The Last Mage Guardian

by Sabrina Chase

“Yes,” said the old sofon, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. Once again she had the feeling he was responding on more than one level. “It represents Zanathil, the Tree of Life, the center of all that we are. Look up. Tell me what you see.”

  Ardhuin tilted her head back, lifting her veil to see better. Now light was shining through the leaves, and there were patterns. Shapes.

  “Two birds, flying over a mountain,” she said. The sofon nodded, looking thoughtful.

  “And you?” he said, looking at Dominic.

  “A hand, placed on the blade of a sword.” Dominic looked puzzled. “Where are the birds?”

  “Each person sees what is needed to draw closer to wisdom,” the sofon said, smiling gently. “These are symbols of our belief. It is said that all but one of the hundred are shown somewhere in the leaves—but we do not know which one is missing. No one has ever seen them all.” He was silent for a moment, apparently lost in contemplation. “You wished to speak with me.”

  Dominic explained their plan to conceal the defenders within the Closure.

  The sofon raised his eyebrows. “This would encourage conflict and violence that might be otherwise avoided,” he replied, with a note of disapproval. “Is there a reason to permit this?” He looked steadily at Ardhuin.

  “I am afraid this is but one battle in a larger war,” she said hesitantly. “We believe the attack on your people is being used as a pretext to create cover for a greater attack on Preusa, and perhaps beyond. You will be protected as best we can in either case, but if we can trick this enemy into thinking he is not expected, we may be able to defeat him.” She felt guilty, knowing that what she was asking for was more likely to end with people getting hurt, but the larger responsibility weighing down on her gave her little choice.

  “The people will be fearful,” the sofon said. “I hear what you are saying, but they are in my care.” He thought for a moment. “I will send one or two of my people to remain by each group, to reassure any who may fear. Let them wait until my people come, and then they may come within.”

  With that Ardhuin had to be content, although she was starting to worry that there would not be enough time to arrange things as the sofon wished.

  She went outside with Dominic. An old woman came by with a pot of some kind of hot mulled drink, and Ardhuin was glad to have it. The night was clear, the half-full moon visible in the sky, and it was very cold. A messenger informed them the defenders were now inside the gate, and as the hours went by she began to worry that nothing was going to happen. Had the defenses been discovered? Had they never intended to attack the Closure at all?

  And then there was Dominic, always nearby. She was too tense and nervous for anything more than ordinary conversation, but she was glad he was here. Just his presence gave her confidence. Alone, she would have left long ago.

  She heard quick, energetic footsteps on the cobbled street, and Markus appeared.

  “There you are! Waiting is dull work, is it not? A pity we do not have more precise information, but that is the nature of war.”

  The word sent a chill up Ardhuin’s spine. War. Yes, that was what was going on here, only they did not know who their enemy was.

  “Speaking of which—did you ever make use of the blood you found from von Gerling?” Dominic asked. “I assume you intended to do a location spell.”

  “Exactly right, and I did so. Unfortunately, he had already run beyond the range of the spell when I cast it. If he comes back, I’ll know.”

  “Is it possible to make the spell itself seek him out?” Dominic wondered, and both he and Markus looked at Ardhuin.

  She considered for a moment, intrigued by the idea. Something was distracting her, and she concentrated until she recognized what it was.

  Shouting.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked. Markus nodded, his face suddenly serious. “Where is it coming from?”

  “It’s hard to tell. I think the main entrance,” Markus said. He left at a run. Ardhuin followed with Dominic. They caught up with the defensive magician a few minutes later. He was speaking with Gutrune von Kitren. “A mob has attacked the main entrance, but it is being handled quite well by the students. No more than a hundred of them.”

  “I wonder if Jochim has injured himself yet,” commented Dominic. “It would have been different if they had any firearms, I suppose.”

  Markus gave a sardonic smile. “Students are not permitted firearms. In fact, they are generally not permitted in the city, with the exception of the army and a few individuals,” he said, grinning at Gutrune.

