"You've taught that spell to others?" Medea repeated. "Why would you give away so valuable a spell?"
"I didn't give it away, my lady. I bartered it for learning the language of Colchis and for other small spells—a binding spell I didn't know and several finding spells, which are very useful in my business. And the floating mage-light spell is not valuable among the people from whom I came. It is a simple spell, taught as soon as a child is known to be Talented by making fire."
"Teach me," Aietes ordered.
Hekate nodded and smiled. "Gladly, but I need something with which to write the symbols so you can fix them in your mind, my lord. And if you want me to write the words, I will need a sheet of parchment."
"Write," Aietes repeated without expression. "You are a well-educated herb woman."
Hekate felt the hound by her side stiffen as if he sensed a threat, but she answered calmly, "My husband was a man of substance, but he was old. He did not trust his family—with good reason as it turned out—so he had me taught to read and write. That way, he could continue to conduct his business without the interference of his dishonest nephew or his daughters' greedy husbands."
Aietes nodded, but his eyes still assessed her. The expression was skillful, she realized, as she swallowed a strong temptation to make further explanations that might well reveal more than she wished. She attempted to look eager and hopeful, but when she glanced down at Kabeiros she realized that the shadow of the man Kabeiros was gone. That nearly startled her into a reaction, but Aietes had turned his head to look at the guard; Hekate swallowed hard and drew more power into her shields.
The guard, however, remained motionless by the door. Nonetheless, a few moments later, the door opened and another guard carried in a small wooden lap desk. A gesture from Aietes sent the second guard to Hekate, who took the desk.
She opened it at once, found a capped inkwell, a split reed for writing, and sheets of—of all surprising things—Egyptian papyrus. Knowing she had seemed startled, she fingered the writing material as if she didn't recognize it. She wasted no time on inquiring, however, but quickly drew her symbol for light and the glyphs for epikaloumi eustropsos. Below these she drew the single upcurving line with attached triangles for wings that signified the ability to float and the glyphs for didomi elapsrotes, and finally the shattered, double-headed arrow for motion and the glyphs denoting exesti exelthein.
She then invoked the mage light, demonstrating how the three commands were almost piled one atop the other. "But there is no reason why you cannot do each separately, that is, create the light on a support and then apply to it the other two commands. It only takes a little more power to combine the spells from the beginning, however, and then you can do what you like with the light. Of course, you must keep each symbol clearly in mind or draw it with a gesture when you say the commands."
Suspicion had given way to interest in Aietes's expression and he held out a hand for the sheet of papyrus, which Hekate handed to him. After studying it for a moment he set it on the low table.
"My spell for the mage light is different than yours," he said. "It's longer and more complicated to tell the truth. However, that spell is familiar to me. Could I use that and then apply these other two?"
"I have no idea," Hekate replied, eyes bright with speculation. "I've never tried to mix the spells I was taught here in Colchis with old ones I learned as a child and those I learned along the road. It—" she gestured, frowning "—they were mostly for different purposes. And healing spells . . . One must be specially careful with healing spells. I would never mix those. I don't think mixing would cause a backlash, but I don't know. Perhaps you should summon a palace sorcerer to try instead of risking yourself, my lord?"
He looked at her. "You are remarkably generous with inviting others to share your spells." Then he smiled. "The spells seem simple enough. Would the backlash from them be strong?"
"Not if they are just ill done. As I said, these are the first spells taught to children and no one wishes a child to come to real harm. I think the backlash is little more than a stinging slap. But that is just for not doing the spell right. A mixture with other magic . . . That might be another matter altogether and much more violent. I just don't know."
The king grinned like a mischievous boy. "And make a big bang? I used to do that often as a boy. I think I'll try again."
Hekate felt the hound pressed against her thigh stir slightly and her attention moved from the spells themselves to Aietes. She could see now that there was what appeared to be a faint glow under his skin, and she realized that he—and likely Medea too—had warded themselves before they came to the room to speak to her. Most cleverly warded, too, and likely covered with a binding spell because she hadn't seen any swirl of lightning power around them.
