Excellent logic! I could hardly have dared to hope for such support. Yes, by all means let’s blame the food.
The Drashon waved him back to his seat. “It seems to me,” he said, eyeing Drei’s mother as if afraid she might explode, “that there is a lack of convincing evidence that any magical event took place at all. Clearly – no, please remain seated, Lady – clearly, something occurred here, something which coincidentally allowed Lady Scribe Kyra to – erm, leave your house, but I see no reason to suspect magic.”
Coincidentally – I’ve never had much faith in coincidence. It just happened that way, in other words. Well, they’d get no argument from me, but it was flimsy, very flimsy.
There was a rustling and a murmuring and a general straightening of scarves and smoothing of skirts and adjusting of coats as the assembly prepared to disperse.
Then, a pebble rolled down the mountain. It was an unassuming pebble, just a mage with white hair who stood up and coughed apologetically.
“Lord Mage Queltz?” the Drashon said. “You wish to make some comment?”
The room sighed to attentiveness again. I recognised the mage, but I couldn’t work out where I’d seen him. Maybe he’d passed by when I visited Cal? Ah, Cal; if only he were here now. For a moment I was swept with loss, bereft without him, and only Drei and Yannassia left to support me. Their motives were selfish, but Cal – Cal had loved me.
The mage coughed again. “If you permit, Highness?”
“Of course, of course.”
“It is not directly related to the matter under discussion, but it might be relevant, I believe.” He paused, and waited until the Drashon waved him to continue. “I would not mention such a thing, but... it might have some bearing, you understand.” Another pause, looking expectantly at the Drashon.
The audience was growing restive, and there was a low hum of whispering. The Drashon took a deep breath, as if forcibly restraining himself.
“Lord Mage, by all means speak, and I will decide if it is relevant to this case.”
“Thank you, Highness. The situation is this: a little over a ten-sun ago I was approached by a young scholar I know, a young lady by the name of Marras.”
Marras! What did he know of Marras? Hot fear washed over me, and then I remembered him – the mage who’d shown Drei and me through the sewer to the Imperial Library. I’d thought I was safe, but this talk of Marras was dangerous. The pebble was rolling down the mountain with some speed now, picking up companions as it went. But there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“As I say,” the mage went on, as people shuffled and sighed and no doubt willed him to get on with it, “this scholar Marras came to me with a tale, a very strange tale. She had been assigned to translate at the Imperial Library for the lady here...” and he waved vaguely in my direction, “and her friend there, but when they stopped going she became concerned. She was unable to determine what had become of them. They just – stopped, you know, without a word and Marras was worried. She thought perhaps she had given offence, you know. But then one sun, when she was out in the town making some purchases for me – some stockings, I believe it was – or it might have been gloves... Yes, gloves, I think. It so happened that she saw the lady ahead of her, so she thought: I can find out what has occurred, whether perhaps there is any problem, you know. So she ran after the lady, but she disappeared behind some boxes by the Shining Wall, and although Marras looked, she was nowhere to be found. So then she waited there each sun at the same time, in case she came again, and the first sun, she waited for hours, but the lady never came. Then the second sun...”
“Queltz,” Krayfon said gently, “could we perhaps skip to a sun when something actually happened? If you would be so kind?”
“Of course, of course. I beg your pardon, I will get to the point. Well, on the fourth sun – or was it the fifth? No, no, I think I was right the first time, it was the fourth...” Krayfon coughed pointedly. “Well, she came, and Marras saw her and followed her, to speak to her, you know, she had no intention to just sneak about in the shadows, you understand. So she followed her to the Shining Wall, and then she vanished.”
“Marras lost track of her again?” the Drashon said.
“No, no, she vanished. She went through the wall and vanished.”
“She went through the Shining Wall?” the Drashon said, and even his tightly schooled face showed astonishment. “She went through the wall into the Imperial City?”
“Surely you have misunderstood, Queltz?” Krayfon said. “No one can enter the city through the wall. It’s impossible. There are no doors.”
Queltz almost stamped his foot. “There used to be doors! We have records of mages passing through them, but non-mages cannot even see them.”
Krayfon’s face changed suddenly, and two of the other mages began whispering excitedly.
The Drashon ignored them. “Why did this Marras confide in you, Lord Mage?”
“Oh, did I not mention it? She is my niece.”
“Even if all this were true,” the Drashon said, and was there just the faintest hint of impatience in his tone, “it is no more than hearsay. Have your niece tell the tale to the other mages, and if they feel there is something to it, they can bring it to me, but I cannot consider this without seeing the scholar herself.”
I sighed with relief. A good point, and all the more effective for coming from the Drashon, not me. Yes, do go and find Marras, and we’ll talk about this when you’ve tracked her down. Poor Marras.
Another apologetic cough. “I fear that will not be possible, Highness, for Marras has disappeared. She arranged to meet me one evening board but she failed to appear at the appointed hour, and no one seems to have seen her since.”
“Then you have no witness, Lord Mage,” said the Drashon, “and there is nothing further to discuss.”
