Vigorre shrank into the shadows, his pulse pounding in his ears. Sickly he wondered if it had been a wizard or familiar’s death that had quenched the light.
He’d dithered over his decision too long. He was too late.
Thirty-Eight
Sar’s deafening bray jerked Josiah out of deep sleep. Before he could react, a hand clamped over his mouth. More seized his limbs and hauled him from his bed. He struggled, but it was hopeless. A rope swiftly bound his hands behind him. A flash of gold illumined the darkness, revealing Sar bucking and thrashing, surrounded by the Matriarch’s guards. One forced a bridle over his head as the night went dark again.
His captors hauled him into the corridor, careful to keep him far from the donkey. Moments later more guards dragged a bound Kevessa from her room a few doors down. Her voluminous white nightgown caught the light of a single lantern.
One guard dangled a limp Nina in front of Kevessa. She lunged toward her familiar, but her captors restrained her and the guard stayed out of her reach. “Cooperate, girl, or I’ll snap its neck," he growled. His big hands wrapped around Nina like a butcher with a rabbit.
Kevessa quit fighting, but she lifted her chin. “How dare you betray your Matriarch! She’ll hang you all! Who bought your loyalty? The Purifiers?”
The guard sneered. “The Matriarch gave us our orders. We’re taking you to the throne room.”
Josiah’s heart plummeted. No chance, then, that the ruckus would bring rescuers charging in to save them.
The violent clamor from Elkan’s room finally died down. Josiah gulped as guards pulled a dazed and battered Elkan into the hall and dropped him next to Josiah. “Master, are you all right?”
He winced and spit blood from a rapidly swelling lip. “I’ll live.” He fixed dark eyes on Tobi as a dozen guards wrestled her out of his room. She was swathed in ropes, including several turns around her neck that seemed to be strangling her. “Stop fighting, everyone; it’s no use. We’re going to have to take this up with the Matriarch.”
“They said—”
“I heard.” Elkan twisted to wipe his face on the shoulder of his tunic. “Kevessa, is Nina alive?”
“Barely.” Kevessa’s voice simmered with rage. “She was sleeping on my pillow like always. We managed to freeze the first one that grabbed her, but the next pulled him away and broke our contact. I think he knocked her on the head.”
Elkan’s voice was grim. “The Matriarch has undoubtedly been planning how to neutralize us if necessary since we arrived. But why now?”
Two guards emerged from Borlen’s room. A writhing, hissing sack dangled from a spear on their shoulders. Another guard supported one of his comrades, who staggered into the corridor clutching a wad of cloth to his forearm.
Elkan straightened. “Was he bitten? Let one of us have our familiar and we can help him—”
“We won’t fall for your tricks,” answered a guard whose slightly more elaborate uniform suggested he was in command. He jerked his head and the injured guard’s companion helped him along the corridor toward the stairs. “We can tend our own.”
“But if Shadow injected enough poison he’ll die.” Elkan twisted his wrists in their bonds.
“As is his duty.” The commander strode to Borlen’s door. “Haven’t you secured the traitor yet?”
“Yes, sir.” Three guards dragged a struggling Borlen from the room. He looked even worse than Elkan, with bruises blooming all over his face and bare chest and a long bleeding slash down one arm.
At sight of the commander Borlen jerked to attention. “Captain Denorre, what is this? Attacking the Matriarch’s guests in their beds—”
“Following orders, son. As I expect you to do, even if you did desert us for the foreigners.” Denorre jerked his head contemptuously toward the other wizards. “You’re lucky she ordered you taken alive.” He strode down the corridor, peering around in the gloom. “Light some more lanterns. Have we got all of them? What about the bird?”
For an instant Josiah’s heart leaped, then crashed again as a man emerged from Elkan’s room with Tharanirre on his forearm. She beat her wings wildly, but a leather hood over her head obscured her vision, and her captor clutched straps fastened to her legs. Her talons dug into his arm, but it was protected by a long, thick leather glove. The man nodded to Denorre. “This beauty’s a canny one, but she’s no match for an experienced falconer.”
“Good,” Denorre said. “Take them to the throne room.”
