No one answered the First Adept. With a shudder Thalia wondered how many members of the Secret College stood hidden among the assembled Adepts. Talvin and his high demon could not have remained undetected for twelve years without aid. How many of his allies stood in this very room?
“Once the wraiths have been defeated,” said Arthain, “I will conduct investigations until every last Adept who has even attempted to traffic with a demon has been found. But first we must attend to the wraiths. Magister Jonas!”
Jonas and the other Adepts of the College Bellaca dismissed their wards, and the sheet of blue light snapped out of existence. The Initiates, the Swords, and the slaves looked up, startled.
“After you have divided yourselves into groups,” said Arthain, “you will be assigned a portion of the Ring, and you will sweep the area for any sign of the wraiths and the enspelled corpses. Slaves, remain here until you are instructed otherwise.” He looked at Jonas. “Begin at once.”
Jonas and his lieutenants circulated through the crowd of Adepts, barking commands, and the Adepts arrayed themselves for battle.
###
“It is just as well,” said Solthain with a grin, “that we were assigned together, sister. Your impertinence would drive any of the Magisters to madness.”
Thalia snorted. “And your casual insouciance would give them seizures.”
“Jonas put me with Magister Davrus of the College Bellaca,” said Carandis, looking at a stern old man with a close-cropped gray beard.
“The man is a bit of a bore,” said Thalia.
“But a solid hand in a fight,” said Solthain.
“Which is more important than scintillating conversation just now, I suspect,” said Thalia.
“Truly,” said Carandis. “You should break your thoughtmeld. I can thoughtmeld with Magister Davrus.”
Thalia nodded, started to undo her spell, and stopped.
“What is it?” said Carandis.
“Perhaps we should leave it in place,” said Thalia. “Can you handle two thoughtmelds at once?”
“I think so,” said Carandis. “Why?”
Thalia shrugged. “Splitting the Conclave into small groups to hunt the wraiths is a good idea. But it makes us vulnerable if the wraiths swarm us. And…”
“And,” murmured Solthain, his understanding flooding through the thoughtmeld, “and it means that if this renegade Adept finds us, we’ll need help. If he’s a blood sorcerer, I doubt two or three of us could take him in a straight fight.”
Carandis nodded. “I see.” She took a deep breath. “Well, good luck. I must join Magister Davrus.” She turned to Solthain and smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lord Solthain. A pity our dinner was interrupted.”
Solthain laughed, a pulse of amusement going through the thoughtmeld. “We’ll have to try again.”
“Adepts!” The First Magister’s voice thundered through the hall. “Prepare for battle!”
“Good luck!” said Thalia.
Carandis nodded and then hurried through the press of red-robed figures to join Magister Davrus. A mass of Magisters and Adepts assembled before the main doors of the great hall, and Thalia felt the air shiver as they summoned power. She and Solthain joined another group of Adepts at the side of the hall, facing the corridor that circled around the towers of the inner Ring. A pale field of shimmering white light danced over the doors, the ward holding the wraiths at bay.
“Lower the wards!” boomed Arthain.
The wards vanished, and a gesture from the Magisters opened the doors.
And a tide of blue-green wraiths surged through the door and poured into the hall.
The Adepts were ready.
Blazing columns of silver astralfire stabbed through the doors, staggering the wraiths. An instant later a river of white flame slashed through the entrances, and the wraiths disintegrated into swirls of glowing smoke.
But not for long.
“Adepts,” said Arthain, “you have your tasks.”
Thalia followed Solthain and the other Adepts into the corridors of the Ring, hunting for the enspelled corpses.
Chapter 5 - The College Historia
The dead man rose from the floor, eyes blazing with crimson fire.
Carandis lifted her hands, white flame dancing around her fingers, and worked a spell. Her astralfire slammed into the possessed corpse’s chest, rocking it back a step. Magister Davrus unleashed his own astralfire, and white light enveloped the dead slave.
