Tevi and Jemeryl also made it to level ground. They watched the militiamen disappear around a towering column of rock. The last echo faded, and the two women turned their own horses north. The valley bottom was noticeably warmer than the heath, though a chill breeze gusted down the gorge and stirred the dust in smokelike wisps that chased over the road.
Jemeryl was subdued. She rode with downcast eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Tevi asked after a while of travelling in silence.
“The tattoos...some of that patrol were guild members.”
“So?”
“Which means they’re Protectorate citizens. I tampered with their perceptions. By Coven rules, I’m not supposed to do that without their consent.”
“But they weren’t hurt.”
“It still counts as an abuse of power.”
“Don’t some sorcerers do things like that just to impress people?”
“Oh, all the time.”
“So why are you upset? It’s not as if you had any choice.”
“I know. “Jemeryl sighed. “I’m just not happy about it.”
Klara looked up from her perch on Jemeryl’s saddle. “It’s your own fault. I always warned you that if you started noticing the ungifted, you’d go and develop a conscience.”
*
A field of stars hung in the black sky. Their brilliance pierced the night with cold purity now that the moon had set. Jemeryl stood, arms folded, looking north. The terrain before her flowed away in ever-fading ripples. It became a flat plain on the horizon. The northern grasslands.
The mountain chain was not wide above Horzt, no more than twenty miles as the eagle flew, although closer to fifty on the twisting wagon route. Dusk had been falling when she and Tevi reached the ruined city at the northern end of the pass. The last of the daylight had shown shattered, fire-blasted walls. Only one-twentieth of the site was occupied. People lived in hovels patched into the broken shells of buildings.
With suspicious eyes, the surly inhabitants had watched the two women arrive. The folk traded with the caravans, but only from necessity. Their distrust was unsurprising; they had been noticed once by the outside world and now wanted only to be ignored.
Jemeryl sighed as she wandered back to the fireside. Their camp was well away from the inhabited section. The remains of buildings in this area were too fragmentary to guess at their original function. Jemeryl threw herself down and stared into the campfire.
The ruins looked tranquil in the starlight, but Jemeryl had seen the walls torn apart by raw magic. They were a testament to a city that had died in the power games of sorcerers. She could sense the imprint of magic soaked into the stones, deeper than the blood that rain and time had washed away.
Her brooding was disturbed by approaching footsteps. Tevi wove her way through the shattered masonry. Doglike at her heels was a local man who scurried along with anxious glances in all directions. Jemeryl waited until both were seated, Tevi a little to one side and the local directly opposite. His face was turned down so that he watched her through a fringe of straw-coloured hair.
“You want to know things.” The local spoke with a stilted monotone.
“Yes, as my friend will have told you. A caravan passed through here three or four days ago, heading to Uzhenek. I am interested in one of the passengers.”
“I remember it.”
“I’m afraid you might only...” Jemeryl hesitated. She had been about to explain her intentions, but watching him rub his hands on his knees, she realised that the man was terrified. A word about magic would send him into flight. “Tell me everything you remember about the caravan.”
Jemeryl let her gaze drop to her hands clasped in her lap. She listened to his halting description, but her attention was fixed on the seething mass of his thoughts. Even as a sorcerer, Jemeryl could not read minds. The human intellect was too transient and bound in convoluted contradictions to pick out a single thread, but spotting if memories had been altered or removed was not hard.
Eventually, the local’s mumbling stuttered to a halt.
“What can you tell me of the road to Uzhenek?” Jemeryl asked.
The man twitched and swallowed before forcing out his answer. “There’s no road over the grasslands...except that the river Rzetoka can only be forded in three places.”
“Which ford would the caravan use?”
He shrugged.
“Do you know which ford is the most common one?”
The sharp shake of his head might have been a nervous shiver or an expression of denial. Either way, Jemeryl sensed that she would get no further information. He almost bolted when Tevi leaned over to offer the promised coins. He snatched the money, then leapt to his feet and rushed off into the shadows.
“Levannue stayed on the caravan to Uzhenek?” Tevi asked.
“Yes. I’m certain of it.”
“There doesn’t seem much chance of finding her in the grasslands.”
“We’ll go to Uzhenek and wait for her. I’m sure she won’t be expecting that. Though it does mean gambling with the weather. I don’t want to be trapped north of the Barrodens by winter.” Jemeryl frowned. “It’s frustrating we got delayed. Between them, Russ and the Guardian really did Levannue a favour. I’d intended to ambush her here. The ruins hold so much residual energy, it’s like fog in the sixth dimension. It would have been the perfect spot for a trap, and by now, we’d have been safely on our way back to Lyremouth with her and the chalice.”
“It was bad timing. If Russ had arrived a day later, we’d have left Horzt.” Tevi slid around the fire to sit closer to Jemeryl. For a while, she sat staring at the crumbling walls. “You said about energy in the ruins. Did magic destroy this city?”
“Yes.”
“I noticed that the inhabitants are terrified of sorcerers. It was difficult finding anyone willing to talk to you. “
“If you told people that’s what I am, I’m surprised you found anyone. It’s why I asked you to go alone.”
“Do you know what happened here?”
