Zellanei came in first, with a lantern, and his mother behind with a tray of food. I had no military training whatsoever, but that seemed stupid to me. If I’d been a fighter, I’d have been hiding behind the door ready to jump on whoever came in first. I could have hit Zellanei over the head with the chair or bucket, and pushed past the mother. But they seemed to have no expectation that I would try anything, and I proved them right, for there I was sitting on the chair exactly where I’d been left. There really was no point in rushing off into the darkness.
“Here,” the mother said. “Eat. Is good for baby.” She set the tray on the table. I could see a bowl of something steaming, a large piece of dark bread, some cheese, an apple. “Is little bit candle for you.” It was no more than a stub, a finger or two high. She lit it from the lamp, then dripped wax to fix it to the tray. “Oof before bed. Try not burn house down, see?”
Oof? Blow it out, I supposed. “Thank you,” I said meekly. Then, as if I’d just thought of it, “I’d like to start making a few notes on the new drusse contract. May I have paper and ink, please?”
A flicker of something in her eyes – approval, maybe? “Tomorrow,” she said. “I bring tomorrow. Tonight, eat, sleep.”
Then they were gone, the door locked again behind them.
I smiled. They really were quite stupid.
22: Return to Kingswell
I waited three suns before leaving.
I could have burned the place to the ground and walked out, but I thought it more polite to leave my prison intact. Besides, I was a long way from Kingswell, and I needed my horse. So I took a gentler approach.
The first morning of my captivity, the mother brought me a large writing box filled with an assortment of paper, ink and pens. They had seen little use, for the box was dusty, the paper browning at the edges from age, and the pens were cracked and dry. The ink was still liquid, though, which was all that mattered. They even brought me my thick riding cloak and gloves which I’d discarded when I arrived. In case I got cold, apparently, although there was a turf-burning stove in a corner. I still had my waist bag, with coins and a small knife in it. They only fed me twice each sun, hot, spicy stews full of vegetables and beans, but the morning tray was always filled with enough fruit and cheese and bread to keep a small army on the march, so I wasn’t likely to starve. Each morning they brought hot water, and changed the bucket. The rest of the time they left me alone.
So stupid.
I filled pages with alternative clauses for the drusse contract, leaving them scattered over the table with Drei’s proposed contract unrolled beside them. I didn’t think too hard about them, just scribed a long list of standard clauses. They were only for show, as I had no intention of signing the contract. It was legally unenforceable anyway unless made freely.
The real work I scribed more carefully, but I had one problem – I needed to know the name of everyone who lived there, and ideally I needed to know what they looked like too. I had names for the son and daughter, and one of the indoor servants, for those had been mentioned when I first arrived, but no one had addressed the mother as anything but ‘Mama’ or ‘Mistress’, and there were other servants in the house, and a stable boy too.
So I asked very nicely if I could visit my horse. I made sure to ask after her whenever anyone came to my cellar, in increasing agitation. “She’s prone to bleeding in the lungs this cold weather if she’s not looked after,” I told the mother, hoping she couldn’t detect the lie as Drei would. “I lie awake at night worrying. I’d be so glad to see that she’s all right. You can tie my hands if you wish.”
They agreed to it. Such nice, unsuspecting people, and so spectacularly stupid. Even Drei, for he at least should have known what I could do. But then he’d never learned the art of scribing. When you have so much power at the tips of your fingers, it’s easy to forget the quieter forms of magic.
It was simple. The mother took me herself, with Zellanei as escort, his sword drawn. They didn’t even bind my hands. I suppose they realised I could hardly run all the way to Kingswell. The mother called the stable boy ‘boy’, but Zellanei helpfully gave his name. Then I asked if I could thank the cook for the wonderful stews – and actually, that was not far from the truth, for they were delicious. I was taken into the kitchen and introduced – introduced! – to all three house servants. Finally, I said to the mother that I’d like to thank her for treating me kindly – again, almost true – and could I know her name? And she told me.
