by Ian Irvine
“Esea!” he choked.
From behind the chimneys he heard gasping and the sound of metal striking stone. They’d trapped her too. His head spun and he fell against the broken wall. The rough stone drove into his ribs, driving the air out of his good lung. He slid sideways onto the rubble, breathless and unable to move. His pursuer, a swarthy fellow whose dark eyes were mere slits, loomed over him.
“By the powers, you’re a hideous little bastard,” he said disgustedly.
He struck Hingis across the head with the flat of his sword, then pressed the point of the blade against his throat until the skin broke. Hingis shrank away and the soldier grinned. Six of his top front teeth were broken off in a row.
“The little bitch is dead,” said the soldier, prodding Hingis’s mangled face.
He poked the tip of the blade between Hingis’s lips and levered his mouth open. Hingis had no hope left and, having betrayed Tallia’s secret and failed his sister, just wanted to die as quickly as possible.
“Look out!” a man shrieked.
The swarthy soldier raised his sword and whirled. A good distance away stone grated on stone, then a man cried out. The sound was cut off by a liquid thud, like a rock pulverising a melon.
“Is he…?” called a different voice.
“As a maggot! Get out, get out!”
The north side of the first chimney came apart and fell with a thunderous series of crashes onto the chimney beside it, which began to collapse as well. A scream was cut off abruptly, then the narrow gap between the chimneys filled with rubble for a good ten feet. Dust swirled up and obscured the scene.
The swarthy man ran along beside the wall for a few yards, then stopped. His shoulders drooped as he stared at the place where the gap had been, then he turned back to Hingis, baring his broken teeth.
“Guess they won’t need their shares. And maybe not Vyl either.” He prodded Hingis with the sword. “On your feet!”
It was all Hingis could do to come to his knees. The swarthy man swatted him on the side of the head again, but the poisonous aftersickness was rising, and the air in Hingis’s throat was as thick as glue. He could hear himself gasping like a stranded fish; little sparks were flashing in his eyes and his lips were tingling.
“Get up, you repulsive little swine!” The soldier kicked Hingis in the guts.
He folded over, unable to move.
“Get away from my brother!” said Esea.
Tears flooded his eyes. She was alive! She was on the wall twelve feet away, pointing a short stick at the swarthy man.
He put the blade to Hingis’s throat again. “Drop it or he dies.”
Esea tossed the reshaped stick down. But whatever it had been, it was no longer a stick. It landed at the swarthy man’s feet and exploded with a little bang, scattering burning embers in all directions. Some of them landed on his trews and stuck. He tried to brush them off, but those he touched stuck to the side of his hand. Smoke trailed up from the embers, then a little patch of red grew around each one.
The swarthy man dropped his sword and tried to grind out the sparks on his hands. They stuck together. The right leg of his trousers burst into flame. He let out a pig-like squeal, vaulted the wall and raced towards the nearest pit, trailing flame and smoke.
Hingis dragged himself upright as the man dived over the edge of the pit and disappeared. Hingis heard no splash and the smoke continued to gush up.
“What was that?” he said dully.
Esea did not want to talk about it. Up close, he could see how much it had taken out of her; her normally beautiful features were slack, her skin pallid, her eyes dull and staring.
“Had to lure them right in,” said Esea. “Didn’t have the strength to do anything from a distance. Could barely pull the mortar out of the chimney from ten feet away.” She reached out with both hands. “That snake illusion was brilliant.”
“I don’t know how I did it,” he said numbly. “It just came to me.”
“Well, it saved us. Where’s Vyl? We’ve got to put him down.”
To protect the secret code Hingis had given away. He staggered to the edge of the hill, but Vyl, escorted by the two surviving soldiers, was half a mile away, racing back to Thurkad. There was no hope of catching him.
As Hingis stood there, staring after them, guilt hit him like a landslide. How was he to tell Tallia that he had betrayed the council’s most important secret, and that Snoat would have the code to the spell vault within days? She had to be told urgently but he had no way to contact her. His stomach heaved and he threw up so violently that something tore in his belly.