“Yes.” Jemeryl indicated the broken walls. “Two hundred years ago, this was a thriving city, built solely by the ungifted. It’s unique. The people here wouldn’t tolerate anyone who could work magic. As soon as any child showed signs of being gifted they were killed. It made for a stable society. It grew slowly, not like a sorcerer’s empire, and it lasted nearly one hundred and fifty years. In the end, it grew big enough to attract attention. A third-rate sorcerer who’d been displaced by the Protectorate heard of it. She walked in and took control. Nobody could stop her. They’d killed the only ones who could have made a stand.”
“As you said about the men on my islands, it sounds like poetic justice.”
“Maybe not what happened after. Taking over the city gave the sorcerer delusions about her own ability. She tried to expand her territory, which annoyed a more powerful sorcerer off to the west. By the time the dust settled, virtually everyone was dead, and the city was destroyed.” Jemeryl stared at the ground. “I used to think the people got what they deserved. If I’d been born here, I’d have been killed. But...” She raised her head. “Tevi, how do the citizens of the Protectorate really feel about sorcerers?”
“From what I can tell, they feel varying levels of unease and resentment, coupled with varying levels of gratitude and respect.”
“You must have heard more specific views expressed.”
“Oh, yes, but I couldn’t take them seriously. It’s ridiculous to lump all sorcerers together. Some are all right and some aren’t, much like any other group.”
“But there’s more to it. Being a sorcerer is so—”
Tevi caught hold of her hand. “Supposing I were to ask you what women really think about men. Women on my islands would have no trouble answering on behalf of ‘all women.’ Though as soon as you put it to the test, you’d realise that they hadn’t even got the answer right for themselves. But if I asked the question in the Protectorate, I’d only get blank
stares. It’s a meaningless question. And it’s like asking me about sorcerers. I don’t have any strong emotional feelings about sorcerers in general; I only know how I feel about you.” Tevi gently cupped Jemeryl’s face. “I love you.”
Chapter Thirteen—The Empress Bykoda
The grasslands were a green sea that rippled in the wind. Huge herds of deer and wild horses dotted the plain. The sky hung overhead like an upturned bowl of flawless blue. No landmark broke the horizon once the Barrodens sank from view. The uniformity of the scenery gave the impression of not moving, although the miles rolled by beneath the horse’s hooves. Swapping mounts allowed them to rest one horse at a time and increase their speed. The only signs of other travellers were the spreading fans of wheel ruts on either side of the Rzetoka ford.
In late afternoon, nine days after leaving the ruins, Tevi and Jemeryl stood at the top of an escarpment overlooking a broad river valley. Tevi shaded her eyes against the sinking sun. To the east, a dark smudge stained the green.
“I think that’s Uzhenek.”
It took a while for Jemeryl to pick out the distant city. She grinned. “I did a good job with your eyes. Do you think we’ll make it by nightfall?”
“Easily.”
Once down the incline, they urged the horses into a brisk canter. A pair of parallel furrows through the grass grew thicker and deeper as more tracks converged, becoming a road. After an hour’s riding, the city was close, although the sun in their eyes reduced the buildings to washed outlines ringing a gentle hill.
They entered the outskirts of Uzhenek. On either side, the road was packed with an untidy line of round huts made from rotting straw. Farther from the highway, the structures became ever more primitive until the shanties gave way to tents and horse pens. Decaying rubbish filled the spaces between the shelters. The place seemed more like a temporary encampment than a city.
Sprawled outside the miserable dwellings were large numbers of fair-haired men and women gossiping or calling to neighbours. Their clothes were brightly coloured but filthy, bearing signs of much wear and repair. Many looked the worse for drink. Children ran shouting through the dust, half-naked and unkempt. Nobody paid any attention to the women riding past.
The whole town held an air of lethargy. Only by the horse pens was there any activity. Groups hung around the rope barriers, voices raised in bartering and betting. The horses alone looked clean and cared for. Several races were in progress on the plain. Some onlookers even had the spirit to cheer their favourites.
Jemeryl was pleased. “We did very well. We must be days ahead of Levannue.”
Tevi nodded, though her thoughts were on the scene around her. “Uzhenek isn’t quite what I was expecting. Traders in Horzt spoke like the town was worth visiting. From what I can see, it comes a poor second to the rougher parts of Torhafn. And that’s saying something.”
“The traders would have been referring to the citadel.” Jemeryl grimaced at the surroundings. “I’ll agree this bit isn’t too good.”
“Why do the people stay here? There’s plenty of game to hunt. If I were them, I’d be out in the open country.”
“It’s safe and easy. The Empress Bykoda has ruled these parts for nearly fifty years. Before her, these people were nomadic tribesmen. Nomadic mainly because they were always fleeing one danger or another. Bykoda has given the region stability. She’s got a reputation for being a despot, but no worse than others of her ilk. And the folk will be worse off when she dies, which won’t be much longer. She’s getting old.”
“What will happen to her empire?”
“On past experience, there’ll be a futile struggle among several junior sorcerers before the whole place gets overwhelmed by something nasty from outside. It will be an awkward time. Bykoda has been a good neighbour to the Protectorate.”
