“I can see that you are afraid,” Belkar said. “There is no reason to be. I will not allow you to come to harm.”
She pointed to the beaten man. “Did you make him the same promise?”
“You feel pity for your enemy?”
“Whether I feel pity is not the point. That you treat life without regard is.”
Belkar looked back down at Damio, his voice much softened. “I have seen so many lives end. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I have become too detached from the world. You can help me reconnect; find the beauty in Lamoria I have lost.”
“If you want to find beauty, why are you planning to destroy it?”
“There are always sacrifices, my love. Even the forests must burn occasionally so that they can grow again. I do not expect you to understand. You are young—inexperienced. But in time, you will.” He bent down and touched Damio’s brow. “But if you deem the life of this wretched creature important…”
The tip of his finger glowed a pale white light. Damio gasped, and then went limp.
“What did you do?”
Belkar gripped his chest and staggered back a step. He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tight, and moaned as if in pain. “This body … was not born with the gift.” His eyes flickered open, a weak smile formed, and he took a deep breath. “He will live. Does this make you happy?”
“Healing magic.” Her words came in a short gasp. “But I thought that was impossible.”
“You have yet to discover what is possible.” He winced, pausing a moment to recover. “By morning, he will be as he was.”
The fact that he had used magic to heal wounds momentarily drove back her fear. Small wounds—minor cuts, sunburned skin, or bruises—this was the extent of the Thaumas’ ability to mend. Though from the pained expression on Belkar’s face, it came at a price. “How is it done?”
“You would like me to show you?”
Mariyah nearly blurted out yes. “Does it hurt?”
“It would not harm you,” he replied. “But this body was not born to cope with the stresses of magic.”
“What would happen to you if you used more?”
Belkar chuckled. “A plot forms, I see. Still, I will answer. Should I continue to use magic, this body would die. For those not born with the gift, magic is poison.”
She knew that only a counted few possessed the gift. But she had thought that it meant those who didn’t have it simply could not draw the power within themselves. It had not occurred to her that it could be harmful.
“I can see you are attempting to reconcile the nonsense you have been told about magic with what you have seen.”
Mariyah realized her brow was crinkled and her gaze drifting. “Why would you call it nonsense?”
“You have yet to penetrate the lies you’ve been told. The hand waving and mindless chanting. Do you really believe that is how magic is controlled?”
“How, then?”
He tapped his temple with one finger. “Magic is in your mind.”
“So the spells are worthless?”
“Not worthless. Just not required.” He gestured to Damio, whose wounds were already healing. “Does it seem logical that words could have done this? Or the waving of hands?”
She regarded him skeptically. “If spells mean nothing, then why do they work? I cast my first spell without knowing what to expect. I did what I was instructed to do, and the glamor appeared exactly as the text said it would. And I had not read it beforehand.”
Belkar cocked his head, hands on his hips. “Are you sure about that?”
“Quite sure,” she replied. She did not like that it felt as if he was gaining more advantage over her. He was trying to tempt her with knowledge. “That’s what Kylor taught you?”
Belkar’s expression fell. “Kylor taught me many things, Mariyah. But I learned the secrets of magic through my own efforts. Kylor was selfish and vain. Where I am willing to pass on to you what I have learned, withholding nothing, Kylor would have allowed you to live in ignorance.”
“Is that why you killed him? Because he would not show you what you wanted to know?” She was playing a dangerous game. Without magic to defend herself, in Landon’s body, Belkar could physically overpower her. And wearing the anklet, she would be helpless to stop him.
“Do not think you know me, Mariyah,” he warned. “You speak to me from desperation in a futile attempt to gain an advantage. Kylor hurt me. I do not deny it. And for that I took my vengeance. But the stories you have heard are false. Kylor was not a savior, nor wise. When the opportunity to unite the world arose, Kylor did nothing.” With long deliberate strides, he crossed the room to stand in front of her. “You wish to destroy me. I know this. And I love you regardless. You would end my life, and still I would see you enriched by the knowledge only I can give you. As you stand before me, I can feel your hatred. And yet I return only love and patience.”
