by Ian Irvine
Esea let out a scream of fury and extended her hands towards the soldier. His bloody sword glowed red and smoked as the blood burned away, then went blue-white and turned to molten steel in his hand. He howled, clutched his charred hand, and began to scream and dance as the boiling metal ate through his boots. The reek of burning leather caught in Tallia’s nostrils.
Though only half his size, Esea ran at him in a reckless fury. “No one touches my brother!”
She slammed a chair into his face and he went down, kicking and screaming, his boots and feet ablaze.
“Kill Tallia, the monstrosity and the blonde bitch first,” bellowed the mancer. “Then all the others. Make damn sure they’re dead. Then secure the library, the council’s spell vault and the secret archives.”
Three ruffians advanced on Tallia in a coordinated attack, one from the front and one from either side. She blasted the first man off his feet, kicked the second in the belly and the third in the throat. But as more troops stormed through the door she realised it was hopeless.
“Out!” she panted, shoving the surviving council members towards the main doors. “Run, you damned fools!”
As she turned back to face their attackers a muscle-bound fellow with protruding ears shot out from underneath the table. He propelled himself to his feet and thrust up at her with a yellow-clotted blade. Tallia twisted away but not in time. Icy pain speared through her shoulder as the point struck her right collarbone, slid through the flesh beneath and jammed against her shoulder blade.
She kicked him in the kneecap. He hopped back, grimacing, but did not fall. Blood poured from her wound, then a stinging numbness spread across her shoulder and her right arm flopped by her side, useless.
In the past Tallia had taken worse injuries, but numbness was spreading down her right side and up her neck. It did not feel like any spell she had encountered before. The yellow muck on the blade must have been poison.
Behind her she heard screams and the explosive gush of someone vomiting. Were the rest of the councillors being butchered? She did not have the strength to turn her head. She felt an immense sense of failure. How had her network of spies and informers, supposedly the best in the land, not warned her of this plot?
The muscle-bound thug swung his sword back and Tallia knew she was going to die.
8
CAN YOU STAY UPRIGHT?
Tallia slipped to her knees, watching the swinging blade that was going to end her life.
Behind her Hingis spoke three words in an arcane tongue: “Rahgiz voluten shix.” Tallia’s attacker let out a yelp as the blade appeared to reverse in his hand and spear at his own face. He swayed sideways and it sliced off his protruding left ear as it went past. On the floor, it looked like a bloody dried apricot.
He hurled the weapon from him, clutched at the side of his head, then stared at the blood all over his hand. Hingis’s illusion was one of the finest Tallia had ever seen, though not enough to save her – the soldier was drawing a long knife.
Hingis and Esea faced each other. He nodded and spoke another two words. There was not a hint of panic in his voice.
At the same time Esea cried, “Chamber, crumble!”
The room began to shake, then wobble. The walls seemed to be vibrating in and out, the floor bucking up and down, the chairs clattering across the boards. White smoke billowed from a stack of paper scrolls. The muscle-bound soldier was thrown off his feet.
Esea pointed at the massive ebony table. It toppled onto its side, bounced as if the hard wood had turned to rubber, swung in a violent arc and slammed into the muscle-bound soldier, then the others. Bones snapped like dry wood. Two of the soldiers went flying backwards and the others disappeared behind the table, which pushed them across the chamber and crushed them against the side wall. Their screams proved that it was no illusion.
The chamber felt as though it was shaking to pieces. Statues of past Magisters toppled from their pedestals; framed portraits of councillors hit the floor and came apart. Hingis gestured at the ceiling, which cracked in many places. Chunks of lath and plaster pelted down, though oddly there was no dust. This was an illusion, though only a master could have seen through it.
Tallia tried to get up but her legs would not support her. Esea lifted her from behind and thrust a shoulder under her left arm, supporting her. Esea’s face was bleached, her breath rasping. Attacking with such massive objects had drained her. Hingis was breathing in punctured gasps and his lips had a blue tinge.
The three surviving councillors were stampeding down the hall, Avury last, his prodigious buttocks wobbling like water-filled balloons. The seat of his trousers had burst.
Only two soldiers were uninjured and they hung well back, staring fearfully at the quivering ceiling. The masked mancer’s lips were moving. Evidently he was trying to understand which aspects of the Secret Art were being used here, and how to counter them.
Esea turned Tallia and headed for the doors. Hingis lurched along beside them, grimly satisfied.
“Your best ever illusion,” said Esea.
It was all Tallia could do to hold on. She glanced back. “They’re coming again. Mean to kill us all. And I’ve got nothing left.”
“Hold her up,” said Esea.
Hingis gave Tallia his shoulder and she could feel his knees trembling. Esea raised both arms towards the far end of the chamber.
A quarter of the ceiling fell with a crash, burying the three soldiers. A chunk of plaster burst on the mancer’s head, driving him to his knees and knocking the purple mask askew. Tallia saw a long lopsided face, a lantern jaw and pendulous ears like tree fungi – it was Scorbic Vyl, a dangerous mancer-for-hire. Who was he working for? He yanked the mask over his face and staggered out, calling for reinforcements.
