The Tainted City

by Courtney Schafer

  Of course he wasn’t Ruslan’s equal, inexperienced and damaged as he was. Kiran changed tactics. “What does it profit you to keep me?” he demanded. “If you kill me to spite him, you will only goad him further. Or do you mean to bind me again in some ill-considered attempt to use me against him?” Whatever the Alathians’ intent, Kiran had to escape them. Yet right now he felt so weak he doubted he could make it across the room, let alone break the wards that imprisoned him.

  “Marten brought you here to help you.” For the barest instant, Lena displayed a dark, strained desperation equal to his own. “There is someone you must speak with.” She unbarred the cabin door.

  Dev edged through. He looked as weary as Lena, his wiry shoulders slumped and his face shadowed, but his green eyes remained sharp as ever. When he crossed the wards on the cabin floor, the lines stayed dark and inert. The wards were keyed directly to Kiran, then; an important fact to know.

  “Kiran.” Dev crouched beside Kiran’s cot and said to Lena, “Give us a minute, huh?”

  “I’ll be right outside,” she said.

  Kiran suspected that was a warning more than an assurance. He eyed Dev warily as the door shut behind Lena. Ruslan had said Dev was Sechaveh’s man, but Kiran feared the Alathians held Melly now. If so, Dev would do their bidding without hesitation.

  Dev heaved a sigh. “Couldn’t tell you this with an Alathian in the room. It’s disturbing enough to hear myself say it. But…thanks. For, uh…making sure Ruslan didn’t cast using Melly.”

  “She didn’t deserve to die.” The words escaped Kiran before he thought.

  “No,” Dev said. “Do you wonder where you got that idea? I think you know it didn’t come from Ruslan.”

  Kiran shifted on the cot, uneasy. The conviction was as strong in him as his certainty that disaster would result from Ruslan seeking out demons…yet if he were honest, he didn’t fully understand the grounds for either belief. “The Alathians bound me. Some effects still remain.”

  “They did bind you,” Dev agreed. “But not like that. They bound your magic, that’s all. They didn’t fuck with your head. That’s Ruslan’s specialty.”

  Ruslan had destroyed Kiran’s memories, but not with malicious intent. Or so Mikail insisted, and Kiran believed his mage-brother. How could he not, when he knew the depth of Mikail’s love for him? And despite Ruslan’s high-handed ways and harsh punishments, Kiran knew Ruslan loved him just as fiercely. I once burned a confluence to claim you for my own…

  He crossed his arms and gave Dev a cold stare. “Ruslan loves me, while the Alathians tried to cripple me. It seems clear enough whose account I should believe.”

  Dev rubbed at the spot between his eyebrows. “We could argue about this all night,” he said. “But you know, there’s an easier way. I told you if I got Melly safe I’d let you see my memories. All of them.”

  A thread of curiosity surfaced; Kiran buried it. He needed to escape, not let the Alathians lure him into relaxing his guard. “I don’t need to see your memories.”

  “You’re afraid,” Dev said. “You don’t want to think Ruslan and Mikail lied to you. Because yeah, there are few things worse than finding out someone you love betrayed you. But tying on a blindfold doesn’t change the truth. It only makes you more likely to walk off a cliff.”

  The air in the cabin felt suddenly stifling, the wards’ mutter scraping all the harder against his injured mind. Kiran shook his head. Dev was wrong about Ruslan and Mikail. This was all some Alathian trick. “Who says your memories are the truth?”

  Dev cast his eyes to the ceiling. “Not this again,” he muttered. “Listen. I don’t trust the Alathians either. For reasons you’ll see, if you look in my head. So by all means, if you find somebody’s messed with my mind, I’d love to know.”

  Kiran was silent. He shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t be tempted. On the other hand, when he found evidence of tampering, as he surely would…he might use it to convince Dev to help him escape.

  A crooked grin twisted Dev’s mouth. “At the very least, you’ll get to see where you traveled in the mountains.”

  Kiran remembered Dev saying, You weren’t bad, on rock. Hesitation crystallized into decision.

  “Do you have a knife?” he asked Dev.

  “A knife.” Dev looked wary now.

