The Last Mage Guardian

by Sabrina Chase

  His pursuers were now visible, a crowd of men with crude weapons in their hands.

  “Get back, out of sight!” Markus was in front of her, dragging her by main force into a doorway.

  “They’re going to kill him!” she protested.

  “My instructions only specify preventing anyone from killing you,” Markus snapped. “Kindly note the lead thug has a large iron chain, and there are far more of them than us. If they see us we’ll be in trouble. I can’t handle that many. Can you?”

  Fully rested, she could. But it wouldn’t be pleasant, since the only spells that would work were very destructive. Right now she wasn’t sure she could do anything, and if she failed, they would all be in danger.

  The man had scrambled to his feet, but the crowd had caught up with him and he was soon on the ground again. The man with the iron chain kicked him hard, yelling “Schmutziger Adarar!”

  There had to be something she could do, even as weak as she was. They were going to kill that man right in front of her. Desperately, she ran through the spells her great-uncle had taught her, trying to find something that would work. Spells of power, of control—perhaps a distension of the cobblestones to make a protective shell?

  “Close your eyes!” Stefan said in an urgent whisper. Ardhuin did, just in time. A flash of light so intense it leaked through her eyelids burst over the mob. A chorus of screams and moans forced her eyes open again. The man with the chain was clawing at his face and stumbling blindly away, as were the rest of them. Their victim was left lying in the street, curled up and moaning. Stefan and Jens-Peter darted out and carried the man to safety in the dark doorway.

  Ardhuin couldn’t follow the rapid Preusan conversation that followed. The man was grateful, but still terrified. Blood streaked his face from a cut on his head.

  “He says he can walk, and he has a friend only a few streets over,” Dominic translated, seeing her lack of comprehension.

  With great dignity, despite his disheveled appearance, the man shook hands with everyone and limped away, glancing nervously to each side until he reached the shadows on the opposite side.

  “Is this what is happening with the riots you mentioned?” Ardhuin asked Dieter.

  He shrugged, his usually cheerful face sad. “Usually it’s worse.”

  “Let’s go before the glare-flash wears off,” Markus said.

  They walked quickly away down the side street. Ardhuin glanced back, hoping the man would be all right and wondering if there was any way she could find out.

  “Was that a special spell he used?” Dominic asked her under his breath. “I couldn’t tell if it was just him, or...nobody seems to cast magic like you do.”

  What was that supposed to mean? “It’s a very basic spell,” Ardhuin said, feeling tired and stupid. “I should have thought of it myself.” Instead, she’d been thinking of all the advanced attacks her great-uncle had taught her, trying to find one that she still had the strength to do. It wasn’t a good excuse. She should have done something. What kind of a Mage Guardian was she? So useless even the desperate Preusans didn’t want her.

  “There. That row of brick fronts. It’s one of them,” Ermut pointed. Ardhuin noted a shabby lamplighter’s cart on the street ahead and felt a little better.

  The third door in the row had a small brass nameplate with “v. Gerling” on it. The front window was dark, but Ardhuin thought she could see faint light reflected down a hallway.

  Ermut rang the bell. From her vantage point, Ardhuin saw a darker shadow cross the zone of grey light, and the door opened.

  She had a brief impression of a handsome, narrow face, the paleness accentuated by a precisely trimmed beard. Von Gerling looked at Ermut with a polite lack of enthusiasm while he explained the reason for the late visit. A certain hard expression entered von Gerling’s eyes when Ermut said the name “von Stangen.”

  Von Gerling let his gaze travel over the others. He passed over her with no reaction; a brief flicker of recognition when he looked at Dominic. Then he saw Markus, and Ardhuin saw his eyes widen with shock and, strangely, horror.

  Dominic yelled, “Watch out!” and shoved Markus away, hard. The blast of power made a familiar icy tingling in her skin. Before she even knew what she was doing, power instinctively gathered with painful strength and she loosed it in rapid, javelin bursts. Just as she had been taught, as she had practiced countless times with her great-uncle.

  Sawtooth cloud is powerful, but it takes time to recover. Be quick in response, and never let your opponent gain the initiative again, he had said.

