“Except—” said Queltz, holding up one finger. All eyes turned to him. “Except if the death occurs during battle. No investigation then. Hence the need for the Fire Mage to make himself High Commander of the border guards.”
“You mean he’s taking us to war?” Cal said in appalled tones. “We’ve been on peaceful terms with our neighbours for centuries. How can even Drei stir up a war so quickly?”
“Peaceful? It is more a matter of balance,” Landra said. “We have had warrior tribes on three sides of us for ever, and we survived by inter-marriage and a policy of non-interference. Now the Blood Clans to the west are in disarray, fighting over the leadership, and to the east the Vahsi – well, the Vahsi have always been unpredictable, but there hasn’t been an organised raid along the border for some time. And now we have this treaty of mutual support with the Icthari to the north.”
“You mean the war will be to the south? Against the coastal ports? Our allies?” Cal said, aghast. The other mages nodded, unsurprised.
“Easy pickings,” Krayfon said. “They have virtually no defensive force, you know. They depend on us to protect them. Ha! More fool them. It has been mooted for a long time, you know, as a way to secure our essential supplies and not have to pay the high taxes they charge us. Axandrei has brought things to a head, that is all. The border guards have been moving to the south for some time now.”
“We will be at war in a few suns,” Landra said. “The Drashonor will be obliged to go, the Fire Mage will go too, and behold, the Drashonor will meet a tragic but heroic end on the battlefield. No investigation, the foreign wife will still be unconfirmed, so the Lady Yannassia will automatically become the heir. Easy.”
“And then the Drashon dies.” Cal passed a hand across his eyes, distressed. “He’s already frail. Will that need an investigation?”
Landra looked uncertain. “Krayfon? You are the expert on that aspect.”
“At his age, only if there is evidence of foul play. We all suspect poison but—”
“Poison!” I said in horror.
Krayfon sighed. “We cannot be certain, of course, but we think Axandrei’s mother has skill with such compounds. The Icthari are famous for that. We believe he feeds poison to the Drashon, then cures him repeatedly so that all the time he gets weaker. He could die at any time and we could do nothing about it except report our concerns to the Nobles’ Council. Yet they are in Axandrei’s thrall, so...” He shrugged, hands spread wide.
“So what must we do?” Cal said. “Can anything be done to stop him?”
Krayfon shrugged ruefully. “It is difficult. The usual way with a rogue mage is to remove the vessel. If there is resistance, we use binding. Of course, here there is no vessel to remove, and binding, it appears, is ineffective.” He glanced across at me.
“All spells are ineffective,” I said. “At least, I’ve never come across one that worked on me, and I assume Drei is the same.”
Krayfon grunted. “So that leaves us with the ancient methods. There are said to be five ways to kill a mage: poison, fire, drowning, suffocation or an arrow or sword through the heart. Did I get those right, Queltz?” The old man nodded, his white hair bobbing. “None of them seem very likely. Fire – he can probably control that. Poison – he can heal himself. Drowning – that would be fine if we could tip him into the ocean, but we have nothing deeper than a water trough here. Suffocation – how would we even get him still enough to attempt it? And as for running a sword through his heart, he wears chain mail even under formal wear. What do you think, my dear?” he said, turning to me. “Have I got that right?”
“It’s hard to say how he would respond to fire or poison,” I said, “but the sword – he must remove the chain mail sometimes, surely?”
“Only in bed,” Krayfon said.
“Perhaps we should ask the Lady Yannassia to run a sword through her husband,” someone said, but no one laughed.
“There is another possibility,” I said. “His magic is not a fixed resource. The level rises and falls, and it can be withdrawn by another mage. I could draw all his magic out of him, if he were asleep, or unconscious, perhaps. That would leave him powerless, and he could be bound.”
“That wouldn’t work for long,” Cal said. “He has some natural way to replenish his power – as you do – and we don’t know what that is.”
“Most probably the sun,” I said. “That’s what powers the pillars in the Scriberies.”
“Possibly. But you see the difficulty? Sooner or later his power would return.”
“But it would give us some time,” Krayfon said thoughtfully. “If we had even a short time when he was helpless, we would be able to do something. There are mind-taming spells that might work.”
“There’s a place in the Imperial City,” Cal said. “I suppose it’s a dungeon, but magic doesn’t work there. He could be kept locked away where he couldn’t harm anyone.”
“Possibly.” Krayfon sounded doubtful. “If you could get him there. If his powerful friends could be persuaded not to interfere. How do you know of this place, this dungeon?”
“I’ve explored a lot,” Cal said with a lift of one shoulder. “It’s safe enough, as long as you hold a vessel at all times.”
“We should do something for the Drashonor, too,” Landra said. “Protective spells and wards. Or a sudden illness, to keep him here, away from the fighting.”
After that, the discussion devolved into a heated debate on the merits of various arcane spells unknown to me, although Cal seemed to find it interesting. Before the meeting broke up, I agreed to be ready whenever they felt there was a chance to try something with Drei. I wasn’t optimistic, though. He was too astute to let the mages anywhere near him.