  Kiran smiled, not kindly. “If you want me to look in your mind, it will be on my terms.” Blood contact would make the search far easier, a boon with his ikilhia so weak—and it would allow him to cast any manner of binding he chose upon Dev. Assuming he could manage a casting in his current condition. Or that the Alathians wouldn’t notice it if he did.

  He thought Dev might bolt. Instead, Dev studied him, long and hard. At last he muttered a curse and pulled a thin blade from a slit in his belt. “You’d better not suck the life out of me.”

  “I don’t need a knife for that.” Kiran meant it as a warning, in case the Alathians intended to play some harsher game than merely confusing him with false memories. But when Dev flinched, guilt returned to plague him. The Alathians might easily have altered Dev’s mind without his consent, making him as much their prisoner as Kiran.

  If so, Kiran wouldn’t try to bind Dev. He’d free them both. He softened his tone. “If this is no trick, you need not fear I will harm you.”

  “It’s not a trick.” Dev handed Kiran the blade.

  “Give me your hand,” Kiran said.

  Dev extended it gingerly, as if he was afraid Kiran might burn it off. Kiran sliced a swift line down Dev’s palm, then a matching one in his own.

  Dev breathed like a man running, but he didn’t pull his hand back. Kiran clasped it and slid through the blood contact deep into Dev’s mind.

  Strange, to explore a mind so defenseless, lacking any of the myriad wardings that layered a mage’s inner self. To Kiran’s surprise, Dev’s memories shone in a thick, tightly woven web, with no sign of holes, discolorations, or other evidence of tampering. But right at the heart of Dev’s mind, a raw, recent wound lurked, ugly and dark. Strange threads of energy trailed downward from it to meet a binding anchored deep within Dev’s body. Kiran touched the threads, felt Dev gasp and jerk.

  The Alathians bound you, he said to Dev.

  Negation came from Dev. It wasn’t the Alathians, it was Vidai. He stole a blood-mark of mine along with a bunch of others, and used the demon’s power to bind us all to the confluence so we’d die if it burned. The Alathians said that’s all the binding does. Beneath Dev’s veneer of confidence lurked a hint of fear, growing stronger. Were they wrong?

  Kiran focused more tightly, ignoring warning twinges of pain. Both binding and wound gave off a chill dissonance all too reminiscent of the demon’s strange aura. The sensation was far different than the subtle shimmer of Alathian spellwork. The binding did appear to affect only Dev’s body, but those odd threads trailing from the wound in his mind…

  If the Alathians claimed it was safe to leave you bound, they lied, Kiran said. He could offer to break the binding in exchange for Dev’s cooperation, but he wasn’t sure he could break the spell without harming or even killing Dev. Not something he was willing to risk, not when he needed Dev’s help to escape. He shut out the heightened pulse of Dev’s worry, and turned his attention to Dev’s memories.

  The Alathians must be cleverer than Kiran had thought. No sign of alteration showed, no matter how closely he focused. He would have to examine the memories individually to find the proof he needed.

  He sought the image he’d seen in Bren’s mind: himself, watching as Bren hired Dev to guide him. There, a matching image…he sank into a shining strand of the past.

  * * *

  (Dev)

  Kiran yanked his hand from mine. I blinked, dazed, still half-drowned in memories. I’d relived every instant of the past few months, all the way from my first meeting with Kiran until this cabin, again and again until I wasn’t sure any longer what was past and what was present. How long had he spent rummaging around in my
head? It was still day outside the window, though the light leaking through the pine branches had gained a rusty quality that spoke of approaching sunset. Only an hour or so had passed, then, and not the eternity it had seemed.

  Kiran was staring into space, his profile unreadable. He was gripping the cot edges as tightly as if he feared it might vanish from beneath him.

  “Kiran?”

  He bent his head, his black hair sliding over his shoulders to block his face. “Your memories—I thought I would see signs of tampering, but…”

  “You didn’t.”

  “No.”

  I said cautiously, “So…you believe me, then.”

  He turned his head, and my breath caught at the lost, wild look in his eyes. “I don’t know! I don’t know what to believe. But it doesn’t matter—I must return to Ruslan. If I don’t, Ruslan will bargain as Vidai did, and the result will be the destruction of far more than a single city.”

  He said the last part with utter certainty. I remembered Ruslan whispering in his ear, and Kiran’s frantic pleading in response—fuck. “Ruslan told you he means to seek out a demon.”

