“Levannue was shocked. At the time, I assumed it was surprise at the door opening in her face. Plus I was unwell and didn’t pay much attention.”
“I can’t see it persuading Bramell.”
“I know, and we don’t have much time. Levannue is due to leave Ekranos at the end of this month. She’s supposed to be going north to test a new ward, but I’ll bet she’s planning on not coming back. If I can’t get any definite evidence before then, I’ll have to persuade Bramell to use the manuscript to trace the chalice to its current location, which won’t be either easy or fun. Hopefully Levannue is hanging on to the chalice and didn’t destroy it once she’d finished probing its memory.”
“Do you think you should keep the Guardian’s warrant up at the school, in case you need it in a hurry?”
“It will be safer with you. If Levannue gets suspicious, the first thing she’ll do is search my room. If anything happens, I’ll get a message through to Klara, and you can come running. And it might be best to go to Neame first rather than Bramell. She’ll be much more receptive to the idea of Levannue as a traitor to the Coven. But it shouldn’t get to a last-minute rush. I’m going to start collecting proof. Now that I’m working on charms, I’ve got plenty of chances to watch Levannue.”
“Be very careful. Remember it’s likely she’s murdered two people already. If anything should happen to you—”
“Nothing will.”
The two women sat in silence for a while. The sun was now clear of the rooftops. The euphoria of solving the mystery was fading, melting in the rising heat. Each time Tevi blinked she found it harder to open her eyelids again. She realised that she had started to drift off when Jemeryl shook her gently awake.
“Come on. I think I should take you to bed and make sure you get some sleep.”
Klara’s beak opened a fraction.
Jemeryl anticipated the magpie, placing a forefinger on her beak. “And you can keep that remark to yourself.”
*
The nauseating stench of rowan permeated the upper dimensions. Jemeryl tried to ignore it while she placed a set of talismans in a circle on the bench. The carved bone tingled under her fingers in a way that was nearly as disagreeable as the rowan. Once the arrangement was complete, Jemeryl lit a red wax candle under the small tripod at the centre and stepped back, futilely trying to wipe the rowan aura from her hands.
“I think it’s ready, ma’am.”
“I’ll be over in a minute.”
At the other end of the bench, Levannue was deftly cutting open berries and removing their black seeds. Long fingers moved with practised skill. Old hands, yet graceful, unmarred by redness or blotches. They matched Levannue’s fine-boned features, sharp eyes, and pale lips. Each short grey hair lay as straight as if it had been drawn on her head with a rule. The tracery of lines on her skin added texture without sagging. Everything about Levannue suggested elegance and dispassionate precision.
Jemeryl studied her quarry. Was this a woman who had murdered Aris and Druse? A woman who planned to overthrow the Protectorate? It was something Jemeryl had wondered repeatedly during the previous nine days. Her eyes returned to the candle and talismans. How could she get the evidence she needed? One thing was certain: she dared not let Levannue leave Ekranos. Yet, the proposed departure date was getting close. Only another eleven days were left. If she learnt nothing more before then, she would have to present her suspicions to Bramell and rely on the Guardian’s warrant to demand further investigations.
“Now we can begin.” Levannue took her place on the other side of the table.
The elderly sorcerer adjusted the axis of two talismans. Jemeryl nodded, seeing how it improved the balance of forces. Levannue placed a crucible containing the seeds on the tripod. Light from the candle reflected in the polished underside, magnified by the curvature of the bowl.
Soon, the bitter scent of roasting seeds wafted in Jemeryl’s direction. A pinch of horsehair was added, along with shavings of rowan bark and a few grains of sea salt. Levannue seemed oblivious to the rowan, although Jemeryl knew she was, if anything, even more sensitive than Jemeryl herself. The horsehair crackled and writhed in the bottom of the crucible. Wisps of grey smoke spiralled up and were trapped in mid-air by forces radiating from the talismans, turning the fumes back on themselves. The smoke thickened into an opaque form, dancing above the crucible.
