“I guess we’re taking the thing to Podrar after all.”
“We’ll see.” Laskenay tried to rip out pages, first by hand, then magically. Kora pulled along with her, but together they could not so much as tear a corner. Laskenay’s fervor failed to cool until a vanishing spell proved useless; then she turned a serious face to Kora.
“Forget the Librette, for now at least. We can’t spend all day trying to destroy the thing, your training’s more important. Listen to me, this is a direct order: you will never cast a spell when fighting unless you’ve no choice, is that understood?” Kora nodded. “Zalski will know exactly who you are within the month. He’ll learn where you were born, and to whom; where you were educated; the social causes you supported. But he won’t discover you’re a sorceress. That’s a monstrous point in your favor, Kora. I don’t want you to lose it before you absolutely must.”
Kora swore she was in agreement, and her instructor retrieved another tome from the sack beneath her chair. “This book has proved useful,” said Laskenay. Kora opened its cover. “You can adapt most of its spells for battle.”
“Have you adapted…?”
“That’s beside the point. But yes. Take this one, for instance, on the third page: Mudar.”
And a seat cushion from a chair against the far wall flew to Kora.
Kora spent an hour working with the spell. Her task was not simple; the incantation was a versatile one. Kora’s mind was the sole thing directing the pillow where to go: from her arms to the chair, from the chair back to her arms, or from the table to Laskenay. She concentrated as hard as she was able, because she could see how useful the spell might later prove. It could retrieve a lost weapon, or send an enemy flying. It could even send a projectile at said enemy.
After half an hour Kora could control the pillow’s speed. It no longer shook or slowed before it reached its destination, no longer plummeted to the floor. She needed more time to perfect her aim, but soon the spellbook had flown itself back to Laskenay’s sack, gliding effortlessly between chair legs, and Laskenay herself descended gently onto a stool from across the room.
“I think you’ve mastered this one.” Laskenay hopped down to retrieve the spellbook. “What else is there? Hmm, you wouldn’t need this blocking spell, I suppose. Not for your personal protection.”
Kora crossed her arms, and that red shell materialized around her. Only then did she realize what was strangest about that day. It was that she enjoyed working magic. When she reminded herself, as Menikas had, that she controlled her actions, she forgot her qualms. The murmur of an incantation, the manifestation of the spell, the whole process felt natural. It felt a part of her. Her brain had been telling her all day she had nothing to feel sorry for, but now she believed herself.
And she was unbelievably tired.
“One more incantation,” said Laskenay. “Before the others come back.”
Kora approached her chair. “Which one?”
Laskenay pointed to the book. “Ooh….” said Kora. “Despareska.”
She brought her hand before her eyes, so close that she touched her brow, but she could not see her fingers. She felt the sleeves of her tattered dress lying on her arms, the front of her toes against her shoes, and somehow saw none of them.
“That was simple enough,” said Kora. She was invisible.
“Desfazair,” Laskenay responded, and her pupil rematerialized.
“The spell works on human flesh,” said Laskenay. “Your magic’s stronger than I thought. You made your clothing vanish too.”
“So much the better, right? Laskenay, why don’t we make the book invisible?”
“We would lose it. Since we can’t destroy the thing, I’ll know exactly where it is, thank you. Besides, that spell affects nothing but its caster.” She paused. “It happens to be one of Zalski’s classics.”
Kora gulped. “He uses it often?”
“More than I would recommend. It’s a difficult spell to undo, unless you’re the person under it. You can’t see the other sorcerer. In your case, you hadn’t moved, which made my task simpler.”
“How did you cancel it? Desfazair?”
“Be wary of this spell, Kora.”
“But why?”
“This is the heart of sorcery: understanding the risks of the magic in your arsenal, because every spell has risks. Every one of them. You need to learn to judge these things. It’s the difference between escaping an ambush and being killed. Magic won’t help you if aren’t astute, bolstering your spells’ weaknesses, exploiting your enemy’s. Think how invisibility truly functions.”
