All the Paths of Shadow

by Frank Tuttle

The Vonat glared. Meralda kept her smile, stepped aside, and motioned toward the laboratory.

  The Vonat stepped across the threshold. His companions moved to follow, but Meralda stepped in front of them, her hand uplifted.

  “Tradition demands that the mage may visit,” she said. “The rest of you may find ample seating on yonder stair.”

  The captain and three Vonats lifted their voices in protest.

  Meralda slammed the door.

  The Vonat turned at the sound. His face fell into a scowl.

  “How dare you refuse my countrymen entry,” he began.

  Meralda shrugged. “Tradition demands that the Vonat mage be given a tour of the laboratory. It says nothing about ambassadors or barons.”

  Humindorus bristled. His left eyelid began to twitch.

  “I am not accustomed to being spoken to in this fashion.”

  “How terrible. I suggest you lodge a formal complaint with your embassy. Now then.” Meralda turned and pointed to the rear of the laboratory. “Back there, you see the Royal Repository of Arcane Artifacts. Over there is the Royal Water Closet. Yonder sits my desk. The rather attractive chair is mine as well.” She put her hands on her hips and let her forced smile fall.

  “I believe that concludes your tour, Mage. I’m sure you have many other duties to attend. Please feel free to drop by again when Tirlin next hosts the Accords, in twenty years or so. Good day.”

  I may have pushed too far just then, Meralda thought. Indeed, the Vonat’s face was nearly purple with rage.

  Would he dare lift a hand against me here?

  “Insolent woman,” hissed the mage. “You know not who you abuse.”

  “Oh, I know perfectly well who I’m abusing,” said Meralda. She found her smile again. “I’ll not waste time pretending to be civil. Not on the likes of you. Show yourself out, won’t you? I have work to do. Mage’s work.”

  Meralda turned her back on the furious wizard, and marched toward her desk, counting the steps as she went.

  One, two, three…

  “We will meet again, girl. Oh yes. We will meet again.”

  Meralda waved briefly over her shoulder. She did not look back.

  Four, five, six…

  The laboratory doors were flung open with a bang. Booted feet stamped angrily from the room. Voices were raised outside, cut off as the doors slammed shut again.

  Meralda reached her desk and sagged against it.

  Mug’s leaves whipped as if in a windstorm. “What was that, mistress? If he wasn’t intent on murder before he certainly is now.”

  Meralda mopped sweat from her forehead and managed a grin. “Men who rage commit rash acts.”

  “Murder chief among them,” said Mug. He emulated a heavy sigh. “Wait. I recognize the raging quote. Tim the Horsehead, isn’t it?”

  Meralda nodded, glad Mug couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart.

  “Mistress. I hope you know what you’re doing. The man’s name means life-taker, remember? No telling how many mages he killed just to print that on his stationary.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Serve him tea, polish those ridiculous boots?” Meralda yanked back her chair and sat. “As long as his attention is on me, it’s not on the Tower. Heaven help us all if he finds the curseworks and realizes what they are.”

  “I am taking every effort to ensure that does not happen,” said the Tower. The image in the glass shimmered and showed Humindorus Nam’s thin back stamping down the stair, his cloak flapping behind him like a pair of furled wings. “You should note, however, that the wizard left behind a listening charm when you turned your back.”

  Mug squealed. The Tower continued. “Nameless rendered it useless. He has heard nothing.”

  “Thank you, Nameless,” said Meralda. A shadow flitted across the ceiling.

  A furious knock sounded at the door. “Mage!” cried the captain. “Meralda! Are you all right?”

  “Come in,” cried Meralda. “I’m fine.”

  The captain and the Bellringers spilled through the door. Meralda turned in her chair to face them.

  “What the devil…?” began the captain.

  “I wanted a word with the mage, Captain. Alone.”

  The captain bit back his response. Tervis and Kervis exchanged glances, but took their hands off their sword hilts.

  “He wasn’t rude to you, was he, ma’am?” asked Kervis.

  “No more than I expected.” Meralda shook her head. “I am the mage to Tirlin,” she said. “I appreciate your concern. I do, really. But I’m neither helpless nor foolish.”

