“If it would preserve it,” Vedrix said after a moment, “I might. However, we know that if the Emperor dies by magic, the Gymnasium will be destroyed. Either by the army,” he nodded at Bordan, “or the Church leading the people in a crusade against us. I am caught as much as you and nothing I say, I do, can change that.”
“And what will you do?” Bordan squinted up at the magician, noting for the first time the optimistic, happy look in his eyes had been replaced by one of profound sadness.
“The only thing I can,” Vedrix said. “I will stay silent and act the good servant. Though much good that did you, it is all I can hope will keep the Emperor’s ire away from the Gymnasium.”
“And,” Bordan swallowed his fear in a great gulp, “what is planned for me?”
“Crucifixion on the hill before the city gates,” Vedrix said, his shoulders sagging as if he lifted a great weight from it. “Tomorrow.”
“A large crowd to be expected,” Bordan said, trying for a light tone but it fell flat against the stone floor.
“In the pack,” Vedrix pointed, “is a small pill. It will numb the pain and ease your passing. Put it in your mouth before you are taken from here. I promise it won’t melt until you bite down upon it.”
Bordan glanced down at the wrapped parcel unsure of the words to say.
“There is also some spiced sausage, bread, cheese and another water skin,” Vedrix continued, clearing his throat as he spoke. “It isn’t much, but it is all I can do.”
“Thank you,” Bordan choked out.
“It is not a pleasure, my friend. It is anything but that,” Vedrix said. “I wish it was not needed.”
“I thank you anyway,” Bordan said.
“In the Church,” Vedrix turned back to him, hooking his thumbs into the soft leather belt, “when Aelia denounced you, did you believe her?”
“That it was me?” Bordan answered, puzzled.
“No. That someone other than Abra had arranged the assassins,” Vedrix asked.
“Did you?” Bordan fenced.
“Yes,” Vedrix stated without delay. “It makes sense and I knew Abra for a long time. He was a man of wealth, of ambition. He would take every chance given, but he would consider it first. If it benefited him, if the risk met the reward, he would try.”
“For the throne?”
“The risk does match the reward,” Vedrix considered. “However, he was also a man who valued his possessions, his position on the council. If something went wrong, he would know there would be a heavy price.”
“He paid the price.”
“Perhaps he paid someone else’s price, or at least their share of it,” Vedrix said. “Such an endeavour was not simple, and thieves may talk about honour amongst their kind, but all know that is an illusion borne of fear.”
“You know who it is?” Bordan felt a moment of hope course through his blood.
“No,” Vedrix admitted, “but I know it was not me or you.”
“Godewyn?” Bordan asked, meeting the magician’s piercing gaze.
“He is of the Church,” Vedrix said, the words slowly drawn from his mouth. “However, I think not. It does not sit well with all I know of him.”
“Who then?”
“I don’t know,” Vedrix answered, irritation clouding his voice. “I’ve considered other nobles, the tribes somehow insinuating an agent into the city. One of the Kingdoms to the north. A traitor from the southern continent.”
“Not the Emperor herself?” Bordan asked and saw Vedrix’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’ve nothing to lose by suggesting it. You said yourself, I’ll be dead by the end of tomorrow.”
“You saw her reaction when she discovered her brother, and her mother,” Vedrix said. “I do not think it likely.”
“You said she was not sane at the moment,” Bordan continued. “Who is to say what those driven by grief will do.”
“True, however I feel you mix cause with effect. The deaths drove her to this current state, not the other way around,” Vedrix said. “My time is up, my friend.”
“Thank you for visiting,” Bordan said, standing.
“I see I was not the first.” Vedrix nodded to the blanket.
“Godewyn,” Bordan admitted.
“Friends risk much for you, General. The army would do the same on your word,” Vedrix said.
“I cannot,” Bordan replied.
“I know.”
“You will look after Kyron,” Bordan said. “A last favour to me. Keep him safe. Send him away from the city if you can. The boy hasn’t come to his senses yet. He has lost everything. I worry what he will do.”
“He has been to see you?” Vedrix’s eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t say that.” Bordan spoke on reflex and heard the lie the same time Vedrix did.
“Damn that boy,” Vedrix snapped, stamping his feet. “I told him not to come. I forbade him to come and see you. I can feel the magic he used, the tiny flutters in the world that should not be there. What if he had been caught? What if someone saw him. You know he almost acted to protect you in the church?”
“I didn’t, but if you came here, he got away safe,” Bordan said, his worry only growing. “Get him away from here, Vedrix. Send him far away. Today if you can. I don’t want him to see me die.”
“It won’t change anything,” Vedrix said. “He is impulsive and stubborn. The wound will fester even if I send him far away.”
“It will give him time to heal, to come to terms with it,” Bordan argued. “He has had to do it before, when his parents were killed. He can do it again. Please.”
“I will do what I can, my friend. For you, and because despite it all, I like the lad,” Vedrix said, clapping Bordan on the shoulder. “Remember the pill. We’ve both been to far too many executions, we know what to expect.”