“I fear I must disagree with you, Highness,” Krayfon said. His voice was soft, but the room stilled as he spoke. He looked across at me, and there was something gentle in his eyes. Was it pity? For the first time I felt truly afraid. The pebble had turned to an avalanche that would sweep me away altogether.
The room pressed in on me, hot and airless, choked by hundreds of bodies, suffocating me. Blood pounded in my skull, and I swayed forwards in my seat, unable to breathe, unable to hold myself upright a moment longer. Drei leaned towards me, concern on his face, but although I could see his lips move I couldn’t hear anything but the great wind rushing through my head. I was going to faint.
Something in me rebelled at the idea, determined to show no weakness. I turned my mind inward, focused on my inner energy and forced myself to relax, to breathe, to be calm. It worked. I began to recover. How many times had I used that technique and not realised I was using magic to heal myself? I looked across the room at Krayfon. Only moments had passed, and he still waited for a signal, for the avalanche to gather pace.
The Drashon leaned back in his chair and nodded at Krayfon to continue.
“The initial accusation here,” he said crisply, “was that of a contract scribe with knowledge of spellpages perhaps using that knowledge without proper authorisation. There was nothing described which could not, in theory, be achieved with spellpages. Complex ones, perhaps, but theoretically within the capabilities of a contract scribe. It is a controlled use of magic, one for which the user has been trained and is experienced. However...” He paused, perhaps for effect, for the room was silent now, focused on his every word. “However, the event described by Lord Mage Queltz is very different. Passing through the Shining Wall, if it is possible at all, is a mage-level use of magic. The user in question has received no training in such magic, therefore this falls under the category of uncontrolled use of magic.”
The Drashon nodded. He understood, which was more than I did. “What does that mean?” I blurted out.
Silence. The room itself seemed to hold its breath. “Uncontrolled use of magic is too dangerous to be permitted,” Krayfon said, sorrowful eyes fix
ed on me.
“But nothing has been proved!” I cried, leaping from my seat. “There is no evidence beyond hearsay, no witness, nothing to say I’ve done anything at all.”
“It does not matter,” the Drashon said, his voice harsh. “The law is clear. This matter is the province of the mages, and beyond the remit of this hearing. Lord Mage, what do you recommend?”
“We must investigate, of course. Any suggestion of uncontrolled magic, however tenuous, must be investigated thoroughly. We will examine Lady Scribe Kyra to determine whether she has any trace of such magic in her.”
I was numb. They had never noticed my aura, but they could hardly fail to detect my magical energy as soon as they laid hands on me. For one wild moment, I thought of running, but there were hundreds of people in the chamber and guards at the door. I would have to fight my way past armed men at five or six points between here and freedom. It was impossible. I was trapped, a fly caught in honey.
“You will have to bind her, of course?” the Drashon said.
“There is no alternative,” Krayfon said.
“Then you may proceed.”
I stood, rigid with shock. I had heard of binding, naturally, the magical restraint which would leave me helpless in the mages’ power, but I had never seen it, and had no idea what it would feel like. Would it hurt? Would my mind blank out, or my memory be erased? Or would it be purely physical – my mind caged, impotent, raging silently while my body obeyed the mages’ every command?
Krayfon raised one hand towards me, holding his vessel in the other, and began to mutter. His voice was too low for me to make out any words beyond my own name, but it was a surprisingly long spell. I wondered how well it would work if I were racing out of the room, or whether it made no difference. Most spells could be applied at a distance, if properly directed by name. Finally, he raised his voice and spoke the summoning incantation: “By the sun, bring light and fire and colour; by the moon, enable the darkness”.
I was aware of a warmth over my whole body. It was strange, a little tingly, but not unpleasant. Then it was gone. I felt no different. I couldn’t detect a single thing that had changed. But perhaps that was the heart of the spell, that everything felt the same to me, even though it had changed utterly.
“Guards!” At the Drashon’s command, four of them jogged forward. They wore the ceremonial armour of the Drashon’s personal guards, lightweight and highly decorated, but solid enough to be effective, and the swords at their sides were not for show. Their captain gestured to me, and meekly I moved forward so that they surrounded me. What else could I do? I had never felt so helpless, but I had no plan, and even if I could formulate one, I could hardly carry it out now. I was bound, I had no will of my own. “Take her to the mages’ house, to the rooms of restraint.”
They moved off and I went with them. I wasn’t aware of any compulsion, I simply felt as if I were choosing to go with them. We went out of the chamber, watched by hundreds of silent faces, excited or shocked or distressed or merely curious, bobbing about to catch a glimpse of me. I would be greatly talked about amongst the nobility for a few suns, I supposed, and then gradually forgotten.
I didn’t notice Drei’s face when I left, or Yannassia’s, either. I was too wrapped up in my own trouble to wonder what was going on in their minds. I had no illusions that they could do anything to release me from this desperate mess. I was caught in the web of the law, and I wouldn’t be able to spell my way out this time. I would be examined and found to be full of magic and then I would be executed. I supposed they would wait until the baby was born. They would be able to see her when they examined me. Her? How did I know that? Yet it was true, I was sure of it. I carried a daughter inside me.