I wrote a spellpage for every one of them, in careful script. When burned, it would make them sleep for several hours. I added some nice variations to keep them safe, and all properly directed by name. So easy.
On the afternoon of the third sun, as the house settled down after the noon board, I gathered my spellpages together. When I could no longer hear footsteps overhead, I gently lifted the lid of the stove, greased beforehand with a little butter to prevent squeaks, and pushed the whole collection into the fire. One after another they burned with the intense colours of a true spellpage, and then died away.
I held my breath.
There was a crash above me. Zellanei had taken to loitering at the top of the cellar steps most of the time instead of right outside my door, so that he could chat to one of the servants, I suspected. I was concerned that if he dropped instantly into sleep, he might fall the whole way down and break his neck. It sounded less dramatic than that, though, as if he’d just fallen over.
I waited a little while, just to be sure, but the house was silent. Now for the tricky part, for I’d not been able to practise beforehand. I held my hand to the lock on the door and imagined the scraping noise and the snick as the lock turned. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still no sound. I took my hand off the lock and forced myself to calmness. I had several hours, after all. There was no panic.
As I set my hand against the lock for the third time, I closed my eyes and focused on the magic inside me, seeing the swirling energy flooding into my hands and out into the lock, the cold grey of the metal infused with shimmering gold.
The door moved under my hand. There was no sound, no sense of movement within the lock, but the door was now open. Perhaps the metal had just bent and reformed itself to my will. Or, I supposed, someone had forgotten to lock it after morning board.
Whatever the reason, I was free. I picked up my cloak and gloves, and pushed the door wide open. The hinges were on the outside so I hadn’t been able to grease them, and to my ears the creaking sounded loud enough to waken the Stone Gods. I paused, listening. Not a sound. The house waited, frozen in time, for me to walk to freedom.
The door at the top of the steps was almost closed, leaving me in near darkness. I climbed the steps cautiously, step by anxious step, one hand fingering the damp wall to steady me. At the top, I pulled the door open. A dark shape lay across the threshold – Zellanei, fast asleep, snoring very gently. A deep breath, then I stepped over him, my cloak trailing over an arm sprawled across the passage.
I stopped. Which way? For a moment, I couldn’t remember. I set off in one direction, quickly realised my mistake and turned. The house was not large, so one corner, then another, brought me to the kitchen. One servant slept in a rocking chair by the fire, so perhaps I had only extended her afternoon nap. Another lay cloaked and scarfed in a heap near the door, a spilled basket of bread and cheese nearby. No pottery shards, nothing burning on the range, no impending disaster.
So close now! The door to freedom opened silently under my trembling fingers, then I was outside. The yard was strangely normal, chickens skittering round in the dirt, quite unaware of my drama. A family of cats played under a wagon. Thank all the Gods there was no snow, although the clouds were iron grey. I remembered to pull the door shut behind me, leaving everything as it was. With luck, it would be hours before anyone would think to look for me.
I walked quickly to the stable. The boy was curled up asleep in one of the stalls – another who habitually took a nap after the noon
board. I knew where my horse was, but I needed a saddle and bridle. I looked hastily round, but there was no sign. Perhaps a different barn... I tore out of the stable door and almost bumped into a man. He was quite elderly, with tattered clothing and a face as round and smooth as an egg.
He jumped backwards, and cried out in alarm. “Good boy, good boy!” he said, bobbing his head. “I’m a good boy, don’t whip me, good boy really.” Then a word or two in the Ictharian language, haltingly.
“No one will whip you,” I said hastily. “What’s your name?”
He stared at me, surprised. I supposed he wasn’t used to anyone speaking Bennamorian here.
“I’m Kyra. What’s your name?”
“Den. Den the sheepman. Not supposed to come here, but no one brought my cheese. I was hungry. Good boy, Den is.”