Levannue replaced the candle and tripod with a small glass flask. Then the two sorcerers moved the talismans in unison, adjusting the play of forces. The smoke shape spiralled down like a vortex into the flask. Quickly, Levannue pressed a cork stopper in place.
“That went smoothly,” Levannue said in satisfaction. “We’re finished for today. Could you tidy up?”
It was an order, not a request, and Jemeryl hastened to obey. Levannue sat at her desk and began writing. For a while, the two worked in silence.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Where do these go?”
Levannue looked at the bone talismans in Jemeryl’s palm. She picked a leather pouch from her desk. “Put them in here. They then go in my storage chest. You’ll need this.” She snapped a long brass key free from a ring at her belt.
The chest stood at the back of the room. It was three feet long, made of solid oak and mounted with iron bands. In it were kept items deemed too dangerous to be left lying around. The key rarely left Levannue’s belt.
Jemeryl raised the lid and glanced inside cautiously, well able to imagine the sort of items Levannue might need to keep secure. Her face twisted in a grimace. The contents seemed unexceptional to her sight and so very deadly to her extended sorcerer senses. She dropped the talismans into the chest and reached for the lid, about to pull it shut, when she froze. Lying at the back, half hidden by a pale blue cloth, was a memory chalice.
Jemeryl glanced over her shoulder. Levannue was engrossed in her work but would certainly notice any attempt to probe the chalice. Jemeryl turned back to the chest. The lock was protected by magic, impossible to pick, but there was another option.
She flicked the cord of the pouch forward so that it fouled the lock mechanism. Something that could be passed off as an accident, if discovered. Holding the lid to stop it slamming, Jemeryl let the lock’s tang press down on the cord, squashing it double into the catch. No click sounded, and the catch did not engage. She stood and stepped away. Only close inspection would detect the narrow gap between lid and base.
Levannue accepted the return of the key without looking up.
“Is there anything else, ma’am?”
“No. If you’ve finished, you may go.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jemeryl walked down the hallway and out into a small paved courtyard. It was stifling in the late afternoon as the flagstones released the heat they had absorbed from the scorching midday sun. Two other doorways opened onto the courtyard. One was the route Levannue would take when she left. The other had a large enclosed porch that would be an ideal hiding place. A stone bench was carved on the inner wall, with gargoyles peering through the armrests. Jemeryl sat and swung her legs up so they would not be visible from the courtyard.
The wait was not long. Soon, brisk footsteps tapped across the flagstones, and a thin shadow flitted past. Jemeryl tried to look relaxed, as if merely waiting in the shade for a friend. The subterfuge was unnecessary. The footsteps continued without interruption. Jemeryl peered around the corner just in time to see Levannue disappear into the doorway opposite. The last echo of her footsteps faded into silence.
Back in the room, Levannue’s notes were in a neat pile, and her chair had been pushed under the desk. Otherwise, nothing was changed. Levannue had not noticed the cord fouling the lock.
Jemeryl opened the chest. The chalice inside had twin S-shaped handles—a style typical of two centuries before. Jemeryl sat back, holding the chalice in her cupped hands. It was scratched, stained, and dented, just as if it had been pulled from the sea with a half-drowned sorcerer. To the ungifted eye, it was unr
emarkable, but beneath its casting, the chalice was a tight ball of memories.
Gently, Jemeryl teased apart the strands of information. The shadow of a name hung loose, stamped with the original owner’s claim to possession. A few deft moves brought it into view: Lorimal of the Coven.
Jemeryl’s fist pumped the air in triumph. At last, she had evidence that even Bramell could not deny and time in hand. With the chalice in the crook of her arm, Jemeryl peered into the chest, wondering what else she might find. Trying to see through the jumble of forces taxed her concentration and meant she did not hear the sound of the door opening quietly behind her.
“How dare you?” Levannue’s voice crackled with outrage.
Jemeryl twisted about, nearly loosing her balance in surprise. Levannue stood in the doorway, arms folded. Two assistant witches peered over her shoulder, enraptured horror on their faces. Levannue’s expression was far harder to read.
