Full Circle

by Christopher Nuttall

  Elaine nodded, recalling the spells the Inquisitors used. The chains would be charmed to make any attempt to break them doomed to failure, perhaps even to kill the person they held if they were overwhelmed with stronger magic. She placed her hand on the lock for a long moment and muttered a charm so old she had a feeling even the Inquisitors didn’t know it any longer. The charm faded away into nothingness; she worked a second spell and opened the locks, releasing Johan. He gave her a tight hug as he sat upright, but there was no real feeling in it. It would be hours, perhaps days, before he recovered the ability to feel.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Elaine said. “You’ll be better soon.”

  “I told Charity that the Witch-King swapped minds with Deferens whenever he wanted to issue orders,” Johan said, as he lay down on the ground. “Did she believe me?”

  “Someone must have killed the Emperor,” Elaine said. Charity? It was possible, at least; Deferens would never have regarded her as a true threat. And if she genuinely believed that she was striking at the Witch-King, rather than Deferens, her oaths wouldn’t have stopped her. “The Inquisitors are free.”

  “Good,” Daria said. She sniffed the air as thunder cracked outside. “The battle is growing nastier.”

  “They might think we were to blame,” Johan said, grimly. A spell burnt through the tent over their heads and vanished through the other side of the canvas. “What if they try to kill us?”

  Elaine groaned. The Emperor was dead … and yet, they were still in a mess. She briefly considered trying to sneak out of the tent, but it would run the risk of being caught up in the fighting. The gods alone knew what the Inquisitors would think. They’d know her as a Privy Councillor, she knew, but they swore their oaths to the Emperor and the Grand Sorcerer. The only person who might be able to talk to them on even terms was Dread.

  The tent shook violently, then tore open. Three black-clad Inquisitors strode through the gash in the canvas, their eyes flashing with deadly fire. Elaine looked up at them and carefully held out her hands to reveal they were empty, hoping that both Johan and Daria would have the sense not to do anything that looked threatening. The Inquisitors had been through hell, forced to watch as Deferens made a mockery of their duties. They wouldn’t be in a good mood.

  “Lady Elaine,” the lead Inquisitor said. His eyes flashed over her face for a long moment, silently confirming her identity. “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to free my apprentice,” Elaine said, as he motioned her to her feet. “The Emperor is dead, right?”

  “Correct,” the Inquisitor said.

  “And she’s a Privy Councillor,” Daria said, sharply. “That puts her in charge, doesn’t it?”

  The Inquisitor frowned. “There is nothing about this that is regular,” he said, after a moment of thought. “Technically, I think we would have to find the next Grand Sorcerer.”

  “But in the interim between Grand Sorcerers, the Privy Council is in charge,” Daria pressed, her voice hardening. She’d been betting on the outcome, Elaine recalled suddenly. “And as Elaine is the last one standing, that puts her in charge.”

  The Inquisitor smiled. “For the moment,” he said, bowing his head. “Lady Elaine, I am Inquisitor Dolman. I am at your service.”

  Elaine breathed a sigh of relief as she tried to think what to do. She’d planned to sneak Johan out of the camp … not take command. Hell, she hated being in command. Vane had served as her spokeswoman in the Great Library because she’d disliked facing the population. But she didn’t have any choice.

  “I need to know what’s going on,” she said, as the other Inquisitors bowed and left the tent, heading for the sound of battle. “What happened?”

  Dolman tilted his head slightly, silently communicating with his fellows. “The Emperor was stabbed by Charity Conidian, who is currently in the Royal Tent under guard. We were free at once and attacked the red-robes before they could react to the sudden change. Most of them are dead now; the remainder have rallied the loyalists and retreated towards the Runnymede Gap. The conscripts are either in confusion or running into the countryside. We have secured the dragon pens and the twelve remaining dragons, but their riders are dead.”

  Elaine nodded, slowly. “Send a messenger to Ida,” she ordered, after a moment. “Inform Dread that …”

  Dolman caught her arm. “Dread survived?”