When the king started to gesture and whisper, Hekate politely turned her eyes aside so as not to seem to spy on the spell he was creating. It was safe enough not to watch; Kabeiros was watching and her shields were at full strength. A casual glance at Medea was also swiftly withdrawn; Hekate fixed her eyes on her own hands in her lap. The princess, who had feigned utter indifference to the spells Hekate was inscribing, now had her eyes fixed on the parchment on which they were written while her father was occupied.
Even with her eyes lowered, Hekate saw a flash of light and drew breath to command the stasis of any spell; she had no intention of being accused of deliberately harming the king if the spells did backlash violently and had little hope that Medea would stand witness that she had warned Aietes. However, her caution wasn't necessary. The brilliant light held steady—unlike an explosion of power—and when she looked up, Aietes was smiling broadly. Midway in the room a very brilliant mage light hung and as Hekate looked at it, it moved upward to rest at the ceiling.
"The two magics work together very well," Aietes said to Hekate. "And now that I have cast them, I can sense your spells as clearly as my own. Well, Medea?"
The princess shrugged. "I sense them also. But not that." She pointed to Hekate's mage light, much fainter than that of Aietes', which floated where Hekate had left it. Her head snapped around to Hekate. "Why?"
"I don't know," Hekate wailed in a really fine simulation of fear and frustration. "Do you think I haven't tried to discover why your magic is invisible to me and mine to you? If I knew, I would tell you gladly. You are far too powerful for me to try to hide such a secret, and what harm would it do me if you knew? I might indeed try to hide it from fellow sorcerers, but the king and the princess of Colchis could never be rivals for such as I. Moreover, you would be pleased with me if I told you. Do you think I don't know how much good that could do me?"
In fact, Hekate thought it might not do her any good at all. She wondered if the precious pair might kill her to be sure they were the only ones who retained the secret of the different sources of power for magic.
Aietes shook his head, his eyes on Medea. "Since I can't read her at all, I can't truth-read her, but what she says makes good sense." Then he looked at Hekate. "Would you be willing to allow several of our court mages to examine you?"
"Yes, of course," Hekate agreed without hesitation.
What she had heard from Yehoraz indicated that the king and more particularly the princess were stronger than any of the sorcerers who served the court. Her one concern was that several working together could breach her shields if the "burning" Kabeiros had sensed was damage to them rather than the smell of the lightning power dissipating itself against them. Still it was far safer to agree readily than to arouse greater suspicion by refusing.
Aietes stood. Hekate rose also and said, "Please, my lord . . ."
"Yes?"
"I'm getting very hungry," Hekate said in a small voice, "and my clients will wonder what has become of me. Some may hear I was summoned to the court. If I don't soon return, they will believe I am somehow tainted with your displeasure and won't use me any more. Please, my lord, may I go about my business now? I will hold myself ready to com
e again any time you wish to send for me."
"Medea?" Aietes looked at his daughter.
Medea's exquisite face was expressionless. "I agree with you, Father, but I have a question or two I wish to ask Hekate—" she smiled suddenly, exposing all of the sharp pointed teeth; Hekate barely retained a shudder "—to do with the dog, not magic. Then I will let her go."
Hekate rather expected Aietes to sit down again, but instead of acting curious about Medea's continued interest in Kabeiros, an expression of unease flicked over his face and was swiftly wiped away. When he spoke, he almost seemed not to have heard her.
"Very well," he said. "For me there's little more to learn from her in the matter of spells. Illusions I can make. Spells to entertain are useless to me as are those for finding. Binding . . . I think I know every binding spell there is. Let her go. We know where to find her and I will make sure she cannot leave Colchis until I am completely satisfied about the magic she uses."
"Good." Medea nodded agreement.
Hekate pretended to turn to the princess, but she was watching Aietes in her wide peripheral vision. She expected him to approach the mosaic and wanted to know whether he had translocated himself—which Kabeiros had once told her was possible to the great mages of Olympus—or if he had translocated Medea and she him. However Aietes didn't satisfy her curiosity. He walked to the door to the corridor rather than the gate in the mosaic. The guard moved aside and he exited the room in a most mundane manner.