Jemeryl rose from her awkward crouch and waited as the trio advanced from the doorway. Levannue strode confidently; the other two bustled after. The witches were clearly taking a huge amount of enjoyment from being scandalised. If they were involved in a conspiracy, it was a wonderful piece of acting on their part. Far more likely that their ill-timed arrival was unconnected with her discovery of the chalice. Having got over her surprise, Jemeryl was not worried. The witches’ testimony could be useful.
Levannue took the chalice from Jemeryl’s hands and examined it before speaking again. “Are you going to explain this to me, or shall we go straight to Bramell?” Her voice held no trace of fear.
Levannue’s display of composure made Jemeryl hesitate, but the chalice reassured her. Whatever the plan, Levannue had miscalculated. Once the evidence was before Bramell, the charade would be over. Until then, silence was best. Even with the witches as witnesses, it would be dangerous to mention the Guardian’s warrant and run the risk of Levannue getting to Tevi first.
Levannue spoke again. “I wonder if you realise how much trouble you’re in. You’ve been very stupid.”
The malicious edge stung Jemeryl. “I was going to say the same to you.”
“Bravado isn’t going to help your case.”
“My case!” Jemeryl was incredulous. “Oh, come on. It’s too late to play games.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You’re talking as if I’m the one in trouble.” Levannue sounded offended.
“And you are.”
“You have the nerve to threaten me!”
“Why did she say that?” one witch asked, puzzled.
“She thinks she has something up her sleeve.”
“Oooh.” Both witches were thrilled. They clearly possessed the maturity level of five-year-olds.
Levannue carried on. “I’m not about to be intimidated by a young fool. I’ve got an old iron collar around here somewhere.”
“Yes, that would be sensible, ma’am.”
“She might try to run away.” The witches spoke in unison.
“I won’t,” Jemeryl said, scornful of the pantomime.
“I’m not going to take chances.”
Levannue got awkwardly to her knees and put the chalice in the chest. After turning over a few items, she dug out a collar. One witch helped her back to her feet. The other shut the lid, making a point of pushing down firmly with both hands and looking smugly at Jemeryl.
It was demeaning, but there was no point wasting time by protesting. The collar would not stop her speaking to Bramell and ending the charade. Jemeryl’s face showed her contempt, but she did not resist. In her mind, she was already planning the forthcoming meeting and rehearsing her arguments. Only when the collar was about to close around her neck was she hit by alarm. Something was terribly wrong. The true nature of the collar was disguised. It certainly was not iron.
Jemeryl opened her mouth, but the words never came. The collar snapped shut, and a fog descended on her mind. She was caught in a daze. Her thoughts remained clear, but the world seemed lost. Reality slipped through her fingers, leaving Jemeryl’s mind adrift, with only the bitter knowledge that after all her promises to Tevi, she had allowed herself to become ensnared.
Chapter Nine—Outmanœuvred
Bramell’s study appeared around Jemeryl with no sense of transition. Voices boomed, muffled as if echoing down a long corridor. Jemeryl battled to force a firm contact with the world. The tendrils of fog shifted, and Levannue’s voice became distinct.
“I’ve had suspicions for some time. Several things have gone missing since she joined my section.”
“I’ll send someone to search her room.” Bramell’s words were out of step with the blurred movement of his lips.
“It might be better if I do that. I’d know what to look for.”
“Good idea.” Bramell’s face floated before Jemeryl. “Are you still refusing to explain yourself?”
Try as she might, Jemeryl could not make her throat and lips obey her.
“She wouldn’t answer before, apart from making threats,” one of the witches volunteered from somewhere out of sight.
“Yes, she did. She said Levannue was in big trouble,” the other added.
Jemeryl mentally swore at the pair. Presumably, it was not a conspiracy, else the scene staged in Levannue’s room would have been unnecessary. The three could simply have invented the whole story from beginning to end. However, Levannue had obviously taken great care, picking witnesses who were totally lacking in mental ability, magical or otherwise. Neither witch had noticed the use of power when Levannue activated the enslaving device, and neither was giving a second thought to the instantaneous change in behaviour it caused.