The guards took me down broad stairs, decorated with painted marble statuary and enormous gold-trimmed vases. Then a landing and more stairs. They said nothing, and I said nothing. What was there to say? We came to the entrance hall, where little knots of people moved aside for us. For some reason the great metal-bound wooden doors stood wide open, and looking through them I could see the whirl of the inner Keep – shops and stalls and milling crowds, a small cart laden with orange fruit and two men carrying a rolled up carpet.
Freedom. I yearned to be out there, to be ambling about idly looking at a scarf or a necklace or a pen, not buying but just dreaming, enjoying the bustle. I wanted to have nothing more on my mind than what book I would read next, or whether I would find my favourite pie at evening board, or which azai to wear to the next court assembly. I wanted all this horror – Cal and Marras and being kidnapped and accusations I couldn’t answer – to go away, to be just a bad dream. Yes, even my magic – I would have given up that, too, in a heartbeat, if I could just go back to some kind of normal life. And there it was, right across the entrance hall and through the doors, calling to me.
I stopped.
The guards straggled to a halt around me. “Wait, she’s not supposed to be able to do that,” one of them said.
I’d thought that too. But I could. I had. I wasn’t as bound as I’d thought.
I turned and ran for the doors, and freedom.
25: Pursuit
I fled through the crowds of the inner Keep, swerving around people but not deviating from the one main thoroughfare. I had to get out of the Keep, and that meant making straight for the nearest gate.
Behind me, I heard shouts and the metallic clash of armoured men in pursuit. “Stop her!” they cried. “In the Drashon’s name, stop her!” But no one did. Instead, people began to move aside for me, jumping smartly out of the way. Once or twice I heard crashes behind me, followed by shouts and lurid cursing, and the guards began to fall behind. I wasn’t sure whether people recognised me and wanted to help, or whether it was a reflex action to obstruct the tools of authority, but I was grateful for it.
There was the gate at last, the doors wide open, and I flew through, my feet slithering on the flags, still damp after rain. Thank all the Gods I was wearing sensible boots and not my flimsy slippers. At least I could run, although with my expensive clothes and no cloak I was still far too conspicuous. The gate guards, perhaps ten of them, were more practically clad than the Drashon’s guards, with metal plated leather, short swords and bows. They also had horns, to summon reinforcements and horses, but although they watched me pass in surprise, they made no move to stop me.
I sped on, racing across the street and ducking into a narrower alley. The alarm would be raised soon enough, and I had to disappear. These streets held nowhere to hide, though. The guards would search relentlessly, and I knew no secret places, no friends who could conceal me. I’d been here too short a time, and spent that time alone. A mistake, but too late now. The Imperial City was my only sanctuary, a place to shelter while I thought through my options, somewhere even mages hesitated to walk about freely, yet safe for me. All I had to do was get to the Shining Wall and open a door. But which one? My usual access through the vegetable market would be too crowded, stacked with carts and crates and children underfoot. Too easy to slip and fall, or find my way blocked.
So where to go? My mind was blank. My legs were screaming at me, my lungs gasped for air, I desperately needed to rest, to get my thoughts in order, yet I had to keep going. I dodged down one narrow street, then twisted into an alley, then another turn brought me out onto a wider street, the one leading from a large square towards the city. The wall was ahead of me now. Should I head directly for it, or stay with the winding back streets? I couldn’t think straight. Behind me I heard the horns, shouting, a few screams. A horse whinnied. They were coming.
I dived into another back street. At least I was out of sight, even if it took longer. The street was wide enough that I didn’t have to do much dodging around traffic, but once a mule skittered out of my way, and further on a man cursed me colourfully as I knocked a basket of bread off his head. Now the way was uphill, and I slowed, puffing and wheezing like an old carthorse. I wasn’t used to running. The wall was coming c
loser, I could see it looming above the rooftops but could I make it? I could hear shouts, closer now, and the sound of hooves. The horses were after me.
A final spurt brought me out of the buildings into the gap before the wall. Desperately I looked for the signs of a door, but there were none. Behind me, the horses were suddenly louder, rounding a corner. More shouts as they caught sight of me. I ran along the wall. Where was the next door? I couldn’t remember.
Jinking round a stack of boxes I found myself at the furthest end of the wide street again. Not a hundred paces away, a group of gate guards, running on foot, shouted and sped up as they saw me. Behind me, the horses emerged from the smaller street. I was surrounded.
I had a door, though. There on the wall were the marks, the hand-shaped prints to open the door. My route to freedom. Five paces brought me to the spot. I held my trembling hand to the closest mark and waited. One heartbeat, two, three – the longest moments in my life, waiting for the hand on the shoulder, grabbing me. Then – thank the Moon God! – the door swished open and I was through.
The Fire Mages Page 27