  She thought the first bolt had caught him, but she wasn’t sure. They were all weaker than they should be, but still the rest shattered the door as he tried to slam it shut.

  Ardhuin ran up the steps, dodging the grasping hand of Markus. This was her job—she wasn’t going to let them down again. She had to be cautious. Von Gerling didn’t know how weak she was. She tried to smooth her ragged breathing, terrified that he would hear and find her.

  Von Gerling must be involved with the plot somehow. Her mind was numb, unable to think beyond the basic need for action, but her body was paralyzed by fear. The front room was dark, and she heard noises in the rooms beyond. Shouting from the entry told her the others were on their way. She had to move.

  A deflective shield to the front, Ardhuin darted to the hallway, wondering at how gathering power had felt like a thousand tiny knives. It had felt like that when she had attacked, too. Was it something von Gerling was doing? She peered around the corner of the first doorway. It appeared to be a study, with bookshelves and a small desk before a window. A shadowy figure was frantically stuffing papers into a valise.

  She felt her shield shrivel and pop as soon as she tried to cross the threshold. Ardhuin jerked back, terrified, and fell. Devourer Gate. He knows Devourer Gate. Another blast of power from von Gerling just missed her. If he hadn’t been taken by surprise by her clumsiness, it would have killed her.

  A cry from Dominic made her twist around where she had fallen. He was sagging against the wall, hands over his eyes. Alive. He was alive. He had seen the magic and avoided it. But now?

  Power surged within her and she grasped it despite the stabbing pain, not daring to wonder where it was coming from. Ardhuin used a quick bit of levitation to get to her feet, cold fury crowding out her fear. No one was going to hurt Dominic. The power came from every atom of her being, a raw flood that ripped out the spell on the doorway and incorporated it, throwing it back at the man who had cast it. The pain was so intense that darkness started to crowd the edges of her vision.

  Von Gerling shouted, and there was fear in his voice. His own shielding was starting to ravel at the edges; she could tell by the way the power was leaking around him.

  “You can’t be doing this!” he gasped, panting with effort. “Denais said you were dead! We’re the only ones who—”

  Suddenly the window shattered from the magical stress, melting in midair and freezing into a cloud of small spheres. Von Gerling grabbed the valise and leaped out the empty window frame.

  She darted for the window, just catching a glimpse of von Gerling’s coat as he went around the corner to the front street. Ardhuin clutched the window frame, fighting a wave of dizziness now that the pain was gone. She couldn’t get there fast enough—he was going to get away.

  “Gutrune! Don’t let him escape!” Ardhuin yelled at the top of her lungs.

  Suddenly, she was so tired she could barely stand. She staggered, and caught herself on the back of a chair. A gun fired in the street outside, then again.

  “Good,” Ardhuin gasped. Her voice sounded higher with fatigue. “Gutrune must have got him.”

  She looked up at the doorway. Stefan Arendt was staring at her in horror, as was Dominic. Markus had his face in his hands and was shaking his head.

  A sinking feeling washed over her, and she looked down. The illusion was gone. “Oh, damnation,” said Ardhuin, and collapsed.

  Chapte
r 11

  The sheen of magic covered everything Dominic saw like frost. How much of it was from the fight and how much was normally there, he could not tell. Chunks of plaster and pieces of broken furniture littered the floor. He dropped to his knees beside Ardhuin’s unconscious form.

  Her face was pale as marble, the lack of color even more noticeable since her fiery hair was now loose and framed it. For a terrible second he thought she was not breathing, then he saw her chest barely rise and fall. He took one hand in his, gasping when her dark gloves shattered into flakes of ash at his touch.

  “Her hands are like ice,” he said, even more frightened than before. His heart was beating so hard and fast it felt as if it would jump into his mouth.

  “Not surprising, given that an entire window has gone missing,” Markus said absently, searching the room cautiously.

  Dominic glanced over to where the window had been. Draperies hung at a lopsided angle, one end wrenched loose. He jumped to his feet and pulled a section free, returning to tuck the fabric carefully around Ardhuin. His hands were shaking.