“Come on,” said Hingis.
Esea was on her knees. “Utterly… drained.”
She forced herself to her feet and they hauled Tallia through the main doors. Hingis pulled them shut and locked them. Lestry, the door guard, had fled. Esea staggered to the nearest window and clung to its frame, looking out.
“Where… citadel guards?” gasped Tallia.
“Vyl must have dealt with them first.”
Boom! Boom! The main doors were attacked from the other side. Tallia fell to her knees again.
“They can’t hold more than a minute or two,” said Esea.
They snatched their weapons from the cabinet. Esea hauled Tallia to the stone stairs on the left and, with Hingis’s help, heaved her down five flights. He locked each set of doors behind them, though it could only gain them a few minutes. They were both gasping and Tallia still could not stand up by herself.
“What about… councillors?” she said.
“Running for their lives.” Esea’s voice dripped contempt.
“The council records—”
“Will fall into Vyl’s hands,” said Hingis. “This was well planned.”
“Can’t… end like this,” said Tallia, slurring her words.
“If we don’t get out of Thurkad before they take the gates,” said Esea, “we’re dead.”
“Stables. My horses. Keep watch. Yellowcloaks.”
They headed along a low, dripping passage to the citadel stables. Puddles of foul brown water on the floor smelled as if it had seeped from the cesspits. Esea wadded a rag against Tallia’s oozing wound and bound it. There wasn’t time to clean it. Tallia put a hand on the bandage and cast an antidote charm. The pain softened, though it did not ease the creeping lethargy that made the simplest thing an effort. Not knowing what the poison was, she could not counter it.
Her saddlebags were already packed. Hingis and Esea saddled the horses while Tallia clung to the side of a stall, feeling cold blood trickling down her side. It was taking all her strength to stay conscious.
They helped her onto her horse, a huge black beast, wild of eye and loyal only to her. Her head spun. With a supreme effort of will that she would pay for later, she forced the numbness back.
“Can you stay upright?” said Esea.
“Have to.”
“Where are we going?”
“Was taking ship. Too risky now. Go… south-west gate. Split up.”
“We’re not leaving you.”
“You must.”
They rode for the gate, trying not to attract attention. It was very dark and the wind drove cold rain through the stinking yellow smog. There were few people on the streets and most were head down, trying to get out of the miserable weather.
They reached the south-western gate and were not challenged, though they were recognised and must soon be followed. Two miles south, at the junction of the Feddil Road and the High Way, Tallia reined in, shuddering with the cold.
“Got coin?” she said to the twins. Their stipend was small and Hingis’s healers’ bills must be enormous.
“We’ve got nothing but what we’re wearing,” said Hingis.
Esea pulled half a dozen small coins from her pocket, studied them ruefully and thrust them back.
“Magisters have… secret hoards,” said Tallia. “One not far.”
The rain grew heavier. She was shivering uncontrollably; cold was creeping out of the wound and all through her body. It took a desperate hour to find the place, between a cluster of boulders in a patch of scrub heavily grazed by goats. But as they passed behind the biggest boulder Tallia knew what she was going to find – she could sense the broken protection charm and smell the freshly turned earth.
The hoard, which had been hidden here for decades, had been freshly plundered. What if the other hoards were gone as well? She had savings but she was by no means wealthy. How was she to fund the fightback? Tallia slumped onto a grey boulder, shivering and shuddering, and cast her antidote charm again. It did nothing.
“What are we going to do?” said Esea.
Tallia lurched to her saddlebags, took out two coin pouches and handed one to each of them.
“We can’t take your savings,” said Esea.
“You can’t go back. Lost everything.”
“How will you get to Crandor?”
Tallia let out a bitter croak. “How can I go home now?”
“We can deal with Scorbic Vyl.”
“But not… who’s behind him.” Vyl’s colours had given that away.
“Who is behind him?”
“Yellow parchment on purple velvet – Cumulus Snoat.”
“Who’s he?” said Esea.
Tallia forced herself to focus, to speak clearly. “Greediest man in Meldorin. He’s got a private army.”
“But the City Watch—”
“Will have fallen. Snoat’s yellowcloaks will control Thurkad by now… and whoever controls Thurkad controls… northern Iagador. But it’s worse than that…”
“What are you saying?”
“War!” she gasped. “And Iagador no longer has an army.”
It was time for extreme measures. Tallia gripped her staff, focused on the wound and prepared the most powerful healing charm she could manage. Self-healing charms were rarely effective for long and the cost in aftersickness would be high, but she had no choice. She cast the spell. The wound burned as if a red-hot coal had been jammed into it, then her mind cleared a little.
“Thurkad is lost,” said Tallia. “Race down the High Way to Sith. Don’t stop, day or night. Send skeets.”
Skeets were vicious hunting birds, bigger than eagles, and dangerous to handle, but they were the fastest way to send a message.
“Who to?” said Esea.
“Nadiril, the Librarian at the Great Library in Zile. And Wistan, at the college in Chanthed. And… Yggur, too, I suppose.” She pronounced his name as Igger.
“His abdication created this mess.”
“You can’t blame him for his illness. And he may be recovering by now – he may be able to help us.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Esea.
