by Ross Kitson
***
The mist was sucking the warmth from Emelia. She had positioned herself as close to Jem as she felt able given that he was generally an individual whom struggled with personal contact of this nature.
Emelia broke the silence. Her head rested on Jem’s non-burned shoulder.
“Why choose now to escape, Jem? Will he get far?”
“Hunor’s good, Emelia, there’s no doubt of that,” Jem said. “It’s a good night for natural cover and Silverton is close. It will be in the midst of the Spring Festival so if he gets that far they’ll never catch him.”
Unhert seemed to stir at this. His normally cheerful demeanour was suppressed, almost as if the escape had been a personal insult to him.
“Let us hope that he makes good his escape, Wild-mage. I bear him no malice but if he is caught by Sir Minrik or, worse, the Air-mage whom he battered so effectively, then I fear we shall be taking only two of you back to Coonor.”
“But Lady Orla…” Emelia said.
“Is the captain of this mission and has taken a chance in coming to Thetoria. If this goes well she will no doubt receive accolade. If it does not, then... well, her reputation may suffer and her honour…”
“Honour?” Emelia said. “For goodness sake, you’re talking about them killing Hunor. What sort of justice is it you Eerians follow?”
Unhert’s pale cheeks flushed like poppies in the snow.
“Our justice is the oldest in the lands of Nurolia, young lady. It became the model for the Artorian Empire in its day and hence the lands you see around you. Dare I say even slaves and servants get a chance to speak at trial, although with your current performance I would advise prudence.”
Emelia felt the anger rising within her. Her annoyance was augmented by the fact she liked Unhert. He was noble, kind and respectable: the very model of a knight. In truth she was furious at Hunor for escaping. If she were here alone, would he come back and rescue her?
Your fantasies about this knight are childish, Emelia, Emebaka mocked. It is his job to take you back to the so-called Eerian justice. It is the justice of the rich, meted out for their own interests. You are a housemaid who has mocked them with your escape; at best you will be breaking rocks chained to murderers and thieves.
I care not, Emelia retorted, though my friends are thieves they have shown me more life in these few years than ever I would have had if I had remained in the Keep.
Your friends, Emebaka griped, your friends? One friend has fled and you doubt as to whether he’ll return to aid you. As for the other he is so wrapped up in his neat orderly world of legend and lore that he wouldn’t see your obvious desires for him even if you paraded naked before him.
Enough! Emelia roared at Emebaka. How dare you! Jem is a good soul and my master and tutor. I respect him and his grace and his knowledge. Your twisted mind has warped what I have thought. I am not in love with him.
But Emebaka had gone silent in the face of Emelia’s temper. The rage bubbled like a cauldron within her.
Five feet to Emelia’s side a small rock rolled away and bounced down the hillside. Sir Unhert heard the noise and stood with his sword ready, surveying the mist.
Inside Emelia a tingle was arising. It was as if thousands of strands were being woven by an invisible spider in the air and connected to her. With a surge of excitement she realised the Pure Water must be wearing off.
But her hands were still tied and this precluded any coordinated magic use. Yet it occurred to her that perhaps she may still try wield it in an uncontrolled fashion, much in the way she had those years ago in Coonor. Emotion was the key; that had been Emebaka’s strategy all along.
She thought at first of the Keep. She thought of Uthor and she thought of Sandila lying dead on the cobbles. She thought of Lord Ebon-Farr and how he would smugly hand out her just punishment. She thought of Sir Minrik and his vile attitude and she thought of the Air-mage torturing Jem. She imagined her shame at returning to Coonor then considered why should she be ashamed? She’d been sold by her own parents to a nation that deluded itself into thinking its policy of servitude was some form of charity. Spite flowed like lava through her veins and she could feel magic beginning to throb around her in the Web.
Sir Unhert was stood, sensing energy flowing in the mist. The forces built within her like a pressure cooker. Then, abruptly, into her mind’s eye sprang the blue-skinned face of the half-ogre mage from her dreams. Once again she could feel his velvety skin and his hot passionate breath.
Her concentration broke and the pent up anger dissipated. Sir Unhert looked at Emelia sensing the break in the magical tension and realised that she was its source. In a flash he had moved before her and placed the tip of his sword on her neck.
“Don’t force me into doing this, Emelia,” he said.
An impulse to push forward onto the sword came into her mind. What would it feel like, staring into his eyes as her lifeblood poured down her neck? How long would the pain last? It would be far shorter than a lifetime in Iyrit Crag.
“Emelia, do as he says. Please,” Jem said. “This isn’t the way.”
Her stubborn streak fading, Emelia slowly bowed her head in submission. Tears welled up in her eyes. She felt empty and drained.
The cry of a griffon overhead roused her as Lady Orla circled in the air. The mist swirled and turned an emerald green. It gradually coalesced into the bruised figure of Ekra-Hurr.
“Don’t fear, little witch and warlock, your thief friend lives despite my wishes,” he said. “Be grateful for Lady Orla’s intervention.”
With a crushing sensation of defeat Emelia watched Ekra-Hurr remove the bottle of Pure Water from his satchel. She wanted to scream and sob. Her magic was to leave her again.
She accepted the drops of the water on her tongue, the blade still at her throat. It tasted somehow different, somehow plain. Careful not to let her surprise show she watched as Jem took his dose, Unhert’s sword now at his neck. To Jem’s credit his astonishment passed like a shadow over his face, obvious only to those who knew the nuances of the prim mage.
The Pure Water had been switched.
