North Star Guide Me Home

by Jo Spurrier

  ‘No! Sirri, by the Black Sun, you’re wounded —’

  Through the wall came the shouts and cries of wounded men. In the outer chamber everyone was on their feet and backing away from the doors, their eyes wide in fright. Delphine had caught Mira and Anoa by the arms, holding them close. Ardamon had his sword in his hand, and Rasten strode past everyone, heading for the doors. The dogs were already there, hackles up and barking.

  With another pulse of power the mage-lights winked out, and Sierra cast a shield, covering herself and Cam. Delphine did the same, covering the women with a veil of violet light, and Rasten echoed it with his own cloak of flame.

  The end of the chamber exploded in a hail of rubble and a rolling cloud of dust, lit up by the glow of the shields.

  At first, all she could see was faint movement in the cloud of dust. The dogs, knocked down by the blast, rolled to their feet and leapt into the haze, ears flat and teeth bared, but even over the ringing in her ears, she heard the heavy twang of crossbows and saw the hounds fall, snarls mingled with yelps of pain, blood bright against their white fur.

  Sierra gathered her power, still flowing from the wounded men in the hall beyond. Not much, by her standards. Not enough. She couldn’t strike until she saw them, and she didn’t have any power to waste. Every blow had to count.

  Before the cloud cleared enough to let her see, dozens of tiny stones rained out of the haze, falling like hail. As they struck the floor around her feet, the world exploded in whiteness and silence.

  Hands.

  There were many hands on him, pulling him this way and that, holding him face down and pressing something cold, hard and biting against his skin.

  It seemed his body had awoken before his mind, because Isidro could feel himself struggling long before his wits recovered. By then, someone had knelt on his shoulders to keep him down and their weight drove the breath from him.

  They were talking. He heard voices distantly droning even before he grew sensible enough to pick out their words.

  ‘I still say we should cut the thing off.’

  ‘Then what do we tie his good hand to?’

  ‘He could have anything hidden in there.’

  ‘But it won’t do him any good.’

  They were binding his hands behind his back. Isidro tried to jerk away, but there were too many of them, and the ropes were already looped.

  Stop, he told himself. Think. He reached for his power … but there was nothing there, and the effort made iron bands tighten around his ribs with a biting chill.

  He reached for Sierra, but that was the same. He felt like he was back in the dampening room in Demon’s Spire.

  They finished tying his hands, and the man kneeling across his shoulders shifted, letting Isidro breathe again, drawing deep, thirsty gulps of air.

  ‘Any word from the others?’

  ‘They’re in, sir. It’s gone according to plan, and they’re at a standoff. Not ideal, but as expected.’

  ‘So it worked.’ The third was Fontaine’s voice. Not Nirveli’s; it couldn’t be her. Nirveli hated the Akharians, she’d never aid them. ‘What did I tell you? Didn’t I say he’d fall for it?’

  The men standing over him ignored her. ‘Get him on his feet, let’s go and tip the balance.’

  Isidro began to shiver as they hauled him up. They’d stripped him to the waist and then fitted him with some kind of harness that pressed dozens of stones against his skin. Warding stones — he knew them by their cold, greasy touch, as heavy as lead. They were as powerful as the ones Kell had used to leash Sierra.

  As they hauled him up, he found an unfamiliar Akharian gazing at him, with Fontaine at his side.

  ‘You see,’ she said to the man with a smirk. ‘I told you it’d work.’

  ‘Save your gloating,’ the fellow growled. ‘There’s a cursed long way to go yet.’ He was tall and heavy-set, with the close-cropped hair the Akharian military favoured. ‘All solid?’ the man said.

  ‘Seems so, sir,’ one of the others replied. ‘He was testing it before, but he’s quiet now.’

  ‘Good.’ His gaze roved over Isidro. ‘Get him moving.’

  The first sign of what had happened around the royal quarters was the smell. The iron tang of blood hung thick in the air, along with the hot-metal reek of offensive mage-craft and the thunderstorm-scent of Sierra’s power.