When the glare cleared, the man lay motionless upon the floor, the crimson light gone from his eyes.
Carandis let out a long breath and wiped the sweat from her brow.
“Tired, Adept?” said Magister Davrus, the faintest hint of amusement on his stern face.
Carandis gritted her teeth and made herself smile. “Why, no, Magister. I am fresh as a flower. Nothing is quite as restful as hunting demons through the corridors of the Ring.”
They had been searching for over two hours. In that time, they had been attacked by wraiths a dozen times, and located five of the enspelled corpses. The frequency of the attacks had begun to decrease, and Carandis hoped the other Adepts had found most of the enspelled corpses.
“Such sarcasm,” said Davrus, “is beneath the dignity of an Adept of the Conclave.”
Carandis forced herself not to sigh. She had wanted to become a fur trader like her father, spending her days hunting and trapping and bringing back pelts to sell. But at the age of twelve an Adept from the College Novitia had tested her, discovered her magical ability, and had taken her back to Araspan.
And ever since then, demons had haunted her life. She had studied demons, practiced spells to fight them and defend against them. She had faced demons, alone and naked as she underwent the ordeal of the Testing. She had fought under Lord Corthain and First Magister Arthain as they attacked Maerwulf’s astral sanctuary and Thurvalda’s dockside lair.
And now she hunted demons through the halls of the Ring. She would rather have been with her father, hunting deer and bears and wolves in the forests of Callia.
But, still. She was a hunter…and if she must hunt demons, then she would hunt them well.
“Tramping through the hallways in search of demons is beneath the dignity of an Adept,” said Carandis. “Yet, here we are.”
“True enough,” said Davrus, stopping before an apartment door. “In here?”
Carandis focused and cast the spell to sense the presence of magic.
“Nothing,” she said.
Davrus grunted and looked down the corridor. “Five more and we’ll be at the Great Library.”
The vast domed edifice of the Great Library stood at the opposite end of the inner Ring from the great hall. Nine stories tall, the Great Library held tens of thousands of books, volumes gathered from every nation under the sun. There were books dating from the prime of the Old Empire, and even crumbling scrolls from the races the Old Empire had destroyed or conquered.
“I suspect Magister Rodez sealed the Library with its defensive wards when he heard the alarm chime,” said Carandis. “I am a member of the College Historia, and I can open the wards.”
Davrus snorted. “Assuming the fat old fool’s heart didn’t give out from panic.”
Carandis was annoyed, but she could not deny the truth in Davrus’s barb. “Magister Davrus’s gifts lie…elsewhere, Magister.”
“As do yours,” said Davrus. They checked the next apartment and found it clear. “When Jonas assigned me an Adept from the College Historia, I was disappointed. I expected some doughy cow of a woman who has not moved from her desk in ten years.”
“How flattering,” said Carandis.
“Fortunately,” said Davrus, “I understand you served admirably during Lord Corthain’s attacks upon the Jurgur blood shaman and his harlot. Your talents are wasted in the College Historia, Adept. Not everyone can keep their head in combat. You should be in the College Bellaca, learning the arts of war. Or at the very least you sho
uld join the College Exorcisia or Maleficia, and use your skills to hunt down demons and wielders of blood sorcery.”
“I prefer the College Historia,” said Carandis. She did not want to tell this grim old man how weary she was of facing demons.
“Why?” said Davrus as they checked another apartment.
Carandis shrugged. She did not want to share with him how her father had told stories as they hunted in the forests of Callia, tales about the Seeress and the end of the Old Empire, about the wars against the pagans of Carth, tales of adventure and war and daring.
“Because,” said Carandis at last, “I like stories. And I would rather read about history than make it.”
“Perhaps that is sensible,” said Davrus. They rounded a corner, and the massive double doors to the Great Library stood before them. A shimmering web of silver and white light danced over the thick doors, and Carandis sighed in relief. Over the centuries the Adepts had built a maze of interlocking wards to protect the treasures of their Library, and Magister Rodez had activated them. He, and anyone else in the Library, would be safe.
