Damn you, Kelwarg, she muttered, not for the first time. Damn you for possessing me. Then she thought of Wargall. The boy was never far from her mind. She wondered what he was doing. He would have gone back to the Boys’ House; back to his cooking and needlework. Would he think of her sometimes or would he hate her too much? The idea filled her with pain. Would he bed another girl? One who was nice to him? Every time her thoughts reached that point, she had to cry a little and that surprised her, too. It was so unlike her to cry.
Something white in the distance drew her eyes. ‘What’s that?’ she said aloud. ‘Looks like fog; a round patch of fog.’ When she came closer, the patch became a circular lake, breathing white damp into the air. Through it, she spied the contours of a tall tower rising up from the water.
Near the lake’s edge, her mount halted without orders. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘What’s this?’ The beast didn’t react; it never had. It didn’t do anything but walk, without food or rest. She dismounted and stepped forward. Soundlessly, the beast she’d ridden for three days disappeared, leaving behind the bundle of Unwaari uniforms.
‘Shit! That means walking back.’ If there is a going back. ‘Shut up,’ she said savagely to her own mind. She strode to the lake’s edge. Does he expect me to swim? She walked through the fog, careful not to step into the lake, until she almost bumped into a pole with a large, well-polished bell. Without further thought, she pulled the bell rope.
Across the water, the tower door swung open. A small bridge crept to the lakeshore and then it was silent again.
As if in a dream, Wemawee walked across and entered the tower. As soon as she stepped onto the flagged stones, a rattling sound told her the bridge had retracted again, till with a loud clang, the door closed behind her.
I should panic now, she thought. Why don’t I?
She stood and listened, but there wasn’t a sound anywhere. With a shrug, she walked up the stairs. It led her to a circular floor, carpeted and wainscoted, but deserted. Cobwebs waved in the draft of her passing, and dust rose with every step, making her sneeze.
‘Who’s there?’ a voice snapped. ‘Whoever you are, stay away. There’s a troll inside!’
A troll, thought Wemawee. I’m not a child, to be frightened by tales. What have you got to hide, mate? She entered a large room, elegantly furnished, though as dirty as the rest of what she’d seen. To her right was a cage, and straight ahead ... A large globe drew her eyes. At least two feet across, filled with red sparkles, it was a thing of beauty. Its pull was familiar; she had felt it all the days of the past six years and involuntarily, she stretched out her hands. She went to it, losing herself in the sparkly depths.
‘No!’ the voice said. ‘There’s danger.’ Then, high and fearful, ‘Troll!’
A dark shape moved with incredible quickness, and a slap bowled her through the room. Large paws covered with coarse hair groped for her and she twisted out of their reach.
‘Break the globe!’ the voice cried. ‘It’s your only chance!’
She looked up at the table and again felt the pull of the sparkles. Break it ... No! The dark shape jumped at her, and a second slap sent her flying, to crash into a tall bookcase. Landing beneath a rain of scrolls, she cried out.
‘The globe, dammit!’ The voice sounded almost hysterical.
Wemawee shook her head and rolled away as the hairy monster came groping. Feverishly, she sought for a spell, but nothing of the few offensive spells in her repertoire would help against something as large as this beast. She grabbed a chair and as the troll came at her, she broke it over its head. For a tiny moment, the beast stood shaking its head, but then it roared. One of its paws grabbed her neck and lifted her off her feet. She gargled, batting the ugly head with her fists. The troll snapped its incisors in her face as if it was smiling, and threw her through the room. The globe ... It was but a few feet away, with the troll in between. On hands and knees, she looked at the beast, and bared her teeth in reply. She feinted to the right, and the troll dashed to grab her. Instead, she dove the other way, into the table carrying the globe.
The curved legs broke under her weight, and the globe fell to the ground unharmed. ‘Damn!’ she screamed, as the mountainous shape of the troll came at her. Flat on the ground, she kicked at the globe and sent it sailing through the air. It broke against the bars of the cage and a flash blinded her eyes. Now it’ll get me, she thought and prepared herself for the worst. But they were human hands that straightened her and held her close.
