The Lantern-Lit City

by Vista McDowall

  Before Gwen could say anything more, a troop of soldiers in red tabards poured into the room, wielding pikes, swords, and crossbows. Their faces were masked by silver helms, and they rushed toward Wullum, their weapons seeking him.

  "Wullum!" Gwen cried.

  "Witchcraft!" shouted one of the soldiers. "Kill them!"

  A volley of bolts shot over the advancing soldiers. They clattered through Gwen to the floor, but Wullum fell to his knees. Four bolts pierced him in different places, and he stared desperately at them. "Go, Gwen."

  "Wullum!" she screamed, but the soldiers' pikes were upon them, slashing through her magical form and bloodying the floor with Wullum's ruined corpse.

  Gwen's magic pulled at her, and though she screamed, tried to stay with Wullum and hold him, she felt a wave of dizziness overcome her. Shutting her eyes, she let the working dissipate. Her Gaiar returned to its resting place. When she opened her eyes, she saw the garden again, and Mavian, still beside her, looking excited.

  "'Did it work?" he asked. "You looked like you were asleep."

  "He's dead," Gwen said numbly. "They killed him."

  "What?"

  "The Inquisition came, and they killed him. He's gone." Gwen's final memory of Wullum was not his laughter, or his joy in seeing her, but of his blank eyes staring up at her and his red blood tinging the ivory throne. She had watched him die, and did nothing to stop it from happening.

  Mavian and Gwen rushed back to her chambers. Gwen felt in a haze, confused why the world moved so normally around her when she felt so distant and tired. Wullum's death lingered before her eyes, white bone showing through dark skin and red blood.

  Druam ushered Gwen inside her rooms, concern etched in his body language.

  "What happened? Are you well?"

  "Wullum is dead," Mavian said when he saw that Gwen hadn't the strength to speak. "She saw him through a scrying spell. The Inquisition has taken control of Demarren."

  "You're sure?" Druam asked. Gwen nodded as she sank to a couch. Druam frowned. "I must confirm it. Gwen, my love, rest and do not think on it. Mavian, come with me."

  The men hurried away, conferring quietly between themselves. Gwen didn't care much. She didn't need confirmation to know that what she saw was real.

  Gwen curled up on a chair, trying to remember the Wullum from her youth. But each memory came tainted with blood: the recollection of their first horseback ride ended with an image of him dangling from the stirrups, eyes glassy; instead of joy and pride the day he was crowned Liegelord, she only saw him dead on the throne; his last hug, so strong and comforting before, yet his arms grew slack around her.

  She couldn't think of him without thinking of his death.

  His final moments pelted her mind. She could see each bolt that struck him, a tear falling for every one. The phantom pikes slashed him into the pool of red.

  I should have stopped it.

  It was all her fault. Her magic, and that of those like her, had brought the Trials upon Demarren. Her escape no doubt spurred his enemies into a frenzy. It was even possible that Ambassador Daghorn had sent word of her.

  Grief and self-loathing assaulted her. If she were more powerful, she could have stopped it. She could have called lightning from the skies or summoned monsters to take down the soldiers. Perhaps she could even have altered time. She could bring Wullum's soul back from the dead.

  Such wishes were futile. She hadn't the power to change the past.

  But, Gwen thought, feeling anger rising in her, perhaps I have the power to end those who destroyed my country. She sprang to her feet and rushed to her shelf of spell books. There, she found the one Mavian had warned her away from: Dunalan's Compendium. Her thoughts mired in anger and grief, Gwen clutched the book and ran from her rooms, her skirts swishing around her ankles. She sprinted through the long corridors, heedless of other nobles' shocked expressions. Running, running, she returned to the conservatory, pushing past a gardener who cried out for her to slow down.

  When she came to her sanctuary, she finally stopped. She sank to her knees and opened the book. In its pages, she found a curse of vengeance and destruction.

  This time, she did not sing a Demar lullaby or a Dotsch tune. From the very roots of Earda, a dreadful chanting song came to Gwen's lips. Her rage fed into her Gaiar, consuming her, all her limbs shaking from the force of it. As she sang, the hot fury built and built within her.