“One more,” said Davrus, stopping at the last apartment door before the Library’s entrance. “Check…”
“Magister,” said Carandis in alarm, “there are spells of the High Art inside…”
The door swung open, and a man in the red robe and black stole of a Magister stepped into the corridor. He was tall and gaunt, about fifty or fifty-five, with a pained, humorless face and gray-shot black hair. His face had a faint gray tinge, and Carandis thought he looked pained, even ill.
Suddenly Carandis remembered him. She had seen him this morning, riding in a sedan chair carried by slaves.
“Ah,” said the Magister, his voice carrying a hint of a Saranian accent. “Your timing is superb. I did not know how much longer my spells would last.” He gestured at the Library doors, a flicker of annoyance going over his face. “I hoped to shelter within the Library, but I found the defensive spells activated. I had forgotten how quickly they can be triggered.”
“They have not been needed,” said Davrus, “in the memory of any living Adept.”
“Indeed,” said the Magister. “You are…Magister Davrus, yes? Of the College Bellaca?” His dark eyes turned to Carandis. “You, young Adept, I do not know.”
“Carandis Marken,” she said, “of the College Historia.”
The Magister’s thin lips twitched in a faint smile. “You are? Good.”
“Who are you, sir?” said Davrus.
The Magister sketched a bow. “Marsile, once of Saranor, now of the Conclave and the College Dominia. If you do not recognize me, that is understandable. I have spent the last fifteen years in Khauldun, mediating between the petty emirs. When First Magister Talvin was slain, I left for Araspan to present myself to the new First Magister. Instead I arrived to find the Ring overrun by demon-wraiths.”
That, at least, explained why he had so many slaves. Khauldun was the only nation of the western kingdoms that permitted slavery, and its emirs and princes competed to see who could own the most slaves. Carandis did not share Thalia’s passionate contempt for slavery, but she hardly approved of it.
She found herself disliking this Magister.
Marsile. Where had she heard that name before?
“Well, Magister Marsile,” said Davrus, “the Conclave is under attack, and the aid of every Adept is needed.”
“Of course,” said Marsile. “I assume you were about to enter the Great Library to search for survivors?”
“Aye,” said Davrus. “We have found a way to defeat the wraiths. A traitor Adept put both a blood spell and a spell of the High Art upon the corpses of his victims. Only by breaking those spells can we dispatch the wraiths permanently.”
“I see,” said Marsile, frowning. “I did not expect you to discover the truth so quickly.”
Carandis blinked.
“Give how little we of the Conclave know of blood sorcery, of course,” added Marsile.
Suddenly the realization struck Carandis.
“No,” she breathed.
Marsile’s frown deepened.
“Adept?” said Davrus.
“Marsile of Saranor,” said Carandis, remembering the histories she had read. “A Magister named Marsile of Saranor was expelled from the Conclave a century ago for experiments in blood sorcery. The First Magister at the time tried to have him executed, but Marsile fought his way free and disappeared on the mainland.”
“Do not be absurd,” said Davrus. “This Marsile would have died decades ago.”
“Unless blood sorcery extended his lifespan,” said Carandis. “As it did with Maerwulf.”
Davrus opened his mouth to answer…and frowned instead.
“This is preposterous,” said Marsile.
“Then accompany us back to the Magisters,” said Carandis, “and report to them. Surely a returning ambassador will have no objection to that.”
“Certainly,” said Marsile. “After we check the Great Library for survivors. The defense of the Conclave takes priority.”
“Very well,” said Davrus. “I will escort you to the First Magister. Carandis will remain here to enter the Great Library.”
“Perhaps it would be better,” said Marsile, “if we entered the Library together, lest the wraiths strike us.”
“Why are you so eager to get into the Library?” said Carandis.
Marsile looked at her, at Davrus, and then back at her…and rolled his eyes.
