Knight of Stars

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘We should evacuate the city,’ Ustirtei muttered at the other man’s side. ‘Flee where they cannot pursue.’

  Toil raised an eyebrow. ‘The whole city? You want to ask tens of thousands to pack up and leave in the next few hours. Can you magic up boats? A bridge to the mainland?’

  ‘Not everyone is in danger, from what you tell us.’

  ‘Oh right – so just you and your friends need to run away? Leave everyone else where they are, hoping the huge monsters don’t lay waste to the whole city on general principle?’

  Sanshir stood and put her hands on her hips, the pommel of a long knife just below each one. ‘You are not leaving. I need you to give this city a chance of survival – your knowledge and your God Fragment. If I have to surround this guild with every Mastrunner left in the city, I will.’

  Atieno held up a hand. ‘How long does each cartridge take to produce, once you have everything ready?’

  ‘A few minutes only,’ the man replied.

  ‘And how many can a mage produce in a day?’

  ‘The process is taxing, for the lead mage most of all. Who would that be? You?’

  Atieno shook his head. ‘I cannot be in contact with the God Fragment myself – nor anyone with these tattoos. It might crumble to dust.’

  ‘Then it must be one of ours …’ He shook his head. ‘How does this even work? The lead mage is always the one to shape and focus the power, to determine the characteristic of the cartridge.’

  ‘We will find a way. Perhaps a mage of tempest for me to work through. How many?’

  ‘A mage is tired after ten cartridges.’

  ‘How long before it becomes dangerous?’

  ‘For this, it will be dangerous from the start. For a normal mage, mistakes depend on experience and a mage of tempest has none. We do not have one in the guild!’

  Lynx looked up at that. ‘Didn’t we meet one? That woman at the healer guild, Sirr or something like that?’

  ‘Olen Siere of the Shudoren Guild?’ Sanshir said, standing. ‘I know of her. I will bring any tempest mages they have there.’

  Anatin pointed at Reft. ‘You and Lynx go with her. Take a few more guns plus Sitain with you. We’re not at home to asking in a friendly way, not today.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. They know me.’

  He shrugged. ‘The buggers are no use here anyway, and like you said, they know you there. They know you’re not a fool or a trigger-happy madwoman.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘They know what you’re capable of, you’re one of them. My lot look exactly like trigger-happy crazies who’ll shoot anyone getting in their way and don’t give a shit what mess they leave behind. Folk hesitate in the face of strangers with guns. It’s harder to argue with us.’

  She considered the point. ‘It will not be necessary,’ she said, ‘but it will not hinder me either. Are there any other mages you need?’

  ‘Stone, wind, light and ice,’ Atieno said, ‘along with Sitain.’

  They all looked at the guild mages, who shifted uncomfortably. ‘We can provide those,’ Ustirtei admitted.

  ‘Then do whatever you must to get ready. I will be back soon.’

  The threat of violence proved unnecessary. In the great bowl of the Shudoren Guild there were injured everywhere, mages and Mastrunners lying side by side while the healers worked frantic­ally to save those they could. Lynx had been in enough field hospitals to know how lucky these people were, mage-healing not normally being for common folk, but it remained a hellish sight.

  Many of the mages looked exhausted. They had worked through the tail end of the night after the golantha retreated and the Mastrunners of every district started to drag their friends here. It was all rough and ready work, Lynx saw. Many of the staff there were performing normal surgery too – the magic used to patch up injuries before stitches and bandages could be usefully employed. Siere, when they found her, was grey-eyed and sluggish even after Sanshir outlined what was expected of her.

  The mage did not speak for a long time, even when Lynx fetched a cup of brandy for her, guessing the woman had barely stopped all night. He fitted it into the stiff, clawed fingers of her right hand, where the skin was more grey than brown – product of her strange, corrupting magic. Siere sipped at the brandy gently, staring glassily at Sanshir but at least finding time to think.

  ‘You need me for making cartridges?’ The old woman pondered that for a long while before finally the reality clicked into place. ‘Cartridges?’ she exclaimed in a louder voice. ‘No! Impossible, I am a healer!’

