Magience: second edition

by Cari Silverwood

  The men emerged from the copse.

  “Undead all right, sir,” one yelled. “All in bits. Someone gave ’em a right pretty burial. All neat in a row.” He chuckled. “I’d say nine or ten of them, at least.”

  The noble leaned in. “Is this necessary, Hilas? We have urgent business, you know.”

  “I like to be doubly certain, milord. Let me see those.” He gestured as the men halted before him. “Dug from the carcasses?”

  One of them reached up and poured a small pile of stones into Frope’s gloved hand. They dripped watery blood. “Trackstones, every one. I washed ’em, sir.” He indicated his water canteen.

  Frope scowled. “Yes. Next time dry them also. Aah. You see, Pedroon. Success at last. We have proof!”

  The noble’s eyes lit up. “From the batch sent last? From the batch that went to the – ”

  “Yes!” He lowered his voice but Ellinca could still make out his reply. “We must gather our evidence. We have him in our grasp. They do come from – ” Hilas Frope glanced about, frowned then straightened. He put the stones into a pouch which he tucked away in his saddlebag.

  “Thank you for your forbearance, miss.” He smiled grimly. “Have a pleasant stay in Carstelan. If you need any help with accommodation, or...any questions, make sure you come to me. My card, lieutenant.”

  With that he turned and rode away. The noble, Pedroon, followed promptly but the lieutenant stayed. He took a white card from a belt pouch. Momentarily he held it between the tips of his gloved fingers as if considering tossing it to her then instead reached down and pressed it into her blood-smeared injured hand. His smile was as sweet as sugar.

  She smiled back, determined not to wince, not to let him feel or see her flinch. The least sign of weakness would please this man, and she would not give him that.

  His voice, in contrast to his smile, was ugly. “My commander meant, in case you missed his meaning, do not say anything to anyone about...” He waved vaguely. “...this. In any tongue, and that includes your bastard native one.”

  He looked her up and down. His forehead wrinkled. Puzzled or displeased with her appearance? She tensed, not daring to move until he reined his horse round and cantered after the others. Inside she was churning, recalling the pain as he crushed his fingers around her arm, the calm way he had ordered Pascolli to be whipped.

  The flush of excitement, the thrill of having managed to deceive the lot of them had long since faded, replaced by waves of anger, fear and relief.

  No one spoke as the last of the horsemen rode away across the bridge with a clattering of hooves and harness. Belatedly she recognized one of them – the court photographer, Mr. Jubb. Had he just saluted her? Blinding sunlight made it difficult to be sure. Ellinca let out a long breath and sat, her legs like jelly.

  “Well done, girl,” said Dayna, her voice echoing from inside the helm. “Well done. Your worth is proved today.”

  “Aye.” Haddrash agreed. “If only me own son had your guts.”

  Any other time she would have blushed.

  The card she held was criss-crossed with golden meandering lines, and scribed in powder blue was the writing: Hilas Frope. Appointed Finder by his majesty the Imperator. Private offices at numero 23 Rue de Scolar.

  “We should wait ten minutes then follow them,” said Dost. The others nodded.

  Ellinca spat on the card, crumpled it into a ball and threw it as far away as she could.

  Chapter 19

  The Savagery of War

  On the way into Carstelan they saw many disturbing signs of destruction and death. A fresh bonfire at the side of a paddy field held the bodies of bludvoik and, for miles around them, columns of smoke twirled slowly up into the sky. Red-eyed, weary soldiers patrolled the farms. A vigilant group of citizens squatted by the roadside, their scythes and spears close at hand. Five freshly dug mounds lay in the yard of a temple.

  Everywhere there was fear, in the staring eyes, in the jerking movement when they were first seen, in the smoke that tainted Ellinca’s breath, in the circling flocks of black ravens, and in the absence of friendly words, for no one greeted them. Not a single good morning or even the gods shine on you.

  Dayna ended up sitting next to Ellinca, intending to rest her arm. Her mare trotted beside them, tied to the carriage,

  Haddrash spoke, his voice a low rumble. “The gods have deserted the Burgla’le, or that’s what the common folk are sayin’. This war may be their undoin’.”

