The Traitor and the Chalice

by Jane Fletcher

  Suddenly, the battle was over. Levannue conceded defeat and withdrew, leaving Jemeryl to catch the threads of life again. Blood pounded in her ears. Cold lightning flared through her arms and legs. Her lungs burned raw with each gasped breath.

  Levannue’s face was flushed from the effort. She scowled angrily. “So. You are not the raw novice you seem. I should have known the Guardian would send someone able to look after herself.”

  This was the highest praise she had ever heard from Levannue, although Jemeryl was in no condition to feel flattered. The elderly sorcerer left her seat and stalked around the room. Her hand slapped the tabletop in frustration—the first chink in Levannue’s composure. Her nostrils were pinched. Her lips were compressed in a thin line. She stopped at the window and stared through the bars.

  When eventually she turned back, her expression was again controlled. “You must be aware that I’m leaving Ekranos soon. My plans weren’t secret. Of course, you’d have tried to stop me, which is why I had to pre-empt you. Unfortunately, you haven’t told me what I really want to know. Do I flee tomorrow, or can I stick to my original schedule? You are no longer a threat. The trouble is, I don’t know who else I have to contend with, or how much evidence they have.”

  Levannue sat down, tapping her fingertips together. She continued in the manner of someone voicing her thoughts aloud. “You’ve been meeting a mercenary in town on a regular basis. The pretence of being lovers was very good. It had me fooled for a while. In reality, she must be a go-between, passing your reports on. I could talk to this mercenary. I’m sure she’d be more cooperative than you, but I’m also sure she’ll be guarded in some way. Would talking to her justify the risk?”

  Levannue sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I can manipulate Bramell into keeping things quiet here. He won’t want rumours about a sorcerer’s disgrace spreading outside the school. But if I stir things up in town, your associates will hear about it. If they don’t know I’m the one they’re after, I don’t want to enlighten them by abducting their messenger.”

  The pain in Jemeryl’s head had eased, but she was still a powerless spectator. Her only comfort was that Levannue had wildly overestimated the party sent to catch her and had talked herself into leaving Tevi alone. It was one of Levannue’s rare miscalculations, but not an unreasonable one. How much more sensible if the Guardian had assigned a dozen sorcerers as backup instead of one ungifted mercenary. Was there really such a drastic need of secrecy?

  “You last met the mercenary nine days ago. I’d been suspicious ever since you showed so much interest in Lorimal’s manuscript, so I took the opportunity to search your room—not that I found anything. But from your behaviour up until then, I hadn’t got the feeling that you were mutually suspicious of me. Only after your return did you start watching me. Obviously your mercenary passed on some information.” Levannue frowned. “I wonder what it was. However, it can’t have been conclusive, or I’d already be under arrest. So they must be waiting for you to provide some extra proof. Which you’re now unable to do.”

  Another mistake by Levannue—and again, not unreasonable. However, there seemed little benefit that Levannue was unaware of the sudden, cook-inspired insight on the way into Ekranos.

  “Even without proof, your associates won’t let me leave Ekranos. But if they’re hoping for word from you, they’ll leave it until the last moment before acting.” Levannue’s eyes fixed on the ceiling while she thought. “All of which means that it would be safest for me to bring my departure forward to tomorrow. I’ll make arrangements with Bramell and manufacture a reason to keep it secret. You won’t be able to pass on the news, so I’ll be far away before your associates know I’ve gone.” She looked at Jemeryl sadly. “However, you present a problem. The disguise on the collar won’t stand scrutiny when people start wondering why you don’t speak. Even if I fled tonight, you’d set the pursuit on my tail tomorrow, and I’d like a bit more head start. It’s not personal, but I must have you out of the way.”

  Levannue stood and pushed the chair back under the table. A cold lump formed in Jemeryl’s stomach. Levannue took a twist of paper from a pouch and emptied the contents into her palm: two dozen green berries. Levannue studied them for a moment and then pulled open a pocket on Jemeryl’s shirt and poured them in.