  “Sort of,” Elaine said, carefully. She wasn’t sure how the Inquisitors would react to a powerless Dread. “Inform him that the Emperor is dead and request he come down at once to take command of the remains of the army.”

  “Yes, My Lady,” Dolman said.

  “I can take the message,” Daria volunteered. “They’d be more likely to listen to me than a stranger anyway.”

  “Good point,” Elaine said, after a moment. She looked at Dolman. “The Witch-King came to this camp, I assume. What happened to him?”

  “The skeleton, I assume,” Dolman said. “He’s no god, is he?”

  “No,” Elaine said. “Just a monster.”

  “He walked off towards the Gap,” Dolman said. “We don’t know where he went afterwards.”

  Elaine had a nasty suspicion she knew the answer, but there was nothing that could be done about it, at least not now. “I need to speak to Charity,” she said. “Please escort me to her tent.”

  The camp looked as if a firestorm had struck it, she saw as they stepped out of the tent. A dozen tents were flaming ruins; hundreds of bodies lay everywhere, mainly red-robed magicians or personal guardsmen. Elaine winced as she saw a couple of dead Inquisitors, then frowned as she looked towards the soldiers. The conscripts, mostly terrified young men, were being watched carefully by the Inquisitors. They looked as though they expected to be marched to their own executions at any moment.

  We’ll have to do something about them, Elaine thought, grimly. But what?

  She looked at Dolman, who seemed unperturbed by the violence. “What happened to the cities?”

  “The Emperor looted them for men and materials he needed for the army,” the Inquisitor said, flatly. “It will be a long time before any of them recover.”

  If they ever do, Elaine thought, as they reached the tent. The Witch-King may have his own ideas about how to deal with them.

  Dolman paused, reaching for the flap. “Do you want messages announcing the Emperor’s death sent to the other kingdoms, My Lady? It might delay civil war.”

  Elaine looked at Johan, who shrugged. It might delay civil war, but it wouldn’t heal the damage Vlad Deferens had done to the Empire. His army had made itself supremely unpopular; by now, she couldn’t really blame any of the kingdoms for declaring independence and building up armies of their own. How could she hold it together when someone as powerful as Light Spinner had failed in far more favourable circumstances?

  And the Witch-King will already know Deferens is dead, she thought. There was no logical reason to keep it a secret from everyone else. Besides, she had a feeling that rumours were already spreading, just to keep the pot boiling. We might as well try.

  “Send a message announcing the Emperor’s death,” she ordered, finally. “And tell them that the Privy Council” – it sounded better than claiming authority in her own name – “will endeavour to repair the damage he did to the Empire.”

  “Of course, My Lady,” Dolman said.

  “I’ll go back to Ida,” Daria said. She glanced at Dolman and smiled. “If Dolman will grant me an escort to the edge of the camp …”

  “It will be my honour, My Lady,” Dolman said, gravely.

  Elaine smiled as she stepped into the tent. Charity was sitting on the ground, her hands clasped in her lap and her eyes fixed on the body in front of her. A grim-faced Inquisitor was standing behind her, although it wasn’t clear from his pose if Charity was a prisoner or merely under his protection. Elaine nodded to him and then turned her attention to the body. Even in death, Vlad Deferens reeked of perverted masculinity. The red shirt he wore
was stained with his own blood; his legs, strong and muscular, carried the scars of countless nasty skirmishes as he’d fought his way to the top.

  She closed her eyes for a long moment. Deferens had been a jerk from the very moment they’d first met, a woman-hating monster who had seemed a serious contender for the post of Grand Sorcerer. And yet, Deferens had been shaped by the Witch-King from birth. His thoughts had been steered down pathways the Witch-King had determined, his career moulded to suit the Witch-King’s purposes. Had he ever really had a chance? How much of what he’d achieved had been his own work and how much had been the Witch-King, covertly steering matters from his tomb?

  “Deferens may still be out there somewhere,” Charity said.