  “Truly?” asked Dayna. Ellinca jumped. It was unsettling to hear Dayna’s voice coming from the helm. With each day her handling of La’le improved. “Then they have not seen the army of their Imperator. He will take our mountains soon. I saw many fires of soldiers’ camps as we flew in.”

  Ellinca blinked. The pretty lights she had admired as they had flown had been those of a vast army.

  “Aye? That’s bad news. Hmm. Makes sense. There is a fair lack of soldiers hereabouts. Barely enough to fight the bludvoik when they come each night. This is the worst morning I’ve seen.”

  “Then more of these mornings would be good.”

  The hate implied in those words. To wish the bludvoik on these people! A saying came to her: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. But no one could possibly be the friend of bludvoik.

  Without thinking, she looked ahead at Dost’s back. He and Krueger rode side by side. There was a smear of fresh blood on Krueger’s armor where mail and leather glove met plate armor sleeve. Her brow furrowed as she recalled the knife in his hand when he had knelt. Had he caused the wound himself? The Kaddash must be hard men if they cut themselves after each failure. Or stupid. Their enemies would surely be happy to do them the same favor.

  Less than quarter of a mile away were the east gates of Carstelan. Soon she would meet Sir Blissman – if Dost kept his word. It was an unsettling thought. Like a glint of light from a half-buried coin another came into her head. Was there another way? Could she find Sir Blissman on her own? Such an important man would not hide in a forgotten corner of the city. But would he even see her?

  “Dayna, why do you follow Dost? Why help him? He’s a...” She glanced at Haddrash.

  “Haddrash knows about Dost.”

  “Oh. Then tell me why.”

  The metal snout swiveled as Dayna looked at her. It was like talking to an automata. And the eyes are the mirror to the soul. The words came to her unbidden.

  “Orders. I follow orders. The auratrist knows the truth. I believe Dost will try to do as he said he would.”

  “Then why...”

  “No! No more whys. I cannot say more...to you.” She turned away.

  Why had she thought Dayna was her friend? It was a jarring reminder of her own lowly status in the eyes of the Grakks. Why did they send the two of you if you trust him? To aid him, she guessed Dayna would say to her, if she could.

  Then something told her that Dayna had relented a little, though it was difficult to judge with all that armor.

  “Ellinca. I am not meaning to hurt you... But I am soldier. Something bothers me. Why is Dost wanting you here? You are barely a woman. Useless in speeches with Imperator, though not so bad in combat, I guess.” She raised her hands in puzzlement. “Can you tell me?”

  Barely a woman! How tempting this was – to reveal everything. She lowered her eyes. Dost had not revealed that he expected her to change him back, for they would then know she was a mage...or something very like one. Would they despise her? Perhaps fear her even more than they did Dost himself? Lumped in with the worst of the mages because she could do a bit of wild magience? Though in desperation the Grakks were using wild mages to fight this war, it didn’t mean they liked them.

  “Well? Can you tell me?” Dayna muffled her voice. “I promise I will be...not telling others.”

  Haddrash pointedly cleared his throat then leaned forward.

  Ellinca shook her head, knowing it was best to remain just a girl in Dayna’s eyes – of no consequence.

&nb
sp; “Okay.” Dayna sighed “But if any people tries to hurt you, you come to me. No joking. I help you.”

  Ellinca nodded and tried to smile back. Her chest ached. She blinked to clear her eyes.

  “Good! Um. I also wish to say I am sorry for your friend who died. Pascolli?”

  Oh, that was worse. Now she really had to try hard to hold herself together. Why did she have this need to snivel at everything? She nodded curtly. “Thanks.” There was an awkward silence.

  “You’d best be back on your horse afore we get to the gates,” said Haddrash. He slowed the carriage.

  “Yus.” Dayna climbed out and swung into the saddle.

  The outskirts of Carstelan were evidence that in recent years, or even decades, nothing had disturbed its peace. A full mile of dwellings, mostly ramshackle but some built of good brick, extended all the way up to a spear throw from the great wall. In the event of a siege a competent enemy would be delighted to find the houses so close.