Esea put an arm across his shoulders. “It’s done, and we’ve got to make the best of it.”
Hingis looked down at her three-toed foot. She was maimed now, like him, and he had allowed it. He shuddered and wrenched away.
“Hingis?” she said anxiously. Then she realised the source of his revulsion, and it crushed her. “I sacrificed my toes to keep the secret safe,” she said very quietly. “And protect you. And now my foot repulses you?”
Hingis could not speak. Her perfect beauty had made his own hideousness bearable but there was no way to say it. Her lovely face crumbled and she went utterly cold. She dragged her sock and boot on over her bloody foot and rode away.
The pain in his belly grew worse. Hingis hauled himself onto his horse and rode past the pit. The swarthy man, desperate to put the fire out, had dived too soon and landed on the broken rock surrounding the greenish water. He had dragged himself to the water’s edge, leaving a bloody trail behind him, and lay still, head and shoulders submerged, legs still burning.
The stink of burning meat was still in Hingis’s nostrils an hour later. But the foulness of his twin betrayals would be there until the day he died.
14
THEY NEARLY KILLED ME
After the bailiff took Benie, Karan stalked into the kitchen and scrubbed the big table down violently. It did not help. She had done everything she could, yet it had made no difference. He was doomed and, if she could not find a way to stop the magiz, so was Sulien. Only Karan could save her but it was impossible to attack the magiz from the disembodied state.
She went looking for Llian. He was not in the library but the Tale of the Mirror lay open on the table. She sat down in front of it. It was the most beautiful book she had ever seen and it meant everything to him. But war was coming, they might have to flee at a moment’s notice and they needed coin, lots of it. The book had to be sold.
A brief letter caught her eye on top of a stack of papers. It was addressed to Thandiwe. Karan turned away; it was none of her business. Then she turned back.
Karan had never liked Thandiwe. She was a man-hunter, and the man she wanted was Llian. She had visited once, years ago, and even talking to Karan at her own dinner table, Thandiwe had not been able to tear her gaze away from him, the greedy bitch! She could have any chronicler or teller in Chanthed, so why did she want him? Because he had a Great Tale to his name.
Karan looked sideways at the letter, headed for the door then, without conscious thought, turned back, snatched it up and read it.
Just say what you want, and I’ll do it – whatever it takes.
Like hell! She thrust the letter into her pocket and went out. Her knees were shaky. She took deep breaths to steady herself, then went around the old keep to the entry track. It could not be called a road and was badly in need of maintenance, like everything at Gothryme. The bailiff, Benie and the two guards were out of sight.
In the distance a winding line of dust marked the course of the track. Someone was coming this way, riding fast. Not Rachis then. The rider topped the rise and pounded on, slumped sideways in the saddle.
Llian appeared with Sulien. He avoided Karan’s eyes. She scowled at him.
“It’s Tallia!” said Karan.
“And in bad shape.”
Tallia’s face was a greenish-grey and her shirt was dark with blood from the right shoulder to her waist.
She tried to smile but could not.
“What’s happened?” Llian reached up to support her.
“Council meeting attacked two nights ago,” said Tallia. “Four councillors dead. Rest ran.”
Karan shivered. It was beginning.
They helped Tallia inside and onto the settee in the sitting room, a long but narrow room whose pink granite walls were bare. Karan had taken the delicate old tapestries down to clean. Llian went back for the saddlebags.
She began to cut away Tallia’s shirt, which was stuck to the wound with clotted blood. “How did this happen?”
“All it takes to tear down a system,” said Tallia, “is one ruthless man prepared to kill everyone in his way.”
“I can’t believe they wounded you.”
“They nearly killed me.”
Sulien came in with clean rags, a pair of scissors, a jar of ointment and a bowl. She went out and returned with a wooden pail of hot water. Karan cut the rest of Tallia’s shirt away, tossed it into the fire and cleaned the caked blood off, revealing a deep, infected wound running below the right collarbone. She winced with every stroke.