  “I’m going to leave you and make myself conspicuous elsewhere. In an hour, someone will bring dinner. You’ll be too upset to eat. After they take the plates away, you’ll feel compelled to eat the berries. I’m afraid it’s a fatal dose. When I ‘discover’ your body tomorrow morning, I’ll change your collar for an ordinary iron one. It will be assumed that you killed yourself rather than face the consequences of your actions. It won’t take much prompting to ensure Bramell keeps the news of a sorcerer’s suicide as quiet as possible.” Levannue’s voice faltered. “I’m really very sorry it has worked out like this. The Coven was wrong to ban Lorimal’s work. Perhaps you can now appreciate what it means to me.”

  Levannue’s hands shook as she opened the door. She gave a last sorrowful look back. Jemeryl heard the key turn in the lock.

  *

  Time dragged by. The sun’s rays climbed the wall and faded. Jemeryl struggled to gain enough control of her body to make a sign. Alerting the person who brought the food would be her last chance.

  Her dinner arrived on schedule. The rotund, middle-aged witch spared one disapproving glance for Jemeryl as he dumped the tray on the table. He stomped out and slammed the door, as if trying to demonstrate his support for the school authorities by the volume of his actions. Jemeryl almost gave up, but there was nothing else to divert her thoughts. After a while, the door opened again, and the witch returned. This time, Vine squeezed in behind him. She scuttled to Jemeryl’s side and dropped to a half crouch.

  “Jem, what happened? What did you do? “

  Had the situation been less desperate, Jemeryl would have been amused. As it was, Vine’s curiosity was the one thing that might save her life. If only Vine would act like a sorcerer and use her senses, rather than focus exclusively on the pursuit of gossip.

  Using all her knowledge of magic, Jemeryl flung herself at the cage around her aura. She fought for the right to control her own voice and her own body. Seldom had she put so much effort into anything—never with so little result. The rhythm of her breathing faltered. Her lower lip twitched, but there was no sound, no recognisable gesture.

  Vine’s expression softened, obviously mistaking Jemeryl’s response for mute distress. “Jem. Aren’t you going to tell me anything?”

  The witch spoke. “Don’t waste your time. I told you she wasn’t talking to anyone. We’ll take the plates and go.”

  Vine’s excitement waned. She stood and walked to the table. The puzzlement on her face intensified. “She’s not eaten anything.”

  “Not surprising. I wouldn’t have much appetite in her shoes, either.”

  “You’d think she’d eat for consolation.”

  Even the sour-faced witch laughed. “You would. Anyway, you’ve seen her. That’s the favour I owed. Now leave her to sulk.” He picked up the untouched tray.

  Vine was clearly unhappy. She stared at Jemeryl with confused intensity, as if trying to form a new question. Then her expression changed to one of pique. “I do think, if you’re going to do something outrageous, you could at least give me the inside story.” Vine flounced out of the room.

  The door shut with a final hollow thud.

  The room was as bleak as the first time Jemeryl had seen it, on the night Gewyn had been carried in. Gewyn had walked out, weak but smiling. Jemeryl held no such hopes for herself. Although she had control of her mind, Levannue held her body in complete subjugation.

  From her work in the dispensary, Jemeryl recognised the seeds Levannue had put in her pocket. They would act quickly, with little pain. It would be an easy death. Was Levannue’s choice of poison prompted by practicality or compassion? Not that it mattered. Already, Jemeryl’s hand was moving like
a marionette on the end of a string. Her forefinger slipped into the pocket, digging out the seeds. Her hand continued in its slow advance, ending cupped over her mouth. The seeds had a sweet, scented taste; her jaws moved, grinding them to pulp in a mechanical, cowlike action. Jemeryl swallowed.

  For a long time, nothing happened, except for details fading in the advancing dusk. Then Jemeryl became aware of numbness in her fingers and toes. The sensation spread, while a range of emotions contended for primacy: anger at her own stupidity; bitterness at defeat by Levannue; guilt that she would not say goodbye to Tevi; and a growing, helpless panic.