  The wall itself was fully sixty yards high. The man-made section between towers was formed of stone blocks fitted so tightly a knife couldn’t slip between them. The hollow towers were mostly made of ambergrist plus a little stone to fill in the cracks.

  That same amber-like substance formed the Imperator’s citadel in the center of Carstelan and the enormous vents that bored into the slopes of the volcano, and some said, all the way to its smoldering guts. Some also said the vents stopped the volcano from erupting, that the Bheulakks had made them. Certainly the volcano had not erupted for many generations.

  In the morning light the towers glowed warmly, showing flecks, bubbles and streaks of every imaginable shade of golden brown.

  Whoever or whatever had made the towers, they were tougher than anything man had yet wrought and had already lasted hundreds of years.

  Ellinca eyed the guards at the gate with unease. There were ten of them, all alert and well-armed. If they asked anyone to speak or examined who was under the armor they would discover how unusual her companions were. In fact, if Dost were found out she shuddered to think what they would do. With the hysteria surrounding the outbreak of animal bludvoiks they might all be slaughtered.

  “What business have you in the city?” one of the guards asked, stepping over, his lip thrust out almost as far as his chest. The three-feather symbol on the shoulder of his surcoat proclaimed him a sergeant. His fellow soldiers were waving through all the peasants around them – drovers, carters and the like. It seemed as if their disguise had singled them out for extra attention.

  Ellinca cleared her throat. “We seek to...um...further our country’s business interests in the um...”

  His eyes flashed then quickly looked her up and down. He straightened as if trying to impress her. “Excuse me, miss. Are you...are you Barskolian? It’s just my sister’s married one of your countrymen.” He squinted, as if thinking hard, then painstakingly said something in another language – Barskolian if she were to have to guess. He smiled triumphantly at her though the smile began to waver when she failed to reply.

  Time to bobble my head, she thought, despairing. Feeling like a deer caught squarely in the sights of a crossbow, Ellinca was glad the veil concealed her face.

  “Did I say it wrong? No. I’m sure I...” He frowned. His mailed hand shifted grip on his halberd.

  She found herself petrified, unable to blink. A piece of advice from Pascolli floated to the surface of her mind: when in doubt make it up.

  “Net. Net! Ah. Pas ca detton volf?”

  His mouth hung open. He rubbed at his ear under his helmet and looked very perplexed. She almost felt sorry for him. “Aah...”

  A piercing whistle sounded. There came the rapid tattoo of a galloping horse which then slowed to a trot. All around her people shuffled about to see the source.

  “Let him through! Let him through! Imperator’s messenger!” shouted a plump woman with a basket balanced on her head.

  His face streaked with soot and runnels of sweat, the black-and-gold-clad rider urged his black horse through. “A new horse, man! I’m for the palace!”

  “Krisman! Bring over the bay for the messenger!”

  “Yes, sir!” The man sprinted away as fast as his armor would permit.

  With a dismissive glance the sergeant waved the carriage through.

  With that Dost, Dayna and Krueger nudged their heels at their mounts and proceeded through the gate as quickly as they could. Haddrash twitched the reins, clucked twice at the quaggas, and let them amble forward as if he were in no hurry at all.

  The sergeant was attempting to milk the messenger for information.

  “Have you any news from the prickly front end of the war?”

  “Some, and some is not for the ears of all these motley sorts you have gathered at the gate.” He laughed as if to lessen the insult. The crowd returned a few ribald jokes. “Ahh. Music to my ears! I’ll invite the lot of you to my next part-teh! Hear this, though! The Grakks are on the run! We have taken Skysplitter and a lesser mountain! We have taken many hundreds of prisoners.”

  “That’ll teach ’em to send us these bludvoiks!” the plump woman piped up.

  Cheering broke out, loud enough to drown out any further words.