‘It’s gone,’ the voice said, sounding endlessly tired. ‘You banished it. The gods know how you managed to kick that globe and I don’t care. You did it and you’re the greatest. Thank you.’
She blinked as the sight in her eyes returned and she looked full into the voice’s face. ‘Spellwarden?’ she croaked, and fainted.
Wemawee came to with the taste of wine on her lips and the smell all over the front of her dress.
‘Sorry for the mess,’ the boy said, waving the wineglass in his hand. ‘My hands are shaking too much. And no, I am not the Spellwarden. I’m Saul, and through no fault of my own, I’m those two whelps’ eldest brother.’
She studied his face and saw details that distinguished him from that pert Spellwarden. His eyes missed Basil’s liveliness, and he had this habit of pressing his lips together. He wasn’t a boy anymore.
She sighed. ‘All right. I’m Wemawee of the M’Arrangh.’
Saul’s hands stilled. ‘M’Arrangh? How? Kelwarg killed them all.’ Then his face cleared. ‘Of course, you’re from Malgarth. That’s how you know my brother.’
Wemawee coughed. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m the last female M’Arrangh of Tar Kell. I felt his pull for years.’
‘That’s how he caught all those others. He called them and when they came, he had them killed. He boasted of it.’
‘Why did he do that? The M’Arrangh have always been faithful to him.’
‘They opposed his wish to become sole clan chief. He forbade all other clans but his own, you know. His own wisewomen protested, and he had them killed for it.’
‘He’s mad!’ Wemawee said.
‘Naturally.’ Saul looked at his hands. ‘He’s been mad for a long time. Damn, my hands are still shaking.’ He looked at the shards of the globe. ‘I’m still alive, though.’
‘He isn’t here, obviously,’ Wemawee said.
‘Oh no, he hasn’t been here for many years. We spoke through that globe. When you smashed it, you broke the spell that bound the troll, you opened my cage and destroyed my contact with Kelwarg. I wondered if I’d be killed when you broke the globe, but nothing happened.’ Saul shivered. ‘I’m under a spell. I cannot disobey Kelwarg directly, else I die.’
‘Is there a counterspell?’ Wemawee said.
‘Yes.’ Saul came to his feet and went over to the wrecked table. ‘In here.’ He picked up a big, leather-bound book. ‘The Tome of Old Ways.’
Wemawee stared at the book. ‘I have heard of it. My mother mentioned it sometimes. Keep it away from me, please. I don’t want anything to do with it.’
‘Don’t worry, we can’t open it,’ Saul said tiredly. ‘It’s locked.’
‘Your brothers are coming for it,’ Wemawee said. ‘I overheard them talking.’
‘Strange.’ Saul stared at the book. ‘Jurgis asked me about it before. They wouldn’t ... They can’t have found the key, can they?’
Wemawee shrugged. ‘They didn’t say.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Is there a more comfortable place than this?’
‘Come to my rooms,’ he said. ‘You can bathe if you want.’
‘If I want!’ Wemawee cried. ‘I want a bath. Hurry, bring me to it.’
They crossed the floor to a set of pleasant rooms.
‘Nice,’ Wemawee said. ‘The bath?’
‘Here,’ Saul said. ‘As long as you don’t dawdle. That troll locked me in that cage for a long time.’
They stood in a small stone room and Wemawee stared at the large
wooden tub in its center. ‘Water?’
Saul smiled and turned a large wheel. Warm water came rusmbling down and filled the bath. ‘There’s a heater on the next floor.’
Wemawee didn’t listen. ‘Hot water ...’ she said. Then she unmade her conjured dress. Saul gasped at her nudity.
She turned to him. ‘No need for you to wait. Take your clothes off. I’ll help you wash your back.’
With a fearful look, Saul unbuttoned his filthy robe.
‘Hurry,’ she said and lifted him off the floor. Then she stepped into the hot water and sighed in ecstasy.
Later they sat in two easy chairs at the roaring fire in the room’s hearth.
‘I never,’ Saul said, looking embarrassed.
Wemawee grinned. ‘I noticed. No matter, I’ve lost all urge to compare anyone with Kelwarg’s performance. Poor Wargall.’