It was a bad sign. If Tallia, one of the toughest people Karan had ever met, could be beaten so easily, what hope did they have?
Karan finished cleaning the wound, covered it with ointment and a pad of cloth, and bound it. Llian came to the door, put the saddlebags down and left, still avoiding her gaze.
“I remember the first time we met,” said Karan. “You gave me some chocolate. I’d never tasted anything like it in my life.”
“What’s chocolate?” said Sulien, who was tossing the braided chain Karan had given her from hand to hand.
“Poor, deprived child,” said Tallia fondly. “In Crandor, where I come from, my family has a big cocoa plantation.” She gazed at Sulien and gave a sigh of longing. “I might give you some later… if you’re good.”
“I’m always good.” Sulien blushed faintly.
“Off you go,” said Karan. “We need to talk about grown-up things.”
Sulien did not move. “Like Benie murdering Cook?”
“What?” said Tallia.
“I wrote to you about it yesterday.” Karan told her about the drumming and the murder. “He lost all self-control when the drumming sounded. Is… is there anything you can do to save him?”
“What have you done so far?”
“I’ve pleaded with the bailiff, the sergeant and the mayor of Tolryme. Paid an advocate to defend Benie. Written a statement about his good character.”
“Then there’s nothing more anyone can do.”
“But they’ll hang him!” Karan cried. “I should have let him go.”
“So he could kill again, the next time the drumming sounds?” said Tallia.
“It’s not fair!” said Sulien.
“The chaos has begun,” Karan quoted. “Friend will turn on friend, sister on brother.”
“And Snoat is behind it,” said Tallia.
The blood drained from Karan’s cheeks. “Cumulus Snoat? What’s he got to do with anything?”
“He instigated the attack on the council. He’s taken Thurkad and his army won’t stop there.”
Karan stifled a gasp. “But Llian wrote to him yesterday, asking what he’d pay for the original manuscript of the Tale of the Mirror.”
Tallia sat up abruptly. “Has the letter gone?”
“Rachis took it,” said Sulien.
“This is bad,” said Tallia. “Why does Llian want to sell it anyway?”
“We’re practically bankrupt,” said Karan. “And with the other thing I haven’t told you about…”
“I don’t think I can take much more bad news. But I suppose I must.”
“Sulien, go and help your father.”
“He’s just staring at the library wall,” said Sulien.
“Go!” Karan cried.
Sulien went, furiously. Karan checked outside the door, then told Tallia about Sulien’s nightmare and Gergrig ordering the magiz to kill her and the household. And how, using Malien’s disembodiment spell, Karan had gone spying on the magiz and had nearly been caught.
“By the night of the triple moons there won’t be any opposition,” she ended.
Tallia slumped in her chair, breathing shallowly. “And we can’t fight the Merdrun because we’ve got no idea where the summon stone is. Or what it is. Or what their fatal weakness is, that’s buried in Sulien’s unconscious mind.”
“I looked for it, but I couldn’t find anything.”
Tallia looked at her sideways. “There are… other ways.”
“Like hell!” Karan jumped up and stalked back and forth, trembling. “I thought you were our friend.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“You want to prise the secret out of Sulien’s head with mancery.”
“It may be the only thing that can save us, Karan.”
“Swear there’s no risk to her and I’ll think about it.”
Tallia made as if to speak, stopped, then said, “I can’t. But if we can discover the Merdrun’s weakness and make sure they know we know, there’s no reason for the magiz to kill Sulien.”
“She’s an evil, malicious woman. She’d do it for spite.” Karan sat. “How risky is it?”
Tallia paused for a very long time. “The spell may have no effect at all, though it’s dangerous and unpredictable.”
“What’s the worst that could happen to Sulien?”
“Catatonia. Incurable madness. Even death.”
“Then the answer is no! Don’t ask again.”
Tallia sighed. “Well, at least Malien knows what’s going on. She’s the greatest power in Santhenar now.”