“How long before?” Before what he could not say, the words would not come.
“The effects will last for many hours, but I would save it until you are on the hill,” Vedrix said. “Better not to give them an excuse to put it off for another day.”
“Thank you, Vedrix, my friend,” Bordan said, gripping the other man’s shoulder. “Keep Kyron safe for me.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Vedrix said. “I fear for the Gymnasium when the day is out and the weeks crawl by. One spark is all it will take for them to burn us down.”
“Let us hope for rain then,” Bordan said.
“Always,” Vedrix replied with a sad smile before he turned for the door.
LVIII
The Magician
Three years ago:
“I know you wanted me to be a soldier,” he said.
“I wanted you to be whatever you wanted to be,” the old man said, his voice gruff and his eyes darting towards the Master Magician.
“I enjoyed learning the sword and shield,” he said, trying to give something back, knowing it was not enough.
“And I enjoyed teaching you, just as I taught your father,” the old man said. “You both made your own decisions in life, and there is nothing more I could ask of either of you.”
“Why are we here?” Emlyn said as dusk settled once more over the roofs of the city.
“It is my grandfather’s house,” Kyron pointed out, “and I want something that is inside.”
“Then can’t you just walk in?” she asked.
“I looked this afternoon,” Kyron explained again. “There are guards on the door, and I think it is being watched.”
“To catch anyone involved in your grandfather’s plot?”
“He wasn’t involved,” he snapped back, trying his best to keep his voice low.
“You know what I mean.”
“Probably, yes,” Kyron said.
“Vedrix isn’t going to be happy,” she added.
“He wasn’t the happiest this morning either,” Kyron replied, wincing at the memory of the dressing down he had endured.
“He was right though,” Emlyn said. “You should leave the city.�
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“And give up on him? No.” Kyron caught the words before they erupted into a shout. “He didn’t give up on me. He took me in when my parents were killed and let me join the Gymnasium even though he didn’t want me to.”
“He is family,” she said as if that explained everything.
“The Emperor is wrong,” Kyron stated, more to himself than to her. He poked his head around the corner, checking the street for the hundredth time. “My grandfather has always served the Empire. He would never work against it. He knows who set the assassins on the Emperor’s family.”
“How do you know that he knows? I thought you said he would not tell you.”
“I used a truth spell,” he lied, “and I know him.”
Kyron ducked his head around the corner once more. The streets were quickly giving way to shadows and the lanterns would soon be lit. Up the street he could see the single guard stood outside his grandfather’s two-storey home. It was little different to those which surrounded it in this wealthy part of the town.
There were others, close by, whose footprint was larger, which contained gardens and fountains. However, General Bordan’s home was reminiscent of the man. Tall, strong, and protective. The windows facing the street had their shutters closed and locked. One door graced the front elevation and the upper windows were sealed.
“But he didn’t tell you. He didn’t want you to go and do something stupid,” Emlyn said, pausing briefly before adding, “again.”
“Something like that,” he acknowledged.
“The guard isn’t going to leave,” she said as he looked around the corner once more, “and we look very suspicious just stood on this street corner.”
Kyron looked along the street and saw a few other people trudging along its cobbles. Most were servants carrying the ingredients of the evening meal bought fresh from the market or local shops. A few were likely on errands for their employer and one or two were heading to their own homes for a deserved rest. None looked their way.
“We’re not that unusual,” he said.
“A magician and a woman of the tribes?” She raised an eyebrow.
“As you’ve pointed out before, a lot of us have a heritage within the tribes,” he replied. “And I don’t look much like a magician at the moment.”
Which was true. He had ditched his formal attire after the coronation, and the apprenticeship tunic he had worn to get into the palace last night. Instead, he had dressed in travelling clothes, much as he had worn on the campaign, though he had left the gladius in Padarn’s quarters.
“If you say so.”
“Let’s go,” he said, across the road and heading away from the street upon which his grandfather’s house stood.
“Wait. What?” Emlyn said as she moved to catch up with him. “Where are you going?”
“This way,” was all he said, hurrying along the street. At the next junction he turned right along the road parallel to his target. “We can’t get in that way. The guard would see us. The door is locked and, even if we could climb, the upper floor is secure.”
“So how do we get in?” she asked, looking around when Kyron stopped.
“Here,” he said, pointing at his feet.
There was a large stone, edged with iron, between the two of them and it was slotted into the surface of the street.
Drawing the motes to his arms and hands, strengthening them. He held out a steel hook to her and said, “Help me.”
The hooks slotted into the edge of the slab and they lifted. It was heavy, even with his enhanced strength and the assistance of Emlyn, but it moved with a slow, drawn-out grating sound which set dogs in the distance to barking.
“Down,” he wheezed as he lowered the stone onto the road.
“It stinks,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “What’s down there?”
“You don’t want to know,” he answered, drawing a length of cloth around his nose and mouth. He handed a similar one to her. “Down.”