  The numbness reached her waist. Spikes leapt up her spine and coiled about her heart. Her chest contracted, squeezing the air from her lungs. A black well opened behind her head, sending tendrils of darkness streaming past her eyes.

  Jemeryl’s last sensation was of tumbling backwards into a pit.

  *

  The band of young mercenaries bundled through the door of the guild house and gathered inside, loudly discussing plans. The dim interior echoed with voices arguing the merits of various taverns. Tevi listened with half an ear. Her next meeting with Jemeryl was not for several days, and she was willing to go along with anything the others agreed.

  A guild master strode through the lobby. Spotting Tevi, he stopped and tapped her shoulder. “If you keep pets in your room, you must have them under control. In future, your magpie must be in a cage.”

  “But she’s perfectly tame. She just sleeps when I’m not here.”

  “Honest, Klara’s never any trouble,” one of Tevi’s roommates backed her up.

  “She’s been trouble today. She frightened the life out of the orderly who went to your room an hour ago—flapping and squawking. Anyway, it’s not a request; it’s an order. Restrain your pet, or we’ll review your permission to keep her.” The guild master stalked off.

  Tevi shared a bewildered look with the others before heading to her room, convinced that there was a mistake. Her two roommates followed. However, as soon as she opened the door, Tevi knew the orderly had not been exaggerating. Feathers littered the floor—mainly from pecked pillows. Items had been knocked over and broken. The damage was everything that might reasonably be expected from one small magpie. Tevi stepped cautiously into the room.

  A black and white blur exploded from a corner and threw itself at the window, beating against the thick blue-green glass. Tevi advanced slowly, trying to make reassuring noises. Klara stopped flapping and backed into a corner, cheeping pathetically. At first, it seemed as if she would allow herself to be stroked. The attack came without warning. As Tevi reached out, Klara lunged forward.

  Tevi jumped back, staring in astonishment at the blood on her thumb.

  One roommate peered over her shoulder, mirroring Tevi’s expression of confusion. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she’s ill.”

  “Are you sure it’s Klara?”

  “Who else could it be?”

  “This might be a wild magpie that’s scared Klara away. It’s acting like one.”

  Realisation hit Tevi like a kick to her stomach. Without pausing to answer, she dived to the bottom of her bed and wrenched open her footlocker. The magically disguised warrant was still in place. After snatching it up, Tevi launched herself through the door, hurtling past her surprised colleagues.

  “Tevi. What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t time to explain.” Already, Tevi was off, running.

  The man followed Tevi into the corridor. “Do you need help? Is it trouble?”

  For a second, Tevi stopped. “I hope not. By the gods, I hope not.” Then she leapt down the stairs.

  The young man looked back at the other mercenary. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  The pair chased after Tevi.

  *

  The library was almost deserted. A few globes floated in the dim, cavernous space, lighting the rows of books. Levannue and Moragar stood in an alcove off the main hall, conferring in low voices.

  “But I’m keeping you.”

  “Oh, no. It’s been a pleasure.”

  The trite pleasantries terminated the conversation. Levannue smiled and walked to the exit, clasping a book. They had been talking for half an hour, and she could not remember a word they had said.

  She paused at the door and stared across the school’s main square. The last traces of pink had left the eastern sky. Overhead, the deep blue was speckled with stars. By now, Jemeryl would be unconscious. The end could not be far away.

  Satisfaction at her success had worn off, leaving only the stale taste of guilt constricting her throat. The corners of Levannue’s lips turned down. How had it come to this? At the outset, it had seemed a game. Somewhere, over the years, things had become serious. But it had never been her intention to cause harm, to break her oath of loyalty to the Coven so completely. It had crept up, step by bitter step.

  Levannue paced along the path, brooding on the turn of events. There was no way back. It was far too late to change her mind. But what if she had her time again? Levannue shook her head irritably. “What if?” was always a fruitless question. She tried to focus on happier thoughts: her plans for that evening, although even this had a raw edge. It was the last she would spend with Bramell.

  The sounds of a disturbance by the school gates distracted her. A young apprentice appeared, running towards the seniors’ quarters.

  Levannue put out a hand. “What’s happening?”