  Kiran nodded. “I can talk him out of it if I’m allowed the chance. But I saw in your mind—the Alathians intend to kill me. They will withhold their drug and let me die. Martennan would have done it in the cirque if not for the demon’s threat.”

  His voice cracked on the word “demon.” I winced, remembering my speculation about the link between Kiran and demonkind, knowing he’d seen it. Seen everything—including my own uncertainty over whether he had gone too far to be saved.

  “You must help me escape,” Kiran said. “Please. If you don’t, it’s not just Alathia that will suffer. You, and Cara, and Melly…you’re in just as much danger. After seeing your mind, I know all you’ve done on my behalf—I don’t want you hurt.”

  He didn’t believe what he’d seen in my memories, not all the way. Not if he was talking about going back to Ruslan. “Since you’ve seen my mind, you know I’ll help you run to Shaikar himself before I help you become Ruslan’s mind-fucked slave.”

  His teeth showed in a brief, frustrated grimace. “I must go back to him. It’s the only way.”

  “No,” I said. “It isn’t. Ruslan needs to be stopped, yeah. But you’re fooling yourself if you think mere words would do it.”

  Kiran laughed, sharp and wild. “You cannot kill him. You saw what it took to destroy Simon.”

  “It took you,” I said.

  Kiran looked away. “Simon killed himself; I was only the catalyst. Ruslan is far too clever to make a similar mistake.”

  “You know his temper,” I said. “Drive him wild enough, and he’ll break his blood vow and burn to ash. Or are you saying you don’t want to kill him?”

  Kiran didn’t answer. My hands itched to shake him. “For fuck’s sake, Kiran! He murdered your lover, burned away your memories—you know I’m not lying in this!”

  Kiran turned back to me. His face was stark and bloodless, his jaw tight. “I know you believe it. But after all that’s happened, you can’t blame me for being cautious over what I take as truth. I didn’t see any signs of alteration in you, but that might mean only that I lack the skill to find them.”

  He was reaching, and he had to know it. I choked back sharp words, remembering my shock after Red Dal had sold me off, my countless desperate rationalizations: Red Dal had been forced into the sale, he’d come back for me, his affection wasn’t a lie…Jylla hadn’t tried to talk me out of it. She’d only listened, and let me figure out the truth for myself as the black days wore on and my anger grew.

  Instead of pushing Kiran harder, I said, “You told me Vidai’s binding wasn’t safe. Could you get rid of the damn thing?” The mages of the Watch had hemmed and hawed when I asked, claiming the binding would need to be examined first by specialists at the Arcanum.

  “Perhaps,” Kiran said. “But—”

  A knock cut through his answer. The cabin door creaked open to admit Marten, and Kiran fell silent. He hunched in on himself and watched Marten like a man trapped in a sandcat’s den.

  Marten said to me, “Did he see your memories?”

  I nodded. “Marten, he says Ruslan means to—”

  “Forge an alliance with demonkind, yes, Lena told me. I feared that might be Ruslan’s intent.” Marten drew his hands over his face. “Quite an unpleasant prospect. Though given the demon’s talk of Ruslan’s life being forfeit, Ruslan may not find alliance as easy as he might hope.”

  “You can’t count on that,” Kiran protested. “You must free me!”

  “No.” Marten’s voice hardened. “I will not have you go back to him. Not as you are.”

  Kiran tensed on the cot. “Not as I am?”

  Marten looked weary. “A poor choice of words. Kiran…this unfortunate situation you are in is my doing, and I know it. All I ask now is for you to let me help you out of it.”

  Kiran said, “Help me? If I believe Dev’s memories…you lied to me. Betrayed me, used me, addicted me to a drug so you might kill me…what help can I expect from you now?”

  I’d once wanted him to be more wary of Marten, but this new hard-eyed Kiran was painful to see.

  “I suggested the drug to the Council, it’s true,” Marten said. “Not to kill you, Kiran. I hoped the drug would serve as a replacement for their binding on your magic. I knew how you longed to cast again, and I thought I could give that to you.”

  I couldn’t keep silent. “Maybe you should’ve thought to ask him which he preferred before dosing him, Marten.” Not that I believed Marten’s motives had been anywhere near so innocent as he claimed. But saying so directly wouldn’t help a damn thing.