  “No.” The captain took in a great breath. “Forgive me, Mage Ovis. You know what you’re doing.”

  Meralda smiled. “You need not apologize for being concerned, Captain. I’m concerned too. Which is why I’ll ask you to assign as many keen eyed young men as you can spare to follow our Vonat friend about for the remainder of the Accords.”

  The captain tilted his head. “You know of course that we’re already doing that.”

  “I suspected as much. Have these young men of yours been seen?”

  “Not once. They’re very good.”

  “Then assign a few with less skill. Encourage them to keep a safe distance. Just make sure the Vonat knows his movements are being watched.”

  The captain grinned. “Consider it done, Mage. Anything else?”

  “Coffee. Lots of coffee.” Meralda sighed. “And bring me a proper dagger. Not fancy or ornamental. One that fits in a boot.”

  The captain nodded, all humor gone. “At once. Tervis, fetch the mage her coffee. I’ll stand watch in your place.”

  The captain winked, and the trio backed through the doors, closing them softly behind them.

  The pot of coffee was empty when the Bellringers accompanied Fromarch through the laboratory doors.

  The aging wizard bore a box of jelly filled pastries from Flayne’s and a moth eaten burlap bag.

  “Ho, Mage,” he said, opening the box and offering the contents to Meralda. “Oh, go on, take one. You could use a bit of flesh on those skinny bones. Hello, houseplant. You’re looking as leafy as ever.”

  Mug returned a mock salute. “Mage. Grey fur suits you.”

  Fromarch chuckled and bowed toward Goboy’s glass. “Tower. I don’t believe we’ve met, formally.”

  “Mage,” said the Tower. “Greetings.”

  Fromarch nodded gravely. “After all these years. You could have said hello before, you know. I wouldn’t have charged off telling the papers.”

  The Tower had no reply. Fromarch shrugged and grabbed a pastry. “Well, if you’re not going to eat them I will, Meralda. Cost me a bloody five pence, you know.”

  Meralda rolled her eyes, but selected a cherry filled donut and bit into it.

  She closed her eyes, savoring the flavor. “I had forgotten how good these are.”

  “You’ve likely forgotten to eat at all today, I’ll wager,” muttered Fromarch. He wiped his lips on his sleeve. “But I’m not your mother. Came to fill this bag. Do you want to know what with?”

  “Will knowing cause me to lose sleep?”

  “Without a doubt. You said cause trouble. That’s what our daft Eryan friend and the old Hang gentleman intend to do. We need a few things from the shelves. Bad things.” The old wizard’s face split into a rare grin. “Bad, bad things.”

  Meralda swallowed and raised her hands. “Take what you need. I don’t want to know.”

  “Not even a hint?”

  “Not even a hint.”

  Fromarch nodded. “Well, you might want to release the wards on aisle eight,” he said. “Lots of bad things there.”

  Aisle eight. The relics from the second century. The Vonat War. Meralda forced a nod and rose, heading for the ward sigils hidden behind a false stone to the left of the doors.

  “Oh. The red crate on the north wall. I’ll want in that, too.”

  Meralda spoke the words that revealed the row of hidden sigils, and then traced th
e release pattern on the aisle eight ward.

  “The red crate? The one every mage since the two hundreds has been warned never to open?”

  “Always wanted to see what was in that bugger,” said Fromarch. “If we don’t know, the Vonats certainly don’t. It feels like a night for surprises, don’t you agree?”

  Meralda bit her lip. “Are you sure about this?”

  “’Fraid so, Mage. We’re up against Hang magic we don’t understand. We need something they aren’t expecting.”

  Meralda spoke the word and traced a glowing pattern in the air.

  “Done,” she said. Another word hid the sigils. Meralda turned, but Fromarch was already disappearing among the shelves, humming a merry tune as he made for aisle eight.

  “Good luck,” said Meralda. Fromarch shouted something unintelligible back in reply.

  The Tower spoke. “The contents of the red crate are known to me,” it began.

  “Will the contents wreak havoc on Tirlin and visit upon us widespread destruction this very night?”

