“Congratulations,” said Anna. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled. “You do me honor. Far too much honor. You grace my humble home.”
“And this,” said Thalia, “is my brother, Lord Corthain Kalarien, domn of Moiria.”
Anna’s pleasant smile froze.
“Arthain’s son?” she said. “The one who was banished?”
“For ten years,” said Corthain calmly. “That was twelve years ago.”
“Or was it the other way around?” said Thalia. “I can never remember.”
Rachaelis stifled a laugh.
“Yes, well,” said Anna, backing away. “You’ll have to excuse me. Other guests to greet, you understand.”
She hurried away at a pace that was dignified, but only just.
Thalia laughed. “I don’t think she likes you very much.”
“She’s afraid being seen with me will damage her standing among the nobles,” said Corthain. “Since I was banished, after all. Or it will get her in trouble with Father.”
Thalia snorted. “I doubt Father even knows her name.”
“Fortunate for her,” said Corthain.
“Well, petty or not, it seems that Lady Anna sets a fine table,” said Nazim. “I believe I shall avail myself of some wine.”
Nazim and Thalia headed towards a slave holding a tray of wine, leaving Rachaelis alone with Corthain. Musicians struck up a tune, and one by one couples began to drift together to dance. She looked up at Corthain, and in a sudden panic wondered if he was going to ask her to dance. She had no idea how to dance.
But he was gazing across the grounds, a distant look on his face. She felt the weight of his arm against hers, and all at once she wanted to pull away.
Or did she?
“You seem distracted,” she said.
“Oh?” said Corthain. “I was just remembering. I went to so many of these banquets when I was young.”
“You enjoyed them?” said Rachaelis.
Corthain laughed. “I hated them. I didn’t have the talent to be an Adept, you see, and I was an embarrassment to my father. He never let me forget it, either.” He shook his head. “Solthain loved them, though.”
“Solthain,” said Rachaelis. “Your brother.” The one who had died in the fight against Paulus twelve years ago. The same fight that had reduced her father to his twilight state of half-death.
She felt a twinge of guilt. She had not been to see him since the Urthaag attack.
“Yes,” said Corthain. “He always enjoyed himself at these things. Mostly because it was an opportunity to collect new female admirers.”
“He was a womanizer?” said Rachaelis, then regretted it. Corthain had loved his brother, that much was clear.
But Corthain only laughed. “Of a sort. These things events have as many informal rules as the Conclave. The women wait for the men to ask them to dance. And then the women decline or accept, depending on how much they like a particular man.” He smiled. “No one ever turned Solthain down.”
“What about you?” said Rachaelis. “You must have had your fair share of dances.”
Corthain’s eyes grew a little distant. “No, not really. Father found me to be an embarrassment, as I said. His influence was, and is, considerable, and very few women wanted to be seen with me.”
“Oh,” said Rachaelis.
“But what about you?” said Corthain. “You must have had quite a few admirers, I am sure.”
Rachaelis laughed. “Hardly. I have lived in the Ring since I was a child. Every waking moment I spent studying, or practicing my spells. I always knew the Magisters would take me to the Testing someday, and I was sure that it would kill me.” She shook her head. “I’ve never even been to one of these things before.”
“Indeed?” said Corthain. “You’ve never been asked to dance?”
“You told Luthair,” said Rachaelis, “to stay away from women who could burn his face off. I suppose other men feel the same way.”
“I’ve seen things far scarier than you,” said Corthain. He pulled his arm free from hers and spun her around, so they stood face to face. “Dance with me.”
Rachaelis laughed. “What? Now? We’re busy here, if you remember.”
“We need to wait for Luthair anyway,” said Corthain.
“I…I don’t…” Rachaelis found herself at a complete loss for words. “I don’t even know how to dance.”
“It’s simple enough,” said Corthain. “If you can learn to make fire shoot from your hands, you can learn to dance.”
“All right,” said Rachaelis. “Show me.”