“I’m sure you are. I daresay you can find cheese in the kitchen, but... no, later, Den.” I grabbed his hand as he began to go. “Den, would you like to earn yourself a piece? I have to – um, exercise my horse before evening board, but I don’t know where the saddle is. Will you help me find it?”
He stared again, not comfortable outside his usual routine.
“Will you help me, Den?”
“You’re not one of them.”
“No, I’m a – a guest here. I’m Lady Kyra from Kingswell.”
“Lady Kyra.” He smiled. “Got to help a Lady.”
And he did. We found all the gear in an outbuilding, and Den helped me carry it across to the stable and get my horse saddled. I gave him two pieces for his trouble.
“Thank you, Den, you’ve been most helpful. Before you go, I should like to say a charm for good luck. It’s a custom of my people. Would you like some good luck, Den? To protect you from evil dreams?”
He nodded, beaming happily. I laid a hand on his bald head and closed my eyes to focus the magic. The spell to induce sleep was not a long one, but it sounded quite impressive spoken with authority. I hoped he wasn’t listening too carefully. Anyone with a larger helping of brains would have recognised the cadences of a spell instantly, or at least been alarmed by the words ‘fall now into slumber’, but Den was motionless and silent under my hand. Until he dropped like a stone down a well. His head hit the flagged floor with an audible crack. I’d taken care to steer him away from pitchforks and the like, but even gullible Den might have baulked if I’d made him stand in the straw lining one of the stalls.
I couldn’t simply walk away from him. Hating every second of the delay, I knelt and lay my hand on his head again and closed my eyes to see his colours. The vivid patch of red-brown jumped out at me. I poured magical energy onto it as fast as I could, until the brightness faded somewhat. The rest of him seemed fine, so as soon as I felt he would have no more than a headache from his misadventure, I left him and ran to my horse.
Poor Den. He would miss his cheese altogether.
I forced myself to ride out of that estate as leisurely as I rode in, taking my time. I had a long way to go and I needed my horse to last the journey. I turned her nose south west, following the track we had arrived on, for I knew no other way of reaching Kingswell except by crossing the bridge over the Dissanthe River. Besides, as soon as my sleepers awoke and realised I had gone, they would chase after me and the hoof prints would be clear to see whichever way I went. Another reason to curse the badly made roads of Ictharia.
I had chosen the time of my escape to give me the whole afternoon to put some distance between myself and the pursuit. If the Moon Gods were with me, it would be almost dark before they set out and I needed to be across the river by then. But the hours passed and the lowering winter light turned by imperceptible degrees to dusk with no sign of the river. The chill air seeped into my bones until I could think of nothing but warmth – a hot bath, a blazing hearth, a steaming bowl of soup. I was hungry, too, and I’d foolishly brought nothing to eat. I thought longingly of Den’s cheese.
Then, as often happens as the winter sun dips down, the clouds thinned and cleared, streaking the sky ahead of me with pale golds and pinks and faded blues, lighting my path and lifting my spirits at the same time. I could smell woodsmoke drifting on the air. My horse lifted her head with a snicker, and broke into a trot, anticipating her warm stable and bag of oats. First one lantern gleamed through the trees, then another, and then a long line of them, with a fainter, shimmering copy below. I had reached the bridge, lit for evening.
My horse clopped across the stone flags. At the gatehouse on the far side, I stopped to speak to the watchman.
“This is the road for Kingswell, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mistress, the road is straight enough, you can’t go wrong so long as you make no turns to left or right. But you’ll not try to get there tonight, I hope. We’ve good inns here that would be happy to take you in. The Rattling Wheel is very respectable, or the Blue Ball if you have a silver.”
“Thank you, but I hope to go a little further tonight. There are inns along the road, I take it?”
“Certainly. The Oak Tree is less than an hour away, and has a good reputation. There are two or three more beyond that within a couple of hours. I would not ride further, myself, not alone. There are wolves in the Turmaroe Forest.”