Mariyah stepped in closer and jutted her chin to meet his eyes. “What you offer is an eternity of horror. Nothing you can say will convince me otherwise.” She spat in his face. “That is what I think of your love.”
Rather than fuel his anger, he wiped the spittle with his hand and stepped back a pace, laughing. “I see why Landon fought me. Your spirit matches your power. Unbending, as I was long ago. Standing in front of my master, defiantly. Refusing to accept the lies I had been told.”
“So you will forgive me if I do not believe the lies you’re telling me now.”
“You should get some rest,” he said, then turned back to Damio and pulled him across the floor to be near the fire.
“Whatever you’re planning, I won’t help you,” she told him. “In the end, you’ll be forced to kill me.”
“You’ll help me. Of that there is no doubt.” He retrieved a bottle of water from the pack in the corner and proceeded to wipe the blood from the man’s face. “I do not expect you to believe it. You still hope you can escape. You cannot. Fate draws you to me. I will show you wonders beyond your wildest dreams.” He glanced back at her. “That alone should be worth staying for. To be taught by one who truly understands the nature of magic? Is that not worth a portion of your time?”
Mariyah turned her back. “I want nothing from you.”
“Of course you do. You would be a fool not to.” Damio groaned and coughed. “I offer you this thought to contemplate: With what you have learned from the Thaumas, you could never hope to defeat me.”
Mariyah huffed. “And you will show me how I can?”
“I will show you how to become my equal.”
“I’ll never be your equal.” She started to the door leading to the empty room in which she had chosen to sleep, pausing to add: “I’m better than you’ll ever be. I’m human.”
The floor was hard and cold, even through the blanket, though she scarcely noticed. Again the pendant weighed on her mind. It was looking more and more like her only hope for escape. But even should she be able to call Loria rather than Lem, would she simply be calling Loria to her death too?
Not yet. Landon’s body could not withstand magic. She could possibly find a way to have Belkar destroy himself. Coax him into using magic. He was arrogant.
Loria had taught her more than magic. She had taught her to outthink her adversaries; to ferret out their weaknesses. And arrogance was by far the most common within the nobility.
No. You’re not defeated. You can do this without endangering anyone else.
As she closed her eyes, Mariyah could not stop herself from wondering what Belkar could teach her. Belkar was from the time of the ancient Thaumas, whose knowledge and power were far beyond that of the Thaumas of today.
Better to stay ignorant than to be tempted by power. Belkar was counting on her to be no different from his followers: selfish and shortsighted. She would be neither.
20
WARDS AND A CUP OF TEA
What is evil? One who kills? A soldier kills, yet may do so in the service of others—to defend life. One who lies?
A person may lie to deceive the wicked, preventing them from doing harm. One who steals? A person may steal to feed a starving child. Be not quick to judge good and evil. Grace and goodness can take on many forms.
Book of Kylor, Chapter Nine, Verse Three
Lem’s fingers were numb, and his feet ached from hours of waiting in the frigid cold. The number of guards patrolling Lady Camdon’s estate had increased dramatically, and these were extremely well trained. Ex-soldiers the lot of them, was Lem’s guess. Expensive. But like most household guards, they fell into a recognizable pattern. One only needed to be patient enough to learn it.
Now, if only the gap in the ward is where Shemi told me, he thought.
If his uncle’s information was inaccurate, this would be a short and possibly fatal night. Most wards would only incapacitate, but some would kill. From what he’d learned about Loria Camdon, it was not out of the question for her to have used the latter.
The windows on the upper floors had dimmed about an hour prior. It was time. He was ready. And he would not be turned away again.