She glared at him and then clambered down into the hole. There was a splash and a curse as she vanished into the darkness. A small smile crossed his face as he followed.
Landing in soft liquid he wheeled his arms, catching his balance as the rank odour of shit, piss and rotting food clawed its way up his nose. Bile rose in his throat and it was an effort of will not to vomit.
“You left the stone open,” she pointed out, looking up.
“We need a way out,” he said, “and I couldn’t think of how to close it.”
“Magic?”
“I could, I suppose, but it is really heavy,” he replied after a moment’s thought. “We still need a way out.”
“You brought a torch or lamp?”
“No,” he answered. For once he felt he had the upper hand. The forests were her domain, she understood them and her place within them. Throughout the journey she had seemed so calm amongst the trees, as if she belonged. Here, in the city, it was his land, his terrain. “Everything rots down in here and there are pockets of gas which flare and explode when exposed to flame.”
“Really?” She peered into the darkness. “How do they get cleaned?”
“They don’t,” he said, taking her by the hand and moving out of the faint illumination of the summer stars above. “We’re slightly downhill of the house and water runs through the sewers towards the docks and out into the sea.”
“And no one comes down here?”
“It is all the human waste from the homes around, would you come down here by choice? Well,” he said, cautious, “I did read that sometimes thieves and other folks use these tunnels to avoid the militia.”
“Great,” she said.
“We’re not going far,” he said. “Just up the hill a little.”
“And how will we see?”
Kyron gave her a wide grin in the last of the starlight and lifted his free hand. In it, he gathered the motes, focused and forced them together into a small ball which sat in the middle of his cupped palm.
The construct was simple and one of the first learned by an apprentice. It taught focus, strength of will, and how to manipulate the motes as they danced and wove around in the air. It only needed enough gathered in one place and a single knot to maintain it. With a twist of thought he secured the knot and light bloomed in his hand.
“Is that it?” Emlyn asked.
“What?” He looked the dull ball of light he cupped in his palm.
“It is quite small.”
“Any brighter and bigger and you’ll lose your night vision, plus someone outside might notice it,” he explained, a little hurt. “It is enough for what we need to do.”
“If you say so.”
“Come on.”
He turned his back on her and started up the sewer. The bricks and stone were old, built when the city expanded and constructed so well it needed little repair. Here and there, a loose stone had tumbled from the wall and in one place on their short journey a small pile of them had been overwhelmed by a much larger slick of brown muck. The top of which was above the water and had dried to a broken crust. They skirted around it and continued forward.
Every ten steps he counted, he stopped and held the small ball of illumination up to the bricks around head height.
“What are you looking for?”
“They carved the streets and house numbers into the bricks when they built it,” he said. “It made joining homes with sewers easier.”
“That sounds like a lot of planning just to carry the waste away.”
“Thirty years of planning, so the book said,” he explained. “And better the waste is carried away than rises into your home. When it was finished, it cut the rates of disease and death by half in just the first year.”
“That was in the book too?”
“Yes.”
“And you have more of these books?”
“Padarn had lots and the Gymnasium library is immense,” he said with a touch of pride. “You want to visit it when we get back?”
&nb
sp; “No. How far to your grandfather’s house?”
“Just here,” he said, crestfallen. They turned the corner and the sewer walls tightened in upon them. However, a few steps later the old brick walls gave way to a more recent construction. “He had this built before I was born. It was the escape route from the house. We used to practise evacuating every few months.”
“A prudent man,” she said.
“He planned, plans everything,” Kyron said. “If he had organised the killings, he would have had a way out, yet he is in prison. It wasn’t him.”
“How do we get in?”
“There’s a trapdoor ahead,” he said, fingers digging into the pouch on his belt. “We both had a key.”
The light from the small globe showed the wooden square in the ceiling. Reaching up, Kyron inserted the key and twisted. It moved with hardly a sound.
“He keeps it well oiled,” Kyron explained. “Step back a bit.”
When he was sure Emlyn had moved aside, he slid the lock bolt back and grunted as he took the weight of the door. He guided it open on smooth hinges and let it swing a little at the end of its arc.
“No rope? No ladder?” Emlyn asked coming to stand next to him and peering up.
“It was never really designed for getting in,” Kyron said. “Out was just a matter of jumping down and running.”
He lifted the hand which held the small globe of light and tossed it into the room above. The faint illumination showed the edge of the trap door and Kyron leapt upwards, catching the sides and pulling himself into the home.
“I’ll help,” Kyron said as he turned around to reach down a hand. Emlyn was already clambering through the hole, a grin just visible on her face. “Though you don’t seem to need it.”
“I climbed trees my whole youth,” she said. “This is nothing. What are we looking for?”
“Grandfather keeps a journal, a diary,” Kyron explained. “I’ve never been allowed to look in it, but he told me years ago he keeps his memories and thoughts in it. He may have written down the person he thinks actually organised the assassinations.”
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