Josiah would have fought his captors every inch of the way, but Elkan gave him a sharp look and he subsided. What was the point, anyway? There were far too many guards to resist. The Matriarch hadn’t taken any chances.
Why had she suddenly turned against them? Josiah’s mind raced as he trudged in the midst of the guards, but he couldn’t think of any reason that made sense. Elkan had capitulated to her demands. She’d seemed to accept the limits of his cooperation. If she thought she could threaten and intimidate him into revealing her next child’s sex, wouldn’t it have made more sense to wait until after she conceived again and the pregnancy was far enough along for it to be an issue?
The throne room blazed with lanterns and candles. Despite the late hour people filled the room. The Matriarch sat on her throne, dressed in her most formal regalia. Her position on the high dais let her look down on her subjects from above like the Mother incarnate. Though Josiah was certain the Mother would never assume the cruel, arrogant expression the Matriarch wore.
She didn’t move or speak as the guards assembled the four wizards and five familiars in a line at the base of the steps. Even after they were in position she waited, staring at Elkan, while the crowd’s murmurs died and the silence lengthened.
Finally she spoke, tightly leashed fury in her voice. “You played me for a fool. It’s so obvious now. My hopes blinded me, and your master prepared you well to exploit them. But no longer. I know the truth.”
Elkan furrowed his brow. “I swear, your majesty, whatever you suspect—”
She cut him off with a violent gesture. “I don’t suspect; I know. You’re Marvannan agents!”
Josiah’s mouth fell open.
The Matriarch rose and paced back and forth along the edge of the dais. “Somehow the Autarch found Tevenar first, discovered your powers, and devised a way to use them against me. His plan was clever. Give me what I most desired so I would keep pursuing useless efforts until it was too late. Distract me with an elaborate pretense of enmity between you and his Purifier puppets. Shroud your manipulation in a cloak of piety so I would come to trust you implicitly. Dear Mother, you had me so convinced you tricked me into killing my own daughter!”
The crowd gasped. Elkan blurted, “Your majesty—”
She made a slashing gesture and the guard behind Elkan put a blade to his throat. “Silence!” she ordered. “I’d rather send you back to your master in chains, but I’ll kill you if you force me.” She glared down at him; he returned her gaze with smoldering anger of his own.
She swiveled and stalked over to glower at Kevessa. “How long have you and your father been in the Autarch’s pay?” She whirled. “And you, Borlen? How much did he offer you to betray me? Or did you turn to him for revenge for that sword in your heart? I should have finished the job!”
Her eyes passed dismissively over Josiah to fix on the row of familiars. “I see it now. Your beasts aren’t demons. They really do come from the Mother. That’s why you had to trick me instead of doing the deed yourself; because she really does place limits on what they can be forced to do.” She clenched her fists, her chest heaving. “But you’ve found a way to turn her power to evil anyway, just as the ancient wizards did.”
She beckoned imperiously to the falconer who held Tharanirre. He mounted the dais to stand before her. Tharanirre beat her wings frantically but couldn’t break free.
The Matriarch stared at the eagle with naked greed. “Unlike you, I will use her power for good. I will defend Ramunna from her ene
mies. I will free the people of Marvanna from the Autarch’s oppression. I will cleanse Ravanetha of the Purifier heresy and restore the true worship of the Mother to all the world!”
She drew a small, jewel-encrusted knife from a scabbard at her waist. An anticipatory smile played around the corners of her mouth as she studied the struggling Tharanirre. “Thank you, boy, for telling me how it’s done.”
“No!” Josiah cried, but she ignored him, and his guard clapped a heavy hand over his mouth.
The Matriarch dragged the knife across the palm of her hand, leaving a dripping red line. She transferred the knife to her bleeding hand, swooped in to seize Tharanirre by the neck, and slashed the knife across her breast. It fell to the floor with a ringing clatter as she slapped her scarlet palm against the eagle’s gushing wound and their blood mingled.
* * *
Vigorre cried out. He felt as if the knife had plunged into his own chest. The power the Mother had intended for him would pour through the Matriarch instead, as deadly and destructive as when the ancient wizards had abused it.