“I suppose,” said Kora, “that if I were knocked unconscious, I wouldn’t be easy to find.”
“You could bleed to death without anyone knowing,” Laskenay told her.
First Kora had denied her sorcery; then she had grown apprehensive, and next, a bit enthralled by it. Now she viewed it as a duty. Not a sacrifice, as Laskenay considered magic, but a duty. She remembered something her father had told her the morning of her first day of school: knowledge brings power, and responsibility is always power’s flipside. He used a bronze piece to illustrate the point. One side represented power, the other responsibility, bonded together, inseparable.
Kora glanced at Laskenay, who was (as chance would have it) rooting through her possessions for some coins. The elder woman noted, “That should be enough for lunch somewhere, in some cheap tavern. We should get away from this apartment.”
Kora agreed. Pulling her scattered emotions together, she stared full-on at the faintly glowing wall.
“You cancel a sound barrier the same way as invisibility,” Laskenay instructed.
“Desfazair,” Kora muttered, and the room’s sickly yellow pallor faded to its usual grungy white.
445
CHAPTER SEVEN
Meeting Malzin
The League had the custom, or so Lanokas said, of splitting up when they snuck into the capital, lodging singly or in pairs with associates who lived in the area. Podrar was so congested with soldiers—twice as many per citizen as Yangerton—that for the League to stay together would be foolhardy.
Kora marveled at the city’s dinginess. The streets were wider than Yangerton’s, and more numerous; the buildings, most in various states of disrepair, did not share walls as in the other city. A solemn air hung about the capital, an air not quite strong enough to be called stifling. Hints of Podrar’s former glory survived in the pride of passing faces, in those buildings only beginning to show a need for attention. Unfortunately, the time and cost of such attention were impossible to sacrifice, and Kora saw that, unless things changed, certain sections of Podrar would become slums in the matter of a decade or two.
Neslan brought Kora and Sedder to a small house in a part of town that looked as though it used to be somewhat affluent. No three or four-story lodging houses reared here, but real homes. The abode he pointed out had a shutter hanging off the window, but was one of those in better condition. “You’re staying with Ter Jute,” said Neslan, turning up the walk.
Kora repeated the name of the house’s master. “Is he from here?”
“Originally from Traigland. Lived in Podrar the last ten years. If anyone should ask, you’re his niece and nephew.”
Jute’s wife came to the door, a very pregnant pale-skinned woman in her mid-twenties. She had dull eyes and a strong chin, and she needed a moment to recognize Neslan, but when she did, she ushered them all inside. The scent of fresh bread wafted from the kitchen, making Kora’s stomach grumble. She was hungry and embarrassed, intruding on a stranger, but this woman did not seem to grudge the company.
The woman of the house asked Neslan, “How are things?” and continued without waiting for an answer. “Ter’s gone for a few days, gone to Yangerton. He left a week ago, couldn’t delay the trip. Are your friends new? I haven’t had the pleasure….”
Neslan made the introductions; the woman’s name was Nani. She offered them all seats—she had a cheerfu
l living room, with furniture of a quality Kora had never seen—but Neslan had to go before it turned too dark. He motioned Kora away for a private word, and she followed him to a hallway lit by an oil lamp. The mass of curls on the noble’s head cast a shadow up the wall.
“Menikas wants you to rest tomorrow, so take advantage of the time. Make sure you know the city, that’s my advice, and not because I hail from here. We’ll stay for a while. If you do go out, don’t go alone.”
“Because of the soldiers?” asked Kora.
“Women don’t go out alone these days.”
“Right.”
“What else did Menikas say? Laskenay’s coming for you day after next. She and Ranler are meeting with our spy, and he wants you to join them.”
Kora started. She remembered her nightmare in the cave outside Hogarane. “I don’t want to know more than I have to.”
“You need to explain how you found the Librette. Wilhem needs to know that.”
“Well that’s that, then.” Kora paused. “This isn’t about the Librette, though. If it was, Kansten would go. Laskenay wants the spy to meet me, she thinks I’m the Marked One.”