‘Who?’
‘My clan brother.’ For the first time in her life, Wemawee told everything about herself. About her dreams of the Black Warlock, her treatment of Wargall, her behavior at the gatherhouse and her humiliating adventures here in Vanhaar.’
‘You’re fond of Wargall?’ Saul said after she’d done.
‘Why?’
He smiled. ‘You mentioned him often.’
‘I ...’ Wemawee was taken aback by hearing another say it. ‘Yes. I am.’ Her face clouded over. ‘He won’t have anything more to do with me, I suppose. I bullied him so much.’
‘Talk to him,’ Saul said. ‘Tell him what you told me and say you’re sorry. You never know.’ He clasped his hands. ‘Now I suppose I must tell you my sordid tale. I haven’t got much to be proud of, either. Though perhaps not all of it was my fault.’ Then he told her everything he had told Jurgis, that day in the Dimdras ruins. How barren Kelwarg had him stolen at birth, because he needed a boy to train as his executor, about the curse he was under and the counterspell in the locked tome on the table right there, mocking his helplessness. He spoke of his brothers, and what he had done to get their attention and the longing was clear in his voice.
‘You were unlucky,’ Wemawee said, when he fell silent. ‘That’s all. You’re no less clever than your brothers, and I guess your heart wasn’t in what you did, was it?’
Saul snorted. ‘No. I hate that bastard Kelwarg so much. If it weren’t for that cursed spell, I would have switched sides as soon as I could walk.’
‘Precocious boy.’ Wemawee smiled, and it changed her face into a different person. ‘Now we’ll wait for Basil and the lioness to arrive.’
‘Or Kelwarg,’ Saul said pessimistically.
‘In that case we’ll run. Do you know that beast I rode the last days?’
‘Was it a spelldrake? I know how to call one.’
‘Great.’ She rose and stretched. ‘It’s still early. I would like to explore the rest of the tower. You’ve been all over it already, I suppose?’
Saul shook his head. ‘I haven’t had much chance. The few times I stayed here, I was too tired. But I’ll gladly join you; anything that takes my mind off things.’
‘Where shall we start?’ she said, rubbing her hands.
‘This floor isn’t much to see. My apartments, the communications room you wrecked, and two very creepy guest rooms. Above this one are the library, the lab, workrooms and the servants’ rooms. Well, there aren’t any servants, so those have been unused for a century.’
‘Don’t tell, show me,’ she said, dragging him along.
He showed her, and after they’d been all over the second floor, she grimaced. ‘It’s just as you told. Dirty, empty and devoid of interest. What’s on the next floor?’
‘Kelwarg’s rooms. Ah, I’ve never been there.’
‘Why not? Lack of spunk?’
He hesitated. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, he ain’t there, is he? Let’s go.’
The third floor was opulent. ‘O-pu-lent,’ Wemawee repeated, with awe in her voice. ‘This is so un-Kell-like, I wonder if he wasn’t a changeling.’ Black marble and gold fittings. Dark red for drapes, carpets, furniture. Large statues of black men in the most improbable poses. At the sight of them, Wemawee covered her face with her hands. ‘How great a fool I was. Kelwarg the mighty black warlock wouldn’t have bedded me at all. He would’ve taken Wargall, the poor lamb.’
‘I knew he never begot children,’ Saul said. He stared around. ‘But this is a surprise.’
He opened the first door. ‘A servant’s room,’ he said. ‘Nothing special.’
Next was a dressing room with hundreds of robes in as many colors, a dressing table full of little boxes, jewelry and perfumes.
‘This is not at all what I expected,’ Saul said.
The next door was locked with a large, magical seal.
Wemawee stared at it, trying to read the loops and knots. It took a long time, and Saul became impatient.
‘Hush,’ she said, when he complained, and he closed his mouth.
At last, Wemawee stirred. ‘I think I see it all.’ She traced the complex lines, pausing often, and once she had to backtrack a bit. Saul watched her face in silence, afraid of disturbing her concentration, and she forgot his presence. Then, unexpectedly, the lock clicked and sprang open. The room beyond it was in complete darkness.