  “No. They are…”

  Meralda made a motion for silence. “I don’t want to know, Tower. Unless you think the mages can’t control it.”

  “Their combined skills should prove sufficient.”

  “Then let’s get back to work. I have an idea about the damaged tethers. I need to know how they maintain their spacing, as they rotate.”

  Meralda found her chair and sank back into it. The box of pastries sat on a corner of her desk, still open, the scent of fresh donuts wafting from it.

  Meralda grabbed another and bit into it.

  The Tower chuckled and began to speak, drawing symbols and equations in the glass as it did so.

  Meralda counted chimes and stretched as four hundred and ninety-six timekeeping devices in the laboratory chimed out nine o’clock, all at once.

  Nine o’clock. I must get a better chair, thought Meralda. Something with a cushion.

  Above her came the faint sound of beating wings. Shadows flitted across the ceiling.

  “One comes,” said the Tower. “Donchen. The Hang.”

  “Is he perhaps pushing a silver cart?”

  “Just so,” said the Tower. “I shall conceal myself.”

  Meralda stood. “No. Not this time. He’s either a friend and ally, or he’s not. I believe he means no harm. Do you concur?”

  Mug surprised Meralda by remaining quiet.

  “As you wish, Mage Ovis.”

  There came a knock at the door. “Supper,” called Kervis. “Smells good, ma’am.”

  Meralda rose and opened the doors. Donchen, clad in his purloined kitchen garb, greeted her with a wide smile.

  “Hungry, Mage?”

  “Famished,” said Meralda. “Do come in.”

  Donchen handed bags to the Bellringers, and then pushed his cart inside.

  “Fascinating,” he said, peering into the glass as Tower caused a drawing of the tethers and the curseworks to spin and move. “And those have been there, deadly but unseen, for most of Tirlin’s history?”

  Meralda nodded. Donchen’s meal, four courses, appetizers and a dessert, was making her eyes heavy. As if sensing her thoughts, Donchen rose nimbly to his feet, rummaged about in his serving cart, and finally withdrew a silver carafe and a pair of dainty white cups.

  “Coffee?” asked Meralda.

  “Coffee is sadly lacking compared to Hang beverages,” replied Donchen. “But I hope you will find this equally invigorating. We call it chai-see. It’s a tea, of sorts, made from the leaves of a plant with a variety of therapeutic properties.” He sat the cups down amid the remains of the meal and poured both nearly full.

  “To your health, Mage Ovis.”

  Meralda lifted her cup. The aroma from it was minty and sharp, reminding her of Shingvere’s sweet sticks melted and mixed with cinnamon.

  Donchen drank, and Meralda sipped at hers before smiling and drinking half the cup in a single delicious gulp.

  “I knew you’d like it.” Donchen’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll see that a tin or three makes its way to your door, Mage. I’ll be violating a number of export acts by doing so, of course.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Mug stifled a small gagging sound. Donchen chuckled and lowered his cup.

  “As long as I’m breaking my homeland’s laws, Mage, I might as well give you this, as well.” He reached into his shirt and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “Each of these persons had a butterfly relaxing on their doors or windows this afternoon,” he added. “Some are Hang. Some are Vonat. Some, I fear, are Tirls.”

  Meralda took the paper.

  “I would be most appreciative if that list found its way to both your king and my countryman, Loman,” said Donchen. “Of course, you need not tell Loman where you got it. After all, ghosts can’t make lists of traitors, can they?”

  “How many names?”

  “Thirty-seven. Nineteen are Vonats. Twelve, sadly, are my countrymen, arrived with me. Six are Tirlish, of various stations, mostly palace staff simply paid to look the other way so spells can be laid. Disturbing, is it not?”

  “Deeply.” Meralda put the list in her desk.

  Donchen merely nodded and refilled her cup.

  The Hang tea banished the heaviness from Meralda’s limbs and left her feeling, if not fresh and alert, at least not weary and sluggish.

  By the time Donchen’s tea was gone, she and the Hang had covered three large pages of drawing paper with notes, and Meralda was finally beginning to see how the curseworks had remained in motion about the flat for so long without failing.