Neslan said, “All I know is what Menikas told me. These are his orders, not Laskenay’s.”
“Then why couldn’t Menikas tell me this himself?”
Neslan shrugged. “You know he has places to be. Things to do. I could try to be more cliché than that….”
Kora laughed, and followed Neslan back to the sitting room, where Nani had brought out water and a rye loaf she had just taken from the oven. She also had bought a chicken that day. Neslan left, and the hostess began to serve supper until Kora stopped her as she bent over the bread with a knife.
“Let me,” Kora offered, and Nani, sighing comfortably, settled in a large, cushioned chair.
“Where are you two from?” the woman asked. When Sedder mentioned Hogarane, her face lit up. Nani had grown up there; she only moved to Podrar when she married five years ago. Her husband had an aunt who lived in Hogarane, which was how they met.
Kora waited for the question of how she fell in with Neslan, but no one broached the topic. They spoke for an hour about Hogarane and family, an uncomfortable hour for Kora. Speaking of her mother, of Zacry, only reminded her that their predicament was her doing. She recognized that logic as flawed; she had not chosen to plaster a ruby to her face, and her family would be in danger whether she joined the League or no. But Kora felt responsible. When Sedder mentioned his parents, whom Nani had known by reputation, she could not help but think of their names on that hit list, of the secret she hid from him, and she felt more conflicted still. Finally, Nani pointed out where they could sleep—the second door on the right, down the hall, the room housed two beds—and went to her own room to lie down, leaving Kora and Sedder on a settee near the fire.
Kora asked, “Does Nani remind you of Madame Gipry?”
Their first teacher. Sedder told her, “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“I couldn’t wait to go to Madame Gipry’s every morning. It was so much more exciting than home. Remember that one time, when we were pretending to use magic and she caught us at it? Us two and Hunt. I wouldn’t be surprised if his father beat him senseless.”
“I got a lecture,” said Sedder. “It probably didn’t last ten minutes, but it felt like hours.”
“My father threatened to whip me with a tree branch if I ever did it again,” said Kora. “Which makes me lucky we didn’t get caught again.”
“Little rebels, we were.”
“Not really.” Kora shifted her eyes to the hearth. “What were we risking? Discipline? It felt like something at the time, I guess. We wanted it to feel like something. We wanted to have adventures. We imagined our own world, the three of us.”
“Good old Trenzern,” said Sedder, his face lighting up. “It was a fun place. It had its dangers, of course. Ogres, and giants….”
“Nothing as giant as what we’re facing now.” A log in the fire split in two, shifting all the burning wood. The top log nearly fell; Sedder shoved it in place with a poker while Kora stared at the flames. “I miss the Trenzern days,” she said.
“I do too.” Sedder dropped onto the settee. “I do too.”
“We handled our share of danger, didn’t we? Sand pits, hidden dungeons, dragons’ lairs. Hunt always rushed in at the last possible second to give us a chance.” Hunt as he had been at age seven rose from the recesses of Kora’s mind: huge green eyes, a perfect mouth, a cowlick on the right side of his head. Age seven was the last time she had seen him. “I wonder where he is now.”
“He’s dead,” said Sedder. The fire’s mesmerization lost its strength; Kora wheeled her head around.
“He’s what?”
She had seen Sedder angry, truly angry, only once, when that lieutenant whipped him on the road. He was just as livid now. Not a trace remained of his nostalgia, and his face was tense, his arm shaking.
“Five months ago,” he said. “They caught him stealing meat and corn somewhere in Yangerton, caught him in the act. No trial needed. Not that a trial nowadays means a damn thing. What the law wants, the law gets, and the law wants thieves hanged.”
Kora bowed her head, desperate to remove Hunt’s face from before her eyes. “He moved away so young. If we’d been older we would have written, kept in touch. We could have helped him.”
“No one could have helped him.”
“We could have fed the boy!”