  A young man ran their direction, shouting. As he got closer, Ardhuin could hear him saying, “Herr Asgaya! Herr Asgaya!”

  “Here!” Markus shouted. The young man skidded to a stop.

  “Grunbaum sends...magical attack. Fleischerstrasse.” He gasped and continued. “He said...saw something...north too.”

  Multiple attacks. Magical. Ardhuin’s blood ran cold. The war had begun in earnest, and it was coming here.

  “Go find out what that is. I will go to Fleischerstrasse,” Ardhuin said, surprised at her own decisiveness. “Take me there,” she ordered the young man, who gaped at her, then turned and started running again.

  She followed as quickly as she could. There was a strange, metallic scent in the air as she got closer, and a flickering orange glow ahead. Fire.

  The shouting was turning to screams. Now she could see a line of people forming a bucket brigade, and others scattering and running. Something rumbled, making the ground shake, and the metallic smell grew stronger.

  “Ardhuin! Look up!” Dominic yelled. He pointed to something she couldn’t see. “It’s a fire shell!”

  For a dangerous second she wondered how he knew what one was, and then she reacted. Fire shells were most dangerous if they made contact. Dissolve the field holding the power and it dissipated. Dominic was still pointing, so she aimed her counterspell that way.

  “Any more?” He shook his head, scanning the sky again.

  More salvos of fire shells came, one after the other. In the dark she relied entirely on Dominic’s magical sight. From the corner of her eye she could see one house completely ablaze, and the crowd desperately trying to keep the fire from spreading.

  The rumbling grew louder. She heard a shot, then another. Hadn’t Markus said firearms were rare in the city?

  Gutrune had a gun.

  “Keep looking!” she shouted to Dominic, and took him by the elbow. Which way had the shots come from?

  She ran down the street with Dominic beside her. There was Gutrune, a smear of soot down one side of her face and a strand of pale hair falling over her eyes, calmly reloading her pistol while crouched down behind a well. In the road ahead, slowly rolling in a flowing, molten way, was a ball of flame.

  The heat that radiated from it was like a blow. Anything close to it caught fire within seconds.

  There was a well....

  “Gutrune! Get away!”

  All the water she could move, as fast as possible, everywhere it would go. Surrounding the molten ball, putting out the fires. Ardhuin felt the sweat sting her eyes.

  Something tugged her sleeve. “More shells! Coming in low!”

  She could feel the strain now, the familiar tingle of overload. How long had she been fighting? Just enough power to disable the fire shells while keeping the pool of water surrounding the molten ball. One of the fire shells got through, but the ball remained motionless. She couldn’t do both again, though.

  She saw Markus and called to him. “Keep the water in place!” He nodded, and she let her power withdraw. The water pooled down for a minute, but Markus, face working with effort, managed to bring it up again.

  There were two more fire shell attacks. She had no strength to wonder at them any more. She could barely stand. Then she realized they had stopped, and with Dominic supporting her, they went through the Closure. Fires could be contained with stasis fields, smothering in their own smoke. She did as ma
ny as she could, and then directed any magician who was at hand.

  She found herself staring at the sky, wondering if the whole world had caught fire, then realized. It was dawn. And someone was telling her the fight was over. They had won.

  Dominic wearily went up the stairs of the Imperial Palace. His clothes reeked of smoke, and he was sure he presented a frightening appearance. The servants were well trained, however, and showed nothing when they encountered him. He saw Ardhuin go into her rooms, and combined relief and fatigue nearly buckled his knees.

  Sleep. There was his bed, and there was the defensive magician assigned to guard him. First, though, he had to wash the soot off his face and out of his hair.

  The cold water felt wonderful, even though he found more than one cinder burn when he dried his face.

  The defensive magician still stood by the door. Dominic wondered for a moment why he seemed different. There was magic, of course, but wouldn’t there be magic if he had just cast the wards, and....

  There were no wards.

  Illusion.

  He spun around, but not fast enough. The blow caught him on the side of the head, and he fell into darkness.