Saul snapped his fingers and a light sprang into existence, illuminating the room.
Wemawee cried out, hands to her mouth and her eyes large. Behind her, the young mage cursed and stared at the massively muscled man, black like another of those marble statues, lying on his back on the large bed.
CHAPTER 35 - LONG-SOUGHT SPELL
‘You’re making a terrible mistake,’ the paunchy former Strapan blustered. ‘I have many friends at the High Temple. You will suffer for this; all of you.’ His pose would have been impressive, had he still worn his fine, fur-trimmed robe, his beautiful boots and his precious jewels. In the leftover clothes from the Magonaut’s former crew, he looked more like a defaulting sailor. Basil, sitting at ease in one of Yarwan’s fine chairs, wasn’t impressed by the late Governor of the Southern Reaches standing before him.
‘No,’ he said. ‘The mistake was yours, a century ago, when you started that irrational war. Without sensible reasons, without even a hint of evidence, you attacked us, betraying an ages-old trust. The time has come for the reckoning. Ten thousand murdered warlocks are crying for revenge, Unwaari.’
‘But, but, that wasn’t I,’ the man protested. ‘I can’t help what happened then.’
‘True.’ Basil stared at him, keeping his eyes as empty as he could. It seemed to work, for the man began to sweat. ‘Still, you have committed crimes of your own. Your injustice is legendary, the list of your victims long, as is the tally of your ill-gotten treasures. You kept slaves. I could ask them what I should do with you. Don’t you think they’ll have fascinating suggestions for your demise?’
‘I ...’ The former Strapan deflated like a leaky wineskin. ‘What do you want of me?’ His hands fluttered in agitation. ‘What can I give you? Independence? I cannot grant you that, but I can declare your town out of bounds for all. Do you want gold? Riches? Tell me and I will provide it. But I have to go from here. I must govern the Southern Reaches.’
‘I will tell you,’ Basil said. ‘I want every Unwaari to leave Vanhaar immediately. They are allowed the clothes they wear and enough food to reach the border, but the rest of their spoils they will leave behind. Then I want your High Singer and his colleagues to sign a solemn declaration of peace with us. About reparations we will start separate talks. That’s what I want. You will contact your superiors and tell them of my demands.’
‘Interesting suggestions,’ the former Strapan said.
Basil saw the crafty look in his face and he stifled a laugh.
‘It would be best if I were to talk with the High Singer in person, of course. So if you just return my clothes and spell me a mount, I’ll go to execute your wishes.’
‘Lioness,’ Basil said, glancing at Maud, who stood w
ith arms crossed in the shadows behind him. ‘Do I look like a fool to you?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned back to the former Strapan in a flash. ‘You will write a letter. Then we’ll seal it with your governor’s mark. You may choose which one of your followers is the most trustworthy messenger and we’ll send him to Unwaari.’
‘It’s impossible,’ the man said excitedly. ‘If I send someone with this letter, they’ll kill him, write me off and send an army into your town.’
‘You can add one bit of information to your letter. Tell them I know who stole the Faces.’
The former Strapan stiffened. His face changed and he burst out in a mocking laugh. ‘Priceless,’ he said, wiping his eyes. ‘You are number four hundred and six to try and sell me blasphemous tales. No, whoever-you-are, your trick failed. You may kill me, but I’ll not do the bidding of a fraud.’
‘Glastym, Iouvast, Kelleur, Panredouce. Nice names, aren’t they?’ Basil said dreamily. ‘Important names. A pity they drowned. Or did they?’
This wiped all laughter from the former Strapan’s face. ‘How? Only the highest know these four names. Drowned? Of course they ... What do you mean?’
Basil’s face was stern. ‘I know. I, Basil son of Argyr, am the Spellwarden. I know.’
The former Strapan collapsed, hitting the floor with a thud.
‘Guard,’ Maud called. One of the uniformed townsmen entered. ‘Take the prisoner outside and wake him up with a few buckets of seawater.’
‘With pleasure, ma’am,’ the man said, dragging the unconscious former Strapan outside.
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