“That is very helpful.” I gave him a couple of pieces and smiled my most gracious smile at him. I wanted to be sure that he would remember me. I rode slowly through the little settlement, busy enough even at this hour that many would see me and notice a well-dressed woman riding alone. I stopped again at the furthest building, a tavern, asking once more about inns along the road. Then I rode on up the incline until the road dipped down into a belt of trees, out of sight of the settlement below. Here I turned aside, dismounting and walking as far from the road as I could before the light gave out.
The idea was to lead my pursuers to believe that I was headed to Kingswell by the most direct road. I hoped they would waste time enquiring at every inn and board house where I might have stayed. Instead, I planned a rather more circuitous route.
I couldn’t ride without light, however, so until the moon rose I had no choice but to wait. I daren’t light a fire in case it was seen, but I built one anyway, ready to be lit if anything hostile approached. Durmaston was a forest village, and I had often slept under the trees as a child, so I wasn’t afraid of the odd noises of the night – the rustlings and squeaks and hoots and odd snorts. Even so, I wasn’t about to face wolves unprepared. My horse, accustomed to shelter, was more jittery than I was, and more than once I had to soothe her and use a little magic to keep her calm.
I stamped about and jumped up and down to keep myself warm. If I’d had a cup or goblet, perhaps I could have magicked myself a hot drink. The thought drove me insane with desire. I told myself sternly that it would drain too much of my magic, and I hadn’t been to the pillar for a while. I’d had no interest in the Imperial City since Cal disappeared. I knew that something – perhaps the sun – gave me some energy, but the pillar was the most effective source.
At long last, the light grew as the moon rose somewhere out of sight. The trees were dense, but even so enough light penetrated to allow me to remount and carry on. The moon was bright enough to enable me to determine the direction, so I rode north. I was fairly confident of my way, for I knew the maps of Bennamore quite well, however little I knew the lands beyond, but it was still a relief to emerge from the trees onto a solid Bennamore road, one of those funnelling on to the Kingswell road just west of the bridge.
I turned to the northwest but I had hardly gone any distance before I came to a small forest estate. Unlike Drei’s family home, it was neatly fenced, with lumber piled to one side, organised by size, and an array of barns and workshops and stables arranged on three sides of a yard, with not a weed in sight. On the far side was a modest house for the owner with an attached dormitory for the workers.
I saw a child’s face peering from an upper window, sent to bed but not yet asleep, and I judged it safe to stop, for where there wer
e children, there would be at least one woman. A traveller, even a woman alone, had little to fear on Bennamore roads except perhaps the wolves or an occasional bear, but it was sensible not to trust to the good nature of men living out in the forests far from the nearest inn companion.
They were surprised to have a visitor so late, but the moon was not far from full and it wasn’t unusual for travellers to take advantage of the light, especially in winter when the nights were long. I paid three pieces for a huge bowl of stew, some eggs scrambled with beans and as much bread as I could eat. I drank a whole pot of a rather pleasant tangy brew, relieved myself in their latrine and went away with a bag filled with leftovers. They even fed and groomed my horse. They would have found me a bed for the night, but I wanted to keep going as long as there was light to see by. I couldn’t escape the feeling that Zellanei would be hounding me down at any minute, and my fear of being dragged back to that cellar, perhaps to be bound or drugged this time, overcame any fear of the forest road.
After a while, the road curved round to the west and was joined by another road from the north, and after that there was quite an array of traffic on the road, taking advantage of brightmoon. I tucked in behind a couple of covered wagons, then another wagon joined the train and we rolled at a sedate pace out of the forest and into the northern hills. This was not good agricultural land, but the numerous streams and rivers powered watermills for a variety of industries, so we began to pass clusters of working yards, small settlements and mills, with groups of cottages gathered round tall chimneys like children at the feet of giants.
The Fire Mages Page 24