  ‘Not today,’ Sanshir said. ‘The best thing you can do for these people is to come with us.’

  ‘I know what you intend – it cannot be done. I am not strong enough and I am not such a fool as to try.’

  ‘We have a strong mage,’ Sitain said. ‘We need you to be the conduit for the work.’

  The tiny mage shook her head with such force that in her fatigued state she almost tipped sideways off her seat and Lynx had to steady her.

  ‘It is too much, the magic is too wild. For any mage to draw that much they would have to be …’ She tailed off as her eyes came to rest on the willow-pattern tattoos on Sitain’s skin. ‘He is like you,’ Siere said baldly.

  ‘I, yeah, he is. He’s strong enough, but the last God Fragment he touched crumbled under his fingers.’

  ‘How do you know this one will not?’

  ‘We don’t, but we have to try.’

  Siere bowed her head. Lynx watched Sanshir restrain herself as Siere remained still for a long while. The anger inside her fought for release, like a rat clawing its way out, but the kaboto would not let her guilt-laden exhaustion rule her. She remained quiet until Siere spoke again.

  ‘This may kill us all,’ Siere finally said in little more than a whisper.

  ‘This may be our only chance,’ Sanshir countered in a gentle voice, though her knuckles were white.

  ‘You do not know what it is you ask,’ Siere said, her protest sounding weak but worryingly heartfelt to Lynx’s ear. ‘This thing, it is terrible. It is an affront to life itself. Once released into the world, you do not know what it may do.’

  ‘According to Atieno it’s no great secret. Most tempest mages know of it, if they get old enough. You could do it easily, couldn’t you?’

  ‘I would never do this.’

  ‘But it’s within your power. It’s where all the stories come from, isn’t it?’

  She bowed her head again. ‘There are always some who choose the darkest of actions,’ Siere said. ‘Many of us believe the invention of mage cartridges was a terrible crime against the world, but you would go further still.’

  ‘Someone will anyway,’ Lynx said. ‘Something this powerful, some bastard will work it out soon.’

  She reached out and took his hand unexpectedly, the one which bore his Vagrim ring. Siere squeezed the finger around the ring, pointedly.

  ‘Do you believe that means an action is justified? That because the evil men of this world will do something, you may also?’

  Lynx hesitated, thrown by her accusation, and took a breath while he thought. She did have a point. Could a Vagrim so easily make this choice? What did his vows mean here?

  He was a man used to making a stand, to refusing the easy choice, yet he’d not even questioned Atieno’s thinking. And perhaps that was the reason why. Atieno was a Vagrim too. He followed the same path as Lynx and surely had spent hours and days over his life pondering this very thing.

  ‘I believe mage cartridges are just things,’ he said at last. ‘Not good, not evil. But if I could choose to make them impossible, I would. They inflict horror, of that I’m certain, but they’re not evil themselves. If I had been there to stop their inventor, would anything now be different? Was it a rare stroke of genius that created them or the natural result of science?’

  She let go of his hand. ‘It is so. Still I fear this.’

  ‘We all do. And perhaps othe
rs will hear of what we attempt and be inspired to new efforts, but there’s more magic in the world now. That cannot be undone and sooner or later, one or more of the bastard Orders will no doubt revive what past efforts they made.’

  Siere stood. ‘I will fetch my colleagues,’ she announced.

  ‘Colleagues?’

  ‘If I am to do this, it is better I use mages I have worked with before. Safer for all of us.’ She gave a feeble smile. ‘If it must be done, I mean to see it save our city.’

  ‘If it’s any help, you may be stronger than ever, afterwards. That hand might feel better too.’

  Her eyes widened briefly. ‘The tattoos?’

  Lynx shrugged. ‘Seems like they’re a by-product of any linking ritual.’

  Siere was quiet a while then shook her head. ‘If that were the only reason, it would not be enough. But you are correct. There is another.’

  ‘Let’s go save the city then.’