“Give your hand to me,” said Corthain, taking her right hand in his. His left hand went around her hip. “Your other hand on my shoulder…yes, like that. Now…follow my lead.”
She did. He led her through the steps of a simple dance. Two steps forward, two steps back, two steps side to side.
She stepped on his foot twice.
“This…takes some getting used to,” said Rachaelis.
“It could be worse,” said Corthain. “You haven’t fallen on your face yet. Now, again.”
This time she did not step on his foot. The time after that, she started to enjoy herself a little.
“You’re smiling,” said Corthain.
“Am I?” said Rachaelis. “Well, maybe this is more enjoyable than it looks.”
“See?” said Corthain. “If you can learn to shoot fire from your hands, then you can learn to dance.”
“Technically, it’s not fire,” said Rachaelis. “It’s destructive force drawn from the astral realm and projected into the mortal world via the spellcaster as a conduit.”
“Ah,” said Corthain. “If you can learn to do…that, you can learn to dance.”
“It’s useful,” said Rachaelis, “but I think…I think this is more enjoyable.”
“It seems to me that an Adept’s life is a hard one,” said Corthain. “So much power, and the responsibility to use it well. That must be a difficult burden.”
“It…it is,” said Rachaelis, surprised that he understood. “I didn’t ask for the power, but I have it, and I suppose I must use it well. Perhaps it’s not much different than being a domn.”
Corthain frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well…you have power, don’t you?” said Rachaelis. “You can’t shoot fire from your fingertips, but you still have to govern the people of your domnium. You have power over them. You have to defend and govern them, and ensure their prosperity.”
“Yes,” said Corthain. “That’s exactly right.”
“That’s why you came back to Araspan, isn’t it?” said Rachaelis. “For the wine contracts? So your people would prosper?”
Corthain nodded. “That is why I came.”
“Why did you stay?” said Rachaelis.
“Because Thalia asked me to,” said Corthain. “I was so certain that she hated me, and I was surprised to learn that she did not. And I was surprised to learn that it meant more to me than I would have thought.”
“I’m glad you stayed,” said Rachaelis.
“You are?” said Corthain.
“Seeing as I would probably be dead by now if you had not,” said Rachaelis. “I’d be running in circles trying to find what was happening right up until an Urthaag took me.”
“I will protect you,” said Corthain, “if I can.”
Rachaelis’s mouth went dry. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she wondered if he was going to lean in and kiss her.
“Adept?”
Luthair approached, wearing the livery of a messenger from the Ring.
All according to the plan.
She could have killed him.
“Yes?” said Rachaelis, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. “Yes?”
“A message from the First Magister, Adept,” said Luthair, with a bow. “He requests your presence, and the presence of Magister Nazim, at once.”
“Thank you,” said Rachaelis, pulling free from Corthain. “I am sorry, my lord domn. Perhaps we can
continue this later?”
“Of course,” said Corthain, his voice grave. He did not smile. If he had smiled, she might have punched him. But there was a sparkle in his eye… “I’ll look forward to it.”
Rachaelis blinked, nodded, and followed Luthair.
Magister Nazim waited near the gate. “Rachaelis, are you ready?”
“Yes,” said Rachaelis. She glanced at Luthair. “Please tender our regrets to Lady Anna, but business of the Conclave has called us away.”
“As you will, Adept,” said Luthair with another bow.
“Rachaelis,” said Nazim. “If you could astraljump us back to the Ring?”
“As you wish,” said Rachaelis. She put her hand on the old man’s shoulder and cast a spell.
But not the astraljump spell.
A simple spell to create a silver flash, and then a more complex spell of illusion, one to filter and redirect light. She layered spells of invisibility over herself and Magister Nazim, and they disappeared. To anyone watching, it would have looked as if they had astraljumped away. She could see Magister Nazim, and Magister Nazim could see her, but no one else could see them.
Magister Nazim moved his hands in the gestures of another spell, and Rachaelis heard voices in her head.
A thoughtmeld. It would let her communicate with Nazim and Thalia using thought, allowing them to talk without speech.