  “Gott im Himmel.” That was Jens-Peter, for once unable to make a joke. “What happened? Who is she?”

  “I think she used to be Herr Andrews, or he used to be her, or...something. It’s not quite clear,” Ermut said slowly, as if he were still figuring it out. “That is, I saw Herr Andrews fighting von Gerling, and then von Gerling escaped out the window, and then she was standing where Herr Andrews had been.”

  Jens-Peter’s mouth hung open. He shut it and moaned, “I missed it?”

  “I asked for discretion. I distinctly remember saying the words.” Markus Asgaya addressed the ceiling, arms outspread. “Where did I go wrong? Does this,” he said to the group gaping in the doorway, gesturing at the wreckage of the study, “look like discretion to you?”

  “Not in the slightest.” Gutrune von Kitren stepped into the room, gracefully avoiding the debris on the floor. She was still holding her pistol. “In fact, you have attracted notice from the neighboring houses. They will be here soon.”

  Jens-Peter, Stefan, and Ermut glanced respectfully at her weapon and edged slightly closer to the wall.

  Dominic returned his attention to Ardhuin, only dimly registering the sound of voices around him. Jens-Peter was arguing about something, and Gutrune von Kitren was responding in a calm, reasonable tone. He took Ardhuin’s hands in his own, trying to warm them. What had happened to her? He hadn’t seen any attack from von Gerling when her illusion had vanished, or when she had collapsed.

  “Ardhuin. Please wake up,” Dominic pleaded, his voice breaking. “You’re frightening me. Ardhuin.”

  Still no response. Was it his imagination, or was her breathing more even now?

  A scrap of torn wallpaper fluttered in an icy breeze that came from the shattered window. The floor was becoming quite cold. Dominic lifted Ardhuin’s shoulders, cradling her head against his chest while holding her close to give her what warmth he had. A strand of fire-red hair partially covered her face, and he brushed it away.

  Moonlight. The scent of roses. Confusion, desperate need, his hands wrapped in thick, silky warmth....

  Dominic snapped out of the sudden, overwhelming memory with a gasp. Ardhuin’s hair was not warm now, and his fear gave him unexpected strength.

  Somehow he managed to stand, carrying her. The next room down the narrow corridor was a small dining room. It was warmer, but there was no place for Ardhuin to rest. The kitchen wouldn’t be any better, so he turned carefully to go back to the front parlor.

  Markus was there without his illusion, dark and lithe. He was lighting one of the lamps, and talking to Gutrune. The students were gone.

  “It’s gone too far to be concealed now. I was merely hoping to keep them out of it, if possible,” he said.

  “But all of them?”

  The lamp flared and glowed as the match caught, casting Markus’ face in planes of light and shadow. Dominic was suddenly reminded of an illustration he had seen of Loka, the Teuton god of trickery.

  Markus shook his head. “Ermut Arendt felt it was his duty to report, and I could not persuade him otherwise. I only hope von Stangen—” He looked up and saw Dominic. “Where are you going? You don’t mean to leave us to explain what happened, do you?”

  “It’s too cold in the study,” Dominic said, trying to ignore the sudden, hot spurt of irritation at Markus’ attempt at humor. “She will be more comfortable on the sofa.”

  Markus came around the marble-topped table that held the lamp. “Here, let me help you.”

  He reached for Ardhuin, and Dominic snapped. “Get away from her!” he shouted, clutching her even more tightly. She shifted with a small sigh, a promising sign he barely noticed through his rage.

  Markus froze, then slowly and carefully moved back, his face without expression. Dominic breathed deeply, suddenly shaken. Over the rage came a cold wave of fear. What was wrong with him? Markus had never endangered Ardhuin, so why was he acting as if he were a threat?

  It’s not her he’s a threat to, a small voice in his mind said slyly.

  Dominic shook his head sharply, and with an effort lay Ardhuin on the green velvet sofa near the lamp. His arms ached, and his sudden strength deserted him. He dropped to his knees beside the sofa.

  For a moment, his voice deserted him too. “Forgive me. She is...she is in need of a physician.”