“She doesn’t know how my spying went,” said Karan. “Or that the summon stone has a weakness and can be destroyed.”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t been able to get through to her.”
Tallia frowned. “Maybe the magiz is blocking you. What are you going to do?”
“Protect Sulien. Llian is trying to find out about the Merdrun and the stone, then we’ll go somewhere the magiz can’t find us – if there is such a place.”
“Promise me you won’t attempt any more seeings.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to save my daughter!” Karan said fiercely.
Tallia shook her head. “And I was about to resign.”
“Why?” Karan said numbly.
“To go home and have a family while I still could, but that’s impossible now.”
“I thought it was never going to happen for me,” said Karan. “What are we going to do?”
“Someone will have to find this summon stone and destroy it. Though I don’t know who – or how.”
“What about your old allies?”
“That’s just it,” said Tallia. “They’re all old.”
“Malien isn’t old.”
“But Tirthrax is a thousand miles away. I’m out of my depth, Karan.”
Sulien came in bearing a bowl of beef soup, a chunk of brown bread and an apple, then tried to look inconspicuous. Karan pointed to the door. Sulien scowled and went out. Tallia ate a few mouthfuls of soup.
“Tell Llian not to sell his book to Snoat. Surely there’s something else you can sell first?”
“Only this,” said Karan, picking up the chain Sulien had been playing with.
“It doesn’t look as though it would be worth anything. Can I see?”
Tallia put out a long brown hand and Karan dropped the chain into it. Tallia’s hand jerked. She studied the chain.
“There’s supposed to be a charm on it,” said Karan. “Put there three thousand years ago by Shuthdar—”
“To protect a crippled young woman called Fiachra. But it failed.” Tallia ran her long fingers along the chain. “He was the greatest craftsman who ever lived. And a great spell-binder. Karan, this is very valuable.”
“Right now, it’s only worth the time it can buy us.�
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“Well, here’s a down payment.” Tallia took a small bag from her saddlebags.
“I don’t expect—”
“I know you don’t.”
Tallia finished her soup and bread, put the apple in her pocket and rose unsteadily. She swayed, steadied herself on the arm of the settee then turned to the door.
“Thank you,” she said.
“That wound needs rest. At least two days.”
“I’ve got to see Shand right away. After that I’ll call our allies to an urgent meeting, probably in Chanthed. I’d like you there if you can manage it.”
“Let me know the date and I’ll see.”
After Tallia had ridden away, and Karan was tidying up, she found the chain sitting beside Tallia’s soup bowl along with a large slab of chocolate.
Karan picked up the chocolate, settled the bag of coin in her pocket and went out. Things might be bad and getting worse, but she still had friends.
15
THE CRY OF THE NIGHTJAR
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.
The crippled girl trembled in her sleep and pulled the blankets up to her ears. Her herb pillow released the scent of lavender.
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.
Aviel roused slowly, opened one eye and closed it again; it was still dark in her little perfumery workshop. She was drifting back into sleep when she heard it a third time. Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo – the cry of a nightjar, a very bad omen. She felt a painful spasm below her heart, a sign that her luck was about to take a turn for the worse.
By which she meant worse than usual.
Aviel was a twist-foot, which signified bad luck, and a seventh sister, which was worse. But worst of all, she had been born a silver-hair, and the combination of all three meant prodigiously bad luck. It had dogged her from the moment she was born, except for the single lucky day that had landed her here.
There was an almighty thump on the door. She jumped.
“Aviel?”
It was Shand. “Yes?” she squeaked.
“Need your help. Quick!”
She rubbed her angled right foot and the twisted, lumpy ankle that never stopped hurting, dressed and limped up to Shand’s big old house, a monstrosity of a place with undulating walls of intricately laid polychrome brickwork. The interior design was equally strange – rooms whose proportions changed from one end to the other as if they belonged in a house of mirrors, walls stepped from bottom to top and top to bottom, rooms with five, seven and even eleven sides.