  She caught herself chewing on the end of her pencil and blushed at Donchen’s grin. “So each cursework is actually falling.”

  The Hang nodded. “But doing so sideways. That’s the part I can’t understand.”

  Meralda stabbed at a corner of the topmost paper with her pencil. “It’s right here,” she said. “He put a right angle on gravity. On gravity.” She shook her head. “History just tells us the man was ruthless and powerful. But he was brilliant, more than anything else he might have been. The man turned gravity on its side just to make his spell more efficient.”

  “Thus keeping the entire structure turning without requiring a latched spell of any kind,” said the Tower. “Well done, Mage Ovis. That single surmise escaped me for seven centuries.”

  Mug blew a fanfare of trumpets and bugles until Meralda silenced him with a glare.

  “But we’re no closer to repairing it than we were an hour ago. Tower, how long until the tethers fail?”

  “Two hundred and eight hours, Mage. Give or take seven hours.”

  Donchen pointed to the image in the glass. “The damage to the tethers seems irreparable, at least to my untrained and ignorant eye.”

  “Hah,” said Mug. “Untrained. Ignorant. Pull the other leg, won’t you?”

  Donchen pretended not to hear.

  “It seems to me, though, that Mage Ovis has a certain detailed understanding of the structures involved.”

  Meralda shook her head. “I’m a long way from being able to repair them,” she said. “Certainly longer than two hundred hours.”

  Donchen nodded assent. “Repairing them seems an impossible task.”

  “I must concur,” said the Tower. “Perhaps it is time to consider an evacuation of the city and surrounding countryside.”

  “If the tethers cannot be repaired, they must be replaced,” said Donchen. He turned to face Meralda. “Do you agree, Mage Ovis?”

  Shivers ran up and down Meralda’s spine. “He laid gravity on its side,” she said, quietly. “I am not Otrinvion. I could live to be five hundred and I still wouldn’t be Otrinvion.”

  “No. But you are Meralda Ovis. You enchanted Mug to life when you were thirteen. You entered college that same year. You alone, of all Tirlin’s mages, found the Tower’s secret. We believe in you, Mage Ovis. Now you must only find a belief in yourself.”

  “W
hat he said,” piped Mug. “Who says you couldn’t make right-side up go sideways? You figured out a way to bend sunlight just a few days ago.” Mug sent his eyes toward Meralda. “You can do this, mistress. You’ve got to. I despise the country. Bloody bugs everywhere.”

  Meralda took a deep breath. First thing I do, she decided, is put a picture of Tim the Horsehead in here. Right where I can see it. That way, if I have any more moments like this, I can look Tim right in his big brown horse eyes and think to myself ‘Tim managed, and the man could only neigh.’

  “All right,” she said loud. “Tower, how are the tethers attached to the curseworks?”

  Night fell, and Meralda worked. Dawn found her asleep at her desk. The captain came with letters from the king, and departed with a copy of Donchen’s list and an explanation that the Tirls listed should quietly be directed to duties far beyond the palace.

  Meralda sent Donchen’s original note to Fromarch, ordering Kervis to place it in Fromarch’s hand and no one else’s.

  “He’ll ask me where I got it,” said Kervis. “What do I tell him?”

  “Tell him a stranger slipped it under my door,” said Meralda. “Tell him we caught sight of a fat man dressed all in a white-trimmed red coat running down the stair, and that moments later we heard reindeer on the roof.”

  Kervis ogled. “Father Yule?”

  Meralda nodded gravely. “That’s as good as any, Guardsman. Say that and nothing more.”

  I wonder what will happen to the Hang on the list, Meralda wondered, when Loman learns of this. Which he surely will. She considered asking Donchen, but then rejected the idea. It’s really no concern of mine.

  Or is it, said a little voice deep in her mind, that you don’t want to risk angering Donchen by asking him?

  Meralda felt herself blushing. “Nonsense,” she muttered, stabbing at the paper with her pencil. “Nonsense.”

  “Mistress?”

  “Nothing, Mug. I’m just tired.”

  “No surprise there. Shall I send for more coffee?”

  Meralda sighed. How many pots, in the last few days?

  “Why not,” she said. “Send for two.”