Now Hekate gave her full attention to Medea, but the princess did absolutely nothing. She sat quite still, staring straight ahead—a gaze that took in neither Hekate nor Kabeiros. Actually, she seemed to be listening. Hekate sat still and silent, daring to do no more than once lick her dry lips, hoping the princess was not as inimical and dangerous as she feared.
Suddenly Medea turned her head to the guard and said one sharp word. Hekate gasped as the bright faceted stones that were the creature's eyes dimmed. Her gaze flew to Medea, and she saw to her intense surprise that the princess was pallid, her breath coming quickly. After a few moments when nothing more happened—the guard still stood with its back to the door although its eyes were dead—Medea slowly looked away. She still did not speak to Hekate, but took on the listening expression again. This time it did not last long. After one more glance over her shoulder to make sure the guard still stood, she spoke, not to Hekate, but to the dog.
"Come out of that shape!" she ordered sharply. "I wish to see the man form."
Kabeiros whined and Hekate burst into tears. Medea's lips thinned to near invisibility.
"I don't know what protections you use, but in this I mean you no harm. Dismiss them. I need to know if I can sense the dog's change. Come! Be a man!"
She knew. It was too late for lying. "He can't!" Hekate cried.
"I don't believe you!" Medea spat—and there coiled before them a huge serpent.
It was very beautiful. The pointed face was scaled in silver, the lidless eyes unusually large. Beginning between them was a wide V of brilliantly green scales bordered in dark red. Those spread out over the narrow portion that separated the head from the immense body and the green was patterned with varying shapes in black-bordered silver with accents of the dark red. The snake moved. The patterns also moved, binding the eyes. At first Hekate couldn't look away, but a blow struck her thigh and a man's cry of agony tore through her mind. She looked down to see Kabeiros convulsing on the floor.
There was no time for spell-casting, not even for the word or two she would need; worse, there was no spell she knew that was adequate punishment for Medea's cruelty. Without thinking, Hekate grabbed her staff from where it leaned against the divan and struck the serpent with it, sending through it a blast of power. The serpent screamed, and Medea lay back in the chair, her skin bright red, as if she had been burned. Kabeiros lay still.
Hekate grasped the staff between both hands so the sharp steel point was aimed directly at Medea's throat. The princess's eyes widened, bulged with fear; her mouth opened on a desperate unvoiced plea. Hekate, face twisted with a terrible rage, raised the staff to strike.
CHAPTER 15
*No! Don't kill her!*
The hound's voice was faint and blurred, but hearing it aborted the downward thrust that would have plunged the steel point of the staff through Medea's throat. It also drew Hekate's eyes to the black body on the floor. The hound was moving, his feet scrabbling for a grip on the polished stones. In that moment of inattention, Hekate lost her advantage. When she turned back to Medea, flashes of light were streaming at her from the princess, who had managed to push her chair back out of Hekate's reach.
*If you harm her, we'll never escape,* Kabeiros said, his mental voice clearer.
The daggers and streams of light shattered into bright sparkles that diffused into nothing. Hekate saw that with her inner eye; her outer ones were fixed on Medea, who was plainly shocked by the failure of her attack spells. Pretending she had never noticed Medea's attempt, Hekate parted her lips in an expression of fear and pleading, and let the staff droop in her hands, as if she had not the strength or will to carry through her threat and was terrified by what she had done. Meanwhile she noticed that the red had faded from Medea's skin. Likely she had been lightly burned when the serpent's shields were destroyed by the lash of Hekate's power.
Actually Hekate was glad Medea's shields had been strong enough to resist that blast. Neither was she tempted to send any destructive spell against her now that her shields were burnt away. However, it was no scruple against murder that made Hekate lower the staff; Medea would be no loss to the world. What kept her passive was her knowledge that Kabeiros spoke the horrible truth. If she killed Medea, escape from Colchis would be well-nigh impossible.