  Waves of invisible heat shuddered out from her, the air shimmering as red runes wrote themselves above Gwen's head. The runes were ancient, drawn from the power of beings as ancient as the Cythra. Plants nearby burst into flame, birds' calls turned into panicked shrieks.

  For a moment, Gwen reveled in her power. Soon, the Skals that did this would feel her righteous fury.

  Fire flowed around her, and her tender heart suddenly knew that this spell was wrong. It spoke to cruelty and pain, with no regard to the things it destroyed. Darkness surged through her, and she had to stop.

  But Gwen found she could not halt the spell. The working flowed from her lips, uncaring of her sudden desire to stop. It snatched her Gaiar from her without her consent. She tried to pull back, but the song ripped at her throat.

  Hot Gaiar rolled off her in all directions. The water in the pools bubbled as floating lilies withered into ash and frogs leapt in panic to meet their deaths in the air. Gwen tried to scream, but the awful song overpowered her. Her vision turned hazy and distorted.

  Remembering her first failed working, Gwen took all her strength and repeated the last phrase, over and over, holding the Gaiar within as best she could. She drew her magic back into herself as she chanted the singular phrase. The runes slowly stopped writing, simply hanging in the air. The heat pulled back into her, but now she felt as if she had a high fever all over. Her skin crackled and popped with sudden blisters.

  A cool hand descended on her shoulder, and, still chanting, she turned to see Druam. They stared at each other, the runes above them glowing hot as molten steel. Then he scooped her into his arms and carried her away. Gwen's magic boiled inside of her, desperate to be released, but she held on. Each moment threatened to lose her the battle with her own Gaiar.

  As Druam ran, he murmured comforting words that Gwen couldn't catch. Before they reached the doorway, Avallune appeared. He shouted an order at Druam, and Druam knelt, setting Gwen onto the cool floor. She panted, the repeated phrase like a drumbeat in her head. If she released it now, the working would take her and the entire conservatory with it.

  "She's tangled in her working," Avallune said. "Stand back."

  Though Druam obeyed, Gwen longed for his cool touch. She shuddered when Avallune laid his hands to her chest and head. He chanted the spell Mavian had used to help undo her working, but his was more powerful, more controlled. As he spoke, Gwen felt a chill shiver pass through her, seeking out her Gaiar and freezing it. Her chant now barely whispered, Gwen sought out the frozen pieces of Gaiar within her and gathered them back to herself. With each one, she could sense the curse's hold on her fading. At last, after what seemed to be candles since she had started the working, she released it.

  The heat in her dissipated, leaving only emptiness. She knew the runes had vanished, but the plants and animals which had perished by her curse could not so easily be mended. Gwen looked to Druam. "I'm so sorry. Are you hurt? Did it burn you?"

  "It didn't touch me," he said. "But you're covered in blisters. We must take you to a curate at once. Avallune, how did you know to come here?"

  "I could feel a vast, evil working, like a swarm of locusts spreading throughout the palace. I simply followed the Gaiar here; I'm glad I came in time. Any longer, and your lady would have completely lost the spell. It would have torn her apart and set half your palace aflame."

  "Why did you try to cast it?" Druam asked as he lifted Gwen once more. "What were you trying to do?"

  "I had to do something," Gwen murmured, her whole body aching as if a wyrm had fallen on top of her, h
er skin burning. "I couldn't let Wullum's death go unpunished."

  "Take her to rest," Avallune said. "My lady, your Gaiar is tender and volatile. You should not attempt to use it for at least two deshe, if not a month or longer. Your whole body is wracked with bad humors; you must rest to heal."

  "I will make sure she does," Druam said. "Avallune, tell no one what you saw here. Not even Mavian. We cannot let this spread farther."

  "As you wish it."

  As Druam carried Gwen back to her rooms, she said softly, "I have displeased you."

  "Shh, my love. Just rest."

  Though she was now safe from the working, Gwen hadn't any strength. Her heart slowed to a whisper, and her Gaiar shifted, as if it were draining from her like water from a dam. Before she fainted, she saw the glimmer of a silhouette in the corner of her eye. It had the form of an old woman. It beckoned to her, whispering, "Let the Sisters Three teach you, child. Come to the witches, for we know your true calling. We will help you have your vengeance."

