t Wraithenbeasts, I’m sure of that much, anyway. But if it’s the Wraiths you banished to the Dead White Forest, I’d expect you to do something. After all, you came for Anniyas before she actually died. In fact, I think you frightened her to death, the way the wolf died. But this white mist scares even you, doesn’t it?”

  If there were Wraiths within that gathering that might have answered, they were silent.

  “Is it Glenin? Is she behind this? I don’t think so—but what do I know? I’m learning from everything that happens, but what kind of substitute is that for what I should’ve had from the other Captals?”

  She knotted her fingers together, trying not to become angry. Just as swiftly she decided she had every right to get as furious as she pleased; it was her emotion, after all, something she felt, not forced on her by Wards and spells and white mists that killed for the hot bitter vengeance of it.

  “Do I just educate myself at random? Saints, I can’t even choose how I learn! Am I supposed to be grateful for all these wonderful opportunities everyone’s giving me to experience wonderful things like fear and pain and dread of the future? Do this for the people, that for the Council—and there’s my sister and her husband and my friends, and you four lecturing me inside my skull—and of course Glenin provides so much by way of enlightenment! I can’t wait until my nephew’s old enough to teach me his version!”

  Well then, you’d better learn all you can now, hadn’t you? And from whatever source presents itself.

  Damn it, Gorsha, can’t I even get mad in peace?

  Your pardon, Captal. Shutting up now, Captal.

  Of all the peculiar sensations associated with her Others, the most peculiar surely had to be when Gorsha took himself off in a huff.

  The Wraiths were gone, vanished over the mountains. Cailet sat in the cold for a long time, not bothering to Warm her feet and hands. She had other things to do with her magic.

  When at last she went inside, she saw what she knew she’d see: Fiella and Telomir, nested together in blankets on the floor, deeply asleep. She knew that tomorrow they’d feel too exhausted to get out of bed, let alone sit a horse for the last day’s riding to the Dead White Forest. And she knew how furious they’d be that Cailet had gone off on her own.

  She even knew what Gorsha would say, if he’d taken the trouble to say it: Apart from the folly of doing this on your own, you should be ashamed of yourself for doing this to them.

  Ashamed of herself? Not very. A Captal
did what was necessary.

  14

  THERE was no white mist such as Fiella Mikleine had described. There was only a stand of bare, blanched trees surrounded by fifty miles of fields bled dry of life and color. Cailet, not even tired after a morning’s Folding of the blighted land underfoot, held back to observe from a few hundred feet away. The Forest was smaller than she’d thought—perhaps half a square mile, no more than two hundred trees. They had once been redwoods, as majestic as those growing tall and evergreen on the heights above. Some said the Dead White Forest had been the exact place where Mages and Malerrisi had met in the final battle of the long ago war. Cailet had grown up in The Waste and was familiar with its most forbidding landscapes, but this evidence of what the land had suffered was a desecration more horrible than any she had ever seen.

  She walked forward, each step slow and deliberate, knowing now what Collan had meant about being watched. But she didn’t feel eyes; she felt magic. Whether the mist had shrouded Wraiths or was in fact the Wraiths themselves mattered not at all. They had somehow escaped the Wards that kept them pent and were killing for the vile pleasure of it, leaving the carcasses behind, the spoor of their vengeful feast. Cailet must force them back into captivity. She knew they were here, as surely as she knew Wraithenbeasts were not.

  And of which are you more frightened, little girl?

  Cailet whirled, but there was nothing to see. Only the boundary of the land’s most atrocious maiming, only the withered white trees.

  Silly child, aren’t you? Trying to see me with your eyes!

  Cailet was surprised that the Others were surprised. It was obvious, wasn’t it? When everything was put together, there could be only one explanation. She felt a quiver of pride that she knew something her constant companions did not. Maybe she wasn’t hopeless as Captal after all.

  “Why are you killing animals when what you really want to kill is people? Or is being a Wraith somewhat limiting, Anniyas?”

  That’s “First Lord” to you, child.

  “There’s someone hiding in Malerris Castle who’d disagree.”

  You refer to your eldest sister, of course. Shrewd girl, Glenin. She may yet make something of herself—or of my grandson. I would have done much better with him. But that’s one of the points of this little exercise.

  “I’ll deal with my nephew some other time,” Cailet said. “Right now I want to know why you lured me here. I’m assuming you have something to say, so say it and I’ll be going. Unlike you, I have concerns among the living.”

  How wonderfully simpleminded of you! It’s a real pity we didn’t get to know one another. Whatever was that old fool thinking, Making an infant like you Mage Captal? I thought him mad when he chose Adennos—but then, he was only a box to hide the Bequest in, keeping it safe for you! What could Desse have meant, giving it to a child?

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  Whereas I have nothing but time. It’s interesting, you know, being a Wraith. Even restricted as I was until I worked out a few things, one gains a certain perspective. My companions here proved occasionally fascinating. Information spanning centuries . . . but nothing from before The Waste War. Do you know why that is, child?

  “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

  Not only did the last battle destroy the living, it also destroyed the dead! Can you imagine the power?

  “I grew up in The Waste,” she replied.

  Did you? Poor thing.

  “I’m touched by your compassion. Is there anything of interest to me somewhere in the immediate future? If not—”

  How disappointing. One does long so for intelligent conversation—which obviously isn’t among your talents. Very well. You’re here because I wish to add to your education.

  And as suddenly as Anniyas’s dead voice had come to her out of nowhere, a gout of magic slammed against her. Cailet caught her breath, strengthened instinctive walls, and waited.