Can you hear me, came Magister Nazim’s voice.
Yes, answered Rachaelis.
This is remarkable, said Thalia.
Surprise came over Magister Nazim’s thoughts. Surely you’ve used a thoughtmeld before.
Yes, said Rachaelis. When she was still an Initiate, we would gossip this way after the senior Initiate told us to go to bed for the night.
Most of the Initiates do, said Nazim,and like to think that the Magisters don’t know what’s going on. But it’s good practice with the thoughtmeld. Thalia, you’ll keep an eye on Lady Anna.
I’ll let you know if anything strange happens, said Thalia.
Rachaelis glanced back at Corthain, who stood speaking with Luthair. Luthair had a smirk on his face. Corthain looked annoyed. Was Luthair teasing him about something?
She felt her face warm, grateful that she was invisible.
Corthain crossed to Thalia and whispered something into her ear, and Rachaelis felt a pulse of surprise from her.
What is it, said Nazim.
The slaves, said Thalia. There must be fifty or sixty slaves serving food and drink. Yet none of them are Jurgurs.
Anna purchased hundreds of Jurgur slaves, said Nazim. Why don’t we see any of them?
Corthain says that’s a very good question, said Thalia.
Then let’s go find out, said Rachaelis, and headed towards the tower.
Chapter 7 - Blood Sigil
The grand hall of House Marinius’s tower looked like the grand hall of any other noble Araspani House. Statues of men and women in robes, depicting members of the House who had become Adepts and Magisters. Relics and trophies from ancient battles. A few nobles stood in clusters, speaking to each other, but most of the guests remained outside upon the grounds.
The slaves, said Rachaelis. We’ll want to see the slaves.
The kitchens, first, said Nazim.
They headed for kitchens. Slowly. Magister Nazim was not using his cane, to keep the sound from giving them away. Rachaelis waited for him, then pushed open the kitchen door and slipped inside.
Fortunately, no one saw the door open of its own accord.
The kitchen was busy, with orange-clad slaves hurrying back and forth, while a fat woman in a stained white apron bawled orders at everyone in sight. Rachaelis and Nazim moved into a corner to stay out of the way.
No Jurgurs among the slaves, not a single one.
No Jurgurs, said Rachaelis.
Could she have resold them to the mines or the plantations, said Nazim.
But why, said Rachaelis. She couldn’t possibly turn a profit doing that.
Perhaps she has them hidden, said Thalia.
Where, said Nazim. And to what purpose?
Rachaelis stared at the slaves, at their hunched shapes, at their frantic, furtive motions.
They’re terrified, said Rachaelis. Look at them. They’re frightened to death.
Perhaps Lady Anna is a brutal mistress, said Thalia.
Rachaelis looked at the toiling slaves. She had seen slaves all of her life. Most had a weary, beaten-down look, an apathy that had sunk into their very bones. She had seen frightened slaves as well. But these men and women were terrified. She saw it in their eyes, in the sweat pouring down their faces, in the trembling of their hands.
She must be very brutal to have frightened them so badly, said Rachaelis.
Come, said Nazim, let us search the upper levels…
Rachaelis stopped. She felt something radiating from the floor, some power. Cold and dark, it made the hair on her neck stand up. She had felt it before, once in the basilica, and again in the Sunken Court.
Blood sorcery.
A blood spell! Rachaelis whirled, looking back and forth. But she saw no evidence that anyone was casting a spell. It’s here. But…
I don’t feel anything, said Nazim.
Step over here, said Rachaelis.
Nazim did, and Rachaelis saw his eyes widen.
A powerful blood spell, said Nazim.How did we miss sensing this? Every Adept in the city should be able to sense this.
I can’t sense anything, said Thalia.
I didn’t feel it until I was right on top of it, said Rachaelis. Let me see if I can get a better look.
Rachaelis cast the spell to sense the presence of magic. The queasy prickling of the blood spell grew stronger, washing against her mind like filthy water. She focused, sweeping her will over the floor.