  Chapter 40

  Sitain dozed, shrouded by the hanging flowers of wisteria, enveloped in a bubble of sound as bees droned all around her head. Beyond that she could hear the babble of mages, no more intelligible and of less interest. The day’s heat was rising hour upon hour and the sun had now reached its zenith. Sitain could find no strength to keep her limbs moving, no will to force her thoughts in line.

  The fatigue of the previous night sapped her, but each time she felt herself sinking into sleep, something jerked her awake. She could do nothing but keep her eyes closed and her thoughts drifting, hoping that some rest would result. The heady scent of wisteria hung thick in the air and provoked a bittersweet memory.

  It had grown up one sunny wall of her childhood home – the cottage her family did still live in, Sitain assumed. Her Hanese mother had always loved that spot, to sit in the sun there – enveloped in that scent and bathed in warmth. Sitain could almost sense her mother at her side, the press of her shoulder against Sitain’s.

  Her heart ached for that gentle presence again, so patient and loving for all that she’d been too frightened to speak when the Charnelers had come for Sitain. Rarely had her mother been at peace, not entirely, but with her eyes closed in that sunny spot there had been a glimpse of what might have been. Sitain let herself sink back into that memory and draw what strength she might find from it, but her fears remained. Fear of mistakes, of failure – of success too.

  As the time dragged past, a small boy brought cups of weak wine as often as he dared. Sitain had been puzzled by it at first, but eventually it dawned on her that he was a novice in the guild, not a servant. He was a night mage and shyly curious – of the tattoos that made her so powerful as much as anything. She had no answers for him, though, no wisdom to pass on. The boy probably knew more of magic than she did, but seemed content to sense her well of power and wonder.

  At last it was time and a pulse of power came from Atieno as he flexed his magical muscles. The sensation, through whatever the link was between them, snapped Sitain to wakefulness. She came close to jumping from her seat at the jolt. A sly look from Atieno, across the guild courtyard, told her that had been deliberate. Sitain took a few wobbly paces, gravel floor proving treacherous underfoot until she found her balance, and glared at the man.

  Showing off for the old lady? Sitain wondered, as though he could hear her. Aren’t you a bit old for that?

  She shook her head. An old man was still just a man.

  ‘It’s time, Sitain,’ Atieno called. ‘For a test, at least.’

  She stretched and started over. ‘Time to see if you’re going to break their precious toy?’

  The pained looks she received suggested they’d been discussing that very point.

  ‘It will be kept in a metal frame so no mage touches it during the process,’ Atieno explained. ‘Toil has had to guarantee to replace it if that is not enough to stop it crumbling.’

  ‘The promise of more marked mages wasn’t tempting enough?’

  Atieno looked weary. ‘Not after half of those Lastani created were hunted down by the golantha.’

  She paused and cocked her head at the tall mage.

  ‘Have you had any rest? Any food?’

  ‘I have eaten.’

  ‘And rest? I’m not saying you’ve got time for a nap, but take a few minutes to clear your mind, no?’

  He forced a smile. ‘Thank you, I will be fine.’

  ‘Good, that’s my mothering all done for the day. Where do you want me?’

  The leader of the guild mages, Ustirtei, gestured.

  ‘Come.’

  He led them down a wide stairway into the bedrock of the island, each guild mage collecting an oil lamp at the bottom of the stairway. Below ground a long corridor ran left and right. As they set off down the right-hand path, Sitain realised it followed the shape of the paths above, in the courtyard. Before long they came back around to the far end where a heavy iron-bound door stood.

  There was a sort of guardroom to one side where a woman stood to attention at their arrival, but made no effort to interfere. Ustirtei removed a key from his belt and unlocked the door. The ageing mage gave the guard a look at that point and she nodded, reaching behind a panel in her small room to give something a tug.

  The guard watched Ustirtei open the door and continue through. Sitain wasn’t the only one to glance up as she crossed the threshold. Ustirtei’s colleague in the Mastrunner headscarf, whose name had turned out to be Luverno, explained as she did so.

  ‘A security arrangement,’ Luverno said with a smile. ‘One we will have to redesign now so many outsiders are here.’ He gave an apologetic look towards Siere as he spoke, but the healer did not appear to take offence.