  Marten said, “I would have asked, had the Council allowed it. But the past is done. Now I have something better to offer you, Kiran: your lost memories. At your trial, you allowed us within your mind, and I was one of those who cast. I saw your memories, lived them as my own. If you let me within your mind again, I can give you all I saw.”

  One of Kiran’s hands went up in a warding gesture. “No. You’ll bind me.”

  Marten sighed. “Not yet, though if you wish to live, you’ll have to accept another binding on your power. But before then…if you don’t take these memories back, I can’t hope to sway the Council to spare you.”

  “The Council would be fools to kill him!” I protested. “If you want to beat Ruslan, you need Kiran’s help. Not to mention whatever he knows about demons…”

  Kiran jerked as if I’d struck him. “I know nothing of them!”

  That was so patently a lie it left me tongue-tied in surprise. Marten said gently to Kiran, “You mean you remember nothing of them. I saw the wall in your mind. We could not breach it at your trial, but now…the imbalance you currently suffer has weakened more than just your soulfire. Not such a bad thing, perhaps…as Dev says, we may need those memories.”

  Kiran edged backward on the cot, eyeing Marten with redoubled wariness. “Free me, and I will do my best to stop Ruslan from destroying you and your country. Kill me, and you forfeit all hope of advantage. Those are your only options, Martennan. I will not let you into my mind.”

  Frustration flickered over Marten’s face. “Kiran. Think. What have you to lose?”

  Kiran smiled, painful and terrible. “My self. Such as it is. You, Ruslan, even this temple the demon spoke of—you all want to mold me into some shape that pleases you. I want to make my own choices.”

  I remembered saying to Ruslan, All I want is to let him make his own choice. I’d meant it at the time…but even then, I worried he wouldn’t choose against Ruslan. Now that I’d watched him kill a man, seen the bliss on his face afterward—I wasn’t at all sure of it.

  He’d saved Melly from Ruslan, and Ninavel from Vidai, and he wanted to stop Ruslan from killing us now. He hadn’t yet changed out of all recognition from the Kiran I knew.

  Marten said, “If you’ve seen Dev’s memories, you know of your lover Alisa. Will you
choose to destroy her in truth? She lived still in your memories. If you leave her forgotten, you erase her as if she never existed. I saw her, Kiran: she never tried to alter you or possess you. She only loved you, in a way you had never seen, hadn’t any idea was possible. Even Ruslan could not eradicate all the traces of that love in you. She gave you such a great gift…would you turn your back on her now? Let her vanish into the darkness of time unremembered and unloved?”

  Kiran went white, breathing as if each inhalation hurt him. “Then let me into your mind, Martennan. Show me your memories.”

  Marten shook his head. “If I did that, the Council would demand your death, and perhaps mine as well. I bear too many of my country’s secrets.”

  Kiran gave a strangled laugh. “Dev is right to fear your clever tongue. Yet I can see the truth you wish to hide—you don’t care what I remember of Alisa. You only want to take what you think I know about these demons. You’ll tear my mind apart in your search, and afterward…what need have you for me? You’ll kill me just as you wanted to do in the mountains.”

  “I don’t wish to harm you!” Marten’s voice rose. “I only want to return what Ruslan stole from you.”

  Yeah, even I didn’t buy that one. Maybe Marten wouldn’t spellcast against Kiran, but he sure as hell wanted to sift through Kiran’s head so he could decide how best to use him.

  “You try to bind me with words even now,” Kiran said. “No.”

  “You—!” Marten pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to me. “A word, outside.”

  I followed him out the door into the trampled forest clearing beyond. Cinnabar trees towered over a scattering of squat cabins. The sun was setting, the scraps of western sky visible between thick-needled cinnabar branches a molten orange. Two unfamiliar mages stood some ten feet away, staring at Kiran’s cabin with fierce, intent eyes. Guards, watching for any hint of spellwork on Kiran’s part.

  The camp wasn’t even a mile inside the border, though we were too far for me to hear the rush of the Elenn River that marked it. The translocation spell had left us kneeling amid ferns and fiddleneck flowers on the riverbank, surrounded by a horde of stern, uniformed mages.