The ground was rising as they approached the citadel, enthroned on its lonely hill. Tevi felt her mouth go dry at the sight of battlements and high towers looming above the shantytown. By now, the road was paved with dressed stone, clean and weed free. The wretched press of huts ended abruptly, and the two women emerged into the open twenty yards from the citadel gates.
Black walls rose without the trace of a join, as if carved from a single rock. A gatehouse stood foursquare and imposing. The teeth of the portcullis lined its open mouth.
Tevi flinched at the sight. “It’s a bit overwhelming.” Her voice betrayed her in a squeak.
“Mainly because of the glamour spell Bykoda is projecting. I can lift it from you, if you want.”
Tevi shook her head. “Maybe later. At the moment, I think it adds to the effect.”
A dry moat spanned by a bridge separated the citadel from the straw huts. The road to it was lined on both sides with tall wooden stakes—a dozen or so, each mounted with a small round object. As she neared the first post, Tevi took her eyes from the battlements, intending only a quick glance. The shock was like a kick to the stomach. Each pole bore a severed human head. Old blood, dried brown, stained the wood beneath the trophies. Tattered skin drooped in shreds from the necks. Slack jaws hung open.
After a long silence, Tevi said quietly, “On the islands, we give fair burial even to enemies and criminals. You said Bykoda was a good neighbour. What are the rest like?”
“Worse.”
“She knows how to make an impression. Let’s get inside the citadel. Or is there likely to be more of the same?” Tevi coaxed her horse down the grotesque aisle.
The eyes of the first head snapped open. “I was a traitor. Do not do as I did. Be loyal to the Empress Bykoda.”
The head on the other side joined in. “I was a murderer. Do not follow my example. Obey the laws of the Empress Bykoda.”
At the sound of the first voice, Tevi stared around wildly until her eyes fixed on the talking head. She pressed her lips hard together, fighting down nausea.
However, Jemeryl’s face held a look of wonder. “That’s amazing.” She slipped from her saddle and stepped up to the nearest head. “I would never have thought of doing that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. It’s foul.” Tevi was appalled.
“No. I mean the technique. It would never have occurred to me to use the upspin currents of the sixth dimension like that.”
“Jem!”
Jemeryl was too intent on the impaled head to respond. She raised a forefinger to the chanting lips. As if the strings of a puppet had been cut, the confession stopped mid-word and the semblance of life vanished. The features sagged, so flaccid as to lose the bearing of humanity. An alarm sounded from beyond the gate.
Tevi leapt from her horse and grabbed Jemeryl’s elbow. Noises from the gatehouse alerted them to the guards spilling onto the bridge. Tevi’s hand moved to her sword hilt.
Jemeryl stopped her. “They won’t attack if we don’t do anything else to alarm them.”
“We?”
“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
“I thought we didn’t want to attract attention.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
The guards marched forward to make a cordon around the two women. Their movements were precisely synchronised without audible command. The footsteps fell as one. When they finally snapped to attention, the soldiers’ faces were frozen, inhumanly devoid of emotion. Even to Tevi’s ungifted eyes, it was obvious that they were enslaved.
“What do we do now?” she whispered to Jemeryl.
“We wait.”
“Until?”
Jemeryl shrugged. “Someone with a brain to call their own gets here.”
*
It seemed like hours before an official dressed in black and silver appeared at the gates. He studied the scene for a few seconds before walking sedately towards them. With precise, mechanical movements, the line of guards parted at his approach. The official gave Jemeryl a curt, formal bow. Tevi was ignored.
“Greetings, sorcerer. I am town steward for the Empress Bykoda. Her imperial majesty wishes to speak with y
ou.”
“Please, lead the way.” Jemeryl answered as if nothing unusual had occurred.
No further words were offered. The steward returned across the bridge at an unhurried but purposeful pace, clearly taking it for granted that Tevi and Jemeryl would follow and not cause trouble. The horses were left by the gatehouse, but no attempt was made to remove their weapons. None of the guards escorted them.
Inside the walls, the reasons for Uzhenek’s reputation became obvious. The road was paved with slabs of soft blue light. Buildings rose in delicate tiers, too ethereal to support their own weight. It was architecture that could be created only by magic.
The citadel was beautiful, but Tevi was too appalled by the scene outside the gates to take any pleasure from it. Above all else, it was Jemeryl’s reaction to the undead heads that tore at her. In the past, she had been bewildered by her lover’s abilities but never alienated. If asked beforehand, she would have staked her life that Jemeryl’s disgust would have matched her own.
At first, Jemeryl was absorbed in the sights. When she did notice Tevi’s withdrawn manner, she clearly misunderstood. “Don’t worry. We’re not in danger. Bykoda won’t want unnecessary conflict with the Coven, even if I did break one of her toys,” Jemeryl whispered.
Tevi could not help flinching at the word toys. From Jemeryl’s tone, it might have been a row of daffodils outside the gates.
Jemeryl carried on, oblivious. “I’m surprised if she’s actually here. Her capital is Tirakhalod to the north, and she hasn’t left it for years.”
“What will she want?” Tevi forced herself to speak.
The Traitor and the Chalice Page 24