  Elaine jumped. Charity sounded cold; no, dead and cold. She might be powerful, but she’d probably never killed anyone by her own hand. The girl Elaine remembered from their first meeting had been easy to hate, the daughter of a Great House born with strong magic and stronger connections. But now … Charity had been a slave, her obedience compelled by powerful oaths that would have forced her to do anything Deferens had commanded. Elaine knew, all too well, just what Deferens would have made her do. She couldn’t find it in her to hate Charity any longer.

  “I killed the other mind,” Charity said, in her broken voice. “He’s still out there somewhere.”

  Elaine rather doubted it. Deferens had been pushed into a corner of his own mind by the Witch-King, not forced to trade bodies with him. The Witch-King hadn’t been a cripple, after all; Deferens had been his tool, not his replacement body. But Charity needed to feel otherwise, if only to keep her oaths from killing her. She’d broken them rather spectacularly, after all.

  “Maybe,” she said. She shot Johan a look, cursing Amanda’s Draught under her breath. It would have been easier, far easier, to warn him not to suggest that Deferens might be permanently dead. “Don’t worry about it, really.”

  “I did so much for him,” Charity said. Tears were sliding down her face and staining the wisps of silk she wore. “Don’t you know how much I did?”

  “You swore your oaths,” Elaine said, quietly. It was a point of law that no one could be blamed for anything they did under oath, although Charity would likely be shunned for the rest of her life. “You shouldn’t blame yourself for him.”

  “No, you shouldn’t,” Johan agreed. He knelt down next to Charity and wrapped his arms around her. “You need a proper night’s sleep … well, a proper day’s sleep. Once you’re feeling better, we can find a way to deal with the other threat.”

  Elaine nodded in agreement. “Take Lady Charity back to her tent and make sure she gets a proper rest,” she ordered, addressing the Inquisitor. “Charity, try to wash, change into something a little less comfortable and sleep. We won’t leave without you.”

  Johan looked up at Elaine. “Should I go with her?”

  “If you think it will help,” Elaine said. She had her doubts – it wouldn’t be too long before Johan started coming off the Draught – but she understood why he’d want to be there. Charity and Johan would need time to repair their relationship. “Once you start feeling things again, come straight back here. You’ll need help getting through the after-effects without an emotional breakdown.”

  “I will,” Johan promised.

  Elaine watched them leave and then looked around the Royal Tent. Vlad Deferens hadn’t travelled in style, she had to admit; he’d made certain to bring a solid bedstead rather than one of the fancy beds from the Imperial Palace. She knelt beside him and, resisting the urge to be sick, ran her hands through his pockets. There was nothing, apart from a notebook, a handful of pens and a tiny wand, contaminated with dark magic. She took the blanket from the bed and used it to pick up the wand, placing it on the far side of the tent, before turning her attention to the notebook. It looked blank, but a simple revealing spell turned up a list of enemies and people who were going to be purged, once the Emperor had completed the destruction of Ida.

  If we didn’t have a civil war already, she thought morbidly, we’d be bound to have one after everyone on this list was targeted for extermination.

  She dropped the notebook into her pocket and started to search the Emperor’s trunks. Two of them contained clothes – Vlad Deferens’ trademark red kilt and red shirt; she couldn’t help grimacing at the realisation he’d worn nothing under the kilt – while the third contained a number of books. Most of them looked to be guidebooks to the Empire, but several of them were clearly magic and one of them was yet another copy of the Witch-King’s personal spellbook. No doubt Deferens had used the spells often, developing his magic while tightening the Witch-King’s grip on his mind.

  Idiot, she thought, as she placed the book on the bed and stood. But she couldn’t blame him really, nor any of the Witch-King’s other victims. There weren’t any others who could have spotted the hidden commands worked into the spells, let alone edited the spells to remove them. Hell, they’d need a completely comprehensive grasp of magic to even realise there was a problem. No wonder the Witch-King was so keen to capture me.

  She pushed the thought aside as she looked down at the body. Dread had told her that Deferens had been obsessed with her, after she’d escaped an unbreakable spell and fled an inescapable prison. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. She had a feeling Deferens had regarded her as a challenge, someone whom he had to break; if he’d caught her again, she knew it wouldn’t have been anything like as pleasant as the first time. And yet, in the end, he’d been killed by someone he’d regarded as beneath him.