It’s…muffled, somehow, she said. It’s being…shrouded. But it’s coming from beneath the floor.
The cellars, said Nazim. This way.
They left the kitchens, returned to the great hall, and made their way to the base of the stairs. The cellar door stood at the foot of the stairs, a massive expanse of steel banded oak.
Locked, said Rachaelis. Maybe you should open it, Magister. If I try I’ll wind up blasting it out of the frame, and that much noise will draw attention.
Subtlety was never your strong point, said Nazim, his mental voice dry. Fortunately, subtlety often comes with age, and I am older than dirt. He lifted his hand, his face tightening. There was a faint click, and the door’s lock released. Nazim gestured again, and the door swung open a foot or so, revealing stone steps descending into darkness.
Close it behind us, said Rachaelis as they entered the dim steps. One of the slaves might see it and get suspicious.
But don’t lock it, said Thalia. You might need to escape in a hurry.
We could always astraljump away, said Nazim.
Not if you're incapacitated somehow. But I haven’t seen where you are, so I can’t astraljump there, said Thalia. And I’d prefer not to have to blast down a locked door if you’re in trouble.
Good point, said Nazim. He gestured, and the door swung shut, leaving them in darkness. Rachaelis focused, and summoned a shimmering ball of blue light over palm.
Come, said Nazim.
They took the stairs slowly, allowing for Nazim’s limp. Rachaelis focused her sensing spell. The blood spell was ahead, growing even stronger as they drew closer.
The stairs ended in a large stone vault, dozens of thick pillars supporting an arched ceiling. Barrels and crates stood stacked against the pillars, and closed iron doors stood in the walls.
From beneath one of the iron doors came a hellish red glow.
Rachaelis looked at Nazim, and together they crossed to the door. She focused her will on the door, but there were no warding spells upon the rusted iron. It was locked, but Nazim’s skill made short work of that, and the iron door swung open.
Fiery light filled her vision.
> “Mercy of the Divine,” whispered Rachaelis, so shocked that she spoke aloud.
A large rectangular room, perhaps the size of Sister Maria’s warehouse Temple, stood on the other side of the door. Sigils of blood had been painted across the walls, the ceiling, and the floor, filling the room with their hellish light. They looked like larger versions of the symbols Rachaelis had seen the apprentice blood shamans use.
But it was not the symbols that held her attention.
A score of wooden tables stood in the room, and upon each of the tables lay a dead Jurgur. The corpses were bone white. Their blood had been drained, Rachaelis realized, and their hearts had been cut out, no doubt to keep them from rising as demon-possessed ghouls. A small forest of glass jars and globes, each filled with blood, stood against the far wall.
The room crawled with the presence of blood sorcery. The very air seemed drenched with it.
“How did we miss this?” said Rachaelis. “Every Adept in the city should have been able to sense this!”
What is it, came Thalia’s thought. What do you see?
“Those symbols,” said Nazim, pointing at the fiery glyphs of blood upon the wall. “I suspect they disrupt and block the flow of magic, shielding this room from detection. Except…there, see? That one on the ceiling? That one is flawed. That’s why we could sense the power in the kitchen.”
Rachaelis looked down. Between the glowing sigils upon the floor, she saw odd dark streaks, almost like scorch marks.
“I want to have a closer look at these,” said Nazim.
What do you see! Thalia’s thought rang with alarm.
Rachaelis kept staring at the floor. Those weren’t scorch marks.
Those were patterns drawn in dried blood.
“Magister!” she shouted. “No, don’t…”
She was too late.
Even as she spoke, his foot came down, and the intricate pattern of dried blood blazed with fiery light, creating an elaborate symbol that covered half the floor.
A trap.
And they had blundered right into it.
The hellish light enveloped Rachaelis, and she screamed in agony. Or tried to, anyway. The pain burrowed through her, locking her muscles in place. She fought and tried to move, tried to summon silver astralfire to break the spell, but nothing happened. Desperate, she reached for the thoughtmeld, but felt nothing. The burning sigil must have dispelled it.
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