  They...we, had taken Skysplitter? It was the heartland of the Grakk people. Ellinca blanched. Hundreds, thousands of them must have fallen before they would allow that to happen. That meant the hall of ghosts would also be in the grasp of the army. What had become of Pascolli? She had not said goodbye to him, had not even seen his body and now, his ghost might be trapped. Unless...that had been his ghost at the warehouse and after the attack? She wasn’t certain.

  The crowd quieted. Ellinca twisted to see what was happening.

  “Would you like to see more of my message?”

  They roared a yes.

  He grinned and fumbled at something to the side. “Here!” His hand swept up, holding something aloft. A round fruit? If so it had a thick, stringy husk. “Here! We captured their princeling! And does he not look pretty?”

  The crowd fell into a stunned hush punctuated only by a few gasps and a scatter of muttering voices.

  The same woman called out a few new and raw curses then. “Put that away! We ain’t barbarians! Last I heard we didn’t make war on the kiddies! Prince or no!”

  An ugly murmur grew.

  “Serves ’em right!” someone yelled. He was cursed soundly and the murmuring became a storm of shouting, arguing, threshing arms and stamping, angry feet.

  Ellinca sat up abruptly. A head. She closed her eyes. A head of curly blond hair with a lock of stark black streaking one side. She knew him – the boy with the bird.

  With a shout from Haddrash the carriage picked up speed, rocking and rumbling over the cobblestone road. She opened her eyes to see Dost lean down and pass something to a boy before he put his spurs to his horse. Before they had covered fifty yards the messenger passed them all at a fast trot. At the next corner Dayna, Dost and Krueger slowed, waiting, their horses restless, their faces grim. They had heard and seen the messenger.

  “Hang on tight, dearie,” said Haddrash. “We need to go elsewhere and sort this out.” He steered round the corner and headed off, fast and efficient. The others followed without comment.

  They passed a flock of dodos driven by a small boy armed with a stick, a whistle and a handful of clover. The birds so loved clover. Last time Ellinca had visited the city the clumsy dodos had been her favorite sight, and Beth had promptly bought some to keep for egg-layers. But that was before the world had changed.

  Chapter 20

  An Upside-Down World

  After some time – ten or fifteen minutes or maybe an hour, it made no difference to her – the carriage passed through a gate swung open by an elderly attendant. Haddrash crossed his palm with some coins. They ascended the gently curving road to come out on a flat-topped summit where a bronze sculpture of the Imperator shared space with an open-air theater, the seating arranged in tiers cut i
nto the hilltop.

  She recalled being here with the troupe long ago, at a time when Pascolli was alive. The acoustics had been terrible whenever the wind was up.

  Dull-eyed she waited in the carriage. The others gathered on the grassy slope before the stage. They began to talk and argue.

  Ellinca slumped against the seat, letting her head fall back until she looked straight up at the sky. The Imperator’s statue loomed to one side – dull and lifeless apart from one gangly-legged spider in the corner of his granite knee. She closed her eyes. Still she saw it – the rusty stain of blood against the boy’s white skin. The world was rapidly filling with the dead. Her mother, Pascolli, the bird boy and so many more killed in this war.

  Distantly she heard the others’ voices and wondered what they discussed. Their speech was too quiet for her to understand most of it but, from their tone, she could guess their intent. Haddrash...now he was calm and reasoning. Dayna insistent, sensible, but with a hint of sadness. Krueger was stern, determined and possibly angry, but trying to hold it in. Dost spoke little, most often after Krueger had said something – she couldn’t tell emotions so well with him – though she was increasingly, uncomfortably sure that although a bludvoik, he did possess feelings.

  A wandering fly buzzed into the spider’s web. Cautiously the spider crept close and began to spin a cocoon around its victim. How apt. That was her – the stupid fly. If she dithered long enough, she’d be wrapped up so tight and unable to do anything except die.

  Something snuggled up in the crook of her elbow and purred. Ellinca ignored it. It purred louder.

  Through the slit between her eyelids she saw that Mogg had emerged from its hiding place. Tabby-coated, many-legged and, this time, it also had a pair – for once it had the number right – of shiny green eyes that regarded her with what appeared to be curiosity. It seemed to say what are you doing next?