  Chapter 14

  Ardhuin brushed her hair vigorously, sighing when she saw the ash and cinders that fell from her brush, and trying to ignore the beginnings of a headache. It hardly felt like she had slept at all. “I wish I had time to wash it,” she complained. “I was even wearing my hat. How did all that get in?”

  “You did not notice the wind caused by the fires,” Gutrune said, handing her a hairpin. “They will understand any deviation from perfect grooming, given the situation. Matters are still urgent.” She sat up a little straighter on the bed. “Von Stangen was found outside the Closure.”

  Ardhuin dropped her hands from her head, and her hair escaped from its arrangement. “Well then! We suspected he was behind this. Is that why Herr Asgaya left in such a hurry?”

  Gutrune took the hairpin back from her, stood, and started arranging Ardhuin’s hair herself. It was a much more elegant look than Ardhuin had ever been able to create. “He was behind some of it, but not all. I do not know all the details, but they found that much early this morning. It was the blood-seeking spell that uncovered him,” she said, placing another hairpin with precision.

  “I had thought that was for von Gerling,” she said, hesitantly.

  In the mirror, she saw Gutrune’s face tighten momentarily. “It was. More precisely, for the rest of von Gerling’s blood. There was a splash of it on von Stangen’s boots.”

  Ardhuin sat frozen while Gutrune completed her coiffure. It was unlikely that a man of von Stangen’s stature would be wearing the same dirty boots for days on end. If the blood was fresh, it implied von Gerling had bled from a more recent wound. She shivered. They must have been very angry with him.

  “How do they know von Stangen is not the main conspirator?” she asked finally.

  “I was not told,” Gutrune said. “It was mentioned to me just before I was sent to bring you.”

  Ardhuin took another look in the mirror, sighed, and decided there was no point in delaying. It was depressing to think they had not solved the problem, but then, perhaps they were mistaken and von Stangen really was the source of all the attacks. She would have to see for herself.

  Two defensive magicians waited outside. She didn’t recognize either of them. They looked annoyed. One complained in a rapid spate of Preusan Ardhuin could not follow. Gutrune turned to look at her, her usual cool, noncommittal expression on her face.

  “Have you sent Herr Kermarec on any errand? They complain that he has left without notifying them. Again.”

  Ardhuin shook her head, staring at the magicians wordlessly. Her denial seemed to dismay them.

  “Where is the one who stayed with him last night?” she asked.

  The question made the defensive magicians even more agitated and incomprehensible.

  “They cannot find his guard. It is against procedure. The schutzmagus is required to notify his relief if...that is why they thought you had sent Herr Kermarec outside the palace. Neither he nor his guard were in the room when these gentlemen arrived.”

  Frowning, Ardhuin went down the hallway to Dominic’s rooms. The door was ajar, but likely the others had left it so. She went in.

  The room was orderly and empty. The brushes and shaving gear on the washstand were arranged precisely. She felt them; they were dry. Ardhuin turned slowly, searching for something she could not name. Her heart was pounding, her knees weak.

  A glimpse of color, half-hidden under the bed caught her attention. She stooped quickly and picked it up: a book with a blue leather binding. The pages were creased, as if the book had been dropped while open. One page was even torn.

  Sudden, unreasoning terror filled her mind, overwhelming any thought but that Dominic would never, ever treat a book in this way. And he was missing.

  She gathered her power and sent it streaming away, more than she had ever used at once before, seeking the emerald rose pin she had given him.

  She could not find it.

  Dominic realized he was awake because his head hurt. He had no idea where he was—it was pitch dark, chilly, and the air had a smell that reminded him of the cells below the Kriegszauberkollegium. Metallic.

  He was lying down on some kind of bed. When he made an effort to rise, he had to collapse again from weakness. There was a clinking noise when he did. Chains?

  Where was he? What had happened? He had flashes of memory, sensations that he couldn’t patch together. Cold, but a chilly, damp kind of cold not at all like the freezing air outside. Swaying, being carried, and icy drops of water landing on his face. Sharp, lancing pain in his forearm.