Tharanirre fell from the falconer’s arm to dangle by her jesses. Her blood splashed to the floor. The Matriarch tried to keep her hand against the eagle’s breast, but it slipped away.
“Why isn’t it working?” she cried. She whirled on Josiah. “Did you lie to me, or not tell me everything? What else must I do?”
The guard pulled his hand away from Josiah’s face. “Nothing,” the wizard apprentice spit. “That’s how we all did it. But the Mother’s not stupid. She won’t give you her power. It was people like you who made her take it away!”
The Matriarch strode down the dais steps and slapped him hard across the face, leaving a bloody handprint on his cheek. She waved at the falconer, sending droplets flying. “Take the creature away and burn it.”
The falconer scooped the limp Tharanirre into his arms. “But your majesty, such a magnificent—”
“Get it out of my sight!” she screamed. The falconer’s shoulders slumped and he turned to make his way down the steps.
Vigorre tensed. The Matriarch kept ranting at the wizards, but he stopped listening. The falconer’s path to the exit would lead right past Vigorre’s hiding place behind one of the soaring columns that lined the room. He pulled his knife from his belt.
As the man trudged past, Vigorre slipped behind him and set the knife against his throat. “Be silent or die,” Vigorre growled in his ear.
The man stiffened. After a moment he cautiously nodded. Vigorre pulled him behind the column. He frantically studied the eagle, swallowing as he saw a faint motion at her throat. “You want her to live?”
The falconer’s eyes flicked down to Tharanirre, then up to Vigorre. “Yes,” he whispered.
“I can save her. If you try to stop me I’ll have to kill you.”
The falconer nodded. Vigorre released him. He watched the man closely for a moment, but he didn’t move. Without taking his eyes off the falconer, Vigorre set the point of his knife to his palm and drew it across, just as the Matriarch had, clenching his teeth at the sharp pain.
The falconer turned Tharanirre so her gaping wound faced up. Vigorre laid his trembling hand across it, feeling the liquid warmth of her blood and his, and the rapid flutter of her heart. With everything in him he prayed, Mother, please…
Gold clouds swirled. The Mother shimmered into being before him. She smiled at him, although there was sadness behind her eyes. “Now are you willing to humble yourself beneath this eagle and allow her to use my power through you?”
“I am.” Vigorre dropped his eyes. “Forgive me for taking so long to see—”
She cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s not yet too late. My power can still be returned to all my children. But you must act quickly. I’ll help you as I can.”
“But, Mother,” Vigorre protested, the impossibility of the task overwhelming him. “The Matriarch has turned against us. Yoran and Davon won’t rest until she goes to war against Tevenar. The whole Wizards’ Guild is in danger. How will we survive? Let alone expand!”
“The road will be difficult, but don’t despair. There is hope. Tell the others. In the coming days all of you will be tried to the limits of your strength and resourcefulness and faith. But if you persevere and serve me as well as they have so far, we will triumph.”
She raised her hand in blessing and faded from his sight.
The world solidified around him. The gold clouds coalesced into a sphere of warmth and light surrounding his hand. A voice spoke in his mind. Hold still. This will take a moment. Idiot woman. A shallow scratch would have been sufficient.
An odd pulling sensation drained the strength from Vigorre’s legs. He sucked in a deep breath and pressed his palm harder to Tharanirre’s bloody feathers. A blast of sensation assaulted his senses. Salty-dark-discordant-stinking-heat mutated rapidly to harmonic-sweet-fresh-warm-shimmer.
In a twist of lithe muscles the eagle broke away from the falconer and scrambled to perch on Vigorre’s arm. Her talons bit through his robes into his flesh.
Sorry. The voice in his head didn’t sound very apologetic. I’ll try not to hurt you, but I won’t let myself fall.
It’s all right, Vigorre told her, although it felt like daggers were jabbing into his skin. His gaze fell on the falconer, who was watching them with round, astonished eyes. “Give me your glove,” he ordered.
After a moment’s hesitation, the falconer stripped off the thick leather glove and held it for Vigorre to thrust his hand inside. When the eagle stepped over to his protected arm, Vigorre sighed in relief. He fumbled to unfasten the blinding hood from her head.