  A hand on his shoulder made him look up. Gutrune von Kitren was looking at him with compassion in her pale blue eyes. “The attendance of a physician would be wise, but the case is not desperate. Look, her color is better already. Do not take offense, Herr Kermarec, but your talents are needed elsewhere. We have but a few moments to search this place unencumbered, and Herr von Gerling will undoubtedly have magical protections about anything of importance.” Dominic hesitated, and she added softly, “I will remain with her and alert you if there are any unfavorable changes. Make haste. I was unable to stop von Gerling, and he might have allies in the Kriegsa still.”

  Dominic got stiffly to his feet. “But I thought you shot him.”

  Gutrune’s lips thinned. “He was only wounded.”

  “Wounded? Where was he when you hit him?” Markus sounded eager.

  Dominic thought Gutrune was as puzzled as he was. “He had just reached the opposite side of the street. Near the post box.”

  Markus cast a quick, undecided look around the room, threw a sudden, bright bubble of magic that made Dominic twitch, and ran out the door.

  Dominic exchanged a puzzled glance with Gutrune. “Start searching!” she whispered. There were voices outside, ones he did not recognize.

  “He’s put some kind of triggered perimeter about us,” Dominic replied in similar low tones. “I don’t know what will happen if I cross it, and it’s hard to see anything through the magic there.”

  Gutrune sighed. “It is to be hoped Herr Asgaya does not intend a lengthy errand. Is there anything you can do?”

  Dominic walked to the edge of the bubble. It enclosed most of the end of the parlor, centered on the sofa. The walls were out of reach, but two brocade armchairs, a plant stand, and a small wooden cabinet with a glass front were inside.

  He discovered that one of the armchairs was missing a spring, that the fern on the plant stand needed watering, and something was odd about the cabinet.

  Dominic stared at it, wondering what had caught his eye. The cabinet couldn’t be hiding anything; the glass door showed the entire interior. The shelves held two carved meerschaum pipes, a delicate porcelain floral decoration with the inscription “Souvenir de la Parys,” two mismatched jet buttons, and a copy of a Baerlen racetrack schedule from the previous year. All of them completely devoid of magic.

  He shook his head, then caught his breath. There it was again! Just a tiny glimmer, from the joint between the right front leg and the carved front of the bottom edge of the cabinet. The edge was quite deep, at least four inches.

  Dominic pulled gently
at the edge of the carving. To his surprise, it came out smoothly, revealing a simple drawer. Inside were some of the infamous Parysan postcards of cabaret dancers in various scandalous stages of undress and imaginative poses.

  “Have you found anything?” asked Gutrune.

  Dominic experienced a moment of pure panic. “Er, nothing of interest.” He stuffed the postcards back, hoping his shocked expression had not been noticed.

  There it was again! Only this time the glimmer of magic was stronger, and underneath the last of the postcards. Dominic lifted them away. On the bottom of the drawer was a complex magical seal. Now that he was looking more carefully, the depth of the drawer did not match the depth of the piece of carving. There was a second hidden compartment.

  Quick steps in the hallway made him look up sharply, but it was only Markus, returning with a bloodstained handkerchief held up like a trophy.

  “Got it!” he said, grinning.

  Dominic expected to feel irritation at the sight of him, but it was not as strong as before. Perhaps he was getting more accustomed. “What did you find?”

  “His blood,” Markus said with satisfaction. “I had to hurry before the crowds trampled all over it. Why aren’t you looking in the study? That’s where he’d be more likely to hide something,” he told Dominic, carefully tucking the handkerchief away.

  No, he was still irritated. “You cast a perimeter before you left. Don’t you remember?”

  Markus made a sound of disbelief. “You could cross it, you know. It’s only set for anyone trying to get in.”

  Dominic gritted his teeth. “That piece of information would have been very useful to know before you left. Besides, I found something.”

  Eyebrows raised, Markus went over to the cabinet. He cast a very amused look at Dominic when he saw the postcards, and Dominic felt his face go hot.

  “Not those. There’s a magical seal on a secret compartment underneath. It looks similar to the one I saw on the document packet from the Council. I think it is set to destroy the contents if the seal is not opened correctly.”