  Where had he been last? The Closure. Fighting an attack with Ardhuin. He drew a sharp breath, fear driving out the last of his mental confusion. No, he hadn’t been captured there. They’d gone back to the palace. She was safe.

  Wasn’t she?

  Someone had attacked him there. He strained to remember what had happened for some time in the cold and dark, until a scraping noise caught his attention. A line of light appeared—a door. And a human shape in that light.

  The sudden contrast of light and dark blinded Dominic for a moment. He blinked as his eyes adjusted. Now he could tell he was in a small, strangely dark room with no furniture save the bed he lay on. The figure entered, and strong, impersonal hands lifted his arm, the same one that had felt the pain before. With movement the pain returned. The same hands turned his face one way, then the other. Dominic had no strength to resist, or even talk.

  “It is too cold,” the figure said in a resonant voice, speaking Gaulan as a native of Parys would. “Henri, a brazier this instant. Has he eaten?”

  “No, my lord. He was not awake.” This was said by someone outside, in a shaky, thin voice.

  “He is awake now. Some bouillon at first. He will not be able to keep anything more down at present.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Footsteps faded away.

  “I must give you credit for your efforts against me, even though I cannot permit them to continue,” said the Parysan voice softly. “Your talents are wasted with the tattered remnants of the Alliance. Fortunately, you have provided me with a means to repair my losses. Pray do not take it personally. Although I am your adversary, I hold you in great respect. We will talk when you are more recovered.”

  Dominic heard sounds of movement, and the light from the open door disappeared with a solid clunk. Despite his fear and confusion, his fatigue was strong enough that he dozed again, only to be awakened as the door scraped open.

  Either he was stronger, or the light was better. An older man, dressed as an upper servant, brought in a charcoal brazier with both hands. He placed it on the floor near the head of the bed, left, and returned with a lamp and a bowl. He assisted Dominic to sit up, and then proceeded to feed him a spoonful at a time, never looking him in the eyes or speaking.

  The bo
uillon was good, and Dominic was starving. He did wonder why he was being so well cared for. He felt much better, and looked more carefully at the man holding the bowl—Henri? The man had a long, drawn face with lines of worry, and something about him....

  Dominic gasped, and Henri’s gaze flicked up to his face. A geas, strong and powerful, was visible in a light haze over the man’s head. Still silent, Henri gathered up the bowl and lamp and turned to leave.

  As he shut the door, he gave Dominic a sudden, burning look of mingled pain and reproach. His lips trembled.

  Dominic shifted and heard the chains again. He felt at his wrists, and found that thick metal bands encased them. A chain was attached to the shackles, and from that chain another went to the wall.

  Why was he a prisoner? He had been captured by the enemy Ardhuin had been fighting all this time, but why had they not tried to capture her? Fear spiked through him. Perhaps they had. Or perhaps they thought to use him in some way against her.

  The brazier made the little room much more comfortable, and he fell asleep, wondering why Henri had looked at him with such reproach.

  Dominic awoke much later, still in total darkness. He had no way of telling exactly how long he had been asleep, or how long he had been imprisoned, but his stomach indicated the bowl of bouillon had been some time ago.

  He was able to sit up now, and he did so. Searching the room by feel, he discovered the bed he was on was only a metal frame with a thin mattress. The walls and floor of his prison were metal, too, and he shook his head, puzzled. He explored the dull ache in his left forearm. The cuff of his shirt was unfastened, and his arm was bandaged just above his wrist. His head had a painful bump on the back, too, but that had not been bandaged. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes from the night of the Closure attack.

  How long had it been? He felt his face. Rough, but no more than a day or two of growth. He let his hand fall with relief, and his sleeve snagged on something rough on his chest.

  For a moment he was startled, then he remembered. The emerald rosebud stickpin Ardhuin had given him—for just such a situation as this. She would find him. Was that what the enemy wanted? Was that why he was still alive?