  Chapter Forty

  Sandu

  OF ALL THE dungeons Sandu had ever seen, this one was certainly the nicest. An echo of the airy splendor above, the cell was large and clean with a sturdy oak door. Sandu's hands were tied to a beam nailed to the wall, his shoulders aching from the uncomfortable position. He had been stripped of everything but his breeches.

  They had let Sandu sleep on a mat of straw on the floor for a few days, though Sandu had lost track of how many had passed. The gaolers were kind enough, giving him bread and clean water twice a day, though none of them spoke to him. That morning, however, soldiers had come and tied him with rough rope to the well-worn beam. He'd been there for almost two candles now, alone and waiting. The longer he waited, the more difficult it became to breathe.

  A key scraped in the door's lock and the knight who had arrested Sandu stepped into the cell. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword as if Sandu, tied as he was, had any prayer in fighting him.

  "I saved the queen," Sandu said quickly. "There was someone else, a man, he–"

  "I'm not here to listen to your lies. We shall see how long you cling to falsehoods." The knight closed the door behind him.

  "What's your name? I like to know the names of those who unjustly torture me," Sandu said.

  "Silence." The knight strode over to Sandu and slapped him. Sandu's head jerked into the beam, bright lights flickering in his vision.

  "I think I've heard of you," Sandu said once the knight had backed away. He couldn't resist the verbal jabs; his mother had always told him his tongue would get him into trouble. "Sir Bearic, or Sir Eric, something like that. That's it, Sir Eric. Good, strong name. Suits the queen's dog."

  "Shut up, swine."

  "Slurs are unbecoming of a knight such as yourself." Sandu's rational side screamed at him to stop now before his sharp tongue led him to an early grave.

  "I said shut it, assassin." The knight's tone was dangerously soft.

  "I can honestly say I've never been called that before. Bastard, twat, ass, but never assassin. I'm far too kind for that sort of work."

  The knight raised his fist, and, with a sharp jab, punched Sandu's nose. It broke with a loud crack, and Sandu tasted blood as it squirted from his nostrils.

  "Let that serve as a lesson, you bastard," Sir Eric growled. "I don't want to hear another word from you that's not 'I confess.' Understood?"

  Sandu nodded, and resisted spitting blood at Sir Eric's face.

  "Lucky for you, I brought my tools with me," Sir Eric said. "I would have preferred the rack or the scavenger's daughter, but those are specialty pieces." Sir Eric carried an ominous-looking leather case. "Before I joined the royal guard, I was one of the Bloody Dwarves; the bloodiest, you might say. Had a knack for torture." The Bloody Dwarves were a mercenary company that had been forcefully disbanded years ago for its cruder methods.

  "Is Queen Seanna alright?" Sandu blurted.

  "She lives."

  "Good. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't getting tortured in vain for saving her life."

  "The queen herself requested this be done. Most lords dislike it, but she and I think it an excellent practice when done properly." Sir Eric opened the case and began arranging its contents on a table. Sandu couldn't see the table, though he heard the clinking of metal. "Yes, this shall do for now. Your official trial will be held after the Masque, and I am free to do what I like with you until then. Farewell."

  Sir Eric left his implements of torture lying out for Sandu to see. Sandu waited, expecting him to come back any moment, but he didn't. The tools caught his eye, and though Sandu tried to look away, he found he couldn't for long. He tried not to imagine what each one did, but his mind wandered there anyway. As time passed, he fought to keep his panic from rising. Remember Cara, he told himself. She'll find out you're here, she'll help you.

  Hanging there in the dungeon, Sandu wondered if Cara would even want him back. Last he had seen her, he had confessed to betraying her. Would she forgive him? Would she do as Tambrey had done and turn him away? Sandu choked back a sob, then laughed at himself. If there's any time to weep, it's this. He gave into the grief and fright, and cried openly. He mourned for the life he could have had with his wife had he not been so stupid. He wept for Cara and her hardships, and that he had made her life worse. If I'm freed, maybe I should just leave. She probably already thinks I'm dead. I shouldn't burden her again. Then Alex's words came to him, reminding him of how much Cara needed both of them. In the chill dungeon, though, Sandu found them hard to believe.