Lem ran along the path that followed the fence to the southeast corner, to the gap in the wards. He tensed as he passed through where the ward should be, letting out a breath when his hand touched the wrought iron bars. He wondered if it had been deliberate. That Lady Camdon would leave a vulnerability in her security was suspicious. With the agility gained from many such climbs, he was up and over in an instant and ducked behind a row of bloomless rose bushes. He glanced back and released some of the tension from his muscles, silently thanking Shemi. The tingle of shadow walk made the cold more pronounced. But this was soon forgotten as he threaded his way through the east garden to the servants’ entrance. Two of the guards he passed along the way had stopped, listening for what they thought was movement in the hedges, but they continued on after a few moments.
Lem was prepared should he be discovered. He had several darts that would incapacitate, and while he had brought his vysix dagger, he had no intention of using it. He would only kill in defense of Mariyah’s life. After so many broken promises, this was one he would keep.
The door to the kitchen was unwatched and unlocked, though from his previous visit he knew that this was because the guards used it as a primary entrance and exit along their patrol route.
The warmth of the kitchen was jarring, the sudden change causing his hands and feet to ache. He ducked behind a long cutting table and flexed his fingers and curled his toes inside his shoes. He was finding it difficult to control his heart rate and breathing. Not surprising. This was the moment. The wait was over. He would confront Mariyah. If she rejected him, he would not flee again. If it meant being killed by guards or ending up locked away in a Ubanian prison, so be it.
The real danger was Lady Camdon. If the rumors were true and she was a Thaumas, an encounter could find him in an untenable situation. Many nobles had magic protecting their homes. But the number of wards surrounding the grounds would take recasting on a regular basis. It would mean the frequent hiring of a Thaumas, something that would not go unnoticed. And according to Shemi’s research, she did not. It was possible one of her staff was responsible. Perhaps a Thaumas who had run afoul of church law—which in Ralmarstad simply meant being revealed as a Thaumas—and ended up indentured. But Lem didn’t think it to be the case. Such a servant would be highly coveted and well known. Surely Shemi would have heard about it.
With the additional guards, it took him nearly an hour to make it to the corridor where Mariyah’s room was located. The door was locked, but with a pin, a hook, and a practiced hand, this was no obstacle.
Checking the hall one more time, he ducked inside. Immediately he knew something was not right. The bed was empty. But more than that, the room itself looked as if no one had been in it for some time—the tables and dressers were clear of personal items that one would expect in a bedchamber. Could Mariyah have changed rooms? The manor was enormous. To search it would take hours.
Lem checked the wardrobe and found it filled with outfits. And the drawers of the dresser contained various items that suggested this was not an unoccupied suite. Shemi had said that Mariyah occasionally ventured into Ubania proper, but as far as he knew, she had never spent the night anywhere other than the manor.
He contemplated his choices, few as they were. Stay put, search the manor, or leave and come back another night. Forcing a guard or servant to give up information would mean it was tonight or never, as would be doing the same to Lady Camdon.
He decided a temporary retreat was the only intelligent course of action. Wait a few days at the inn and return. He pressed his ear to the door. Once satisfied no one was about, he exited the room.
Lem froze as his shadow walk was banished, then drew his dagger. Standing at the next corner, three guards were blocking the corridor, weapons drawn. He turned to see three more a few yards in the opposite direction.
“Drop your weapon, thief,” commanded a large man with a red-plumed leather helm.
Lem sheathed the vysix dagger and drew out two darts. “Where’s Mariyah?” he demanded.
“On your knees,” the guard barked.
Lem could hear the guards to his back easing toward him with cautious steps. The big man would be first, then the guard to his left. If he could avoid being hacked to ribbons by the one on the right, he could outrun those to his back.
Lem raised his hands above his head in surrender. “Where’s Mariyah?” he repeated.
The big guard appeared angered by the question. “I said, on your knees.”