“When you get to Sith, organise the resistance in the south: recruit allies and spies, raise money and form an army.”
“That all?” Esea said sarcastically.
“Then await my skeet,” said Tallia.
“Where are you going?”
“To Gothryme.”
“A hundred miles is a hell of a ride in your condition.”
“Must be done. Then I’ll head to Casyme to see Shand.”
“Who’s he?” said Esea.
“Long ago he was known as the Recorder. Though he’s an old man now – all my allies are old.”
“Or damaged,” said Esea, though she meant herself. She would never have said it about Hingis.
Tallia turned to go, then stopped. There was a high chance that she would be caught and killed, and the council’s secrets must be protected. “Hingis, a word.” She headed away between the boulders.
He followed, walking with a sideways rolling motion, his breath rasping. Esea came with him.
“A private word, please, Esea,” Tallia added.
Hingis paused in mid-step, his eyes searching Tallia’s. Gold flashed in Esea’s eyes; she glared at Tallia, unblinking. Tallia met her gaze and they stood that way for a long moment, then Esea turned back.
Tallia went on until there was no chance of being overheard and waited for Hingis. He did nothing without effort but asked for no concessions.
“Esea and I work together,” said Hingis.
“The more people who know the code to the council’s spell vault, the greater the risk it’ll be exposed. There are old spells and forgotten devices so deadly—”
His eyes widened fractionally. “I trust Esea with my life.”
Tallia faltered. Was she doing the right thing, or making a terrible mistake? She could not think clearly. “While I’m Magister, I must protect our secrets.”
“She won’t take it well.”
“If… if the need wasn’t desperate, I wouldn’t ask. Will you accept the code, use it if disaster strikes and there’s no other way, and keep it secret no matter the cost?”
“If I do,” said Hingis, “it will sunder us. And… that may turn out worse than if you never gave it to me.”
There was no time to think that through. They had to leave now. “No one can see the future. For the sake of Iagador?”
His lopsided shoulders slumped, the left dropping lower than the right, then extended his right hand. She wrote the code on a scrap of paper and gave it to him. He read it, closed his eyes for a second, his lips moving, then nodded and handed the paper back. She tore it to pieces, put them in her mouth, chewed and swallowed.
“Fare well,” said Hingis.
“And you.”
He trudged back to Esea and they spoke briefly, after which she stalked to her horse and galloped away. Hingis hauled himself into the saddle like a crab trying to climb a wall and rode after her, as saggy as a bag of potatoes.
Pain stabbed through Tallia’s shoulder. Had she made things worse? She mounted, turned onto the Feddil Road and urged her horse into a gallop. She could already feel her healing charm slipping, the aftersickness stirring. The hundred-mile ride was going to be brutal.
Yet her failure was more painful. Her decade as Magister had been wasted and she was never going home. The dream of tropical Crandor, a family and children at her knee, was over.
As soon as they were gone, a skinny bow-legged man whose arms and hands were thickly furred with black hair slipped down from his hiding place on top of the tallest rock, and raced back to Thurkad.
9
THE DISEMBODIMENT SPELL
Blood was smeared all over Sulien’s face and she began to moan and kick. Was she dying? Karan could not breathe, could not think what to do.
“Is the magiz attacking?” Llian said wildly.
“I don’t know!” Karan snapped. “Hold her still.”
He held Sulien down by the shoulders. Karan extended her fingers across Sulien’s forehead, desperately trying to sense how the magiz was getting to her. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Should
she use Malien’s spell and go after the magiz? With Sulien in this state, she dared not.
Precious minutes passed. Llian wiped the blood off her face but it kept pouring from her nose, and her legs were thrashing on the bed. Ah! When Karan had lifted the nightmare half an hour ago she had missed a small link implanted in Sulien’s mind. That’s how the magiz was attacking.
Karan reached down to the buried link, which was like a shiny black bead connected to a taut thread. She jerked the bead out and the thread whipped it away into the dimension from which it had come. Karan gasped; the pain was like an axe biting into the top of her own skull.
Sulien sighed and her eyelids fluttered. Llian tore off a pillowcase, wet it from the bedside water jug and wiped the blood off her face. The bleeding had stopped; she was asleep again, though it was interrupted by fits of trembling and whimpering.
“Watch her,” Karan said weakly.
She sensed a distant pain, as bad as her own. She had hurt the magiz. Karan slumped onto the bed, holding her head. But the magiz would attack again and again; she would never give in. Karan got up and lurched out. This had to end now.
“What are you doing?” cried Llian.
She stopped in the doorway, swaying. “Don’t come into the spare bedroom.”
His eyes were despairing holes in his blanched face. “Karan?”
It hurt to see him in such torment, but nothing could be done right now. “I’ve got to stop the magiz while I still can. I’m going to use a disembodiment spell. Malien put it on me earlier.”
“What for?” he said wildly.
“To find out how the magiz is attacking.” There was no time to give him the details, no time for anything.
Not even to say, I love you.
In the spare room she prepared herself, knowing what a reckless thing she was doing. The magiz knew her link had been broken and she would expect Karan to strike back.