Whatever Aietes' doubts about his daughter, if she were killed, those doubts would be forgotten and he would muster the whole strength of Colchis to take revenge. Neither could Hekate hope simply to disguise herself and travel separately from Kabeiros. Aietes knew she could wear an "illusion." It would not be beyond the king's power to prevent any and all persons from leaving Colchis until he laid his hands upon the one who had murdered his daughter.
Unfortunately leaving Medea alive was almost as bad a choice. Now that the princess had exposed herself to them as a shape-changer, she might well intend they both die to keep her secret. Not that it was much of a secret. Judging from the reactions of anyone who dealt with magic when she asked about shape-shifting, most of the magic workers already knew.
Undecided between the evil of a living, malevolent enemy and a corpse that would be a catastrophe, Hekate put out a placating hand to Medea. She had no time to speak, however, and it seemed as if her plea had come too late. The princess had already turned her head to the guard, who still stood against the door with dead eyes.
Hekate took a breath to utter the freezing spell, praying that Medea's shields were gone or weak enough to let the spell take hold; it would at least give her and Kabeiros time to think. But Medea didn't speak the words that would bring light to the guard's stone eyes. Instead she turned back to Hekate, taking in her seemingly desperate grip on her staff and the pleading hand outstretched. She glanced briefly at Kabeiros, who lifted his lip to show his tearing fangs and tried to steady his still-shaking body. And then Medea laughed shortly, her expression one of utter contempt.
"Fear for your lives, do you?" she asked, sneering. "Well, you have cause enough. You had not courage enough to strike, and you have lost your chance forever."
That Medea spoke instead of acting was a good sign and the look of contempt gave a reason to hope. "I didn't," Hekate cried. "It was an accident—"
"A spell that damages my shields was an accident?"
"That was no spell, my lady," Hekate said, trying to sound desperate. "I couldn't cast a spell that fast. Nor do I know any spell strong enough to damage your wards. It was only the power I had stored in my staff. I beg your pardon, I do, but when I saw you torturing poor Kabeiros for s
omething he can't help, I lost my control over the staff and the power poured out."
"I wasn't torturing the dog," Medea snapped. "I was trying to find out—" And then the first words Hekate had spoken came back to her. "Not a spell?" Medea's eyes narrowed, but after a moment's thought, she nodded slowly and her eyes shifted to the staff. "So you store power in the staff."
"Yes, but it isn't mine. It's Kabeiros' staff." Although Hekate gave no sign of it, she noticed the interest that flashed across Medea's face. She continued eagerly, "I just carry it for him in the hope that some day we will discover a cure for his affliction. Really, truly, he cannot change back to a man."
Medea nodded again, briskly this time. "Perhaps that's the only true thing you've said since you came into the palace," she said, but for once she looked young and brightly interested. "What should be a clean node of power is all tangled up with a draining spell that constantly draws away the power to shift. If I had such a spell—" She stopped abruptly, her lips thinning. "You deserve to die for trying to protect a shape-shifter as well as for striking me," she remarked. "You know that. I could call that guard awake with a single word, faster than you could bespell me. My father's guards are impervious to magic and this one could call as many more as he needed to subdue you."
Hekate dropped her head, as if she could not meet Medea's gaze and made her outstretched hand tremble. Kabeiros allowed his ears to droop and dropped his tail between his legs. But actually Hekate felt a strong sense of relief from the hound and her own fear was receding. If Medea had intended to kill them, she would have wakened the guard and given the orders at once. Feeding the princess's feeling of contempt was more useful now than threat. Medea wanted something and she would believe she could get it more easily from cowed opponents than from aggressive ones.
"Please, my lady," Hekate whined. She felt like gagging at the sound of her voice, but if it won her freedom it was a small price to pay. "It was a mistake, an accident. No one deserves to die for an accident. Surely there is some way I can make up to you for my affront. And . . . and my lady, if you kill me and my dog after the king said we could go and that he still wanted to investigate my magic, won't he wonder why we were destroyed?"
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