“The quality of the College Historia has declined in my absence,” he said, lifting his left hand. “I was banished from the Conclave a hundred and twenty years ago, not one hundred.”
Crimson fire snarled around the fingers of his raised hand. Davrus cursed and took a step back. Carandis had seen that kind of fire before.
Blood sorcery.
“The wraiths are your doing!” snarled Davrus.
“Did you just figure that out?” said Marsile. “Well, the members of the College Bellaca were chosen for their muscles, not their wits. I will make this simple. You will surrender yourself to me, and the girl,” he jerked his chin at Carandis, “will undo the wards and let me into the Library. The wraiths won’t act as a distraction for much longer, and I need to be on my way.”
“Why are you doing this?” said Carandis.
Marsile smirked. “It’s a library, is it not? Suffice it to say that I have come to borrow a book.”
“Unacceptable,” said Davrus, blue astralfire flaring to life around his hands. “You will surrender yourself at once and accompany us to the First Magister for judgment.”
“No,” said Marsile, and closed his left hand.
The bloody fire winked out. Had he cast a spell? Carandis hadn’t detected anything…
And then she felt the invisible fingers reaching into her mind.
She stiffened, trying to scream, but her jaw clamped shut. A strangled groan came from her lips, and she stumbled back a step. She felt Marsile’s thoughts and will pouring into her skull. No, it was more than that. Through blood sorcery and the High Art he was projecting his very soul into her flesh.
He was possessing her.
Carandis fell to her knees, Marsile’s face went blank, and the possession was complete. She still saw through her eyes, heard through her ears, breathed through her nose and mouth.
But Marsile controlled her utterly.
“Adept!” shouted Davrus. He whirled to face Marsile. “You choose death over surrender, blood sorcerer? So be…”
Carandis got to her feet, snatched the sicarr from her belt, and raised it high. She tried to scream, tried to fight, tried to break free. But Marsile’s spirit inhabited her flesh, and dominated her utterly.
Her hand plunged the sicarr into Davrus’s neck, blood welling from the wound. Davrus gasped and staggered forward. Carandis’s hand ripped the dagger loose, her free arm snaking around his chest. Her hand drove the sicarr into the wound once more, twisting the blade.
“
Pitiful.” Her tongue and lips formed the words, but it was Marsile who spoke through her mouth. “Twelve decades have not made the College Bellaca any wiser, I see.”
Her boot came up and kicked the dying Magister. Davrus fell in a heap before Marsile’s feet and remained motionless, blood spreading across the floor.
Carandis screamed inside her head.
She felt herself step towards the Library doors, and felt Marsile dig deeper into her thoughts. He plucked the knowledge of the spell needed to undo the wards from her memories, and her hands moved in the necessary gestures. Marsile’s power flooded through her, white fire flared around her fingers, and the ward over the doors faded.
Her hands reached out and pushed the doors open, and Carandis strode into the library, Marsile controlling her body like a man riding a horse.
She screamed and fought in the silence of her mind, but to no avail.
Chapter 6 - Ancient Lore
Marsile never liked possessing a woman’s body.
He wore Carandis Marken’s flesh as if it were his own, felt her robes rustling against her skin, her heart pulsing with blood. She was much younger than he was, and her vision and hearing were sharper. Yet the structure of her hips was different, and the extra weight upon her chest threw off his balance.
And she was strong with the High Art. If he had not taken her off guard, he might not have been able to possess her. Even now he felt his control starting to waver. Before much longer, she would expel his spirit and reclaim control of her body.
And Marsile’s body waited in a trance outside of the Great Library, standing over a murdered Magister.
He had to hurry.
But he had not returned after a hundred and twenty years only to be denied now.
Marsile strode into the Great Library.
A broad dome rose overhead, the oculus letting a single shaft of light from the setting sun fall into the Library’s wide central stairwell. Nine levels of balconies encircled the walls, connected by an iron staircase spiraling through the central shaft.
The Third Soul Omnibus Two Page 4