“Perhaps she’ll be more forthcoming when she’s had time to think.” Bramell glared through the fog at Jemeryl. “I’ll speak to you again tomorrow.”
“It might be wise to lock her in the quarantine rooms,” Levannue suggested.
“Yes. Then we’ll be certain where she is.”
Jemeryl raged at Bramell’s incompetence. Neame would have noticed the lines of force binding her aura, and anyone with half a brain might suspect that something strange was happening. Only Bramell could mistake bewitchment for sullen defiance.
Jemeryl made one last attempt to give a sign, but the collar absorbed all her efforts. Someone took hold of her arm and towed her from the room. She was unable even to control her eyes. The blur of movement broke her links with the world, and once again, she was swallowed by fog.
*
Jemeryl sat slumped on one of the narrow bunks in the quarantine room, in a position of enforced inactivity. She had overcome the clouding of her senses and could now see and hear clearly. However, this merely left her as a passive observer, trapped in her body. Absurdly, the thing that chafed the most was that she could not pace the room. The device bound her on all seven dimensions. Attempts to contact Tevi via Klara had failed. She was completely isolated. Not a trace of the bond with her familiar remained.
The outlook was bleak. So far, Jemeryl knew she had been outmanoeuvred at every point. What was Levannue planning? How was she going to deal with it when people started to question her victim’s apathetic silence? What was the next step?
Footsteps sounded outside the room. A key rattled in the lock. Jemeryl could not raise her head, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door open and Levannue’s feet enter. The door shut with a hollow clunk, and then a chair’s legs scraped against the floorboards as it was pulled into position. Jemeryl could see no higher than Levannue’s lap when the elderly sorcerer sat down. Abruptly, Jemeryl’s back jerked straight, forcing her head up. Her eyes met Levannue’s. The two of them were alone.
“I’m sure you aren’t surprised to learn that I found several incriminating things in your room. Officially, I’m here to ask you about them.” Levannue gave a humourless smile. “I’ve had doubts about you for some time. You’ve definitely had your eye on me for a few days, and I’m not conceite
d enough to think you’ve fallen in love. Letting you see the chalice was an easy way of getting confirmation. It would have meant nothing to you unless you’d known about Lorimal.”
Jemeryl impotently cursed her own stupidity for not spotting the trap.
“What I don’t understand is why the Guardian waited so long before sending you. I’d also like to know what sort of resources you have, since I hardly think she’d send you alone. When did you work out I was the one? Who have you told? What are your plans?” Levannue paused. “And you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”
Hands burst into Jemeryl’s mind, picking apart her thoughts and digging through the layers of memory. Her life dissolved into fragments. She felt lost, like a floating carcass shredded by scavengers. She almost surrendered herself to the invasion, but one anchor held firm—the knowledge that Tevi’s life was at stake. Levannue had broken her oath to the Coven and had probably murdered two sorcerers. She would not hesitate to kill an ungifted mercenary and take the warrant if she learnt the truth.
The collar held Jemeryl’s aura more surely than chains would have held her body. She could not fight back. Her only option was a shell-like defence, reclaiming her thoughts and pulling her mind shut. She wrapped her being tight within herself.
Levannue drew a sharp breath, either in frustration or anger. Jemeryl did not care. The mode of attack changed. The probing hands became white-hot claws. Pain exploded inside Jemeryl’s head. She would have screamed if she could. Yet still she resisted, clinging to the knowledge of what defeat would mean. She could not retaliate or hide, only endure.
The onslaught continued. It shifted in intensity and focus, forcing Jemeryl to retreat further. She felt the shattering of bonds holding flesh and spirit together. Pain ceased to be important; life ceased to be important. Her heartbeat faltered, resumed erratically, and then stopped again. Her breathing became weak. The fight could not continue much longer. Jemeryl knew death would claim her soon, but even this would be a victory. The dead reveal no secrets.
The Traitor and the Chalice Page 16