When it finally came off, she regarded him with one brilliant black eye. Much better. My thanks.
Vigorre stripped off her jesses while he tried to decide what to do. The Matriarch’s voice had continued in the background, growing louder and more shrill as she continued to berate the wizards. Now she reached the peak of her outburst. “Tevenar will pay in blood and flames for your betrayal! I will avenge my daughter on the corpses of every wizard and beast in your precious Guild. And after I’ve laid waste to your homeland I’ll turn my wrath against your Marvannan allies. You’ll regret the day you listened to their promises!”
Vigorre’s mind raced. What chance did they have, one wizard and familiar against the whole force of the Matriarch’s guards?
A strategy occurred to him. It was audacious and rash, and success would depend far too much on luck, but he didn’t have time to think of anything better. The Matriarch was gesturing dramatically at the guards restraining the wizards. “Take them to the dungeon. The lowest level. They’ll learn how those who betray Ramunna suffer!”
He leaned close to the falconer’s ear. “I need a distraction. Yell for help.”
He wasn’t sure whether the man would obey, but hopefully his plan would work even if he didn’t. He reached for Tharanirre with his mind, picturing what he wished her to do. Do you understand?
Yes.
Vigorre pulled her to his chest and pressed his cheek against the smooth golden-brown feathers of her head. With his free hand he shoved the falconer out from behind the pillar. The man stumbled toward the center of the room. Vigorre thrust out his hand and a stream of gold light burst forth, struck the falconer’s back, and propelled him forward. As Vigorre had hoped, he bellowed, “Help! That madman attacked me!”
Tharanirre shoved him halfway to the Matriarch before releasing him. Vigorre sprinted in the opposite direction. It was working—everyone’s eyes were fixed on the falconer, who was flailing his arms and loudly describing what had happened. Vigorre dashed for the door as the crowd milled about, obstructing the guards who were striving to reach the place from which the falconer had appeared.
A few raised voices called attention to his passage, but he made it into the corridor and around a corner before any guards followed. He clutched Tharanirre close and ran along the path the guards would have to take to condu
ct the prisoners to the dungeon.
The first door he tried was locked, as were the next several. But finally one opened under his hand and he ducked inside. It was a storage room of some sort, piled with assorted clutter. As he pulled the door nearly closed and panted in the darkness, his nose told him that the huge pile of what he’d taken for vases must be the palace’s supply of extra chamberpots.
Booted footsteps tramped down the corridor. He peered through the slender crack, shifting Tharanirre so she could do the same. A cluster of guards passed, then the bound Elkan, propelled by another guard and followed by more. Each of the other captive wizards passed in turn. After a significant gap came the familiars. A dozen men each restrained Tobi and Sar, and that must be Shadow in the bag suspended from a spear supported by two guards. A single guard brought up the rear, Nina dangling by the scruff of her neck from one careless hand.
At a thought from Vigorre, Tharanirre sent a stealthy thread of light spooling toward Nina’s guard. It struck him and expanded into a soft glow that enveloped his body. He froze in place. His fingers opened and Nina dropped to the ground.
Vigorre braced himself against the strain as a second thread of light poured into the squirrel. She wasn’t badly injured, just bruised and dazed from the rough treatment. Healing her took only a moment.
The other guards continued forward, apparently unaware of the ambush, so Vigorre didn’t dare speak aloud to convey his plan. But he didn’t have to. As soon as the light around Nina faded she streaked forward, dodging the guards’ marching feet, and vanished under Kevessa’s skirt.
Vigorre and Tharanirre turned their attention to Shadow, freezing his guards and ripping his sack open. The snake’s ropy coils twisted as he fell. He hit the ground, surged forward, and sank his fangs into one of the guards bearing Tobi’s trussed body.
Chaos erupted. Gold light flashed from Kevessa, freezing more of Tobi’s guards. Borlen flung himself against his guard; Tharanirre sent the Mother’s power to break the ropes binding his hands as Shadow slithered up his leg. He put out a hand and gold light swept a guard’s sword into his grasp.
Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3) Page 50