  The stout outer door lay torn and splintered in the hall. The air was choked with a thick haze of dust, and the attacker’s lanterns, sending orange shafts through the gloom, revealed a scene that made Isidro’s stomach clench.

  The wall of the outer chamber had been blasted away, strewing the room with rubble. In the guardroom, a handful of guards lay in a spreading pool of blood: some battered and crushed by rubble, some skewered by crossbow bolts, all with their throats cut. Those still living, perhaps a dozen, had been pushed back against the wall, while mages and men with crossbows stood over them. As Isidro was brought in, he felt their eyes upon him.

  Voices speaking in Akharian drifted through from the chamber beyond. As he was marched through the rubble, the first he saw was Sierra, wreathed in power with three mages stationed around her with shields raised. Two more held Cam on his knees, one twisting his arms behind his back, the other with a knife to his throat. Two men with crossbows stood over Mira, while two more mages had Delphine pinned under a shield.

  Another scant handful of mages surrounded Rasten, who was leaning nonchalantly against a wall with his thumbs hooked into his belt. As he and his captors entered, Isidro felt Rasten’s gaze rove over them. ‘So, your emperor wants a pet Blood-Mage,’ Rasten was saying to one of the Akharians. ‘What’s in it for me?’

  The fellow he was talking to seemed on edge and Isidro saw relief in his eyes when he turned to the newcomers. ‘Commander Pelloras.’

  ‘I’ll take it from here, Kasurian.’ Pelloras nodded to the men flanking Isidro, and one of them kicked the backs of his knees, forcing his legs to fold.

  Pelloras slowly surveyed the scene, silent except for the crackle of Sierra’s lightning. At last, his gaze settled on Rasten. ‘Lord Rasten, I’ve heard a great deal about you. It’s good to meet in person, at last.’

  Rasten blinked at him, as slow and indifferent as a cat. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am General Pelloras, and I’m here to make you an offer on the emperor’s behalf.’

  ‘Your lapdog already made that offer. I’ll say it again, southerner, what’s in it for me?’

  Isidro couldn’t see Pelloras’ face, but the man rocked back on his heels as he looked Rasten over. ‘Some might say your life is payment enough.’

  Rasten barked a laugh. ‘You think you can kill me? I could give my aid to this lot,’ he nodded to the tableau of Sierra and Cam, ‘and it might tip the balance in their favour.’

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not.’

  ‘But do you want to test it? Either way, it’ll come at a high cost. I’ve fought this girl before, general. Do you want to see how much power she has when the dying really starts?’

  ‘I would prefer to keep this clean, if possible,’ Pelloras said.

  ‘Ah, but where’s the fun in that? You’re boring me, Pelloras. I’ll ask you one last time. What’s in it for me?’

  ‘I can tell you what the emperor has authorised me to offer: in return for teaching us everything you know, you’ll be granted full immunity so long as you remain in the emperor’s service. You’ll be provided with an estate on the outskirts of Akhara, and a residence in the city itself, both fully staffed and serviced and with a generous stipend as well. And, given your particular talents, we are prepared to supply you with a minimum of two hundred bodies a year.’

  ‘Bodies? Live ones, I hope.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And they’ll be, what? Political prisoners? Folk your emperor wants to disappear? Fat old men and scrawny clerks with worn-out slaves bought cheap to make up the numbers?’

  ‘Naturally, enemies of the state an
d other undesirables will make up some of the quota, but I’m willing to stipulate that a certain proportion of the subjects be healthy specimens within a particular range of age. What do you prefer, Lord Rasten? Men, women, children?’

  A twitch of disgust crossed Rasten’s face. ‘No children. They’re not worth the trouble, takes just as long to set everything up, and they die in half the time.’

  ‘As you wish. Men and women then. Lord Rasten, perhaps you would be willing to finalise these negotiations later, once the essential matters are dealt with.’

  Rasten glanced around the room, his gaze sweeping over Sierra and Cam, over Isidro on his knees, over Delphine and Mira. Where were the others? Where were Ardamon and Anoa, Rhia and Amaya? The babes were still here — he could hear a muffled cry from the other chamber.

  ‘Alright,’ Rasten said with a shrug. ‘But I want a token of good faith.’