  A candle passed, then another, until evening came and went. Sandu's eyelids grew tired, and he shut them to catch just a bit of sleep...

  A bucket of water was upended on his head just as he was starting to drift off. The guard who held it grinned, then retreated back to the hallway. Every so often during the night, guards would come in, and if Sandu was sleeping, they would wake him with water, clashing their swords on their shields, or slapping him with the flat of their blades. After the sun had risen, Sir Eric returned. Sandu had had no rest, his shoulders felt as if they would tear from their sockets, his nose still hurt, dried blood caked his chin and chest, and he had driven himself mad looking at the metal tools on the table.

  Sir Eric wore only a pair of breeches and boots, his chest and arms bare. "I had a wonderful day yesterday, with three splendid meals. Sweet pasties with sugared fruit, cordial from the earl's personal store, meat dripping with grease. It was so very relaxing. How did you fare, Master Crin?"

  Sandu spat onto the floor. He had no energy for anything else.

  "That poorly? Well, the next few candles will be even worse for you."

  "What do you want from me?" Sandu asked, his voice hoarse. He had just noticed that Sir Eric carried a cat o' nine tails, a vicious whip with cut glass and stones tied to leather straps. It would tear his skin to shreds.

  Sir Eric lifted the whip, studying it. "I want a confession, Master Crin."

  "Wait," Sandu croaked. I don't want to be tortured, oh gods, I don't want it.

  "Tell me everything," the knight commanded.

  "Fine," Sandu said, his head hanging. "I was a member of the Peddler's Guild. I was sent to find Caralyn Gellder and bring her to my guild leader. I found her, and then we met up with a scholar named Alex. We traveled, we got separated, and I came here looking for them. I joined the Protectors because this was the only way into the palace.

  "The queen requested I go with her. You saw that. In her chambers, she kissed me. Then she just...left to take her bath. I wasn't sure what to do, so I was about to leave when I saw a shadow on the floor. I went to investigate, then I heard her scream. I rushed into her washroom. There was a man standing over her, drowning her. I pulled at him, then he ran into a servant's passage. I was trying to help the queen get up without violating her when you entered. Please, please, you must believe me. I don't know who the man was, but I'll help you find him. Ask Alexandro Strilu, bring him to me, he'll tell you
the truth of my story."

  The knight pondered a moment, his hand twitching the whip back and forth. At last he nodded. "I will bring Lord Strilu here, and he will determine what is to be done with you."

  Leaving his tools and whip, Sir Eric departed. Sandu let his head sink to his bloodied chest and bit back tears. He prayed that Alex was the Lord Strilu, or else he would certainly be headed to the gallows.

  Before he could close his eyes, Sandu felt an oddly familiar headache overwhelm his temples. It built up behind his eyes in spasms of dull pain, but he could do nothing to stop it. Just as his eyelids drooped, the old man appeared before him.

  Sandu glared, but hadn't the strength to do anything else.

  "Master Crin," said the blurred form of Laris Stanthorpe, "I know you're in the city. Why haven't you brought the girl yet?"

  The apparition paused, looking down at Sandu's restrained body. "Ah. Well, find a way to free yourself, then report to me."

  "Veck off," Sandu mumbled over a dry tongue.

  Laris shook his head. "Don't make this worse for yourself. Caralyn Gellder belongs to me, by all rights, and I will have her. Her conception was no easy feat, that I can tell you, and I refuse to allow a disobedient man to keep me from her. Either you send me a letter once you're freed, or I will personally have you killed as slowly as possible."

  Sandu licked his lips to retort, but the vision shimmered and vanished, leaving bright dots dancing across the cell walls.

  He had been dozing off and on when the door slammed open. Sir Eric strode in wearing full armor and looking extremely dissatisfied. Sandu recoiled from the knight's sour look. But then another man entered, his dirty blonde hair tousled.

  "Alex!" Sandu cried, straining against the ropes. "Alex, oh thank the gods, I promise I'll go to novum three times a quinn. Alex, I'm innocent, I was just trying to find you and Cara. Please, Alex, make them believe me."