  “A fitting end,” Elaine said, quietly. “And precisely what you deserved.”

  Gritting her teeth, she cast a preservation charm over the body as the flap opened, revealing Inquisitor Dolman. They’d probably need to show the body to anyone who thought the Emperor was still alive, before dumping it in the Lug and letting the water take it down to the ocean. Or, perhaps, giving it a honourable funeral. Deferens had been an Emperor, after all, the rightful heir to the throne.

  “My Lady,” Dolman said. “How may I be of service?”

  Elaine sighed, inwardly. She knew how to manage a library, not an army. The Great Library had been relatively easy, particularly with Vane doing all the talking. But here …?

  “Do whatever you have to do to prepare the army to march,” she said, finally. “Do you think it will stay together?”

  “I would not care to hazard a guess, My Lady,” Dolman said. “The Sergeants were very good at breaking down previous loyalties, but most of them have fled. I suspect that most of the conscripts will want to return to their homes, even though they won’t be welcome.”

  Elaine frowned. “They won’t?”

  “The Emperor was quite happy to let the conscripts loot, rape and pillage their former homes,” Dolman said. “It broke the ties they had to their homelands.”

  “I see,” Elaine said. “You might want to make that clear to them.”

  “I will,” Dolman said. “If you would care for a word of advice, My Lady …?”

  Elaine nodded, harshly.

  “You can offer considerable rewards to anyone who stays with the army, including resettlement well away from their former homes,” Dolman said. “But it would be a mistake to force anyone to stay. You don’t have a solid core of decent officers.”

  “Then offer those rewards,” Elaine said, tiredly. “And when Dread arrives, hand command of the army to him.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Johan hadn’t seen anything of the camp when the Witch-King had handed him over to Deferens, who had dumped him on Charity. Now, as he followed his sister through the frozen grounds towards her tent, he couldn’t help thinking that it looked a ghastly mess. A handful of dragons sat in their pens, watched by a couple of Inquisitors, while dead bodies lay everywhere. He wondered, absently, if they’d resort to feeding the corpses to the dragons, solving two problems at once. Sooner or later, the dragons would need to feed …

  He pushed the though
t to one side as Charity led him into her tent, leaving the Inquisitor outside. She’d always liked luxury – he’d sneaked into her room in Conidian House several times when they’d been younger – but the tent was bare, with hardly anything beyond a bed, a small trunk of clothes and a pair of spare wands. She sat down as he closed the flap, placing her head in her hands. Johan sat down next to her and placed an arm over her shoulder, trying to give what support he could. It wasn’t easy.

  Charity had always been … if not nice then decent. Sometimes. She had hexed him more than once, but she’d never been as thoroughly unpleasant as Jamal. Indeed, there had even been times when she’d helped him to flee the house for a few short hours, despite their father’s orders. Maybe she’d felt a prisoner too, despite her magic. She’d been raised knowing that everything in her life, from her studies at the Peerless School to her husband, would be determined by their father.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, unsure what to say. If it had been Jamal, he would have rubbed it in as much as possible, but Charity … she hadn’t deserved to be broken. “I’m sorry …”

  “Not your fault,” Charity said. She leant against him for a long moment, then stood and opened one of her trunks. “Look the other way for a moment, please.”

  Johan nodded and turned to stare at the canvas as Charity opened one of the boxes and rummaged through it for something a little more concealing. It normally took hours for her to be ready for anything, but this time she was ready in seconds. The dress she’d pulled over her shoulders was as enveloping as a set of school robes, concealing everything below her neckline. Johan eyed the discarded harem outfit, wondering – absently – just what Elaine would look like in something similar, then pushed the thought aside. Clearly, the Draught was still effective.

  “That feels better,” Charity said. She picked up one of the wands – Johan cringed back instinctively – and snapped it into place. “But I feel dirty.”