  ‘You trust each other that little?’ Sitain commented.

  ‘A God Fragment is a valuable thing,’ he said. ‘It is the only one in Caldaire and is greatly desired by our rivals as well as the Orders. You are the first outsiders to come here since we acquired the fragment.’

  Inside was a wood-panelled antechamber that they filled before the first door was locked again behind them. Only then did a bell chime from somewhere unseen and Luverno produced a second key for the next door. That brought them into a wider room perhaps ten yards across where a great hump of stone jutted out from very centre of the floor.

  It was shaped, Sitain realised, like a strange V-wedge, pointing towards the door with the tip half cut away so there was a narrow shelf there. On this side of the stone were stacked boxes of machine-worked brass cartridges and a table bearing trays of porcelain balls on one side, dull glass discs on the other. Six sturdy stools occupied the floor on this side of the stone wedge.

  ‘So where is it?’ Sitain asked, peering round.

  There was a heavy steel door set into the wall on the left, while the far end was, rather worryingly, just blackened stone with deep cracks in it and flaked shards littering the ground. Off to the right was some sort of small dumb-waiter arrangement, presumably to remove viable cartridges in case of catastrophe.

  ‘The fragment? Locked away.’

  ‘We’re not ready for it yet,’ Atieno added. ‘First we practise.’

  ‘Practise? How bloody long is that going to take? We’ve only got until nightfall.’

  ‘And we have hours until then. Before we can make any cartridges, I need to be sure I know what I’m doing – what we’re all doing.’

  ‘This is how all mages learn the craft,’ Luverno added.

  Sitain scowled at that. She’d been destined for this work perhaps, once, before the Cards, or maybe to live as a servant of sorts, attending those permitted to make mage cartridges and envious of their servitude.

  ‘Does it take long?’

  He gave her a pained look.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ she snorted.

  ‘When we train novices, we do so slowly. Atieno is a more experienced mage. I am … optimistic.’

  ‘Oh me too,’ Sitain said. ‘Really bloody optimistic. So we’re going to practise on some glass beads
and hope he doesn’t accidentally kill us before he works out what he’s doing?’

  ‘Correct,’ Atieno said before the others could respond. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

  She hesitated. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘Good. Now – you are almost untrained, you have no experience of linked working or anything beyond basic magery. Please just listen and do as you are asked from now on. This will be dull but difficult and dangerous.’

  Sitain nodded and Atieno inclined his head in thanks before gesturing to Ustirtei. The old man immediately set about directing mages to the wooden stools laid out before the central block of stone. Sitain was placed on the left of the small healer mage, Siere, while one of the guild’s own took position on the other side. She guessed he was a light mage, there to balance her out, and a second took a place behind him.

  Man needs a bit of power to balance me out, she thought with a smirk of childish satisfaction.

  Atieno took position behind Siere while two more flanked him. Sitain watched them all for a moment until she noticed Siere reach a hand towards her. She put the tiny hand into her own and took a calming breath. Siere’s skin was cool and smooth like porcelain. Gently she opened herself to the woman, as Lastani had taught her, and tried to relax. This was going to be a long afternoon.

  ‘Remember,’ Atieno said loudly, ‘we may become linked. I will only be drawing small amounts at first, but you may still find your skin marked like ours, your power greatly increased.’

  It was strange, uncomfortably so, when the magic was teased out of her. Sitain wasn’t in control of what was going on and could really only glimpse it in her mind. That she sensed she had the ability to break the link at will, to wrestle control back from either Siere or Atieno, didn’t comfort her much. It was too much like someone using her arms on her behalf, an extension of herself now obedient to another’s will.

  Dimly, at the back of her mind, she could feel the marked Cards. There was a yawning gap in her awareness left by Lastani, the shining presence of Atieno and Tanimbor’s mages unable to make up for the loss of that brightest star. The sense of Lynx nearby was no compensation, a strange mixture of doglike patience and juddering emotion. Still, Sitain had to admit to herself it was a more comfortable presence than some of the others.