  Anyone else would’ve responded by now. Well? Aren’t you going to attack me?

  “Why should I?”

  Retaliation for the Wards at Ryka Court, if nothing else.

  “I survived,” she said coldly, refusing to think of the child who had not.

  I could never be sure what Mage would find my little entertainments—I always hoped for Desse, or his deplorable son, but I’m glad it was you. Especially when I think about the Circle-Spinner. I’d love to know what she showed you. Setting that Ward was some of my finest Work—all the possibilities and permutations—what futures are you unable now to forget? Come, child, build me a Mage Globe and show me what awaits you!

  “This is getting boring, Anniyas.” It was nothing of the sort, but she was damned if she’d admit that. So Anniyas had set those Wards without knowing who would trigger them—considering the fine details of what Cailet had seen, she was impressed. Somehow, her own fears, even the hidden ones, had been used to create those visions. Remarkable crafting.

  Did you see Glenin and my grandson? Show me him, at least. He’s my Blood, I’ve a right to look on him as he will be—

  “You have the right to nothing. And don’t bother to threaten me. What harm can you do to me—or to anyone, or anything—as you are now?”

  The wolves and grizzels and kyyos prove otherwise.

  “But you killed no people. You haven’t enough power. You’re a Wraith, Anniyas. Not a Malerrisi with magic at her command.”

  Perhaps I simply didn’t use it.

  “I don’t know how you got past the Wards that used to be here, but if you have anything to say before I recast them, say it fast.”

  Ward this place all you like, little girl. I got out once, I’ll do it again. The only way to keep me from killing whatever and whomever I please is to destroy me here and now. What are you waiting for?

  She reached for the knowledge that would make Anniyas’s Wraith visible to her—only to find the Magelore closed up like a walnut in a fist.

  Don’t look at her! Don’t attack! That’s what she wants you to do!

  “Gorsha?” she whispered. “What—?”

  A sudden magical assault reeking of rage and frustration staggered her both physically and mentally. She wanted desperately to defend herself, but she had been warned not to attack—

  Fight me, damn you! I’ll kill you with a single thought, and then where will they find another Captal to stand against Glenin and my grandson? Fight me!

  She didn’t. She couldn’t. If Anniyas desired it, she must not do it. That was all the reason she needed.

  Set the first Ward, Caisha, a voice urged. She can’t get at you—not unless you weaken and attempt to destroy her. Set the Ward, and be quick about it.

  It was hard, not knowing where exactly Anniyas was. Cailet risked just enough searching magic to sense her general position but not enough to see her. She dared expand the seeking to include the other Wraiths, those much less powerful but just as angry and desperate for freedom—but where were they?

  Sweet Saints—that was how Anniyas had done it! Cailet nearly lost control of the opening sequence of the Ward as she realized where the power to escape and kill had come from. Pent with all those banished by their fellow Wraiths for having been too vile in life to tolerate in death, Anniyas had stolen their strength, their souls, their spirits. They no longer existed. There was only Avira Anniyas, First Lord of Malerris and First Councillor of Lenfell, now sole inhabitant of the Dead White Forest. In her was the energy of thousands, perhaps millions, of Wraiths—some of whom could rival her for power-hunger, some for sheer malevolence. That she had absorbed them all was incredible enough; that she dominated and used them was beyond anything any Mageborn had ever done.

  But was it? Were there not other presences in Cailet’s own mind? Was she not just as ghoulish as Anniyas, feeding off the dead?

  If you persist in this nonsense, you’ll never leave here sane, said Gorsha. It’s not
the same at all. What we gave, we gave willingly. You didn’t steal it, and you certainly didn’t devour our souls! Now stop dithering and get on with it!

  Cailet gulped and did as told.

  The storm of furious magic continued. But she could not fight Anniyas—because any spell of hers would be just that much more power for Anniyas to steal. Create a Mage Globe as Fiella Mikleine had done and it would be devoured as Fiella’s had been, draining her of magic to the enhancement of Anniyas’s stolen strength.

  The Ward took shape more easily now that she knew it was only the single presence she must capture. She still didn’t know how the magic worked, or why. She possessed it, but had never learned it. She only knew that Anniyas howled as the Ward collapsed in on her. Cailet Folded it like a square of cloth, smaller and smaller until within it was a screaming nub of a thing. This she wadded even smaller and, choosing a tree in the midst of the forest, set it into lifeless white wood.

  Then she got busy with the real work.

  It took all day to walk the perimeter, casting Wards onto rocks at regular intervals. Sunset brought with it completion, exhaustion, and Telomir Renne with a tiny Mage Globe to light his way through the dusk. Prentice though he was, he sensed at once what she had done. “Captal,” was all he said, bowing to her most profoundly.

  The homage embarrassed her. She didn’t deserve it. She had damned near fallen into Anniyas’s trap. For as she worked, she had reasoned out the rest of it with no help from Gorynel Desse. Anniyas, having seized the energy of others, had used it to escape the Dead White Forest. But she required more power still—and who better to steal it from than the Mage Captal? By flinging magic at her—Globe, spell, whatever arcane technique she dredged up—Cailet would have glutted Anniyas with magic. It would not have given her back a body, but it would have allowed her to go wherever she chose and kill whomever she pleased.

  After drinking from the waterskin Telomir offered, she asked, “Where’s Fiella?”

  “Still asleep. I woke up early and thought it best to reinforce the spell. My compliments, by the way.”