Lem bent slowly as if to comply. The first throw had to be on target. He slid one foot slightly forward. In a blur of motion, he threw the dart at the guard’s exposed neck. But it was an inch low, and bounced off the leather armor. Before they could react, he let the second dart fly. This one struck true, and the man staggered to a halt after a single step.
Unfortunately, there were now two more guards to get through instead of one. Lem exploded into a run, hoping that their confusion would last long enough to keep them from skewering him with cold steel. He dove low, arms extended, and landed on his belly at the big guard’s feet. His momentum carried him across the tiles and between the guard’s legs. He scrambled up, but was not fast enough. The guard to his left spun and thrust his weapon to catch Lem in the back of his right thigh. Through the pain he was able to stay on his feet, but he could no longer run. He reached for his blade, cursing behind gritted teeth.
The second guard rushed in, slowed by his larger comrade, who had fallen to his hands and knees directly in his path. Lem pressed his back to the wall, blade poised. Seeing the intruder now armed, the two men backed away and spread out. The other three were seconds from joining them. If he was going to act, it had to be now. He’d been cornered before. He knew exactly what to do; two swift movements and he would be able to escape.
Two swift movements … but it meant two dead bodies. The vysix dagger slipped from his grasp, clattering on the tiles, and Lem dropped to his knees, head bowed. No more killing. It was over. He had failed.
The guard kicked the weapon out of reach and slammed Lem facedown.
“What did you do to Bram?” demanded a guard who was now shoving his knee into the back of Lem’s neck.
“He’ll be fine in an hour,” Lem managed to grunt out.
“Secure his hands,” came a stern female voice. “And take Bram into Mariyah’s room.”
Lem’s arms were pulled back and tied with a leather strap.
Lem turned his head and saw Lady Camdon standing just outside her door, wearing a blue nightgown, her hair wrapped in a braid. She nodded sharply to the guards, and he was lifted to his feet. His leg ached badly and he could feel blood gushing from the wound.
“I was wondering when you would return,” she said. “Though I had thought it would be much sooner.”
“What have you done to Mariyah?” Lem demanded. “Where is she?”
“I’ve done nothing to her. As for
where she is, I don’t know.”
“Liar.”
Lady Camdon sniffed. “You are in no position to question my word.” She glanced over to where Lem’s weapon lay. “And if that’s what I think it is, it is you whose word I would question. Why did you come here?” Her tone was now cold and dangerous.
“To free Mariyah from your sorcery,” he shot back.
“And you brought a vysix dagger to do this?” Noticing the blood at Lem’s feet, sizzling and sparking on the tiles as the magic consumed it, she waved to the guards. “Bind his injury and take him to the basement.”
She took a long look directly into his eyes. Lem stared straight back in fearless defiance. The guards gripped his arms, almost lifting him from his feet as they forced him to walk down the corridor. The pain in his leg increased with each step, and the steady loss of blood was making him weak and dizzy. They halted in front of a narrow door, where one of the guards entered and returned a moment later with a handful of bandages and a round copper box. The cloth of his pants was stripped away, and a sweet aroma filled the air as the lid was opened and a thick blue salve was scooped out and applied to the wound, which was then wrapped tightly with the bandages. At once the pain was gone, and his leg went limp and useless.
The guards had to drag him along, their rough treatment nearly ripping his shoulders from their sockets as they descended a long flight of slate stairs that led to a circular chamber with a low ceiling, roughly fifty feet in diameter. Two chairs were placed against the far end beside several tall stacks of books. Lem was thrown to the floor, and guards took position on either side of him.
“If you hurt Bram—” began one.
“He’ll be fine,” Lem said. “If I’d wanted him dead, he would be.”
“You will be if you’re lying,” the guard responded, drawing his blade to punctuate the threat.
But at this point, threats were meaningless. Lady Camdon obviously knew who he was to Mariyah, and would most likely kill him. Death by magic was a chilling thought. A blade to the heart was quick—a moment of pain and then it was over. What Camdon could inflict …
A Chorus of Fire Page 31