“Be reasonable, Kora.”
“Reasonable? He was stealing to eat. To eat! You don’t kill someone for that!”
All the fear, and the anger, all the disbelief that had been festering in Kora since she picked that ruby off the dusty road came pouring, turned liquid, from her eyes. Sedder put his arm around her.
“Everyone I know,” she said. “Everyone’s gone, or has a price on their head.”
Kora knew Sedder well enough to tell when the advice he gave grained against his will. His voice was slow, deliberate, and he made himself look at her intently, as though to watch her somehow pulled the words from his mouth. “What you need to worry about is the price on your head. Listen to me, if you have to go down, go down fighting. Make your story one worth telling, and Herezoth will hear it. People will respond.”
“What if Herezoth’s not around to see when…?”
“Herezoth will be there. You are Herezoth.”
Kora bit her lip. “Because of the ruby?” she whispered.
“Because you’re ordinary. Because you’re from a small town. Because…. Kora, if they do find you alone, pretend you aren’t. Pretend Zac’s watching. Act as though he is, that’s all you have to do. That’s simple, right? Make him proud.”
“Zac’s not here,” said Kora. She could still see Hunt before her, as through a haze, and the thought of his fate gave her the gumption to say what she had not yet been able to tell Sedder. “Zac’s not here. You’re here, and while I’m very grateful, I want you to leave if you stayed because of me. I don’t want them coming after you, or hanging you. I won’t be the reason you’re doing this.”
Sedder took her hand. “A slew of things brought me to join the League. A slew of them, all right? All mixed together to the point that I can’t even describe what they used to be, before they got jumbled up. I don’t want the army coming after me either, but I’m staying. I’m determined to, and I need you to support that.”
“Of course I support it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think that what we’re doing…. I’m just scared. Sedder, I’m so frightened!”
“I shouldn’t have told you about Hunt.”
“I’m glad you did,” said Kora. “He’s part of the jumble, isn’t he?”
“You look pretty jumbled yourself.”
“I’m tired,” Kora told him. “I think I’ll head off to bed.”
“I’ll be out here for a while. Don’t wait up for me.”
Kora climbed into bed with her lip clenched between
her teeth, burrowing deep in the blankets. Her mind was racing.
I can’t tell him. I can’t say I love him. If I let that out, there’s nothing left to say. If there’s nothing left to say then he will die, or me, because everything’ll be in order. To tell him now, it would be like admitting he’s doomed, that we both are. No, I can’t. I can’t do it. I’ll wait ‘til this is over. Then it won’t be bittersweet like it’d be now. Those moments should never be bitter.
What if he says he loves me? I’ll stop him, that’s all. I’ll have to stop him before he gets it out. It’s not worth one of us dying.
UGH! Why didn’t I tell him before? I’m an idiot, that’s why. I could have done it that morning, at his house, before the soldiers and the ruby and all this hell. I could have told him then, but now…. Now I can’t.
* * *
Kora woke the next morning to find Sedder’s bed empty, empty and unmade. She had neither heard him come in nor leave, though she was usually a light sleeper. Afraid she had slept in, she glanced at the window, but the sky was gray; the sun had not yet risen. The conversation of the night before stuck with her like a bad dream. She sat up, her wool blanket pulled tight around her, and was still working up the determination to get out of bed when Sedder himself returned.
“Making sure Nani had firewood cut,” he said, before Kora could ask.
“When did you hear about Hunt? And why didn’t you tell me?”
Sedder sighed. “Still on that, are we?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It wasn’t long after your father died, that’s why I didn’t tell you. I only heard of it by chance, when I went into Yangerton to replace a few boards in one of the cabin walls. Wood’s cheaper in the city.” By that, he meant you could find it black market, but Kora did not correct him. “I passed three women on the street saying what a shame something was, something in connection to Hunt’s name. When I asked what they meant, they told me a man, about my age, had been caught stealing from a butcher not three days before. He was killed the previous afternoon.”
The Crimson League (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 11