  Pelloras stiffened. ‘I am speaking on behalf of the emperor, and his word is law —’

  ‘I don’t give a shit about your emperor. How do I know you’re not just isolating me from these ones —’ he nodded to Sierra, ‘— to save yourselves the trouble of trying to take us down together? Words are worthless, General, a man can lie as easily as he breathes. Only power speaks the truth.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ Pelloras said through gritted teeth. ‘What do you propose?’

  Rasten glanced across the chamber towards Mira. ‘The redhead. The dark one, too. Give me the pair of them.’

  ‘I’m afraid they’re already spoken for,’ Pelloras said. He hid it well, but Isidro detected a note of shock in his voice.

  ‘I don’t mean to kill them, you fool, just have a little sport. For days I’ve put up with this self-righteous prick lording it over me. You’re taking him to Akhara for an Imperial Triumph, correct? I want him remembering every day between now and then how I made the mother of his son choke on my cock. Same goes for the Akharian wench. I want them both. You’re asking me to trust you, General, and that sort of thing goes both ways. I’ll leave them alive and in one piece, you have my word.’

  ‘Is that all you want?’ the other man, Kasurian, said with exasperation. ‘You don’t want the Sympath as well?’

  ‘I’ve had her already,’ Rasten said with a shrug. ‘She’s your problem now.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Pelloras said, cutting a warning glare at Kasurian. Behind him, Fontaine cleared her throat. ‘Sir, Lady Mira belongs to the Wolf Clan —’

  ‘Hold your tongue, wench, or I’ll give him you next,’ Pelloras snapped. At his words, Rasten turned to Fontaine and looked her slowly up and down. ‘Alright,’ Pelloras growled, ‘they’re yours, but you’ll have to wait ’til the Sympath is secure. You can do as you like with the traitor so long as she’s left alive and standing, but you’ll have no more than an hour with the Wolf girl — her kin will be coming to claim her, and they won’t be pleased I let you have her.’

  ‘What do you care? There’s not a cursed thing they can do about it.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but they’ll be useful for a little while longer. That’s settled, then. Welcome to the Mage Corps, Lord Rasten. Now …’ He turned to Sierra, and Cam, kneeling only a man’s length away from her with two mages holding a shield between them to keep Sierra from pulling away the knife held to Cam’s throat. Sierra had listened in silence as Rasten struck his deal, never looking away from Cam and the men who held him.

  Pelloras gave no orders — apparently his men had been well-drilled in what would happen next. One of them brought forward a sack, from which a harness of leather and stones was produced. Two men held it between them as Pelloras advanced on Sierra. ‘On your knees, girl.’

  For the first time, Sierra glanced away from Cam. ‘You’re a dead man walking, Slaver.’

  Pelloras sighed. ‘You see, girl, this isn’t a question of whether or not you’ll obey. The only question is how much your friends suffer before you surrender.’ He turned to the men holding Cam. ‘Put his eye out.’

  The men were expecting the command and had begun to move before Pelloras finished speaking. One wrenched Cam’s head back and the other pressed one hand to Cam’s forehead to steady his target, and set the point of his knife against his lower eyelid. Cam flinched as it pierced his skin and Isidro closed his eyes, unable to watch — and then felt an assault on his senses, a tumultuous knot of energy locked into the stones of the harness. Some of them were suppression stones as he’d identified earlier, but the others were something else, something hard and tight and fiery compressed down into the brittle lattice of stone.

  Blasters. Dozens of them, worked into the harness. Warding stones never lasted long around Sierra, her power corrupted and eroded them like water cutting through soft earth, but those blasters … Isidro had only the briefest impression of it, but even so he was willing to bet the harness was rigged such that if the warding stones failed, the blasters would blow.

  ‘Stop!’ Sierra shouted, shrieking above the crackling storm of her power. ‘Don’t harm him!’

  Isidro’s eyes flew open to find the men frozen at Pelloras’ signal, though they did not release Cam or remove the blade. Isidro saw Cam swallow hard, shaking from the strain. ‘If you want him unharmed, do as you’re told,’ Pelloras told her. ‘Get on your knees. Surrender your power.’