  The apprentice was out of breath. She gasped, “Ma’am, there’s a group of mercenaries. They want to see Neame or Bramell. It’s about Jemeryl. They’ve got a warrant from the Guardian.”

  A lifetime of self-control helped Levannue hide her shock. The first thing was to buy time. She pointed to the library. “Neame was entering as I came out. You should look there first.”

  The apprentice rushed off with a word of thanks. Levannue wasted no time. It would not take long to discover that Neame was not there. At the doorway to the seniors’ quarters, Levannue spared a quick glance towards the gates. Three figures were discernible standing in the forecourt. Levannue hastened inside before she was seen.

  Somehow, Jemeryl’s associates had been able to penetrate the school defences and learn what had happened. Levannue’s mind seethed in turmoil. She would have staked her life that no message had got in or out. Levannue shuddered—her life was, quite literally, at stake. She had strengthened the school shields to block everything. She could not guess what skills and powers her enemies had used. The unknown subtlety was the frightening thing, or more basically, the unknown.

  The three mercenaries at the gate could only be messengers. Other, more formidable forces would be mustering. Her hope for escape rested solely with speed and the chance they had not thought to guard the rear exit.

  Levannue arrived in her quarters. Two bags were stashed at the rear of a cupboard. One was a conventional backpack containing everything she would need on her travels. The other was a dimensional gate for use when she was re-established elsewhere. Levannue congratulated herself on the forethought to have them ready.

  She hoisted the bags over her shoulder, grabbed a cloak, and was ready to depart. At the doorway, she stopped for one last look back at the rooms she had shared with Bramell. Abruptly, tears threatened her composure, spurred by dozens of barbed memories: their children crawling on the mat, a long midwinter’s night by the fire, the reflected light on the ceiling when she woke on a sunny day. Although leaving had always been inherent in her plans, she was going now because she had no other option. She could not stop herself wondering if she had lost far more than she would ever gain. She would never see Bramell again, not even to say goodbye.

  But there was no time to waste on regrets. Levannue shut the door and fled. Her route slipped behind the junior washrooms and outhouses, sticking to the shadows and ripples in a sorcerer’s multidimensional spa
ce. The small gate above the cliff path was unbarred. Levannue halted, studying the trail intently. She noted each shift in light and balance, but there was no guard she could detect, nothing to block her way.

  On the field behind her, the school building blended into the night. The scene was so very familiar from the long years since she had come to Ekranos as a young woman. Again, her lips quivered. This was not the way she had wanted to leave, although perhaps it was for the best. A formal farewell would have been too painful.

  Levannue stepped onto the path. The moon was rising over the bay, high tide no more than an hour away. She had to be gone before the pursuit reached the harbour. Speed was of the essence. Her face hardened. Once she was safe, she could indulge in self-pity, if she wished.

  Levannue hurried down the path, a dark shadow in the descending night.

  *

  Tevi stood impatiently in the forecourt. Behind her, the other two mercenaries shifted from foot to foot anxiously. One of them whispered, “What have you got mixed up in, Tevi? “

  Tevi did not reply. She walked to the archway onto the main square, scouring the darkening pathways for sight of the returning apprentice. Her hand thumped in frustration on the brickwork. At last, a figure emerged from a distant doorway and hurried towards them.

  As the girl approached, her voice lifted to a shout. “I can’t find Neame anywhere! Are you sure you can’t come back tomorrow?”

  “No, I can’t. I want to see Neame or Bramell. And most of all, I want to see Jemeryl, and I want to see her now!” Tevi answered angrily as the apprentice came to a halt.

  “Well, that’s just not—”

  Tevi’s patience snapped. She strode forward, intending to search the school herself if need be.

  The apprentice’s hand shot out to block Tevi’s way. “We don’t allow—”

  The sentence was never finished. Tevi shoved the apprentice aside, catching her so much by surprise that she tripped. The other mercenaries shrunk into the shadows, vainly trying to make themselves invisible. It was madness to treat any member of the Coven like that, even an apprentice. However, the fallen youngster was too shocked to retaliate.