~~~~~
A couple of suns later, the news broke that there was trouble in the south. Reports were muddled; some said the guards of a port holding had attacked our border guards, some said it was a skirmish at a tavern which had got out of hand and some said a border guard had been mistreated and our troops retaliated.
It hardly mattered. There was fighting, a state of alarm had been declared, which was only one stage short of outright war, and suddenly Kingswell was in turmoil. The nobles and reserve guards were mobilised, troops marched around the streets and wagons were commandeered to transport equipment to the southern border. In just a few suns everything was prepared, and Drei, as High Commander, left with the bulk of the nobility able to bear arms. The only positive aspect was that the mages had succeeded in keeping the Drashonor at Kingswell, afflicting the poor man with a sudden virulent rash.
The city was horribly unsettled. The most outlandish rumours flew about, prices of basic goods exploded even though there were no shortages and there were a couple of near-riots. Because of the uncertainty, Krayfon insisted I stay in the mages’ house.
“We cannot let you wander about,” he said, his handsome face twisted with anxiety. “If we have an opportunity to do anything, we must take it at once. We have so little time. Besides, not all the mage guards are loyal to us. It is safer for you here.”
Cal was happier with that arrangement, too. “Drei can’t get to you here,” he said. “No one with ill intentions can get past the wards.”
It didn’t bother me. All my clothes and books were brought from the apartment, and although I had no servants of my own any more, there was no shortage of them to take care of cleaning and laundry and other basic chores. It amused me to remember that not so long ago I had helped in the laundry at the Ardamurkan scribery, and now my discarded clothes vanished and reappeared a sun or two later, washed and pressed in my closet.
I liked living among mages again. It had been one of the best aspects of my time as Cal’s drusse, belonging to that eccentric gaggle of mages’ house residents, and although Kingswell mages were somewhat grander and many of them regarded me superciliously, enough were friendly and welcoming to make my stay enjoyable. I was able to spend time with Cal, too, eating at board together and list
ening to the chatter afterwards sitting side by side and taking pleasure in that closeness. I wouldn’t have said I was in love with Cal, but I’d developed a fondness for him over time. He’d treated me badly for a while, but he’d been trying to protect me and at least he’d never locked me in a cellar or tricked me into pregnancy.
I still had my birthing nurse, who followed me everywhere now, leaving me only at the door to my rooms last thing at night. One evening we returned quite late, for the mages had talked for hours about the good news from the coast and the anticipation of Drei’s triumphant return. Outside my door sat a fancy wooden box tied up with ribbons.
“What’s this?” the nurse said. “Someone’s left you a present.”
“I expect it’s from someone I’ve healed,” I said, not much interested. “I hope it’s not another vase. There’s only so many of those a person needs.”
“No, it’s cakes, by the look of it. See? It’s got a rose engraved on top. It’s from that expensive bakery near the northwest gate.”
“Oh. That’s better than a vase. Better bring it inside then.”
She carried it through for me, for it was quite a large box and she was of the opinion that a pregnant lady should carry nothing heavier than a fan, and set it on a table.
“Don’t eat them all in one go,” she laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my lady.”
“Don’t you want one?” I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid, and we both peered in. I confess I was disappointed. In my experience expert bakers produced cakes that were uniformly beautiful, each one the same size and shape as its neighbour, a paragon of symmetry. These were not like that. They reminded me of the sort of cakes that my sister Alita and I used to make as children, perfectly edible but slightly lumpy and misshapen. But these had come from one of the best bakeries in the Keep, so I supposed it must be a new fashion.
The nurse wrinkled up her nose. “Maybe I’ll have one in the morning. If there are any left, that is. Good night, my lady.”
That decision probably saved her life.
I wasn’t hungry enough to eat anything just then, but I knew I’d be famished if I woke in the night, so I took the box through to the bedroom and went to bed. I slept a little, but I was getting too large for lying down to be comfortable so I woke again well before dawn. I lit a glow ball to light my way to the bucket room, then I remembered the cakes.
I took one bite, that was all it took. As I swallowed, I could feel something strange, a numbness spreading from my throat outwards, into every limb.
Then the floor rushed up towards me.
38: Poison
I lay on my side, my face pressed against the cold wooden floor. It was utterly dark, for the glow ball had popped out of existence as I fell. There must have been some paralysing agent in the cake, for I couldn’t move, not a finger or eyelash. It was very quick, for already it was squeezing my heart, slowing my lungs, making me struggle to breathe.
My magic sprang to my defence. I could feel it tingling inside me, a warmth fighting the cold grip of death. The pain in my heart lifted a little, my breathing eased, I could feel my toes and wiggle them slightly. I was quite calm, for panicking wouldn’t help and I knew I had only to wait patiently until magic released me from this prison. So I lay in the dark, concentrating on breathing in, breathing out, waiting while a battle raged inside my body. Little by little my magic pushed the paralysis back.