  Breathing hard, she raised her eyes to Isidro, and then glanced at the harness. The Akharians knew what they were doing. That business of negotiating with Rasten had let Sierra burn through her power out of sheer nerves.

  Stiffly, she settled to her knees on the rubble on the floor. At once, the Akharians closed around her, and set about ripping her power away.

  By the time it was done she was slumped on the floor, gasping for breath, while the Akharians swiftly set about cutting her clothes away, even the bandages wrapped around her ribs, leaving only the breast-band of quilted cloth and the breeches that clad her from waist to knee. Then, they wrapped the harness around her, pulling the straps tight to press the stones hard against her skin. They bound her hands in front of her, and pulled the empty sack over her head for a blindfold. It was only then that the man with the knife pulled the blade away from Cam’s face — and by now his cheek was streaked with blood.

  ‘Right,’ Pelloras said as the men bound Cam’s hands and pulled a sack over his face. ‘Get them up, get moving. Lord Rasten, if you would be so good as to accompany us?’

  It was the last thing Isidro saw before they masked him as well, then hauled their prisoners to their feet and marched them away.

  Sierra clenched her teeth as they dragged her through the halls. Inside her head, she might as well have been back in Kell’s dungeons. The wrench as they’d stripped the power from her felt as brutal as when the old man did it, and this chilling march took her back to that awful day last year when she’d faced public rape and degradation at the queen’s order. The cold, numbing touch of the stones and the leather straps biting into her skin were inseparable from the memory and she felt herself trembling. There was no way the men flanking her couldn’t feel it.

  You can do this, she told herself. You’ve faced worse odds and survived.

  But Kell was just one man, an arrogant old wretch who couldn’t bring himself to believe the true extent of her power. The Akharians had seen his failure. They wouldn’t make the same mistake.

  She didn’t bother to struggle. Instead, she concentrated on the harness and the stones. She’d never truly figured out how she’d tripped Kell’s harness into accelerated decay — it had been an instinctive working, like so much of her mage-craft.

  These stones were different. The power within them was alien and cold, it owed nothing to her at all. And they were not all the same, either; some were bitingly cold, but others seemed to burn like hot coals, or like the rubies Kell had once locked around her wrists. Were they more punishment stones, set to flare with searing heat if she tried to break through the restraint of the warding stones? The thought made her swallow hard, but then she set her
jaw. Burns were nothing; they would heal. Better to bear them and live than avoid them and have those she loved be taken from her.

  They seemed to have reached their destination, as the men jerked her to a stop and she heard a door swing open. ‘Everything is ready, sir.’

  ‘Good. String her up.’

  They hauled her forward, too quickly for her to react, and the next thing she knew, she was being lifted onto a platform. At first, the height, along with the general’s words, made her think they were going to hang her, but instead of a noose around her neck, they wrenched her arms up with a gut-sinkingly familiar slap of rope. Hauling on it, they hoisted her up until she was standing on her toes.

  Then, the men retreated, until the general’s voice made them stop. ‘Wait. Get the bag off her head.’

  ‘Sir? But —’

  ‘It’s covering her mouth and nose. Get it off. We can’t risk having anything interfere.’

  One set of footsteps came closer again, and a rough hand snatched the sack from her head.

  As the man retreated she caught only the briefest glimpse of the room she was in — it was perfectly empty, except for the wooden crate on which she stood, raising her high enough that her hands were only inches below the roof beam. Past her captors in the hall, she caught a brief glimpse of Isidro, masked and hooded. Cam was nowhere in sight. Then they slammed the door shut. It sealed so tightly that not one gleam of light shone through. She was alone in utter blackness.

  As the door to Sierra’s cell slammed shut, a portion of the Akharian party moved away, taking Cam with them, Isidro guessed.

  Once they were gone, Pelloras spoke again. ‘Get him to the other chamber and get him secured.’

  ‘What do you intend to do with her?’ That was Rasten’s voice, his tone mild and disinterested.

  ‘That’s none of your concern.’

  ‘I know you mean to kill her. That’s a cursed lot of power to waste.’