I don’t know how long I lay there, caught like a fly in a web, unable to do the least thing to help myself. I didn’t have much energy to spare for worrying, but I thought a lot about my baby, caught in the middle of this tempest. Could the poison reach her? And what would it do to her, tiny as she was? Perhaps already she was still and lifeless inside me. Then, as the hours passed and the sky began to lighten and still I was unmoving, a new worry; maybe my magic would be exhausted before the poison could be defeated. Perhaps it was not just my baby’s life at stake, but my own. I began to calculate how long it would be before the servants would arrive to clean. Or would I be missed at morning board, and someone – Cal perhaps – would come looking for me, bringing more magic to bear.
Perhaps I didn’t have to wait that long, though. I had another source of magic in the room, my stone vessel, still in my shoulder bag. It was lucky I wasn’t a tidy person; if I’d put my clothes away neatly in the closet it would be across the room and too far away. Instead it was still on the chair where I’d tossed it, not two paces away. All I had to do was get there.
I had some feeling in my arms and legs now, but was it enough? I shuffled myself a finger’s length along the floor. Not too difficult; I’d recovered more than I’d realised. Again I slid myself forward, then again. The bag’s strap dangled enticingly and I reached out, caught it, pulled. It crashed to the floor, almost hitting me on the nose, and then a cascade of discarded clothes fell with it, half burying me. But I had the bag.
With trembling hands I pushed the clothes aside and drew the bag to me. I fumbled with the clasps, fingers stiff as wood, lifting the flap. I reached inside – oh, the relief! Magical energy flooded into me and the sudden influx pushed the paralysing poison back and back. Was it gone? Gingerly I rolled onto hands and knees and levered myself to my feet. I could stand! I swayed a little, but for the moment I was free of my captivity. I took a step forward, then another. My legs felt heavy, as if I were moving through deep water, but I could walk.
The poison wasn’t defeated, though. I could still feel it around my heart, waiting patiently for my magic to be exhausted so that it could claim me again. I had to get help. I lacked the energy to get properly dressed so I threw a cloak over my nightgown and picked up my shoulder bag. I had used perhaps half the power in the stone, but I might need to take some more if the paralysis returned in full force.
I left my rooms slowly, creeping along like an old woman, every step an effort. Outside, the corridor was empty. I had no idea what hour it was, but there were no servants or morning bustle, and all was silence. At the stairs I hesitated. Cal was the only mage with enough power to help me, but his rooms were up two long flights of stairs and there was no assurance he would be there. He’d always been unpredictable, and I didn’t want to struggle all that way only to find he wasn’t even there.
Down was easier, so down I went, one stair at a time. The entrance hall was deserted, but perhaps that was a good thing. I wasn’t sure any longer which of the mage guards could be trusted, and which, like Morthan, were spies of Drei’s. Besides, if the guards had been there, I would have sent them to find Cal and then had to wait, and somehow I knew time was short. I had to find another source of magic before my own power and the stone were exhausted, and that meant the Imperial City.
The great wooden doors were locked and warded, but they opened at once to my touch and I descended another broad flight of stairs to the lobby of the Northeast Tower. The massive doors were closed but a small door to one side stood open to the morning air. The guards, seeing my mage mark, bowed and let me pass without hindrance, although they must have thought me odd, walking about at that hour, barefoot with my hair loose. I didn’t care what they thought as long as they didn’t stop me.
I made for the nearest gate to the Imperial City. The inside of the Keep was in shade, for the sun was still low, but even so I felt better for being out in the open. My breathing was a little easier, even if my legs still fought every step I took. The bare ground should have been hard on my unshod feet, but I could hardly feel them, and with each step they dragged behind me. The little shops and stalls that lined the interior walls were still closed up, but here and there an early shopkeeper, busy setting out wares for the morning, turned to watch me go by.
“You all right, dear?” a woman called out, but I daren’t stop to explain, so I just nodded and passed on. When I was not poisoned, I could reach the Shining Walls in under half an hour, and a lot less than that when pursued by guards. This time my progress was painfully slow, and long before I reached the Keep gate, I realised
I was losing the battle. The slow creep of paralysis had begun again.
By the time I reached the gate I could barely walk, but I was terrified to stop in case I never moved again. I leaned against the wall for a moment, fumbling in my bag for the stone. Thank the Moon Gods, another infusion of energy helped, although I dared not take too much.
But my staggering progress had attracted the attention of the gate guards. I was lolling against the wall, waiting for my breathing to return to normal, but I heard their suspicious voices.
“She’s drunk.” “No, a mage – look at the mark.” “Is it a spell?” “What’s the matter with her?” “Even mages drink, you know.” “Keep away, she’ll spell you.”
Then another voice, stronger, overriding the others. “She won’t hurt you, you moron. It’s the Fire Mage Lady. Stand aside, Drenks, will you? Let me get close.” Then, close to my ear, “Lady? Are you hurt? May I help?”
The Fire Mages Page 42
